by Michael Bray
Baby!
Melody instantly removed her hand from the pointer and stared at the old wooden board. Steve felt a wave of nausea sweep over him, and thought for a horrifying moment that he was actually going to be sick. His heart raced as the pointer moved back to the centre.
“This is our house now. You are not welcome,” he tried to say confidently, but suspected that he wasn’t fooling anyone. They waited for the pointer to move, but it stayed where it was.
“Did you hear me? I said you aren’t welcome here,” he repeated, this time managing to sound at least a little less afraid. Still, the pointer remained motionless.
“Melody, help me out here.”
She shook her head. “No—you promised you would stop if it got weird.”
“We need to see this through, we need to let these things know that we aren’t afraid of them.”
“I am afraid of them,” she said softly.
Steve was about to speak, when the pointer started to move. It spelled a single word.
Out!
“Steve, I want you to stop!” She looked pleadingly at him, but she recognised the look in his eye; it was that same mixture of anger and defiance that she’d seen on only a few occasions, and she knew that even though she was pleading, he wouldn’t stop until he had a resolution of some kind.
“Steve, please,” she said again, and was dismayed to see him flash a confident grin.
“No. This is our house,” he said defiantly. “These things aren’t welcome here. Do you hear me? You aren’t welcome here.”
The pointer moved and spelled the word ‘out’ once more. The atmosphere was charged and heavy. Melody couldn’t shake the feeling of gross intrusion; she felt as if she were being leered at, as if some oozing, oily thing was looking over her shoulder. She hugged herself tightly as Steve continued to communicate with the spirits.
“I don’t care what you did to the other people who lived here before us, but we won’t be bullied out of our own home. Do you understand? You aren’t welcome here.”
He took his hand off the planchette, and saw that it still continued to spell the same word in continuous motions.
“Steve…”
“Hang on Mel, let’s finish this.”
He grabbed the notepad and pen, and quickly began to write.
Spirits of Hope House.
We will not be terrorised by you.
You will not harm us or interact with us.
We are not afraid of you.
You are not welcome here.
He folded the paper, and grabbed the lighter.
“Mel, are you ready?”
She nodded and watched as the planchette continued to move of its own accord. He flicked the lighter into life, and touched the flame to the paper. The edge blackened and then was greedily devoured by the flame. Steve set the paper into the bowl and watched as it began to burn.
“You are banished from this house,” he said loudly and confidently, “you are no longer welcome. You will no longer harm us. You are not welcome here.”
No sooner had the words left his mouth, than the planchette launched itself off the table and across the room, slamming into the refrigerator door hard enough to leave a small nick in the door. It was as if a switch had been flicked, and the suddenly heavy atmosphere seemed to melt away.
“Is that it? Is it over?” Melody asked. She was shaking, and Steve couldn’t blame her, as his own hand trembled in sympathy.
“I… I think we did it.”
“How can you be sure?”
“I’m not, but… it just feels different in here suddenly. Or is it just my imagination?”
“No,” Melody agreed, visibly relaxing. “I sense it too, it’s a lot less… heavy in here. Do you think it’s over?”
Steve considered for a moment. He listened to the house, trying to gauge any sense of the oppressive atmosphere that had plagued the property of late, but found nothing. “I think it is,” he said simply, flashing a relieved grin.
He reached over the table to grab her hands, intending to offer some reassurance, when she stood and came to him, hugging him tightly around the neck. It was such a simple gesture, and one that he realised had been sadly absent from their relationship for quite some time. He pulled her away, and looked at her, reminding himself just how lucky he was to have her.
“I’m sorry that we had to go through all this,” he said softly. “I know it was your dream.”
“It still is, let’s not let this ruin things for us.”
“Agreed. At least after this, we know that nothing can come between us that we can’t overcome.”
She kissed him hard, and he realised that it was something that had been missing from their relationship for almost the entire duration of the time they’d been here.
“Wow, that was unexpected,” he said with a grin as she came up for air. She smiled broadly back at him, and he tried to kiss her but she pushed him away.
“That’s all for now,” she teased. “First I want you to throw that damn Ouija board out.”
“I’d be happy to. How about we have a bite to eat and then get an early night?”
She couldn’t help but laugh at the goofy way that he stood there with his eyebrows arched, and the pair burst into laughter.
“Maybe,” she said playfully, “depends what you go ahead and cook me for dinner.”
“Ah, I know just the thing madam,” he replied in a bad, mock-French accent.
He opened the door, and grabbed the Ouija board off the table. “Damn, have you seen this snow? Pass me the thingy would you?” he said, pointing to the planchette on the floor by the fridge.
Melody did as he asked and then stood and watched as he went out to the waste bin, and dumped both inside. Her breath plumed in the frigid air, and she noted that already the ground was covered in a hefty dusting of the white stuff. Steve came back inside, brushing the snowflakes from his hair.
“Cold out there!” he said as he closed the door.
“It looks like we could be in for a bad one. I hope we don’t get snowed in,” Melody said, giving the skies a concerned glance.
