She held out the phone, tears welling up in her eyes. The goats were both nibbling at grass and weeds while she considered. But could she live with herself if she allowed this to continue?
Could she?
A fat tear rolled down her cheek as she started to dial nine. Before she could press the number one, the goats yanked forward in unison. She was suddenly dragged down into the woods, both goats bleating and pulling hard. And she fell. The goats fell too, sliding down suddenly into the darkness. To the beneath. Under the ground.
It reminded me of this time when I was a kid. I was out in the woods, like Rachel was now, but it had snowed really hard. I was pretty little, maybe, five or six. Maybe even seven. So I'm walking on top of the snow, and it has crusted over just enough to hold my weight, barely. If I stepped too hard I'd sink suddenly beneath the snow.
The snow was about thigh deep on my little legs, so it was much easier to walk on top the crust of the snow. The thin ice layer. I loved it. And even though my mother told me not to go out too far into the woods--because of the bears--I didn't listen. I was walking along carefully, enjoying the crunchy, dangerous snow walking. At any moment, I might get stuck! Very exciting for a child like me, I must say. So I wandered out farther into the woods, and suddenly, the snow, did just the thing I was hoping and frightened will happen. It broke, and I sank in! But here's the thing. I didn't sink up to my thighs like I was expecting. Instead, I kept going down, down deep into the hole.
And as soon as I saw the big, sharpened sticks I knew, I just knew, I was in trouble. They didn't catch me. I was so little, I somehow just got speared in the snowsuit. But my skin, my actual skin and bones and body were just fine. I was dangling on that little wooden spear.
I knew what this was. This was a bear trap. Sharp pointy sticks in a hole in the ground. I had helped to sharpen the sticks for my father. I had helped!
And somehow, with the heavy snow, I had missed where I was walking entirely. The world looks so different with snow! So I was stuck, I was really stuck. But that wasn't even the problem. The problem, the way I saw it, in that moment, was that there was a bear in the trap with me. He was grimacing in pain, and looked up at me with big, frightened eyes. He didn't have much fight left in him; his brown fur was positively dripping with blood. He let out a soft growl as he looked at me, then his tongue seemed to loll from his mouth as if it was too hard to hold it in. Blood dripped off his fangs. It had obviously snowed after he had fallen in, for he was almost invisible. Took my mom two days to find me. And I'm glad that bear was there, and hadn't quite died yet. I bet I would have gotten too cold in there without him. Dad shot him, and he's in the living room right now.
So you might say I know a few things about falling into a hole, and how scary it can be. Rachel, unfortunately, was in a lot more trouble than I was. She wasn't falling into a hole with a half dead bear. She was falling into the basement with two tasty goats.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
I didn't plan for them to come in the basement. In fact, I talked with Rachel about it extensively; it is not safe in the basement. Don't come to the basement. No basement at all!
I told her that I operate the "ghosts" from the basement and her party would be absolutely ruined! Absolutely ruined. I put all the locks on the door, and made sure it was obvious that this is not a safe place.
Stay out of the basement!
And then she went and did something I didn't expect at all.
Or maybe--I don't even want to say it. I doubt Richard or Amelia would have done it, I doubt they would have pulled them into the basement. The twins--Delilah and Trevor--they do sure like a giggle, and they love that I'm here in the basement. I'd say they are the ones I am closest with. But they are stuck, tied to the chandelier; they don't move.
So I guess that only leaves Oliver. I guess I shouldn't be so shocked that he'd... I just don't want to talk about that anymore. The goats dragged Rachel to a very old crumbling exit from the basement. I don't know why there was a secret basement exit. I just don't know. Maybe this house was part of the Underground Railroad at some point. Maybe it was for some sort of other, much darker purpose.
I do know it was here when I moved in a long time ago.
Anyways, I don't use it because it's crumbling. But the weight of the goats and the girl was enough to collapse the room. And in she went. Into the basement. She couldn't go out the way she came in; it had fallen just enough to block the door that would have been an exit, and it was a deep hole in the ground.
You can't just climb out. Especially not if you just fell and crushed your ankles.
Rachel was screaming bloody murder, her bones crushed and snapped. Cletus and Carson were spunky little goats and had all sorts of fight left in them. Neither were injured. Goats jump down crazy stuff all the time! But the leash was still tangled on her arm, and they were tugging in unison, starting to drag her forward. She shouted for them to stop, but goats don't care.
They dragged her several feet before Carson stopped.
Because.
I
Beheaded
Him.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
I didn't want to do that, but sometimes you just have to do what you have to do. I put Carson's head in the sink, and I left his body at the basement stairs.
Maybe I should tell you what happened to Ben.
I didn't mean for him to get so beat up, but he was getting too far away. I promised Rachel I'd have everyone terrified out of their minds at the party. Why wouldn't I help? She wanted to spook and fright and laugh and party. And I was gonna help.
Meanwhile, Ben goes running off with a phone and wants to end the whole thing early. Who would do that! I promised Rachel that we would make this party last two days. So yes, I chased him down, and knocked him out and dragged him into the basement and shoved him out the door. I did that. It needed to be done. I had to unlock the whole damn door and lock it back up just for him.
