by Amy Cross
"Nothing's happened to me," I tell her.
"Not yet," she replies, "but you're part of it. It has different strategies with different people. Some it grabs. Others it pulls in slowly. That house brings out the absolute worst in every person. I doubt there's a soul in the world who could go into that place and not be affected."
"You talk about it as if it's alive," I tell her.
"She's waking up!" Natalie says suddenly, rushing over to the sofa.
Turning, I see that Samantha is starting to sit up. She seems groggy, blinking rapidly and looking confused.
"It's okay," Elizabeth says. "You're among friends."
"Mr. Lawler?" Samantha asks, staring at me. "What's happening?"
"You were hurt," I tell her, trying to work out the best way to explain things. "You've been in a coma for the past few days."
"You're okay now, though!" Natalie says excitedly.
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Elizabeth replies calmly. "Samantha, how do you feel? Are you in pain?"
She shakes her head.
"I know this must seem strange," I say, "but you have to let us explain. Do you remember anything about going out to the house on Willow Road?"
"The house? What house, what -" She stares at me for a moment, and then slowly she turns and starts looking at the window. It's almost as if her mind has gone completely blank.
"It's okay," Elizabeth says, stepping toward her. "You're safe here." Reaching out, she places a hand on the side of Samantha's face for a moment. "Nothing," she says eventually, before turning to Natalie. "I was wrong. It hasn't entered her."
Without replying, Samantha starts trembling. As we all stand and watch in silence, she stares into space as if she's transfixed by something horrific. I want to say something, but I'm worried that I might trigger some kind of negative reaction. It's clear that she's terrified, and I can't help thinking that some deep-rooted memory is gradually crawling through her mind, forcing her to relive the terror she experienced out on Willow Road. Finally, I notice that a dark wet patch is spreading on the fabric of the sofa and dripping down her legs.
Elizabeth
15 years ago
"It's been a long time," I say, as I walk across the kitchen.
He doesn't reply. He just walks slowly behind me. The cattle-prod is in his hand, but he knows he won't need to use it on me. He trained me long ago, using harsh discipline to mold me and teach me what I can and can't do. He knows I'm not dumb, and that I won't fight back. Maybe that's why he called me up here today; maybe he didn't want to have to fight one of the others, so he figured he'd pull up good old reliable Elizabeth. In some strange, sick way, I feel as if he and I have a kind of understanding.
"The new girl is settling in very well," I tell him. I don't know why I feel the need to tell him things, but I just can't stand the silence. It's not like he's ever said even a word to me before, but I'd feel rude if I didn't say anything at all. It's strange how, even in this situation, I retain certain impulses from my old life. I suppose it's my way of maintaining a link to the way things used to be, and to the way things might be again one day. Despite what Holly thinks, I still have hopes of getting out of this place. I just demand a more practical plan. Magic isn't enough.
When I reach the stairs, I pause for a moment and glance over my shoulder. The man is standing behind me, his fully-charged cattle-prod ready to strike in case I do anything to displease him.
"It's okay," I say quietly, before making my way up the stairs. I walk along to the usual door, and sure enough there's an ice bath waiting for me. I've lost count of how many times I've been through this experience in the ten years since I arrived at the house. A hundred, at least, but it's lost none of its potency. The very sight of the room fills me with fear, but also with a kind of strength. After all, I've endured this agony so many times, and I know I am strong enough to endure it again. There's nothing he can do to me that will ever cause me more pain. Sometimes, I even feel that death holds no fear.
Stepping across the room, I look down at the ice-filled water and wait for the inevitable moment when he'll plunge me beneath the surface. Turning, I see that he's standing in the doorway, almost as if he expects me to drop myself into the bath. Have I become so obedient over the years, so completely willing to subject myself to his every whim, that he expects me to save him the effort and torture myself for his pleasure?
