“But I should’ve known. I’m your mother and I should’ve asked, questioned why there weren’t kids hanging out at our apartment.”
“Don’t beat yourself up, Mom. You’re doing fine,” I try to assure her.
“What time?” she asks.
“What time what?” I respond, perplexed.
“What time do you want to go out?” My mother regards me with a peculiar expression.
“Tom wanted to pick me up here at eight.” I watch and wait for her odd expression to contort to one of outrage as soon as she hears I want to go out so late.
Her eyes widen. “Eight! What tine do you think you’re staying out until? It’s a school night!”
“I know. I know,” I say softly. “Uh, I was thinking eleven.” I recoil and my hands fly to my face as if I’m blocking an approaching blow. I squeeze my eyes shut and wait for her to say no. When she doesn’t, I open one eye then the next. My mother doesn’t look upset. To the contrary, her face is smooth, impassive. I cannot read it, in fact, so I plead my case further. “I’ll be home by eleven, not a minute later, I promise.” I rake a hand through my hair. “I’ve never asked you for anything before.” She knows it’s true. I never ask for clothes, money, special dinners. She offers them to me out of pity because she gives so much to Kiera. “You know you can trust me.”
My mother holds my gaze, searching my eyes for several seconds. Her lips tighten and she takes a deep breath, blowing it out silently after her lungs are filled to capacity. “Fine. You can go,” she says.
“Really?” I brighten and am unable to hide my enthusiasm.
“Really. But this isn’t going to be a habit, you understand me?” She levels a flinty gaze my way.
“No, of course not.” I shake my head adamantly then stand. I look down at her and my heart swells. My mother is stronger than any person I know, smart and kind, too. I’m lucky. ‘Thanks, mom. I really appreciate this.” I smile at her and she returns the expression. I walk over to where she sits, bend and kiss her forehead. “You’re the best,” I say and mean it. I turn from her and make my way down the hallway to my room where I proceed to examine the sad contents of my wardrobe.
For the first time, I find myself caring about what I’ll wear, how I’ll smell and what my hair will look like. I lift my arm and sniff my armpit and decide a shower is definitely in order. I head to the bathroom, shower and inspect my face for pimples. Scrubbed and pink from hot water and vigorous washing, I’m proud to see all is clear. I generously apply deodorant then brush my teeth, before returning to my room in just a towel. I search for my cleanest and newest T shirt and jeans then apply gel to my hair. I comb it into a style that resembles what I see guys on television wearing then spritz on cologne from a bottle I received so long ago I wonder whether it retains its scent. When the mist hits my nose and the faint, leathery woodsy scent surrounds me, I know it’s still potent. Ready and as nervous as I’ve been in a while save for life-and-death situations, I check the time and find it’s five minutes to eight. Nerves ramped up to a frenzy, I hear the beep of a car horn and know that Tom has arrived. Taking a deep breath to steel my nerves, I leave my room and rush down the hall. “Bye mom!” I call out as I pass the living room.
“Where’s he going?” Kiera grumbles loudly.
My mother doesn’t respond right away. Instead she looks at me and winks.
“He’s going out on a school night?” She launches to her feet and stomps a foot like an insolent child. “Really?! Ugh! With who?”
I leave hearing my sister grow whinier and whinier. I almost feel guilty leaving my mom behind to endure the brunt of Kiera’s wrath. Though I know if anyone can handle Kiera it’s my mother. Still, I pause for a moment with my hand on the doorknob, debating whether I should go back and at the very least absorb some of the rant that’s undoubtedly underway. After I hear my mom raise her voice and effectively shut down my sister’s tantrum, I turn and head for Tom’s car. The blue Honda Accord has tinted windows so dark I can’t see inside until I open the door. With the dome light on, Steve and Mike are visible. I fist bump each of them and slide into the back seat. Everyone greets each other with a “What’s up, man?” and a nod.
“You ready for this place?” Tom looks over his shoulder at me as he backs out of my driveway. “Rumor has it it’s haunted.”
“Nah, I don’t believe in ghosts,” I hear myself say when in truth, after all I’ve been through in the last month, I’m not sure what exactly I believe and don’t believe.
After about ten minutes of driving, we turn in to a long, gravel driveway that winds and bends, lined by towering stately pines. The trees, with their needled boughs, stand sentinel, watchful and waiting like night watchmen who will whisper in the wind and report to the imposing structure at the end of the lane. A shiver of unease whispers up my spine.
“This is a driveway?” I ask anyone who’ll answer.
