by James Hunt
“What the hell?”
With enough presence of mind to grab her pack, Sarah opened the car door and collapsed onto the pavement of the highway’s shoulder. With the pain in her leg spreading, she scrambled toward the woods that lined the highway, half crawling, half limping toward the tree line.
“Wait!” Tye exited the car but didn’t follow. “You need help!”
Leaves and branches crunched underfoot as Sarah traveled deep into the woods. Tye continued to call out to her, but instincts and pain propelled her forward. She sprinted through the forest like a wounded animal, searching for safety but unsure of where she could find it.
Finally, her muscles growing exhausted, Sarah collapsed to the dirt, wheezing. She lay still for a long time before she managed to gather enough strength to lift her head. Slowly and carefully, she peeled her pant leg up. “Shit.”
The frost-blue scales had crawled from her ankle halfway up her calf. She reached down and touched one of them and found the scales hardened. Exhausted, she collapsed onto her back.
She had no idea how far she’d run, and she had no idea in which direction. The pain and the panic had disoriented her. Finally, she pushed herself up and spun around a few times, trying to get her bearings.
Directionless, Sarah started walking. Periodically, she glanced down at her left leg. She thought of Maggie, who she’d watched transform into ice and then shatter.
Puffing icy breaths and still unable to feel the frigid temperature, Sarah emerged from behind a large maple and stopped. She squinted at something on the horizon, but the thick brush and the darkness masked the image.
Sarah hurried forward, the object growing larger and closer. She noticed a clearing past the trees, and she prayed it was the embankment to the road. At a full sprint, Sarah broke through the forest and then skidded to a stop, paralyzed.
The Bell mansion stood towering in the distance.
Sarah shook her head. “That’s not possible.” She spun around, seeing the town below. At the realization she had returned to the one place she was trying to avoid, she broke down into tears. “This isn’t happening.” Sarah dropped to her knees, sobbing.
Had she knowingly run here? Had the redheaded girl been right about her not being able to leave? Sarah peeled back her jeans. The icy scales shimmered beneath the moonlight. If running away from Bell made the scales spread, then she was stuck. And if she couldn’t run, then she was dead.
Deputy Dell Parker had left the hospital with more questions than answers after the interview with his tightlipped victim. He reached for the radio and contacted dispatch. “Faye, this is Dell, I need you to run a name for me.”
“Go ahead, honey,” Faye answered.
“Brent Alvarez. Traditional spelling. He’s a detective with the seventy-eighth precinct in New York. I need to get in contact with him.”
“Got it. Anything else?”
“Not yet. I’m heading back to the Bell house now to question the groundskeeper.”
“Do we need to call the sheriff?”
“I don’t want to wake him up just yet.”
“Copy that.”
Dell’s headlights flashed over the sign for Bell as he turned off the highway and onto the two-lane road into town. It was a path he was familiar with, having grown up in Bell. And he also knew the family the victim had worked for, which had made all of this even more strange.
Dell parked at the foot of the hill the Bell mansion topped and got out of his car. He looked up at the house, which presided over the entire town. Growing up here, it was impossible to try and get out of the shadow of that house. And while he had his own bone to pick with the family that resided inside, he needed to make sure those old feelings didn’t interfere with the investigation.
It was a long walk from the gate and up the steps to the front door, and Dell was short of breath by the time he reached the top. With his head tilted back, catching his breath, he noticed a window boarded up on the second floor. He walked over to get a better look and crunched something beneath his boot.
Glass shimmered beneath his foot, and he squatted to examine the pieces. He picked up a shard, rotated it in his hand, then tossed it back onto the concrete.
Dell knocked on the door, and after five minutes passed Dell had raised his fist to knock again when the door opened.
“Dell? What the hell do you want?” Kegan was red-eyed and covered in a long black robe, the hem hovering near his slippers.
“I need to speak to Dennis,” Dell said, retaining the even-keeled tone that he’d honed after five years on the police force.
