by Sarah Dalton
“No,” I say. I force myself to say it as firmly as I can. “Lacey would never kill. She’s a good person.”
“I was once. Oh, yes, I was a good person, too. I had a family. I had children. And do you know what happened?”
I shake my head, my gaze still following the shape of my mother as she walks across the room. Behind my back I carry on trying to loosen the knots. My fingers are raw but I’ve managed a slight improvement.
“Slaughtered. All of them. But not me. I lived. Why? Why take some and not others? The world makes no sense. The world is a lottery of complete indifference. If you ever thought there was a design or a maker, think again. The innocent die, the guilty die. Everyone suffers in the end.”
“They die because people like you kill them. You’re what’s wrong with this world, not the absence of destiny. You. I won’t rest until I’ve rid the world of dark spirits like you.”
Mum’s smile widens. She stops pacing and stands by the candle. “Is that venom aimed at me? Or is it aimed at your dear old mum? After all, you’ve just found out how she stuck you in a loony bin for no reason whatsoever.”
“She had her reasons,” I reply. “She blocked it all out. She must have.”
“Are you sure about that? Are you sure you didn’t remind her of a time she’d rather forget? She never told you about trying to drown her sister, did she?”
The blood drains from my face. My fingers stop working the rope. “You’re lying. She would never hurt a fly.” The woman puts a glass over insects and waits for Dad to come home, for God’s sake.
“Susan is pleased that you don’t believe me. She wants you to keep thinking of her as a good person. But Susan is not a good person. She tried to drown her little sister out of jealousy, out of mixed-up—”
“She was possessed,” I interrupt. “It wasn’t her.”
“It was her.” Mum’s lips turn up in a snarl.
“No, it wasn’t. None of this is her fault. None of it. She was violated as a child by a spirit like you and then made to feel like she was crazy.”
Mum comes closer to me, leans in. Her eyes are dark orbs. “And then she did it to you.” She traces the length of my scars with her finger. “If she hadn’t put you in that psychiatric ward, you never would have been in that fire. Just think about that for a moment.”
“She was only trying to protect me. Mum, if you’re in there, I forgive you. It doesn’t matter. I don’t blame you for sending me to Magdelena and I never did. You did the right thing. You made the same choice I would have made if it was me. Mum, I love you. I forgive you. Please, please come back. I know you’re in there. Please.”
The black fades for an instant and her expression changes. “Mary?”
“Mum, Mum! I’m here. I’m going to get that thing out of you—”
A swipe of a paw knocks me sideways. The chair topples and I land heavily on my side. But as I fall, the ropes scrape against the stone floor, loosening the knots around my wrists. As she pulls the chair up, I’m careful to keep my hands together, but they are nearly free.
“Enough of this bullshit,” Mum says. She turns to Miss Stevens. “It’s time to get me inside a body with true power. Let’s begin the ritual.”
Miss Stevens watches me with her shadowy eyes. “Dark One, I am ever your servant.” She stands and floats towards me. “What is it you want me to do?”
“Stay close to her,” Mum says. “She can’t move or get away while the ritual begins. And whatever happens, keep her away from the Athamé.”
I watch them with interest. Whatever they’re about to do, my Athamé can stop it. What I don’t know is whether it will hurt Mum in the process. I would rather the Dark One took me instead.
The imposter wearing my mother’s skin comes closer to me and puts her hands on either side of my head. Miss Stevens moves behind me. I sense her shadowy form like an electrical field. The black orbs of the Dark One stare at me, empty and devoid of colour. On the chair behind Mum lies my Athamé. Despite it being only a few feet away it may as well be a hundred miles. My arms are more or less free, but the bloody grip of the possessed spirit has me tight around the skull. I’ve already had first-hand experience with its grip. I’m not confident I could wrestle it away.
Behind me Miss Stevens lets out a sigh and says, “Do it. Do it, Dark One.” I feel the crackle of her form against my skin. I work at my wrists, hoping that Miss Stevens is so preoccupied by her precious Dark One that she doesn’t notice.
