"Janet?" she asked to the empty room.
Soft music played from somewhere out in the hallway.
Bridgette got out of bed at once and crept to the door. She poked her head out and looked each way, hearing the music coming from somewhere to the right. The door to Orianne's room at the end of the hall stood open a crack. The music was coming from in there.
The hall stretched in front of her like some cold catacomb. Her body shook as she took timid step after timid step toward the room.
"Janet?" she said softly, barely above a whisper. Her own voice frightened her as it bounced off the walls.
By the time she got to the room, her heart was fit to explode. The music was antiquated and of poor quality, like it was coming out of an old, tinny speaker. And when she stood in front of the door, wondering if she dared to peek inside, she heard Janet's voice. But it sounded strange and unlike her. She spoke words that were too soft for Bridgette to hear.
Bridgette took another step forward on the soft carpet and poked her head in the gap. There was a candle burning on the writing desk, illuminating Janet sitting in the chair. Her back was to Bridgette, and she held an old letter in her hands. She was staring at it and speaking soft words to it... almost cooing to it. She ran her fingers tenderly along the texture, as if this was more than just a piece of parchment to her. On the desk next to the candle was an old music box. It sat open, a little figurine of a ballerina slowly spinning around in circles as the strange tune played. The ornateness of the piece made it seem like it was hundreds of years old.
Bridgette listened carefully, trying to discern the words Janet was saying as she stroked the letter. She concentrated until she could finally make out a single one: "Roger..."
Bridgette put a hand to her mouth, stifling a gasp. Whomever she was looking at, it wasn't Janet.
Dawson stood on the dock at the edge of the water. He'd taken a long walk from the museum down the narrow and dusty road. He walked under the rustling canopy of the trees until his legs got tired, eventually finding an old dock leading up to the bay. He could see the mansion atop the hill in the distance. The sight summoned a bitterness that rested on his tongue. He collected his saliva and spit it out.
As the water sparkled in front of him in the moonlight, Dawson held the engagement ring in his fingers, slowly turning it over and inspecting it. The anger hadn't left him, nor had the disappointment and the confusion. He didn't think it ever would now. He spent five grand on the ring and he remembered the feeling of joy he had when he bought it. Dreaming of his future with Bridgette, the two of them living in a nice house with the classic white picket fence... the family, the whole works. But when he tried to recall that image, now it was twisted, like some evil villain had gotten a hold of it and worked it like a carnival clown twisting a balloon into a hideous shape.
He swallowed down the anger in his throat, then he threw the ring as hard as he could. He saw a thin glint of moonlight reflecting off of it as it sailed over the water, and then it disappeared into the depths with a tiny splash.
And it felt like a heavy weight was suddenly lifted off his shoulders.
Possessed
When Bridgette awoke in the morning, she found Janet lying in the bed next to her, curled up like a child and clutching her arm in her sleep. She roused when Bridgette did, and upon asking her about the strange episode she witnessed in the middle of the night where she sat at the writing table cooing to a strange old letter, Janet looked at her like she was crazy.
Bridgette tried to express her concern, but Janet shared none of it. When she tried to reason through the events she witnessed in the night, Janet could only offer her a shrug. She seemed genuine, yet something had clearly disturbed her, since she was being even more distant and detached than she had been lately. Janet tidied her hair with a brush, doing so sitting on the edge of the bed rather than going into the bathroom and looking in the mirror. As Bridgette surreptitiously observed her in her peripheral vision, she saw Janet give the occasional—and fearful—glance toward the bathroom.
Worried, but having nothing else to say, Bridgette tidied herself up then left the bedroom, crossing the hallway to Dawson's room. The door was wide open and the bed was still empty. A pang of fear hit her in the gut. Did he even go back to bed at all? Did he leave the mansion with no intention to return?
She set off for the living room in a hurry. She was racked with deep regret for what had happened with him in the night. Her own words came back to her and made the feeling worse. But it would all be okay; she would smooth this over.
