314 Book 2 (Widowsfield Trilogy)

by A. R. Wise

  Chapter 6 – I See You, Stephen Knight

  I know when The Skeleton Man started to weave his lies, because they were always more dramatic than when his master was in control. He would focus on one person at a time, and allow the rest of Widowsfield to function as if nothing had happened. During those fractures, when the Watcher was away, The Skeleton Man left Widowsfield blissfully alone as he tortured one soul. He wasn’t careful with his lies; not like The Watcher in the Walls had been.

  The Skeleton Man’s lies were designed to cause madness, or at the very least serve to isolate one person. Since the day he discovered she was alive, The Skeleton Man was only ever focused on Alma Harper. He crafted everything with her as his victim. All the lies he designed were told to push her down the path he’d chosen.

  The Watcher in the Walls trusted The Skeleton Man implicitly. There was no reason for him not to, because parents never know at what age their babies start to lie. The Skeleton Man worked diligently for his master, crafting the nightmares that the Watcher envisioned, but all the while the demon was weaving a lie that the Watcher didn’t see.

  I could see, though. And I started to lie as well.

  Lost in Widowsfield

  “We’ll have to ask him when he gets here,” said one of the businessmen sitting in the living room.

  “Speak of the devil,” said the only woman, and the only one of the three that Stephen recognized. It was Debra Hargrove, an executive at Walsh Productions, the development house that had purchased the rights to Stephen’s upcoming paranormal web series. She didn’t smile when she greeted him. “Hello, Stephen.”

  He looked around the room, unfamiliar with the setting. They were in a small, dank home, with a modest kitchen to his right and a living room to his left. The executives, each in business attire, stood from the couch and nodded at him in greeting. They had been watching a small television, and Stephen recognized the paused screen. It was a scene from his research at the haunted house in Philadelphia, the one that had become an internet sensation after viewers discovered a ghost in the footage.

  “What’s going on?” asked Stephen, tremulous as he closed the door behind him.

  “Have a seat.” Debra motioned to the loveseat caddy-corner to the couch, under the window.

  Stephen did as he was told, and tried to act nonchalant. The two men sat after him, leaving Debra standing, her statuesque figure revealed by her long, tight black dress and grey blouse. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and her lipstick was cherry red, like the type of librarian that exists only in pornography.

  “We’ve got a problem, Stephen,” she said, still standing.

  “With what?” He tried to remain calm, but his heart was racing, and his voice reflected his tension.

  “I’m not going to sugar coat it, Stephen,” she said his name as if in spite. “You lied to us.”

  The two men started scribbling in little blue notebooks, which Stephen hadn’t noticed they were holding until now. They both stopped simultaneously and looked back up at him.

  “Lied to you about what?” asked Stephen as he crossed his leg, and then uncrossed it, fidgeting from nervousness.

  “Don’t fuck with me, Stephen.” Again, she seemed to emphasize his name with hateful intent, and he was reminded of a parent’s reproach. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.” She pointed at the screen.

  He looked at the television and the video began to play, as if Debra’s finger was a remote control. The scene showed Rachel walking through a dilapidated home. In the corner of a room that she passed sat a shadowy figure, and when the creature was revealed the tape paused again.

  “That’s no ghost,” said Debra. “You doctored the footage, and then paraded as a random internet viewer that discovered him. You went around forums that were popular with paranormal enthusiasts and spread the rumor about this supposedly haunted house.”

  “Debra, come on…” Stephen started, but was quickly interrupted.

  “Shut your mouth, Stephen Knight!”

  “Shut it,” said the other two men simultaneously.

  “You lied to us, and now we want recompense,” said Debra, still standing.

  “Recompense for what?” asked Stephen. “You haven’t paid me anything yet.”

  “You’ve compromised our good name, Stephen Knight.”

  “Why do you keep saying my name?” he asked with a nervous chuckle. “Just hold on a second, for crying out loud. I can explain everything. Debra, please, just sit down.”

