A Whispered Darkness (28 page)

I will write again tomorrow, and every day after if I must.

With love,

Your Devoted Husband, Vale.

“Sickeningly sweet, isn’t it?” Melanie popped up, perched behind me on the cot. “So glad I didn’t have to live back then.”

A snide comment about being dead came to my lips, but I swallowed it back. No use provoking her. I needed an ally.

“Why can’t I hear anything? Why can’t anyone hear me?”

“Right now, all the attention is on you. Trying to make a point and all. Eventually, it’ll change. I’ll help you out as best I can, but we really need to hope someone knows you were here and will come hunting for you.”

“Haven will.”

Melanie made a face. “Future boy. Yeah. Probably. The way you two lock lips and make googly eyes at each other freaks me out, but it might be good for something after all.”

I chose to ignore her.

Melanie propped her head on one hand.

A sudden, unrelated thought struck me, and I wanted to bang my head against the wall. If I couldn’t get answers to everything, there was one question I could find out the answer to.

“Melanie, who killed you?”

“Jesus, I thought you would never get around to asking.”

“Well?”

“It wasn’t Haven or Bryan. At least”—she shrugged—“Mostly not them.”

“Mostly?”

“Don’t worry about the details. All you need to know is that it was the thing inside this house.”

“Horace? But how did your body get outside?”

Her face scrunched into a sour expression. “I’m not sure. Dying is quite a shock, y’know. I wasn’t really all here until well after the body was found.” She paused, and I thought maybe she’d say more. Instead, she fiddled with one of her necklaces. “Have you ever noticed how the house sighs? There seems to be a lot of rage?”

“Really? That’s what you want to talk about right now?”

“Hey, I’m only pointing out that you might be missing a few things here. Like the fourth floor.”

“There is no fourth floor.”

“Sure there is. You just haven’t found it yet. And when you do”—her tone lost the mocking edge—“be sure of yourself. If you aren’t, it’ll be the last thing you remember before you really are driven mad.”

“What’s up there? Why hide it?” I pointed at her. “And don’t think I didn’t notice you aren’t answering all my questions.”

She pinched at the photo of Bryan, trying to grasp it though her fingers went straight through. “The answer is up there.”

“Who is up there?”

“Ah, grasshoppa, you now ask correct questions,” she said.

I raised a brow.

“
She
is up there. And don’t ask for her name, because I won’t say it. The moment you do, she’ll turn her attention to you, and no one wants that.” Her shoulders hunched, the terror evident in her eyes.

“This place is a maze of riddles.”

“You have no idea. There are things even I don’t know. No one will talk about it.”

We sat in silence, and I reread the letter again, looked over the pictures. Melanie lounged against the other wall. I held up the picture of the woman and her brother.

“If all of you are here, why did she get to move on?”

“You assume she has.”

“I haven’t sensed her.”

“She’s stronger than the rest of us. If she doesn’t want you to know she’s here, you won’t.”

“Why wouldn’t she want me to know she’s here?”

Melanie shifted, her eyes darting around the room. “You’re starting to ask questions best left unanswered. I can’t tell you anything else.”

“Why?”

“You know those kids whose parents indulge them because they were an ‘oops’ or because they spend all their time at work?”

I nodded.

“I’m the ghostly equivalent. I wasn’t supposed to be the one to die, but I did, so I’m allowed more freedom. Like the ability to move between roo—”

Between one breath and the next, Melanie winked out. I didn’t think she intended on it either. A spurt of worry surprised me. She rubbed me the wrong way, but I didn’t want her to end up suffering because of me. My earlier question came back to mind: if a ghost didn’t have to worry about dying again, what would be left to fear?

Who was “she?” And what about this fourth floor? My mind whirled with questions. None of it made any sense, and yet I could almost see the connection if I focused hard. It was there, just out of reach. I let out a frustrated groan. Finding a way out needed to come first. Otherwise, the rest wouldn’t matter much anyway.

I paced the room, measuring it in steps. Twelve across. Fourteen from door to window. One rusting cot with questionable mattress. A broken chair in the corner, and a cracked porcelain basin on an antique washstand with a huge mirror. I moved next to it, my fingers running over the rough, dingy porcelain. The mirror was cracked in one corner, scratched, and frosted by age.

