by Darcy Coates
She’d been careful to shut each door behind her, banking on the idea that they were likely to creak when opened. As long as she listened carefully, she should hear anyone who tried to get in… or out.
Mara then turned to the rickety stairs behind her. She tried to suppress the shudder, but it wormed its way out of her. The attic would need to be searched. The thought made her nauseous.
The steps groaned under her feet as she climbed them. Mara placed the knife on the top step and gripped the torch between her teeth to raise the trapdoor. Once she’d pushed it past vertical, gravity took over and brought it down against a chair with a heavy whump.
She climbed the final steps and shone her torch over the long room. The white cloths still lay in pools on the ground where she and Neil had dropped them. A few new leaves had come through the roof’s gaps to rest on top of them, but otherwise, the attic looked unchanged from the night before. Mara looped through the room, moving far more cautiously than she had the first time, as she searched through the multitude of nooks and crannies.
Warm air from the heater in the room below had risen through the floor and taken the chill off the attic, and Mara was sticky with anxious sweat by the time she’d gone through the room twice. She wove around an old ironing board to reach the hole in the roof and pushed her head outside to see the ground below.
That’s a horrible fall. I wouldn’t like to bet on surviving it.
Mara’s skin prickled. The sensation of not being alone had returned, but it was stronger this time. She could almost hear it—the tall, gaunt figure pacing the attic floor, hands outstretched, preparing to push her through the hole and send her tumbling to her death.
Don’t let your imagination run away with you.
A floorboard behind Mara creaked. She skidded around, bumping into a chest of draws, a muffled cry choking in her throat. Her reflection, wide-eyed and blanched white, stared out of a full-length mirror.
Mara pressed a shaking hand to her heart. She felt as though she could collapse. “Get in control,” she muttered, trying to steady her hands. “Get downstairs. Search downstairs. Then lock yourself in your room and wait for morning.”
She crossed to the trapdoor and half climbed, half tumbled down the steps, pulling the hatch closed after her. She wished she hadn’t asked Neil to break the lock. After a moment of thought, she brought the knife to her shirt’s hem and carefully sliced off a long, thin strip. She then threaded the fabric through the remaining bolts and tied it off. It wouldn’t be strong enough to stop the door from being opened, but it would serve as an easy way to check whether anyone had come that way.
The hallway doors had all remained closed. Mara passed them to reach the stairs leading to the ground floor and paused on the landing to listen. Silence.
“Okay.” She crept down the stairs, keeping to the edges to avoid loose boards. “One more floor to check. This’ll be fine. We’re fine. It’s all good.”
She’d nearly reached the ground floor when the wailing started again. It began as a low and faint cry but gradually built as Mara crossed the foyer and paused in the living-room entryway.
Nothing to panic about. Mara stared at the fireplace, where the noise echoed from, and willed herself not to imagine a child crying. Just the wind.
The rocking chair was propped against the wall, exactly where she’d left it. That disturbed Mara. She’d been certain she’d heard its groans shortly after waking up. What happened, then? Did someone move it away from the wall then push it back? Or was I hearing something else… a door, maybe, dragging on its hinges?
There was nowhere for a person to hide in the living room, so Mara moved past it and into the bare-walled library, then into the recreation room, and hurried through the kitchen, laundry, and dining room. The wind’s wails muffled her own footsteps, but she also knew they would mask any movement made by an intruder, so she searched the rooms quickly. She re-entered the foyer, panting from the exertion, and finally lowered the knife to her side. I’m alone. I think. I hope.
She scanned the room a final time as she backed towards the stairs. Something large and pliant got in the way of her legs, and Mara tumbled over it. The knife skidded out of her hand and hit the wall as she landed on her back. She grunted, sat up, and pointed the torch towards her feet. One of the garbage bags had tripped her.
Lightning flashed. Mara glanced up, startled, as a square of bright illumination appeared over the wall beside the stairs. And in that square…
Mara screamed. She skittered backwards, only stopping when her shoulders hit the wall, and stared in horror at the shadow of twitching, kicking legs suspended high above the floor.
