The Haunting of Bell Mansion

by James Hunt

  Never had she felt such trepidation for one room since she was an orphan, and that’s when she realized that’s what was bothering her so much.

  Somehow, at twenty-three, Sarah had returned to the same state of mind as when she was an orphan. She was sneaking around a house where she wasn’t welcome, with people she barely knew, and struggling to stay alive.

  Despite her efforts, despite trying to claw her way out of a system that did nothing but try and keep her pressed down and weak, and after thinking that she had finally made it out, she discovered that she had never really left. She was still that lost little girl after her parents had died. She was stuck in a loop.

  Sarah let go of the handle and moved toward the nearby hallway window. The warmth of the sun was amplified by the glass, and she caught the lightest reflection of herself in the window. She didn’t realize it until she saw, but she was crying.

  Tears rolled down her cheeks and dotted the floor with dark blotches that mixed with the dust and grime that the floorboards had collected over the years. She tried to remember what that juvenile therapist had told her when she was seventeen. She tried to tell herself that life wasn’t fair, and that everyone had a sob story, and that her problems weren’t that big in the grand scheme of things. But she didn’t care.

  “It’s not fair.” And Sarah knew it wasn’t. How had this moment been thrust upon her? How did she become the goat for the future of the world? She didn’t want to be here. She didn’t want to do this.

  “I know.”

  Sarah spun around, finding the redhead floating behind her, though she was different, more ghostly. The striking red hair that floated around her head had faded considerably, and the vibrant and curious eyes that had greeted her when they first met had become sad and depressed. She was more ghostly than she looked before, like her soul was dying.

  “Know what?” Sarah asked, keeping her voice quiet, unsure of where the witch and Kegan had disappeared to. “Know that this is all bullshit? That I shouldn’t even be here.” She wiped the snot collecting on her upper lip and angrily glared at Mary, who remained unfazed by Sarah’s grief. “I didn’t create this mess.”

  “We know,” Mary replied, her voice soft and quiet. “But if you don’t save us, then everyone will die, including Dell, and I don’t think that’s what you want.”

  The sound of his name pulled Sarah closer to Mary. “He’s alive?”

  “For now,” Mary answered. “But there isn’t much time. The same curse that afflicted you is coursing through his body. And it’s growing worse.” Mary winced, showing her first signs of pain. “I don’t know who much longer he’s going to last.” And then she faded, growing lighter and lighter. “Help us, Sarah. Save us. Save him.”

  Sarah reached out and tried to touch Mary’s arm, but all that remained was a cold patch of air. She reclaimed her hand and then looked back toward the door. Like it or not, and whether she asked for it or not, this was her trial.

  Sarah returned to the door and opened it quickly before she lost her nerve, then stepped inside. She was sure she’d have to hunt for the orb, but she hesitated when she found it lying on top of the bed comforter in front of a pile of pillows.

  It was too perfect, and as Sarah approached, she expected to set off some booby trap. But her approach went unnoticed and when Sarah touched the orb, she quickly retracted her hand.

  The surface was hot, scalding hot, like it had just been taken from the oven, and when Sarah examined her fingertips, she discovered that they were red with first-degree burns. She grabbed a pillow and stripped it of its cover, then rolled it into the sack. She was unsure if it would burn through the cloth, but when she pressed her finger against the bulge at the bottom of the sack, she realized that it was cool to the touch.

  Sarah headed toward the door and quickly scurried down the hallway. She was mindful of her steps, which elicited only a few groans on her descent, but what worried her more was how quiet it had become.

  No whispers, no movement, nothing.

  Sarah paused at the bottom of the stairwell, peeking through the crack in the door and checking the hallway. It was empty and quiet like the rest of the house. With the pillow cover slung over her shoulder like a hobo’s stick and sack, Sarah hurried toward the door on the other end, hoping to escape the same way she’d entered.

  She glanced behind her just before she was about to pass the gap in the hallway that led to the foyer and the front entrance, and when she faced forward again, the witch was blocking her path.

