No One Here Gets Out Alive (Vengeful Spirits Book 3)

by Val Crowe

  * * *

  Dominique was talking. “It’s important that we all stick to the script, okay?” She handed me a piece of paper.

  I scanned it. “You wrote this out?”

  “No mistakes,” said Dominique. “Read exactly what it says.” She handed another piece of paper to Rylan. “I know it’s not what I found on the internet, but I think it’s really close.”

  I read the script. “I don’t know. I think this might backfire. It might make him annoyed. It’s very… commanding.”

  “We have to show who’s in charge,” said Dominique.

  “Right, we’ll tame him like a dog,” I muttered.

  “You said you would try it.” Dominique glared at me.

  “I will,” I said. “Okay, fine.”

  As we read over the script, Dominique came around and traced wormwood oil over our foreheads and wrists.

  “So, have you ever tried this before?” I asked her as she traced cool fingers over my skin.

  “Well, no, not exactly,” she said.

  “Great,” I said.

  “Stop being a dick,” said Rylan. “Your negativity isn’t helping anything.”

  “My negativity?” I gaped at her. “Yeah, okay. There are five corpses out there and we’re being stalked by a killer ghost, but my negativity is the real problem here.”

  Rylan rolled her eyes. “Deacon, Jesus.”

  “I mean, it’s not as if I have anything to be negative about,” I said. “Everything’s peachy here.”

  “Be negative quietly, then,” said Rylan.

  I shut my mouth. Maybe she was right that there was no point in being so sarcastic.

  I peered around the inside of the cabin.

  Unlike the others, there were no bunks or furniture left in here. It was only an empty room, and there were faint shadows of dark stains—spraying the walls, pooled on the floor. It was obviously old blood. Inside, it smelled bad too. It couldn’t have retained any smell from that long ago, back when the murders had actually taken place, but there was a coppery taste at the back of my throat, and there was rot underneath everything, like meat that had sat in the sun for too long.

  Dominique positioned everyone.

  Rylan, she made kneel facing the back of the room. Mundy faced the right hand side. Me, she had stand in the doorway. And then she took her place, kneeling to face the left hand wall.

  Seeing all of them kneeling like that, the backs of their heads, it jarred me.

  Now, I was frightened.

  What were we doing?

  And why did I have to be the one to summon Macon? Dominique had said it was because I was powerful, and that she was going to do the rest, but I wasn’t sure this was such a good idea. We were the prey, and we were inviting the wolf inside.

  “It’s time, Deacon,” said Dominique in a quiet voice that carried.

  The words sent chills through me. We had attempted to set this up to occur at roughly the same time the actual murders had occurred, at least according to Macon’s journal. He hadn’t been precise, but he’d given enough information to know that it had happened in the late morning. Dominique thought that would be a powerful time for the spirit. She thought it might make him more malleable.

  I moved onto the porch of the cabin. I raised my voice. “Macon Symonds! By the power of the air and the darkness, I summon thee.” I read the words directly off the script that I had been given. “Come to me, I decree it so.”

  I waited.

  The woods were still.

  I could hear the buzz of flies, and with a jolt, I thought of the bodies we’d wrapped up, how they were attracting flies, and it made my stomach twist.

  I looked down at my script again.

  “Macon!” I yelled again. “You must obey me. You are summoned!”

  That buzzing in the distance. Otherwise, the air was still. The forest was still. Everything was still.

  My heart was beating too fast. I peered back down at the script, but there was nothing else to say until Macon showed up. What if he hadn’t heard me? Or, could it be possible that he wouldn’t be bound by the power of the oil and the words? Maybe he couldn’t come.

  I wasn’t sure what to do. Should I call for him again? Should I ask Dominique?

  And there he was.

  Macon leaped up over the railing, vaulting over, supporting himself with one hand. He was leering at me as he stalked across the porch. “You called for me?”

  My hands shook. I looked down at the paper, trying to find my next words in the script. “Come inside now, Macon Symonds. Come and be released.” I beckoned.

  Macon stepped forward. And slapped the paper out of my hand.

  I watched it flutter away, down the steps. Then a gust of wind picked it up and blew it up, up, up, above the roof. I was helpless.

  He reached out with one hand to take me by the neck. And then he seemed to notice the oil on my forehead. His hand drifted higher. Almost reverently, his fingers brushed my forehead, where Dominique had put the oil. “Papa?” he whispered.

  I swallowed. “What?” Did he think I was Josiah? Why did he think that?

  “Papa, why didn’t you kill me like the others?”

  My jaw worked. “But Macon, you are—”

  “Macon Symonds,” came Dominique’s voice. “Come forth.”

  Macon released me, letting go of my neck and tossing me aside.

  I hit the floor of porch, gasping, rubbing my neck.

  Macon went into the cabin.

  I picked myself up. I followed him.

  Inside, he was turning in a circle, looking at the backs of the heads of the others inside.

  “Macon,” said Dominique.

  He turned to her and he took a lurching step toward her. “Deborah?” His voice quivered.

  Wait. What was this? He thought I was Josiah? He thought Dominique was Deborah?

  “But you’re dead,” said Macon. “I saw it happen.”

  Dominique stood up. She turned to Macon, glancing down at her script. “Tell me what you desire, Macon Symonds. By the power of the air and the darkness, I command you.”

