by Amy Cross
“This is too much,” the priest gasps, his eyes filled with shock. “Nobody was ever supposed to get hurt... We must repent our sins and pray that the Lord grants us mercy! It's the only way!”
“Don't give me that claptrap now, old man,” Sir John sneers. “You were happy enough to take full advantage of my hospitality at the time it was offered. Including Elizabeth's bed.”
The priest steps back, shaking his head as if he can't comprehend what he's seeing.
“You too?” I gasp, once again trying but failing to get up. Clutching my side, I feel blood dribbling between my fingers. “You were part of this?”
“Didn't the reverend father tell you?” Sir John asks, turning to me with a grin. “What a shocking omission on his part. It was Father Carlisle who inseminated Elizabeth. I knew somebody would ruin the girl eventually, but it seems rather fitting that the priest should be responsible. Perhaps God sent some angels to push on the fool's heaving buttocks while he fucked the girl.”
“I must go to the authorities,” Father Carlisle stammers, taking another step back out onto the landing. “Only then can I begin to make my peace with the Lord.”
He turns, but suddenly a shot rings out and one side of the man's head explodes, blasting blood across the wall as his body slumps down into the shadows. Shocked, I stare for a moment at the horrific sight, before turning and seeing that even Sir John Marringham seems stunned by his own barbarity.
“May God have mercy on my soul,” he whispers, looking down at the pistol for a moment. “I should...”
His voice trails off, and finally he turns to me.
“I had to do it,” he continues. “Just because the man was a priest, that doesn't mean he wasn't also a fool. I couldn't have him running to the authorities, blabbing about everything simply because he wanted a chance to save his own soul. He was weak and -”
“Father?”
Looking back toward the doorway, I see that young Matthew is once again watching us, silhouetted this time against the moonlit wall at the top of the stairs.
“Go to your room!” Sir John shouts, thundering toward him before stopping in the doorway.
“What did you do?” Matthew asks, his voice filled with tears as he stares at the shadowed corpse. “Father, please -”
“Do not make me tell you again!”
“Did you kill a man? Father, did you kill the priest?”
“Go to your room!”
“Call help!” I shout, trying to drag myself to the doorway, past Elizabeth's bloodied body. “Run! Fetch -”
Before I can get another word out, Sir John kicks me hard in the face, sending me crunching against the wall. A moment later, however, I hear the sound of the young boy running down the stairs, and his father quickly takes after him, calling for him to stop. I wince as I try to get up, but I've lost too much blood and the whole world seems to be spinning around me.
Ahead, I can already see Sir John dragging his son back to one of the rooms. The boy is yelling, but his father is forcing him through the door, and a moment later they disappear from sight. Just seconds later, the boy screams as his beating begins.
“Get help,” I whisper, grabbing the door-frame. “Please, somebody -”
Suddenly I see a figure in the distance, at the far end of the landing. Shadowy and indistinct, the figure moves quickly and quietly toward one of the doors, as if to follow Sir John and his son. At the last moment, just as the figure enters the room behind them, I see a faint and ethereal face glowing in the moonlight.
A face I know I cannot possibly have seen.
“Elizabeth?” I gasp, convinced that somehow it was her at the far end of the corridor, even though her dead body is right next to me. “Elizabeth, wait!”
Chapter Thirty
“Ungrateful, questioning wretch!” Sir John screams, his unhinged voice filled with more anger than I've ever heard come from one man. “In God's name, whatever compels you to question my actions?”
Dragging myself further along the corridor, toward the top of the stairs, I hear the man hitting his child again. The child cries out, of course, and a moment later I hear the sound of a struggle.
“Please,” I whisper, barely able to get the words out at all. “I need... I need help...”
Turning, I look back and see that I have left a trail of blood running all the way back into the farthest room. Beyond the door, partially caught by a patch of moonlight, Elizabeth's bloodied corpse remains where it fell, its neck still snapped. I flinch as I turn and drag myself a little closer to the top of the stairs, and a moment later I hear Matthew cry out as his father hits him once again.
