by Lisa Unger
“I saw you,” she said, her heart rate jumping. “I saw you in the basement at Merle House. I know what you did to Amelia.”
He shook his head, smiling at her as if she were a terribly slow student whom he liked just the same.
“I can only do what someone wants me to do. I only exist if someone wants me to exist.”
Was that true?
“I don’t want you to exist,” she said. “I never asked you for anything, and I want you to let me go.”
He lifted his palms; they were slick with blood. “Are you sure? There’s nothing you want, Claire? Nothing I can offer you?”
Was there something she wanted? She wanted to be free. She wanted to love someone. She wanted a child, a family. She wanted to stop peering into the darkness to see what was there. But maybe she could have those things, just under her own power. She didn’t need to make a deal with the Dark Man.
“I don’t like your terms,” she said firmly.
He smiled, teeth sharp and pointed, eyes dead.
“Like I said,” he said, rising. “Always such a smart girl.”
He took a little bow; then he drifted toward the door. She almost called after him. There were still so many questions.
I want to know what happened to Amelia. She didn’t mean to think it, but the question bounced around inside her mind.
He turned back to her with a knowing smile. “You already have the answer. You’ve known it all along.”
“Mason.”
“Look again.”
He walked toward the door, disappearing into dust and creating a swirl of fog that surrounded her and filled the room.
So what do you think, Claire? Am I real?
It was a question without an answer, like so many things.
13.
Young Mason waited in the trees for Amelia, hoping to follow her the rest of the way home. He was shaking, from the cold, from the things he’d seen and heard. He huddled in the dark and watched as the teenagers filed out, heading their separate ways, some whooping and laughing, others quiet.
The moon disappeared behind the clouds, and he started to think maybe he’d missed her. Maybe she’d gone out another way. Or maybe the Dark Man had come for her. Which was stupid, because there was no such thing. Bad is bad—that was what his father always said. It’s in our genes.
Finally he saw Amelia. And she was alone.
She walked quickly, arms wrapped around her middle as if against a chill. It looked like she was crying. He was about to run up to her, to try to help, but another figure came up quickly behind her.
“Hey,” the other guy said. “Are you okay?”
It took Mason a second to recognize him. He was much taller than he had been the last time they’d hung out; he even had some stubble on his jaw. When did he get into town? School wasn’t even out yet.
The young man and Amelia walked into the woods, and Mason stayed. Anger, sadness, a kind of jealous sickness roiled in his stomach.
That rich fuck. He got everything he wanted and even things he didn’t want. Why was the world like that? Why did some people, the worst people, get everything? And some people got nothing.
That feeling, the one that he couldn’t quite control, rose up. It was a mean heat, an ache in his throat, a roar in his ears. There was a blankness, a kind of heaviness on his brain, that seemed to block out rational thought. And he was in that space as he followed Amelia into the woods.
Avery relit the candles, and as the room filled with light again, Ian held Claire on the floor, and Mason sat on his haunches against the wall.
“What happened?” asked Avery of no one in particular. “What was that noise?”
No one answered. She turned around in the middle of the room.
“Where is he?” she asked, her voice a desperate mewl. “How does this work?”
“It doesn’t work,” said Mason. “It’s bullshit. A total lie.”
“In all my years, ghost hunting, clearing spaces, balancing energies, healing traumatized properties,” said Ian, “I’ve never seen anything that I couldn’t explain—until recently. In the last house I visited, I saw the Dark Man, and I asked him to bring Liz back to me.”
“Grief,” said Mason. “It’s the most powerful trickster of all. More than anything else grief makes us see things that aren’t there.”
Claire stirred on Ian’s lap, groaning softly, then pushing herself to sitting.
“What happened?” she asked Ian.
“I think you fainted,” he said, putting a hand to her forehead. “You’re ice cold.”
“So what did you think?” asked Mason. “That Liz was just going to come walking back through the door? And you’ll live happily ever after?”
“I wasn’t worried about logistics, Mason,” said Ian sharply.
“People always talk about the dead haunting the living,” said Mason. “Sometimes the living haunt the dead. Because we just can’t let go.”
They all looked at Avery March, who was still standing in the circle, looking confused, despairing. “All this time,” she said. “I’ve been looking for her all this time.”
“I know,” said Mason, his voice going softer. “I’m sorry.”
“You know what happened to her, Mason,” said Avery, starting to sob. She sank to her knees. “Please tell me.”
He moved over to her and sank down beside her, put a hand on her shoulder.
“I don’t know what happened to your sister. I’m sorry,” he said. “But I do know something I’ve never told you. I wasn’t the last person to see Amelia alive.
“Matthew Merle was.”
14.
Samantha seemed to have forgotten why they were at Havenwood, and Matthew felt locked in her searing gaze.
“I watched you go into her apartment,” said Samantha. Her tone was icy, her gaze boring into him.
Jewel was somewhere in this house. And they had to find her.
“Sam, don’t do this,” he begged.
Now wasn’t the time for this. They had to find their daughter. His wife knew that. But whatever she had to say, it was coming out now. No stopping it.
