by Darcy Coates
He sighed. “All right; let’s do it. But—” He held up a hand to quieten Erica’s cheer. “But we’re not taking any risks. If things start to fall apart, or if I judge the situation is becoming too risky, we bail immediately. Deal?”
“Deal.” Erica raced towards the living room. “I’ll get my stuff!”
“Hey, don’t split up!” Damian barked as he ran after her.
Mara watched them go then turned back to Neil. “Do you really want to do this?”
“I want you to be happy.” He wrapped a hand around the back of her head and kissed her before she knew what was happening. Mara’s heart did a happy little flop in her chest. “And this house is important to you, so I want you to have it if that’s possible. I think that’s worth a little risk.”
Mara stretched up on her toes to reach Neil’s lips again. He was so tall that he still needed to duck to meet her halfway. She poured all of the love and warmth she felt into that kiss and felt giddy as he shuddered. When she pulled back, she was breathing quickly. “I don’t need this house.” She ran her thumb along Neil’s jaw. “But I do need you. We don’t have to go through with this if—”
“Gangway!” Erica yelled as she barrelled between them, arms full of equipment.
Be calm, Mara told herself as Neil chuckled. She squeezed her eyes closed, took a deep breath, then stretched and turned towards Erica with renewed enthusiasm. “All right. What’re we doing here? Is it a seance, or…?”
“Think of it like a seance with a twist.” Erica dropped her collection of trinkets into the centre of the foyer. “We’re going to attempt to summon Robert Kant’s ghost and then dissipate him. Remember, he’s nothing but energy. So, we’re going to set stuff up to attract that energy, untether it from the house, and disperse it. If he’s no longer concentrated in one form in one place, he’ll literally cease to exist. Hey, Dame, could you grab that rope?”
Neil passed his pocketknife to Damian, who climbed the stairs to cut the noose free from the bannister.
Erica opened a packet of chalk, took a fresh stick out, and began scrawling symbols onto the floor. “The muk for protection. The aejis to call Robert to us. The vesp to enhance my power. And, most importantly, the quinet to disperse Robert.” She drew each symbol multiple times except for the last, which she created only once, larger than the others and directly ahead of herself. She then drew a circle around the marks. “The muk and vesp will be active constantly,” she said in answer to Mara’s silent question. “We’ll activate the aejis by concentrating on Robert’s rope. The quinet, our ace, will only be used once we have him close and contained.”
“How important is it that the shapes are correct?” Mara asked, glancing between two muks, one of which was slightly distorted.
“Not really at all.” Erica turned pink. “Technically, I should be able to do all of this with just my mind. But I’m, uh, still getting used to real-world application, and the symbols give me something to focus on.”
Still getting used to real-world application. That’s a pretty way of saying you need practice. Mara bit back the comment as Damian laid the rope on top of the quinet symbol.
“Got the sage?” Erica asked, and he held up a bunch of the herb and a lighter.
Mara could still feel her own bundle of leaves in her jeans pocket. “What’s it for?”
“Burning sage is traditionally used to dispel spirits. It’s not going to be enough to completely purge one as strong as Robert, but it should weaken him if things start getting hairy.” Erica began laying new items around the border of the circle: a locket, the cat’s skull, a black-and-white photograph, an aged, folded letter, and a cracked teacup.
“Mara, sit just outside the circle.” Damian directed her to a space beside Erica. “Neil, stay close to her.”
Mara settled into her indicated place, being careful not to touch the chalk outline. Neil knelt beside her, and she leaned against him. An anxious, jittery sensation was growing in her stomach, and it was proving hard to dampen. “Do you ever do these sorts of rituals yourself?” she asked Damian.
He grinned and shook his head. “No, I’m about as spiritually talented as a rock. I keep an eye on Erica, make sure she’s not in danger, and read all of the books she refuses to because they’re, and I quote, dead boring.”
Mara nodded. “Do I need to do anything—?”