“Yeah, the Hanson’s were the richest people in the county a hundred and thirty years ago.”
“Really?” I ask.
“Yup. But money didn’t matter,” Steve chimes in. “All the money in the world couldn’t save that family.”
“What do you mean? Was there a nasty split or something?” I turn and look at Steve but it is Tom who speaks.
“Joseph Hanson murdered his whole family while they slept then did himself in.” He gestures to his head as if striking it with an object. “It’s been said that he’s killed any family who tried to live here, and that anyone who enters is in grave danger.”
Eerie silence blankets the small interior of the car. I wait for someone to laugh or say the punchline. “Oh bull! C’mon guys,” I say with a chuckle.
“Hey man, believe him or don’t believe him,” Mike says. “But it’s true.”
“Satan worshippers have been holding meetings in the house for years,” Steve adds. “Makes for some seriously bad energy in there I bet.”
“Really.” I drawl the word, speaking it softly as I peer out the window. Looking skyward, I watch as the moon is eclipsed by leaden clouds, assembling and advancing like a fleet of warships that set an ominous backdrop for the sprawling chateau in front of me. Light completely snuffed out, the place is awash in gloom. Standing on uncultivated land amid a forest of pines and cedars, I take in the grounds of what resembles a long-since abandoned palace. Rows of trees, dried and lifeless, reach and stretch toward the skyline. Tom lowers his window, his headlights illuminating the scenery and casting shadows that add to its nightmarish quality of all that surrounds us. A stiff, brisk breeze blows, slicing through the brittle growth and emitting a mournful bay, whistling and shrieking as it passes through trees and broken windows. Razor-sharp spires pierce the heavens and dominate the ornate façade of the structure. Windows are boarded, though the wood sags in some places. The place makes me uneasy in a way that penetrates the marrow in my bones. “Let’s hope we don’t run into any Satan worshippers tonight.” I shudder at the thought and my thoughts focus on Sarah. “Hey is Sarah coming?” I try to sound nonchalant when I ask but I’m relatively certain I sound anything but.
“She said she would meet us here, right Tom?” Tom nods in affirmation. “But I can’t imagine she’ll actually show up and hang out with us.” A note of resignation touches Steve’s tone as we reach the top of the driveway.
“Let’s do this.” Tom shifts the car into “park” and cuts the lights. We are submerged in darkness.
Awareness tingles across my skin as I step out of the car. Though a brisk breeze blows, heaviness fills the atmosphere, thick and sinister. I swear that if I listen closely enough, I can hear the cries of a woman and children. It echoes in the breeze, phantom and ephemeral. My breathing becomes short and shallow. Foreign energy, dark and ominous, surrounds me, tries to seep into my pores. I look around, glance at Steve, Mike and Tom. They seem oblivious of what I’m experiencing.
“Got your flashlights ladies?” Tom asks and looks among us.
Mike and Steve n
od then they all turn to face me. “Uh, I didn’t bring one.” I feel my cheeks heat and am grateful for the darkness.
Three sets of eyes bore into me. I feel it more than I see it. But before anyone can give me a hard time about me forgetting a flashlight but remembering cologne, headlights slice through the darkness and carve a path straight toward us. A red sedan approaches.
“I guess Sarah’s here,” Mike says.
At the mention of her name my pulse begins drilling the base of my throat.
“Oh wow, she showed up,” Tom says and sounds surprised.
The passenger side door opens first and Jenny climbs out. Sarah exits second and greets us. “Hey guys. What’s up?” Even in the dark, I can see the fairness of her flaxen hair and her white even teeth when she smiles. A breeze carries on it the scent of her perfume and for a moment, I worry I’ll sigh with pleasure as I inhale it.
“Hey Sarah. Hey Jenny,” Tom replies.
Jenny regards us all with disinterest and doesn’t bother saying hello. She does, however, turn to Sarah and say in a whisper as loud as the average speaking voice, “What’re we doing here with them?” She crinkles her nose and curls her upper lip over her teeth, offering up a devastating blow to anyone with even the slightest ego here.
Sarah spins on her friend, her eyes flashing. “Shh! Jenny! They’re nice!” she hisses. “And I told you I want to see where Lisa supposedly killed herself because I know she didn’t!”
“Honestly, Sarah, what do you think you’re going to find that the cops didn’t?” Jenny retorts, an edge in her tone remaining.
“I don’t know. I just feel like I need to be here. Is that okay with you?” Sarah matches Jenny’s sharpness.
Realizing she’s gone too far and annoyed her friend who happens to be the most popular girl in school, Jenny clamps her lips shut.