“You were in there so long, I almost left. Honestly, I thought that was it. That you were going to spend the night there, that you were leaving me for her. I thought it was the illness that had made you stop loving me. That it took something from me, or I was touched by this darkness, and you didn’t want me anymore.”
The hallway they stood in was a ruin, water-stained walls, and rotting wood floor, great strips of drywall hanging from the ceiling. The structure groaned and creaked like it was just moments from collapsing all around them.
“No, never,” he said. “That was never it. I always loved you. I’ve never cheated on you, Samantha. Please believe me.”
He put his hands on her small shoulders, tried to orient her back to this present moment, where they had to get their kid and get out, but she pulled back from him.
“But then I realized, no. Something died between us long ago—I don’t know. Maybe it’s the whole work-kid-domestic-duties thing—it just drains all the light and love, all the joy from your relationship, doesn’t it sometimes? Or maybe there was always something missing with you.”
“No,” he reached for her again. She took another step back. “That’s not true. I never stopped loving you.”
“I’m talking about me, Matthew,” she said sadly. “I stopped loving you.”
He drew back at that, felt it like a knife through the heart. Somewhere the building let out a groan, and a stiff wind blew in from outside.
“So I almost left that night, figuring maybe it was for the best. Maybe we’d both be happier on our own.”
“But you didn’t leave,” he said. A cold finger pressed into his belly.
He, too, now was lifted out of Havenwood and the immediate crisis of finding their daughter, and back to that ugly moment he had tried to forget.
“No,” she said, eyes shining. “I just sat there. Thi
nking and thinking about how I could leave. Where Jewel and I could go to start over. I don’t know how much time passed. But finally you came out.”
He stayed quiet and Samantha went on.
“I saw you carry something from the building. It looked like a rolled-up carpet. You put it in your trunk, and you drove away.”
“Sam.” He shook his head. How had he not seen her there that night?
“You looked totally casual, you know. Like you were taking an old rug to Goodwill or something. But it wasn’t just an old rug, was it, Matthew?”
They stood in the semidark, staring at each other. There were distant voices echoing off walls and ceilings, but he couldn’t understand the words.
Where was Jewel? They were here looking for Jewel. A lash of anger at his wife, for picking this moment to talk about things he would rather forget.
“Why didn’t you tell the police what you saw?” he spat. “If you think I killed Sylvia. That’s what you’re saying, right? Why didn’t you turn me in, Sam?”
She blew out a breath, backed away again.
“And ruin Jewel’s life, and mine, even more than it was already ruined?” Her voice simmered, white hot with rage.
He stood, mute with fear, his anger rising at her tone. She moved closer to him now, bringing her face inches from his. Then her expression softened; she moved away.
“And then we learned about this place, and I thought it was a sign. A fresh start for us, a new beginning. Maybe I could just forget what I saw, move forward, start again. After all, she was a criminal, a blackmail artist, and a con. She was trying to hurt us.”
“It was an accident,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean it.”
Samantha looked startled, as if she’d expected him to deny it.
The sobs came up then, washing from deep inside him. He covered his face and his eyes in shame. It was an accident—both times. Both times in his life that he’d hurt someone, he hadn’t meant it. It was like some evil in him was just waiting to get out. The Dark Man.
He was about to tell her everything when they heard the sound of Jewel screaming. The same terrible siren of fear that used to wake them from sleep when she was a little girl, like she was a witness to all the horrors the world had to offer.
He started running toward the sound when there was a deafening crash and a hurricane gust of wind that almost blew him over. The space around them filled with dust and debris.
“Matthew,” Samantha yelled. “She’s here. She’s over here.”
15.
Samantha felt like the whole world was holding its breath as she ran.
And then she saw her daughter, pale and covered with debris, lying on the wood floor of the foyer, her arms and legs splayed like a starfish. Time and distance warped and pulled as she ran toward the lifeless girl, her daughter, the person she loved more than any other person on the planet. This was her punishment for hiding Matthew’s dark secrets, for letting someone else’s daughter meet an ugly fate, essentially aiding and abetting her murderer.
Jewel.
Her voice didn’t even sound like her voice as she wailed, then fell to her knees. Up above there was a hole in the ceiling that went up two stories. Samantha could see out to the gunmetal sky above, snow falling. It was as if Jewel had just fallen from the sky.
She reached for her daughter’s perfect face, those peaches-and-cream cheeks, the almond-shaped eyes, and the cupid’s-bow lips. She’d always been the most beautiful, perfectly angelic-looking little girl.
Jewel. Pleasepleaseplease.
Matthew was behind her, but she pushed him back. “Get away from her,” she yelled.
“Jewel,” she whispered, turning back to their daughter. “Honey, please.”
She put a finger to her neck and felt a pulse, strong and regular. Then Jewel opened her eyes and looked around.
“Mom,” she said. “I tried to save her.”
Relief was a wave so intense it nearly knocked Samantha over. She was alive. Her daughter was alive, and everything else could be rebuilt from here. Nothing else mattered.
“Who, baby?” She stroked her daughter’s hair, moving bits of dust and debris from her face.
