Icy-cold fear shot up my chest, and I backed away from her, the chair clattering to the ground, my feet tangling up in it so that I, too, fell on the floor in a heap.
Aunt Charlie sighed. “Becca, you really aren’t making this easy for yourself.”
From up above, I heard crashing sounds and a moaning. Aunt Charlie, her face pink and plump, looking more like the Aunt Charlie I had loved as a child, stared at the ceiling. “Mad Martha again. She won’t drink her tea, either.”
“Is Mad Martha really up there?” I asked, sitting on the floor and staring up at Aunt Charlie. She seemed to loom above me, growing bigger and wider even as I watched.
She sipped her tea. “Of course, dear. After all, we live in a haunted house.” She laughed a little tinkle of a laugh.
Mad Martha. Something clicked in my head. I tried to lean forward, but was all tangled up in the chair and couldn’t move. “Is Mad Martha haunting us? Is Nellie?” I hissed.
Aunt Charlie looked down at me. She was quite wide now, like a cartoon character who sucks in helium and turns into a giant balloon that floats away. “Of course they are. That’s what they do.”
That icy-cold fear turned into a pit in my stomach. I couldn’t move. I could barely breathe. “Chrissy,” I gasped, trying to force the words out. “Is Nellie haunting Chrissy?”
Aunt Charlie smiled, her lips blood red. Those bloody lips parted, revealing rows and rows of pointed white teeth. “Of course, dear,” she said, a trickle of blood trailing down her chin. “Just like Mad Martha haunted you.”
I woke up, a scream caught in my chest, completely tangled up in the sheets and covers. Next to me, Stefan groaned and rolled over on his side in his sleep.
In that moment, everything hit me like a freight train. Stefan drugging me. My dream. Mad Martha haunting me—Aunt Charlie used past tense—could that be why I had lost my memory fifteen years ago? Not because of an overdose, but because Mad Martha had possessed me, way back then? Oh God, oh God. I could feel myself starting to hyperventilate, panic filling my chest like a pack of rats. And what about Nellie haunting Chrissy? I had to go make sure she was okay. She could be sleepwalking right then, like she did after I woke from the other dreams. She could be in danger.
And Stefan. The sheer enormity of what he did to me finally sunk in. He drugged me. My own husband drugged me. I wanted to hurl myself out of bed and run screaming out into the night, and never come back.
Becca, stop it. I forced myself to quit thrashing around. Not only were the sheets a tangled mess, but I was soaked in sweat, so everything was sticking to me. If I didn’t calm down, I was going to wake Stefan, and that was the last thing I wanted.
Instead, I stared at the ceiling and listened to my own harsh breathing and Stefan’s snores. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. Every part of me wanted to hurry, wanted to throw myself off the bed and as far away from Stefan as I could. But I had to be smart.
Finally, I had calmed myself enough to begin unraveling myself from the sheets, all the while wanting nothing more than to pounce on Stefan and scream at him. How could he do this to me? Normal husbands didn’t drug their wives, even if they thought their wives really did need sleep. Daniel’s voice echoed in my head—I don’t trust him.
Daniel was clearly on to something.
Finally, I untangled myself and got out of bed. I would deal with Stefan later. I had more pressing issues that needed my attention. I had to go check on Chrissy.
I took a deep breath, straightened my nightshirt, and crept out into the hallway. The house was quiet and still—too quiet and still. Like it was waiting. And watching, the way a predator waits and watches, until the perfect time to pounce …
Okay, the whole thing was getting ridiculous—over the top. I had to pull myself together.
The hallway was quite dark. All the doors appeared to be shut, including Chrissy’s, which was good. Hopefully, that meant she was fast asleep in her bed.
I crept down the hallway, trying to make as little noise as possible. If Chrissy was asleep, I didn’t want to disturb her. I could just poke my head in, make sure she was safe in her bed, and then maybe head down to the kitchen for some coffee to keep me awake while I figured out a plan.
Or … maybe not the kitchen. I didn’t think I could face seeing Aunt Charlie, sitting at the table, blood dripping down her chin as she told me to drink my tea.
As I drew closer to Chrissy’s room, I saw that the door actually wasn’t completely shut. It stood ajar by a few inches.
I stopped and studied the small opening. Did Chrissy ever keep the door open after she turned in for the night? Even if she didn’t, it could be innocent—Chrissy could have gotten up in the middle of the night for some water, or to go to the bathroom, and simply forgot to close it all the way.
But, probably not.
I took a few steps forward, put my hand on the door, and gently pushed it open.
The room was empty.
I took a step inside, staring at the bed, willing her to be in there. But no, the covers were thrown back, revealing light-blue sheets and a head-sized indentation in her pillow. I could see a few long black hairs draped across the pillowcase.
It looked like she had been sound asleep and had just … gotten up.
I stepped back into the hall, trying to keep myself calm and my breathing even, and slowly opened the bathroom door. It was empty, too.
Crap. Where was she?
I stood in the hallway, straining to hear something in the silence other than the beating of my heart. Should I check the other rooms up there, before going downstairs? She hadn’t gone into any of those rooms before. Or should I check the downstairs first?
