Angel Manor (Lucifer Falls Book 1)

by Noordeloos, Chantal

  “Yeah. It was in the bottom of the parcel. It has a letter in it, addressed to you.” He handed her the letter with a bit of a flourish and looked at her with curious expectation. Her hands trembled ever so slightly when she took the envelope from between his fingers, and she stared at it with some hesitation.

  “Do you want me to read it?”

  “No, I’m okay.” Her finger slid into the gap in the top of the envelope and she tore it open, the paper ripping with a crisp sound. She bit her lip and pulled out the letter between her thumb and forefinger. The paper fluttered as she shook it open, and she eased herself onto the candy-red sofa, drawing her legs up under her. Logan slid next to her, careful not to look over her shoulder, as she didn’t like him reading along.

  Freya cleared her throat and read in a soft voice.

  “My Dear Freya,

  “I have created a new journal which will ease you through your task as a Guardian. A lot of the old texts were lost in the fire at the convent, so what I have written down is a mixture of the stories that have been passed down for generations, the ones my parents told me, and the diary of Sister Agatha that I have placed in the attic in my grandmother’s writing desk. The diary is rather incomprehensible, so I didn’t want to risk you having to decipher it yourself.”

  Freya tapped the side of her nose.

  “So that’s the thing we found, Agatha’s diary? I’m glad Aunt Miriam decided to decipher it for us.” She lowered her eyes again and read the rest.

  “Of course, it would have been better if I could have trained you myself, but your mother never gave me the chance. I think the dairy will speak for itself. I’m sorry this is your fate now, but it’s a burden we must all bear. It’s our family curse and our secret. Please don’t neglect this duty. The fate of the world is in your hands.”

  Freya lowered the letter and let it rest on her lap, her eyes filled with worry.

  “What?” Logan ran his hand across her jeans in what he hoped was a comforting manner. “Why the frown?”

  “I just can’t help that nagging feeling.”

  “What?”

  “That we missed something. That there was a reason why those spirits were locked up in that house. I mean… why would my family take care of them for generations? Why not just have them exorcised like we did? I’m sure there are others like Florifera who could have done the same. Why go to all these lengths to be the Guardians of a house?”

  “Because they were crazy?” He squeezed her thigh and was glad to get a little smile out of her, but her face turned serious again instantly.

  “I think there might be more to it than that.”

  “Don’t know, Frey. It could just be simple indoctrination, you know? If it started with ancestors, and they taught their children to be ‘Keepers’ or ‘Guardians’ or whatever, and they taught their children… that kind of behaviour can last generations. Look at the Amish, they teach their kids their lifestyles. This is not that different… it just has ghosts. I’m sure they all felt they were doing something important.”

  Freya squinted at him, her brow furrowed and her lips curled in a doubtful sneer.

  “What if we’re wrong, Logan?” Her bottom lip twitched. “What if there is something else there? What about that sleeping master thing? The spirits talked about it. What was that? We never found out.”

  “What do you want to do? Go back to that house?”

  “No… oh God, no.” Her fingers clutched the paper envelope and it folded under her touch. “I… I want to read that diary, though. At least see what she has to say about it.” She shrugged, and he could see she was uncomfortable.

  “Well, you got the diary, so why not?” He grabbed the journal and handed it to her. He was curious too, though he wouldn’t have minded if she had burned the thing either.

  Freya opened the journal and started reading.

  ***

  “Listen to this,” Freya glanced at Logan over the top of the journal. “I’m not going to read all of it to you because there’s a lot about the history of the world and stuff. It talks about some sort of celestial beings, angels and demons. Not sure what to make of it all, but this is where it gets interesting. ‘Four Horsemen were created, or perhaps they were already in existence. They were brought forth because of our presence. Their sole purpose was to destroy everything in existence for the great rebirth.’” Freya rubbed her nose, and she saw that her excitement was lost on Logan. “I think these things are meant to restart the world or something.”

