by Amy Cross
"Enough for what?" Natalie asks, coming closer.
"Get your doll," I say.
"Why?"
"Just get it."
"What's going on?" Holly asks.
"We're going to use the doll again," I say.
"The doll didn't work," she replies, as Natalie hurries over to fetch the doll from the corner.
"It didn't work because it was just a doll," I reply. "This time, it'll be right."
"I thought you didn't believe in this stuff," Holly says.
"I didn't say that," I reply firmly, as Natalie brings the doll over and hands it to me. Without saying anything, I use a knife to carefully cut a hole in the doll's chest, and then I slip the bloodied piece of flesh inside. "There," I say quietly, with a hint of satisfaction. "Now he has a proper heart." I stare at the doll for a moment, overwhelmed by the thought of what we might be able to do. For so many years, I've been terrified of using the power. After what happened a decade ago, I never thought I'd be willing to try again. Right now, however, I'm filled with the urge to see if we can make this work. After all, there are three of us now. A full coven. If there's even a chance we might get out of here, we have to try.
"Elizabeth -" Holly starts to say.
"I'll lead," I reply, interrupting her. I turn to Natalie. "I'm sorry, but I think I should take the lead here. I've... I've done this before, in a way."
"When?" Natalie asks.
"A long time ago. I'll explain later, but just let me show you how to do it. I know what I'm doing. I know how this works." I turn and look across the basement. Already, I can feel the power starting to pay more attention to what's happening; it's as if the energy is drifting toward the doll in anticipation of the ceremony. "Sit in a circle," I continue, hurrying over to the center of the room and sitting on the concrete.
"I don't get it," Holly says as she and Natalie come to join me. "Earlier, you said this was a waste of time."
"It was a waste of time," I say. "It won't be now. Not with a piece of him inside the doll."
"So you got that on purpose?" Holly asks.
"Yes," I say. "No. I..." I take a deep breath. Did I scratch him on purpose, to get the piece of flesh, or was it all a coincidence? Sometimes, I don't really know how my mind works. For so many years, I've forced myself to stop hoping for a way out of this place. Now that I see a chance of escape, however, I'm filled with enthusiasm. Maybe I'm deluding myself, but I genuinely think this could work. "Just concentrate on what we're doing," I tell them. "There'll be time for questions later. First, we need to make sure that it works."
"Do you think it will?" Holly asks.
I nod. "I know it will. But there's one very important thing that you need to understand. We can't kill him using the doll. Even if we had a way out through the door, we still can't use the doll to kill him. That's just not possible. The power doesn't work that way. What we can do, however, is cause him pain." I stare at the doll, and at the needles laid out on the floor. "We can make him beg for mercy."
Hearing a sound from above, I look up at the ceiling. He's up there, probably still very pleased with himself for doing what he did to me. He's probably already planning his next session. As I imagine his smug, self-satisfied face, I can't help but smile at the thought of the pain we're about to cause him.
"Are you ready?" I ask, turning to Natalie and then Holly.
"Totally," Holly says.
Natalie nods.
"Do what we did before," I say, placing a hand on the doll. The others do the same. "You were mostly right earlier, Natalie," I continue. "The one thing missing was the piece of flesh in the doll's heart."
"Why didn't you tell me at the time?" Natalie replies.
"I wasn't sure that I wanted to go through with this," I tell her. "The power isn't something that we can just play around with. Once we start using it, it'll lay claim on us. It'll make demands. We can't just shrug it away when we're done with it, but..." I pause for a moment, thinking back ten years to the last time I dared to meddle with the power. "Maybe you're right," I continue, turning to Holly. "Maybe I became a little too willing to sit around and wait for a way out of here, but I'm not scared. Not now. We're going to get out of here." I look at the doll for a moment. "Both of you, do what I do."
"How do you know this is going to work?" Holly asks.
"I just know."
"But how?"
I pause for a moment, trying to decide how much to tell her.
"Have you done this before?" she continues.
"Just do what I do," I reply, aware that my refusal to give a definite answer is, in itself, an answer.
"How are we going to do it?" she asks after a moment. She's clearly suspicious, but I guess she's decided not to argue with me, at least for now.
"We're going to do what we did before," I reply, as the ceiling creaks once again. "We're going to use the needles."
"We have to focus," Natalie says.
"That's right," I continue, picking up one of the needles. "You're learning fast, Natalie. Focus on the piece of skin that's inside the doll. Focus on the fact that it's part of him." I hold the end of the needle against the doll's shoulder, ready to strike. "Focus on the fact that this time yesterday, that piece of skin was part of his body, and now it's down here with us. His body. His blood." I listen to the sound of the floorboards creaking above us. "His pain." With that, I slide the needle straight through the doll's shoulder.
The creaking sound stops.
I look over at Holly and Natalie.
I can see the fear in their eyes.
"Try again," Natalie whispers.
"Focus," I say, taking another needle and placing it next to the doll's chest. Slowly, I force the tip through the fabric, and then we sit and listen.
Silence.
The only sound I can hear is my own heart, beating fast and hard in my chest.
"Are we doing something wrong?" Natalie asks.
"No," I tell her. "It just takes time."
