by B. N. Toler
“Something really, really bad.” It was impossible to miss the fear lacing Charlotte’s tone as she stared through the doorway into the abandoned house.
I tried to keep my cool, but Charlotte’s words had every nerve in my body on high alert. Aside from the fact something had frightened her so badly she’d nearly fallen on her ass, she was trembling. “We’re not going in,” I informed everyone.
She squeezed her eyes shut, as if clearing her head before she moved her stare back to the door, her expression void as she attempted to hide her concern. She didn’t want me to know she was afraid. “We have to.”
I wasn’t going to let her off the hook that easy. “Charlotte, you’re shaking like a leaf.”
“There are little girls in here, George. Children.” She shuddered before adding, “I have to go in.”
Sniper and I exchanged uncertain glances before he gave me a shrug. He knew where I was coming from, and he didn’t want to go inside anymore than I did, but he understood we had to. For my wife, it never was as simple as walking away. If we left at that very moment and headed back to the hotel, Agnus, and possibly the little girls, would just follow her. Spirits could be relentless. They would not let Charlotte rest until they rested. Which meant Charlotte needed to go in. We couldn’t deal with the dead for her, but we could do our best to keep her safe in all other areas.
“Okay,” I finally agreed. “But Sniper and I are still going in first to check the place.”
She nodded, a hint of nervousness visible in her features for the briefest of moments before she steeled herself. “Thank you.” My girl didn’t like anyone to see her afraid.
Sniper turned a stern look on Anna, who was waiting on the bottom step of the porch, her hands in the back pockets of her jeans as she watched us. “You,” he pointed a firm finger at her, “wait right here. Do not come in.”
Anna nodded in acknowledgement, her eyes filled with concern. It was evident she had no desire to enter the house and didn’t try to argue about it.
Sniper and I did a quick sweep of the two-story townhome before returning to the porch where Charlotte appeared to be talking to herself, but we knew she was speaking with Agnus.
“This place is a shite hole,” Sniper announced unnecessarily when we stepped out. “No one is in the house, but it looks like someone could be squatting here, so we should make this quick in case they come back.”
“Lead the way, Agnus,” Charlotte said, her voice confident as she stepped aside and gestured to the open doorway. A moment passed before Charlotte stepped inside the house and froze, sucking in a deep breath as if steadying herself.
“Are you okay?” I asked, gently resting my hands on her shoulders
“I’ve never felt…what I’m feeling.” She trembled subtly, and I gripped her shoulders tighter, hoping it would steady her. “It’s like a wave of…crushing despair. I don’t know how to explain it,” she murmured, her voice hitching with emotion. My stomach twisted. Over the years, she’d managed to build a shield more or less, a way to protect herself from becoming too affected by the things she saw. She wore her protective barrier well, but today it seemed to be wavering. Seeing her rattled concerned me. It meant there was a chink in that armor. And if something really was getting through her impenetrable wall…it had to be bad.
“I’m right here with you,” I reminded her, making sure to keep my voice strong and steady so she’d feel safe. “If anything gets too intense, or you get overwhelmed, say the word, and I’ll throw you over my shoulder and carry you out of here.”
Leaning back to press against me she whispered, “My hero.” I had to admit, that felt good to hear. I wanted to be her hero; her protector. It was nice to know she believed it too.
As we moved farther into the house, she absentmindedly twirled a piece of her long hair around her finger, something she did when she was thinking.
“Where is Agnus?” I asked.
“Top of the stairs.”
She was still leaning against me when I felt her back tense as she inhaled sharply. She was bracing herself. Then, in a flash, she rushed the steps. Momentarily stunned by her sudden movement, it took Sniper and I a few moments to react before we followed her up the stairs to the second floor, slowing as we caught up with her at the open door of one of the bedrooms. She stood just outside of it, staring in.
