It was exactly as she had dreamed it. The boiler, the bed, the brooms and mops stacked together in the far corner of the room, and one well worn pick axe. It was as if someone had sketched the image in her dream in some sick and twisted prank of the paranormal, Andy Warhol meets Clive Barker in a collage of pop art and horror.
Abby sat shaking in her chair, unable to decide what to do next. Should she follow her dream and strike down the wall with the axe, or should she turn tail and run (or roll) as fast as she could from the basement? The choice was obvious, at least to her. If she struck down the wall Jack would know what she had been up to. Abby turned the chair around and began to roll herself out of the room, away from the horror of her dream. As she began her retreat she felt a presence at the back of her neck. It wasn’t as if someone were there squeezing the back of her neck, but the goose pimples that formed on her arms told a different story. There was an ominous presence and Abby knew exactly from where it came.
The demon had awoken, slowly acknowledging the being that had disturbed its slumber. He could feel her, sense her presence. He arose behind the boiler room wall and forced himself forward, moving quickly, but with purpose. Abby too moved with purpose, rolling her hands end over end on the wheels and moving the chair forward. The squeaking intensified, both in frequency and in volume. She exited the embalming room and began the long journey back down the hallway to the elevator. The overhead light had gone out, and it was pitch black. In her haste and lack of vision she rebounded off the walls several times hitting both sides of the corridor and leaving black streaks where the wheels sloughed off small amounts of rubber. The dust on the walls was also not free from disturbance and small clouds puffed around her making her cough. The chair began to squeak continuously, heightening her fear. Abby could feel the demon behind her, making his way through the darkened corridor with ease, his luminous eyes capable of sight in the absence of light. In her haste Abby did not see the ninety-degree bend in the hallway. The wall collided with her momentum and stopped her instantly. She pitched forward and struck her forehead against the wall hard, opening a six-inch gash that began bleeding profusely. The salty red fluid stung her eyes and her head was pounding with a concussion, making her dizzy. She struggled to remain conscious. Her grasp on reality was slowly slipping away. She turned the chair and resumed rolling with an inner strength that she didn’t know she had. Fearful of colliding with another wall she fumbled with the flashlight in her lap, trying futilely to switch it on while still working the wheels forward. She slammed into the side of the wall again and felt the flashlight jarred loose from her grip. Its plastic casing made a clicking sound as it bounded off the concrete floor behind her. Now Abby was sealed permanently in the darkness.
A scant fifty yards behind her the demon was closing the distance, making up ground with long gangly strides. The rotted putrid flesh on its legs crackled as it moved. In the darkness it was at home and it maneuvered through the hallway effortlessly, intent to reach her before she made the second floor.
At last Abby reached the final stretch of hallway where the elevator sat waiting. She began to see a bit more clearly despite the persistent darkness, and an ironic thought occurred to her. The concussion had dilated her pupils even more than normal in the pitch black, allowing her to see the outline of the walls. No longer concerned with smashing into the sides of the corridor, she increased her speed. At last she saw the soft glow of the elevator light etching its outline in the darkness ahead. She could feel the demon behind her. It was close and getting closer. As the elevator appeared on her left hand side she slammed her palm down hard on the left wheel halting its motion and whipping the chair hard to the left. She was thrown out of the chair by centrifugal force, striking her knees and elbows on the elevator floor. The top layer of skin evaporated under the friction and left her joints burning in the cool air. With her last bit of strength she pulled the chair into the elevator and slammed the gate closed. It clanged eerily as the demon smashed into it, his ghostly mass denting and bending the bars inward. They creaked in protest but held. The demon shrieked again, this time in frustration as it reached through the gate with a long sinewy skeletal arm, hooked claws stopping mere inches from Abby’s face.
It was the first time she had been this close to the demon. She could see the rage and hatred burning hot behind his glowing stare. Their eyes locked, passing information between them too great for words. The adversaries studied each other a moment longer. Abby drew a breath and spoke directly to the demon for the first time.
“I’ll see you in hell fuck face. But not today.”
She pulled the brass lever and the elevator began its ascent. The demon howled again. Abby could feel the vibrations of its voice through the floor as she laid face down trying desperately to regain her breath. A few moments passed and she was able to climb back into the chair. She would not feel completely at ease until she was safely back on the second floor. At the top of the shaft the elevator came to rest with a soft jolt. Abby wheeled herself towards the grand staircase and the rope that jutted down its length from the top banister above. She did not look forward to the climb in her current condition, but her mind took solace in the fact that without anyone to lower the elevator the demon would have to wait patiently in the basement for Jack to return before being able to ascend to the floor above.
Even before the thought had cleared from her head the elevator roared to life one more time. The cables squeaked and the gears clacked together as it began to lower back down to the basement. But that wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be possible. There was no way to call the elevator from below, and only someone pulling the manual lever could start it. But Abby’s eyes told her another story and she watched in horror as the cables lowered the elevator.