Billy was the first person she ran into downstairs. When she asked him if he'd seen Dawson, he pointed toward the entrance hall and said that he just saw him heading that way. Bridgette thanked him and hurried off. When she reached the hall, she saw him slipping through the front doors and disappearing outside.
She broke into a run, her heart racing. Her footfalls clapped loudly in the open hall, matching her heartbeat.
Outside, Dawson walked past the fountain and headed for the narrow road across the property.
"Dawson!" Bridgette yelled.
He didn't stop.
"Dawson!"
He had his hands in his pockets. He turned around and looked at her. His face was all stone. "What do you want?"
"Where are you going?" she asked.
"I'm leaving."
She became flustered. "But.. but the van," she said, glancing over at it in the parking lot. "You're not even driving. Where are you going to go?"
"Home," he said. "I'll figure out the rest on the way." He turned and headed off again.
Bridgette started to go after him, but she suddenly stopped in her tracks. Dawson did, too.
A pricey black sedan suddenly came out of the narrow mouth beneath the tree canopy and came onto the sprawling drive of the estate. Will, the curator, pulled the car across the bend onto the paving stones as he headed for the parking lot. His gaze was forward and it didn't seem like he'd spotted Dawson or Bridgette yet. But they were standing out in the open, and neither one of them was supposed to be there.
Dawson seized up for a moment, but then he turned and ran for the entrance of the mansion. Bridgette did the same.
"Hurry!" he said as she fumbled with the door handle.
Will stopped the car and got out, and when he turned toward the mansion's doors, he saw one of them close as if someone had just gone inside. "Hmm," he muttered. Suspicious, he quickly strode toward the entrance.
"Where do we hide?!" Bridgette asked, standing in the middle of the hall and glancing over her shoulder at the doors, knowing he would come in at any second.
"It doesn't matter!" Dawson said. "Just, anywhere!" He grabbed her arm and pulled her down the hallway leading toward the kitchen. He spotted the door to the pantry in there and made a snap decision, pulling them inside. When they were stowed away, he closed the door behind them as quietly as he could.
"Ah, there you are," Will said.
Trevor stood behind one of the front doors, peeking through the crack.
Will cleared his throat. "Well are you going to let me in?" he asked impatiently.
Trevor mumbled, "Oh, sorry," then he shuffled back and opened the door.
Will strode in, pushing past the door and Trevor as if he had been rudely rebuked, then he walked a few paces into the hall and stopped. He looked around with sharp eyes, as if inspecting the place for signs of damage. Satisfied, he turned to Trevor. "What happened to your face?"
Trevor came out from behind the safety of the door, knowing there was no way he could hide this. He hadn't expected Will to show up suddenly and he hadn't yet thought of an excuse.
"Um, I fell."
"You fell?"
Trevor nodded. "I was coming down that flight of stairs. You know, in the library? The steps are a lot shorter than I thought. Just lost my footing, is all."
Will nodded suddenly. "Mmm, yes, the stairs can be a bit tricky." He took a close look at his busted lip and the
bruise on his nose. "Are you okay? You don't need to go to the hospital, do you?"
Trevor shook his head briskly. "No!" he said a little more quickly than he intended. "No, I'm fine. I can still do the job."
"Well good," Will replied, taking a step back. "I came here to tell you that the dispute with the construction company has been resolved. They'll be here on Monday to begin renovations."
Trevor swallowed. "Monday? That's in two days."
Will raised an eyebrow. "Is that a problem?"
"No, not at all," Trevor replied. "I just wanted to know what I'm working with." He paused. "Couldn't you tell me that over the phone?"
"Well," he said, "I also came because I wanted to poke around and look for my briefcase. I still haven't found it, and I'm sure I must have left it somewhere here. Are you sure you haven't seen it?"
Trevor shook his head. A thin sweat broke out over his skin. "Uh, I can take a good look around the place for you if you want."