Breathless Jenny’s words echoed in her mind. The killer hung himself.
The light, which streamed through the window set high in the foyer wall, only lasted for a second. The figure bled into the darkness as it faded.
Gasping almost at the point of choking, Mara clutched her torch in both hands and directed it towards the bannister.
The space below was empty.
Mara’s mouth couldn’t even form the words she wanted to use. The torch’s beam moved shakily as she turned it from the bannister to the wall and back again. There was no hanging body. “Impossible…”
She fumbled behind herself for the knife. Her fingers fixed on the sharp end, and the dull blade cut into her. She hissed but didn’t dare let it go. Instead, she brought the knife to her chest and clutched it close.
A low drone in the distance joined the fireplace’s wails. Mara couldn’t think what it was.
I have to get out of here. Neil was right: there’s something wrong with this house.
Using the wall, she pulled herself to her feet then staggered to the door. The droning became louder when she wrenched it open. Rain, she realised even as her legs carried her across the porch and to the steps, which she followed to the white-stone walkway. A large, hard raindrop hit her face. She stopped walking and let her arms slump to her sides.
It’ll take all night and half of the morning if I try to walk to town. I could strike out through the woods and try to find another house, but I’m more likely to become lost.
The rain intensified, quickly wetting Mara’s skin and soaking into her clothes. Her teeth were chattering. She turned, slowly and reluctantly, to look back at Blackwood. How long until morning? How long until Neil arrives?
Lightning flared, bathing the area. Mara darted her eyes over the windows and open door, but they were all empty. The heavy, menacing feeling had abated. The building no longer seemed like a threat; once again, it was nothing more than a house.
“Uhhhh.” Mara pressed the backs of her hands against her eyes. What other options do I have? Reluctantly, she climbed the porch steps and re-entered the house. When she closed the door, she noticed the wailing had ceased.
She was shivering and craved the warmth and relative security of her room, but her throat felt raw. She went into the kitchen, found the glass Neil had given her that afternoon, and filled it with fresh water. As she drank, she faced the archway leading into the dining room. When lightning flashed, she caught a glimpse of weeds through the hole Neil hadn’t finished patching.
Something creaked to her left, and Mara swivelled towards it. Was that a floorboard? No… it sounded more like…
She placed her glass back on the bench and slunk forward, nerves jumping as she edged into the recreation room. The basement door inched open.
Mara licked her lips and panned the light across the furniture and walls. There was no movement except for the door, which slowly ground to a halt. It’s just the wind. Remember, this house is holier than a priest’s convention. Plenty of breezes and gusts to disturb things. That’s all.
She circled the door and trained her light on the stairwell. It was empty, but she couldn’t see all the way down. Gritting her teeth, Mara moved to the door then past it, onto the first step, and crouched so that her torch could light the entire tunnel.
The door slamme
d closed behind her. Mara jolted, and the torch tumbled from her hands. She clutched at it as it fell, but missed, and its light went out as it hit the corner of a step. Mara braced herself against the cold stone wall as she listened to the torch bounce down the stairwell and finally skitter across the floor.
“Crap.” Her voice escaped as a squeak. Mara swivelled to the door behind her and turned the handle. It ground in its setting then squealed and broke off in her hands. “Crap!” She tried to fit the handle back into the hole, but something wasn’t lining up, and she couldn’t see what she was doing wrong without any light.
Mara slumped to her knees. The darkness felt overwhelming, bordering on smothering, and the stairwell was narrow enough to make claustrophobic chills crawl over her arms.
Find the torch. See if it will turn back on.
She began creeping down the stairs, using all four hands and feet and taking each step carefully. The stairs were steep, and she had to rely on touch to ensure she wasn’t about to tumble to her death. The downward climb seemed to last forever, and the air grew colder the lower she moved. She was trembling uncontrollably by the time she found herself on level ground.
