by Cailyn Lloyd
Laura and Dana looked at each other with stunned expressions.
“How’d you do that?”
“I—I don’t know.” Laura then reached out and touched the salt shaker. Nothing happened.
“Mom, what’s going on here?”
“I don’t know. I met with Sally today, and now she’s dead.”
“So? You didn’t do anything.”
“She knew something, something about the house.”
“You’re not making any sense! What’s the house got to do with it?”
“I don’t know, but it does. I’m packing now. We’re leaving in the morning.”
Laura had one other obligation, or confrontation, to handle. She had planned to leave without a word but decided she wasn’t letting Lucas off that easily. Their relationship had never been perfect, but they had been happy. Now their marriage was a shambles, and Lucas was oblivious to the problems or didn’t care.
Was he cheating on her? Perhaps it no longer mattered.
As Laura reached the arch of the Hall, she saw him sitting by the fire, drinking a beer, working on his laptop. She stopped, nervous, inexplicably afraid of him. Why, she didn’t know.
He looked up. “What’s going on? What’s all the yelling?”
“We need to talk.”
He turned back to his laptop. “Later. I’m busy right now.”
“Lucas, I have something to tell you, and you will sit and listen until I’m finished, even if you think I’m crazy.”
“I’m not—”
“Not a word, Lucas!” Laura felt like bolts of lightning were flying from her fingers. Anger. Fear. Frustration. “You’ll listen or I’ll take Leah, walk out the door, and never come back. Do you understand?”
“You’ve got one minute,” he said with a resigned look, or was it a wary expression? She couldn’t tell. He set his laptop aside.
Laura paced by the fire, unsure what to say, unsure she could convince him, knowing failure probably meant the end of them. Who was this man? She hardly knew him now, the gap between them had grown so wide. Was there anything to save? Facing the prospect of divorce tore Laura internally and hurt deeply. Lucas was a huge piece of her life. She still loved him. Couldn’t imagine a life after him.
“What’s happening to us, Lucas?” She tried to soften her tone and was only partly successful. When he didn’t answer, she said, “Are you seeing someone?”
He continued to stare at her with a flat, wooden expression. She feared he was.
“Lucas! Say something!”
He spoke, like a father addressing an unruly child. “Laura, why are you freaking out? Do you even hear yourself lately?”
“I’m not freaking out,” she said, throwing her hands up, then decided maybe she was.
“You have this unpleasant tone. And no, I’m not seeing anyone.” His body language was off. He broke eye contact.
“I don’t believe you.” She stared him down.
“Nice, so now I’m a liar and a cheat.”
“I think you might be.”
“Then what do we have to talk about?” He slammed the lid of the laptop. “Oh, and have you been turning Dana against me as well?”
“Of course not.”
“She’s been standoffish.”
“Whatever.” She put her hands on her hips. “Lucas, there’s something wrong with this house, and I think you know it.”
“Oh, bullshit.” He spat the words out.
“Hear me out, Lucas. I can’t live here anymore. I’m afraid we’re in danger if we stay.”
“Oh, a few nightmares and now you’re convinced the place is possessed by demons. Sounds like you’re freaking out to me.”
“Unless it’s true!”
“God Laura, you’re pathetic,” he said with a sneer.
“And you’re an insensitive bastard. It’s more than nightmares. It’s the knives and the fire screen and the woman in the hall.”
“Yeah, I know. You saw a ghost—only you. The problem isn’t the house, it’s you.”
The doorbell rang.
They both froze. The sound shook Laura out of her angry fugue. Lucas looked poised to speak further, evidently thought better of it, and walked to the front door. Laura followed, curious and nervous about who she might find there. She peeked out the window of the sitting room expecting to see a mob with torches but saw a squad car instead. Lucas opened the door, and she heard someone say, “Good evening. I’m Sheriff Greene and this is the coroner, Dave Henson. I understand you found human remains in the house?”
“No.” Lucas looked confused. “Not that I—”
“Yes. I did.” Laura stepped up and took over, flashing a look of vindication at Lucas.