It still could all be completely innocent, I told myself. Chrissy couldn’t sleep and was sitting downstairs in the dark with a glass of water in front of her. That was why it was so quiet. Or maybe she couldn’t sleep, went downstairs, and ended up falling asleep on the couch.
Maybe she wasn’t sleepwalking.
But, I didn’t believe any of it. I could feel the panic rising up inside me.
Oh God, what if she was waiting down there for me? In the dark? Possessed by Nellie? And as soon as I appeared …
Okay, I really had to pull myself together. Becoming hysterical wasn’t going to help anyone, especially Chrissy.
I headed for the stairs, being careful to check behind every corner, every shadow. Maybe I should just turn on the lights? But, what if that startled Chrissy, and she fell, hitting her head …
I crept down the stairs, staying close to the wall, trying to watch everywhere at once.
There was no sign of Chrissy. The house was quiet and still.
I reached the bottom of the staircase and paused. It made sense to make my way into the family room. That was the room where I had found Chrissy both times before. But how would I get there? I really didn’t want to walk through the kitchen, but the living room looked even more daunting. I could see dozens of hiding places in the hulking shadows and dark, twisted corners. Forget Chrissy, Mad Martha herself could be lying in wait, holding my knife …
Wait a minute. Where WAS my knife?
I thought back to my room. No, my purse wasn’t in there. But, considering recent events and my possible forgetfulness, should I go back up and double-check?
Oh God, just the thought of Chrissy prowling around in the dark with my knife was causing me to hyperventilate. I forced myself to take some deep breaths.
Maybe I’d go through the kitchen and grab another knife. That seemed like the best scenario, but then again, we’d each have a knife, if I did, and would Chrissy, sleepwalking and possessed by Nellie, even respond to me holding a knife? Or would I be better off with my hands free?
Oh God. Okay, I had to make a decision. Otherwise, I would find myself spending the rest of the night at the bottom of the stairs, ba
ck pressed against the wall, jumping at every creak and groan.
I began to slowly ease my way through the living room, trying not to trip as I carefully wove my way through the menacing shadows. I felt like I was walking through a minefield that was just waiting to blow up in my face.
I had almost made it through when I banged my shin on the corner of the bookshelf. I nearly screamed as I bit down so hard on my lip, I could taste blood.
Pausing a moment to collect myself, I leaned against the wall and rubbed my shin. The living room was empty, but that observation did nothing to assuage my panic. Rather, I could feel it racing right below the surface of my skin, like thousands of little rat claws grappling to take hold.
I definitely needed to get myself under control.
After taking a few slow, deep breaths, I finally ventured away from the living room and into the family room.
And there was Chrissy.
She was standing completely still in the exact same spot that I found her the first time—right in front of the bookcase. Her long black hair hung like a silky curtain down her back—in the dim light, the blue highlights had disappeared. Her face was very pale, but serene. Her hands dangled loosely at her side, no knife in sight. She looked like a china doll—beautiful, peaceful, fragile, and very breakable.
I stared at her for a few minutes, struggling to get my head around how easy it had been to find her. I should have just walked in there in the first place, instead of getting caught up in all that worry about what she might be doing.
Clearly, finding her had been the easy part. What was I to do next? I stepped hesitantly into the room, and quietly called her name. She didn’t move. I took a few more steps toward her. She remained still—so still, I had to look closely to see if she was breathing.
Maybe it would be possible to simply take her by the hand, lead her back to her bedroom, tuck her into bed, and just forget the whole thing. No conversation, no nothing. That would be ideal.
Quietly I drew closer, keeping my movements slow and measured. She stayed still, and I started to think maybe my plan would work out after all.
But then she stirred, ever so slightly. “You have a question for me,” she said, her voice flat and emotionless.
I stopped. Don’t answer. I could feel my entire being screaming at me. Just take her by the hand and lead her upstairs. But my mouth opened seemingly on its own accord, and I heard myself say, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Slowly, she turned toward me, her eyes distant and unfocused. “You shouldn’t lie to me. I don’t like it when people lie to me.”
I stared at her, shivers running down my back. Her voice sounded nothing like a teenager—it was far, far older. Ancient sounding.
“Are you Nellie?” I hadn’t meant to ask it; it fell out of my mouth.
The corners of her lips pulled up in a strange, distorted parody of a smile. “That’s the question you’re going to ask me? Seriously?”
On one hand, she sounded more like herself, but that somehow made the entire exchange all the creepier. “What should I ask, then?” I questioned, feeling like maybe what really needed questioning was my sanity. Am I actually arguing with a sleepwalking teenager in the middle of the night?
She turned her gaze back to the bookcase. “What about—where is the locket? Or …” she paused, lifting her finger and dragging it across the book titles. “Or what is in that tea?”
I felt myself grow cold. “How do you know about the tea?”
She smiled her strange, secret smile again. “I know lots of things.” She continued dragging her finger across the books spines, making a scratchy, ominous noise. “Like I know you’re failing right now.”
“I’m failing? At what?”
Her fingernail, back and forth, back and forth. “The first of three challenges.”
“What on earth are you talking about?”