“Hello,” she greeted quietly, her voice tentatively echoing into the empty room. “Don’t be scared.” She raised a hand as if to offer reassurance that she meant no harm, but dropped it. “My name is Charlotte, and I’m here to help you.”
“May I come—” Charlotte moved to enter the room but froze mid-step. She stared at the empty room, her expression riddled with concern. “Who will hurt me?”
Sniper and I glanced at one another before we scanned the area around us. Had we missed something? Was someone in the house?
“What bad man?” Charlotte whispered, her face contorting in horror.
“George,” Charlotte called, jerking me from my thoughts. “My pot pie, babe?” Dark circles hung under her eyes, and her cheek bones were more prominent, a sign she’d been losing weight. She hid it well, but in the harsh light of the kitchen I could see her features were more sullen and hollow.
“It’s coming, lass,” Sniper answered for me. She grabbed some napkins and rushed out of the kitchen.
My surroundings spun around me, the colors and sounds blurring. I closed my eyes, attempting to calm down. You should have stopped her from going in.
Entering the house, Charlotte expected to find the souls of the two girls she’d seen in the window, but she did not expect to find a third. Two souls crossed over…one still remained.
We’d been back to New York twice since that day, but even after the second return trip, Charlotte hadn’t been able to interact with the girl, and though we would leave New York and the Hell House, the spirit of the little girl trapped in the dark bedroom where Charlotte found her, in a way always came back to Warm Springs with us. Charlotte wasn’t haunted by the girl’s ghost; no, she was haunted by her failure to help the child.
I hated that fucking house—the Hell House. I hated Agnus and what she had done, not only to the children, but for what the whole thing was now doing to my wife. Since the day we entered that shit hole, my wife slept less and less and suffered more. The more I thought about it, the hotter my blood pumped, and the faster I chopped.
“George,” Sniper said, concern in his tone.
I tensed as he said my name, losing my focus on the task at hand, and pressed the blade into the pad of my thumb. “Shit,” I hissed as I pulled my hand back and assessed the wound. Sniper grabbed my wrist and wrapped a towel around it. The Army had taught him how to act swiftly, and I found a situation seldom arose when Sniper was present that wasn’t immediately addressed.
“That’s going to need stitches,” he said bluntly.
“I just need a bandage is all,” I insisted, pulling my hand away.
“What happened?” My head jerked up at the sound of Charlotte’s voice.
“Just caught my thumb. It’s no big deal.” My reassurance didn’t sway her. She rounded the line and stood in front of me, taking my hand and lifting the towel, wincing when she saw it.
Her concern laced eyes cut to mine. “You need stitches, babe.”
“Told ya,” Sniper added.
“It’s fine,” I tried one more time, attempting to keep my cool. I wasn’t upset with either of them, just pissed at myself.
“Come on, I’ll drive you,” she said, ignoring my attempt to dissuade them of concern.
Shaking my head, I untied my apron with my uninjured hand. “You have tables.”
“Anna can handle them. Let’s go.”
“I’ll drive myself,” I grumbled as I tugged the apron off and tossed it on the floor. “Will you clean this up for me, Sniper?”
“Got it,” he said agreeably.
“I’m driving you,” Charlotte voiced stubbornly as I steppe
d around her.
I cupped the back of her head with the hand not currently gushing blood and pulled her to me, pressing a kiss to her forehead. I appreciated her concern, and I knew she only wanted to help, but I needed some time to myself to decompress. My number one priority was to help her, protect her from stress; right now I needed to protect her from myself. “You stay here, babe. I’ll be back soon.” I walked out of the kitchen and through the back door. I was in a terrible mood, and it had nothing to do with the cut on my hand. It had everything to do with feeling like I had no control, and that was because I didn’t. The thing I didn’t want to admit, though, was the only other time I’d felt this way was after the death of my brother Ike. And I didn’t like where those feelings had led me.
Charlotte
Letting my shoulders droop, I frowned as George disappeared out the back door. Why wouldn’t he let me drive him? Sniper let out a sigh and put his hands on his hips.
