The Haunting of Bell Mansion

by James Hunt

  Mouth slack, Brent widened his eyes, a tingling cold crawling up his back that was even harsher than the air that surrounded him. It was like ice was crystalizing his spine, which stiffened. His heart pounded heavy in his chest, and he grew short of breath.

  He suddenly thought of the woman that had set him free from the back of the squad car. A tickling whisper entered his ear with the calmness of a light breeze. It was wordless, and yet Brent understood what was said, and the realization spread the ice from his spine and into the rest of his limbs and body.

  The icy glaze reached into his mind and seeped into his thoughts and memories. The terrible, thunderous voice of his father echoed through his mind, and Brent shook in fear. He shut his eyes, fighting back tears, knowing how much his father had hated seeing that kind of weakness from his son.

  He was back under his bed, but this time his father threw the mattress off and across the room, exposing Brent like a cockroach in the darkness. He still held a nearly empty bottle of whiskey in his hand, his eyes red and glossy. The front of his shirt was stained red, and the blood on his knuckles was still damp.

  If he was done with Brent’s mother and he was still thirsty for punishment, then Brent knew that it was going to be a walloping. A viral hate of his mother’s weakness flooded through him, and he screamed as his father lifted him off the floor, bringing him front and center to his father’s foul stench.

  The drunkard’s breath always smelled like shit, and the mix of booze and heat and sweat only amplified the sourness that, even now, churned Brent’s stomach.

  The fear grew so strong that Brent wet himself. His father berated him, beat him, and left him bloody and bruised and for dead in his room once he was finished.

  And just as quickly as the whispered memory surfaced in Brent’s thoughts it was gone, and he gasped for air as if he’d been holding his breath.

  Still trembling, he glanced down at the wet patch on his jeans, which was now freezing in the cold. He grimaced in anger and disgust and then looked back to the house. And when he did, there was another whisper, and this time he was able to make out the words.

  “Find her and bring her to me.” The woman’s voice purred into his ear. “And I will give you everything you want. I will give you the power that you deserve.”

  Another warmth spread through his groin, but it was triggered by a more primal sensation. He wanted that power, but what was more was the fact that the voice he was listening to understood what he had always known. That he deserved it.

  And why not?

  The power that he wanted was a chance at safety. Because if you were all powerful, then there was nothing that could hurt you. Nothing that could harm you. Enough power in your possession and you were invincible.

  Brent started up the house, not sure what was drawing him to it, but coming to the self-realization that it was where he needed to go. And as he started up the hill, he could see the front entrance of the house. He kept off to the side, choosing not to use the grand staircase that provided an easy path to the top, again drawn by the primitive instinct that it was where he needed to be.

  And with his eyes locked on the door, Brent stopped when he heard a door slam up ahead. His gaze turned west, and from his position on the hill, he watched Sarah sprint from the house and dart into the woods.

  At first, Brent remained motionless, the shock of being so close to his prey immobilizing him. He watched her fade into the woods, and then he smiled and reached for his revolver. It was perfect, a final chase to lead to a confrontation between the hunter and the hunted. And the prize for Sarah’s bounty was clear.

  No longer would the past haunt him. No more would the memories of his childhood prevent him from becoming the man he was supposed to be. The future was there for the taking. And as Brent broke out into a jog and headed for the woods, a sudden, excited madness took over him. While he was so focused on the task at hand, his vision had become so tunneled that he couldn’t see the strings being pulled by the witch above his head.

  It wasn’t until the muscles in Sarah’s legs finally gave out and she skidded across the dirt, and rocks, and twigs that she stopped running.

  Crouched on all fours, Sarah inhaled sharply, sucking wind as she glanced behind her to make sure that she was alone in the woods, and then her eyes fell to the orb and the pillowcase that had become dirtied from the ground.

  Sarah rolled to her side and wiped the sweat that was trying to freeze to her forehead, smearing dirt along her skin in the process. Still huffing, but having better control over her breath, Sarah peeled back the pillow cover and revealed the orb, being mindful not to accidentally touch it.

