He could see the shoebox he had placed over the cellar hatch, he shuddered at the thought of going back down there, but he would do it to keep the pumpkins safe. His mind screamed hurry and he kicked off toward it, the sense of urgency pulling him forward. As he neared the box, a smoke-black cloud formed in the corridor. It smelt of corruption and he stepped back to avoid it as it spilled along the corridor toward him.
A cold sweat ran down his back as a girl-shaped figure appeared in the fog before him. He tried to shout but his throat was as dry as sand and the noise was strangled by his larynx.
She reached out a hand, clawing at the smoke, and turned to him. An empty eye socket stared from a young, gore-stained face. The blood spilled from her eye to run across her cheek and splash onto the white of her nightdress, covering the teddy design on her chest.
Steve closed his eyes tight and willed the vision to go. “No. You’re not real.” He looked again and she was gone, but the cloud of corrupt blackness swarmed over the hatch.
Through the cabin walls, he heard Val singing. “Shush, little pumpkins, don’t you cry.”
Steve looked at the cloud guarding the cellar. His legs buckled, and he almost collapsed. He closed his eyes and leaned against the rough, wooden wall of the cabin. He imagined the children, Chase on the radio, being so grown up it hurt to watch him, and little Lucy so trusting, curled up next to her brother.
“Right, let’s do this,” he said to the cloud.
He walked toward the hatch and the darkness that hung there. Keeping his head high, he pushed into it, and was surprised that it had a physical presence. It was like walking into thin jelly, but he kept going pushing his legs through the cold, damp goo.
Once inside it was like walking through a cold black fog that chilled his bones so much he worried they might shatter. It reduced his vision slightly but he could still see through the wispy mist that stung his eyes and sucked the breath from his lungs.
Fight this. He knew he had to fight, to stay strong and beat the evil that threatened his family, but the cold sapped his strength, and he was slowing.
A decomposed hand snaked out toward his face. The fingerbones poked through rotting flesh, their whiteness stark against the blue corruption.
Fear gripped a skeletal hand onto his heart but he fought it down and pushed at the hand. His fingers sank into cold flesh. It felt like mushy peas and his stomach rolled, but he walked on defiantly into the mist.
The hatch was just four feet away, the shoebox barely visible. In his path was a boy, one leg missing, hacked crudely away, leaving the tattered remains of flesh and bone, sinew and cartilage. Blood spurted from a torn artery onto the floor. A puddle formed and spread toward Steve, blocking his path. It ran oil black across the wooden floor, inching closer to him within the smoke curtain. He hesitated, not wanting to step into it, but he knew he must. Time was short.
As his foot hovered over the blood, the vision changed. He gasped for breath. Before him was Lucy. Her neck cleaved open into a huge gash which pumped her life blood into the fog.
“No, no, no,” he chanted. “Not real.”
It wasn’t Lucy, but some poor sweet girl who looked so like her that he sobbed into the mist but kept walking.
“Not real,” he chanted. “Not real, not real.”
He reached the hatch, and the fog seemed thinner. Pushing the shoebox to one side, he reached down for the handle; he was going to make it. At the feeling of relief, a force like an Alaskan wind hit his back and pushed him forward, down onto his hands. The cold sank into his bones and tried to push him away, but he resisted with all his might. It blew at him, whistling past his ears. Like an evil black wind, it buffeted his body, forcing him over. This was not going to happen; he would not be beaten by mist.
A red-hot anger formed deep inside his gut rising up and providing the strength to fight back. He spun around; the mist was there, concentrated around him. It seemed to challenge him, to threaten, but the wind eased, and the mist pulled back.
A snarl ripped from his throat, and the pressure eased up. Was it afraid of him? In the second’s respite, he pulled up the hatch and stepped into the cellar.