Trying to defuse the tense moment, I clear my throat and ask, “So, any plan for how to get inside?” I point to the wood covering the first-floor windows. “Everything’s boarded up.”
“Don’t worry about that. I’ve got it covered.” Tom disappears to the rear of his car then reappears wielding a crowbar.
I shake my head and gesture for him to lead the way. We walk through tall grass before reaching the house then stay close to it until we find a low window. Tom pries the wood from it, the nails protesting and the wood splintering loudly. I look around, half expecting someone to show up at any moment.
“Relax, Danny, there’s no one living within miles of here.” Steve’s words, as innocuous as they are, raise the fine hairs on the back of my neck, though I can’t pinpoint why.
Once the wood is off, the window is lifted and one by one we slide inside. Pitch black darkness swallows us whole for several seconds until beams of light, five in all, puncture it. As it turns out, even the girls remembered their flashlights. I was the only one preoccupied with my appearance and other things of that nature who didn’t bring one.
The shafts of light dance across the space, reflecting innumerable dust particles and debris in the air. From the corner of my eye, I spy a human shape, elevated and positioned at an advantage. The light skates across it. I whirl to face it, not sure exactly what I intend to do but determined to protect Sarah if I have to, only to find that the shape is a statue carved of stone and inlayed in the wall. With its head partially destroyed its eyes stare vacantly in a perpetual state of melancholy.
Though the statue proved nonthreatening, I do not feel comfortable letting my guard down as I move deeper inside. To my immediate left is a hallway. Shadows crawl menacingly up the sides of the walls, and piped masonry carved in a pale, decorative pattern intersects at the apex of pointed arch ceilings painted cobalt. While faded, the blue still retains some of its vibrancy. Dusty debris coats the floor. Walls crumble and fallen floorboards litter the path beside the hallway, the one that leads to a wide staircase. I try to take it all in, try to make note of my surroundings, when all of a sudden, I’m slammed by the sensation of being pulled. A current of energy blasts through me, tearing through me and nearly staggering me, nearly knocking me off my feet. Realization whirs through my blood and the oppressive shroud of evil clings to me, to my flesh and bones, like scum on a pond.
Shivering and rubbing her arms for warmth, Sarah says, “This place is creepy.”
“It sure is,” I reply and hope she didn’t hear the tremor in my voice.
“C’mon. This way.” The beam of light from Tom’s flashlight slants and wavers, pointing to a staircase that leads to the second level of the house. “Let’s go upstairs. That’s where Hanson you know . . .” He leaves his sentence unfinished. I glimpse Sarah in my periphery. Her lips are compressed to a tight line and her eyes shine with unshed tears. Instinctively, my hand shoots out. I stop it just short of hers, the need to entwine my fingers with hers and offer comfort is potent. But that need is usurped by the burgeoning pull that tugs me like a magnet. The blackness all around us reaches out to me, tugging me with dusky fingers, and a sense of terror overwhelms me with each step we ascend. The scent of mildew and damp earth lingers in the air. It slams into my chest along with the low vibration of energy slithering from the dark, sinister and strong, and unrelenting. We reach the top landing and walk down the hallway. A room with children’s furniture, yellowed and dilapidated, comes into view.
“This is where the kids were murdered. The oldest heard the commotion in here and ran in to protect his sister. At least that’s how the story goes.” Tom’s voice is somber as it echoes through the ether. And in an instant, I see it. I see it all. A man dressed in dark colored clothing looms over a sleeping child, a girl. Clutching an axe in both hands, he hefts it high, moonlight catching the razor-sharp blade before it cleaves the air with a lethal whistle and lands against a small body dressed in a ruffled pink nightgown. Eyes as black and cold as polished onyx regard the girl with cool indifference as her eyes open in the seconds before the blade makes contact. She screams. It is a bloodcurdling sound that chills the blood in my veins. And then there is blood, so much blood.
Stomach roiling like an angry sea, the vision leaves me as abruptly as it arrived. I’m left standing there, shocked and coated in a film of icy perspiration. “It’s true. The story is true.” I thought I said the words to myself until I’m met with five gazes.
“I told you it was true. He killed his whole family right here.” Tom points inside the room.
Sarah wraps her arms around her midsection. “It is true, Danny. Everyone in this town knows it.”
Scratching the whiskers on his chin, Tom regards me with curiosity, the light from Sarah’s flashlight illuminating his face. “We all know it’s true, but what makes you so sure?”
My gaze volleys from Mike to Steve then to Sarah before it bounces back to Tom. I shrug. “I don’t know. This place is too creepy for it not to be true, I guess.”