“Not at all. Sit there, stay calm, and Erica will use your energy as she needs it. Remember”—he looked at Erica pointedly—“this is the equivalent of trying to fight fire by pouring a barrel of fuel on it. It could go wrong very quickly. If I give the word, we’re all bolting for the door. I don’t need any heroic ‘I can handle it’ moments tonight. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” they all chimed.
Damian nodded. “All right. When you’re ready, Erica. Take it slow.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE: Presences
Erica closed her eyes and picked the rope up. She turned it over in her hands several times, squeezing the fibres, and began swaying. Damian leaned against the nearest wall, arms folded and eyes darting about the room. The door above them slammed.
“Come on.” Erica spoke so quietly that Mara almost couldn’t hear her. “Come on.”
Damian shifted forward. “What’s wrong?”
“Ugh…” Sweat beaded over Erica’s forehead. “It’s really weird. He’s harder to find than I would have expected. Almost like he’s hiding.”
“He won’t want to go. Be careful.”
Erica bent lower over the rope, and her knuckles bulged white as she strained.
Motion drew Mara’s attention to the wall under the stairs. A shadow flickered over the wood. She caught the impression of twitching feet, suspended above the floor, then it was gone again. She shifted backwards, and Neil slid his arm around her shoulders.
“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered into her ear, and Mara nodded as she tried to swallow the fear.
It felt different from the previous days, when her armour of certainty that the spiritual realm didn’t exist had protected her. Without that security, she felt vulnerable. The only thing keeping her grounded was Neil’s arm. She focussed on his warmth and on his steady heartbeat.
“Got him,” Erica hissed. She had her fingers pinched in the air, and drew them closer to herself, almost as though she were pulling an invisible thread. Anxiety prickled over Mara’s arms and scalp.
Behind them, the rocking chair began groaning. Mara didn’t dare turn to look at it. She could still picture the woman, flesh sliding off her face, rolling her feet to move the chair as she watched them.
“Stay calm, Mara.” Damian’s voice cut through the cloud of fear that was building. Mara nodded and refocussed on Neil. She carefully relaxed each tight muscle and forced her breathing to become slow and even. Only her heart, which fluttered like a frightened bird, wouldn’t obey her.
Erica began humming as she swayed. She held her pinched fingers carefully and gave quick, short tugs. With each tug, the air seemed to grow thicker and the prickles on Mara’s skin increased. She could sense something big coming.
“Can you feel that?” Mara whispered to Neil.
“Feel what?”
She shook her head.
Then a man exhaled. It was a deep, crackling, rough noise that reminded Mara of dead tree branches scraping together. There was something deeply wrong about the sound. Mara tightened her grip on Neil’s hand. He squeezed back.
“Come on, Robert,” Erica muttered. She was shivering, and sweat stuck her fringe to her forehead. She kept twitching the pinched fingers towards herself then relaxing them. Mara found herself intensely curious about what the other woman was seeing and feeling. She stared at the fingers, trying to imagine what they might be touching, and an image flashed through her mind.
She didn’t see it so much as see an impression of it, as though her mind created the picture and laid it on top of reality in the same way that an animator paints onto a transparent sheet of paper then places it on
top of the background to create a complete image. They were separate but created a whole.
A dozen black threads ran between Erica’s pinched fingers. The threads were airy and thin, like spiderwebs. They were attached to the rope coiled in front of Erica and stretched across the room before disappearing into the wall under the stairwell. When the medium twitched her hand, the threads were pulled taut. When she relaxed, they slackened and floated freely.
Mara looked away and felt panic swell as she realised the room was full of threads. They drifted about her, weaving through walls and floors, bunching in some areas while loose ends drifted fluidly in others. Several of them slid against Neil’s face. Mara raised her hand to brush them away from him but couldn’t feel anything except his warm skin.
“What is it?” Neil’s voice was low and careful. He looked worried for her. “Sweetheart, why are you shaking?”
Mara blinked, and the image was gone. Her lungs burnt, and she realised she’d been holding her breath. “I’m okay,” she whispered back. “Just—thought I saw something—”
She didn’t dare look at him, but she could feel Damian’s dark eyes watching her.
