Guy slashed the knife towards her but missed. She grabbed the neck of his shirt and tossed him through the doorway and into the dining room as though he weighed nothing.
Guy hit one of the chairs and crumpled to the ground. The knife skittered out of his hand, and pain flared through already-aching muscles. He struggled to draw air. Amy followed him, the black liquid leaking from her nose and dribbling over twisted lips.
“Why do you do this?” She dropped herself on top of him, pressing him into the floor with her knees. Her bony hands wrapped around his throat. “Traitorous, cruel creature. You love me.”
He strained to speak, but the pressure on his throat choked off his voice. He beat at her cold, bloodless arms, but she didn’t seem to notice. The glint of metal pulled his attention to the knife, which lay on the floor just above his head.
“We are destined to be together,” Amy hissed. She leaned closer, her blackened lips just inches from his. “Why must you torment me so?”
His scrabbling fingers touched the knife. His lungs ached, but he threw all of his remaining strength into sweeping his arm up. The knife plunged through Amy’s neck, angled up to pierce her skull.
Her snarl vanished. The tightness around Guy’s throat loosened, and he managed to suck in oxygen. Amy’s gaunt cheeks fluttered as she tried to speak through the knife embedded in her throat.
“I never loved you,” Guy spat. “You heartless, soulless monster.”
She opened her jaw—whether to speak or scream, Guy never knew. Her form bubbled as though a million insects were trapped under the skin, writhing and desperate to be free. The grey tint of her flesh darkened, taking on a green hue as she tilted her head back, eyes bulging and jaw stretched wide in horror.
Then the cut in her throat widened, splitting down her torso and across her skull. The flesh frayed at the edges, desiccating, becoming dust—the same dust that permeated every one of the house’s pores—and tumbled away. Spiders spilled out of the sack. They rolled over Guy, billions of legs twitching, like a blanket out of a waking nightmare. It was all he could do to squeeze his eyes closed and seal his lips. But they scattered quickly, unwilling to linger on him. He cracked his eyes open in time to see the last of Amy’s shell blow away as dust, dissipating through the rooms, the final remains of the woman who had owned Rookward for fifty years.
She was half alive. I am half dead. I suppose that was enough.
Guy managed a final, twitching smile as he lay back amongst the scattering spiders and a growing pool of his own blood.
Chapter Thirty-Two
A high-pitched noise filled Guy’s ears. He opened his eyes a fraction and blinked at the seemingly endless white surrounding him.
So this is death.
He wasn’t as frightened as he’d expected to be.
Do I have regrets? That was an easy question to answer. Of course; he didn’t believe a single human could pass over without at least a handful. But the ones that rose to the forefront of his mind were especially bitter.
He hated what this would do to his mother. He wished he’d told her he loved her more often. He wished he could have made her proud.
Then he thought of Savannah. He should have tried harder for her. Not just before the accident, but after. Instead of hiding from the shame and guilt, he should have found a way to redeem himself. She was one of the best things to ever happen to him, and he’d let her slip away.
And his baby daughter… he still didn’t know her name. He would never have the chance to go to her recitals, to braid her hair, to play dress-up, or draw her height onto the kitchen doorframe.
He hoped that if a broken man like him could be allowed into heaven, they would give him a way to watch over his family. If he couldn’t be with them, he wanted to at least cherish their lives and cheer for their triumphs.
A face swam into view above him, disturbing the perfect white. To Guy’s shock, it didn’t have a mouth. The eyes crinkled as they met his, though, then a booming voice was saying, “Hey, we’ve got a fighter.”
What’s there left to fight? Amy’s gone. Thomas and his family can have peace. I’m done; now I just want to rest.
A second voice spoke. “Hang on a bit longer, buddy. We’re almost there.”
He finally recognised the blaring noise. Sirens. The white surrounding him was the ambulance’s walls and ceiling. And the face wasn’t missing its mouth—it was wearing a mask.
Guy chuckled, even though it hurt. They answered my call after all. Fancy that.