And unbelievably, Rachel became the very person she said she'd never be. Here I have scrambled, I have worked for it, I blocked off the main road and made sure they walked in circles. I did everything that I was supposed to do. And there she stood with a damn cellphone, begging for relief. She didn't want to party.
If I sound angry, I was angry. That was why I beheaded Carson. Ever got so mad you just chopped the head off a goat with an ax? Believe me. It's not fun.
I dragged Rachel inside the basement and tied her to the wall. "You said you wanted this." My words were harsh and angry, but it was so damn unfair.
She came to me. I wasn't gonna kill anyone.
Okay, so I might have killed Ben, but that wasn't my fault. I didn't know he couldn't take a licking and keep on ticking. Must have been a heart condition or something.
I feel like I should be explaining or apologizing to you, but, you get me. Don't you?
So Rachel is tied up, in my basement. I can't let her go, I told her that this party was going to be awesome. And they got distracted and stopped doing the things they should have been doing.
They should have been solving puzzles. Pay attention to the damn ghosts! Do I think Oliver wants to stand around skin flapping and nobody looking at her? Hell no. The twins have been dying of boredom. And these damn kids won't even pay them mind. They're so busy freaking out and killing each other over literally nothing.
So I tied her up. Now you know.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
I know you are terribly clever and have already figured it out. And yes, you're right. The others are down here too.
Beth and Zane and gorgeous Mikaela with her pretty sparkly dress. They wandered off the path when they heard Cletus bleating. They turned and ran, shouting together and also fell in that damn hole. College kids, am I right?
Anyways, I let them into the basement and tied them all up next to Rachel.
Then we waited.
Mike was the next one to hear the goat, bleating his sweet little cry. It didn't take much to make Cletu
s beg for help, honestly. Just a few plucked strands of fur and he'd let out a real good one. I'd barely even call it torture.
Jenny and Tiffany followed quickly, and soon, they were all tied in the basement. I forgot about Ricky.
I had my hands full.
So there they were--Rachel, worn out from sobbing, and silently hanging with her hands over her head. I put them in order, arms up in the sky. Beth, then Zane & Mikaela (the twins honestly are beside themselves with excitement to meet another set of twins. I don't think they ever met other twins while they were living.) Then Mike, Jenny, and Tiffany.
Honestly, if they hadn't hung there so long, I wouldn't know, I wouldn't know all these things about them. I certainly couldn't tell you their sweet little stories if they hadn't come down to the basement. This was where I learned about Tiffany banging Beezer and aborting her baby. This was where I learned that Mikaela had a little boy. I heard the fearful, intimate, teary-eyed stories they told each other, while I sat and listened quietly.
I don't think I've ever seen anything so beautiful.
But then, my damn house was on fire.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
I know I was a handful as a kid; most people wouldn't have put up with me. Not just because I kept going into the woods where I shouldn't have been. But I was different. I still am, I suppose.
I daresay not many people would keep living here after the things that I have seen. After the things I have done. But what else can I do? I don't have anywhere else to go. This house is a part of me. It's always been a part of me. The only other time it has been on fire, I got it put out awful quick. It was before...
Maybe it was the start. Let me explain what happened.
I was asleep in my room with Oliver. I was seven years old. I was just a kid. But I remember it just like it was yesterday. It was terrifying. Truly.
I walked upstairs and my dad, he was locked in his room. He was rattling the door handle and he kept shouting, "It's so damn cold in here. What has your mother done! What has your mother done!"
He was shouting. He couldn't stop. I could hear him chattering from the cold. I touched the handle of the door, and it was so cold it hurt my skin. It bit me.
I knew what he meant. Mom had been...
He shouted again, "Let me out!"
"I'll go find her," I said slowly. I didn't touch the handle again. I could feel his teeth chattering on the other side of the door. I went downstairs--
And I think I should tell you that I never saw Oliver. Not until later. I think if I had, everything would have ended differently. After the cops came, they took his body away, and I never knew, I never knew he had been peeled, all his skin flopping loose against his skeleton. I didn't find that out until much later, until I was in my twenties, the owner of a guesthouse.
I did see the twins. I could hear them giggling, even while they hung, their bodies still thrashing against the double-dutch rope. They had taught me to jump with that rope. It had been wonderful. Both of them twirling the ends of the rope, back and forth and laughing, and me, hop skippity in the middle of the thumping ropes.
It's a good memory. Skipping rope with my siblings. Oliver never quite got the hang of it, but I like to think that maybe if he hadn't died so young, he would have been an excellent jumper.
Anyways, I went down the stairs, and I saw the twins hanging there. And I could hear them giggling, even though they were dangling and choking. I tried to help them, I really did. I tried to push the heavy table back underneath their feet, but it was too heavy for me to move. I dragged a single chair over, and Delilah pressed her toes on the back, holding herself up just a little, as I stood on the chair and tried to pull the rope off the chandelier. But as she lifted herself, Trevor fell farther, suddenly choking her again. I could barely reach the chandelier, but I tried. I tried so hard to get them down.