“Stop!” the boy whimpers, sobbing and retching at the same time. “Father, I only -”
He's silenced by a loud thumping sound, and I hear him dropping to the floor. At that moment, I reach the door and look through, only to see Sir John towering over his trembling, cowering son.
“This is my house,” the man sneers, “and while you are in it, you will obey my rules. And you most certainly will not question me! Is that understood?”
“I'm sorry,” Matthew whimpers, not daring to look up at his father. “I just saw the priest, that's all, and I thought something awful had happened. Father, why did you kill that man? I thought he was your friend? And Elizabeth was -”
“Silence!” Sir John roars, reaching down and grabbing the boy by the hair, before slamming him against the wall.
I open my mouth to shout at him, to tell him to stop, but suddenly I realize that there's another figure in the darkened room. Over in the far corner, lurking in the shadows, a human stands completely still. I can tell it's a woman, and – as my eyes adjust a little to the darkness – I feel a tightening sense of apprehension in my chest. Her features picked out by moonlight, she's watching as Sir John continues to chastise and beat his son. Watching or waiting.
But it can't be her.
It can't be Elizabeth.
Turning, I look back along the corridor. Elizabeth's body is still in the farthest room, yet when I look back past Sir John and his son, I swear I can also see her watching them from the shadows, as if somehow her spirit has risen from her body and begun to walk alone.
“No,” I whisper, pulling back slightly as I feel the air starting to chill all around me. Something about this scene fills me with the utmost dread, as if invisible hands are seizing my body. “Elizabeth...”
Suddenly the boy cries out, and I see that his father is twisting his arm, as if he means to break the bone.
“Leave him alone!” I gasp, reaching out with a trembling hand.
“I must teach you a lesson,” Sir John sneers, staring down at his sobbing son. “You will help me clean up this mess, and then finally you might recognize that -”
Before he can finish, the boy screams, and I hear a faint cracking sound. Clutching his arm, Matthew falls back from his father while letting out a series of agonized sobs. He quickly turns and runs, almost tripping over me as he hurries out onto the landing, and then he starts clattering down the stairs.
“Get back here!” Sir John screams, taking a step toward me but then stopping. “I will not chase you, child! You will walk back to me and face your punishment like a man! Do you hear me? Like a man!”
I try getting to my feet, but I barely have the strength to keep my eyes open. After a moment, however, I spot movement in the shadows behind Sir John, and I watch with a growing sense of horror as Elizabeth steps toward him. I squeeze my eyes tight shut, certain that I must be hallucinating, but when I open them again I see that she is now much closer. Her expression is one of calm anger, and all the madness of the previous day seems to have been lost.
“It can't be you,” I whisper, pulling back. “Please, you should be resting in peace now...”
“What are you wittering on about?” Sir John asks, looking down at me. Clearly unaware of the apparition that is approaching from behind, he takes a step toward me, and there's evident disgust in his eyes. “Did you
think you'd save your precious Elizabeth? Is that it?” He smiles. “No such luck, Mr. Lester. That disgusting whore is dead now, and I shall burn her body. And then, once I have reloaded my pistol and chastised my son, and after I have left you to suffer for a while longer, I shall end your miserable life too.”
With that, he steps over me and heads out into the corridor.
“Matthew!” he shouts. “Don't test me, boy! I mean to visit proper discipline upon your soul! You'll thank me once you're a grown man!”
In the distance, somewhere far off but still in the house, the child can be heard whimpering.
As Sir John heads downstairs, I turn and look up at the horrific sight of Elizabeth's spectral form. She seems paler than usual, as if most of the color has faded from her features, and only a faint ice-blue tinge remains on her flesh. Her eyes, meanwhile, have become even darker than before, and they remain fixed on the door-frame above me, as if she has barely noticed that I am here. Still, I'm waiting for her to disappear, for her to be revealed as some form of illusion.
