Banshee Box Set

by Sara Clancy

  The long shower hadn’t helped her figure out just what had happened to Benton. She had known that it might not be an easy trip for him, given the history of the road and his new skill of seeing ghosts. But she had never seen him react like that. The true extent of his abilities was still a mystery to them both. Just when they thought they had everything sorted out, they discovered something new, or something changed.

  That level of uncertainty made it hard to know just how he would react, but she had seen him interacting with Oliver, seen how the ghost scared him, unnerved him, annoyed him. None of the ghost’s antics had ever caused a physical response, not a sight, sound, or even smell. And she had been prepared for all of that. She brought a portable charger for his phone to make sure his music kept playing. She also had several perfumed handkerchiefs in her bag, small enough to hide in the palm of his hand if he was feeling self-conscious about it. She had thought she was prepared to help him endure it.

  Gathering her long, straight hair over one shoulder, she placed her brush down on top of the toilet tank, the clatter of wood against porcelain was lost under the crack of a lightning bolt sizzling across the sky.

  “What did Allison do to him?” she thought aloud, her voice barely over a whisper. Straightening her back, she forced herself to meet her own eyes in the mirror. “Trip one was a failure,” she admitted to herself sternly. “That much is clear. So now you’ll just have to make sure that everything is ready for trip two. First step, force Benton to talk to you. Second step.” She hesitated, uncertainty creeping back in around the corners of her mind. Before it could take hold, she forced a smile and declared with confidence, “Do something about it.”

  It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was a plan, and having one helped her feel like she was on solid ground again. Keeping her smile firmly fixed in place, she blindly reached for the jewelry that she had placed on the counter. She had fallen in love with the matching choker and bracelet set she had bought at the Sundance Festival a few months ago; it had quickly become her favorite. It fixed around her throat in a splash of red and black, while the thick trails of beaded chains created a large orange disk at the base of her neck. The bracelet had the same pattern set in a band of dullish metal. Her fingertips swiped over the chilled porcelain sink, unable to find the large mass of beads that should have been there.

  Nicole glanced down and frowned at the now empty spot behind the tap. A sickly feeling crept into her stomach and she quickly spun around. A thunderclap crashed overhead, shattering the silence as the basin rim became a solid press against her spine. The small bathroom was empty. Thin steam created a drifting cloud and the harsh light left little room for shadows. She couldn’t see anything, but that didn’t mean nothing was there.

  Reaching back, she clutched at the sink and tried to slow down her breaths, concentrating on that instead of the lurking fear that the Dullahan had come back for her. It was dead, Benton promised that it was and she trusted that. Still, after almost getting thrown to her death seemingly by thin air, it was hard to trust silence.

  Her body jerked with the next booming clap of thunder, her grip on the sink keeping her from falling on the tiles in a protective position. The sound rolled out, leaving behind a soft clatter of metal rattling against tiles. Turning again, she stooped down to glance around the chilled bathroom floor. In the far corner, propped up against the wall, was her bracelet. She crouched down, picked it up, and searched the room once more. No necklace. Just her bracelet, too far away from the sink and on too sharp of an angle to have simply fallen. Her stomach churned.

  “Dullahan?” she asked. The rain pattered against the ground outside. The wind howled as it toyed with the cracks in the building. But the room remained silent. Her tongue slipped out to wet her dry lips before she whispered, “Allison?”

  A startled squeal escaped her throat as someone began to pound against her room door. She stood up, fingers tightening around the metal in her hands, and watched the door shake with every strike.

  “Hello?”

  If there was a reply, the torrential rain covered it. The furious knocking grew louder, the blow hammering against the slab of wood, making it buck against its frame and forcing the chain lock to rattle. It and the deadbolt were both in place and she was certain that the twin locks would keep out any human intruder. But there were things other than human that no lock could stand against. That knowledge left her shivering as she edged to the bathroom door and called again. Still no response. Dread made her feet heavy but she forced herself to step out onto the carpet, closer to the door. It could be Zack, she reminded herself. He’s not good at being subtle. The comforting thought diminished with every step she took. Her eyes never left the rattling wood.

  “Who’s there?”

  Beside the now desperate assault against the door, there was no reply. Her head became a swamp of all the things that could be waiting for her on the other side. Monsters both paranormal and human. She couldn’t stop herself from remembering just where she was and what happened in places like this. It was quite possible that opening the door was a mistake that some of the missing girls had made before her. Nipping her teeth on her bottom lip, Nicole shook herself out of her stupor. She shoved the bracelet on her wrist and rushed for her backpack which was on the small table halfway between her and the door, her gun still stowed in one of the zipper pockets.

  The pounding on the door and continuous storm covered the soft scrape of her working the zipper open. Eyes fixated on the door, she slipped her hand inside her soaked backpack and pulled out her gun. Only the slightest hint of water covered the metal; far too little for it to affect the workings of the weapon. The heavy weight, solid in her grasp made her feel a little sturdier. With practiced confidence, she checked the gun the way her parents had taught her, making sure that everything was as it should be.

