Hendricks watched with gruesome fascination as strange drawings and symbols began to appear. She wondered where Ileana had learned all of this.
Ileana sketched one last symbol onto the fox pelt, and then sat back on her heels, wiping her bloody finger on her jeans. She gathered the bundles of herbs from the floor and stood, passing one each to Eddie and Hendricks.
“Either of you got a light?” she asked.
Eddie tugged his lighter out of his pocket, and Ileana motioned for him to light the bundles.
Once they were all smoking, she said, “Smudging only works if you get the smoke into every corner of the house. You’ll have to open every door, every closet, even the kitchen cupboards. The ghosts will hide if you give them the chance. You want the smoke to permeate the house, so they have no choice but to follow it.”
Hendricks felt cold somewhere deep inside of her. She nodded.
Ileana turned and began walking carefully through Steele House, the softly smoking sage held out in front of her like a beacon. Hendricks couldn’t have said exactly what the smoke smelled like, but it reminded her of being in the cemetery for her grandmother’s funeral. A strange mixture of packed earth and flowers.
First, they headed outside, and around the side of the house, to the cellar.
“This is where you did your original ritual, right?” Ileana asked, as Hendricks and Eddie spread their smoke to the far corners of the room. “Was there any particular reason you chose this place?”
“Maribeth died down here,” Eddie said.
Hendricks dropped to her knees so she could spread the smoke into the darkness beneath the staircase. She almost expected the shadows to move, like they had the night the wine exploded, but they stayed still. “And I saw a cat,” she added. “A ghost cat, not a real one.”
She felt a little stupid admitting that, but Ileana stopped moving, and looked over at her. “You saw the cat?”
Hendricks nodded at the wall. “It ran through those shelves.”
“Hmm,” Ileana murmured.
They headed to the first floor next, spreading out so that they could smudge every room and closet and bathroom. The smoke was thick and white. It gathered in the corners near the ceiling. If Hendricks breathed too deeply, she knew she’d start to cough.
Finally, they took the stairs to the second floor.
“I’ll take the bathroom,” Hendricks said, starting down the hallway. Ileana nodded and gently pushed the door to Brady’s bedroom open, while Eddie stayed in the hall, waving his smudging stick behind the half-finished, plastic-covered walls.
The door creaked slightly as Hendricks let herself into the bathroom, and then there was cold tile beneath her bare feet, and cold air creeping in from around the window frame. Shivering, she stopped in front of the sink and set the smoking sage down on the counter.
Love itself, she thought.
She tried to breathe, but she could only manage short, shallow inhales that left her head swimming. Every muscle in her body felt pulled tight, like rubber bands about to snap, and her pulse was fast and fluttery. She kept expecting something to jump out of the shadows at her, hands reaching for her neck, teeth bared.
It didn’t help that nothing had, so far. It only made the anticipation worse.
With a slow exhale, she switched the faucet on, letting the water grow warm and fill the basin.
Her reflection stared back at her, her hair swept into a messy bun, her face clear of makeup so that she could easily see the dark shadows beneath her eyes and the gray cast to her skin. She looked terrible. Tired. She leaned closer to the mirror, squinting at her pores, running her fingers along her hairline. Steam rose up from the sink, fogging the mirror.
Shaking her head, she leaned over the sink and gathered water in her hands, splashing her face a few times.
Something rustled behind her.
She jerked her head up, water still dripping from her cheeks. She’d moved too quickly, and accidentally bit down on her tongue. The taste of blood filled her mouth.
Cringing, she brought a hand to her lips, scanning the room reflected in the foggy mirror.
There were the freshly painted, lilac-colored walls, bare because they hadn’t yet gotten around to hanging pictures. The toilet was to her left, and above it was a small window with the blinds drawn. The bathtub was behind her, the wall hidden by the shower curtain she’d brought from their old house. It was white and covered in a repeating pattern of jungle cats in profile, all mid run. Everything looked exactly like it was supposed to.
So why was her heart beating just a little bit faster?
Look closer.
She fumbled along the sink without moving her eyes from the rest of the room, jerkily switching off the faucet, and then leaning forward to wipe the fog from the mirror with her palm. The silence seemed to gather more thickly around her. She frowned, her eyes meeting the eyes of her reflection. What was it she’d thought she heard, exactly? It had only been a sort of quiet swish, like fabric moving. She’d probably kicked the bathmat across the floor, or bumped into the shower curtain.
One more.
The voice was back. It spoke directly in her head. Her breath stopped in her throat.
Her eyes drifted back toward the shower curtain, narrowing.
The curtain didn’t move, but Hendricks thought she saw shadows shifting behind it. The shape of someone who’d been crouched inside the tub slowly standing up.
“No,” she whimpered. She whipped around, breathing hard. Her hands groped for the edge of the sink, and she held tight, the sharp corner digging into her palms. Her back was to the mirror now, and she was facing the shower curtain directly.
There was no shadow. There was no one there.
Hendricks stood frozen, terror building in her chest. She was shuddering all over now. She inched away from the sink, one hand reaching for the door. She needed to get out of here, get back to Ileana. She lowered her hand to the doorknob and, when it wouldn’t turn, she glanced down at it, turning her back on the tub.