As she looks up at the ceiling, I can see that Natalie is terrified.
"Keep focusing," I say, taking a third needle and setting the tip against the doll's head. After a moment, I slide the needle through and out the other side.
From above, there's a roar of pain.
"Jesus!" Holly says, pulling back and letting go of the doll.
"It worked!" Natalie shouts, her face filled with excitement.
"Stay calm!" I tell them, feeling the power start to swirl around us. It's invisible, but I can feel the expanse of energy brushing against my body. It's not under our control, of course, and there's still a lot of work to do; for the first time in many years, though, I feel that the power is following my directions again. It's back. I just have to avoid the mistake that were made all those years ago. "We're not done yet!" I remind the others.
"Kill him!" Holly says, grabbing a needle and pushing it through the doll's neck.
There's another roar of pain from above, followed by the sound of furniture being slammed into the wall, and then a loud thud.
"He deserves every second of pain," Holly continues, pulling a needle out from the doll's chest and then sliding it back in.
Above, there's a groan of agony.
"Let me try," Natalie says, taking a needle and passing it through the doll's leg.
The man screams.
"Remember," I say, my heart racing, "we can't kill him like this. It's not powerful enough."
"But we can fucking hurt him," Holly says, grabbing another needle. I reach out and pull her hand away. "Why not?" she shouts.
"We need to plan ahead," I tell her. "If we keep doing this, we won't kill him but we'll make him angry. We'll make him suspicious. We need something bigger. Something better."
"What?" she asks, still trying to pull away from me.
"We need..." I pause for a moment, trying to come up with a plan. "First, we need to be able to open the door. If we kill him now, we could end up being trapped down here."
"We can find another way," Holly says. "If we've got these powers, we can just force the door open."
"I don't know," I say, trying to think straight. "I don't know what we can do and what we can't. But if we wait until the door's open, or until one of us is up there, then we know we can get out. We've come this close, we can't afford to make a mistake now."
"You're stalling," Holly says, looking down at the doll. "We should finish him right now."
"You're forgetting the house," I reply. "The man isn't the only problem. Even if we kill the man, there's still the house. Anyway, this doll is already useless again. That piece of flesh was only big enough for a brief show of force." To prove my point, I take a pin and stab the doll aimlessly a few times.
"Isn't it doing anything?" Natalie asks nervously, looking up at the ceiling.
"This was just a demonstration of our power," I reply. "If we're going to get out of here, we need more. We need..." I stare at the doll for a moment longer, and slowly an idea starts to form in the back of my mind. "We need a better doll," I say finally, "and we need a bigger piece of flesh." I look up at the ceiling, as a creaking sound indicates that the man has started to get up and recover from the onslaught we delivered. He must be dazed, but also suspicious. "If we're going to kill that man and get out of here alive, we need something more powerful," I add. "We need a bigger piece of him. A much bigger piece."
Epilogue
When I wake up, everything is completely dark. My head is pounding with a kind of throbbing pain that I've never experienced before, and when I try to move I find that my whole body feels unnaturally heavy. I wait for a few minutes and then I try to haul myself up, and finally I manage to get onto my knees. There's something all around me, like a fine fabric, and after a moment I realize that I seem to be inside some kind of cloth bag. I fumble around, trying to find a way out, and eventually I manage to start pushing at the tied entrance. It takes a few more minutes, but eventually I'm able to crawl out onto the cold, concrete floor.
Still in pain, I try to get to my feet but find that my knees are far too weak. I sit up, looking around at what appears to be a large, empty room. There's a single small window at the top of one of the walls, with grass growing outside, and I realize I must be in a basement. A kind of cold, panicked fear is growing in my chest, but I force myself to ignore the sensation, at least for now. There has to be some kind of mistake. Any moment, I'm going to suddenly realize what's happening and I'm going to feel like such an idiot.
"Hello?" I call out, trying not to sound too scared. "My name's Elizabeth." I wait for a reply, but all I hear is complete silence. "Hello?"
I try to get up again, and this time my knees just about hold. Supporting myself by leaning against the wall, I take a few steps forward before I have to stop and wait for my head to stop pounding. There's a sharp pain in my shoulder, and when I reach up I find that there's a large lump just under the skin. The last thing I remember is feeling a stinging sensation, just before I passed out. Slowly, I start to recall the thin-faced man who was speaking to me on the street. In the back of my mind, I'm already starting to work out what's happened, but I don't want to face the truth. Not yet. There's still time for this to turn out to be a terrible mistake.
"Hello?" I shout, my voice already trembling and starting to betray my panic. I'm starting to feel as if I'm running out of breath.
I manage to make my way over to a set of stone steps that lead up to a heavy-looking metal door. Slowly, and with considerable pain in my joints, I manage to climb up to the first step, but the effort is exhausting. I take a deep breath, and then I continue, determined to get to the door.
"Hello?" I call out.
It takes a few minutes, but finally I manage to get all the way up to the top of the steps. I try to push the door open, but it seems to be firmly locked. Banging on the metal, I start to realize that I'm truly trapped down here.
"Hello?" I call out again. "Can anyone hear me?"