  What sunlight filtered through the clouds from the height of the afternoon made the orb sparkle as she rotated it in her hands, keeping the cloth of the pillowcase to cradle the orb. In the daylight it was beautiful, like a solid sphere of crystal with diamonds sprinkled between it.

  Sarah stood, still cradling the orb with the pillowcase, and spied a rock cropping to her left. She hurried over and raised the orb high above her head, and then brought it down with all the force her arms and body could muster.

  She shut her eyes when the orb left her hands and turned away so she wouldn’t be struck by the shards that would be sent flying. She winced from the heavy thud of the contact, but the noise wasn’t the cracking, crushing noise that she had anticipated.

  Sarah craned her head around, her eyes widened in disbelief as she found the orb in perfect condition. She dropped to her knees and hovered over the orb to get a closer look, but as she searched the orb’s surface, she found no fractures, no cracks, not even the slightest signs of a blemish.

  With the pillowcase, Sarah picked it up and again heaved it high and slammed it down harder, this time not turning away. And like before, the orb cracked against the rock, and then rolled off into the dirt.

  Sarah retrieved the orb and heaved it against another rock, and then a tree, and then the ground itself. But no matter the surface and no matter the force, the orb refused to crack. “Shit.” She huffed under her breath and then kicked the orb, sending it rolling against a tree.

  Hands on her hips, Sarah remembered the holy water and the crosses that the priest had given her. If they worked against the witch, then there wasn’t any reason why they couldn’t have an effect on the orb. After all, it was used by someone who was evil, so it stood to reason that it could help destroy a weapon of evil.

  Sarah removed the cross first and thrust out her hand, inching it closer toward the orb. She tilted her head back, unsure of the reaction the pair would create.

  Arm shaking, Sarah moved the cross within an inch of the orb, but it had no effect. She relaxed and gave the cross a quick tap against the surface. Nothing.

  Defeated, Sarah slouched and twirled the cross between her fingers. She stared at it then pocketed it before replacing it with one of the glass tubes of holy water. She shook her head, still amazed that the tiny sliver of water hadn’t frozen.

  Keeping the cork in it, Sarah squatted next to the orb and cocked her head to the side, looking for any dent that she might have missed from earlier. When she found nothing, she uncorked the bottle and hovered it over the top.

  She tilted the tube slowly, knowing that she couldn’t waste all of it, especially if she had another run-in with the witch. She suspected that the priest didn’t have this kind of stuff on demand. A drop would be enough to test, and when the first bit trickled out, she snapped her wrist back and corked it.

  The droplets splashed against the orb and trickled down the sides. But as the line of water curved all the way down and pooled at the earth beneath the orb, Sarah saw no effect.

  She quickly stood, spinning around in a half circle, tightening her grip on the glass tube, her arms shaking in anger. She pocketed the holy water before she accidently smashed it against the ground in a fit of rage and then kicked the orb, hard, sending it careening through the woods and disappearing into some low-lying shrubs.


  “Fuck.”

  Anger steamed off of her, and she paced the ground in quick turns, going over everything that the priest had told her, but when she couldn’t find the answer herself, she collapsed in the dirt.

  If she couldn’t find the answer herself, then she needed to go and speak with someone who understood what to do. So she decided the best course of action was to return to the priest. If anyone could help, it would be him.

  Sarah snatched the pillowcase off the dirt, not bothering to brush it off, and reached for the orb in the bushes, but stopped at the harsh snap of a twig.

  The noise spiked her heartrate, and the adrenaline that had been missing flooded her veins. She snapped her head around toward the noise.

  Barren trees, rocks, and soil greeted her view, but Sarah continued to scan the area. There had to be bears and such up here that she didn’t know about, or mountain lions, though she was so tired she knew that pretty much anything could kill her.

  Sarah paused, her body coiled in anticipation for a fight, but the wilderness around her remained quiet. The tension in her muscles relaxed and she turned to pick up the orb, stuffing it back in the pillowcase.

  “Hello, Sarah.”