"No, no, I'm already here. I can look for myself." And then he set off across the hall.
Trevor hurried after him, knowing that he absolutely could not let Will find his friends. But only Bridgette and Dawson had seen him come in, and he didn't know where the other three were.
Will turned and headed down the hallway toward the kitchen. Trevor stalked him, trying to muster up something to say to distract him or redirect him somewhere else. Will entered the kitchen. He took a quick survey of the counters and, dissatisfied, crossed the room for the pantry.
"Wait!" Trevor said, rushing up to him and grabbing his arm.
Will stood in front of the pantry door, his hand on the doorknob. He paused from Trevor's abrupt alarm, and it jarred something in his memory. "No, no, what am I thinking? I must have left it..." He trailed off, then he turned and left the kitchen, heading for the dining room.
A million thoughts raced through Trevor's head, and he frantically tried to put the pieces together about where his friends would likely be and what things he may have left lying out that he didn't want Will to see. He nearly had a heart attack as he remembered the secret passageway they'd opened in the fireplace. He tried to remember if they had pulled the lever back up and raised the secret stairs, but his mind was frazzled. When he rounded the corner into the room, he saw Will stopped at the end of the long table with his hands on his hips. The stairs were up; the secret passageway was hidden.
Trevor let out a long, relieved breath that made Will cock an eyebrow at him. But before he had a moment's rest, Will set off again, heading toward the back of the mansion.
He entered the long hallway with tall windows looking over the bay. The elegant burgundy curtains draped to the sides of the windows fluttered gently as he briskly passed them. Trevor brought up the rear, keeping his head on a swivel for any sign of movement.
The two of them walked right past a set of blinking eyes sticking out from behind a curtain. Karen leaned into her brother in the stuffy space and whispered, "Did you see them? Who is it?"
He elbowed her. "Shh!"
They walked into the living room and Will gave the area a quick once-over. Dissatisfied, he headed for a hallway on the other side of the room that led to the back of the mansion. The hallway would bend to the left and lead to the door marking the entrance to the forbidden wing—the door that Trevor suddenly remembered he had left wide open the night before.
"No!" Trevor shouted.
Will stopped in the mouth of the hallway and turned to him with a bewildered look. "No, what?"
"No, uh... I don't think it's down there."
"What do you mean?" Will demanded.
"Um, I just... I mean, I think I actually saw your briefcase, now that you mention it. I think it's upstairs." He took Will by the shoulders and began to guide him back into the living room.
Janet walked out of the hallway upstairs where the bedrooms were and shuffled along the living room's upper landing like a drone. She was staring fixedly ahead, her mind seemingly elsewhere.
Trevor's hands clamped on Will's shoulders like the talons of a bird.
"Ow!" Will protested. "What are you doing?"
Trevor spun him around again, instead turning him back for the hallway. "Never mind! I was thinking of the briefcase I brought."
Will dug his heels into the ground, but not enough to keep Trevor from shuffling him along. His face was racked with confusion, and he twisted his head around, trying to get to the bottom of Trevor's conflicting messages. "Briefcase? I don't remember you bringing a briefcase."
When they were halfway down the hall, Trevor let him go and hurried back into the living room. Janet was gone, having disappeared down another hallway.
"No, actually I think I might've seen it over here," he called out to Will.
Will put his hands on his hips, completely unimpressed. "Just what is going on here?"
Trevor turned to him. "Nothing."
Will's face was painted like an angry kabuki mask. He ignored Trevor's ridiculous directions and continued down the hallway leading to the forbidden wing. Trevor hurried after him, but he was out of excuses. The hallway was coming to an end and Will would round the corner. He would see the door sitting open, and then it would be game over for Trevor and his plan. He might even be facing jail time, he thought.
Will's footsteps clapping in the echoing corridor sounded to him like taunting whacks of a police officer's nightstick slapping the bars of his cell. Trevor gave up his chase and squeezed his eyes shut.
The footsteps stopped.
