Frantic

by Mike Dellosso

  When Harold’s footsteps sounded like they were only feet away, just around the corner of the rock, Esther uncoiled her legs, trunk, and arms and came out swinging blindly. Surprisingly, the limb caught Harold across the side of the head and knocked him sideways. He stumbled and lost his footing.

  Seizing the moment, Esther swung again, aiming for Harold’s head but catching him along the shoulder. She had to keep swinging, keep beating him back, until she needed to fight no more. Until he was either dead or unconscious.

  She swung again, this time a weak blow to the back of his head. He fell forward and rolled over.

  Esther saw her opportunity, lifted the limb, and brought it down with a high-pitched grunt. But Harold was quick and blocked the blow with his left forearm. Then with his right he reached and grabbed hold of Esther’s ankle. He pulled hard and brought her down. The limb slipped from her hand.

  Keeping his grip on her ankle, Harold rolled toward Esther and managed to get his free hand on her wrist. In one quick, practiced motion, he twisted her arm behind her back and flipped her onto her stomach. Before she could struggle or fight back he was on top of her, his knee in her back between her shoulder blades. He wasn’t even breathing hard. Esther gasped for breath, but the knee pressed so heavily she couldn’t expand her chest to draw in air. Harold twisted her arm higher up her back, sending searing pain through her shoulder and down her arm. She was sure he’d rip it from its socket.

  Harold adjusted himself and grunted. A second later Esther felt something sharp sting the back of her shoulder.

  The last thing she remembered was feeling terribly tired.

  Chapter 51

  EVENING WAS ON its way, and with it, darkness.

  When Gary and Marny and William arrived at Harold’s house on Cranberry Road in Comfort, Maine, the sun was on its downward slide. Fragments of muted light filtered through the trees like dust. The pines stood tall around the house, like giants with outstretched arms, shielding the clearing of light and hastening darkness, welcoming it, bidding it come near and fellowship.

  Marny got out of the car and shivered. Something about the place frightened him. On the outside it appeared to be a rather normal house. Two stories, a large front porch, windows, door, that sort of thing, but there was an odd aura about it. This was not home sweet home, not a place where laughter was heard, not a place where families lived and loved and grew older together. The house seemed to loom over them, to have breath of its own. It seemed to be watching them.

  William came alongside Marny and took his hand.

  “You remember this place?” Marny asked.

  “No.” William stared at the house like it was a giant from a fairy-tale land.

  “I don’t like it. Feels … weird. You feel it?”

  William nodded. “We’re going to need you in there, Marnin.”

  That was an odd comment. “Need me? How?”

  “You’re the key to all of this,” William said. His eyes were still on the house. “They think it’s me, but it’s not. It’s you.”

  Gary came around the car and climbed the steps to the porch. He stood there staring at the front door. There didn’t appear to be anyone home. The windows were dark and shut. In Maine, everyone opened their windows in the evening.

  “Hate to break it to you, buddy,” Marny said, “but I’m nothing special. If anything, I’m a curse you should be staying away from.”

  William turned his head and drilled Marny with sad eyes. “You’re not a curse, Marnin. You’re a blessing. You just don’t know it yet. But I think you will.”

  Gary tried the front door but found it locked. He peeked in one of the windows, cupping his hands around his eyes, then tried the door again. He took three short steps back, then two large steps forward, and kicked the door right beside the knob. The frame splintered and broke, and the door swung open.

  The house seemed to exhale, and a warm, musty breeze blew through Marny’s hair.

  Gary turned and motioned for Marny and William to follow him, then disappeared inside.

  The sun was mostly hidden by the pines. The tops of the trees stood black against the rich blue backdrop like the silhouettes of so many serrated knives.

  Before they entered the house, Marny turned to William. “Do you know what’s going to happen in there?”

  William shook his head. “No, Marnin. But I have a bad feeling about the place.”

  “Yeah, so do I.”

  “You’ll be tested in there, Marnin. More than you’ve ever been.”

  “That’s not encouraging.”

  When he stepped over the threshold from porch to foyer, Marny felt as though a million spiders had descended from the ceiling and now crawled over his skin, under his clothes, through his hair.

  Gary flipped a light switch, and a small table lamp flicked on, casting the foyer in a dull orange glow. Inside it was a common house, nothing special. No strange antiques or oddities of any kind. No shrunken heads or goat skulls hanging from the walls. The furniture was not contemporary, but not terribly old either. It was just a house, nothing more, nothing less. To their right, a staircase rose to the second floor. To their left, the living room, everything coated with a light sheet of dust. Straight ahead a hallway extended to a dining room on the left, beyond the living room, and a kitchen at the end. The light of the lamp barely reached the kitchen, but what little of it that did revealed a white linoleum floor and white cupboards.

  The light switch in the living room was just around the corner. Marny found it easily, and two table lamps sprang to life. The room was large and furnished nicely. Lots of chairs. It was obvious that at one time the Roses enjoyed entertaining friends. Laughter had once resonated through the house, but whatever was once here was long gone. The place was like a mausoleum now, stone cold and dead.

  “I don’t like this place,” Marny said.

