Hope House Chronicles volume II: The Possession

by Michael Bray

  Vanessa walked away from the house, kicking her feet through the carpet of leaves on the ground. It was a chilly day, even with blue skies and the sun shining. She walked to the side of her house and looked up at her bedroom window, trying to imagine if there was any possible way the wind could have blown open the window the previous night. She knew there wasn’t of course. It was impossible, but she looked anyway, hands in pockets, neck craned as she stared up at the window. It was then that she realised she was standing in the same place and adopting the same pose as the man she had seen in her dream. The shudder that came next wasn’t from the cold. She could almost imagine seeing herself at the window, looking down in a bizarre mix of reality and dream. She looked away, wanting no part of it. It wasn’t something she wanted to think about. She continued around the house to the back and the sloping garden. Her father hadn’t cut it back yet, and the grass was long and swayed in the wind. At the bottom of the sloping garden she could see the river flowing from right to left, appearing like a vein from the forest before winding under the short bridge then back into the trees. She made her way closer to it, the grass leaving wet dew smears on her shoes. She walked to the bridge, sitting on it and letting her feet hang over the short drop to the water, which gurgled past. She liked the water. The sound was soothing, and for the first time since they moved into the house, there was a true sense of peace. As she stared into the water at the moss covered rocks and stones, she knew it was deeper than it looked. Clear water like this, she knew, was both cold and deep. The last thing she wanted to do was to fall in. She looked back towards the house, an ugly exclamation point that she thought ruined the beautiful scenery. It was dark and ugly, the windows hiding whatever secrets lived within its walls. She turned to the other direction, to the deeper woods and the mysteries they held.

  Like that clearing you saw.

  The voice in her head that said it didn’t sound like the usual one she relied on to get her through the day. It was different, alien somehow. Vanessa stared into the trees, the tangle of branches, much like the windows of the house, betraying none of their secrets. She stood on the bridge, torn between returning to the house or exploring. She had a rough idea where to look if she were intending to find the clearing, even if she wasn’t entirely sure it was something she wanted to find. Even so, it was enough to make her curious enough to cross the rest of the bridge and go deeper into the forest.

  There was a natural path, a rut of dirt which curved its way up the gentle rise and deeper into the trees, which took away some of her fears about getting lost. With a trail to follow, she walked with confidence, stepping over roots and navigating hard ground. She had already decided that she would follow it at least a little of the way to see where it went. Her father said there was nothing out here for miles, and she was hoping to maybe see some deer or other wildlife. Even though it was darker under the cover of the tree canopy, it also felt more alive. Chorus upon chorus of birds sang. Bees went about their business ready for the coming of summer. The ambiance brought her peace, and she allowed her mind to wander back to the idea of her parents divorcing, an idea that didn’t entirely repulse her. If it came down to it and she had to choose, it was an obvious option. It would be her father. He at least was fair and tolerant, and seemed to actually care about her opinion, which couldn’t be said about her mother, who was stubborn, bitter and self-obsessed. Vanessa tried to remember the last time she was truly happy, but the memory, if it existed, wasn’t there. It was gone, lost like everything else from her old life when they had moved to the house in the middle of nowhere. Ahead of her, the ground evened off, and the light was better. She walked up the gentle rise, making sure to be careful she stayed on the track. As she reached the top, she froze, realising where she was.

  The clearing was a perfect circle. Vanessa stood on its edge, letting her eyes follow the circumference and understanding what nature’s intent had been. In theory, the surrounding trees should be reaching into this space and stretching for the unobstructed light, and yet they had a completely different reaction. They curved back on themselves, preferring instead to fight for dominance within the rest of the forest than encroach on this space. The ground in front of her was bare earth, yet immediately to her left and right on the outside of the circumference of the clearing, thick grasses and brambles thrived. She watched as a bee buzzed in front of her face, drifting from side to side at the threshold of the clearing then changing direction and going back into the forest the way she had come. She wasn’t surprised. This place, she knew, had nothing to do with nature, and so followed none of its rules. Fear and curiosity battled for dominance, each giving a thousand reasons for and against going further. In the end, curiosity won, and she stepped into the clearing and left the forest behind.

  Silence.

  Not a gradual decrease in volume, but a sudden thing as if the volume of the forest and its inhabitants had been turned all the way down. Only the sound of her own breathing punctuated the stillness. She was warm, cheeks flushing. It was hard to breathe; the air seemed heavy, too thick. Her eyes traced the edges of the clearing again, her mind imagining she could see movement in the darkness, stealthy black things changing position on the very edge of visibility. Her palms were stinging, and when she glanced at her hands she saw she was clenching her fists. She relaxed, watching the little white crescents where her fingernails had been, fill up with blood. Even the pain felt distant. She looked again into the trees, trying to focus on what it was that was out there watching her. The voice in her head, the one that any only child will know is their best friend, was for once silent. Instead, there was another voice spewing poison words that left a dirty trail behind. They spoke to her silently, and she was powerless not to listen. They told her to wait and listen to what they had to say. She would give them a few minutes, just long enough to see what was hiding in the trees. As she looked for it, they began to speak.

