Impressive wasn't the right word.
The tunnel was massive, mysterious, frightening.
There was simply no way an animal had been responsible for it.
She shuddered as she thought back to the almost tangible darkness that reigned there, to the rough appearance of the earthen walls. What sort of creature would dare traverse such a space? What could possibly feel comfortable so far underground, in a shadow-choked passage of its own making? The whole thing defied imagination.
When she felt reasonably clean, she took to filling up the tub. Then, submerging herself in the warm water, she dumped some bath beads in and watched listlessly as they fizzed up, her mind occupied with other things.
She was getting nowhere fast.
With each passing day, her fears only mounted. Where the house had made her uneasy early on, the frights it provided her with now were of a far more serious sort. There was no delusion she could cling to to allay her fear; something was after her. What it wanted, what it wished to impart, was a mystery. And she was keen to solve it. No matter what she did, all of her leads seemed to dry up however, leaving her hopelessly stranded till something reached out and touched her. She considered the acquaintances of the Reeds, the three individuals Edwin had put her into touch with. She'd spoken to two of them, and they'd each given a different account of the couple. It was tremendously unsettling. And the more things didn't add up, the more lost she felt.
Each time she hit a dead end, the feelings of vulnerability in the back of her mind would resurface, take a bow. They were back now, churning beneath the surface of every thought. She had no one she could depend on; Julian wasn't interested in pursuing any of this. She loved him, dearly, but she knew she was in this alone, and that whatever was reaching out to her was interested principally in her. The house had shown precious little interest in Julian. He hadn't suffered from the nightmares, hadn't faced the horrors she'd been faced with. Why was she more receptive to it? Why was it that Dakota reached out to her in dreams?
She knocked apart a mound of bubbles.
There you go again, asking your questions.
Knowing that there would be no rest until she'd advanced in her investigations, Kim exited the bath, took her time in toweling off, and then walked to the bedroom. She put on fresh clothes and stretched out on the bed, the sound of a power drill echoing from the downstairs. She couldn't help but roll her eyes at it. Here Julian was, concerning himself with renovations, while she'd just gone out and discovered a winding tunnel beneath their property. For all she knew, it probably led all the way to their house, its terminus located somewhere nearby.
She tried not to think of that. For, if she did, thoughts of some dread, nebulous something, emerging in the night to enter the house, naturally followed.
Rolling onto her side, she perused the nightstand. There, she caught sight of Dakota's journal, its leather-bound form basking in the darkness of the room. A thin film of whitish light drifted in through the breaks in the curtains. Save for this, the room was largely dark. It was hard to know what time it was; that it was late in the afternoon she felt somewhat sure.
Picking up the book, Kim turned it over in her hands and examined it. The journal had been the key. If only she'd been able to read it from beginning to end she'd have ended up with the answers she wanted. There were many entries, perhaps across several years, that could've elucidated the mysteries surrounding Dakota and Marshall Reed if not for the damage to their pages. Instead, she was left with a book whose overwhelming bulk was useless, frayed paper and splattered ink.
Maybe that was the point; maybe Dakota was trying to make contact with her because she wanted someone to know about what'd really happened to her and her husband more than seven years ago. The journal had been left behind as a clue, but when it became too damaged to read, Dakota's spirit had been forced to intercede. This was a pleasant spin on the situation, one that Kim was eager to cling to. Something bad happened to the two of them, and they're trying to let someone know about it from the other side. They want people to know what really happened to them, why they disappeared without a trace. And it looks like I'm the only person they want to talk to. The job falls to me.
Kim considered cracking the cover to re-read the legible tidbits, but found herself lulled into a light sleep instead. Her head firmly on the pillow and her limbs growing slack, she dropped the book softly onto her belly and began to breathe deeply.
She was asleep before she knew it.
Numbness. An all-encompassing darkness.
And then, slowly, Kim passed into the dream.
She knew herself to be dreaming from the onset, her lucidity creeping in before even she'd had a chance to appraise the dreamscape.
She was in her room, still on the bed, the space lit in a flickering orange glow as if illuminated by candles. She looked up from her pillow, found the journal still sitting close-by, and picked it up.
Then, for reasons she couldn't altogether articulate, she rolled over, opened it, and began to read.
Somehow, though the discovery did not excite her quite so much in the moment as it would upon waking, the writing was all legible. The journal was pristine, undamaged, the way it must've looked before Dakota had abandoned it to the humid chamber in the cellar so many years ago.
Licking her finger, she leafed through the book, sitting up in the dimness and examining each page. The paper was crisp now, the words neat and almost jumping out at her as the pages turned. Reacquainting herself with Dakota's doubts and anguish, Kim felt a profound stirring of pity in her heart where previously there'd been mainly shock and apprehension. She felt somehow close to Dakota, and knew better than ever before the depth of the sorrows that'd plagued her on her quest to become a mother.
Then, just past the midway point of the book, after a stretch of anguished, repeated passages, Kim felt also the surging triumph that had been Dakota's at finally achieving her dream of motherhood. She felt it like she herself had found the child, like her own dreams and prayers had been answered in the woods that day in decades passed. It was like reading an emotional novel. She was growing invested in the characters, could see them coming to life in a way. The character had been so effectively written in this particular tale that Dakota's happiness and sadness were virtually Kim's own.