  Gary stood in the archway between living room and foyer. “He’s here. I can feel him.”

  “I don’t feel anything,” Marny said.

  William hung on to Marny’s hand. “He’s right, Marnin. Esther is here too.”

  Suddenly that warm, musty breeze was there again, blowing through the house despite the closed windows. It rushed down the hall and into the foyer, slamming the front door shut.

  Marny pulled away from William and ran for the door, yanked on the knob, but it wouldn’t open, wouldn’t even rattle. It was as if it’d been nailed shut. “It must be jammed or something.”

  Gary came over and gave it a try. But still the door would not budge.

  That’s when Marny noticed the doorframe. The place where the wood had splintered and broken was now whole, like a wound that had healed over the course of weeks, maybe months. It showed no sign of any kind of damage.

  Gary inspected the door, the frame, the hinges. His face was somber and flat. He ran his hand over the wood, knocked on it, turned the knob. Nothing.

  On the second floor a floorboard creaked; another moaned. Pipes rattled and clanged, and then came the sound of running water.

  Chapter 52

  THEY WERE NOT alone in the house.

  Marny stayed at the bottom of the steps with William as Gary climbed them cautiously, one at a time, back to the wall. The second floor was darkened by the hidden daylight, and the water continued to run. More floorboards popped and groaned. Gary stopped midway up and drew his pistol. He waited, motionless, listening. Holding the gun out front with both arms extended, he continued his ascent.

  Marny and William exchanged a quick glance. Someone was up there. The water thing was obviously a lure, a trick. Marny was glad Gary was going up to check it out and not him.

  At the top of the stairs, Gary turned and looked at Marny, then William, but said nothing. He wiped his brow with one hand, then disappeared around the corner. They could hear his footsteps pad down the hallway, then stop. Seconds ticked by, and nothing happened. All was quiet except for the continuously running water.

  It started as a
trickle at the top of the staircase. A thin line of water pushed over the edge and dropped to the second step, then the third and fourth and continued down step by step until it reached the bottom and pooled around Marny’s feet. Through his shoes he could feel the water was cold, frigid actually. He bent and touched it, rubbed his fingers together, then wiped them on his pants.

  “I’m going up,” he said to William.

  “That’s probably not a good idea, Marnin.”

  “Probably not, but I need to see what’s going on up there.”

  The water had picked up a little now; the stream was as wide as a man’s hand and coursed down the middle of the staircase.

  Marny released William’s hand. “Stand over by wall, out of the water, okay? Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

  William nodded.

  Staying to his right, along the wall, Marny took the steps slowly, careful not to touch the water. There was something about it, a quality he didn’t like. It was too cold to come from the pipes this time of year. Maybe in the dead of winter, but not in June. He would just get to the top and take a peek around the corner. See if he could locate Gary.

  Three quarters of the way up the water increased to take up most of the width of the steps. Marny could no longer avoid getting his shoes in it. It splashed up around the soles and wetted the tops, soaked through to his socks and numbed his feet. He turned to see if William was staying clear of the water puddling on the floor, but he wasn’t there. Marny stepped to the other side of the stair and leaned over the railing, scanned what he could see of the first floor.

  “William.”

  The rattling of old pipes started in the walls again, this time louder than before. It grew in volume until it sounded like the pipes would burst.

  The water continued to cascade down the steps, steadily increasing in volume and strength. It now covered Marny’s shoes and splashed up to his knees. He gripped the railing with both hands and struggled to keep his footing. The numbness had spread from his toes to his feet to his ankles.

  Then the steps were gone, folded down on themselves to form a slide, just like the ones in Marny’s dream. Water poured down like a mountain spring, forceful now. Marny quickly lost his footing and went to his knees. He tried to hold on to the railing, but a second later his grip gave way and he slid down the ramp on his belly. Water engulfed him and left him disoriented and flailing about. His hands and arms lost feeling; his vision blurred.

  At the bottom he was met with a jarring stop and banged his head on the banister. The flow had suddenly stopped, and he now lay on his back in a pool of water, gasping and sputtering. He rolled to his side and coughed. His head ached. Slowly, his clothes dripping with the oddly cold water, Marny pushed himself up and climbed to his feet. The stairs were back to normal, the upstairs quiet. No water, no footsteps, no creaking floorboards, no rattling pipes. Water had pooled at the bottom of the steps and worked its way into the hallway and living room. It was already starting to recede, as though the floor was soaking it up.

  But this was not the same house. Marny shook his head, smoothed back his hair. Something was definitely wrong. The foyer was different, the hallway, even the staircase. Had he hit his head that hard? Within seconds the water was totally gone and the floor dry, as if the whole staircase thing had been a dream.

  “William.” If he could find the wonder boy, that would add credibility to what he saw, but there was no answer. “William.” Still nothing.

  Marny walked to the living room and stood in the archway. He hitched in a breath. No, this was in no way Harold’s house. It was his house, Marny’s. The sofa, the chairs, the Barcalounger situated in front of the T V, the braided rug, and the coffee table with the broken leg. This was the house Marny lived in as a kid with his mother and Karl.

  Behind him a voice said, “Hey, Bustah, you gonna do somethin’ or just stand there like a meathead?”