Erica’s breathing was ragged, but a hint of a smile flickered around her mouth. “Come on. Come on.”
Mara turned back to the wall below the stairs, where she’d seen the threads disappear. A wisp of something dark and smoky leaked through the wood. It was the same viscous, unreal substance the woman in the chair had been made of. As Mara watched, Erica twitched her hand again, and more inky smoke billowed through the wall. It was beginning to form a familiar figure.
“He’s here,” Erica breathed. Her eyes were closed, but triumph bloomed in her sweaty face. She pressed her left hand to the muk, the symbol that was supposed to protect them, and tugged on the threads again.
Robert stepped into the room, passing through the wall as though it didn’t exist. His eyes were wide and furious, and he half crouched like a predator. He was clearer than the previous ghosts, but his outline was still smudged and smoky. The noose, made of the same swirling clouds, hung about his neck.
His eyes passed over Mara then fixed on Erica. He began pacing forward, no longer fighting the thread’s pulls, as he stretched his knobbly, hooked fingers towards the woman who had called him.
Mara shrank back as Robert moved closer. Neil’s arm tightened around her. “Stay calm, Mara. You’re safe.” She heard his words but couldn’t absorb their meaning. Cold terror washed through her. She wanted to run, but her body felt like lead. The chair in the living room was swinging frantically, its harsh tempo like a saw on her nerves. Footsteps paced the attic floor. The child in the chimney began to wail.
“Get her calm,” Damian barked. “She’s waking them up.”
“Don’t yell at her,” Neil hissed. He ran his hand along Mara’s cheek, turning her face away from Robert and towards himself. “You’re going to be fine, Mara. Don’t be frightened. I’m right here.”
He smiled, and Mara let herself fall into his beautiful blue eyes. His arms encircled her, the muscles pressing against her back and calloused hands stroking her arm. He radiated strength and warmth and safety, and she let herself soak it in.
The chills still ran along her skin, but now she was able to feel them as nothing but an interesting sensation. She could hear Robert’s feet scraping along the wooden foyer floor and the dry rasp of air being dragged through a damaged throat, but it no longer made her feel sick. The sounds held no more danger for her than a monster in a horror film.
“Almost,” Erica hissed. “Just a little more—” Her breathing was thin and quick. Mara was amazed at her enthusiasm for the session; it seemed exhausting, bordering on painful. Erica switched her hand from the protective muk to the dispelling quinet.
Robert Kant was almost on top of her, his madman’s eyes bulging as he reached towards the medium’s face. He scraped his long, jagged nails across her cheek. They didn’t score the skin, but Erica shuddered as though she could feel them. With her left hand still pressed to the quinet, she dropped the threads from her right hand and plunged it into Robert’s chest.
The quinet began to glow. It seemed to be sucking light out of the room. Mara blinked and looked again. No, not light… but something like light. The foyer was still dim, lit only by three candles and two torches, but another sort of glow permeated the area. It was so subtle that she hadn’t even noticed it until she saw it shifting towards the quinet.
Mara looked down at her hands and saw that the light was being drawn from her, too. It’s the energy they keep talking about. Of course.
The glow was sucked into the quinet then ran up Erica’s arm in twisting, rushing spirals. It burst down her outstretched arm and poured into Robert’s chest. He screamed.
Mara clamped her hands over her ears. The raw, furious, pained bellow was deafening. But, just as with the light and the threads, it seemed to exist slightly apart from reality. Covering her ears couldn’t dim it. She shot a glance at Neil and Damian. Neither reacted to the noise though Damian’s eyes were intense as he watched Erica. He seemed ready to drag her away at the slightest sign of trouble.
Robert doubled over as the light was funnelled directly into him. His black form swirled, like ink in water being agitated by a spoon, as he thrashed and screamed. The glow cracked through him like lightning through storm clouds. He twisted, his limbs seeming to burst apart and reconnect in the same motion, then straightened.
Erica’s jaw fell open as she withdrew her hand. She looked terrified. “It didn’t work.”