  Color drained from Sarah’s face, and she nearly dropped the pillowcase from her hand, but she tightened her grip at the last second and prevented it from falling.

  A wicked smile had spread over Brent’s face. It wasn’t his natural, sly, charming grin that had first made Sarah take him to bed, but instead was wild and violent. The corner of his left eye twitched, which only accentuated his madness.

  “Bet you never thought you’d see me again, huh?” Brent asked, as if she should be impressed that the pair had reunited. He stepped toward her slowly, methodically, arm outstretched with the gun in his hand, his finger on the trigger. “You’re my ticket out of here, Sarah.” The smile widened even further, stretching Brent’s face to an unnatural width.

  Sarah remained still, either frozen by fear or fatigue. Her muscles were little more than jelly. She knew that she couldn’t make a run for it. She’d get three feet before he put a bullet in the back of her head. She had to keep him coming toward her. She needed to get closer.

  “No,” Sarah said. “I didn’t think we’d see each other.” She flashed a smile. “Goes to show how much more you know than me, Brent.”

  “I tried to help you, Sarah.” Brent continued his walk forward, and the smile waned. “I wanted you to be my right hand. We could have done whatever we wanted, we could have ruled the city.”

  “We can’t go back?” Sarah asked, keeping her tone docile and attempting to flirt even though she wanted to vomit. “We can’t give it another try?”

  Brent wiggled his eyebrows, the conflict raging inside of him evident from his expression. His arm shook, wiggling the pistol as he stepped closer. “No. I can’t—We can’t.”

  “If you kill me, then they’ll send you to jail, Brent,” Sarah answered. “You need me to take the fall for that woman you killed.”

  “And the trooper.” Brent looked away for a second, his voice a whisper, as if he had suddenly just remembered all of the terrible things he’d done over the course of his life. He shook his head, shaking the memory from his thoughts. “It’s over, Sarah. No more running. No more games.” He cocked the hammer back. “No more.”

  Sarah’s heart hammered in her throat, and her nerves grew hot and flustered. Adrenaline had her blood pumping and set her body on fire. “Wait, just wait.” She held up her hands, trying to buy herself some time and knowing the one thing that even madness couldn’t steal from a man. His lust.

  Sarah dropped the pillowcase. She stepped toward him, opening her jacket as she did. And despite the cold, she didn’t shiver.

  Brent kept the pistol aimed, but when she passed the barrel and was less than an arm’s length away, he slightly lowered his arm, his eyes transfixed on Sarah’s figure.

  She approached him slowly, hesitantly, as if she were aroused and frightened by his prowess at the same time. It was a technique that she had discovered that most men enjoyed, but Brent most of all.

  He dropped his eyes to her chest, his mouth slack, as she raised herself up on her toes and brought her lips closer to his neck, and in the same motion ran her hand down his chest, stomach, and stopped at his belt.

  “I know you remember how it felt.” She kept her voice low, and she felt his heart pound against her own chest. “I know you remember how good it made you feel.” He looked down at her, and she flashed a short smile. “How good it made me feel.”

  His breathing grew irregular and heavy, and while his attention was focused on her, the gun was still outstretched, and his finger was still on the trigger. And with her exposed, all it would take for him to kill her would be to place that barrel against her temple and then squeeze the trigger.

  Sarah kept her eyes locked on Brent’s while her practiced fingers unbuckled his belt. His desire had hardened, but still he kept the gun up and aimed. She needed him to drop it. She needed him to let go. She pushed her hand into his pants and stroked him, inching her own lips closer to his until they were only a breath apart.

  “If you want me,” Sarah said, her voice still that whisper. “Then take me.”

  Brent’s entire body trembled, his eyes locked on her, his breathing quickening, and then in one split second, he dropped the pistol and forced his mouth onto hers. He picked her up, his hand groping her body, and pinned her against a tree.

  Sarah peeled her lips away from his and then eyed the pistol on the ground as he kissed her neck. Then, slowly, she pushed his head down, and he kissed her body as he lowered to his knees. Sarah ran her hands through his hair, hardened by the cold and all of that fucking gel he put in it. She gave it a playful tug and forced his eyes up toward her.