She led them down the stairs, through her shop, and along the hallway to the root cellar. Laura flicked on the light and pointed to the pile of bones she had stacked with the stick.
The coroner knelt, donned latex gloves, and carefully picked through the pile.
Lucas, who was already pale, paled further when the coroner said, “Yep, they’re human. Old though, very old. Over a hundred years old, I’d guess.”
He spent a few minutes looking around the room, peering up into the brick room with a flashlight, then picking through the brick and debris. He pulled a cell phone from his pocket and snapped a dozen photos. He turned to the sheriff. “Looks like a burial, from a long time ago. A little strange maybe but nothing criminal.”
“Okay. We’ll need to process the remains,” the sheriff said. “When, Dave?”
Dave looked at the ceiling for a moment. “After the holidays. Monday or Tuesday at the latest.”
“You folks need to stay out of here until Dave comes back to finish.” The sheriff shooed them out and covered the doorway with crime scene tape. He whistled and appeared to be enjoying himself.
“You guys did a nice job on this place,” Dave said.
“I’d say,” the sheriff said. “Find any ghosts in the woodwork?”
Dave and Sheriff Greene laughed. Laura and Lucas were conspicuously silent. They walked both men to the door and wished them a happy Thanksgiving.
When Laura shut the door, she turned to Lucas, who was still pale. “What’s with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Lucas stood wide-eyed as if in shock. He spoke, his voice a monotone, his head shaking in a fine tremor of disbelief. “It can’t be true. Shepherd’s nothing but an old fool. He couldn’t possibly know—”
Laura felt like she had touched a live wire.
Shepherd.
Shepherd was a person!
Laura grabbed his shirt. “Who is Shepherd? What did he tell you?”
Fifty
Kevin Drew left his dripping boots outside the office and slumped into the chair at his desk, still shocked and nauseated by what he’d seen. Sally had been a dear friend, but the slashed and mutilated body to which he had administered the Last Rites barely looked human. After one quick, awful look, he had rushed out to vomit in the snow. He had spoken the prayers with his eyes closed, but the sickly-sweet scent of blood that pervaded the house remained vivid in his mind, even now.
Watching the crowd chase Laura MacKenzie away, he felt humiliated by his inaction, his fear of the mob. The talk was rampant afterward, about Laura and the MacKenzie house. Murmured threats to burn the place down, Laura with it if she refused to leave. Good God! It was the twenty-first century, and these people were acting like medieval peasants on a witch hunt! After Laura left, he tried to reason with the crowd to little effect. He recognized many as parishioners, but they weren’t interested in the message, bent on some sort of vigilante justice. Hopefully, cooler minds would prevail tomorrow.
He wished Laura MacKenzie had never come to see him. Had hoped Laura and her house would go away, but they were here to stay and he knew Sally’s murder was related despite the rational absurdity of such a thing.
Her book and notes sat on his desk. He had taken them today, but the bishop was unimpressed wit
h the story and didn’t feel further intervention was warranted. He reached for the album and paged through it aimlessly, hoping to see some plausible explanation or discordant note. A deep, disturbing shudder ran through him as he turned the page after the Nate MacKenzie story. A nearly blank piece of newspaper stared at him, faint letters visible, growing bolder:
LOST ARROW WOMAN MURDERED
The article was writing itself before his eyes!
He flung the book to the floor in fear and disgust, afraid to touch it, willing it to disappear. Realized he would need to see the bishop again and make a more fervent presentation after his half-hearted effort today. Something genuinely evil was at work here in Lost Arrow.
The parish phone rang.
Hard, cruel words rushed at him. “Stay out of it, motherfucker, or you’ll end up dead just like Sally.”
Click.
He knew he would heed the warning. Frozen in fear, humiliated by his inability to be decisive, to act, Kevin Drew felt paralyzed.
Impotent.
Fifty-One
“Who is Shepherd? What did he tell you?”
