The Soul Auction

by Amy Cross

  “Okay, I don't know who you are,” I reply, stepping past him and this time managing to avoid being blocked, “but I'm just going to collect my daughter, and then we're leaving. So you have fun lurking near the beach huts, okay?”

  “You're not taking her anywhere,” he says firmly.

  I turn to him, and a shiver passes through my chest as I see the confidence in his eyes. Before I can say anything, however, I feel a burst of pain in the left side of my head. Gasping, I stumble back against the nearest beach hut, and I almost drop Alice as the pain builds and builds. Finally, just as I think I might be about to collapse, all the pain stops.

  “I have been giving you little tastes of what is to come,” the man says after a moment. “Little warnings to prepare you.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” I ask breathlessly, as Alice starts crying in my arms.

  “The soul is mine now and -”

  “What soul?” I snap, trying not to panic. Just as I'm about to tell him he's talking rubbish, however, I realize that there's no point engaging with him at all.

  He's just some nutter on a beach.

  “Okay, you're going to leave me alone now,” I tell him, “because if you don't, I'll scream. And I'm going to go fetch my daughter and take her to our car, and you're not going to say one more word to any of us. Do you understand?”

  I wait for a reply, but now he's simply staring at me.

  “Freak,” I mutter, before turning and setting off toward Kate again.

  “You have sixty seconds left to live,” he says suddenly.

  Stopping in my tracks, I'm about to turn to him when I feel a faint, flickering tightness in the left side of my head.

  “Use that time wisely,” the man continues, “because when it's over, you will drop dead.”

  “No, you're -”

  “Less than sixty now,” he continues. “Barely fifty.”

  “No, I -”

  Before I can finish, I realize the pain in my head is starting to throb. I want to tell this asshole that he's messing with the wrong person, but at the same time I can feel a very faint, fuzzy numbness starting to grip my left shoulder and creep down toward the elbow. I adjust my grip on Alice, to make sure that I don't drop her, but I'm starting to feel dizzy again and there's a sense of pure panic rising through my chest.

  “No, this isn't real,” I gasp, as I realize I can see vague dark spots in front of my eyes. “This isn't happening.”

  “You're wasting these last precious seconds I granted you,” the man says, his voice echoing in the air all around me. “I assumed you'd use them for something sentimental.”

  “Stop it!” I hiss. “Get out of my head!”

  “Is this it?” he continues. “Are you just going to wait right here while the other girl plays at the shore? And then she'll find you, slumped and dead on the pebbles?”

  “I'm not dying,” I gasp. “I can't die! I have to...”

  Realizing that I'm starting to feel breathless, I try to stand up straight, but the left side of my head is starting to feel increasingly numb.

  “I have to look after my girls,” I whisper. “They need me. They can't lose me.”

  “Thirty seconds,” the man says firmly. “No reprieves. No add-ons.”

  “Leave me alone!” I shout, turning and stumbling away from the huts, heading toward the water. “I'm fine! I'm not going to die!”

  With Alice in my arms, I try to make my way toward Kate. I can barely even see properly now, with the whole world looking blurry, but I can just about see Kate's silhouette against the sun-dappled water. Each step I take feels incredibly heavy, but I force myself to keep going as Alice starts crying loudly.

  “It's okay, darling,” I whisper, almost slipping but somehow managing to stay on my feet, “Mummy's here. Mummy's not going to -”

  Suddenly I freeze as I feel something bursting in the left side of my brain.

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Alice

  Today

  “Kate described her to me over the years,” I whisper, holding the photo in my trembling hands. “I never saw a photo, but Kate described her so many times, I had a really strong picture of her in my mind. Turns out, I was pretty close. In fact...”

  Pausing for a moment, I realize that I was more than pretty close. I pictured Mum almost exactly right, and she also looked like this in my nightmare a few months ago. The only difference is that in this photo, she's wearing a red and orange jumper, and she has a bright yellow flower in her hair on one side. She's holding the baby – holding me – in her arms, and the photo looks to have been taken downstairs in the pub.

  This must have been the trip we took thirty years ago, which means the photo must have been taken just a few days before Mum died.

  “I never actually thought I'd find a picture of her,” I continue, turning to look at Graham. “I'd sort of given up hope, you know? And then for this to drop into my lap...”

  He continues to look through the handwritten pieces of paper, before glancing at me.

  “It's hard to tell what this said,” he explains, as rain batters the window behind him. “They're just fragments, there are barely even any complete sentences. She mentions something about being sorry, it's like she was apologizing to someone, but it doesn't...”

  He pauses, before setting the papers aside and heading over to his jacket. Reaching into the pocket, he takes out the tattered Tramelfacht book and starts frantically going through the pages.

  “I'm wrong,” he mutters. “I have to be, but...”

  “But what?” I ask.

  “I'm wrong,” he says again. “I have to be wrong. Just let me check and be sure.”