  “Look who decided to come home,” the witch said.

  Sarah skidded to a stop, her heels scuffing against the runner that cut down the middle of the hallway. She turned around to run, but Kegan appeared from the bottom of the stairs, his face set in the cold expression of granite.

  “Oh, he can’t help you anymore,” the witch said.

  Sarah’s attention was split, and she tried to keep an eye on each of them as they slowly closed in. “What did you do?”

  “Gave him a little dose of persuasion.” The witch puckered her red lips and blew a kiss toward Kegan. “I had a feeling something fishy was going on, and I was right. Turns out the Bells do have a conscience. They just decided to grow one at the wrong time.”

  “Kegan!” Sarah screamed, but he continued his methodical pace toward her, those eyes set in a fit of rage. “Don’t do this.”

  “He can’t hear you, sweetheart,” the witch said. “Drop the orb, and I promise I’ll make your death quick.” She laughed.

  One hand still holding the pillow sack, Sarah aimed the gun at the witch, who only smiled.

  “You think that will stop me?” The witch asked. “You foolish girl!”

  The witch lunged, and Sarah squeezed the trigger. At first she thought the bullet missed, but as the witch slammed her up against the wall, Sarah saw the bullet wedged in the middle of the witch’s forehead.

  “Mortal weapons cannot kill me.” With one hand on Sarah’s throat, lifting her off the floor and pinning her against the wall, she used the other to yank the pistol out of Sarah’s hand. She held it up so Sarah could see, then crumpled the weapon in her fist.

  Sarah’s eyes bulged as she struggled for breath, then reached into her pockets and fumbled around until her fingers grazed the cross.

  “Goodbye, Sarah,” the witch said.

  Sarah grabbed hold of the cross, then quickly pulled it from her pocket. The witch hissed, releasing Sarah and retreating from the sight.

  Sarah crumbled to the floor, coughing and gasping for air, but she had the good sense to keep the cross raised, keeping the witch at bay.

  “You won’t be able to stop it!” the witch screamed.

  Sarah stood, adjusting her grip on the cross, checking behind her for Kegan’s progress, who seemed unfazed by the holy object. “We’ll see about that.” Sarah inched the cross closer, drawing more agitation from the witch.

  “GAH!” The witch hastened her retreat, and Sarah was only a few steps from the foyer. She’d head out the front doors and then run as fast as she could for the woods.

  The witch looked past Sarah and at Kegan, the beauty from her face faded and stretched into a murderous rage. “What are you doing? Kill her!”

  Kegan lunged forward, sprinting toward Sarah, but she’d already turned the corner and headed for the door. She turned as she opened it and saw Kegan barreling toward her, the distance between them already cut in half.

  Sarah thrust herself out into the cold, her feet smacking against the hardened concrete as she made a sharp right toward the woods. She churned her legs faster than they’d ever moved. Her lungs and muscles burned. She kept her eyes on the forest, not even daring to look behind her, knowing that giving in to the urge would mean her end.

  Pavement transformed to grass, and before Sarah realized it, she was across the grass and in the forest. Her ankles shifted awkwardly from the harsh terrain of the forest floor, and she pivoted her hips and shoulders, weaving through the trees.
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  And still Sarah didn’t look back. Because all she could think of was running, and the consequences of what would happen if she was caught.

  29

  Reality and fantasy had blurred. Dell was convinced that it was the power of the place he was trapped in. Never in his life had he experienced such pain at the hands of resurfaced memories and forgotten fears.

  It was like the very air he breathed cultivated the terrors of his past and the uncharted fears of the future. And the longer he stayed, the more he inhaled, the worse the harvest of his mind became.

  It started small at first. He’d black out for a minute, and images of his father’s abandonment would flash in his mind. He never saw his father’s face as he walked out the front door, suitcase in hand. But every clack of his heels against the floorboards pounded in rhythm with Dell’s heartbeat.

