314 Book 2 (20 page)

“What did she look like?” asked Claire.

“She had dark hair, and was all wet. She was dressed in a nightgown, and it was wet too. She looked like she’d just crawled out of a pool or something.” Walter rubbed his eyes and sighed. “I must’ve just been in the heat too long or something.”

“Sounds like a ghost to me,” said Juan.

“Shut up, Juan.” Grace slapped the chef on the shoulder. “Last thing I need is to start thinking there’s a little ghost
girl sneaking around out here.”

“
Who ever heard of a ghost running around on a beautiful day like this?” asked Claire.

Desmond and his son, Raymond, walked out of the diner and came to join the crowd. “Everything okay?” asked Desmond as they approached.

“It’s fine,” said Walter. “I’m just losing my mind.”

“Why?” asked Raymond
.

“He thought he saw a ghost,” said Claire.

“Was she about my age?” asked Raymond. “With dark, wet hair, and sad eyes?”

Everyone turned to the boy in shock.

“How did you know that?” asked Nancy. “Did you hear us talking about it?”

“No,” said Raymond. “
That’s the witch.”

Lost in Widowsfield

“How did we get here?” asked Rachel. She staggered through the living room as if drunk. She pushed aside an end table and knocked a lamp off. “What’s going on?” She was on the verge of tears as she supported herself on the back of the couch. That’s when she saw the mannequins seated there, staring at the blank television screen. She screamed and backed away as if they disgusted her.

“Where’s Aubrey?” asked Jacker from the kitchen.
It was as if they’d all just woken up from a dream.

“I think the witch got her,” said Alma.

“I’m losing my fucking mind,” said Stephen.

“What witch?” asked Jacker.

“Everyone shut up!” Rachel lost her composure and started to cry. “I can’t take this anymore! I don’t know where I am, or what’s going on! I feel like I’ve been spinning around, inside a dream, and then awake, and then in a dream again. I can’t take it anymore.”

Stephen went to console his wife, but she pushed him away. “
Honey, come on,” he said as he approached again.

“No! You’re one of the worst ones.” She wiped her tears and backed away.

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore. I don’t know what’s happeni
ng. I just keep seeing things; horrible things. It’s driving me insane!”

“
What do you remember?” asked Alma.

“I don’t know what I remember,” said Rachel. “What do you mean? I don’t know what the fuck is going on.”

“Do you remember being in Widowsfield?” asked Alma.

“What?” Rachel was confused. “Of course. I remember being here, and then being on the road, and then being here again, but it was different. I can’t keep it all straight. It’s like it all happened a long time ago, and I’
m just now remembering it. But it’s also like it all happened at the same time. That doesn’t even make any sense! I feel like my head is spinning around and around.”

“Same here,” said Jacker. “It’s like I’ve been drugged or something.”

“There must be a rational explanation for all this,” said Stephen.

“Bullshit,” said Rachel. “This place is fucked up, plain and simple.
This town is evil.”

“Come on, Rachel. Think about what you’re saying,” said Stephen.
“The town isn’t evil. That doesn’t make sense. There’s got to be a scientific explanation for all of this.”

“Wait,” said Alma. “You of all people should be open to the idea that there’s no rational explanation.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Stephen.

Everyone stared at him.

“Why are you all looking at me like that?” asked Stephen.

“Because you’re not acting like yourself,” said Alma.
“You were the one that pushed us all to come here because you wanted proof of paranormal activity, and now that you have it you’re acting like that’s not possible.”

“
Don’t be ridiculous. If I’m not acting like myself, then who am I acting like?” asked Stephen as if this were a joke.

A dog started to bark and all of them turned to look at a cage in the kitchen. Jacker was startled by it and leapt backw
ard. None of them had noticed the cage before.

There was a shabby blanket dra
ped over the front of the cage and it shook while the animal within continued to bark. It was a plastic crate, with a wire door, which Alma knew even with the blanket covering it up. She’d seen this crate before, every time they visited this cabin.

Jacker reached down to pull off the blanket.

“No,” said Alma. “Don’t.”

“Why?” asked Jacker.

There was a sudden malaise that seemed to infect everyone. It was as if the passion of the last few moments had been lulled away, leaving them all calm as they watched Stephen saunter toward the cage.

“Because that dog bites,” said Alma, a response that made her feel as if she’d regressed back into the eight-year-old girl that used to stay in this house over spring break so many years ago.
Everything about the scene felt wrong, and Alma was aware of a vapor entering her mouth and nose. It was such a foreign sensation, and her lungs filled with a breath she hadn’t meant to take.

“How do you know?” asked Jacker.
His voice sounded deeper and lethargic, as if he was just a recording that had been slowed down.

“His name’s Killer,” said Alma. “Terry used to make us walk him, and he would bite us. Don’t take the blanket off.”
She spoke with no fear, and none of the passion she meant to convey. Rachel was acting the same, a lethargic acceptance of the situation dulling her reactions. She was actually smiling, and her eyes looked heavy as she watched Stephen.

“That can’t be the same dog that was here sixteen years ago,” said Stephen. “Can it?” He walked
into the kitchen as Jacker walked out.

“Don’t, please,” said Alma as Stephen approached the cage.

Stephen knelt down and pinched the bottom of the cloth.

“Don’t,” said Rachel.

“I just want to look.” Stephen peered under.

Stephen let the blanket drop back over the cage and stayed knelt as he smiled at the others. He didn’t say anything.

“Well?” asked Jacker.