  She grimaced, but did as he asked, squeezing between the two men on the couch and placing her hands in her lap. One of the men on the couch moved to accommodate her, and when he did it sounds as if his joints were made of wood. “Make it quick, I have a very important meeting that I’m already late for.”

  “I’ll admit that video was doctored,” said Stephen, motioning to the paused screen. “But that was just to get things rolling for us. You of all people must know how hard it is to get noticed, especially on the net. I did what I had to, and it worked. You can disagree with my tactics, but you can’t argue with the results. Believe me, that’s not how I want to do things, and I don’t plan on using that footage for the show I’m doing for you guys. In fact, I’ve got a hell of a story for you when I get back. It’s going to be the biggest thing you’ve ever had, I promise.”

  Debra calmly said, “Go on.”

  “We’re blowing the lid off of what happened in Widowsfield, Missouri, in the mid-nineties. Have you ever heard of that?”

  “Yes,” said Debra, and the two men echoed her.

  Stephen continued, spurred by a creeping sense that he was fighting for survival. “We have a girl that was in Widowsfield at the time of the incident.”

  Debra leaned forward, intrigued. “Tell me about her.”

  “Her name’s Alma,” said Stephen. “Alma Harper. Her brother disappeared around…”

  “Don’t tell us about her brother,” said Debra as if angered. “What about her. Tell us about her.”

  “Alma,” said the two men.

  Stephen was confused as to why they were so interested in the girl, but saw it as an opportunity to regain their faith. “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything,” said Debra. “Start from the moment she left Widowsfield.”

  “I don’t know a whole lot,” said Stephen. “She’s been pretty quiet about it.”

  “Tell us what you know,” said Debra, growing impatient. She looked over her shoulder, toward the carpeted stairs.

  Stephen saw a light turn on at the end of the hall on the second story.

  “She said that her father drove her away from Widowsfield, and they went through some fog. Then, when they got home, they had both forgotten about Alma’s brother, Ben.”

  “Don’t talk about Ben,” said the man to Debra’s right. He seethed his words, but Debra put her hand out and hushed him.

  “Go on,” said Debra. “Did she love her brother?”

  Stephen was confused, and felt suddenly lost. He was saddened by his surroundings, and thought he could hear a dog barking in the distance. A sense of dread brought sweat to his brow, and his thudding heart made his hands tremble. His mouth was dry, and he licked at his lips, tasting a mix of salt and metal. Stephen saw a shadow looming on the stairs, though he couldn’t see a source. It was shaped like a human, as if an invisible figure was standing at the top of the stairs. Then water began to flow over the carpeted edge, trickling down the stairs, each drop plopping as if into a pool.

  “Did she love him?” asked Debra, more insistent now. After she spoke, her teeth chattered until she closed her blood red lips.

  “What the fuck is going on?” asked Stephen. He put the back of his hand to his forehead, hoping to feel the heat of a high temperature, but finding only cool sweat. “I think there’s something wrong.”

  “Does Alma love Ben?” asked Debra as she stood up. She towered over Stephen, as if she’d grown several feet the moment she decide
d to stand.

  “Jesus Christ!” Stephen instinctually raised his arms in defense, terrified of everything in the room with him.

  “I see you,” said a woman from the stairs.

  Everyone turned to face the red haired girl that watched them. She was nude and soaking wet. Her pale skin was splotched with red abrasions. She appeared to have lipstick on, but then Stephen saw the color drip down her chin and realized her mouth was bleeding.

  “Sir?” asked one of the men on the couch, but he wasn’t an adult anymore. Stephen was bewildered that the two executives that had been sitting beside Debra had been replaced by two young boys. They looked frightened, and one of them was crying.

  “They’re mine!” Debra screamed at the woman on the stairs, and her voice warbled as if competing with another person’s scream. She put her foot into the crotch of the child to her left and he screamed as she pushed down. The other child tried to run, but Debra caught him by the back of his shirt and dragged him back.

  “What are you doing?” asked Stephen.