From her bloodied fingers to my skull, power emanates from the being in front of me. The sight of my mother’s face brings me close to tears, and yet the beast within compels me to recoil. My insides squirm in turmoil. My inner child cries out for a return to normalcy. As Mum’s face comes closer to me, bringing with it the stench of rotting flesh, I close my eyes and think of Sunday morning breakfast, Christmas dinners, trips to the zoo, the seaside, European holidays, the first day at secondary school, the day Mum told me I would have to stay in hospital until my mind healed itself. No, this is no good. I need to open my eyes and stop this.
The swarm returns. It streams from her eyes and nostrils, floating up and around our heads. It’s a never-ending torrent of tiny black flecks buzzing and throbbing in the air. My chest heaves as the swarm surrounds me. There’s an itch at the back of my mind, crying out to be scratched.
“No,” I say. “I won’t let you in!” I work desperately at the ropes behind my back, trying to hook my fingernail into the last knot. Just one more.
The walls tremble. They flex and pulse with the spirits of Ravenswood, the many murdered and destroyed souls taken by the Dark One haunting its corridors for over a hundred and fifty years. Faces, arms, hands, torsos, they all press through the brick, trying to break through. Still those fingers dig into me. The swarm flows from Mum towards me, searching for my eyes, my nose. I shake my head, faster, faster. I squirm away from them, fighting against the Dark One holding me in place.
The last knot loosens. I lift my head as a spirit pushes its way through the wall. She’s young, with blonde hair and a grey hoody. My heart soars.
Lacey.
She puts a finger to her lips.
More ghosts force their way through the bricks, falling into the room. Some have gaunt, haunted expressions. Others wear their injuries, red smiles across their throats, clothes stained with blood. There are two girls, broken and bruised, holding hands.
Liza and Lottie.
My relief lasts less than a second. The swarm gathers around me, pushing through my mental barriers. Some of the dark trickles up my nose, and I sense the power oozing into my body. It’s intoxicating, energising. I long to give in, to surrender myself.
Then Liza hums the tune from her music box, and the anger returns. I shake myself, pulling my arms free from the ropes, squirming against Mum’s grip. I look up to her, really looking into her eyes.
“I know you’re there, Mum,” I say. “I know you are. Take control. You can do it. You’re stronger than this. Take control of your body.”
The Dark One laughs through her. “Do you think it’s that easy?”
I ignore it and talk to Mum. “You can do this. You don’t want to hurt me.”
Behind Mum, Lacey lifts the Athamé. I bring my hands down to my sides, ready to take the knife from my friend.
I could imagine it, or it could be real, but it seems as though Mum’s fingers loosen their grip, and the swarm begins to break up, spreading through the air. The spirits swat at it like flies, growling and snarling.
“Mary?” Mum says.
My heart swells with hope. Her fingers drop from my skull and I rush forwards as Lacey throws me the knife. I catch it by the blade between two hands, clumsy but effective, and lucky not to lose a finger in the process. Liza nods to me, encouraging me. She understands what I have to do. I grab hold of Mum’s hand and I plunge the knife into the floor of the cellar.
Chapter Twenty-One
I thrust the knife through the concrete
and a bright light bursts from the hilt. A strong gust of wind surges through the room, forcing the spirits towards the Athamé. A woman in Victorian clothes screams as she’s pulled into the light. Her wide eyes are white and desperate as she claws against the floor. She’s followed by a man, his neck scarred with rope burns. He turns anxiously to Liza and Lottie, and then he looks at me.
“Thank you,” he says.
“Mary!”
I jerk my head to the left. Lacey grasps hold of the wall with her fingernails, her hair streaming out behind her. The Athamé is pulling her into the otherworld. My heart pounds against my chest in panic.
“Hold my hand!” I call.
“I can’t,” she says. “I won’t be able to touch you.”
“Yes you can. You just have to concentrate.” I let go of the knife and hold my hand out to her.
Lacey stares at the wall in horror as she’s pulled away. Two more ghosts are sucked into the abyss as Lacey is dragged back by the magic of the knife. I hold my hand out to catch her, but her ethereal form floats straight through me.