Mara inched forward on her knees, hands outstretched in search of the torch. Her fingers brushed over a jumble of uneven stones but couldn’t find the metal she desperately needed. It was becoming hard to breathe. Her heart pounded painfully, and she knew she was hyperventilating, but she couldn’t stop herself. All she wanted was the safety of a sliver of light. Her fumbling search became more and more erratic as she moved farther into the basement. Her chest felt as if it might explode.
Then a door slammed, and Mara found she wasn’t able to breathe at all.
CHAPTER NINETEEN: Kindling
Mara was walking along the upstairs hallway towards the stairs that led to the ground floor. Strangely, her feet didn’t make any noise on the normally creaky floorboards. Another dream, huh?
She reached the landing and looked into the foyer. It was filled with unfamiliar furnishings; a coat rack sat by the door, next to a shelf for shoes. The building looked far newer than what Mara was used to. The wood was young and bright, and there were no rotten patches. Despite the freshness of the building, most surfaces were coated in dust. The single jacket hung on the coat rack looked as if it hadn’t been touched in years.
Mara turned and saw she wasn’t alone. Robert Kant stood beside her as he tied his rope to the railing. The knowledge of his identity was instinctual, but Mara knew she was right. Robert’s face was long, thin, and grizzled. Stubble ran the length of his chin and neck, and a fresh cut on his forehead allowed a trickle of blood to build onto his hooked nose. Did the final victim cause that when she escaped?
He looked like a killer, Mara thought. There was something cold and dead in his deeply sunken eyes that suggested his humanity had been worn away decades before. His fingers were long and knobbly but deft as he checked the rope’s knot. He then raised the noose at the other end of the rope and slipped it around his neck.
Why’d he do it? Mara wondered as Robert flipped his long legs over the edge of the bannister. The police won’t reach him for hours. He could have fled and never been caught.
Robert sat on the bannister with his legs dangling over the other side. He stared at the foyer for a second then tipped forward. Mara flinched as the rope went taut.
She moved out of the dream sluggishly. Something felt wrong about her body as though she were no longer in control of it. She tried to move her hand but couldn’t tell if she had succeeded. Darkness surrounded her. Maybe I’ve gone blind. Far above her, thumping noises were interspersed with a voice. Mara felt her heart flip unpleasantly. Where am I?
She was cold; she knew that much—so thoroughly, crushingly cold that it hurt to draw breath. There was something hard pressing against her cheek and arm. Stones. That’s right. I’m in the basement, aren’t I? How long have I been here?
The sounds drew closer, and Mara realised they were footsteps—not the slow, ponderous, creaking footsteps from the attic but quick and heavy paces. A voice yelled, “Mara!”
Neil. The thought of him was like hot courage injected into her chest. Mara shifted, found that her hands did work after all, and pushed herself into a sitting position. “Here,” she tried to call, but the word escaped her as a croak.
“Mara, answer me!” He was frantic. The pure fear in his voice hurt, and she could hear doors being thrown open as he searched for her. She swallowed, coughed, and tried again. “I’m here!”
The footsteps paused then resumed, racing closer. Mara tried to stand, but her legs still wouldn’t obey her.
“Mara?”
The basement door was wrenched open, and a rectangle of light lit up her world. Oh good; I’m not blind after all. Mara caught the silver shine of her flashlight barely a foot away. She raised her eyes and saw that she’d come to rest against the section of wall beside the red stain.
Feet clattered down the steps, then Neil was kneeling in front of her, his warm hands rubbing her arms and cheeks. “Mara—oh, Mara—what happened? Are you hurt?”
“Nah.” Mara grinned at the frightened blue eyes. She’d never been so happy to see another human. “Wind blew the door closed behind me, and the handle fell off. Thanks for letting me out. Is it already afternoon?”
“No, it’s morning. Jeeze, you’re freezing. And wet. How’d you get wet? Never mind—come here—” Neil’s arms encircled her. He pulled her to his body then lifted her slowly and carefully. “Is that okay? I’m not hurting you?”