“It’s me, isn’t it?” I asked bluntly.
“He’s worried about ya,” he said simply, scraping the bloodied onion into the trash and dumping the cutting board in the dish sink. Sniper never lied. You asked a question, he gave an honest answer. He didn’t just preach, but lived the motto life is too short to lie and sugar coat things.
I nodded, glancing back to the back door. This was my fault, and it wasn’t just eating away at me, but George, too. My failure was taking both of us down.
The two girls I saw in the window were Mary and Diana. It took some work, but I’d gotten all the information I could from them, and we were about to leave for the police station to make a report when I heard a light tapping on the wall from a back bedroom. I hadn’t thought to inspect the house for more spirits because usually they came to me. At the sound, I stopped and listened, then flicked my suspicious gaze between Agnus and the girls.
“What is it?” Sniper asked as he took in my expression. The questioning looks from Sniper and George confirmed they didn’t hear the tapping, which meant only one thing.
I pinned my gaze heavily on Agnus. “Were there more girls?”
Her pale blue eyes widened briefly as she turned an obstinate cheek to me. If I could have wrapped my hands around her throat and strangled her at that moment, I would have. Mary and Diana’s stories were enough to make me want to throttle Agnus, but for her to blatantly ignore me when I asked a question, yet still expect me to help her sent me over the edge. I was so angry, pain shot up my spine, tensing my shoulders. Turning, I faced Mary and Diana. They hadn’t come out of the bedroom because they were too scared the bad man would get them, even when I insisted I hadn’t seen any sign of him.
“Do either of you know if there were other girls here? Mary,” I fixed my attention on her, “You speak first, please.” I’d had to specify this with them because I was the mediator, or they just kept talking over one another.
Mary, her head down, peeked up at me from under her long dark lashes. Her voice timid, she explained, “I heard one other girl, but never saw her. She was loud and moaned a lot. I only heard her for two days before she got quiet. The last night I heard her she was crying really loud, and the bad man stomped into her room. He shouted at her. She was screaming, then she just stopped. I didn’t hear her again after that.”
George and Sniper didn’t budge as I moved toward the bedroom where I heard the tapping. My stomach was knotted in anger, this odd feeling of rage and protectiveness coming over me for these young girls. No child should endure these atrocities. No adult for that matter, but here we were. I was neck deep in one of the ugliest and most vile things a child could suffer. It tore at me to hear what the girls went through, but knowing they’d been trapped in the place of their torment since their deaths was nearly too much.
The bedroom door creaked as I pushed it open, revealing a young girl, tapping rhythmically against the far wall, mumbling unintelligibly. The girl was pretty, just like the others, but after watching her for a moment it wasn’t hard to tell she was different. She didn’t seem to register my presence, even when I spoke. I jumped and shouted, but she just kept repeating something I couldn’t decipher, and tapping her fingers against the wall. Occasionally she would walk away from the wall and pace across the room and make clicking sounds with her tongue as she tapped her fingers together.
I’d practically beaten my hands black and blue banging against the door and walls to get her attention, but the few times I did, it was only for a second before she’d slip back into her own world. George finally stopped me after twenty minutes, resting a hand on my shoulder where I was crouched, my hands clenched as I watched her. “Let’s take this one step at a time, Charlotte,” he said quietly. “Maybe we can help the other two girls and Agnus first. Then we can focus here.”
I was frustrated and on edge. This whole thing was so horrific and had me wound tight. Standing, I made my way to the stairs where Agnus stood, her chin up, eyes cast away from me.
“Look at me,” I demanded fiercely.
Without moving her head even a fraction, she flicked her gaze to me. “I want to know everything about this girl.” I pointed at the bedroom where the girl resided.
“I didn’t select her for him, clearly,” Agnus added haughtily. “Obviously, something was wrong with her.”