"Will you..." I start to say, before realizing that something feels different this time. Perhaps I'm being paranoid, but I can't help thinking that some time soon, he's going to dispense with me altogether. After all, he's kept me around for a long time but I know that he's willing to kill when he's tired of one of his girls. He's killed before. "I don't know quite what you want me to do," I say firmly. "Am I supposed to climb in myself? Can't you even be bothered to push me?"
After leaning the cattle-prod against the wall, he comes closer and puts his hands on my chest. For a fraction of a second, I find myself wondering whether this encounter is to be very different to those that have come before. Seconds later, however, he pushes me and I fall back, landing with a heavy splash in the ice bath. Although I usually accept my fate, this time I grab hold of the sides and try to pull myself back out. He steps around and reaches down, pushing my shoulders under the water. I reach up and try to grab his arms, and I manage to use my nails to scratch deep into his flesh. I've never tried to hurt him before, but this time I feel a strange compulsion to cause him a brief moment of agony. Feeling a chunk of his skin wedged under my fingernails, I allow my head to go under the water, but I make an effort to keep my hands above the surface.
Although I'm under the ice, I can still hear him screaming as he pulls his arm away. I guess I caused some real damage, but hopefully he'll just think it was an accident.
Soon, I feel the familiar pain of the scalpel slicing into my leg. I know exactly what's going to happen, and how long it's going to take, and how much agony I'll have to endure once it's over. As the water floods through my clothes and numbs my body, I stare up through the ice until, finally, I feel the familiar sensation of his metal clippers being pushed against the bone in my leg. Sometimes he uses pliers to cut a small fragment away, but this time he uses a razor to carefully shave a sliver of bone from my fibia. Even deep underwater, I swear I can hear the scraping, scratching sound of the razor slicing through the bone.
As the pain gets to be too much, I let out a scream, but I'm still underwater so all that emerges is a rush of bubbles. I'm starting to run out of breath, but I know he'll pull me up soon. The most important thing is that I keep my hands out of the water, because there's something precious under my fingernails: a slice of his flesh and blood, perfect for a voodoo doll. I've waited long enough. It's time to get out of this house.
Ben Lawler
Today
"I got there early," Samantha says, once we've managed to get her changed and washed. She's sitting on a chair in the kitchen, wrapped in a fluffy white dressing gown that my ex-girlfriend left behind. Staring straight ahead, avoiding making eye contact with any of us, Samantha still seems transfixed and traumatized by her experience, but at least she's able to speak. "I just wanted to poke around, you know? I'd been doing some research, but I needed some proper photos and I was kinda hoping I could go inside or..."
We wait for her to continue.
"If you don't want to talk about it -" I start to say.
"At first I just walked around the outside, taking photos," she continues, almost as if she didn't hear me. "It felt pretty creepy, but I wasn't scared. I mean, I knew the stories, but I didn't think anything was actually gonna happen. I was just taking loads of photos, like of anything I could see. I've got this friend who does 3D CAD designs and I was thinking maybe we could make a proper 3D model of the house on her computer, and then we could map out the whole thing for..." She pauses for a moment. "It seems dumb now, but that's what I thought. I was starting to hope it could be more than just a project for school. I tho
ught I could write a proper article."
"Samantha wants to be a journalist," I tell the others.
"I swear I wasn't going to go inside," she says, "but then I got back round to the front and I noticed that one of the windows had a loose plate. I pulled it back and I could see right inside. I figured it had to be safe. I wasn't worried about ghosts. I was a bit worried about maybe there being some vagrants or drunks, but I decided it was probably safe. I know it seems crazy, but I really thought it was okay. I didn't feel scared at all. I felt... brave, and like I really wanted to get in there and find out what was happening."
"The house might have removed your fear," Elizabeth says.
"What?" Samantha asks, turning to her.
"It can do things like that," Elizabeth continues. "It wanted you to go inside."
"It?" Samantha replies.
"What happened when you went through the window?" I ask.
"It was dark," she says. "I had my phone, so I used the light on that. I still wasn't scared. I felt like maybe I was gonna find stuff out. I feel so dumb now. Why the hell didn't I just go back out? Why didn't I realize I shouldn't be there?"