* * *
The days following were a blur. Two rounds of surgery, multiple blood transfusions, and a course of strong antibiotics stabilised Guy. As soon as he was strong enough to talk for an extended period, the police arrived to question him about Tiff. He told them as much of the truth as he thought they would believe: she’d visited with her boyfriend then came back alone two nights later. Guy hadn’t heard her second arrival or seen the tree fall on her; he’d only discovered them in the morning, at which time, he crashed his pickup truck in his grief and urgency to leave.
Guy suspected they didn’t fully believe him. His fingerprints were all over the insides of Tiff’s car, bag, and phone, and according to the senior officer, her car keys had been found discarded in the grass twenty paces from her body. Plus, Guy knew his history with Savannah didn’t paint him in a positive light. But there was no evidence to suggest Tiff’s death hadn’t been natural, as improbable as the event was.
Then came a harder question: who had stabbed him? Again, Guy plumped for something near honesty, simply because it was easier to keep his story straight. He told them a strange woman had stabbed him. He didn’t know who she was or why she was at Rookward, but he intimated she might have been on drugs. When asked what she looked like, he described Amy’s appearance on the final night, when she’d worn the red dress and waltzed through the house with him. Again, he could see scepticism on the police officers’ faces. It didn’t help that there was no DNA evidence or fingerprints in the building besides Guy’s.
He was referred for a mental health evaluation and told not to leave the area for a few weeks while they checked his story. Then, mercifully, they left him in peace.
Heather sat by Guy’s bed every day while he was in hospital. She arrived as soon as visiting hours began and only left when they ended, and always brought a bagful of books and freshly baked food for him. Guy could see the stress had worn on her. He repeatedly told her to stay home, but no amount of begging could stop her from making the trip to visit him every day. Just like after Savannah’s accident, she accepted his account of what happened at Rookward without even a hint of doubt. It made Guy’s heart ache with gratitude.
The stay in hospital gave Guy a lot of time to think. He considered Rookward’s future. Even though he believed Amy had been excised from the house, he didn’t want to step foot in the building ever again. He’d made some improvements during his six days at Rookward House but also caused a lot of new problems, not least of all the blood he’d dripped everywhere. The building wouldn’t be valued as highly as he’d initially hoped, but it wouldn’t be worthless, either. They would sell it as-is, take the hit on the profit, and move to whatever place they could afford. Depending on what the real estate agent could wrangle, Guy and his mother might need to rent for a few months until he could get a stable income and save up enough for a good deposit. The thought wasn’t as bitter as it might have once been. They were still together, and Guy knew they would make it work—somehow.
Then, not long after the doctors started talking about Guy being close to going home, his mother arrived with some news that turned his plans upside down.
She peeked into the room and gave him a nervous, hesitant smile. He put his book aside and sat up a little straighter in the bed. “What is it?”
“It’s, uh…” She glanced behind herself and nudged her glasses up her nose. “It’s Savannah.”
He felt as though someone had smacked his heart with a baseball bat. “What? Is she okay?�
�
Heather moved closer, hands clenched and an apologetic smile pulling at her mouth. “Oh yes, of course she is. It’s just, when the paramedics found you, they also found the notes you’d left on the table. You were in the ICU at the time, and we didn’t know if you would pull through, so I mailed your note to Savannah. I’m sorry, I know should have waited to see if it was what you wanted—but I thought I was doing the right thing at the time. And, well, she’s come to visit.”
“Oh.” He’d completely forgotten about the messages. Heat rushed across his face, and he became acutely aware that he hadn’t brushed his hair that morning, and that stubble had started to grow.
Motion drew his eyes to the doorway. Savannah stood there, golden hair caught in the light as she brushed it behind her ear. Her cheeks were pale, but otherwise, she looked healthy. Better than healthy—she was stunning. Guy didn’t know if she’d done it intentionally, but she’d worn his favourite dress, the red summer frock with the sweetheart neckline. And she cradled a tiny, pink-clad baby in her arms.
Guy didn’t know what to say. His throat ached, and his eyes burned. He forced his tongue to move, but all that came out was a lame “I’m so sorry.”
Savannah’s eyebrows pulled together, and her lips tightened. Some kind of emotion was growing inside her, and Guy’s heart skipped a beat. He clenched his fists into the bed sheets, preparing for disdain or even anger.
But then she said, “I miss you,” and Guy’s burning eyes overflowed.
The End
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The Haunting of Rookward House Page 20