  Holding it in one hand, she crossed the remaining distance to the door quickly. This time, she didn’t call out. There was no need to try and keep her footsteps silent. The rain, wind, and carpet worked together to smother any traces of her movements. Pressing one hand against the door, she stood on tiptoes, bit her lip, and glanced through the peephole.

  The patch of blonde hair removed her fear in a sudden rush as she slumped against the door.

  “Benton, you scared the hell out of me!” she yelled with a nervous laugh.

  Even though she was sure he would have heard her this time, he didn’t stop his frenzied onslaught. She fumbled the chain lock off with her free hand and flipped the deadbolt, half expecting him to rush in the first second he could. He only stopped slamming his fists against the door when she pulled the door wide open. He just stood there.

  Water plastered his hair to his scalp and trailed down his body in puddles, leaving him pale and shivering. His mouth hung open but he didn’t make a sound. He only heaved his breaths and stared at her with wide eyes. A drenched towel was wrapped around his hips but was steadily slipping, dragged down under its own weight. He didn’t make a move to stop it. Both of his hands remained in the air, as if he didn’t know what to do with them now that he couldn’t pound at her door anymore. He looked terrified.

  “Benton?”

  He only stared at her, water trickling from his lips each time he heaved a breath. Trying not to startle him, she slowly lifted her free hand to gently cup his wrist. She almost flinched away when the deathly chill that clung to his skin brushed against her own.

  “Benton, come in, okay?” she eased.

  Slowly, and with a lot more coaxing, he took his first step across the threshold. Water poured from him and soaked into the carpet, marking each of his steps with a noticeable squish. His eyes were locked somewhere over her shoulder but she was too focused on getting him out of the storm to pay it any attention.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  Still, he remained silent. He didn’t turn to look at her as she pushed the door closed, but he flinched at the sound. She reached for the deadbolt and he whispere
d his first word.

  “Don’t.”

  “I can’t just leave the door unlocked,” she said, before she caught onto what his request meant.

  He wanted to make sure that if he had to flee, he could do it easily, which meant that he wasn’t just worried about whatever was out there – whatever had made him run naked through a storm. He was also worried that there might be something in here.

  “Okay.” Her voice was gentle, but her fingers were like stone around the gun handle. “Just until we get you warmed up, okay?”

  Silent, Benton stood in the middle of the room, the puddle at his feet creating an ever-increasing mark on the carpet. In the brighter light of the room, she could see his normally pink complexion turning into a hint of blue. She noticed the mild quiver of his body, and the protective hunch in his shoulders. He didn’t say anything. He just stood there, staring at the bathroom door.

  “Let me get some towels,” Nicole said, as she slipped past him.

  His hand shot out and latched onto her. His grip tightened, forcing the bracelet to grind painfully against the bones of her wrist. With a sharp wince, she tried to pull away. He wouldn’t let go. She put her hand over his and pried at his unmoving fingers.

  “Benton, you’re hurting me.”

  His eyes shifted back to her, but he could only meet her gaze for a moment before the bathroom dragged his attention back.

  “Don’t go in there,” he said in a broken whimper, as if worried they were being overheard.

  She didn’t hesitate. “Okay.”

  Instantly, his grip loosened until he was only gently holding her wrist, with a limp handgrip that she could easily pull herself free from. She didn’t move. As much as Benton shied away from human contact, the sense of touch calmed him, and he needed that now.

  “But we still need to get you dry.” The words weren’t enough to make him look at her, as his eyes remained steadfast on the threshold to the bathroom. “Should I close the door?”

  He nodded as if there wasn’t a single muscle in his neck. He still didn’t let her go. Careful not to make any sudden movements, she twisted her wrist and worked herself free from his icy grip. It was hard to make her steps as confident as he needed, and as cautious as he wanted, but she found a pace that seemed to keep him from going into an outright panic.

  She couldn’t fight off the slight tremble that claimed her hands. As subtly as she could, she flicked the gun’s safety off. The storm overpowered the sound of the sharp clack, and it didn’t draw his attention. Slowly, she lifted her free hand and inched her fingers towards the door handle. No matter how hard she focused, she couldn’t see what was keeping Benton so transfixed.

  The bathroom door was open with plenty of space for something to lurk behind it, unseen. Steam still lingered against the ceiling, catching the glow of the florescent light. The room was bright. Clean. A normal bathroom in a normal room. Whatever had captured Benton’s attention, she couldn’t see it. Her stomach knotted up painfully and each heartbeat slammed against her ribs.

  Her hand lingered over the door, still not touching it, but close enough to feel the slight chill that clung to the metal. She couldn’t get her hand to close around it. Glancing over her shoulder, she captured Benton’s gaze. The storm raged just beyond the room, filling the air with a clash of clouds and sparks of electricity with the rain thundering against the roof like a charging stampede. Droplets shook loose as his trembling increased. She couldn’t tell if it was from the cold or from fear. The blue flush had seeped into his lips. He needed to get dry. She took half a step into the bathroom and his response was instantaneous.

  “Don’t.”

  The word was barely audible over the onslaught outside, but it made her freeze. Swallowing hard, one hand still hovering in the air, the gun heavy and solid in the other, she could barely bring herself to ask the question that screamed within her head.