When she used to sleepwalk, she’d wake up saying the craziest things. And Samantha would listen to them all.
“Amelia,” said Jewel. “The Dark Man has her. He’ll never set her free.”
“No, baby,” said Samantha. “There’s no such thing as the Dark Man.”
“Mom,” she said, trying to sit.
“Stay still,” said Samantha. “Don’t move.”
Matthew dropped down beside her and took Jewel’s hand.
“I know where she is,” he said.
“What? Where?” asked Jewel, confused.
Samantha felt icy water in her veins as Matthew put a hand to Jewel’s head, then got up to walk away. Samantha helped Jewel to her feet, and they followed him down the hallway, and toward the stairs.
“The basement,” Jewel said as they began their descent.
16.
They were all standing in the circle when Matthew walked down the stairs—Mason, Ian, Claire, Avery March—standing there as if they were waiting for him.
“Hey, Mace,” said Matthew, keeping his voice light. “Thanks for coming.”
Mason nodded. “Matthew.”
Jewel and Samantha stayed on the stairs. There was a wide chasm between him and his family, a wider one between him and the people he used to call friends. He was, as he had always been in some ways, alone.
I saw the darkness in you, whispered Sylvia. That’s what drew me to you.
Not the darkness, he thought. The Dark Man.
“Let me walk you home, okay?” young Matthew said to Amelia.
He’d listened back at Havenwood while she’d had a fight with her drifter boyfriend, then run out on her own. He’d watched as the other guy stalked off in the opposite direction, disappearing into the trees. And then Matthew had set off after Amelia.
“Bring her to me,” the Dark Man told him. His voice somehow inside and outside Matthew’s head. Sometimes he came in dreams. Other times he was a whisper on the wind. Mainly when Matthew was busy or happy, playing soccer, or spending time outside, he didn’t hear the Dark Man. It was when he was lonely, or sad, or depressed that he showed up with ideas about how things might get better.
“Bring her to me,” he said again when Matthew didn’t move right away.
When he looked back on that night, he didn’t fully remember what had happened.
“Did you fight with your boyfriend?” Matthew asked.
Amelia started to cry. “I shouldn’t have come here. I shouldn’t have done this. It was stupid and I need to go home.”
“It’s okay,” said Matthew. “I’ll get you home. It’s Amelia, right? I met you once. I came to the pizza place with Mason.”
“Oh, right. Matthew?”
“You remember.”
“Yeah,” she said. “Thanks, Matthew.”
They walked, and she didn’t seem to notice at first that he was leading her in the opposite direction they needed to go. Finally, “Hey, are you sure this is the right way?”
There was a stutter there, just like there was that night with Sylvia. Where one moment the world was one thing, and then that fog descended, and when it cleared, the world was something else.
All he remembered about it was all the blood. How it was hot and sticky and all over his hands and his clothes, and his face. He remembered how heavy Amelia was as he dragged her back to Havenwood, how unyielding Sylvia’s body was as he rolled it into her carpet. How none of it seemed real, and he just kept pushing the reality of it away and away, until it was just like a dream he would wake up from, but didn’t. Matthew Merle, nice young man, professor, good husband, loving father. He would never hurt a fly.
It was just that he wasn’t always that Matthew.
Now they were all staring like they had forgotten about Matthew Merle and all they saw was t
he Dark Man.
He walked, footsteps echoing, and took his place in the middle of the X, in the middle of the circle.
“Where is she, Matthew?” asked Avery, her voice steady and calm.
Mason, Claire, and Ian moved in to form a semicircle around him. He remembered how they used to laze away their summer days, how their lives and their friendships were so easy. Those were the best days of his life. Certainly nothing else ever compared, except maybe the early days with Samantha, when Jewel was still a baby, and they were all so in love with each other. Nothing dark ever touched him then.
“She’s down here somewhere,” said Jewel, moving into the light with Samantha behind her.
“How do you know that?” asked Avery March.
“The Ouija board,” said Jewel. “It wanted me to come to the basement.”
Claire moved away from the group and started to walk the perimeter of the basement.
“I remember from that day we played hide-and-seek that the basement didn’t seem like the basement in Merle House,” she said. “It was different. There was no secret room in the Merle House basement. Maybe it was this place.”
She ran her hand along the wall.
“Stop,” said Matthew.
But she kept going, and when he made a move toward her, Mason stepped in to stop him.
“What did you do to Amelia, Matthew?” Mason asked, sounding more despairing than angry.
“Nothing,” Matthew said, backing away. “I never hurt anyone.”
It was true and it wasn’t true. Samantha had come to sit on the bottom of the stairs, and she was crying.
“Matthew, tell the truth now,” she said between sobs. “It’s time. It’s past time. Look at all these people, all this pain. Please. Set us all free.”
Claire drifted into the darkness, and Ian followed her.
Mason moved closer to Matthew, nostrils flared, breath labored.
“You always were a bully and a liar,” said Mason. “You did a good job of pretending to be a nice guy. But there was always another layer to you, wasn’t there?”