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” Lucas pushed Laura’s hand away and stared at her with glassy eyes.
“Lucas! Who is Shepherd?” She moved closer, livid. He’d known something all along. “What did he tell you?”
Lucas stood rigid and silent, his face impassive. He turned and tried to sidestep Laura. Laura shifted and blocked his path.
“He said the house is cursed,” Lucas said, regarding Laura cautiously. “The guy is bat-shit crazy.”
“How would he know? That old book you found?”
“Yes, the book,” Lucas mumbled.
“Lucas! Tell me what he said. Every word!” Laura yelled, angry beyond reason.
“Supposedly, a witch or something was buried alive in the room Nate found. She wrote a curse that still affects the house or the family, whatever. I met with him today. He wanted to ‘warn’ me.” Lucas gestured with air quotes and an eye-roll.
It was true. As illogical and unbelievable as it sounded, Laura believed every word. After everything that had happened, everything she’d experienced, she believed.
Lucas was standing, hands in pocket, staring into the fire. Laura said quietly, “Lucas, you believe it, I know you do. You looked like you’d seen—”
“Seriously? Shut up, Laura!” His face was intense, color back in his cheeks. There was a dangerous gleam of scorn in his eyes. “If you believe that crap, you’re as crazy as he is!”
“You believe it, I know you do! You couldn’t hide it!”
Lucas barked a laugh no more sane than his eyes. His face, taut and menacing, glared through her like the steely tine of a pitchfork. “Never! I listened, that’s all. I just wanted to see how far your delusions have gone. You’re fucking crazy, Laura. Certifiable.”
“Fuck you, Lucas!” She raised a hand to slap him but withdrew. Thought better of it.
“I’m going out. And we’re done. Take your shit and get the fuck out!” He turned and stormed out of the room. The front door slammed moments later.
So that was it. They were over.
Dana poked her head around the arch a moment later. “Mom? You okay?”
“No. Not okay. Gimme a few minutes.”
“I heard everything. So you guys are done?”
“Dana, just give a few minutes!” She was too sharp, almost rude. Dana, looking startled, turned and walked away.
The pain and confusion in her head was overwhelming. Laura laid on the sofa. To rest her eyes, to think, to regroup and then, she was going upstairs to pack. The grandfather clock, ticking away time, seemed entirely too loud because the house was so deathly quiet. She closed her eyes, trying to relax. Moments later, she was asleep. Laura barely stirred when Dana shook her several times before giving up and heading upstairs to bed.
Vivid dreams inhabited her sleep.
She was on the beach in Chicago, the lake water cold and refreshing. Lucas and Leah were with her, and they were having fun, laughing and playing as they had before the house came into their lives. It felt so good to be there, so good to feel normal.
A tap on her shoulder. Laura turned around and screamed.
The woman from the hallway, her hair long and grey, partially concealing a skeletal face. Laura now knew this to be Anna Flecher.
Anna spoke. “Go away and leave well enough alone. Forget Lucas. He’s mine.”
Her words were a hiss, followed by a dead laugh that lingered after she faded into the haze.
Laura walked alone on a desolate stretch of sand, the whistling wind kicking up clouds of dust and pushing tumbleweeds off to infinity. A little man appeared out of the dust, a caricature of a man, dressed in a flowing blue robe covered with stars and crescent moons, carrying a bag.
A doctor’s bag.
He was mumbling to himself. “The sky is red, that’s why. The sky is red, that’s why.”
He vanished into the dust.
Her later sleep was deep and dreamless. The stoned slumber of her overwrought emotions. The sky outside first grew wan with the early light, then vivid red as the sun rose towards the horizon.
* * *
As sunlight first touched the leaded glass in her room, Leah awoke and stared at the ceiling, content for a few minutes with a soggy thumb. She grew bored and stood, making a circuit around the crib before she yelled, “Gama!”
