by Roger Hayden
Just around the counter, she saw a figure slowly moving across the floor. She gasped and covered her mouth trembling. A few feet ahead of her crawled a man on his stomach with a large hole blasted in his back. His black suit was tattered, torn, and soaked with blood. His organs were hanging out, his intestines dragging on the floor. She could only see the back of his head as pulled one arm in front of the other with feeble, shaking movements.
“Oh my God…” she said, reaching for her cell phone. The trail of blood went from the sink of to the other signs as the man slowly crawled away from her, moaning in agony. Her legs had locked into place, paralyzed with fear. Her cell phone fell from her hand and smacked onto the ground in a puddle of blood.
She went immediately to the floor, crouched down, unsure if she was going to call 9-1-1 or Curtis first. She grabbed the blood-soaked phone as it slipped out of hand and slid across the tile, just out of reach. Warmness streamed down her cheeks when she suddenly realized that she was crying.
“No. No. No,” she repeated to herself closing her eyes. She hoped that when they opened the grotesque sight would be gone. “Go away,” she said softly.
Then, as if an earthquake had shaken the ground and everything on it, the kitchen came alive with one explosive and sweeping gust that sent each and every cabinet open in loud, deafening burst that sent Mary reeling to the slippery ground. Plates crashed and shattered into pieces. Pots flew into the wall. The refrigerator flew open, sending its contents smashing onto the ground. A dizzying white flash followed as Mary tried to stand, forcing her back down. Her forehead smacked against the tile and she felt blood trickling down her face.
“No!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. She struggled again to get up as the disorienting cacophony of pots, pans, plates, and glasses crashed all around her. After one final heave, she made it to her feet and vaulted out the kitchen, slipping on blood and staggering down the hall, not looking back.
Her piercing screams echoed through the house as she stormed down the hall past rooms where doors slammed shut like guillotines hoping to snare her in. By the time she made it to the foyer, sweaty, petrified, and pale with terror, she was greeted with the sight of the grandfather clock in its original spot, bells blaring and blood bubbling from inside, from top to bottom. Both chairs suddenly flew toward her like guided missiles.
She jumped out of the way and slid across the hardwood floor as both crashed into the wall in a startling bang. She looked up to see the chandeliers swaying wildly with their bulbs flashing at their brightest. Doors slammed shut in unison all around her. Moaning continued. A barrage of insects scattered across the walls around her. Hanging pictures crashed to the ground. In the distance, the kitchen table flew across the dining room and pummeled into the wall.
Mary slipped and fell to her knees, feeling trapped and pinned to the ground. Thick blood spewed from the grandfather clock like a geyser, soaking the ceiling in its reddened flow.
“What do you want?” she screamed.
A loud bang suddenly came against the front door, startling her further. Her head whipped around, staring at the exit and trying to build the nerve to run. Was this it for her? Had the house finally come alive to take her away?
Crouched down with her palms flat against the floor, sweat ran down her forehead creating a puddle below. She looked up to see a blinding white light at the end of the staircase. Within that light, she saw the shape of a young girl. Her face was hollow and pale with her cheeks sunken in and black eyes without a smidgen of white. She was barefoot and dressed in a nightgown.
“Please…” the girl pleaded. “You have to help me!”
Mary felt tremors through her body, shaking her in spastic, relentless measures. “Who-who are you?” she asked in a strained voice.
“Don’t leave me. Please don’t be afraid,” the girl said.
Mary fell flat on her stomach as her own body weight tripled and pushed her to the ground. Another flash of white and she felt a sharp pain in her jaw from smacking against the floor.
“Tell me what you want!” she tried to yell as blood oozed from her mouth.
“You know who I am,” the girl said. “I’m Julie Bechdel.” Before she could say another word, the girl looked up in terror and then screamed, instantly imploding into nothing. And then she was gone.
The pounding on the door continued. The house shook at its very foundation like the aftershock of an earthquake. Mary wasn’t sure if she’d make it out alive, but with one fresh gasp of air she flew forward onto her feet and hurdled toward the front door like an Olympic track star. The grandfather clock tipped over and crashed in front of the door, blocking her, and pouring human organs and limbs from its top, scattering them across the foyer.
She jumped over the clock without a second thought and smacked hard against the front door as the pounding continued. He knees and back ached. Her frequent dizziness returned to her with full force, making it near impossible to clutch the door handle and push it open. She screamed and rose up as heat engulfed her like an unseen fire. Her hands went to the door handle and yanked it open, screaming in terror as light hit her face, blinding her.
She ran out of the house, colliding directly with a man who caught her and held her tightly.
“Hey there! Listen to me. Calm down!”
She shook and thrashed and tried her best to move, but the man’s grip was impenetrable. “Let me go! Let me go!” she shouted repeatedly.
“Mary please listen to me!” the man pleaded.
Darkness came over her as the light in her eyes went away. She looked up, trembling. Pastor Phil’s face looked down at her as they nearly stumbled down the steps. She didn’t know what to say. She looked down at herself. She was sweaty and shaken, but there was no blood all but the cut on her forehead.
“Goodness, Mary. What happened?”
Too stunned to response, she looked inside the house as the front door swayed open. There was no clock. No organs. No gore splattered across the hardwood floor. But it was all too much. She could feel her mind slipping away by the second. Her heart beat like a jackhammer within her chest. That part was real enough, so was the sweat covering her drenched body.
“The house…” she said in a trembling voice. “It… it came alive. I’m not crazy…”
“I know you’re not, Mary. Why do you think I had ol’ Jerry Hadley paint a red cross on your door?”
She looked up, speechless with her shock growing.
“We have to keep the spirits contained,” he said, holding a flashlight and dressed with in simple blue jeans, T-shirt, and jacket.
“You…” she said, pulling away and enraged. Phil let her go as she stared him down, eyes furious and finger in his face. “You knew all about this house, and didn’t tell us.”
Phil took a defensive step back with his hands in the air. “Not everything. Just some things. I didn’t think it’d get this bad, but now things are different.”
“What the hell are you talking about? Can’t you do anything? This house needs an exorcist!”
“The secrets of the Bechdel mansion must stay buried for Redwood to survive,” Phil said. “That’s just the way it is. That’s the way it’s always been.”
“I don’t care. I’m not living here any longer,” she said with venom in her tone. “Now I want you off my property. Now.”
“It’s too late,” Pastor Phil said. “The house has chosen you for a reason, especially now that…” He suddenly stopped, raising Mary’s immediate suspicion.
“Now that what?” she said, seething. Upon his hesitation, she stepped forward, pushing him out of the way.
“You can’t run!” Phil said. “No matter where you go, the spirits will follow you. They chose you. Understand?”
Mary stopped and turned around, prepared to get as far away from the mansion as she could and never turn back. However, there was something to his words, proof that the madness she had experienced wasn’t entirely in her head.
“Why did
they chose me?” she said, slowly in a stern tone.
“That little girl. The Bechdel kid. Julie. She wants your help. The others. Well they want something else entirely.”
“Enough,” she said, swinging her arms downward. “I can’t take any more of this.”
“The house…” Phil began. “It knows you’re pregnant.”
Mary swung her head up, staring at him with her mouth agape. “What are talking about?”
“It knows… And your baby is in grave danger.”