"Don't blame yourself," Elizabeth says. "The house was luring you inside."
"I went through to the kitchen," Samantha replies, "and then I went into the basement. I know that's where those women were held, so I wanted to get some photos. If you look online, there are no photos of the basement. It's like someone decided to censor them. There are photos of the rest of the house, but not the basement. So that's what I wanted to do. I was down there for a while, and then I heard a noise."
We sit in silence and wait for her to continue.
"A banging sound?" Elizabeth asks eventually. "From above?"
Samantha nods.
"Like someone hitting the kitchen floor?"
She nods again.
"That's what he used to do," Elizabeth says, turning to me. "When we were too loud."
"Why didn't I run?" Samantha asks. "I should have got out of there, but I wasn't scared."
"The house calmed your fears," Elizabeth says. "Don't blame yourself."
"I went back upstairs," Samantha continues. "There was no-one in the kitchen, so I decided to go up to the top floor. I just assumed the noise must have been an animal. I don't know why, but as I was going up the stairs, I was just focusing on the photos." She turns to me. "I was going to prove you wrong. I was going to make the best report you'd ever seen from a student. And then..."
Again, she falls silent for a moment.
"Did you see him?" Natalie asks.
"I went to one of the doors. There was a bath in the room, full of water and ice. I thought it was weird that there'd still be ice in there. I mean, it wasn't cold, and I didn't think anyone had been in there. I should have turned and run, but it was like the fear was being sucked out of me. I was just curious. I went closer, taking photos. I filled up my memory card and had to swap it out, and then I carried on just taking photo after photo." She frowns. "I must have taken hundreds, maybe more than a thousand. It's almost like I was going crazy. I just kept walking around the bath, taking photos as fast as possible. I don't know how long I spent doing that, but then..."
"Did you see him?" Natalie asks again.
"There was someone behind me. I don't know how, but suddenly I was certain. I could feel him and sense him. That's when the fear came back. It just flooded through me. I turned, but it was too late and he pushed me back. I fell into the bath. I remember how cold it felt. At first, I felt the freezing water on my face and hands, but then it started to soak through my clothes. I think my legs were sticking out at first, but he pushed them under the water. I tried to get out, but my body was frozen and I couldn't move." She pauses again. "I remember being completely submerged, looking up through the ice and seeing a figure looking down at me, and then..."
"You did see him!" Natalie says excitedly.
Ignoring her, Samantha reaches down and moves the bottom of the dressing gown away from her legs. Sure enough, there's a deep, long cut on one of her calves.
"I told you," Elizabeth says, turning to me. "That's exactly what he used to do to us. Natalie, show him."
Obediently, Natalie pulls up her trouser leg and shows us a series of deep scars.
"I don't know what happened next," Samantha says, "except... I felt a pain in my leg. I felt him cutting me. I could see blood in the water, and I felt something snap in my bone. I don't know what he was doing, but my leg was so cold, it almost didn't hurt. I was... I was running out of breath. I was starting to drown, but there was nothing I could do. I couldn't pull myself up. I couldn't even move. And then I felt him reach down and he pulled me up out of the ice and I saw his face, and then..." She frowns. "The next thing I remember is him letting go of me again, and I slipped back into the ice, and then..." She turns to Natalie, then to Elizabeth, and finally to me. "Then I woke up here."
"You were rescued," Elizabeth says.
"I found you," I tell Samantha. "I saw you heading to the house. By the time I got there, you were in the ice bath. I pulled you out and took you to hospital. You were in a coma for a few days."
"How did you find me?" she asks.
"It was pure luck," I say.
"He saved your life," Elizabeth adds.
Samantha eyes me suspiciously. "I don't get it," she says eventually. "I don't get any of this." She looks back over at Elizabeth and Natalie. "Who are you?"
"We're..." Elizabeth starts to say, before looking nervously at Natalie.
"Tell her," Natalie whispers.