  Dell tried to chase his father, but his mother kept hold of his arm. Tears squeezed from his eyes, blurring the final images of his dad that he possessed, screaming for him to stay, begging his dad not to leave. He pulled harder against his mother’s arm, and she finally let him go after he was out the door and had started the car.

  Dell twitched in his sleep, bursting out into the sunlight, but there was no warmth that greeted his face as he leapt off the front porch and tumbled to his hands and knees on the grass.

  Clouds of dust were kicked up from the tires of his father’s truck, and Dell hacked and coughed as he inhaled the particles, unsure of why his father was leaving and where he was going, and angry that he never had a voice in his departure. But no matter how far he ran, or how fast he moved, he never caught up to the truck. The trail of dust kicked up swallowed him whole and choked him. And that’s when he would wake.

  Dell’s eyes popped open as he drew in a ragged breath that hurt even worse than his nightmare. He pushed from his back to his side and struggled to breathe, his hands pressed against jagged rocks and its uneven surface that never allowed comfort.

  “It’s better if you stand,” Allister said, appearing at his side.

  “I can’t,” Dell said, his face grimacing in pain.

  “It just feels like you can’t. Come on, up you go.”

  With the old man’s help, Dell rose to his feet, and despite the agonizing pain, he did feel better once he was off the ground. He brushed what looked like black coal dust from his arm and then winced from a sharp pain in his abdomen. He wearily lifted his shirt and found the scales had spread to the lower portion of his ribs.

  “It’s getting worse,” Allister said, looking at the spreading disease.

  Dell let go of his shirt and then stumbled a few steps, suddenly dizzy and lightheaded. “How much time do you think I have left?”

  “Not much,” Allister answered.

  And as if to echo the impending doom, the drums for war beat over the horizon. Dell turned toward the army of demons and the undead that grew restless in the valley. The sky had brightened with fire, though there were still dark blotches of black and harsh greys, as if the sky was nothing more than a smoldering piece of fresh coal.

  “She’s fighting for you, Dell,” Mary said, appearing alongside Allister.

  “Sarah?” Dell asked.

  Mary nodded, smiling.

  “I wasn’t sure if she would.” Guilt flooded Dell’s veins, knowing that even after his sacrifice, she wasn’t out of danger. “I can’t fix it.”

  “Fix what?” Allister asked.

  Tears formed in Dell’s eyes, and he scuffed his heel against the jagged and rocky terrain. He thought of his mother, his father leaving, all of the kids that had teased him in school, the Bells, his work as a cop. None of it was good enough. Not even giving his own life.

  Dell flapped his arms at his side, and a spurt of laughter dribbled from his lips. “No matter what I do, I just can’t get it right. It’s like I’m—”

  “Broken on the inside,” Mary said.

  “Like your thoughts are twisted and rotten,” Allister added.

  One by one, more of the souls that were trapped in this purgatory emerged.

  “Or something inside of you doesn’t fit.”

  “Like you were born with a missing piece.”

  “Like you’re different.”

  Everyone had a different way to say it, but the more that Dell heard, the more he realized that burdens were universal.

  “There isn’t a human that has walked this earth that hasn’t felt the weight of their own doubt,” Allister said. “But what those people forget is what we no longer have.”

  Dell turned to Allister like a man lost in the desert and searching for water. “What?”

  “The promise of tomorrow,” Augustus answered.

  Dell nodded, walking toward the valley’s edge, pushing his toes over the edge, gazing down into the hellfire below. Those bastards had a tomorrow, and if they were granted that tomorrow, then it would come at the price of everyone else’s.

  Dell turned back toward the other souls that were trapped. “Why don’t we fight?” The question poured out of him like a geyser, the surprise on his face mirroring everyone else. “We can help the people on the other side.”

  “There is no fighting those things on this side,” Allister said.

  “Have you tried?” Dell asked, addressing the group that had amassed near the cliff’s edge. While no one spoke, when faces looked away or down, Dell had his answer. “We might be able to buy ourselves some time.”