After a moment, she steps closer, making no sound at all.
“What is this?” I whisper, feeling the air starting to become noticeably colder all around me. “In the name of all that is holy...”
I shiver as she passes me, and I swear that the chill is briefly overpowering. Just as I feel that my bones might be frozen, however, the sensation is gone. When I look down, I see that ice crystals have momentarily formed in my spilled blood, although they are already thawing.
“Wait,” I stammer, turning and watching as Elizabeth heads to the top of the stairs. She is walking like any other person, of course, yet in a way she seems also to be gliding, as if in some manner she is not entirely connected to the world around her.
And still she make no noise at all. No rustling of her clothes, no soft sound of her breath.
“Elizabeth!” I hiss, forcing myself up this time until I am able to lean against the door jamb. I look back along the corridor and see her bloodied corpse, and then I turn just as she starts making her way down the stairs. “Elizabeth, stop!”
To my horror, this time she responds. She hesitates, and then slowly she turns and looks at me with those dark, pained eyes.
“Is it really you?” I whisper.
She offers no reply. Instead, she simply watches me for a moment, although I am quite certain that she must recognize me.
“It is you,” I continue, limping toward her. I have to stop and lean against the wall, but now that I'm closer I can see that she is wearing the dress she wore in the old days, when I used to come and court her in the house's garden. It is as if this, somehow, is the real Elizabeth, as opposed to the bloodied, insane creature I sprung from the grave. In death, she has returned to this fine condition. And in her eyes, I no longer see madness. I see her old, keen intelligence and passion, albeit tempered by a hint of anger.
I wait, but she says nothing. Finally she starts to turn away again, as if she intends to continue her journey down the stairs.
“You're dead,” I whisper, limping closer.
Again she stops, and again she turns to look up at me as I lean against the banister.
Downstairs, Sir John can be heard chastising his son once more. The boy cries out, his scream briefly filling the house, but a moment later he falls to a perpetual, soft whimper. Finally he is quiet again.
“Elizabeth, it's me,” I continue, taking a step toward her. “Perhaps I am really seeing you, or perhaps this is some delusion that comes to me as I lose more blood, but... Please, tell me in these final moments that you recognize me.”
Again I wait, but she simply stares at me.
A moment later, I hear the sound of firm, heavy steps coming back up the spiral staircase.
“I hear you babbling alone up here!” Sir John calls out as he gets closer, although I cannot see him yet. “Does your impending death drive you to madness, Mr. Lester?”
“What do you want?” I ask Elizabeth.
She watches me for a moment longer, before turning to face Sir John just as he reaches the top of the stairs.
“I have had enough of fools for one night,” the bastard sneers as he comes into view. “It is time to -”
He stops suddenly, and I see the exact moment when he sets eyes upon Elizabeth's spectral form. His mouth drops open, tightening the skin across his cheekbones and instantly making him appear far more gaunt. He stumbles back against the wall, and I swear I see a hint of madness in his features as he lets out a faint, pained whimper. Spotting movement in the corner of my eye, I look down and see that the man's long, bony fingers are twitching, and a moment later his entire body starts to shiver.
“Do you see her too?” I stammer, watching as Sir John drops to his knees. “Tell me, man! Do you see her?”
He says nothing, but the answer is in his eyes. Staring up at Elizabeth's spectral form, he seems frozen by fear, although after a moment he raises a trembling hand as if to protect himself as she steps closer. His lips are moving slightly, and I realize after a few seconds that he's saying the Lord's Prayer. Tears are streaming down his face, and finally he turns away, as if he can no longer bear to see the figure before him.
Still making no sound, but chilling the air around her, Elizabeth takes another step closer to the terrified, cowering man.
“No!” he whimpers, as if he senses her even with his eyes tight shut. “Please go away! Leave me alone! Lord have mercy on my...”
He lets out a few more garbled words, but his voice seems to be collapsing now as fear grips his soul.