As I looked into it, something moved behind me. I whirled, but nothing met my gaze. The light from the window dimmed, and I rolled my eyes.

“Of course. Everyone needs mood lighting when trapped in a haunted house by ghosts.”

I turned back, and a weathered face stared back. I cried out and backed away. The face tilted, slowly, looking me over. The lips had been sewn shut, but the eyes were hard and bright.

“What do you want?”

The brows drew closer, and anger deepened the lines.

Heat flushed my cheeks. “Sorry. Stupid question.”

The voices in my head subsided a bit, and a rough, deep voice came to the front.

You will give them what they want.

“I hate to break this to you,” I said. “But I doubt that. It seems like you guys all want me dead, and I’m not ready to go yet.”

Before it is over, you will. No one can hear you. No one will find you. You’re ours. At our mercy. We have none.

“All the same, I’m not giving in because you say so.”

Won’t matter. You’ll give. We all did, and you’re no better.

I frowned, then braced myself, moving closer. “Not better, but definitely different. I’m not going to die here.”

I grabbed the basin and swung into the mirror with all my strength, squeezing my eyes shut and turning away. The mirror cracked, and the basin shattered. I opened one eye. Now the angry face stared at me from a thousand shards of fissured glass, still held in the frame.

“Damn. They don’t make mirrors like this anymore.”

Without another word, the pressure built, and I ran for the cot, grabbed the mattress, and yanked it from the bed. The mirror shattered as if someone detonated a bomb from the other side. Shards sprayed the room, hitting the walls with dull thuds. I held the bed out in front of me, using it as a shield. Pain sliced across my exposed fingers, but the worst was caught in the material.

I dropped it, flexing my fingers. Blood ran down my hands, and I picked out a few large pieces of glass.

“Shit.” There was nothing in the room I could use as a bandage, so I grabbed a large chunk of glass from the mattress and pulled at the t-shirt under the coat I wore. I grimaced at the image of
The Princess Bride
and cursed again. “I loved this shirt.”

I hacked at the hem with the piece of glass, cutting more of my fingers in the process. After five minutes, I had a shirt several inches shorter, and fabric tied in awkward knots around my fingers. It wasn’t ideal, but in the process, I learned most of the cuts weren’t deep. Thank God for small favors.

I buttoned my coat shut over my now exposed midriff, and sat on the floor. This wasn’t quite how I envisioned this whole operation ending. If something didn’t give soon, I’d end up like Haven’s mother, or worse. The parting line about psychics never being ghosts inched its way into my subconscious

I racked my brain, and she was right. You never heard about psychics haunting somewhere. While I didn’t know why, somehow the thought made me queasy. What did they want from me?

“Stop thinking so hard, Claire.” The sound of my own voice broken into the stillness like a hammer through ice. “You can handle this. You
have
handled worse.”

Except then, I knew I would be leaving. This time the outcome was uncertain. My hopes all rested with Haven and Grant. The best I could hope for was that they would find me soon.

***

I’m not sure how long I sat there, curled against the wall in the corner, with the mattress propped up as a makeshift shield. I focused my energy on breathing, ignoring the burn of hunger in my gut. It was hard, but I kept the whispering, angry voices out of my head.

They pressed hard, as if testing my mind, looking for weaknesses. The room grew cold as the light from the window dimmed and then disappeared entirely. The darkness nearly put me over the edge. It was complete and as thick as molasses. I waved a hand in front of my nose, and could only see a hint of movement if I strained my eyes.

Shivering, I whispered more prayers than I ever had in my entire life combined. Anything to get out of the room.

Anything?

“Shut up.” I snapped. Needing to move and stretch, I shifted the mattress to the side and got to my feet. I kept my fingers on the wall and made my way to the window. There were no stars. Only darkness and a faint yellow light from the porch. Nothing that could help me. Water slapped against the glass as I watched, and a drizzle started.

It fit the mood pretty well.