  Logan just shrugged, and Freya continued to read. “‘What stopped them was a great sacrifice, one that we still talk about in the Bible.’ It goes on to talk about Jesus, and then this: ‘It was not his fate to die. He was meant to prosper, but his sacrifice saved us all. The Four Horsemen were buried deep within the earth, but the only way to keep them in their slumber was if we kept making true sacrifices.’”

  Freya stopped reading. She looked at Logan and tried to understand the expression on his face, He looked deep in thought. His brow was furrowed and his green eyes looked far away. She took a deep breath and held it before speaking again.

  “According to this, Angel Manor is the tomb of one of the Four Horsemen.”

  “What do you make of all of this? Do you think it’s true?” He looked pale, and the question brought a pang to her heart.

  “I don’t know. Celestial beings, the Four Horsemen? It sounds crazy, but after what we’ve seen, we can’t take the risk.”

  “You want to go back to Angel Manor?”

  “Want? No. But I have to.” She bit her lip. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

  “Don’t be daft. Of course I’ll come. You don’t have to do this alone.” He leaned in and kissed her, and she felt safe. There was no place on this earth where she would ever feel safe again, except in Logan’s arms. Their relationship had not been going long, yet there was a depth between them that she had never before experienced. Freya knew with certainty that he was the love of her life, and that she wanted to be with him for the rest of her days. The thought of him coming with her was an immense relief.

  He found her mouth with his, soft at first, but then his kisses became more passionate, his tongue curling around hers, his lips massaging her mouth in a delicious rhythm. Her body sang each time he touched her and she responded to his kisses with her own, her hands stroking his neck and shoulders.

  Logan froze mid-kiss, his forehead creased, and he pulled away from her. She looked at him, wide-eyed and confused.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “That diary spoke of the solstice and the equinox. When is the next solstice? I mean… it’s winter… has it been already?”

  Freya felt her blood go cold.

  “I don’t know. Google it.” A dreadful sense of urgency overtook her as she pointed to the laptop standing on the breakfast bar. Logan jumped up and turned it on, his hands visibly shaking. Ages passed before he could click on the browser and look up the information they needed.

  “Has its own wiki page,” he muttered with some amusement. His face went pale. “December 22nd this year.”

  “Oh goodie… so we have plenty of time then,” she said miserably.

  “Two days.”

  “Well, one really, since it’s late now. Day after tomorrow. We need to go back to Scotland, back to the house as soon as we can. We really do know how to time this shit, don’t we? I feel like one of those clichés with a ticking time bomb… you know, the kind with only a minute left?”

  “This could just be nothing. I mean, it’s a pretty farfetched story.”

  “As farfetched as murdering ghosts?”

  “Touché. I guess we’ll leave in the morning.”

  “Yes, but for tonight… please just hold me.”

  He wrapped his arms around her, and Freya wondered if she would ever get to feel this safe again.

  Chapter 37

  The house looked different this time. Freya suddenly remembered the first tim
e she’d stepped out of her car, filled with expectation. She could almost hear Bam’s voice ring clear across the garden, see her run up the steps towards the house. She felt Oliver’s hands on her shoulders… that moment seemed a lifetime ago now. The row of twelve angels stood guard in front of the house, looking alive in the bright white light of the moon, but the friendly yellow bricks looked grey and cracked. Freya wanted nothing more than to sell this cursed house, but somehow she still felt linked to it. She had to know if her aunt was speaking the truth, if one of the Horsemen really slumbered underneath the rock and concrete. Logan could be right; it could just be some hysterical myth that was made up generations ago and grew with the telling of it. Perhaps this whole thing was founded on the plans of some crazy nuns who just looked for an excuse to torment children.

  And yet…

  Her pace was slow and her heart was pounding. It was late, as their journey had taken longer than they expected, and the midnight hour dawned. Each step to the front door was agony, and when she reached for the lock, the key shook in her hand.

  “Where do you want to look first?”

  “The basement. If there is any way down, it should be there.”

  “Good idea.”

  She pulled the police tape aside and pushed the door open. The lights still worked, and she stepped into the dimly lit main hall, Logan only a step behind her. The inside felt bigger somehow, more spacious than before… more intimidating.