Chase huddled on the floor next to Lucy. He was determined to keep her safe and knew that he must be strong. He flinched slightly every time his dad cried out. Part of him wanted to unlock the door and go help, but he also wanted to hide in the wardrobe and lock the world outside. The feel of Lucy shaking against him was all that kept him going. He pulled her close and stroked her hair before returning his attention to the radio. He depressed the mic. “This is Chase Scott, at the old Parker/Scott cabin. If anyone can hear this, please, we need help. We need it now.”
Outside the window they heard scraping. Lucy pushed against him and squealed, but this was not her normal squeal of delight; this was terror. She covered her eyes. “Where’s Bunkie?” she asked.
“Don’t worry, he’s hiding,” Chase said, wishing he was with the fluffy toy. It was probably safer than in here.
From outside the cabin they heard Val. “Chase, let Mummy in.”
Lucy started to rise. “Mummy.”
Chase pulled her back, dropping the mic to hold her close. “It’s not Mummy, remember.”
They sat curled up together and Chase bit his lip, hoping the pain would hold back his tears.
Val leaned against the cabin’s window, the ax head between her cheek and the glass. Her eyes were closed and she looked at peace.
“Mummy just wants to cuddle you. Come on, my babies, let me in,” she said to the glass.
From inside the cabin she heard Chase. “Mum, if you really care about us, go away.” His voice shook slightly.
“Then who would make you a pie?” Her eyes opened wide, and her manic grin would have been at home in any asylum.
Lucy stood and looked at the bed, leaned up against the window. She started to walk towards it.
Chase grabbed her arm and pulled her back again. “We’re kinda off pies,” he said.
Val’s voice carried clearly through the walls of the cabin.
“But Mummy wants to cook.” She cackled like a witch and ranted at them. “Chop you up, chop you up, really nice and small. Make a pie from my babies and feed it to them all.”
She laughed an uncontrollable and evil sound that bounced off the cabin walls and reverberated along the wooden floor to where they sat.
Chase keyed the mic. “This is Chase Scott. Please, if anyone can hear me, come quickly and bring a gun.”
Val snarled and moved away from the wall, back across the deck until she hit the railing that surrounded it. She raised the ax high above her head. It glinted in the moonlight and flashed at the window as she brought it crashing down into the glass. The pane shattered and showered glass fragments high into the air. They hung suspended, reflecting the moonlight before gradually flashing down, scattering over her and tinkling as they landed on the deck.
Fragments had scratched her face and a sliver or two was embedded into her skin. Blood ran from them, untouched and unseen as she raged at the bed that prevented her entry to the children’s room. She pushed at it with the ax, but it was wedged tight and would not move. Fury consumed her and she pulled the ax back and slashed and chopped and fumed at the barricade. Again and again, she slashed and chopped, but the bed was solid. As she chopped, strips of wood would fly off, and cracks appeared, sending her into an even deeper rage.
Chapter 38
Steve froze on the steps. The sound of Val tormenting the kids turned his bowels to liquid. He wanted to run to them to make them feel safe, but he must keep going. “Lauren, fight her. Help them,” he shouted at the walls.
He heard the ax shatter the window and fear pushed him forward. He must hurry; he must keep them safe. He stepped off the stairs and rushed into the gloom of the cellar.
The dark was back. The cold wet mist surrounded him, forcing him back against the steps and sucking the air from his lungs. A decomposing arm appeared out of the gloom. Skeletal finge
rs twisted through rotted flesh and skin slipped from the appendages as they snaked toward his face. The fingerbones, clawed at his cheek; like sticks beneath slime, they scratched across his face and pulled his lip.
Shock and revulsion forced air into his tortured lungs and broke the paralysis that held him. He thrashed the arm away and strode into the dark. Anger and resolve, as well as terror, hurried him forward. The appendage dissolved before him, and he moved across the dirt floor.
Above him, the ax struck the solid wooden bed as Val attempted to get to the kids.
God, give me the strength to get through this.
He must hurry. “Lauren, fight this,” he screamed at the top of his lungs as he ran across the floor.
He had reached the cobweb-encrusted back of the cellar and the shelving with the items he needed. He loaded his arms, quickly, clumsily, and turned to start back.