They all look at me and for a moment, I wonder whether they think I’m out of my mind. Thankfully, Jenny’s voice interrupts their furtive glances.
“This place scares the crap out of me. Let’s get out of here, Sarah. Please.”
Sarah shakes her head, pretty lengths of golden hair spilling over one shoulder as she does. “Not yet. I need to see where it happened. I need to see where Lisa was found.”
“That would be in the basement.” Steve’s index finger points to the dirty floors beneath our feet.
“Great, I’m sure the basement won’t be even creepier,” Jenny says sarcastically. But through the thick layer of acid, I hear it. I hear the fear in her voice and wish I could tell her she is absolutely right to be afraid.
We descend the flight of steps we walked up and once we reach the main level of the house we find a thick wooden door in the kitchen that leads to the cellar. Yellow police tape warns us away, but we ignore the warning and tear it down, determined to investigate the basement ourselves.
Thirteen creaky steps lead us into the bowels of the home. Dankness mingles with the scent of incense and
another metallic stench tinged with sourness I cannot place. The combined effect is overwhelming, cloying. Flashlights explore the expansive space, landing upon an enormous pentagram. The sight of the five-pointed star with a ram’s head intricately designed within gives me a sick feeling. Satanic verses are scrawled in what looks like red paint.
“See, I told you. That Satan worshipping cult meets here.” Equal parts awe and disgust spike his tone, and I understand it completely. It mimics my sentiments exactly, minus the all-consuming pull I feel to the far left corner of the underground pit of horror. Allowing it to lead me, I cross the room with my friends in tow, stopping when I reach what appears to be a partitioned workshop of sorts. Tool storage cabinents line the wall directly in front of me while clamps and vises, some mounted to a long rectangular work table, catch the eye. Saws, drill bits and a handheld sander rest atop the table. A serrated blade pokes up from the table, the piece doubling as a table saw as well as a plain old table. A band saw and drill press occupy the far corners of the room.
“What is this place?” Jenny asks and pinches her nose to avoid smelling polyurethane and varnish. But before anyone can answer, the floorboards overhead groan loudly, as if bearing the weight of an adult. Everyone jumps at the sound, including Sarah who promptly latches onto my arm.
Patting her hand, I ask, “Are you okay?” In truth, my pulse is pounding so hard and fast I wonder whether it’s dangerous, whether my heart will beat clean out of my ribcage.
“What’s that sound?” she asks in a tremulous voice.
“Probably just the house settling.” I reach deep to produce an answer I, myself, am unconvinced of.
Evidently, my words are convincing enough for Sarah, too convincing, in fact, because she releases her grip on my arm. Cold replaces the warmth that just existed there and I am sad in a way that doesn’t quite make sense in my brain.
“Let’s get out of here, Sarah,” Jenny begs.
“Not yet,” Sarah answers.
We move deeper into the workshop and the second we do, my breathing turns to short, shallow pants and my heart thunders so madly I half expect it to echo endlessly through the cavernous hollows of this house. But it doesn’t. It ends where it begins, inside me. Another vision crashes into me with the force of a tidal wave. I see everything as if I’m standing right there with Sarah’s friend, Lisa. She’s with another girl. They’re laughing and talking to someone I can’t see. Then I watch as their expression transform from happiness to fear, contorting in shock and horror in the space of a breath. I see them slammed against the wall behind them, an unseen force lifting them and sending them careening through the air. They scream, abject terror in their eyes as they beg for their lives. But their cries fall on deaf ears. A large blade traces a vertical line from Lisa’s left elbow to the base of her wrist, stopping just short of her palm. She cries out in pain, held motionless as the step is repeated on her right forearm. Blood rushed from the wounds in angry torrents, coating her hands and dripping to the floor in crimson pools. Color drains from her complexion as her lifeblood seeps from her. Witnessing it all, the girl with Lisa sobs so hard she hyperventilates. After hitting the wall, she’s slid to the floor below and scuttled away, managing to position herself behind what I now see is a cloaked and tall being, broad through the shoulders and likely male. The cloaked being whirls on her, and just his eyes are visible. Blacker than the darkest night, his eyes are volcanic glass, shining with hatred that’s palpable, and deadly. Effortlessly and with speed that defies physics as well as logic, the man descends on her, snatching her wrist and slashing her arms in the same fashion he slashed Lisa’s. The girl’s scream is the last sound I hear before the floor rushes to meet me and my field of vision fades to black.
The Dark One Page 4