  “Benton,” she whispered. “What’s in the bathroom?”

  “Collin Page.”

  Her stomach plummeted and her lungs tightened. “What is he doing?”

  “Staring,” Benton’s voice was numb.

  “At who?”

  Benton remained silent until she was sure she was about to crawl out of her skin. “Close the door.”

  Nicole gripped the handle and slammed it shut. She staggered back a few steps before she remembered that she was supposed to be the calm one in the room, and forced herself to stand steady again. She drew in a deep breath and fixed a smile onto her face.

  “Okay,” she said in a light tone that oozed with manufactured happiness. “Collin obviously wants some privacy and we’re going to give it to him. I don’t need that brush and we can just use the bathroom in the hotel lobby. He’ll stay in there and we’ll stay out here.”

  A sharp clatter was heard from behind the closed door, as she looked down to see her necklace slip out from under the bathroom door. The beads became a tangled mess as it tumbled over the carpet and came to a stop just an inch from her bare toes. She stared down at the glistening beads, her jaw slack, and her stomach turning to ice. Benton’s words barely hit her ears.

  “He likes that idea.”

  Her muscles felt numb and strained as she crouched down and retrieved her necklace. The tangling strands tinkled against each other like chimes, and it seemed like the storm itself paused so she could hear the soft sound. The cool beads rolled against her fingers, solid and real. Behind her, Benton drew in a shallow breath. Like a light flicking on, she remembered the more pressing matters and twisted around to see Benton still standing in the same place, shaking, arms heavy at his sides. But now, his gaze wandered restlessly as if he didn’t quite know what to look at since the ghost was no longer in his line of sight.

  “We need to get you warmed up,” Nicole said.

  She rushed to the sliding door of the wardrobe and pulled the closest door open, searching for any extra bedding.

  “I didn’t know they felt different,” Benton mumbled, as a crack of thunder made the overhead lights flicker.

  It was clear from the first glance that there were no blankets on the few shelves, but she still searched along through them with trails of hope before moving on to the next side.

  “What feels different?” she asked, with a light tone, desperate for something to serve as a distraction for both of them.

  A fine tremor had claimed her hands and she couldn’t seem to make it stop, not when her mind was whirling, trying to figure out just how long Collin had been there, and if he had been planning to hurt her. The lessons that her parents taught her took over her mind, just long enough for her to click the gun’s safety switch back on.

  “Suicides,” he uttered, almost absently. “They feel different from murder victims.”

  A cold chill swept down her spine and she pulled at the mirrored doors, sliding open the other side of the closet. The relief she felt at seeing a pile of folded blankets worked to erode the tension that twisted up her insides. Bundling the bedding into her arms until she could barely hold the mounds of thick fabric, she whirled around, walking back towards the first bed before she noticed it.

  Benton stood by the second bed, the one closest to the door, looking shell-shocked and rigid. Still, he had slightly moved just enough to keep facing her, and as she headed towards the bed, he adjusted his stance again, his back facing the bed, not seeing the sudden movement that was happening on it. It was so slow that, at first, she wasn’t quite sure that she had seen it herself. The bed cover began to bunch.

  As if caught in an invisible grip, the sheet twisted and rose. Then, slowly at first but with increasing speed, the cover began to slide, dropping off the bed and disappearing in the space between the bed frame and the wall. The sound of the plummeting rain covered the rasp of the material as she watched the bedding being ripped to the side by an unseen force.

  Nicole’s shout of warning caught in her throat, becoming a grunt gasp as she rushed towards him. His face went pale before he
was flung to the ground. The wet carpet squelched as his chest slammed down onto it and, before she could wrap her mind around what was happening, Benton was yanked back with a startling force. He clawed at the carpet but couldn’t prevent his thrashing legs from being devoured by the dark shadows that were now under the bed.

  Nicole tossed the blankets aside and dropped to her knees, barely quick enough to latch onto his arms. He clawed at the carpet and she tried pulling him back with all of her strength, but it wasn’t enough to counter the force dragging him under. She flopped back against the floor as his arms slipped from her grip. It only took a split second to sit up, but it was enough to lose sight of him completely.

  Screaming his name, she shoved at the bed. Its wheels caught and locked, keeping it in place, no matter how hard she pushed. Scrambling to the side of the bed, she flatted her back against the frame, planted her feet on the ground, and forced her full weight and strength against the bed. The stillness that covered the room terrified her, driving her closer to mindless panic as her feet scraped over the carpet. There was barely enough room for an adult to fit under the bed. If Benton was able to move at all, the mattress should budge with his every attempt for freedom. But the bed didn’t move. And Benton didn’t scream.

  With a frustrated cry, Nicole jerked around and shoved her hands between the bed frame and the mattress. There was a moment of resistance before the mattress peeled away like dead skin. She hurled it up, letting it topple and slide down the far side of the frame. There was a sharp crash as the mattress collided against the bedside table, shattering the lamp that stood between it and the floor. The mattress wedged against the wall, leaving the other side to jut down and whack her on the back of her head, as she clawed at the bed’s wooden frame.