The dark was before him, deeper now. It looked impenetrable and blocked his escape.
Above, the ax sang as it ruptured the wood, and anger surged through Steve. He gave the mist a look of pure hatred and walked into it. It pulled back away from him, as if cowering, and slunk back into the corner.
Adrenaline drove him across the floor and to the stairs. With his arms full, he took them two at a time, feeling the rickety steps give as he bounded upwards. He hoped they would hold. They did, and he climbed out into the hallway. The chopping stopped, and silence descended onto the cabin. His heart sank. Had she gotten them?
Steve stared at the bedroom door. Like a trapped beast, his heart pounded in his chest, and his feet froze on the spot.
Are the kids safe?
That solid piece of wood could be hiding joy or agony, and the silence rang warning bells in his mind.
Move.
They were fine; they had to be. It was all he had left. He wanted to rush to the door and tear it open to hug the children until morning came and the sun chased away all his nightmares, but he could not fight her in there. Instead, he turned and headed through the kitchen. With panic fueling his limbs, he hauled the table aside and unlocked the door.
Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he stepped out into the night.
Relief almost dropped him to his knees. Val sat in the chair and rocked gently backward and forward, her expression peaceful almost serene. Had Lauren done this? He hoped that his wife was still in there and that she might be helping him or the children. If she fought enough, it might just slow this bitch down and keep them all safe.
The chair rocked back, and Val changed, her face covered in blood, her lip split, and her right eye and cheek were swollen with deep purple bruises.
Steve fell to his knees. “No, please, no more.”
The chair rocked forward, and it was Lauren sitting there, her long, curly blonde hair unmistakable against Val’s bob. Her face screwed into a rictus of fear, she turned slowly to him as the rocker continued its movement.
Steve could almost feel her pleading with him to help, begging him to save the children. Their eyes met and then the chair was rocking backward, and it was Val’s spiteful grin that returned his.
Steve reached behind him and shook out a net. He stood and slowly, cautiously, walked toward the chair. He could not see the ax, which was good; he had more chance if she had lost it. The chair rocked backward, and a little girl appeared, her summer dress splattered with red. Her right eye was a dark, gore- encrusted hole, and blood ran down her pale, almost blue cheeks.
She’s dead.
Steve inched toward the chair, his arms ready at his side. The chair rocked forward, and Val looked at him.
Her ice-blue eyes almost froze him, but he could do this.
“I know what happened,” he shouted. “You got your revenge and then some. Now let it go.”
The chair rocked backward. It was still Val, but younger. Her sweet face covered in bruises, she looked vulnerable and beaten.
Steve took a step, slowly, cautiously, and then attempted to grab her arms. It all seemed to take place in slow motion. As he inched toward her, the chair rocked forward. She brought up her right arm with the ax. Her face was feral, her teeth bared through drawn-back lips.
Steve ducked, but the steel glanced him under the chin. He fell backward and crashed hard on his coccyx. The fall sent shockwaves up his spine and forced the air from his body. Stunned, he lay still, his face pouring blood.
Val stopped, and genuine concern flashed across her face, but then it was gone. She dropped the ax and skittered across the floor on her knees, like an insane human playing pony. Poised over his prone body, she touched the blood that poured from his chin and brought a finger to her lips. Closing her eyes and with a groan of pure delight, she sucked the blood from it.
“Kiddies, how about Daddy pie?”
As she looked away, Steve blinked.
She stood up and hefted the ax. She raised it high above her head, steel death waiting to fall. The shaft paused, as a battle was fought inside her. The hair and face became Lauren, and the ax seemed to dance in her hands as she wrestled with Val over control. The hair shortened, the eyes turned frosty blue, and Val won. She brought it crashing down toward Steve’s head.
He opened his eyes and recoiled away from her.
The ax bit into the deck and overbalancing, she dropped to her knees.
Steve charged at her. At the impact, she released the shaft, and they both tumbled across the deck. She landed heavy, thumping hard on her back, and Steve went over her to land on his knees.