She pushed past the familiar parts, skimmed quickly to the entries she'd most wanted to read, eager to find them in a similar state of legibility. The photograph was in the same spot she'd originally found it, sandwiched between two pages. Turning it over, she found something written on the reverse. She hadn't been able to read it before, but could see it plainly now. She mulled it over for a time, puzzling, before ultimately setting it down and moving on through the journal.
On the back of the photo was written: I AM THE WAY INTO THE CITY OF WOE. I AM THE WAY TO A FORESAKEN PEOPLE. I AM THE WAY INTO ETERNAL SORROW.
What this meant, if anything, she could not say. She didn't care to ponder its significance, either, for the untarnished entries in the latter half of the journal beckoned. Excitedly, she lapped them up, one after another. So much of what she read in it would end up a blurry mess of half-forgotten nonsense by the time she awoke, but in the moment she felt her mind enriched, her curiosities satisfied. Fear melted away in the face of the knowledge she'd so fervently sought.
And as she read, she could almost sense someone's breath upon her ear, could make out the words, as she read them, relayed to her in someone else's voice. Someone, maybe, was hovering at her bedside, whispering the entries into her ear as she lazily stretched out and her eyes passed across each page.
There was mention, now and again, of “The Amber Light”. Dakota explained in hushed tones that they'd installed it in the woods because their baby had run away from them. The light was to serve as a beacon to draw it back to the property. Kim laughed to herself as she read; a big, stupid laugh. How could a baby possibly escape its parents? How could a baby leave the house at all without help? It seemed
crazy, silly, that such a thing should happen. And yet, that was precisely what she was reading, and Dakota was relaying to her, in an entry dated just ten months from the day the photo was taken.
Of course there was more, and in Dakota's gripes about Marshall, Kim could only sympathize. Dakota talked about how Marshall didn't understand, that he did not love their baby the way she loved it. He had said to her, once, with great emphasis and apparent fear, that what they'd come upon in the woods was not a baby at all, though what he meant by that Dakota declined to say. Dakota dismissed his concerns as rubbish, chalked everything up to his nervousness over the prospect of fatherhood. “He is willing to say anything, to come up with whatever outlandish tales he must, in order to evade his responsibilities as a father. That is why the baby does not care for him.”
Never once did Dakota mention the baby by name and she said nothing of its sex. Kim flipped back several pages, trying to find the spot where Dakota had mentioned picking out a name for the child, but failed to find it. She continued onward instead.
Entries spanned across the next twenty years, detailing Dakota's great sadness at the baby's absence. She mentions seeing the baby from time to time in the woods, but that the child only ever returns briefly. Oh, how my child has grown, she would often write. During these years she mentions great reticence at leaving the house, in case the child should return to her. She waits long into the night, looking out to the woods, but often sees no sign of it. More and more, with every year that passes, she describes the alienation she feels from her husband and their former friends. Why doesn't Marshall want me to be a mother? This was our dream. Why doesn't he care for our only child? They see few people, scarcely leave the property. This, then, was around the time that they began drifting away from friends, like Edwin and Enid had said. Though, they weren't doing so because they were antisocial or obsessed with the house like so many had thought.
They were doing it because they were waiting for this mysterious child to return to them after having run away. The child no one knew about. This, and not the house, had been Dakota's obsession.
We've outfitted the spare room in the cellar in case the child should decide to return. A nursery for my baby! Kim pictured the dim, moist room in the basement and found herself smiling warmly. She could see in her mind's eye the figure of Dakota toiling in that room, painting a scene on the walls, arranging the baby furniture within.
The journal continued, the last few entries from about eight years ago.
Once, when the child had returned to them in the night, Marshall had taken it badly and punished it. He'd allegedly buried it in a field near the woods.
Dakota delighted in this, and described how ineffectual it'd been in separating mother and child. I raised a strong baby, and Marshall was a fool. The child has broken free of that little trap and has come back to me. My child is now in the nursery. Finally home, after all this time. The door is solid there, and I can visit whenever I like...
From across the room, Kim heard a whistle. Looking up from her book, she saw the squat, naked form of a white-haired old woman in the doorway, looking out into the hall. The woman started from the bedroom, whistling cheerfully as she went. Kim could hear her going down the stairs, could hear her heading for the living room. Kim stood and followed her, her own footfalls silent as she went. The whistling continued, high-pitched and melodious. What would Julian say now? Dakota was headed downstairs; he was bound to see her.
But, to Kim's surprise, the downstairs was profoundly dark.
Forced to follow the sound of the whistling and to navigate by touch, Kim ambled carefully through the living room, into the kitchen, and then joined Dakota in descending the basement stairs. There was a light coming from something nearby, some transient, flickering source of orange-yellow light she couldn't account for in their surroundings. When they'd made it into the cellar, Kim then followed Dakota's small, shriveled form into the hidden chamber. That is, the nursery. The pair stepped inside, and after a few moments, the whistling came to an abrupt stop.