There was a sound behind her, metal scraping metal.
Hendricks jerked her head around. The sound she’d heard had been the sound of the metal rings scraping across the bar as someone yanked the shower curtain back.
Sure enough, the curtain was open now. But the tub was still empty.
Hendricks’s heartbeat was cannon fire. She groped for the doorknob behind her back, but she couldn’t get it to turn. Her nostrils twitched as the air around her slowly filled with the scent of cologne.
She looked away from the tub for a fraction of a second, and when she looked back, there was a boy standing in the tub, watching her with wide black eyes, her razor clutched in one hand. He tilted his head, his upper lip twitching.
Hendricks could feel the scream building in her chest. Her mouth opened, and she managed to release a choked whimper before an invisible force wrapped around her throat, squeezing.
The boy spoke, his voice a deep rasp that sent fear shooting down Hendricks’s spine. “Do you want to play a game?”
The bathroom lights flickered.
And now he was climbing out of the bathtub, his fingers tightening around the razor, his lips pulled back from his teeth so that he almost looked like he was grinning. He placed one foot and then the other onto the floor. Hendricks saw that his feet were bare, something oozing from beneath his toes. His toenails had grown long and yellow, and they clicked against the bathroom tile.
She grasped for the doorknob, wrenching it from side to side, but it only jangled in the door, refusing to budge. The invisible force wrapped around her throat seemed to be pinning her in place.
The lights flickered again, and now the ghost boy was closer, just a few inches away.
“The game is called make-over,” the ghost said in that same deep, shivery voice. “Doesn’t that sound fun?�
�
His face looked wrong, his eyes too far apart and pure black, his lips pulled too tightly over his teeth.
Those teeth. Now that the boy was so close, Hendricks could see that they were sharp, as though someone had filed them to points.
Hendricks’s hands curled into balls. Her shoulders hunched in fear. She was going to die, just like Maribeth had died. She began to cry, weakly, as she clawed at the invisible hand that held her pinned to the door, choking her.
The scent of rotting flesh and cologne was overwhelming now, clogging her nostrils, crawling down her throat and into her eyes.
She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t scream . . .
And then the lights went out.
CHAPTER
27
“Here, kitty, kitty . . . Here, kitty . . .”
The voice rose from the darkness, cold and flat and close. Hendricks pressed herself against the bathroom door, the invisible force around her throat squeezing still tighter. She felt light-headed, like she might pass out. She curled her hands into the door, her fingernails pressing into the wood.
“Here, kitty . . .” the boy said again, and now Hendricks heard the sound of toenails clicking, followed by the dry scrape of the boy’s dead skin dragging over the tile.
Her breath stopped in a gasp. The boy was coming toward her. Tears leaked down her cheeks. She knew that he was close, but it was too dark for her to see just where he was. At any moment she would feel him reach for her, his cold hands wrapping around her arm—
“Help,” Hendricks choked out, barely able to force her voice out of her throat. Her hands twitched against the door. “P-please help . . .”
Cold metal touched her face, and she froze. It was her razor, the razor the ghost had been holding. Hendricks felt it drag over her skin, almost lovingly, the edge of the blade not yet cutting her.
“You’re such an ugly bitch,” said the boy, his breath tickling Hendricks’s ear. It smelled of rot and damp and things that were long dead. “But you could be pretty if you tried.”
Hendricks thrashed, and the blade nicked her ear, drawing blood. The ghost hissed, and there was a slashing sound in the air, followed by bright pain as he brought the razor down hard across her shoulder. She felt her skin split open, felt the sharp edge of metal dig into her. She gasped and arched her back, soundless. Her skin smarted as blood rushed from the gash.
Frantic now, she struck out with every part of her body she still had control of. She felt the blade cut into her again, and then again, but the ghost seemed to have a harder time when she was moving. She kicked into the darkness, and her foot connected with something. She heard the soft thwump of a body hitting the floor.
The lights blinked on, again, and Hendricks saw the boy lying in a heap on the tile.
The lights flickered.
The boy lifted his head. Moving jerkily, like a spider, he crossed the room on all fours and was in front of Hendricks again. His appearance shifted again, giving way for something dead and wrong. Mold grew up along the side of his face, and his teeth and lips were black. There was only a gaping, bleeding hole where his nose should be.
Hendricks gathered her strength and kicked with both feet this time, sending the ghost skittering backward again.
A low growl seemed to bubble up from beneath her.
Hold still.
Hendricks froze. The voice didn’t come from the boy but seemed to speak directly into her head. It was as though the house itself was talking to her.
It wanted to hold her here, she realized. It wanted to keep her forever.
Hendricks grasped at the force around her neck with both hands and pulled, her muscles straining. The lights above her flickered more quickly now, turning on and off like a strobe light. The grumbling sound grew louder.
And then Hendricks was on the ground, sobbing, the taste of blood thick in her mouth. She was alone in the bathroom now, the ghost boy gone. Her razor lay in the middle of the tile, still dripping blood.
Hendricks lifted a hand to her throat, but whatever had been gripping her was gone, too. She could breath. She could speak.