Trevor opened his eyes and saw Will stopped just before the bend, looking at his watch.
"You know what?" he said. "I don't have time for this. I've got a meeting I have to get to for ten-thirty." He gave a reluctant shake of his head, then he turned and walked past Trevor. Trevor was elated.
When they arrived back in the living room, Will stopped again. "Listen," he said, "I probably won't be back to check on things for a while. Are you sure you haven't seen my briefcase?"
Trevor shook his head. His gaze suddenly drifted past Will and up the stairs as he saw Janet wander into the living room again, staring blankly ahead of her like a restless ghost as she drifted back toward the bedrooms.
"And you said you checked my office, right? You're sure?"
"Uh, yeah," he said. "I didn't see it in there, but I'll double check after you leave. If I see it, I'll, uh, phone you right away."
"Please do. I don't want it just lying around." He headed back for his car, and when they were in the entrance hall, he added, "Oh, Trevor?"
"Yes?"
"There was a boat in the bay two nights ago. You were prowling around, weren't you?"
Trevor's jaw all but dropped. "What?"
"The police spotted three people on a fishing boat two nights ago and gave chase, but the marauders got away. Looking for treasure, no doubt. You were on the prowl, right?" Will's tone was accusatory.
"Um."
"Well you're the security guard, right?" Will said, getting impatient. "You were presumably prowling the mansion—patrolling? Did you see anything out the windows?"
"Oh!" Trevor exclaimed. The tension gushed out of his chest like someone stuck a pin in him. "Uh, no. No, I didn't see anyone that night. Was someone really out there?"
"Indeed," Will said. "And I can't say I'm impressed with you. You're paid to be the security, after all. You're supposed to keep a lookout for anything suspicious. That includes the waters. I got a call from the police and they let me know about the incident." He shook his head. "You've got to keep your eyes peeled better than that, Mr. McCormack."
Then he left the mansion.
Bridgette and Dawson sat side by side on the floor of the pantry. The air was stuffy. Bridgette had her hands wrapped around her knees and a glum look on her face.
"This really isn't working, huh?" she asked.
"No, it's not," Dawson said.
"So what do we do?"
He took in a breath then let it out slowly, the air his
sing through his teeth. "I don't know. I just don't know anymore."
He instinctively reached into his pocket to feel for the engagement ring, but then he remembered it was gone. The bitterness stung his taste buds, an insidious thing resting in the back of his mouth where he couldn't reach.
"Do you think we need some space?" she asked.
He hated to say the words, but he knew there was no other outcome. "I think it's a bit more dire than that."
"You mean break up, don't you?"
He nodded slowly.
She nodded too. A part of her felt like this was inevitable, so she wasn't surprised by it, but that didn't stop something deep inside of her from harboring a tremendous sense of sadness and loss. She felt tears well up in her eyes for just a moment, but she blinked and pulled them back. "But you can't leave yet," she said.
"Why not?"
"Because no matter what's going on with us, you can't just leave all our friends behind."
"They're your friends," he said.
"They're your friends, too," she reminded him. "I know they were mine when we started dating, but they became close with you."
"Not all of them," he said bitterly.
"I don't care what your problem is with Trevor," she said. "But please stay. I know we're not going to be here much longer. Just until next week, probably, and then no matter what happens, whether we find anything or not, we can all go home. I know Trevor's not going to just up and leave. And I can't leave him behind. I'm sorry, that has nothing to do with any kind of feelings, but I just can't. And I don't want you to, either."
Dawson took a moment to process everything, then finally he nodded. "Okay. I can do that. And then afterward..."
They both looked at each other for a moment, then they turned their heads away, sadness swelling in both of them.
The pantry door opened suddenly. Trevor stood in front of them. "He's gone."
"What's going on?" Bridgette asked.
"Come on," Trevor said, leading all of them to the dining room.
Karen, Janet and Billy were already seated, and the others took a seat as well.
The Box Set of Hauntings and Horrors Page 49