“What?” Mara asked at the same time as Damian dove forward.
“Get out,” he yelled to Neil and Mara. He seized Erica around her waist and began to pull her back. She didn’t respond but continued to stare at Robert, her eyes wide and lips shaking.
“It didn’t work,” she repeated. “It’s like… he’s stuck…”
Then Robert lunged. He swiped Damian aside with a crack of his hand, sending the medium flying. Damian hit the wall and slumped to the ground, gasping.
Erica stared blindly as though too shocked to move. Robert bared his teeth in a feral grin as he picked the rope off the ground.
“Watch out!” Mara yelled, but Erica didn’t react in time. Robert dropped the noose about her neck and cinched it tight.
Mara threw herself towards the spirit, desperate to free Erica from the rope. She punched both fists into Robert and smothered a scream at the sensation. He was cold—cold enough to be made of ice—and had one of the strangest textures Mara had ever felt. He wasn’t solid, but wasn’t quite liquid, either. The smoke felt somehow slimy under her fingers, but left no residue.
Robert turned towards her and hissed. His hand fixed around her throat and squeezed.
“Mara!” Neil was at her side. He was trying to free her, but he couldn’t see Robert or know where to direct his swipes. The hand tightened, and Mara gagged.
Damian had scrambled to Erica’s side. She’d slumped to the ground and stared dumbly at the ceiling as Damian fought to undo the rope. Her lips were turning blue.
“No!” Mara screamed again, struggling against Robert. She kicked and clawed, trying to hurt him, but her hands were no more effective than trying to slap sunlight. Noise surrounded her as the house’s restless dead roared into action. The rocking chair, the sobbing, screaming child, the footsteps—no longer pacing but running above her head—and a multitude of pleading voices surrounded her as every door in the building swung open and slammed closed.
Then Robert hit her. The sensation, just like the light, seemed to belong to a different dimension. It hurt, but the pain came from somewhere other than her skin. She fell to the floor, gasping and trying not to cry out, as her vision swam to black. Footsteps moved past her. Neil yelled, then his voice was cut off. There was another grunting, pained cry, and then the room fell still and quiet.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX: The Basement
Mara raised her head. Everything was dark; the three ca
ndles and two torches had all been extinguished. She felt in her pocket for the USB light Neil had given her and clicked it on. “Neil?” she whispered.
The light was too weak to illuminate more than a few feet ahead of her, but it caught the glint of silver near her side. She crawled to it, picked the torch up, and was relieved when it flickered back to life. She turned it over the room and felt her blood run cold.
The carefully constructed chalk circle had been blown outwards as though someone had swept hands through it. Erica lay half in it, the rope still tight about her neck. Mara scrambled towards her as she continued to pan the room. “Neil?”
She caught sight of him standing near the back of the room. His face was impassive as he watched her, but he didn’t seem hurt. She sucked in a relieved breath. “Neil, see if you can find Damian.”
Mara dropped the torch as she knelt at Erica’s side and began to worm the noose free. Erica was white as a sheet and didn’t move. Mara managed to pull enough of the rope through its knot to slip it over the other woman’s head then pressed her fingers to her neck. There was a pulse. Thank mercy. Mara then raised her fingers to Erica’s mouth and felt the gentle flow of air.
“Neil, did you find Damian?” She turned back to her partner with a flutter of anxiety. He hadn’t moved but continued to watch her with unnatural calmness. Is he in shock? Did Robert hurt him? “Neil? What’s wrong?”
He turned and began walking. Mara snatched her torch off the ground and ran to follow him. He didn’t seem to notice her presence as he stalked through the dining room and into the recreation room.
Mara hesitated in the dining room’s doorway, shaking and gasping in thin breaths. She turned back to the foyer and turned the light over the room. Erica lay still, her chest rising and falling, but Damian was still nowhere in sight.
Crap, crap, crap.
A door creaked open. The basement. Mara turned back to the recreation room, where Neil had disappeared, and shuddered. “Neil?”