  Debra’s hands were skeletal, her once manicured nails now long and grey. She wrapped her hand around the boy’s throat and then twisted his head. The boy, no older than ten, wailed in agony, a high pitched screech that ended with the pop of his spine. The child was staring at Stephen when he died, and his eyes immediately turned to mist as green electricity sparked from within him. His body fell to the floor like an empty suit falling from a hanger, leaving a sheath of a carcass folded on the ground. Then the grotesque skin seemed to melt into the floor, mixing with the thin layer of fog that had replaced the carpet.

  Stephen tried to move, but he felt restrained in his seat. He saw that the fog had formed around his feet and arms, tying him to the seat like the straps of an electric chair. The tendrils of smoke snuck up his leg and over his chest as he cried out in terror.

  “I’ll take them all,” said the woman on the stairs.

  Stephen watched as the red-haired, wounded stranger got to her knees at the top of the stairs. Then she lay on the wet carpet and started to crawl down the stairs, an inexplicable sight. She struggled to keep from falling, the muscles in her arms tense as she held herself up. Her wounds grew worse, and the skin on her face seemed to be sliding off her skull, dragging the lower lids of her eyes down to reveal the bloodshot globes beneath. When she spoke, loosened teeth fell from her gums. “Look what you’ve done!”

  The fog receded from her, as if frightened of her touch as she descended the stairs. Debra growled, her foot still pressed into the crotch of the other boy. “The children are mine,” said Debra, her voice now deeper. She lashed out at the child on the couch, slicing at his face and throat in a vicious assault. Stephen tried to break free, but the fog held him tight, even turning his head so that he was forced to watch as Debra mauled the weeping boy.

  “I see you, Stephen Knight,” said the red-haired woman on the stairs as she continued to slink down them. Her tone seemed mocking, although Stephen couldn’t fathom why.

  “No,” said Debra, her back to Stephen. “You leave them for me.”

  Debra turned and Stephen saw that her face had disappeared. He was confronted by a skull slathered in blood and strips of skin, two eyeballs set within the sockets, and wire looped through what looked like drilled holes in the jawbone. The demon’s teeth chattered as he stared at Stephen, and the voice that came from the creature seemed to echo in his mind. “You’ll remember this, Stephen Knight. You’ll remember that Ben loves his sister. You’ll remember that all he’s ever wanted is for her to come back for him.”

  Then The Skeleton Man dug his claws into Stephen’s chest, shredding his flesh and breaking his bones, ripping at organs, and slaughtering him as he wept.

  “Tell Alma to help Ben get out.”

  Stephen was trembling when he woke up in the passenger seat of Jacker’s van as they headed away from Widowsfield. He gasped for air and reached for his chest to make sure he was okay. There was a lingering pain from his death in the dream, and he felt a continued sense of terror even now that he knew he was safe. They were leaving Widowsfield, finally, and everything would be okay. He looked over at Jacker, who looked back at him with wide eyes and a gaping mouth.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Stephen.

  Jacker slammed on the brakes, causing everyone in the van to lurch forward as they jostled to a stop. Rachel and Alma were scared, but Aubrey was silent.

  “What’s going on?” asked Stephen.

  “Did you guys go through that?” asked Jacker. “Do you remember?”

  “Yes,” said Rachel. “I remember being here before, in this same spot.”

  “My father’s going to drive by,” said Alma. She opened the van’s side door in time to see the blue sedan race by. A man was driving and a little girl was sitting in the back. “There he goes!” She was leaning over Rachel’s lap as she pointed at the car.

  “Hold on a second,” said Stephen, unwilling to believe what was happening. “This is crazy. Did we all smoke a bowl or something?” He tried to be flippant, but his fear was evident. “This has to be a hallucination or something. Right?”

  “Sometimes you don’t remember,” said Alma. “Sometimes I’m the only one that knows the truth. And I think sometimes I probably forget stuff too.”

  “No, I remember,” said Rachel. “We were right here, and that car passed. Then you told us about how we all forgot about being in Widowsfield.”

  “I remember that too,” said Jacker before turning to Stephen. “What about you?”