“What are you doing to him?” I ask, looking up at Elizabeth and seeing that she's staring down at the wretch.
When she fails to reply, I pull back a little, partly to get away from the cold air and partly because this apparition, even with Elizabeth's beautiful face, strikes fear into my heart. Even now, her eyes are smudged black, and if anything they seem to be darkening more and more with each passing second.
“Look at me,” she whispers suddenly, her voice sounding so calm.
Sir John is sobbing now, and curling himself into a ball as if to seek some form of protection.
“Look at me,” Elizabeth says again.
As the man's sobs continue, I think I recognize the tones and rhythms of prayer. Despite his horrific crimes, still he seeks mercy from the Lord.
“Elizabeth, please,” I continue, glancing over my shoulder and still seeing her bloodied corpse in the farthest room. I turn and look at her cold, spectral form. “Elizabeth what are you -”
“Look at me,” she tells Sir John yet again, as if she hasn't even noticed my presence at all.
“The Lord will give me strength!” Sir John blurts out. “The Lord will give me strength! The Lord will...”
His voice trails off for a moment, and then slowly he turns and opens his eyes, looking directly up at her dead face.
“The Lord will give me strength,” he stammers, “and protect me and... Please... The house... There's something in the house, something that I first encountered as a child. It made me... It made me what I...”
He hesitates, before letting out a series of deep, gnarled clicks from the back of his throat. At the same time, he clutches his left arm, and I see sweat glistening on his forehead. I have seen men die of heart maladies before, and before my eyes this poor wretched bastard starts snatching gulps of air. All the while, his terrified eyes remain fixed on Elizabeth, as if he cannot bring himself to look away.
“Look at me,” she says once again, and this time there's a hint of anger in her voice. “I shall never leave you. Your entire family will suffer for your cruelty, until your bloodline has rotted away to nothing.”
She leans closer to him.
“No matter how long it takes.”
Sir John gasps again, and I recognize the final, guttural cry of a dying man. For a few more seconds he continues to stare at Elizabeth, until his eyes begin to roll back in their sockets, revealing the blood-shot whites.
“Aren't you scared, old man?” she sneers, leaning closer to him. “I've waited so long to hear you beg for mercy!”
He lets out a faint, slow gurgle, but it's clear he's beyond the point of actually being able to speak.
“Elizabeth,” I gasp, “wait -”
Suddenly she lets out a furious scream, and I watch in horror as she reaches out and digs her fingernails into Sir John's face. He's powerless to resist as she starts ripping away his flesh, and soon she starts pulling at his clothes too, as she tries desperately to tear his body to shreds. He slumps back against the wall, but still she continues to rip him apart, and now I can see the gleaming white of his skull as she gouges muscle from the left side of his head. She starts pulling on the arteries and veins in his neck, screaming in the process, and finally one side of his jawbone starts to come away, leaving blood to flow down onto his chest.
Looking down at his hands, I see that his fingers are still twitching, as if deep down there's still a part of him that can feel this pain.
A moment later, Elizabeth lets out another shriek of anger before pushing his corpse down to the floor. Most of his head has been picked clean of flesh and muscle, and he is now perfectly still.
“You killed him,” I stammer, pulling back a little further. “Elizabeth, you murdered him in cold blood.”
I watch her face, and for the first time I see pure, unfettered anger in her eyes. It is as if the old Elizabeth, the Elizabeth I loved, has finally been completely subsumed by the desire for vengeance.
“Elizabeth,” I continue, “please, listen to me. You don't need to do more, you've already -”
Before I can finish, I hear a bump from elsewhere in the house. Elizabeth hears it too, and she immediately turns and makes her way toward the top of the stairs.
“Matthew,” I whisper, realizing that Sir John's son is still here, and that he seems to be making his way up from the hallway. “Matthew!” I try to shout, although I can barely raise my voice above a pained gurgle. “Elizabeth, leave him alone! He's just a boy!”
Ignoring me, she stops at the top of the stairs and looks down.