The chamber was inundated in darkness, but the dim, intermittent glow continued, giving Kim just enough light to see by. She didn't feel like she was properly seeing her surroundings, rather, she couldn't but imagine she was sensing them through other means. Physically, she wasn't there; only her mind seemed to drift through the house. Her eyes were closed, she was actually in bed. She knew and understood this. Still, this knowledge did nothing to rob this dream of its realism. She was in both places at once; two halves of her had separated, writhing off in different directions like the two halves of a severed bait worm.
Dakota had paused before the strange panel in the wall of the room, the set of switches and controls that Julian had been hopeless to decipher. He'd deemed them obsolete, left in the room for some long-defunct appliance from a bygone era. But Dakota's interest in the thing seemed to prove otherwise. She reached out with a bony, white hand and slowly pawed at the switches. She did it feebly, her voice quivering in the back of her throat like some sort of moan. Without turning to face her companion, Dakota gave a frail plea. “Bring back my baby,” she asked, her voice sounding like so much dust.
Dakota's long finger was extended, pointing to the panel.
And then, with a sudden dampening of the orange flicker, there was darkness again.
Kim was climbing out of bed before she even fully realized it.
She went downstairs, surprised to find it darker out. She had no idea how long she'd been asleep. Deep, hammering noises issuing from the kitchen quickly reminded her of Julian's renovation work, the sounds of a sledge breaking through the old wooden cabinets meeting her ears and inciting a grimace. The racket rang through the house with her husband's every grunt. How she'd managed to sleep through it was anyone's guess.
Groggily, wiping her eyes, she stepped into the kitchen and was partially blinded by the lights. She yawned and headed for the cellar door. That was when Julian first noticed her.
“Oh, hey, what've you been up to?” he asked, setting down his sledge and wiping at his brow. A thin haze of dust drifted about the room. His clothing was matted down in debris and sweat and his face was red for the exertion. “Napping all this time?”
She nodded, opening the cellar door and peering down into the darkened depths. She drew out her phone and switched on the flashlight, making her way down the stairs.
“Where you going?” he asked, scratching at his dusty, golden hair. “I was thinking maybe it'd be a good time for dinner. Think you could start some pizzas while I knock out this last panel?”
“Uh-huh,” she replied vacantly. She was focused exclusively on the way ahead, on the heavy door that sat ajar at the foot of the stairs. She hadn't come down to make chit-chat or to prepare his dinner. Julian didn't understand. He simply never understood these things. He was so unsupportive of her. Rather than explain to him what she was doing, she flipped on the cellar light and called up to him with a lie. “Just going to throw a little laundry in the washer. I'll start the food when I'm done.”
This seemed to please him, and he wandered off into the kitchen again, taking a swig from a water bottle and resuming his noisy work.
Kim didn't care. From down here everything was muffled. Slipping through the doorway, she entered the nursery and raised her light, seeking out the control panel on the wall. It was strange; every prior visit to this space had filled her with fear. But not this time. On this occasion she felt comfortable. Perhaps it was because she'd been down there so much in recent days. Maybe she was used to it. It now seemed the most unthreatening place in the world; a bunch of old, dusty furniture, an endearing painting. As she reached out to the panel and flipped the first switch, she couldn't understand what she'd ever found frightening about the space.
Did the Amber Light still work? What would happen if she used these controls, flipped both of the switches? It was what Dakota had asked of her, and Kim had to know. She simply had to know. The fixture was old. She remembered se
eing it in the woods, amongst the trees, its body flecked in rust for the years of weathering. But, she thought, maybe it would work. There could be no telling what it would do when it was on, but this seemed to her a necessary action. It was an itch that needed badly scratched.
She flipped the second switch and then stepped back. Sighing with satisfaction, Kim turned off the light on her phone and stood in the nursery, basking for a moment in the almost perfect darkness of the space. She was pleased with herself. She'd done something good here, had done what Dakota had asked, and maybe something would happen because of it. Kim wanted to make Dakota happy, to make peace with this force about the property that'd hitherto left her shaken.
As she left the room and started back up the stairs, Kim whistled a brief tune. It was drowned out by the beat of Julian's hammer from the kitchen. She cocked her head to the side as she finished. The tune felt familiar to her somehow, but where she'd heard it she was unsure. She laughed nervously to herself. It felt out of place on her lips.
Twenty-Nine
For the first time in a long while, Kim felt happy.
The two of them sat in the living room, the contents of the kitchen spilling out all around them, enjoying a meal of beer and pizza. They'd turned on a movie. It was an old drama, some award-winner from the past year. She didn't really pay it much mind, reveling instead in the new knowledge she'd gained. Ordinarily she would have been one to question the veracity of information gained through dreams. Not so with this cache of knowledge, however. The forces about the property had reached out to her and bridged the gaps in her understanding. She'd more or less solved the riddle of the previous owners; the reasons they'd stopped leaving the house as the years wore on, the purpose of the room in the cellar. And of those things she didn't have answers for, she could make educated guesses.
Black Acres- The Complete Collection Page 17