  Allister stepped from the crowd. “Dell, it’s a noble thought, but you haven’t been here for as long as we have.”

  Dell stepped closer, maintaining eye contact with Allister. “I know it hurts, but it’s better to stand than to lie down.”

  While Allister’s shoulders deflated, a hint of a smile curved up his left cheek. He turned, joining Dell at his side. “He’s right! Whatever pain we’ve endured, the sins we’ve committed, all of us have yearned for the simple opportunity to fight back, and this is our chance!”

  The crowd stepped forward, pulled in by Allister’s speech.

  “We have loved ones, friends, and family that are still alive, and if those monsters make it to their world, then they will be burned at the stake!” Allister pointed toward the demons, and when Dell pulled his gaze toward the creatures, he saw that they had quieted, heads slowly turning toward Allister, whose voice challenged the fires that surrounded them. “But we are here, and they are not, and if we are to be the line in the sand, then let them come through us!”

  A low horn blew in the distance, far across the horizon, that pulled everyone’s attention from Allister. It rattled Dell’s bones, and though he knew the sound was meant to bring him to his knees, he refused to bend.

  When the blare ended, the horn was replaced by a unified thunder; it was the demons. They stomped, each quake louder than the first, growing so powerful that it fractured the rocks beneath Dell’s feet.

  He curled his hands into fists and stepped all the way toward the ledge, followed by the other six hundred and sixty-five souls, looking down on the demons below. And while he exuded confidence and bravery, he whispered a silent prayer in his own thoughts.

  Sarah, if you can hear me, then please, hurry.

  While it went against every fiber in Brent’s body, he stuck to the woods on his trek back toward the GTO, and every step reinforced his hatred of nature. He batted away the branches that scraped at his cheeks and kicked the shrubs that ruined and stained his nice shoes.

  Blisters had already formed on the sides of his feet, and his cheeks were flushed from the exertion of the hike. And the longer he was forced to walk, hidden among the trees like an animal, the more rage that bubbled to the surface of his consciousness.

  He imagined every possible way to kill Sarah. Guns, knives, fire, baseball bat, tree branch, rock, pencil, his bare hands, just a handful of thousands of murder weapons that could do the job, though it was the method of his attack that he wanted to iron out.

  Variables such as pain and sufferin
g were high on the list, and he wanted to ensure that he was able to prolong them before her death as much as possible. He would bring her right to the edge and have her look over the side to the skeletons that riddled the valley and then pull her back, wait until she regained some strength, and then start it all over again until she couldn’t take it anymore.

  Though, he had to remember that all of this would have to wait until after her trial for murder, but he smiled, knowing that it would only give him more time to figure out just exactly how he was going to enact his revenge.

  The woman’s voice echoed in his mind, and he couldn’t rid himself of the image of her face. Though he couldn’t quite remember the details of the woman who set him free. They shifted and morphed like sand after a windstorm in the desert.

  But the one consistent quality was her beauty. The kind of looks a man like himself would kill to have in his bed, and one of the rare few that actually had the resolve to do it.

  Lost in his own thoughts, Brent nearly passed the mangled remains of his GTO in the ditch. He approached wearily, on the lookout for any troopers or cops that might be camping out. From the looks of the wreck, it hadn’t been touched by the cops yet. They were probably too busy searching for Sarah. And him.

  Brent emerged from the trees, the rage that was simmering just below the surface now at a full-blown boil, looking at the sight of his car. It had taken him years to refurbish the GTO, and it all came undone in the blink of an eye.

  The chassis had been twisted, the front and back were crumpled, and all of the windows were either broken or completely shattered. Three of the tires were flat, two of the rims bent, and one wheel was completely missing altogether. Oil leaked down the driver side door, the black goo blending nicely with the dark paint job.

  With the vehicle upside down, Brent had to get on his hands and knees to crawl inside through the window. He would have just opened the door, but the wreck had sealed the doors shut. Glass shards scraped against his jacket and jeans, and blood rushed to his head as he ducked his head into the cab.