  The house itself is still dead.

  Even the large grandfather clock did not show any signs of life. There were still traces of blood on the floor in the main hall, and evidence that the police had done their investigation. Freya was shocked that no one had bothered to clean any of it up, and that apparently she was responsible for this. She couldn’t look at the blood. In the past three months, she’d often wondered where all the bodies had gone. She knew that the children had disappeared with the other spirits, but there were several human casualties of Angel Manor, and the house seemed to have devoured their physical remains somehow. The idea sent shivers down her spine.

  They walked through the main hall to the West Wing, and Freya opened the door to the kitchen. Tables and chairs were overturned, and the coffee pot lay broken on the ground, surrounded by a dried up coffee stain. Freya grabbed a knife from the counter and held it to her side.

  “What is that for?” Logan arched his eyebrows and gave her a crooked smile.

  “I don’t know, it just makes me feel safer. Who knows what’s in this house now? Could be squatters or something.” She shrugged, and he chuckled in response before grabbing another one of the knives.

  “Better safe than sorry, right?” He winked at her, and she pushed her body against his with a smile on her face. They wandered through the West Wing, looking in all the rooms.

  “We left most of our stuff behind. I guess I should really pick up Bam’s and Oliver’s things one day.”

  Logan nodded. “Let’s not worry about that right now though. Let’s just set your mind at ease first.”

  “Yeah. I guess we should head to the South Wing then. I’m pretty sure the entrance to the basement is there.”

  Logan nodded again, and from the expression on his face, Freya guessed he was as nervous as she was. They walked side by side, slow and careful as if they were trespassers.

  Not all the lights worked, and they had to walk through the dark corridor of the South Wing carrying the torches they brought. Freya almost expected one of the Angels to come running at them, ready to tear at their flesh, but nothing came and the corridor remained deadly silent.

  She needed some help with the large metal door to the basement; it was very heavy. Logan yanked it open and allowed her to pass through first. The light at the bottom of the stairs was already on, and Freya saw symbols painted on the wall as she made her way down the steps. The single light bulb didn’t illuminate enough of the basement for Freya’s liking, and the whole area was cast in deep shadows.

  “There’s a door there.” She pointed at the far end. “We should try that.” Then she added as an afterthought: “If I don’t chicken out.”

  “I’m here. You’ll be fine.”

  They made their way to the door and found a smaller room. It had another light bulb that dangled from a long black wire, and it cast a sickly yellow light in the otherwise empty room. The walls were decorated with painted symbols, similar to the ones they saw on the way down the stairs.

  Spells… or at least they were. “There’s a hatch. I think this might be what we’re looking for.”

  Logan shone his torch on a wooden square in the centre of the room and Freya walked up to inspect it. “Shine your torch on it and I’ll pull it open.”

  She nodded and took a step back. An ominous creek rang through the small room as he pushed the wood back, revealing a dark hole underneath. Freya shone her light down and saw a narrow staircase carved into the rough stone wall. The steps looked barely big enough to put her feet on.

  “I’ll go first.” Logan took her gently by the shoulders and moved her to one side.

  Freya nodded gratefully and watched Logan descend through the hole, and seconds later she followed him. There was an old smell in the air, of limestone and something rotting; Freya was sure she smelled it before in the house, only it was stronger here.

  The stairs wound down into the earth, and the atmosphere below was cold and moist. Somewhere off in the distance, water dripped down in a thunderous rhythm that echoed throughout the underground cavern.

  “This place is amazing,” Logan whispered. “I had no idea this was down here.”

  “Aunt Miriam’s story is starting to sound a little more credible.” Her muscles tensed. “That worries me.” There was a slight echo when she spoke, and their steps sounded hollow as they walked further down.

  At the bottom of the stairs, her feet touched stone, and Logan held out his hand to her. She grabbed it and took comfort in its warmth. The floor angled down, making it difficult to balance, but at least there were no more stairs. A narrow stone corridor led them to a cavernous area with a large marble slab set into the centre of the floor. It reminded her of ancient churches and the resting places of saints.