“Nahh, the tree cover over the road should keep it mostly clear. Worst case we’ll have to dig the car out before we go into town.”
“We?” she said, looking at him in mock surprise.
“Sorry, my mistake. You will have to dig the car out before we go…”
She slapped him lightly on the arm, and the two embraced, him behind with his arms around her waist and on her stomach. They watched the snow fall, and Steve kissed her on the top of the head.
“Despite everything that’s happened,” he said softly. “I can’t wait to be a father.”
Melody didn’t reply. Instead, she smiled and felt as if finally, after what felt like an age of panic and stress, that she could relax.
“Come on,” she said, pulling free. Let’s make dinner, then have that early night you mentioned.”
40. DONOVAN’S PATIENCE
DONOVAN WAS PERCHED IN the same tree as before, watching Hope House through his binoculars. The snowfall was heavy, and had a beautiful blue hue under the cover of darkness. The cold, however, didn’t touch him. He was only concerned with tying up the last of his loose ends.
He’d been watching Hope House for the last five hours. He’d barely moved, and was covered in a light dusting of snow. He worried that the combination of snow and nightfall would hinder his observations, but the golden light from inside the house made viewing easy, and he could track their movements well enough through the windows. They’d just finished eating, and were now washing the dishes together.
He looked at them, so happy and content with their lives, and felt that simmering rage begin to grow inside him. People like the Samsons sickened him. How could people live with so much devotion to another human being? Although his own life had been one of abject misery, he at least knew enough to know that he would never be able to engage in what would be termed a ‘normal’ relationshi
p. It would take too much time and effort to keep control of his moments of blind rage at the stupidity of humanity as a whole.
He wondered if it was solely him that saw the world for what it truly was—a cruel, cold place, filled with selfish beasts doing everything they could to make their existence seem even a little bit important.
Still— he thought while adjusting his position and wiping the snow from the binocular lenses— at least it made it easier for him to do what he intended.
He thought of himself as a superhero: by day a mild mannered letting and sales agent, by night, he was Donovan, top of the food chain, a peerless predator who was so intelligent that he could do what no other could. He could get away with murder. He could hide unseen in the shadows, meticulously planning his next move. He did as he pleased, and let nothing stand in his way.
Until recently, he used to think he wanted what everyone else appeared to have, but now understood that everyone else was wrong, and he was right. Like any full-blooded man, he had urges, but if he wanted the warmth of a woman, there were plenty of places where he could pay for the privilege. And if they didn’t like the violent way he liked to do it, then he would make sure they disappeared. It was easy with whores. Nobody ever missed them. Even the inconvenience of disposing of them was better than engaging in the kind of sham that he was looking at right now.
What is love?
It was a question that had been asked through the ages, and even though man had struggled to find it, he knew the answer. Love was bullshit. Love was lies. Love was a sham.
He’d often fantasised about explaining it, picturing himself on a podium speaking to a worldwide audience, telling them how they had it wrong, and that his way of living was a much more enjoyable way in keeping with every other species in the animal kingdom.
It dawned on him, as he sat perched there in the tree, that he could actually be some kind of god. Perhaps he had transcended normal mortality to become some kind of unstoppable force of nature. He liked that idea, and smiled to himself as he checked his watch, and saw that it was almost ten o’clock. If they followed routine, it wouldn’t be long now before they turned in for the night, and he could at last begin.
He had initially decided to kill the husband first, then he’d remembered the needless assault that had been made on him, and decided that he deserved to suffer. He would disable him, perhaps cut his hamstrings and tie him to a chair so that he could watch as he finished the business that he’d started with the wife just a few days before. He smiled at the thought.
No sir. He wouldn’t be paying for the privilege tonight, and would be able to get as violent as he wanted.
After he had finished with the wife in every way that he could think of, he would make sure the husband was done slowly. It dawned on him then that he wouldn’t have to rush. For once he would be able to take his time and really savour the moment.
His attention was drawn back to the house, and as he watched, the lights were switched off, first downstairs and then a little later in the upstairs bedroom. He couldn’t help but smile as the adrenaline surged through him. He wanted to get straight to it, but understood that he had to be patient. He had to give them time to sleep. And that was fine, because it was a beautiful night, and the waiting would only serve to increase the anticipation of what was to come.
He waited
An hour passed and he barely even noticed. He was going through the plan in his mind, meticulously going over each step whilst coaxing the rage to the surface. He would approach the front door and quietly let himself in, remembering that the door started to creak when it was pushed two-thirds of the way open. He had that covered though. A small can of motor oil that he’d found in the dead bartender’s home would suffice to lubricate the hinges enough to kill the noise.
Donovan marvelled at his own sublime genius, and was convinced more than ever that he truly was the greatest specimen of humanity that had ever lived. He felt for the weight of the protective cross given to him by his mother, and felt immortal. Not even the dead could harm him now.