  Getting to my feet, I head to the table and pick up the fragments of paper. Not only have I seen Mum for the first time tonight, but now I'm also getting to see her handwriting. Graham was right when he said that the torn pieces left very few complete sentences, although it's clear that Mum was writing a lot about a man. The fragments seem to be from some kind of letter, although it's difficult to really make out what she was writing about, or who might have received the letter. There's not one complete sentence in here, however, so it's not as if I can figure out what she was writing about.

  As I look at the pieces of paper, I can't help realizing that this is as close as I'll ever get to my mother. This is her actual handwriting, on pieces of paper that she actually held in her hands.

  Feeling tears in my eyes, I set the paper down and head over to find that Graham is still frantically going through the book.

  “Okay,” I say finally, “let's assume for one moment that some of this might be true, what -”

  “Quiet!” he hisses. “I need to make sure that...

  His voice trails off, and I can't help noticing that he seems very worried by something.

  “I have to find Kate,” I say after a moment. “She's not well, and I'm starting to think that she's way more damaged than I ever realized. She must have somehow held it in over the years, but coming back to Curridge two months ago caused some kind of breakdown. It's my fault.”

  “It's not your fault,” Graham tells me.

  “What could she have seen that night?” I continue, heading to the door and looking out at the storm that's battering the town. Checking my watch, I see that it's well past midnight. “Whatever it was, maybe she doesn't actually remember. Maybe it's just lost in her subconscious mind.” I turn to Graham, but he's engrossed in the book and it's clear that he's not even listening to me. “I'm going to go out there,” I add. “I don't know where she is, but I have to find her.”

  “I've been a complete idiot,” he replies.

  I grab my jacket. “What do you mean?”

  “I want to be wrong about this,” he adds. “You have no idea how much I want to be wrong, but I've got a horrible feeling that...”

  He turns to another page, and then he looks over at me. I honestly don't think I've ever seen anyone look so scared in all my life.

&nb
sp; “What is it?” I ask, trying not to panic. “Have you figured out what Kate saw? Did she witness that thing taking my mother's soul?”

  He pauses, before slowly shaking his head.

  “Then what?” I continue, unable to hide my impatience. “Never mind,” I add, turning once more to head outside, “I'll just -”

  “Your mother's soul wasn't taken.”

  I turn to him again. “But you said -”

  “I know what I said, but I was wrong.”

  “What about -”

  “The soul auction is real,” he continues, “and one did take place thirty years ago, but do you remember what I told you about the participants? About the demons? Some of them take the souls quickly, and some are more patient. And one in particular, according to this book, likes to really savor the moment. He takes years to harvest a soul he's won at the auction.”

  “What are you saying?” I ask, as more thunder rumbles outside.

  “I'm saying that it wasn't your mother's soul that was won at the soul auction all those years ago.” He sets the book aside. “It was your sister's.”

  I shake my head. “That's not possible.”

  “Your mother must have been killed by the demon, but she wasn't the target. Kate was the target, and the demon has been waiting all this time to lure her back here.”

  “Lure her back? But Kate only came back because I came.”

  “That doesn't matter. All that matters to the demon is that your sister lived some extra years of misery before she returned to Curridge. And by luring you back -”

  “I wasn't lured back by a demon!” I hiss. “I was lured back by -”

  Before I can get another word out, I hear a beep from my pocket. I freeze, aware that I must have received another notification, and then I start slowly sliding my phone out.

  “Some of these demons are real tricksters,” Graham explains, with fear in his voice. “They enjoy making people suffer. It's the suffering that makes the souls particularly enticing. Based on what I've read in this book, I've developed a new theory. Alice, I'd bet any money in the world that your mother's family and your father's family endured some kind of immense suffering at some point. And when your parents got together, that suffering flowed into their first child.”

  “Kate...”

  “Exactly. Making her ripe for the soul auction.”

  “This can't be real,” I whisper, even though deep down I know his claims fit all the facts. “Graham, please...”

  “Maybe your mother realized what was happening and tried to stop it,” he continues. “Maybe that's why she was killed. Or maybe she was just killed to tighten the screw on Kate, to make her life that little bit more harrowing so that her soul was get even riper.”

  I shake my head.

  “And then,” he adds, “the demon was finally ready. The damage to the landscape around here is nothing compared to what'll happen when he eventually takes Kate's soul. All that damage was just from his anticipation.”

  “Please,” I stammer, “you have to be wrong.”

  “He lured you both here with those reviews,” he continues. “Think about it, Alice. A dead woman leaving book reviews? He knew exactly what he was doing. He manipulated you.”

  Swiping my phone's screen, I see that there's a new review from Dora Ohme, on the last short story I uploaded all those months ago. She's given the story five stars, but my hands tremble for a moment until finally I tap to see what she's written. To my horror, I find that this time the review consists of just two words:

  DUMB BITCH.

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Lizzie

  Thirty years ago

  “Please,” I whisper, as I feel all the pressure suddenly lift from the left side of my head, “don't...”

  And then I fall.

  And as I fall, I know that I'll be dead by the time I hit the ground.

  So all I can do is hold Alice tight and try to twist around, so that she'll be okay when she lands.