I start banging louder, and slowly my worst fears start flooding into my mind. This isn't some kind of accident. I've been kidnapped and dragged to this place, and there's no way out.
"Hello?" I shout. "Let me out of here!"
I wait for a response, but all I hear is silence.
"Hello?"
Suddenly there's a distant noise. There's something on the other side of the door, slowly shuffling closer. I take a deep breath. Is it possible that there has been a mistake after all?
"Hello?" I shout. "I'm trapped in here! You have to let me out! I don't know if I can breathe!" I take another deep breath, but I swear my lungs aren't working properly. I don't know if it's a panic attack or a side-effect of the drugs, but I'm breathing deeper and deeper and still feeling short of breath. Unable to hold back, I start banging as hard as I can against the door. Tears are streaming down my face and I'm taking big gulps of air. "Help me!" I shout. "Let me -"
Suddenly I hear a loud metal clang, and the door starts to open.
"You've got -" I start to say.
Something flashes straight at my face. Something long and dark, with a bright, flickering blue light at the end. I'm momentarily dazzled before I feel the most violent surge of pain on my right cheek. There's a loud crackle and I instinctively step back, only to tumble down the stairs, landing hard and heavy down on the concrete floor.
Desperately trying to get to my feet, I look up at the door and see a large, heavy-set man standing at the top of the stairs, holding what looks like a cattle-prod. He seems to be staring down at me for a moment, and then he turns, steps back out, and pushes the door shut again, leaving me alone.
It takes several minutes before I can get up again. The shock from the cattle-prod fried my already-damaged body, and it's a struggle to even remain conscious. I take a deep breath, my mind racing as I try to work out exactly what's happened. Have I really been kidnapped? Who the hell was that guy, and what does he want with me?
"Mom!" I shout, with tears streaming down my face. "Mom, where are you?"
Looking down, I spot something on the floor. I take a few steps forward, and finally I see that there are five or six small bones resting on the concrete. They're only a few inches long, and they're a kind of dirty gray color.
"They're mine," says a voice nearby.
I look around, but there doesn't seem to be anyone else down here.
"Well, not mine," the voice continues. "They didn't come from me. Well, not really. But they belong to me. I own them now."
I turn and look across the empty basement. At first I don't see anything, but slowly I realize there's a figure shuffling toward me, coming out of the shadows. As the figure comes closer, I realize that it's a woman. She looks nervous and timid, as if she's not quite sure how to approach me. She also looks thin and tired, and her clothes are like rags.
"Hello," she says, smiling at me with compassion in her eyes. She's older than me, maybe in her early twenties. "It's okay," she continues. "I hope I didn't startle you. You must be scared, but that's my fault. I've been alone down here for so long, I've forgotten how to..." She pauses. "The important thing is, everything's going to be okay. What's your name?"
I stare at her.
"I'm not going to hurt you," she says, stepping a little closer. She has a noticeable limp, and when I glance down at her ankles I see a large, festering wound, with what appear to be a series of thick metal staples hanging from the flesh. "I'm in the same position as you," she explains. "I'm a prisoner here. I was kidnapped."
I pause for a moment, trying to work out whether I can trust her.
"At least tell me your name," she continues.
I stare at her. "Elizabeth," I say eventually.
"Hello Elizabeth," she says with a kind but sad smile. "Welcome to the basement. You might be here for a while. My name's Catherine."
Part Six:
The Power of Three
Prologue
"It's a good house," he says, wandering around from the back yard. "Solid. Well-bu
ilt. My grandfather himself put the place up, brick by brick. Put his blood and sweat into the place. These modern houses, they're built by committee, a bunch of idiots running around to get the job done as fast as possible so they can turn a profit. This house..." He pauses for a moment, staring up at the front of the building. "The old man built this house by hand. Just him. No help. Stubborn bastard. He's as much a part of the place as the bricks and mortar. You've got his blood and sweat mixed in with the foundations. He's dead now, but the house he built is still standing, so in a way..."
I wait for him to continue, but he seems lost in some kind of nostalgic reverie.
"It's a very nice house, Mr. Willard," I reply eventually. "It's just what I'm looking for."
"You won't get disturbed out here, either," he says, turning and looking at the acres of farmland that spread out into the distance. With a dirty, sun-worn face and a thin, wiry body, he has the general demeanor of a man who's spent how entire life working long and hard on the land. I guess I expected to bump into people like him once I headed out into the sticks, and I certainly haven't been disappointed so far. "No busybodies looking through your windows," he continues. "A man can do what he wants, when he wants, how he wants in a place like this. Just as God intended."
"I just like the view," I tell him, taking a deep breath of fresh country air. "I'm sick of living in towns. Too many distractions. I want to be out here where the air's clear and I can get on with my work."
"Towns are the Devil's work," he continues. "It's not right for any man to live so close to his neighbors, rubbing shoulders. That's what they do all day, isn't it? They go around, rubbing each other's shoulders in the street. You need space, or you'll lose your mind. That's the problem with this country today. Everyone's so close to everyone else. The last time I went into town, a couple of years ago, the stink was terrible. You had to smell everyone else; that's how close you were! There's barely any room to move without bumping into everyone else."