I moved back to my corner and curled up again, resting my head on my knees. The rain drummed a soft rhythm on the roof. Despite everything else, my eyes grew heavy. This was no time for sleep. I could feel eyes on me, watching and waiting. They’d already proven they could do damage if they wanted.

A giggle, high-pitched and breathy, echoed from the other side of the room. Adrenaline rushed through me, and my whole body froze. I strained my ears, listening for anything else. Long moments stretched, but there was nothing but silence in the blackness. As I started to relax again, the sound of small feet approaching made me grab the mattress barrier.

A faint bluish glow began in the center of the room, five feet from me. At first I thought my eyes played tricks on me. But it grew, the center growing intense, like the center of a flame. As it got larger, the glow became the hazy outline of a young girl, long ringlets surrounding a chubby face, with a lopsided bow peeking over the top of her head. She wore a blue dress and a white frilly pinafore.

Terror brought a cold sweat to my forehead. Unfortunately, it didn’t stop my mouth.

“What is this? My own personal version of
The Christmas Carol
? I don’t know if you all have noticed, but it’s the wrong time of year.”

The cherubic smile morphed into a snarl, then back again. The change happened so fast, I could have imagined it. Didn’t matter. I remembered that pinafore and mouth of needle-teeth. She drew close enough for me to see the stitching in her clothing, and I pressed my back against the wall.

Help me.

“Not a chance.”

You can’t leave me here to decay like the rest. Look at me. I did not deserve the fate I’ve been sentenced to.

I snorted. “Big words for a small girl.” Her smile slipped and the image wavered, and I caught glimpse of a more horrifying vision. “It’s a good likeness though, I must give you credit for that.”

You refuse?

“Helping you would be like mistaking a shark for a guppy. I’m not stupid.”

Please.
Big crocodile tears welled up in the small face.

Though it did tug at my emotions, I had seen what lay beneath, and I knew better than to believe it. I shook my head. “You’re lying in word and form. Who are you really?”

Not who. What. I am your nightmares, each one, merged into one form.

Great.

“Is this the plan? Annoy me to death?”

You can’t fool us. We know you.

I stood up. I might end up dead or mad, but I wasn’t going to do it cowering in a corner. “Like hell.”

Not like. This
is
hell.

The child in front of me flickered, like a television image during a bad storm. Each time she blinked in and out, the image alternated with some of the other ghosts. The woman with soulless eyes, another blond-haired woman with no face, just patches of skin sewn on with clumsy stitches. Men, children, all of them with various gruesome facades.

I squeezed my eyes shut, but the images were in my mind as well. The voices started again, more distinct this time. Louder. Each one cried out for different things, but all of them insisted only I could provide what they needed.

Peace.

Revenge.

Love.

Life.

Death.

Emotion and need mixed together until it was as if I was the only still point in a world spinning out of control. I hugged myself, forced back bile that burned the back of my throat. I knew I had to keep them from getting any further in my head. If I couldn’t, I’d be trapped in this hell with them for eternity.

Abruptly, everything stopped. The pressure released, and I found myself lying on the floor, my knees throbbing. A whimper escaped and I curled into a ball. Pain radiated through my temples, and tears wet my cheeks.

You will not listen. A challenge we have yet to encounter.

There was a pause.

It is more enjoyable than we expected, but it cannot last.

The voice was softer, distracted. I didn’t know what had turned its attention, but I prayed it took it farther away.

Maybe God heard me. Maybe I got lucky. Either way, as I passed out again, the voices seemed more distant.

***

Melanie stood over me when I opened my eyes.

“I really hope you aren’t going to make a point of this.” I threw an arm over my eyes.

As soon as I sat up three things because apparent: I needed food, the bathroom, and a bottle or two of aspirin.

“Get up already. Haven’s in the house, looking for you.”

“What?” I got to my feet, grabbing the bed frame for support when the room spun. I stumbled to the door, pounding on it with all the strength I had left.

“You’re a wuss.” Melanie’s lips turned up in disgust and she stuck her head through the wall. “He’s coming upstairs. They’ve still got you in here soundproof. You’re going to have to do better than a tap on the wall.”