Stephen was looking at Alma. The dog continued to bark, and seemed to be getting louder.

“Stephen,” asked Rachel sleepily. “What are you doing?”

The dog’s bark got louder and angrier. Stephen had to set his hand on the top of the cage to keep it from shaking too violently, but
he still kept his eyes on Alma.

“What are you doing?” asked Rachel.

“Are you scared of werewolves?” Stephen asked Alma.

She nodded.

Stephen stood up with his hand still gripping the blanket. He revealed the cage beneath as if he were a magician, proud of a grandiose illusion, whisking the blanket off. Then he started to laugh as he backed up. The blanket faded into mist that shrouded the back of the kitchen, and Stephen disappeared into it. As bizarre as his vanishing act was, none of them were able to look at anything but the creature inside the crate.

What was within the cage wasn’t entirely canine, but a mutation of a dog and small human. It was packed tightly into the
box, its pink flesh pushing through the small air vents on the side. The creature’s face was pressed to the wire door, a misshapen version of a dog with no hair. When it barked, its teeth caught in the wire door and it gnashed as if trying to bite its way out. Under the creature’s maw was a tiny, misshapen hand, bleeding and torn, shards of bone poking out where fingers should’ve been. Staring through the cage’s door was a human eye on the canine head.

Jacker, Alma, and
Rachel sat down on the couch, which was now turned the opposite way, facing the kitchen instead of the television.

Alma wanted to run. She wanted to scream in terror and flee the cabin. She wanted to do anything but stare at the creature within the cage for even a second longer, but there was no other option. She was inexorably
focused on the monster, even as it growled and shook.

Alma turned to look at Rachel, but her friend was gone. “Jacker?” Alma asked, but found that he’d disappeared as well. Then she looked back at the cage and saw
the creature had calmed, but was still staring at her. His one visible eye was still pressed to the wire door, and the pressure brought tears that rolled across the creature’s pink, hairless cheek.

“Ben?” asked Alma as she stared at the monster.

“Ben wants out,” said a man’s voice from behind her.

Alma yelped as she turned to see who was speaking.

The Skeleton Man stood in front of the television, fog swirling at his feet. His head had been all but hidden by a skin-mask, as if he’d stripped the face of someone else and placed it over his skull, but the cavernous eye sockets and draping lower lip revealed his disguise. An eyeball rolled within his right eye socket, and fell out as he bent down. He was reaching for something on the couch, and Alma scooted away until she was dangerously close to the dog cage.

The Skeleton Man
’s stolen face slipped off and hung from a wire that he’d tied through a hole in his jaw. When it fell, Alma saw that his teeth were chattering, and that the wire was meant not only to keep the face on, but was also an attempt to keep the monster’s mouth from moving. The wire crisscrossed his teeth, going in through one hole and out another like shoelaces. Yet still, the teeth chattered in their cage.

“What have you done with Ben?” asked Alma. She was still subdued by the inexplicable, intoxicating
calmness that had swept over her moments before.

“Are you
scared to set him free?” asked The Skeleton Man as he tied his face back on, hooking stretched skin to sharp edges of the wiring that pierced his skull. The sound of his teeth chattering was always present, even as he spoke.

Alma looked at the cage and the creature within stared back at her.

“Do you love your brother?” The Skeleton Man asked as he put his hand over the head of one of the mannequins on the couch. As he did, his skeletal hand didn’t clack against the wooden head like Alma had expected. Instead, it sounded as if he was touching something softer, perhaps even flesh.

“I did,” said Alma, then corrected herself, “I do.”

“Would you die for him?”

She wanted to say yes, but couldn’t speak. Her eyes drooped, and her mind wandered as
the fog flowed out from where The Skeleton Man stood.

“Would you take his place in hell?”

The dog whimpered.

Alma closed her eyes.

She heard herself humming a familiar tune.

A child’s hand touched her cheek and she smiled as she held it there.
Was it carpet that she sat on, or was it wood? What did it matter?

She was happy to be with Ben again. They loved each other, and he wouldn’t lie to her.
He’d protect her.

I’m sure that Oliver is looking for me. Fortunately, I took great steps to avoid being found. When I discovered what they were doing in Widowsfield, I knew that I had to stop them. I pretended to go along with the plan, but I was doing everything I could to prevent his company from retracing their steps. I was convinced that they were responsible for drawing The Watcher in the Walls out, although I was never able to prove it.

It seemed to work, because I’ve been coming back to Widowsfield every year on the anniversary of the event, and nothing’s ever changed. In fact, the town was falling into decay again, despite how hard Oliver worked to recreate it. His experiment had failed, and now there were hardly even any security guards roaming the area anymore.

I’m happy that his plan failed, whether it was because of me or not. Yet, if I’m being honest, I’ve always been curious about what would’ve happened if I hadn’t lied to him. I wonder if he would’ve pulled the Watcher from the walls. I wonder if that was what he wanted to do in the first place.

Maybe he just wanted a glimpse.

A window into hell would be enough to turn even the most ardent sinner to a saint. Who wouldn’t take a peek, if they knew such a window existed?

Outside of Terry’s Cabin in Widowsfield

January 20
th
, 2007

“What happened?” asked Oliver as he ran across the street to investigate.

“She had a vision or something.” Mindy was trying to console her friend, and they were both sitting in the dewy grass in front of the cabin. Nia was crying, and trying to catch her breath. “We heard some animal get killed outside, and then all of the sudden Nia freaked out.”