She redoubled her efforts and wheeled herself as fast as possible to the staircase. There she plopped herself to the floor a final time and quickly tied the chair to one end of the rope, not taking the time to secure a double knot. She pulled quickly, hand over hand. The chair smacked into each step as it moved upward. Whack! Whack! Whack! In rapid succession it sounded against the oak stairs. And then as it neared the top the unthinkable happened, the knot came loose, and Abby watched as the chair began to fall back down, slowly at first and then with increasing speed. Soon its momentum toppled it backwards and it began to bounce end over end like a racecar in a horrific crash. The clack of the elevator as it reached a stop on the basement floor was overshadowed by the clamor of the toppling wheelchair.
Abby lay helplessly on her stomach as the chair came crashing down on top of her, bouncing off her shoulders before falling to the side, the top wheel turning slowly. Abby dazed by the accident was jarred back into action by the sound of the elevator as it started its ascent. The other end of the rope sat at the top of the stairs where it had come free from her chair. There was no way she could get back up and the demon was slowly rising up the shaft. With no other option Abby did the only thing she could think of, unsure if she had enough strength to accomplish the grueling task. She grabbed the first banister with her hands and began to drag her body up the stairs one at a time. With each step she grabbed the next bar and pulled again, every muscle in her shoulders and back screamed in agony but she would not listen. She was almost three-quarters of the way to the top when she heard the gate slide open and the demon’s crackling strides as it approached the stairs. Then the steps echoed with each hoof fall as it bounded them three at a time. Abby counted the last three stairs as she pulled herself upward in what seemed like an agonizing eternity. One. The demon was close now. Two. Closer still. Three. She pulled herself onto the second floor and began to drag herself along the hardwood. She had gone about ten feet when she felt the demon standing directly over her. It was the end now, she knew, but she refused to die with her back to her killer. In one final act of defiance she flipped herself over and stared the demon in the face one last time. His mouth curled into a horrific grin revealing razor-sharp black teeth dripping with
mucus-like saliva, putrid and yellow.
One large claw swiped down at Abby, streaking in a blur towards her face. Abby closed her eyes and waited for her skin to be ripped from her skull. A moment passed and nothing happed. Petrified but curious she opened her eyes once again to watch the claw come down another time. It passed harmlessly through her body like a puff of cold air. The demon became more enraged and swiped at her repeatedly, each time its claws could not find the flesh it so desperately wanted to slice. It was then Abby realized that the demon appeared translucent, like a hologram projected from an unseen camera. An epiphany dawned on her; the demon was not strong enough. He was weak up here on the second floor. Relief flooded through her and she began to laugh hysterically.
“YOU’RE NOT STRONG ENOUGH!” She shouted in the demon’s face and then began to laugh and cry even harder. “HA, YOU’RE NOT STRONG ENOUGH! YOU’RE WEAK JUST LIKE ME!”
It came out loud and garbled, her speech was barely coherent now due to her injured tongue, but the demon knew all too well what it was she said, and that she taunted him. He swiped a few more times before giving up and resigning himself to the fact that he could not reach her up here. He glared at her for a moment longer before turning and heading back down the stairs. He could here the woman cackling hysterically behind him as he left. She screamed out again, piecing him with her garbled words.
“YOU’RE NOT STRONG ENOUGH YOU BASTARD!”
No I’m not strong enough, not yet, but soon.
He would exercise patience and bide his time. Her chair still sat idle at the bottom of the stairs and he intended to make sure she could not get to it. Darrow would be home soon and perhaps his rage would be great enough that he would finally kill the sniveling insignificant bitch. Besides he might not have to soil his hands with her putrid blood when Jack Darrow just might do the deed for him.
THIRTY-THREE
The letter read:
Abby Darrow
1529 Baker St.
Saltar’s Point, WA 98692
Dear Ms. Darrow,
Recently a lawsuit was filed on behalf of Jefferson county residents with disabilities against Jefferson County for discrimination in their hiring practices. For years Jefferson County has been negligent in the hiring and promotion of people with disabilities for county funded public positions. This negligent behavior is in direct violation of the people with disabilities act passed by federal congress. Jefferson County Superior Court has ruled in favor of the plaintiff, ordering Jefferson County to pay damages to any resident of Jefferson County with disabilities who has suffered either directly or indirectly from these negligent actions.
Even if you have never worked for Jefferson County you may be eligible to collect a portion of the settlement worth in excess of five million dollars. The settlement monies minus legal fees will be divided equally between all qualified respondents. Settlement shares are estimated to be between ten and fifteen thousand dollars.
As legal council for the plaintiff I am in charge of collecting legal signatures for all plaintiffs involved in the suit. Please contact me directly at (800) 555-1846 to obtain information on how to claim your share. I look forward to speaking with you soon.
Best Regards,
Brad Jennings
Jennings, Smith, and Cooper Attorneys at Law LLC
“You think he’ll bite?” Randall said after reading the copy of the letter.
Peterson gave him one of his patented wry looks. “Oh, he’ll bite of course. Greedy son of a bitch like that isn’t going to let the opportunity for free money pass him by. I can guarantee you that.”