“Lacey!” I scream.
She thrusts out her other hand and I reach out with my own. We connect, and I’m very nearly blown away by the current of electricity that jolts through me, but we connect and I’m holding onto her.
“I’ve got you!” I shout over the wind.
The swarm of black still gathers above me, scattered now, finally weakened. Half of it has been dragged into the otherworld but the rest resists the pull. Liza tilts her head to the ceiling. I see a girl with an expression far wiser than any young girl should have, a girl who has faced her darkest fears and accepted them with forgiveness. Her beauty shines from within and my heart aches at the thought that she will never grow up. What a woman she could have been.
“It’s going,” Liza says. “It will leave you alone now.”
“Look after your big sister,” I reply. “And thank you, for everything.”
She smiles at me. “Thank you for reading my story.”
Both Liza and Lottie are pulled into the knife. I hope… I want them to be at peace.
But it’s not over yet. The last remaining source of the Dark One still tries to scratch at my mind. The swarm is relentless.
“Stay strong,” Lacey says, watching the swarm with a wary expression.
On my opposite side, Mum sits quietly. Her hand is like a block of ice in mine. She stares out to nothing.
“Mary!”
My head whips around. Lacey is losing her grip on me; she’s being pulled towards the knife. A shadowy figure has latched onto her, trying to haul her away.
“It’s the governess. Kick her off you,” I urge. “Keep concentrating on my hand.”
Lacey’s brow furrows as she concentrates. Her legs flail out in panicked, messy kicks, striking Miss Stevens in the jaw.
“She’s a weak ghost,” I say. “You can overpower her.”
The swarm dances in the air, distracting me. It’s hypnotic, and still pulses with the last of its power. As the itch at the back of my mind grows stronger, I’m weakening, longing to let it in. Tired and weary of the fight. I shake my head and focus. Lacey. I must help her. I tighten my grip on her hand, but her corporeal form fades.
“I can’t hold on,” she says faintly.
I glance from my left hand holding Mum, to my right hand holding Lacey. If I let go of Mum, will she end up sucked in, too? Dragged away by the Dark One? I slowly try to stand, pulling both ghost and human to their feet. Mum’s head falls forward, her hair covering her eyes. I don’t know if she’s herself or not.
Whatever happens, the swarm must go into the Athamé, but it’s still attached to me. And while Miss Stevens is holding things up, it won’t go in.
“Lacey, wrap your arms around my waist. Concentrate hard as you can.”
She moves down, and static electric cracks and sparks against me. Her arms pull tight around my waist, and for the first time I feel a little weight.
“That’s good. Keep concentrating.” Somehow we need to loosen Miss Stevens from her, and make sure the swarm goes into the Athamé. “Kick out,” I instruct. “Kick as hard as you can.”
With Lacey virtually floating in mid-air, Miss Stevens hangs from her feet. I see her power weakening. Her features dissolve into a grey blur as the shadow takes over. Lacey kicks out and Miss Stevens lets out a cry as she loses an inch on her grip.
“Again!” I shout.
Once more, and Lacey slams her foot into the governess’s face. The long, grey fingers of Miss Stevens slip from Lacey’s form, and she’s dragged into the Athamé. I hurry up, pulling Lacey away from the knife.
“Keep concentrating,” I tell her. “It’s not over yet.”
Bit by bit the swarm is pulled into the Athamé, gradually losing its power with each particle lost. It tries to gather and pulse, but too many of the pieces are dragged into the knife. My body senses its strength ebbing away, and in turn my own energy increases. But it isn’t the same as being taken by a spirit, it’s a feeling of enlightenment, or heightening of the senses. I’m more aware than I’ve ever been. My instincts are in tune with the spirit world. I realise, deep down, that we’ve won the fight. I don’t know where the swarm will go, and I don’t know whether it will face judgment for what it’s done here. Perhaps the Dark One will be at rest now, will revert back to the family man he once was. Or otherwise he will sleep.