Kegan crossed his arms, positioning himself in the middle of the doorway, purposefully blocking the entrance. “Why?”
“There was an incident reported, and he was named as the prime suspect.”
“If you want to talk to anyone in this house, I suggest you provide a warrant or a subpoena or have enough for an arrest, but judging by the lack of documents, I’m going to assume you have neither.” Kegan smirked. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
It took every ounce of Dell’s willpower to not throw a pair of cuffs on him at that very moment.
“Kegan?” Iris Bell’s voice echoed inside, and the weathered old woman appeared at his side in the doorway. She was dressed in a nightgown, her skin wrinkled like a raisin. “What’s this all about?”
“It’s fine, Grandma,” Kegan answered. “I’m handling it. Go back to bed.”
“It doesn’t look fine,” Iris said. “What do you want, Dell?”
“I need to speak with Dennis.” He tried looking inside, but Kegan blocked his view. “Do you know if he’s here?”
“I already told you that unless you have a warrant, you’re not getting anything from us,” Kegan answered.
“Oh, Kegan, stop it.” Iris gently slapped her grandson’s arm and then pushed him off to the side. “Dell, if you need to speak with him to sort out whatever is happening, then come in. It’s ungodly cold outside. And I need my beauty rest.”
Kegan eventually moved out of the way, and Dell stepped inside. “Thank you, Mrs. Bell.”
“Dennis!” Iris leaned on the bottom newel post and hollered up the steps. “Get down here, now!” She turned around, smiling at Dell. “It’ll just be a minute. The man usually sleeps with his shoes on, so he’s always ready to go.”
Dell nodded, forced to linger in the awkwardness of the family squabble, and then watched Dennis descend the staircase.
“Dennis, Dell wants to ask you a few questions,” Iris said, guiding the groundskeeper from the steps and across the foyer. “Just be honest with him, all right?”
“Yes, Mrs. Bell.” Dennis nodded quickly, refusing to look Dell in the eye.
Dell regarded the aging groundskeeper, and noticed an odd lump beneath the arm of his left shirtsleeve. “What happened there?”
“Got stabbed in the thorn bushes,” Dennis answered, keeping his head down.
“That’s quite the bandage for thorns.” Dell squinted. “Have you had any interaction with Sarah since she started working here?”
“If this is about Sarah, then why don’t we just call her down?” Iris asked.
“Yeah,” Kegan echoed.
“Because Sarah was the person who made the report.” Dell watched the reactions of both Kegan and Iris, and while they played the part of shocked and confused, Dell was most concerned with Dennis, who didn’t react at all. “Do you have a shed out back, Dennis?”
“Sure.” Dennis shifted back and forth on his feet, eyeing his toes.
Dell stepped closer, and Dennis took a step back. “Mind if I take a look?”
Dennis immediately looked to Iris, and Kegan stepped between them.
“No.” Kegan stomped his foot. “There is no way I’m letting you a step farther without a warrant. If you think you can—”
“It’s fine, Kegan,” Iris said.
“No, it’s not!” Kegan spun around, but the moment he caught the flash of anger that spread over Iris’
s face, he deflated. “Fine.” He flapped his arms at his sides. “Do whatever the hell you want.” He stormed off, muttering to himself as he trudged up the stairs.
“Dennis, why don’t you show Dell where you keep your tools?” Iris asked, providing Dennis the needed push to head out the back. “You’ll excuse me if I don’t join you, but I don’t like the cold. I’ll make some tea, though, and have it ready for both of you when you come back into the kitchen.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Bell,” Dell said and then followed Dennis, who shuffled forward along the tile, dragging his feet, his head down.
Dell kept an eye out for anything peculiar on his trek through the old mansion, but he didn’t spot anything out of the ordinary. It had been a long time since he’d been inside this house. And even with all of those years behind him, traversing these halls still gave him the creeps.
Despite the family’s attempt to keep the grounds neat and tidy, they couldn’t fight crippling effects of age and time. Like Iris Bell, the old structure looked one stiff breeze from falling apart.