  Chapter 53

  THE FIRST ROOM Gary came to was a bedroom.

  The bathroom where the water ran and ran was beyond that. A steady stream exited the doorway, meandered down the hallway, and rounded the corner at the steps. The light was on in the bathroom, an odd white light that looked more like natural sunshine than anything that originated from a bulb. It flickered almost imperceptibly, like the slight variations of candlelight.

  He stopped at the bedroom, gun out in front. The door was closed. He should check every room, clear the second floor before heading back downstairs. He placed one hand on the glass doorknob, then quickly snatched it away. It was covered with frost.

  An involuntary shiver rippled through his body. The temperature in the house had plummeted. His breath clouded as soon as it left his mouth. It was nearly summer; where had this sudden drop in temperature come from? It wasn’t unlikely for Maine to get an unexpected, fast-moving cold front from Canada, even in June, but this was ridiculous.

  But he knew where this arctic chill came from, didn’t he? It was the sign of death. Death had entered the house and brought with it the cool winds that beat from the wings of the soulless.

  At the door, one hand on the knob again, Gary whispered a prayer of protection, fished the cross from under his shirt, and kissed it. He turned the knob and opened the door all the way.

  He was not at all prepared for what he found. The place was set up like a funeral parlor. The carpet and walls were burgundy. The windows on the far end were covered by thick drapes, allowing no light from the outside world to penetrate the gloomy space. A single chandelier hung from the middle of the ceiling, crystal and ornate. Its soft light cast an ominous glow over the room, as if it were in a losing battle with the darkness. Straight-backed chairs lined the walls, and at the far end, in front of the windows, stood a casket. It was black and glossy with brass trim and perched on a pedestal. But there was something strange about it, something not quite right. Its size … it was smaller than a standard casket, more like a child’s.

  Gary took one step into the room and forgot about the arctic temperatures in the hallway. This room was warm and muggy, and the smell of old wood and dust was in the air.

  When he stepped over the threshold, the door slowly closed and clicked shut. But Gary barely heard it; he was so intently focused on the casket. Something about it was familiar. As he drew closer, taking each step slowly and deliberately, the gun in his hand felt heavier and heavier, and he finally released it and let it fall to the carpet. He had no need of it in a place like this. Death was already here.

  Halfway across the room he noticed the flowers surrounding the casket. There were only a couple arrangements, and they were both made entirely of lilies.

  Lilies.

  Why did he know lilies?

  Again, that feeling of familiarity overcame him. He looked about the room again, feeling as though he’d been there before. But he’d never been to Harold’s house.

  Something caught his eye that brought memories back in a rush. Behind the casket, behind the flowers, folded and propped against the wall, was a wheelchair.

  He knew that chair. He knew the boy who once occupied it.

  He’d reached the casket by now and stood before it. Though the temperature in this room had to be near eighty, his hands and feet felt cold and tingly. The cross resting against his chest, over his heart, felt heavy, almost too heavy to hold, as though he were suddenly supporting an anvil around his neck.

  Gary lifted both hands and rested them on the casket. The wood was smooth, polished to a high sheen.

  He had to do it. With shaky hands Gary lifted the top half of the split lid. His breath caught in his throat.

  Landon. His little brother.

  Gary took a step back but couldn’t pull his eyes from the boy. Landon was only eleven when he died. A tragic accident. Gary’s fault.

  The memory came back then, like the playing of an old movie. He’d been charged with caring for his younger brother, who suffered from cerebral palsy and had been chair-bound since he was old enough to sit. Ga
ry’s father, the Reverend Morris, had said Landon was special, chosen by God to bear this unique blessing. He said Landon was anointed, that he had God’s hand upon him and that his faith was of the purest kind, the kind that would change the world. Because of that, he needed special care and protection. And it was Gary’s duty to fulfill God’s call by protecting God’s anointed.

  For three years Gary never left his brother’s side. But he too was only a child, just three years older than Landon.

  That day came roaring back with teeth and claws flashing. The Reverend Morris had to go out on visitation, had to see the widow Luella Wingert and administer Communion. He’d charged Gary with Landon’s watch, as he did every time he left on visitation.

  “Son, you watch over God’s anointed, care for him as you would for yourself.” He patted Gary on the shoulder and gave it a little squeeze. “As John the Baptizer was for our Lord, so is your calling for your brother. We all have our duties to perform, and yours is among the highest. Your brother will bring healing to the world. He will point them to Christ. Do your service as unto the Lord.”

  And then he was gone, and Gary was alone once again with Landon, his brother, his crippled, chair-bound brother. It wasn’t that Gary didn’t love his brother; he did, more than anything. And it wasn’t that he was jealous of the attention his father showed Landon, especially after their mother had died; he wasn’t. In fact, Gary truly believed there was something special about Landon. The boy was innocent and kind, never spoke a harsh word, never showed even a shadow of selfishness. He was special; he was anointed.

  For Gary the problem was that he too was only a kid, just fourteen. He wanted friends, he wanted to go out on his own and explore the forest and run through fields, maybe join the baseball team, go camping. But he could do none of that. He was charged with watching Landon, his little brother, the anointed.