  The last thing I hear is a voice in the distance, filled with fear as it cries out across the beach. It's Kate's voice, and she sounds terrified.

  And then, finally, I hit the ground. The last thing I hear – the very last thing ever – is the sound of Kate screaming “Mummy”.

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Alice

  Today

  “Why the church?” Graham yells as we race along the bumpy road, past the white cottages. “Alice, what makes you think Kate is at the church?”

  “I saw markings there before,” I shout back at him, “and something scared Father Redman away. Besides, you said these demons like to enjoy themselves. What better place to take a soul than a church?”

  I'm already soaked as I run up the hill that leads to the church. There are no streetlights here, so I can't see a thing, but after a moment I'm just about able to make out the church's spire glistening in the night air. I stumble on a patch of loose gravel, but I force myself to keep going until I reach the gate that leads into the cemetery. Finally, out of breath, I pause for a moment as I realize I can see a faint, flickering orange glow in the church's stained-glass windows.

  Somebody's inside.

  “Alice, wait!”

  Graham grabs my shoulder, and I feel his hand grip me through the fabric of my soaked shirt.

  “You can't just go barging in!” he continues. “What if...”

  His voice trails off.

  Turning to him, I can see fear in his eyes.

  “I mean,” he stammers, “what if... I just thought, what if something bad's happening in there? We should call the police.”

  “Call them,” I reply, before turning and starting to make my way along the path that leads to the door. “I'm going to find my sister.”

  “Alice, wait!”

  “Please don't be real,” I continue, struggling to get through the increasingly muddy ground. “Please don't be real, please don't be real, please don't be real.”

  Taking my phone from my pocket, I bring up the flashlight app. As I reach the end of the path, I aim the beam toward the church's wooden door.

  And then I scream as I see a headless body nailed to the door. Rainwater is pounding against the neck's bloody stump, washing blood down across the front of the dress that the body is wearing. For a fraction of a second, I'm terrified that I've found Kate, but then I realize that the clothes are way too old-fashioned, and that the body seems a little shorter and wider than my sister. Too horrified to look away, I tilt the phone until the beam catches a set of long, thick iron nails embedded in the corpse's chest, and I finally understand whose body I've found.

  “It's Dorothy,” I whisper, lowering the beam just as Graham reaches me. “Just like the dogs.”

  “We have to get out of here!” Graham hisses.

  “Somebody's inside the church,” I stammer, looking at the flickering light in the window. After a moment, making sure not to touch the dead body nailed to the door, I reach out and try the large metal ring that serves as a door handle.

  The ring turns and I start opening the door.

  Suddenly something slams against the wood from the other side, pushing the door shut again with such force that the dead body shudders.

  “No!” I yell, trying the handle several more times but finding that the door is now locked tight. “Let me in! Kate, open this door!”

  “We need to get help,” Graham says, his voice trembling with fear. He taps at his phone and wipes rain-drops from the screen. “Something's making the signal weird. I can't get through to anyone.”

  “Is there another way into this church?” I ask, as I look down at my hand and see that there's blood all over the palm. I guess rain has washed Dorothy's blood all over the door.

  “Alice...”

  “Is there another way in?”

  “Around the side, but -”

  “That'll do.”

  Pushing past him, I hurry around the church, although the muddy ground seems to be trying to suck my feet down w
ith each step. Finally I reach a wooden door on the far side of the building, but I can already make out a dark shape nailed to the wood. With a trembling hand, I raise my phone and shine the flashlight beam at what I already know will turn out to be a body.

  A shudder passes through my chest as I see that Father Redman's headless corpse has been nailed to this door, although this time the body has been left upside down. I take a step forward, and when my feet squelch in the muddy ground, I have no doubt that I'm wading through a puddle of blood.

  Reaching out for the handle, I start pushing the door open. After a moment, however, I remember what happened last time. I lunge forward just as the door slams shut, and this time I'm able to force my shoulder into the opening. The door pushes against me with immense force, and for a moment I feel as if my shoulder might be about to shatter. Finally, however, I push the door open all the way and then I stumble through the doorway, quickly tripping and landing hard on my knees.

  Turning, I see that the door is now wide open, with Father Redman's headless corpse still nailed upside-down to the wood. A moment later Graham steps into view, silhouetted against the pouring rain, and I watch as he stares in horror at the dead body.

  “You can turn around,” I tell him. “Go back to town, call the police.”

  “What about you?”

  “I have to find my sister.”

  Getting to my feet, I tilt my phone and shine the flashlight beam all around. I'm in a cold, dark room, but after a moment I lower my phone and see a flickering orange glow in a doorway ahead. With water dripping from my clothes, I step forward.

  “Alice, hold up!” Graham hisses behind me.

  I turn and signal for him to be quiet.

  He mouths something silently, but I don't know what he's trying to say. Still, as he stands framed in the doorway with rain crashing down behind him, I can tell that he really, really doesn't want us to be here.

  Turning, I make my way across the dark room until I reach the next door, and then I look through into the main part of the church.