Dell had been invited to the house once when he and Kegan were kids. There were enough rooms for everyone who lived in the town, and while they explored every nook and cranny, the fifth floor was off-limits. Kegan never told him what was up there, but now he had the sudden urge to find out.
Secrets clung to the walls of the house, its history written on pages as brittle as the old woman who lived here.
Dennis used a flashlight to guide them out to the shed, which he unlocked with a set of keys from his pocket. The walls of the shed leaned to the left, and the tiny pitched roof was caved in on the right side. Dell was surprised it hadn’t collapsed on itself yet.
Dennis stepped aside after he opened the door, and Dell approached, flashing his light inside. The walls were lined with various garden tools: picks, shovels, hoes, and clippers. He stepped inside, finding the floor covered in wood, and he immediately started feeling around for any loose boards.
A couple had some give, but it was mostly just due to age and frailty. It wasn’t until Dell reached the rear of the shed that a plank finally gave way. Dell dropped to a knee and pried away the loose board, finding the box that Sarah had spoken of. He removed it and set it on the floor, looking back to find Dennis still standing there in the doorway, watching him.
Dell returned his attention to the shoebox and then opened it, and he frowned.
“I don’t trust banks,” Dennis said.
Crumpled bills and change filled the box. Dell dumped the money onto the floor, looking for the IDs that Sarah had seen, but the box was empty save for the cash. Dell walked around the place for a little longer, looking for any other signs of loose boards, but he did so haphazardly. He was at a dead end.
Finished with the shed, Dell followed Dennis back to the kitchen, where Iris had the tea ready for him to drink.
“Find anything, Deputy?” Iris smiled from behind her cup then gingerly sipped her tea.
“I appreciate the time, Ms. Bell, and the cooperation. I’d like to take Dennis down to the station for some more questioning.” He didn’t think Sarah had lied, and if he could get the groundskeeper alone and out of the house, he might be able to work some information out of him. It was apparent that Dennis had been instructed to do whatever was asked of him, and it had been well rehearsed.
Iris looked a little surprised. “Did you find something to warrant more questioning? Did Dennis not comply with everything you’ve asked?”
“Just some due diligence, ma’am. I think we both agree that making sure we get the facts right here is what’s most important.”
The smile vanished from Iris’s face as she set the tea on the table and stood. “If it’ll end whatever nonsense you’re chasing, then so be it.” She turned to leave, chin up, but then stopped just before she reached the kitchen’s exit. “But make sure you don’t keep him all night. Dennis has work in the morning.” She looked past Dell toward Dennis, glared, and then disappeared.
“Do I need to bring anything?” Dennis asked.
“No,” Dell answered. “This won’t take long.”
Dell escorted Dennis down to his squad car, rehashing the conversation with Sarah. He didn’t think she was lying, but he knew that he wasn’t getting the whole truth on what happened at the house, and what happened with that detective in New York. But he would.
13
Sarah kept her pant leg rolled up, keeping an eye on the icy scales that had progressed to just below her knee. She’d tried every direction—south, east, west, and finally north. Their only commonality was that they led her away from Bell, and the farther she walked from Bell in each direction, the more the scales spread.
Sarah touched one of the scales, the hard edges thick and dull. And the more they spread, the harder they became. Her foot was like an alligator’s hide. She turned back to the north and returned to Bell, nursing the headache that had plagued her whenever she tried to distance herself from the town.
It was the house, and whatever… thing lived inside it.
But aside from what that thing was doing to her, Sarah didn’t know anything about it, and if she wanted to fix whatever the hell was wrong with her, then she needed to learn more about the house and the family that lived there. And during her time in Bell she had met one man who was knowledgeable about the town’s history, and that’s where she went.
The lights in Pat’s Tavern had gone out, the bar already closed for the night. Sarah circled around to the back of the building and found the small shack that acted as Pat’s studio. A light shone through the shack’s only window, and Sarah was glad to know he was awake.