  “Thank you,” Sarah said.

  And when Brent smiled, she swung Brent’s head down and thrust her knee as hard as she could into his nose. The contact triggered a wave of pain all the way to her hip, which was only worsened by the cold, and blood spurted over her jeans and the ground as Brent’s head popped back and he tumbled to the dirt.

  Sarah sprinted for the gun, arms outstretched, and she made it three steps before a hand clamped around her ankle and pulled her to the ground.

  Her chest and stomach smacked against the rocky soil, the air rushing out of her lungs with a heavy whoosh noise. She turned to look back and saw Brent’s angry snarl and the flash of blood on his face.

  Sarah kicked again, hitting Brent in the forehead, but he refused to relinquish his grip. He clawed forward. She squirmed, thrashing her body as viciously and wildly as she could muster. Her fingers raked the dirt and rock, the revolver just out of reach.

  Desperation motivated every single movement, and when another hand clamped around her other ankle and tugged her backward, she screamed, the cry bursting from that primal place in her soul that understood the end was near.

  “You bitch!” Brent screamed as he flipped her from her stomach to her back, pulling her, Sarah’s back scraping against the cold and rocky terrain.

  Sarah bucked and twisted her hips, kicking, fighting back with what strength remained to her, but Brent overpowered her and flung her into a nearby tree.

  Sarah’s back buckled harshly against the thick oak, but she was quick to bounce back when she saw him reach for the gun. Back and innards aching, Sarah sprinted toward Brent and then launched her body at Brent, spearing them both to the ground.

  Shoulder, elbows, and knees violently cracked against one another and the ground, and when the rolling ended, Sarah lay next to Brent on her back while he tried to push himself up from his stomach.

  Disoriented, it took her a minute to get her bearings, but when she saw the flash of silver from the revolver, Sarah scrambled toward it. She snatched it up in her hands, and when she heard Brent roar, she spun around and fired as his body slammed against hers and they cracked against the ground.

  Brent’s weight grew e
ven heavier on top of Sarah, but the pistol was still wedged between their stomachs. The pair locked eyes, and Brent’s mouth was hung open in an oval shape, his tongue lolling in his mouth as he gagged.

  Sarah lay still beneath him, watching the life drain from his eyes and feeling the warmth of his blood leave his stomach and spread across her body. She felt Brent’s muscles relax, and then eventually blood dripped from the corner of his mouth and onto her cheek.

  And finally, Brent lay his head on Sarah’s shoulder and exhaled his last breath.

  Crushed by his weight, Sarah struggled to get Brent off. It was her frustration that finally provided the needed strength to move him. She lay there on the ground, eyes shut, sucking in big gulps of air.

  Brent’s warm, sticky blood quickly dried and hardened against her clothes, and Sarah finally pushed herself to a sitting position.

  Dirt and dead leaves stuck to the back of her head and back, and she stared down at the blood that covered her body and the revolver that now rested between her legs on the ground. She stared at the weapon, then turned to look at Brent.

  His arms and legs were splayed out awkwardly, and a massive red stain covered his abdomen. Blood still bubbled up from the wound, and his eyes were open, his face staring up at the fading afternoon sky. He was still and quiet.

  And the longer Sarah stared at the body, the more her nerves frayed and unraveled. She hyperventilated. A sourness plagued her stomach, which lurched and twisted. A warm, acidic bile crawled up her throat, and Sarah scrambled on her hands and knees away from the scene of the crime as she vomited into the bushes.

  Two more rounds came up before she was finished, and then some dry heaves brought on by the sudden stench of blood that still lingered on her shirt. She wiped her mouth and then stumbled away from the pile of vomit, still struggling to catch her breath.

  Sarah planted her hand on the trunk of a nearby tree to help support her, her entire body shaking from the exertion and the cold and the rundown fatigue that had crippled her body. She placed her forehead in the crook of the arm that she folded against the tree trunk, her mind throbbing and aching.