  “Yeah, I guess,” said Stephen. “It’s a bit hazy though, kind of like it was a dream.” He looked at Alma as he tried to recall what he’d assumed was a dream. “Alma, I met the one they call The Skeleton Man. He told me to let you know that Ben loved you, and that he needs your help to get out. Does that make any sense?”

  “Nothing makes sense anymore,” said Alma.

  “I think I saw him too,” said Rachel. “He was dressed like my father, but thinner and taller. He had a skull for a face, but it was layered with strips of flesh, and there was wire holding his jaw on. His teeth…”

  “Chattered,” said Alma.

  “Yeah,” said Rachel. “He told me that if a woman broke through the mist, that I should run. I don’t know what that means.”

  “A little boy told me to look for the witch,” said Alma. “Maybe they’re the same person.”

  “Aubrey, what about you?” asked Jacker.

  They all looked at the young girl, but she didn’t respond. Aubrey was pale, and her glassy eyes stared straight ahead at the fog in the distance. When she spoke, it was barely a whisper, “They don’t know me now that I’m dead.”

  “What?” asked Rachel.

  Aubrey turned to answer Rachel, but her body stayed rigid. “Widowsfield barely knew me.”

  “As if I wasn’t already freaking out,” said Rachel. “What’s she talking about?”

  “Aubrey,” said Alma as she took the young girl by the shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

  Aubrey looked at Alma and despair overwhelmed her. The bartender began to cry. “Terry got me.”

  “What?” asked Alma, startled by the reference to her father’s mistress.

  “I see for her now, and there’s nothing left of me. Alma, Terry isn’t the witch. She’s been trying to find Ben, but now she’s after you too, and there’s someone else here that she wants to kill. All three of you are here now.” Aubrey closed her eyes and said, “I’m dead, and she’ll use me to get to you. Widowsfield doesn’t know me, so you have to let me go. You have to forget about me too, or else she’ll watch you through my eyes.”

  “Aubrey, what are you talking about?” asked Alma.

  Aubrey opened her eyes, but they were suddenly bloodshot and with enlarged pupils. When she spoke, it was with Terry’s voice. “Look what you’ve done!”

  Alma instinctually leapt out of her open door, and Aubrey tried to chase her. Alma slammed her door shut as Rachel, Stephen,
and Jacker got out the other doors. The group moved to the road as Aubrey thrashed within the vehicle. She was trying to stand, but her legs wobbled and the girl fell to her knees.

  “Didn’t she do this before?” asked Stephen. He was having trouble recalling the events that occurred in this same spot, on the road outside of Widowsfield, when Aubrey had been ripped apart by some sort of creature within her. It was as if his rational mind refused to admit any of this could be real.

  “I saw Terry catch her once,” said Alma.

  “Who the fuck is Terry?” asked Rachel.

  “She was my father’s girlfriend. She owned the cabin that we used to stay at.”

  “When did you see her catch Aubrey?” asked Stephen.

  “One of the other times we went through this,” said Alma. “I think we’ve been doing this over and over for a long time.”

  Stephen tried to embrace Rachel, but she pushed him away. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  She wouldn’t look at him. “I’m sorry, Stephen. I don’t know what’s going on, but before I woke up here, I was watching you…”

  “Watching me what?”

  “You were just being a terrible person,” said Rachel. “I don’t know if it was you – actually, I’m sure it wasn’t, but it felt so real.”

  “What are we supposed to do now?” asked Jacker. “I remember driving through the fog before, and we just ended up by the cabin. Should we head into town and look for help?”

  “No,” Alma answered quickly. “We’ve done that before, and it never goes well for us.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Jacker.

  “Everyone dies,” said Alma, matter-of-factly.

  The van shook as the four of them backed away. They could see Aubrey shuddering within, her hands pressed against the glass, and then the front driver’s side tire began to hiss as if losing air. Before anyone could speak, the hood bent and sprung open before steam spewed from the radiator. The sliding door that Alma had closed began to warp, the metal screeching as if the van had been thrown into a crusher. Then the glass shattered, raining tiny fragments to pavement below.