"We're two of the three people who were held in that house," Elizabeth continues, turning back to face Samantha. "I'm Elizabeth Torbett and this is Natalie Day. We were held there by that man, along with Holly Carter. Of course, it all happened fifteen years ago, but... Well, that's who we are. We were there when he was alive. We went through the ice baths and the operations. We..." Her voice trails off.
"You're the witches?" Samantha asks suddenly.
"They're not witches," I say.
"We're the witches," Elizabeth says with a cautious smile. "Well, that's what the media called us. The coven. Yes, that was us."
"And are you?" Samantha asks, clearly a little nervous.
"Are we witches?" Elizabeth pauses. "I suppose that depends on your definition of a witch. We certainly have... had... certain powers. We got them from the house. They're stronger when we're together. We need all three of us to be here, but Holly's far away."
"She's coming," Natalie says.
"I want to go home," Samantha replies, turning to me. "I don't want to be here. I just want to go home."
"Soon," I say.
"No, now," she replies, getting to her feet. "You can't keep me here." With that, she starts walking over to the door, but I grab her arm and hold her back.
"You need to listen to me," I say firmly. "There are people out there who are looking for you. They see you as a threat, because you can cause problems for their plans."
"What plans?" she asks, pulling her arm free.
"It's complicated," I tell her.
"Someone was trying to kill you," Elizabeth says. "I know it's hard to believe, but you were being given the wrong drugs at the hospital. Someone wanted you to die, probably so that you couldn't wake up and contradict their claims about Mr. Lawler."
"They think I did this to you," I say. "They think I took you to the house and tried to kill you. They were waiting for you to die, and then they were going to charge me with murder. If you're alive, you can tell them what really happened. They'll have to listen to you."
Suddenly there's a loud knocking sound from the door.
"They've found us," I say, turning to Elizabeth.
"Impossible," she replies, clearly concerned. "We've made sure of that. We were able to cause enough distractions to keep them going all night."
"It didn't work," I say, as there's more knocking. "You need to hide. You all need to hide while I deal with thi
s, okay?"
"Fuck you," Samantha says, hurrying over to the door.
"Samantha, you don't understand!" I call out, rushing over to stop her. I'm too late, however, and she pulls the door open to reveal a figure standing out in the rain. "It's not what it looks like!" I blurt out, convinced that the police have found us, but after a moment I realize that the figure seems to be a lone woman, standing in the pouring rain and staring blankly at us.
"She's here," Natalie says from the other side of the room.
Slowly, the drenched figure steps forward and I see to my shock that it's the one person I never thought was going to show up. It's Holly Carter.
Elizabeth
15 years ago
"It's okay," Holly says, leaning over me as I wake up. "You're back."
Pausing for a moment, I wait for my mind to emerge from the darkness. The same thing happens every time I return from upstairs: for a few minutes, it's as if there's a terrible fog clouding my memories, and I have trouble even knowing my own name. Finally, however, I start to remember the torment.
"Your leg's okay," Holly continues. "He sewed it up pretty good."
"My hands," I say quietly.
"Your hands are fine," Holly continues. "He didn't touch your hands."
Sitting up, I feel that my entire body is aching. When I look over at the window, I see that it's bright outside, which means that I must have been unconscious all night. I can't shake the feeling that there's something wrong with my hands, but as I look down at them, I can't remember exactly what happened. Eventually, I realize that there's a strange sensation beneath some of my fingernails and, when I take a look, I see some dried blood and a piece of flesh.
"I scratched him," I say, my voice weak and fragile.
"Good," Holly says. "That fucker -"
"No," I continue, interrupting her, "you don't understand." I get to my feet and hurry over to the sink, where I grab a knife and use it to poke at the flesh under my nails. Unfortunately, it seems that the knife can't get deep enough. Desperate to get the flesh out, I put the fingertip into my mouth and use my teeth to slowly force the nail up from the bed. Blood flows from the wound, but I take the finger out of my mouth and finally I manage to remove the piece of flesh. Holding it up, I turn to Natalie. "This is his," I say. "This is a part of him. Not a lot, but a small part. It's enough."