“Hmm.” Mara closed her eyes and leaned her head against his chest. He was deliciously warm. She wanted him to never let go.
“Okay, hang on; let me get you out of here.”
Mara kept her eyes closed and felt the gentle rock as Neil climbed the stairs. She couldn’t stop a smile at how ridiculously precious he was being. He cradled her as though she were made of glass. “Did you say it’s morning? What’re you doing here so early?”
“I read something that worried me, so I skipped work to visit you. But I couldn’t find you anywhere, and you didn’t answer when I called. You scared me half to death, sweetheart.”
“Hmm?” Mara opened her eyes to look at Neil’s face. His normally sunny eyes were dark, and he’d tightened his lips into a thin line. “What’d you read?”
He hesitated then shook his head. “I’ll tell you later. We need to get you warm first.” They’d reached the top of the stairs. Neil turned towards the kitchen. “We’ll get you in the car and put the heater on.”
Mara frowned. “No, I don’t want to leave. Not yet. I’ve got some thinking to do.”
“Mara—”
“I don’t want to leave.”
Neil held his breath for a moment then released it. “Fine. Okay. Hang on.” They passed through the foyer and into the living room. Neil, moving slowly and with infinite care, lowered her onto the couch he’d purchased the day before. “Is that okay? Are you comfortable?”
“Oh my gosh; it’ll be fine. I’m not about to shatter if you bump me.”
Neil knelt beside her and scanned her face. He cupped her cheek in one hand and caressed her skin with his thumb. “Cripes, Mara, your lips are blue, and you feel like ice. Are you hurt anywhere?”
“No, I’m good. Just let me sit for a bit.”
“You might have hypothermia.” Neil took her hand and stroked it. “We need to get you to a hospital.”
“Hah!” Mara batted his hand away. “No, I don’t have hypothermia, and I don’t need a hospital. Stop worrying. You’ll give yourself an aneurism.”
“Nnnh.” Neil frowned then stood. “Stubborn thing. Stay here; I’ll be back in a moment.”
Mara listened to him move through the building. He filled a kettle and put it on the stove then darted upstairs and returned with blankets, the portable heater, and an armful of clothes. He set up the heater at her feet then cleared his throat. “Your clothes are wet. You’ll need to change.”
>
“Hmm? Sure.” Mara pulled her shirt over her head. She couldn’t stop a wicked grin from forming as Neil turned red and pointedly stared at the ceiling. “Underwear, too?”
“Th-that should be fine.” He held out the spare clothes, still keeping his eyes averted, then ducked out of the room as soon as Mara took the bundle.
As she shimmied out of her wet jeans and into the new pants, she tried to sort through her memories of the night before. They were jumbled and cluttered and confusing. One thread wove through the whole experience, though: she’d been terrified.
That’s ridiculous. I’m supposed to be the strong one. I kill the really big spiders Neil is squeamish of. I suggest searching the attic. I broke a would-be mugger’s nose last year then kneed him in the privates for good measure. So why’d I fall apart in the dark?
She remembered standing in the rain, seriously considering walking to town. She remembered vowing that she would jump into Neil’s car and ask him to take her away as soon as she next saw him. She remembered shaking so badly that she hadn’t been able to hold the flashlight properly.
Let’s approach this in our favourite way: with a large helping of rationality. What are we certain of? What are the possibilities?
There was one thing she knew above all else: ghosts didn’t exist. Which meant every experience from the night before would have to have come from some physical cause.
Firstly, I heard the footsteps. That was weird. Then I thought I saw someone fall past the window. That was weirder. I can’t think of any explanation except that someone was in my attic.
Neil entered the room with a steaming cup of tea then made a faint choking noise and turned away. Mara realised she’d become distracted and hadn’t put the sweater on. “Sorry.” She shimmied into it. “I’m decent now.”
Neil, still red and unable to repress a shocked smile, handed her the cup. “Drink that.” He left the room again.