Sarah knocked on the door quickly and then listened for any movement inside. When she heard nothing, she knocked harder. She descended the short staircase and then waited as the sound of footsteps headed toward the door.
“Sarah? Jesus, what are you doing out here at this hour?” Pat was dressed in jeans, shoes, and a long-sleeved shirt. He looked outside, checking to see if anyone was with her.
“I need to talk to you,” Sarah answered.
Pat stepped aside and then motioned for her to enter. “You must be freezing. Come in, come in.”
Sarah paced the small area, examining Pat’s living quarters. It was a simple setup: bed along one wall, a two-person table with only one chair along another, and a small kitchenette near the door. No television. No technology of any kind that she could see.
“It’s like a hermit’s hut in here,” Sarah said, noting the lack of fire in the wood-burning stove.
“It’s better than sleeping outside.” Pat reached for his only chair and then gestured for Sarah to sit. “What’s going on?”
Sarah’s legs groaned in relief when the pressure from her knees disappeared. She felt safe here. And after she took a minute to gather her thoughts and figure out what she wanted to say, she cleared her throat and looked Pat in the eye. “Those stories you told me about. The ones about the town and the deal that Allister Bell had made with that witch...” She watched him closely, studying his expression. “Are they real?”
Pat narrowed his eyes, tilting his head to the side. The hint of a smile crept up his cheeks. He laughed, more nervous than excited. “Are you serious?”
Sarah lowered her head and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I know it sounds crazy, but…” And before she could talk herself out of it, Sarah rolled up her pant leg, exposing the icy scales.
“Oh my god,” Pat said, his voice a harsh whisper, then bent down to take a closer look. He grimaced, but amid the horror, there was fascination. “What is that?”
“I don’t know,” Sarah answered. “The doctors at the hospital thought that it might be frostbite, but it’s not like any frostbite that I’ve ever seen.”
“No,” Pat said, that sense of awe still in his voice. He raised his eyes to meet Sarah’s. “And you think this has something to do with the Bell house?”
Sarah nodded and then rolled her pant leg back down.
“When I was there I saw a woman at night, but she was… hurt.” She couldn’t bring herself to say “dead” because it still sounded like nonsense in her own mind. “I found a box of driver’s licenses and IDs, including the license of the girl I saw. I think all of them used to work at the mansion.” She swallowed. “And I saw a body.”
“Christ.” Pat rubbed his face until his cheeks turned red and then crossed his arms. He stared at the floor a while, shaking his head. “Did you tell the police?”
“I told the deputy about the IDs,” Sarah answered. “I didn’t mention the body.”
“What? Why?” Pat stood. “Sarah, you need to report this.”
“Because the Bell house isn’t the only thing I’m running from.”
Pat frowned. “Sarah the police—”
“I can’t!” Sarah blurted out. “I can’t talk to the fucking police!” She felt control slipping away, and the desire to tell someone, the need to purge herself of what had happened in New York and why she had run here in the first place tipped the scales and became overwhelming. Her breathing quickened, and Pat kept his distance. Sarah prowled back and forth like a wounded animal.
“What did you do that was so bad?” Pat asked.
Tears broke through despite her anger, and Sarah smeared them away with the sleeve of her jacket. “It wasn’t something I did.” Her lip quivered. “It was something I didn’t do.” She sat on Pat’s bed and sobbed.
Sarah could see the girl now, could see her screaming for help, begging for them to stop, but all she had been able to think of in the moment was saving herself. Because that was how she had grown up, and that instinct for survival was all she knew. She looked at Pat.
Pat walked over and placed his hand on her shoulder. “What happened, Sarah?”
Sarah shook her head, clasping her hands together so tightly that her knuckles whitened, and she walked over to Pat’s bed. “I just watched her die.” She froze, feeling as empty as the ghosts that had visited her over the past few days. “I watched them put a gun to her head, pull the trigger, and I didn’t tell anyone. I just ran.” She turned around and saw Pat by the door.