Peterson was getting excited. It was hard to tell, but Randall had been around him long enough now to pick up the tiny striations in his voice that belied his calm demeanor. He took a long drag on his cigarette and expelled the smoke in a long wheezing exhalation. The new guy seated at the far end of the Jefferson County Police department conference room table had been introduced to Randall as Detective Ryan Connelly. He was about thirty-two years old with thinning reddish brown hair and a well-kept goatee. Unlike the other detectives who were impeccably dressed in expensive suits and Italian shoes, the young detective wore baggy jeans and a faded Polo shirt that he wore untucked at all times. He was tall, nearly six foot four with a stocky build. Despite his intimidating physical appearance Randall noted that he carried himself with a quiet unassuming manner, not the cocky swank attitude of the other detectives.
Connelly worked undercover, mostly on the drug and gang task force. It was dangerous work, not for the feint of heart. If any undercover operation went bad or if the dealers and gang bangers ever caught him wearing a wire they would kill him, no questions asked. Life was hard on the streets and it took a hard cop to put himself in harm’s way just to take a little hash or meth off of the streets. As a result, under cover cops or UC’s tended to be a little on the dark side. Pessimism by way of experience. Randall couldn’t blame them.
The operation was to go down as follows. Contact information had been provided in the form of a phony business card included in the letter and an eight hundred number set up to a private cell phone just for this purpose. Connelly would pose as the attorney and carry the phone with him at all times. When Darrow made contact he would insist on talking with Abby in person and obtaining her signature in order for her to collect the bogus money. Once inside the mansion he would insist on interviewing Abby separately for legal reasons and attempt to solicit any information that might prove useful to the investigation. In addition Connelly would look for any visual clues or trace evidence that he might be able to collect without arousing Darrow’s suspicions. It was a simple yet strikingly effective plan.
“What do you think Connelly? You’re the one going in.”
Connelly shrugged his shoulders in indifference. “Sounds fine to me. Never played a lawyer before, it should be a nice change of pace.”
“Better than risking your ass in some of those drug dens anyways.” Peterson added between drags of his cigarette. “We’ll wire you up so anything you can get out of either Darrow or his wife will be available for scrutiny later. Of course there really is no way to get a backup car close due to the fact that the mansion has so much private property and any other vehicle would tip him off in a second, so you’ll be on your own.”
“I’ve been in worse situations. I can handle one surly old drunk guy, even if he is a killer.”
“Darrow’s a dangerous man, believe me, and there’s something strange about that place too, it’s a giant maze that’ll give you creeps, so stay vigilant.”
“Look Jackson, this is what I do okay? I can handle it.”
“I hope you’re right, for your sake.”
The nightmares were bad enough, but the daymares were a thousand times worse. They came on suddenly and without warning, flashing out of the blue like a thunderbolt on a clear summer day. At first she was convinced that they were withdrawal symptoms, her body’s way of protesting the lack of chemicals, but when they not only persisted but also became more frequent and intense, Ellie began to get worried.
The last one had been especially vivid. It happened in the kitchen around one O’clock. Randall wasn’t there of course; they never seemed to occur when he was with her. She had been cooking Aiden’s lunch, (a grilled cheese sandwich and a bowl of Campbell’s tomato soup), when she collapsed. As her body trembled in convulsions on the linoleum her mind shook with images in her head. They were never like normal dreams, no dialogue, no interaction, no self-visualization, just a series of images flashed in front of her like a rapid slideshow. It was difficult to describe to anyone and each one was different than the one before, but one thing always remained constant: the image of the little girl horribly disfigured with burns covering her entire body and a woman in a wheelchair held captive against her will.
Aiden had found her this time, the thing she had feared most. He had been playing with his Lego set in the living room when he heard her hit the floor. Immediately he had run t
o his mother’s aid, screaming and trying desperately to wake her. His small hands shook her shoulders and his tears dripped upon her face, but there was nothing he could do to bring her back to reality except to wait for the episode to pass. When she came to she had been gone for fifteen minutes according to the clock on the stove. It had been a fairly short one this time, and for that she was grateful. Aiden’s grilled cheese had morphed into a small lump of coal and the soup had long since boiled over onto the stovetop leaving nothing in the pan but seared black residue that swirled into the air in dry wispy puffs. The smoke detector was blaring, piercing her skull with repetitive blasts of high-pitched shrieks.
“Mommy, are you okay? Mommy?”
Aiden continued to shake her with all of his might. It took her a second to register his voice and then she looked at her son and saw the terror in his eyes. “Yes baby, mommy’s okay. I just had a fainting spell is all.”
She got up from the floor and pulled the food from the stovetop and clicked off the burners, and then she retrieved a dishcloth from a counter drawer and began to fan the smoke away from the detector. It took several minutes before the smoke had dissipated enough for the device to silence itself. The ensuing quiet hung in the air with an eerie disposition. Ellie knelt down and threw her arms around her son. He was cold and rigid and a thin sheen of perspiration clung to his skin making him tremble.
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