As the last of the swarm is pulled into the swirling light, a huge weight lifts from my shoulders. For one brief moment the shape of a man is shown through the light. He’s short, with knotted hair, wearing simple clothing that suggests an ancient time. His eyes shine with dark mischief, but aside from that he seems like a regular man; a man who was once a good person.
That should be it, now. Our job is done. Yet the Athamé won’t shut off.
“What’s wrong?” Lacey says, her head buried in my side.
“The Athamé is still going,” I reply. “It must sense that you’re here.”
“You can’t let it take me,” she urges. “I can’t hold on much longer.”
“Try and feed off my strength,” I say. “Keep concentrating. I’m going to pull the Athamé from the floor.”
“No, you can’t. You can’t get that close. It’ll take me.”
“You’re strong enough, Lace.” I glance at the swirling light, hoping I’m right.
I let go of Mum. I saw the Dark One leave our plane of existence, so she’s safe now. Aware of how Lacey is still being pulled, I try to walk and turn so that I’m between her and the Athamé. It shines as bright as fireworks in the cellar, lighting up even the most shadowy crevices. We move slowly together, and I’m aware of how close Lacey has come to being taken away forever. I don’t want to let that happen. For the last few months I’ve wondered whether she should stay and what it might do to her if she does. But now, in the moment when she could easily be taken away from me, I want to fight for her. I want to fight for her right to move on when she says she’s ready.
Her fingers slide from around my middle. “Hold on!” I shout.
I bend down as Lacey’s form gets lighter and lighter.
“I can’t hold it anymore.” Lacey lets out an almighty scream as I reach out for the Athamé.
She’s being pulled through me, through my body, and my skin is alive with electricity. I grab the knife and yank it from the floor just as Lacey falls through my body onto the flagstones. She looks up at me with wide eyes and dishevelled hair.
“I thought I was a goner,” she says.
My mouth is hanging open. “That was close. Too close.”
Lacey nods, dumbfounded.
There’s a thud behind me and I spin on my heels to see Mum hit the ground. I rush to her side and lift her up, tucking the knife into my jeans to keep it safe.
“What’s wrong?” Lacey’s form jerks to my side.
The stench has gone, and the dark eyes, too, but Mum is still very pale, weak and bruised. Her head lolls
forward as I hold her. Mum is taller than me, and slightly heavier. I can’t hold her for long.
“Take her to Emmaline,” Lacey says. “Or a hospital.”
“Mum? Mum?” I say. “Can you hear me?”
She lets out a low groan. “Mary?”
“You need to walk with me. One step at a time.” I ease her forward.
Her face is pinched and frail. As we make gentle progress across the cellar, she seems like a smaller version of herself, not the resilient woman I’ve always known. A woman of strength, sometimes too much strength, has been reduced to weakness in the most devastating way possible. While the Dark One possessed her, he taunted me about her character. I don’t care about any of that. All I care about is her returning to my strong, bossy, infuriating mother once more.
Maybe I’ll never get her back. I wipe a tear from my cheek. Maybe this is it.
Each step is torture for her, but I have to get her away from this cellar. I have to. I ease her up, my throat choking with each delicate step.
“What if there’s still some of the spirit in her?” Lacey says from behind me. “We need to take her to Emmaline to make sure. But can she make it that far?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper.
I breathe a sigh of relief as we manage to get to the kitchen. If we can slip out through the conservatory, it’ll shorten the walk to Emmaline’s. We can cut through the trees.
Outside, twilight pushes the sun away. It’s a grey night. My slippered mum holds her ribs as she steps down out of the conservatory into our back garden, gritting her teeth with each movement. I find myself talking constantly, saying things that should be reassuring but aren’t. “Just a little bit further. It’s okay. You’re going to be all right. Not long now. Emmaline will help us. One foot after the other. You can do it. I’m here to help you. Lean on me. Keep going.”
All the time my body trembles with the memories of the spirit wearing my mum, the horrible words that came from her mouth, the way her eyes bulged, bloodshot and dark. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to shake those memories. Will I see them every time I look at her? Will we ever be the same again?