She shook the gate at the edge of her bed and was surprised when it fell into the open position. This had never happened before. She lay down and turned until her feet were sticking out over the floor and slowly lowered herself to the carpet. Two and fearless, she was excited by this newfound freedom and forgot about Gama and her wet diaper. She bounced from toy to toy as each one grabbed her attention.
She pulled the closet door open. There were more toys in there, she knew. She worked her way through them—a stuffed bear, a naked Barbie, a xylophone—until she reached the far corner.
As she reached for a toy car, the floor suddenly shifted and flipped downward into the joist space above the kitchen. It was another trap door, long forgotten, simple in design. It was either open or closed. She fell through the floor and through a weak section of plaster lathe that gave way with little resistance, sending the frightened child down upon the dishes and glasses strewn across the quartz countertop.
* * *
A loud crash and breaking of glass startled Laura awake.
She sat up, fully alert, vigilant. Listened but heard nothing. Something was wrong, terribly wrong, and Laura felt a crushing anxiety in her chest. She stood and roamed around the Hall. Didn’t remember falling asleep here—oh, maybe she did. She and Lucas had fought and she’d laid down. Why hadn’t Dana woken her? Where was Leah?
She stepped past the fireplace into the library.
Nothing out of place.
That sound. What was it?
Walked through the arch to the front room. The house was silent—her breathing and a clock ticking the only audible sounds. Eerie. So very eerie.
She stepped into the foyer, looked up the stairs, saw nothing. Took a few more steps until she could see into the kitchen.
Laura saw a bloody form on the countertop among the broken glass and dishes. Walked slowly in that direction unable to comprehend what she was seeing, then screamed when she realized it was Leah.
Laura ran toward her and slipped in olive oil that had pooled on the floor after running from a tipped bottle on the counter. Her head hit the edge of the quartz counter, then the stone floor as she fell, all of this in a rapid blur of motion just before the world went dark.
Fifty-Two
Laura was lost.
She had fallen through the stone floor of the kitchen into a cavernous space filled with dry swirling fog. Laura wandered aimlessly, searching for Leah, the steady rhythmic clicking of her heels echoing around her. Shapes crossed her path, some vaguely familiar, others too nebulous to see. She heard sounds, voices perhaps
, low and distorted, speaking in tongues. Time was abstract. Perhaps this was the afterlife, but it was neither heaven nor hell, just a murky void. Painless. Cold. Indifferent.
Small breaks appeared in the fog, like the sun burning through a morning haze. The light came and went like intervals of day and night. She had dreams, vivid and frightening, fragments of her nightmares woven into confusing collages. At times, Laura thought she saw Leah, but she was always fading away into the haze. As the fog dissipated and Laura edged closer and closer to consciousness, she fought it, preferring the anesthetic numbness of the swirling mist. There was no reason to wake up.
Leah was gone.
She heard mumbled voices, felt hands manipulating her body, poking her with sharp objects. The hands physically moved her; then she was rolling and moved again. Unwillingly, Laura opened her eyes and focused vacantly on a room both white and bright. A machine towered above. An intravenous pump clicked steadily beside her.
Confused, she twisted and struggled in a panic, sending angry spears of pain through her head.
“Where am I?” Laura cried.
“Auburn Hospital, ma’am.”
Then she remembered. Leah was gone. She felt hollow and disconnected from her body. Tried to find her way back to the fog, away from the suffocating pain and grief that awaited her in consciousness. She wanted to sleep forever.
“Annie, page Doctor Ellerton. Stat.”
She fell back onto the gurney under the strange machine, slack like a lifeless doll.
A strange voice intruded. “Mrs. MacKenzie, the doctor will be right in.”
A young woman, dark-haired, plain-faced, and dressed in white, put a hand on Laura’s arm, either as reassurance or in restraint. It wasn’t clear. Laura recoiled from the hand.
“Leave me alone.”
“Mrs. MacKenzie, the doctor ordered a CT scan.”
What was this place? A hospital? An asylum? Why did she need a scan? Nothing made sense. She only remembered the bloodied body on the kitchen counter. Could think of nothing else.