I lost, though, and they died.
I sobbed for at least an hour before I moved on, calling my mother. Begging for her to come to me. I found her in the library.
She was dying.
She kept writing that word. The word I didn't even understand until later, until now. The word that represented her, and represents me too.
I remember trying to wipe it off her as she scrawled it in blood over and over. I had forgotten about my father entirely, and he froze to death. I wish I had been smart enough to realize if I had gotten him out, he might have been able to help her. Of course, I could be wrong.
That word. That single word, scrawled on her thigh, was probably enough to stop him.
CHAPTER FIFTY
Mikaela was sobbing against the wall, her wrists locked over her head in a long lanky chain. Zane was staring at the room. "Do you know what that says?"
Rachel shook her head. "I can say this, it's literally written everywhere."
He looked down at the floor and could see it scratched into the concrete, painted on the ceiling and the walls. Scraped into the shackles on their wrists.
Tiffany stared at it too. "Hagridden. I wish I could google it."
"Maybe it doesn't mean anything," Beth said slowly. She was sobbing softly.
I couldn't bear it. I couldn't bear her saying something like that. Would I have put it everywhere if it didn't mean something? Would I?
Would my mother have carved it into her leg with blood, scrawled it on the carpet, on the walls? My father died screaming that word.
My brother Oliver told me it was his last thought as his skin was curled off his body in chunks. Maybe it doesn't mean anything?
I didn't go in there, I'm not sure I could have controlled myself if I did. Instead, I spoke into the microphone, so that it would boom on the loudspeaker in their concrete prison. "Hagridden--tormented or harassed by nightmares or unreasonable fears. That word is your destiny."
They all jumped when I spoke. I like it when that happens. I feel like OZ, the man behind the curtain. It's a beautiful, intimate feeling. Watching young people jump.
And it was even more lovely watching them inhale that little word. Their eyes opening wide as they realize what it means to be tormented by unreasonable fears.
Harassed by nightmares.
I don't know what killed my family.
I do know they are trapped here, hagridden.
For a word I never had read in a book, or found on a spelling list, I had thought it every day of my life since that moment. Not the moment with the bear in the pit, not then. It was since I found my father freezing. Since that cold handle bit my fingers.
Since I found my brother and sister dangling from a rope.
I have heard that word echoing inside me. And sometimes I think that maybe if I write it down just two more times, it will break free from me. Maybe if I scrawl it on another wall, in another form, painted or written, or scratched or screamed and maybe, just maybe I can make it to the next day.
Maybe it won't kill me.
But this house is not a good place. This house is a monster. It's been waiting and inhaling souls, and I am hagridden.
I am tormented. I am nightmares. I am unreasonable. I am fear.
I have become hagridden.
I am Lillian.
And these ghosts are my people.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Ricky continued to drag out Rafael. He was the last one. The last dead corpse of his friends. He put the body next to Ben, next to Lucy, next to John, and Beezer. He laid them all one at a time next to the large conversion van. He stared at the house slowly. He would do a final walk through, and then light that place up like a firecracker from hell.
He stepped into the house, and the door didn't even hesitate. Sometimes I wonder why it let him in. Why? That door sometimes sticks so fiercely not a single soul can escape. But perhaps the house wanted to be done. Or maybe it was just feeling playful.
He stepped upstairs and the master bedroom rolled out long tendrils of cold air, teasing his ankles. He didn't step inside, instead shouting, "Anyone up here? This baby is about to b
urn. I'd get out now."
After a long pause, he went downstairs and stepped into the library. From the corner of his eye, he saw my mother lying on the floor. She was writing "grid" on her thigh, eternally stuck in the middle of the word. Ricky let out a serious shrill scream and turned his head, but he couldn't see her if he looked directly at her. Ghosts are funny that way. If he had turned his head just a bit, he could have watched her for as long as he wanted, but no, he charged forward out of the library through the kitchen, panting and shouting, "Is anybody left?"
It was a gasping sob. And I'm sorry to say, not a single person in the basement heard him. If I had heard him, I wouldn't have let him set fire to my house.
He turned and the twins, dangling on the chandelier, both grinned at him and implored him the way they do. Speaking in perfect unison, "The basement."
But he wasn't listening; he was dumping the booze on the ground and shuddering with fright. He didn't want to look at the two thirteen year olds swinging from their jump rope. He lit the first match, dropping it into the alcohol. The flames burst to life and finally the kitchen started to burn.
He turned and stepped to the little hallway at the top of the wooden stairs.
And suddenly he realized what the twins had said. It's funny how adrenaline works like that. If he had been using his head, he would have smothered the flames that were destroying my home right that moment, but instead, he turned and looked down the wooden steps and saw
The basement door
Was
Open.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
I have loved my home from the beginning, even before my family was here eternally. I'm not sure what my mother saw, but she was the first one to be obviously haunted. I mean, she was always odd--if you recall my story about the time I pulled a splinter and snapped my finger.
Gridlocked Guesthouse (Locked House Hauntings Book 1) Page 11