  ***

  Vanessa didn’t remember leaving the clearing. She walked back through the trees, exhausted and with a headache raging in her temples. Her stomach cramped with hunger and her throat was dry. She needed rest, food and drink and absently considered that she may be coming down with some kind of illness. She had never been so tired, never known such absolute exhaustion. The river was close, and soon enough she was back at the bridge, the house looming ahead of her, just as ugly as ever. For once, Vanessa didn’t care. She needed to sleep, just to lie in her uncomfortable bed and rest. She shuffled across the bridge, every step a herculean effort. By the time she had reached the side of the house, she was sweating and woozy. She reached the front of the house and stopped. There was a police car parked in the driveway. She wondered if one of their arguments had finally gone too far and things had become violent. It wouldn’t surprise her, even if she didn’t expect to see it so soon. Vanessa opened the door and went inside, staring at her parents who were sitting hand in hand on the sofa, the police officer in the chair opposite, notebook flipped open. Vanessa knew her mother had been crying. Her eyes were red and her makeup was streaked down her cheeks. There was a second of silence as all three adults stared at her, then an explosion of noise and activity as her mother and father rushed at her, hugging her, kissing her on the head and asking question after question in a hopeless blur of noise she could never possibly hope to answer.

  “I just want to get a drink,” she said, pulling free of their embrace.

  “Where were you? Where have you been?” her mother shrieked, dabbing her eyes with a crumpled tissue.

  “I just went for a walk,” she replied. It was the last thing she remembered before she passed out, her father catching her before she could hit the ground.

  SIX

  Vanessa opened her eyes, waiting for them to focus. She was in her bed, sunlight trying in vain to fill the room with its warmth from the single side window. The headache was still there but she at least felt well rested. Her father was at the door, talking to an older man she didn’t recognise. He was skinny
and carried a brown case. When he moved, his watch caught the light of the sun and hurt her eyes. She turned away and stared at the wall, trying to rebuild her hazy memories. The older man left, Vanessa’s mother talking to him as she showed him out, putting on her polite caring voice.

  “How are you feeling?” her father asked as he came into the room and sat on the foot of the bed.

  “Tired and confused. Why is everyone making such a big fuss? Why were the police here?”

  “You really don’t remember anything?”

  Vanessa shook her head. “I just went for a walk.”

  “You’ve been gone for two days.”

  Vanessa stared at her father, trying to put everything together. “That’s not possible. I’ve only been gone an hour at most.”

  “No, you haven’t,” he replied, shaking his head. “We had no idea what had happened to you.”

  She looked away from him, staring at the wall, wondering if she should tell him that she had no idea either.

  “Where were you, Vanessa? What happened?”

  “I’m tired,” she said, still not able to look at him. “I just want to get some sleep.”

  “Alright, you get some rest,” her father said, leaning forward and kissing her on the head. “But we are going to talk about this, understood?”

  Vanessa nodded.

  “Alright, then get some rest.”

  Her father left the room, closing the door after him. Vanessa lay there, trying to figure out what had happened. She wasn’t tired, not at all. Sleep was the last thing on her mind. She wanted to know where the missing two days had gone. She didn’t remember leaving the clearing in the woods, but couldn’t imagine she had spent two full days there, even if the evidence said she had. She recalled how hungry and thirsty she was when she was walking home, how tired. Could it be possible that it was because she had spent the last two days in the clearing? She wasn’t sure. She stared at the floor, trying to put it all together, and without realising it was going to happen, fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  ***

  Pam lit a cigarette and exhales smoke into the already hazy atmosphere of the kitchen. “Is she getting out of bed today?”

  “She’s tired. Let her rest.”

  “It’s been three days since she came back and she’s hardly been out of bed. Don’t you think we deserve and explanation?”

  Bill stared at his wife, not wanting to get drawn into another argument but knowing it was unavoidable. He knew the mood, recognised well enough when she was looking for a fight. “We’ll get one. The doctor said she needs rest.”

  “Rest,” she said, shaking her head and exhaling more smoke. “Time to make up excuses. That one knows she has you wrapped around her little finger.”

  “At least she won’t resent me.”

  Pam looked at him, glaring through the smoky haze. “Unlike me, you mean.”

  “I didn’t say that,” Bill snapped.

  “You were thinking it. You think I don’t know you’re the favourite?”

  “Don’t start, Pam. I’m not in the mood for this.”

  “No, I think we need to get this out in the open. You think I’m stupid but I see it, the way you and her talk, the way you side with her so she’ll hate me.”

  “She doesn’t hate you.”

  “She does. You both do. Just because I try to instil a little discipline. A little stability.”

  “I don’t hate you, Pam. You frustrate me, but I don’t hate you.”

  “And you frustrate me,” she said, stubbing out her cigarette in the overstuffed ashtray and immediately lighting another. “You drag us all out here to the middle of nowhere and expect to be treated like some kind of hero. You got ripped off. Our old house was better.”

  “We couldn’t keep our old house because you spent all the mortgage money,” he snapped, the words escaping him before he could stop them.