He ran back toward her, but she went down onto all fours and scrambled for the ax. It was a race, but he was upright and just beat her to it. He kicked it away and grabbed for his net. He was too late; she dived at him and landed on his back. The force knocked him to the floor, and she pinned him down.
“Dad, do you need any help?” Chase shouted from the cabin.
Val sat atop Steve, pounding at his head. His right cheek scraped against the deck at each punch. “I’m okay,” he shouted between blows.
“Dad, don’t get scared,” Lucy called.
He dodged as much as he could and tried to grab hold of her hands, but she was like a dervish, and they came at him so fast and so furious, he kept missing. She leaned forward and bit his ear.
Steve shrieked as she pulled away with a chunk of his lobe embedded in her teeth.
As she flexed back, he turned his hip and tipped her to the deck.
“I’ll kill you,” she screamed.
“Dad, you okay?” Chase shouted.
He was on top now, and he hesitated only a second, then he hit her hard to the jaw. The blow stopped her instantly. She slumped back, and he caught her and lowered her head gently to the deck. “Doing great, kids,” he shouted as he checked for a pulse. It was strong; she had to be okay.
Shaking off the guilt, he walked back to the door for his supplies and picked up a camouflage net. She landed on his back and knocked him to his knees and then bit into his other ear. He screamed as she pulled back, his ear lobe clasped between her bloody teeth.
“Dad,” Chase shouted.
He tried to shake her off, but she was kicking and biting. Blood was flying from his ear, and she pulled away and spat out another piece. She reached down and bit into his neck. “I’m doing great,” he screamed as he managed to get to his feet.
She kicked and pounded at him with one hand, while clawing at his face with the other, her teeth still lodged into his neck. He ran backward and slammed her into the cabin walls. She didn’t stop, and he slammed her again and again. This time she let go and slumped to the floor. He grabbed hold of the net and threw it over her.
She was trying to stand, to fight her way out.
“Daddy,” Lucy screamed.
He pulled back his fist and hit Val hard, and the net dropped down and she lay still. “Everything’s okay, don’t worry,” he said as he turned her over and over inside the net. He grabbed a roll of tape and taped the net, top, middle, and bottom.
He slumped
down on the deck beside her and started to giggle; she looked like some Arabian princess rolled up in a magic carpet. He breathed deeply to stop the giggles; he knew he was close to hysteria, and he knew he must hurry.
Chapter 39
Steve put a hand on the net. He could feel the rising and falling of her chest, so she was breathing easily. He found her face and tore a hole; her teeth snapped at him weakly. He stood and walked across the deck to the chair.
It started to rock all by itself. It seemed to be covered in blood and was surrounded by darkness. He reached forward to grab it. A corpse sat there with tattered skin hung on putrefied flesh; he could smell the corruption. It stung his eyes and closed his throat. He could see the yellow-white bones through the torn muscle. He pulled his hand back and looked for the ax.
Steve grabbed the ax and swung it at the chair; it passed through the corpse, which melted like the morning mist, and bounced off the wood. He felt the blow jar through his battered body. He turned and swung the ax sideways at the chair. It hit, and the rocker glided away from it. When it stopped, it rocked backward, and the girl like Lucy appeared in the chair, her eyes pleading with Steve for salvation. Horrified, he swung and hit the rocker again. It slid toward the edge of the deck.
Behind him, Lauren convulsed. Her feet pounded the deck, like a drummer reaching a crescendo.
Steve hit the chair again, and it bounced off the deck to land on the grass.
Lauren was still. Please let her be okay.
Steve jumped off the deck and got to the chair before it could start rocking.
“Daddy,” Lucy said.
He turned around, the ax above his head. She was standing behind him, another vision so real he couldn’t stand it. He raised the ax to swing.
“Dad,” Chase screamed as he rushed in front of his sister.
Steve pulled the ax wide and missed the children. His chest ached, and his heart beat like a runaway horse. “Go back inside both of you. Everything’s all right,” he said.
Daddy Won't Kill You- The Haunting in the Woods Page 17