Mary and Diana had told me about how Agnus had promised them she’d braid their hair and make them cookies if they came with her. The girls had taken her hand and come with her willingly, unaware they were being led to their torture and demise.
“Her name?” I asked through clenched teeth. As my anger seized me, I stomped my foot, the heel of my shoe slamming loudly against the wood floor. Agnus jerked at the sound. “Where is she from?” I gritted out.
“I don’t know,” Agnus said defiantly, her chest heaving as she grew flustered. “I didn’t find her for him. He just,” she bristled as if angered at the thought, “showed up with her one day. He said the girl’s father had given her to him. They didn’t want her. She was different.” My eyes stung with disbelief. She’d been given away—to this? Her own father had cast her away like she was nothing just because she was different. My vision blurred as an overwhelming urge to cry came over me, but I held strong. I would not let Agnus see that part of me.
“She was loud,” Agnus continued. “She never stopped making noise. I tried to drug her to quiet her down, but it only worked for short periods of time before she’d start up again. That’s why he…” she stopped speaking and looked away from me.
“Killed her?” I bit out.
She refused to look at me or respond, and I knew I had the answer. My face heated as the anger and anguish I felt settled in my chest. “Agnus, so help me God, if you do not help me help these girls, I will make sure you never cross over, and you can stay in this hell hole for all eternity.” She whipped her head around to look at me, eyes wide with obvious terror. Good. I wanted her scared. I truly had no control over when a spirit was taken to the other side; it was really up to them. For Agnus to even be in limbo she had to believe something was left unfinished. But given her hand in the torment and death of these girls, I had no problem selling her the lie that I could keep her there if I wanted to.
“Charlotte, love.” Sniper’s use of my full name pulled me from the memory as he rested a gentle hand on my arm, concern creasing his brow. “Your eyes look like they’re about to leak. You ok, lass?”
George. I needed to focus on George. My husband. Not the Hell House.
Blinking a few times and taking a cleansing breath to clear my head, I met his gaze. “I’m worried about him, too.” The whole thing had both of us stressed. Stress isn’t good for anyone, but George in particular. He was an addict—a recovered one, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t slip. He’d done so well since rehab, attending meetings every week to keep himself on track. It shredded me to know my issues might push him back to old habits or, at the very least, cause him struggle. My gaze fell to the floor, my guilt making me unable to look at Sniper anymore as I m
uttered, “This stress isn’t good for him.”
“George is good now, Char,” Sniper tried to assure me. “He’s focused. You guys need to stop worrying about each other so much.”
“That’s what married people are supposed to do,” I said dryly. “You know…that whole love, honor, and protect bit in the vows.”
“No,” he disagreed, his mouth curving up on one side, an indication he was about to say something inappropriate. “Married people are supposed to shag like crazy, then argue over how much money the woman spends at Target. That’s it.” He cut his hand sideways with finality.
I chuckled as I shook my head. “If you think that’s all there is to it, you should probably hold off on getting hitched anytime soon.”
“Pfft,” he muttered with something between a laugh and a groan. “The day I get married is the day the Pope bends over and presses his holy lips to me arse.”
“Mmm hmm,” I mused. “Right on that unicorn tattoo, huh?”
“You bet your sweet arse,” he chuckled.
Rolling my eyes at the stereotypical male aversion to marriage, I turned to assess the mess George left after cutting his thumb, but my sight landed on Anna, heartbreak in her eyes as she stood frozen just inside the kitchen. You’d think a person that saw dead people couldn’t be stunned silent, but there I was, wide-eyed and staring at her, not sure what to do or say.
Sniper was still chuckling when he finally looked up and realized Anna was watching us. The kitchen went silent as he absorbed the moment. His facial expressions were so transparent to his thoughts it was almost as if a thought bubble was drifting just above his head.
She’s upset.
Why is she upset?
Did I do something?
Obviously, I did something.
But what?
What did I do?