  Pam looked away, staring at the cooker, then back at him, face screwed up in hatred. “Don’t you dare blame me for this. I had a problem, an addiction. You can’t keep blaming me.”

  “And you can’t keep complaining about being here. This was all we could afford; I’m doing the best I can.”

  “You-” Pam stopped talking, watching as Vanessa walked into the kitchen. Bill also watched their daughter.

  “You feeling any better yet honey?” Bill asked.

  Vanessa ignored them, eyes focused ahead of her. She walked to the old pantry door and unlatched it.

  “Don’t go in there; I haven’t cleaned it out yet. There’s loads of old junk from the people who lived here before we did,” Bill said.

  His daughter ignored him. She opened the door and stared at the boxes and furniture stacked in the small one time pantry.

  “Vanessa?” Bill said, sharing a quick glance with Pam.

  Still she ignored them both, her eyes scanning the dusty, mildew smelling boxes. She reached out and took one, its sides soft with rot. She tossed it onto the kitchen floor.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Pam said, striding across the room and grabbing Vanessa’s wrist before she could take the next box.

  Vanessa was pale, her hair greasy and sticking to her head in listless clumps. Mother and daughter locked eyes, mirror images of each other.

  “I asked you a question. What do you think you are doing?”

  Vanessa grinned and opened her mouth, releasing the spider that was in there. It scurried over her cheek and down her neck, before falling off onto the floor and scurrying into the open cubby. Pam stepped back, removing her hand from her daughters arm and staring at her with unhidden repulsion.

  “Hell is empty, and all the devils are here,” she said, staring her mother down.

  “What do you mean? What are you saying?” Pam said, unable to hide the fear.

  “He cut them up and still couldn’t find the voices,” she replied, shifting her eyes towards her father who was still sitting at the kitchen table and watching everything unfold. “People die in this house.”

  She turned and went back the way she had come, slowly walking back upstairs. Pam and Bill didn’t move, listening to her footsteps diminish and her bedroom door open and close.

  SEVEN

  Pam snapped awake and lay in the dark, listening to the silence of the house. Bill lay beside her on his side, still sleeping. She hated how dark it was out here in the country. There were no streetlights in the way there used to be back in the city. Here, the darkness was total, and the room was a shadow draped landscape. She looked at the door, holding her breath and straining to hear.

  A scratch, a repetitive sound but one that was definitely there. She shook her husband, speaking as loudly as she dared. “Bill, wake up.”

  He grunted and turned over onto his back, but didn’t wake. She was about give him another nudge in the side when she heard it again. A scratching sound coming from somewhere in the house. She shook Bill again, this time rousing him from his sleep.

  “What is it? What’s happening?” he muttered, propping himself up on his elbows.

  “I can hear something. A noise,” she said, straining to hear it again.

  “What kind of noise?”

  “Scratching. A scratching sound.”

  “Go back to sleep. It’s probably just the wind,” Bill said, turning back onto his side.

  “It’s not the wind. Just listen.”

  She lay there in the dark, straining her ears for it. “There. Did you hear it?”

  Bill sat up, propping himself on his elbows. “Yeah, I did. What the hell is that?”

  “Someone trying to break in?” Pam said, staring at the door.

  “No I don’t think so it-”

  “There it is again,” Pam cut in. “Go see what it is.”

  “It’s probably nothing,”

  “You’re scared.”

  “No I’m not.”

  “Then go look.”

  “You go look,” Bill snapped.

  “You’d send me down there
on my own in the dark to see what the noise is. That’s a new low, Bill, even for you.”

  “Fine, I’ll go look,” he said, swinging his legs out of bed and stepping into his slippers. “What are you doing?” he said as Pam also got up, pulling on her robe.

  “I’m not staying up here on my own.”

  Bill considered arguing the point, and then decided it wasn’t worth it. He moved quietly to the door, opening it and standing on the threshold staring at the dark hall beyond.

  “What are you waiting for?” Pam asked.

  “Nothing. I’m just listening.”

  They both heard it again, clearer now that they were outside the bedroom.

  “Sounds like it’s coming from downstairs,” Bill whispered, inching down the hallway towards the staircase. At the top, he paused again.

  “What is it now?” Pam whispered behind him.

  “Should we turn on the light?”

  “I don’t know, what do you think?”

  “I think it can’t harm. If anyone is down there, it would make them run.”

  “I thought you said it was the wind?”

  “It probably is the wind, I just…. It pays to be cautious.” Without waiting for a reply, he flicked the switch on the wall, illuminating the upper hallway and the sitting room below. They both stood there listening, but there was no movement, no rush of activity. Just the same scratching sound which was so completely out of place. Bill hesitated, staring at the staircase.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” Pam said, her breath hot in his ear.

  “Nothing. I’m just….” Scared. That was what he wanted to say, but he knew he would never hear the end of it. He was supposed to be the man of the house, the protector and provider. Not some meek man who had become trapped in a life he didn’t want with a woman he was sure he hated.

  “This is stupid,” Pam said, shoving past him and stomping down the steps. “Let someone with a backbone take over. It’s obvious you don’t want to.”