  “Is this it?” She shone her torch on the slab, highlighting the strange markings on it. If they were words, they were written in letters she had never seen before, though Freya was sure they weren’t pictures.

  “I think so. Your aunt was definitely right. There is something buried here.”

  “Do you think it’s one of the four Horsemen?” Her voice broke as she spoke.

  “I don’t know how to answer that. I don’t know what to think. What time is it, anyway?”

  She shone the light on her watch.

  “Almost twelve thirty.”

  “We’ve been here longer than I thought.”

  “Yeah. Funny, but somehow I half expected something horrible to happen at precisely midnight.” She giggled a little, her cheeks flushed.

  “You know what? Me too.” He laughed.

  The cavern rumbled and shook with a familiar tremor, and Freya almost dropped her torch.

  Deep cracks appeared in the marble slab, and an unnatural cold spread through the whole area. Black smoke rose through the cracks, and Freya felt a fear like she had never experienced before. Not even the sight of the Angels had made her feel the way she did now. The marble exploded outward, raining tiny, sharp pebbles down on Freya and Logan, and they held each other as tightly as they could. The stone around them groaned and rumbled, and above them the cavern split. Earth and dust fell from above, though not nearly enough to justify the opening that was appearing.

  Oh fuck, why did I come here? Why did I take this risk? Freya shivered.

  The front legs of a horse, as pale as the moon itself and as large as an elephant, scraped across the edges of the tomb. The sound of neighing tore through her soul and hot urine trickled down her trouser leg. For a moment, fear took hold of her heart, strangling it, and
part of her welcomed death.

  The head of the horse slowly emerged, its thin white skin pulled tight against muscle and bone, its red eyes glaring from fiery sockets. The horse pushed itself up against the stone, and for the first time, Freya saw the rider. He was tall, at least nine feet, and he wore a long robe the colour of midnight. Under the cowl, she saw his skeletal face, eye sockets blazing with the same flames as the horse. He looked like a figure straight out of Dante’s Inferno, only he was real. She saw the details on his bony hands, the scratches in his skull face, and she knew what true fear was. There was nothing she could do to stop this, and she felt utterly powerless.

  Long lines with hooks appeared out of nowhere, attaching themselves to the rider and his horse. The horse’s pale skin ripped, and black blood flowed freely. Freya looked up, and there, at the edge of the hole in the ceiling, she saw the twelve angels that stood guard outside the house.

  They made their way down to the Horseman, their marble wings beating with a thunderous sound as they lowered themselves. More ropes were cast, like the web of a spider, covering the Horseman and his horse, but to no avail.

  “They need a sacrifice.” She wasn’t sure who said it, or if it was just a thought that came to her, but she knew it was true. In order to keep the Horseman sleeping, she needed to give a sacrifice. And it would have to be a great one.

  She looked at the hole in the slab; she could throw herself down there and not survive. It would be a sacrifice… but would it be enough? She wanted to die. More than anything at that moment, she wanted to die. It won’t be enough to sacrifice myself.

  Her heart fragmented into a thousand pieces as she turned to Logan. He looked at her, and she thought she saw something in his eyes. Acceptance? She didn’t know, but all she could do was grip the kitchen knife tight and bring it down at him with force. His eyes widened as the blade hit his chest, and his eyes filled with betrayal. Freya knew she would never be able to rid herself of that image. She would carry it with her throughout eternity, but she pulled the knife back and stabbed again. Through tear-stained eyes, she watched him fall to his knees, and she pushed the blade into his neck this time. His flesh gripped the point of the knife, sucking it into his body. She stabbed him twelve more times. The hot spray of his blood covered her face, arms, neck and torso, but it didn’t stop her. The pain she felt escaped her body through a gut wrenching cry, directed at the Horseman as he slowly sank back into his tomb. The marble realigned itself and the angels moved away with jagged motions, positioning themselves on each side of the large slab… frozen in time once more.