He stretched, opening and closing his hands, trying to get the blood flowing again. It wouldn’t be long now, and his anticipation grew. Soon enough, he would be able to remove the last threat to his own safety, and go back to his unassuming double life. The wind picked up around him, a furious, blustery gale that shook loose snow from the branches. They swayed in unison, and although Donovan was too preoccupied to hear it, it sounded like a furious roar.
41. WHAT IS REAL?
THEY WERE LOST IN sleep. Melody’s was dreamless and deep, her face relaxed and stress-free, while Steve’s were plagued with nightmares. He tossed and turned and kicked at the covers. Despite the cold outside, he was covered in a light sweat as his face contorted with the toil of his terrible visions.
He was dreaming of the circle in the woods. He stood in it alone, his hands and feet restrained by thick black tree roots curling out of the ground. He was aware of the biting cold attacking his skin, and the feeling of hundreds of pairs of unseen eyes glaring at him. There was a man before him, dark-skinned and muscular, wearing animal skins, his lean body daubed with streaks of white paint. His face was adorned with a painted skull, his eyes glowering with a ferocity that frightened him.
The man approached, and although Steve heard the man’s voice, his mouth didn’t move: instead it seemed to come from all around him, from the trees and earth themselves.
“You know who I am?” the man asked in his head.
Steve didn’t know how, but he did. Something told him exactly who this man was and how dangerous the situation, and was about to say it when the man nodded.
“I am of the Gogoku,” came the broken, whispered voices from the trees. “These lands are ours.”
Steve winced away as the man leaned close. The raging winds slammed into him, impossibly appearing to emanate from the Elder. The Gogoku man smiled, and Steve saw that his teeth were filed into sharp points.
“These lands are cursed. These lands are ours.”
Steve flinched at the man’s words, unable to help feeling deathly afraid despite this being a dream, albeit vivid and realistic.
“We didn’t know, nobody told us!” Steve shouted, his voice barely audible above the fury of the elements.
The Gogoku Elder smiled, and even though his lips remained closed, Steve heard his every word.
“You live on the land that was cursed, and cursed you shall become.”
Steve shook his head, and struggled to free himself. “We didn’t know, it’s not our fault!”
“You must feed the earth with blood, as did those who came before.”
“Go ahead,” Steve said, “hurt me if you want to.”
The Gogoku Elder flashed his sharp smile, and Steve heard the words he feared enter his head.
“We demand the blood of the unborn child. And to us it comes.”
With that, Steve found himself back in the bedroom, the journey from the circle happening instantaneously. He was hovering near the ceiling, looking down on himself and Melody. As he watched, she climbed out of bed, her motions slow and robotic. He knew that even though he was dreaming, this was happening in the real world. He screamed at her to wake up, but knew that it was pointless, as he was only there as an observer.
As was the way with dreams, he was transported back to his restraints in the circle. The Gogoku Elder looked at him, and laughed.
***
As Steve tossed and turned in the throes of his nightmare, Melody opened her eyes. She climbed out of bed and walked towards the bedroom door. It swung open of its own accord, allowing her to exit and move down the hallway. She was sleepwalking and heading downstairs, her subconscious mind steering her around the darkness of the house.
She walked to the kitchen, and pulled the large butchers’ knife from the wooden block by the sink. With it in hand, she went to the kitchen door, which unlocked itself and opened. Icy wind and snow billowed in, blowing the oversized T- shirt that she
slept in around her legs. She was oblivious to the cold as she trudged through the ankle deep snow to the bottom of the garden. Behind her, the door closed.
Seconds later, Donovan silently unlocked the front entrance, and edged his way into the house. He paused to allow his eyes to adjust to the gloom, and for the initial surge of adrenaline to pass. He took a moment to dry the soles of his boots on the towel he’d brought with him, another example of him leaving nothing to chance.
Some might not bother, but to Donovan, squelching around a dark house in wet footwear was asking for one of two things. To either be caught, or to fall and have a nasty accident. With his feet dry, he stuffed the rag back into his jeans pocket, and tested his step on the wooden floor. He was pleased. His footfalls were silent, and would go unheard.
He walked to the foot of the stairs, and peered up into the darkness, barely able to contain the excitement of what he was about to do. Slowly, remembering which floorboards were likely to make a noise when stepped on, he made his way upstairs in silence.
42. SURVIVAL
STILL LOCKED IN HIS dream, Steve fought to free himself. The Gogoku Elder smiled, appearing to revel in his struggles. As Steve looked around, more of the Gogoku were coming out of the trees, but unlike the Elder, they were blackened, burned things, shuffling from their hiding places in the woods. They formed a circle around the perimeter of the clearing. As Steve watched in sick fascination and whilst struggling get free, Melody entered the circle, and when he saw what she was carrying, it took the fight out of him.
She had a baby in her arms. Steve watched as she stepped to the centre of the circle and stood beside the Elder. Steve was screaming and pleading with her to run, but she paid him no attention. The Gogoku tribesman stroked the baby’s tuft of back hair, and then with his free hand unsheathed a long curved knife with a serrated blade.