She thought she heard footsteps on the other side of the door, or maybe it was just the sound of her own blood pounding in her ears. She couldn’t tell. Scrambling to her feet, she threw the door open, and tore down the hallway, immediately colliding with Eddie and Ileana.
Eddie said, “What is it? What happened?”
“Did you see something?” Ileana asked, at the same moment.
Hendricks’s mouth flapped open and closed, like a fish. She couldn’t speak. “Ghost,” she managed, after a moment.
“In the bathroom?” Ileana asked. Hendricks nodded and Ileana raced past her.
“Come here.” Eddie wrapped his arms around her shoulders. Hendricks closed her eyes, breathing steadily. She realized, in a detached sort of way, that he was patting the back of her head, murmuring into her ear, “It’s okay, you’re safe now . . .”
She felt her heartbeat begin to slow. Whatever that was, it’s gone now, she told herself, burrowing into Eddie’s chest. His hands moved down her back, rubbing in small, comforting circles, and she felt her head fit easily under his chin. His T-shirt was soft beneath her cheek, smelling of fabric softener and something else, something sweet.
Hendricks’s nose twitched. That smell . . .
Eddie kissed the top of her head. She could feel how cold his lips were, even through her hair. “It’s okay,” he said, “it’s okay, kitty.”
Hendricks stiffened.
Cologne, she realized.
Her skin crawled. Acid climbed her throat.
Hendricks jerked away from him, her blood running cold. “What did you call me?”
Eddie began to laugh. “What’s the matter?” His voice was different now. It was the ghost’s dry rasp, like the rustle of dead leaves.
Hendricks felt her terror deepen. She was frozen to the spot, her arms and legs numb with fear.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked. “What do you want?”
The false Eddie was grinning. Dark blood oozed between his teeth and dripped over his chin. As Hendricks watched, horrified, his face began to change. His eyes moved farther apart and darkened, his hair grew long and thick.
It wasn’t the same ghost she’d seen in the bathroom. This ghost had longer, darker hair and a wicked grin. The word loser had been carved just below his neck, and blood dripped over his chest, gathering in the folds of his tattered clothes.
“We already told you,” he said. “We want one more.”
Hendricks felt the blood rush back into her veins. She screamed and jerked backward so violently that she lost her balance, collapsing onto the floor just at the top of the staircase. She struggled to regain her balance, to get back to her feet, but this new ghost was faster. He leaned over her and curled his fingers through her hair, fingernails scraping her scalp. Hendricks screamed as the ghost hauled her off the floor—and threw her.
Hendricks didn’t have time to catch her breath before she slammed into the top of the staircase. And then she was falling, rolling, tumbling down the stairs. She couldn’t see, couldn’t grasp hold of anything to stop herself. She felt something hard and sharp hit the back of her head, just above her spine—
—and then everything went black.
* * *
• • •
Eddie’s screams cut through Hendricks’s thoughts, waking her. She lifted her head, and forced her eyes open. The room swam in and out of focus, and it took her a long moment to figure out that she was lying in a heap at the foot of the stairs. Everything hurt.
Grimacing, she tried to push herself to sit, but sharp pain cut through her ribs, stopping her. Tears sprang to her eyes. She must’ve broken something.
Eddie’s voice cut through her thoughts. “Get off me, you psych
o!”
“Eddie?” Hendricks said. She tried to sit and, again, pain shot through her body, nearly sending her tumbling back to the ground. She whimpered, gasping. She couldn’t do it, she couldn’t stand. It hurt too much.
But she couldn’t leave Eddie to face the ghosts alone, either.
Breathing hard, she lifted her hand to the bannister above her head, wrapped her fingers around the raw, splintery wood, and pulled. Everything inside of her screamed, but then she was standing, her other arm wrapped around her side, and it wasn’t so bad.
“It’s okay,” she said to herself. “You can do this.”
Taking shallow, sharp breaths, she forced herself back up the stairs, following the sound of Eddie’s screams.
Eddie was lying on the nursery floor, his shirt torn open, his arms pinned to either side of him. The boy she had seen in the hall was sitting on his chest, Hendricks’s razor gripped in one hand. Seeing him caused her to freeze, breathing hard. She could still remember the feel of that ghost’s cold lips on her head. Her knees knocked together.
She caught the edge of Brady’s dresser, her other hand still clutching the doorframe. Eddie’s eyes swiveled over to her, widening.
“Hendricks,” he yelled, bucking beneath the ghost. “What the fuck is happening?”
“Can’t you see him?” Hendricks hissed. The ghost brought the razor to Eddie’s chest, and Eddie screamed as a bright line of blood appeared on his skin.
One more, she thought desperately.
The ghosts needed a sacrifice, and they were going to take Eddie if she didn’t do something now. But Ileana said that a sacrifice didn’t have to mean a death. Love itself, she’d said. That’s what Hendricks had to sacrifice.
With a groan, she pushed herself off the dresser and hobbled down the hall, to her bedroom.
She’d sacrificed a lot over the last year, but there was one thing she hadn’t been able to get herself to get rid of, even though she’d known it was messed up to keep it.
The Haunted Page 18