She finally turned toward me, and I sucked in my breath in horror. Her face was empty—expressionless—but there was something about her eyes, something that glittered behind the surface. Something dark. Something predatory. Something that felt like madness.
“Perhaps ‘tests’ is a better word than ‘challenges.’ Nonetheless, you are definitely failing.” She took a step toward me, her movements jerky, like a puppet on a string, all the while her eyes shining with an unnatural, unholy glee. I found myself rooted to the spot, unable to move, or even breathe, as she continued to lurch toward me. “And, if you do fail …” she said, so close I could smell her breath on my cheek, hot and fetid. She paused, and I watched her tongue flick out of her mouth like a snake about to strike. “If you do fail, you will die.”
Suddenly, she gasped, her eyes rolling up in her sockets, her face turning completely white, and collapsed. Moving reflexively, I caught her before she hit the floor, and gently lowered her to the ground. Her eyes fluttered.
“What in God’s name are you doing to her?”
I jumped. Stefan stood by the door, an expression of horror on his face.
“Stefan, this is what I was talking about. Chrissy was sleepwalking again.”
“Get away from her.”
“But, we have to make sure she’s okay …”
“Get away from her!”
“But Stefan …’”
“Are you listening? I said get away from her!”
What Stefan was demanding finally penetrated through all the layers of fear and concern that overwhelmed me, and I slid backwards a few feet. Chrissy’s eyes continued to flutter. “Stefan, this isn’t normal. Usually she wakes up by now. We need to call …”
Stefan knelt beside Chrissy, but his eyes continued to bore into me. “What the hell did you do to her?”
I lifted my hands. “I didn’t do anything to her. She was sleepwalking …”
“Chrissy doesn’t sleepwalk.”
“Yes, she does. She was doing it just now!”
Stefan was shaking his head. “You’re lying again. All you’ve been doing is lying. What the hell is going on with you?”
“With me?” I squeaked in indignation. “I’m trying to help her!”
“No, you’re not helping anything. You’ve been acting crazy ever since we moved here.”
“What are you talking about? You’re the one who drugged me last night.”
“Of course I drugged you. I had to. I’m exhausted, and I needed sleep. I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in I don’t know how long, because I constantly worry about what you’re going to do in the middle of the night.”
I stared at him, a sense of horror starting to dawn on me. “What are you talking about?”
In answer, he held out his hand. My purse dangled from his fist. “This. You’re carrying a knife in your purse.”
My mouth went dry. I tried to lick my lips. Chrissy shifted slowly, and I saw her eyes open. “Chrissy had that knife under her bed. I took it to keep it safe.”
He shook my purse at me. “You’re trying to tell me you found a knife under Chrissy’s bed, and your response was to hide it in your purse?”
I had to admit, it sounded ludicrous when he said it like that. “Well, I didn’t want to put it back in the kitchen, because then it would have been obvious I had found it in her room.”
“Obvious that you found it? Are you listening to yourself? Why were you in Chrissy’s room, anyway?”
This was getting worse and worse. Chrissy was clearly awake and had pulled herself up to sit with her back against the couch as she watched us argue. “I was looking for that locket.”
“Why were you looking for that?”
“I told you, it was Aunt Charlie’s, and I wanted it back.”
Stefan snorted in disgust. “I don’t believe it. What’s really the deal with that locket?”
There was no way I was going to choose that momen
t to explain everything—all about Mad Martha, and Nellie, and Chrissy being possessed. “Why should I tell you?” I yelled. “You drugged me!”
Stefan glared at me. “I put a half of a sleeping tablet in your wine. Not even a full dose. And I admitted it to you. If I really wanted to hurt you, do you think you’d be awake right now? And do you think I would have told you what I’d done?”
My stomach started to sink. That made a certain amount of sense, in a weird way. “Husbands don’t drug their wives,” I said.
“They do when their wife gives them no other option. You’ve been carrying a knife around in your purse. You tried to attack Chrissy the other day over that damn locket, and now I find you standing over her in the middle of the night. You’re not sleeping. You’ve been lying to me about job hunting and God knows what else. You’re forgetting things. You keep talking about crazy stuff like Chrissy sleepwalking. You’re literally acting like a crazy person, Rebecca! I’m at my wits end. I thought if I could get you to sleep, maybe you start to see reason again.”
“But you drugged me with sleeping pills that weren’t even prescribed to me.”
“Oh, yes they are.”
Shocked, I stared at him. “What are you talking about? I’ve never had sleeping pills prescribed to me.”
“Dr. Ellison prescribed them.”
“Dr. Ellison? The guy we had dinner with, because you wanted him to help me find a job?”
Stefan snorted. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know he was a psychiatrist. That’s really why we were there. I thought maybe if you talked to him, he could convince you to make an appointment with him. But that didn’t happen, did it?”
My head was spinning. “What? You knew he was a psychiatrist? Why didn’t you say something?”
Stefan sat heavily down on the floor. “Because I didn’t want you to say ‘no’.” He paused and took a deep breath. “He’s on his way over now.”
My entire insides felt like they hit the floor. “Wait. What do you mean?”
It Began With a Lie: A gripping psychological thriller (Secrets of Redemption Book 1) Page 27