  Macon cocked his head at Dominique. “Why are you here? It’s always been me alone. Where did you come from?”

  “What do you desire?” Dominique repeated. “I command you by the power of the air and the darkness.”

  But Macon wasn’t looking at her anymore. He had turned to Mundy. He snatched her up and looked into her eyes.

  Mundy didn’t have any lines in the script. She was terrified. She wanted to struggle, but she didn’t move.

  “Macon Symonds,” repeated Dominique.

  He looked at her. “Go away, Deborah. I am not for you. Not anymore. I have become the servant of evil.”

  “No,” said Dominique. “You are not evil. You have a desire. Tell me what it is.”

  “I’ll show you,” said Macon. “I’ll show you what I am. Then you will be disgusted and leave me to my eternity.” He held up his hand and a knife materialized in it. “I’ll show you all.”

  “No, wait.” I rushed forward.

  But not in time, because Macon had already plunged the knife into Mundy’s chest.

  Mundy made a strangled noise, her eyes bulging.

  “Stop!” I said, lunging at Macon.

  Macon flickered out, disappearing as if he’d never been.

  Mundy doubled over. She gurgled and gasped.

  Rylan was on her feet, screaming.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Rylan was cupping Mundy’s face in both of her hands. She was talking, but I couldn’t make out what she was saying. It was a bunch of screeching, sobbing words. She was pleading. She was begging.

  Mundy was motionless. Rylan was shaking her, but Mundy wasn’t responding.

  Dominique stood over us, her face white. “That didn’t work.”

  “You think?” I said, looking up at her.

  “I’m sorry,” said Dominique, tears in her voice. “I screwed everything up.”


  “Help her up,” said Rylan, standing. “We have to get out of here before he comes back.”

  I didn’t move.

  Rylan turned to Dominique. “Tell him to help Mundy up.”

  “Rylan…” Dominique shook her head.

  Rylan turned back to me. “What is wrong with you, Deacon?”

  I licked my lips. “I don’t think… Mundy’s not going to get up again.”

  “She’s gone, Rylan,” Dominique murmured.

  Rylan shook her head furiously. “No. No, that can’t be true.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said softly.

  “No,” said Rylan.

  And then no one said anything for a while.

  It was quiet.

  I thought Rylan would cry, but she didn’t. She only glared at the two of us, her face red and her jaw clenched, as if she was going to force Mundy to be alive by sheer force of will.

  Eventually, I got up, leaving Mundy on the floor of the cabin, where her body lay lifeless and still on the floorboards.

  “I’ll go get a sleeping bag to wrap her up in,” I said quietly.

  Rylan clenched her hands into fists, but she didn’t say anything.

  I glanced at Dominique, but she offered nothing.

  So, I left. I went back to the cabin where Mundy had been staying and found a blanket. She hadn’t had a sleeping bag. I brought it back and laid it down on the floor.

  “Dominique, give me a hand?” I said, looking up at her.

  “No,” said Rylan, but there wasn’t much strength behind her words.

  Dominique nodded once. Together, we wrapped Mundy up and then hoisted her up to carry her to the place where the other bodies lay.

  As we walked back to the cabin, Dominique started talking. “Why did he think I was Deborah?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “He thought I was Josiah.”

  “But… what did we do that made him think that?”

  “I don’t know,” I said again, this time a little more forcefully.

  “You’re angry with me.”

  I didn’t say anything. Truthfully, I didn’t have it in me to be angry with her. I didn’t have the energy for it. Everything was pretty bleak. We were down to the three of us, and it wouldn’t be long before Macon would pick the rest of us off. One at a time, he’d kill us until there was no one left.

  “We need help,” said Dominique.

  “There is no help,” I said softly.

  She stopped walking and looked up at the sky. “We need help,” she said again.

  And I felt something go through me, a ripple of energy. I stopped walking too. “What did you just do?”

  “Nothing,” said Dominique.

  I grabbed her by the arm. “Listen, you need to level with me right now, okay? Who are you? Why can you do what you do? What do you know about Negus?”

  “About who?” she said, trying to pull her arm back. “You’re hurting me.”

  Angry, I let go of her and I stalked back toward the cabin where we’d left Rylan.

  But when I got there, it was empty.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Idiot.

  I was an idiot.

  How had I possibly thought it was a good idea to leave Rylan alone? I guessed I’d been thinking that it would be too hard for her to help us walk the dead body of her lover over to that awful pile of bodies that we’d created. She was in denial about what had happened to Mundy. It would be too hard for Rylan. That was what I had thought. So, I had left her here, and now she was gone.

  I should have insisted she come along.

  I should never have let her out of my sight.

  Suddenly, it hit me that Rylan was going to die. Back in Thornford, she’d had that barnacle attached to her, and she’d survived that, and somehow, it had made me think that Rylan was bullet proof. But she wasn’t. She was just a person, like all the other ones who had been killed, and if I wasn’t going to survive this, she wasn’t either.

  I couldn’t deal with the thought of that, suddenly. I couldn’t let a world exist where Rylan would be hurt.

  This was my fault, despite what she’d said. I’d asked to come along. I’d insisted she ask Dominique. I’d brought the danger.

  I backed out of the cabin, clenching my hands into fists.

  “What?” said Dominique, who was standing at the bottom of the steps, looking up at me.

  “She’s not in there,” I said. I raised my voice. “Rylan?” I hurried down the steps and pushed past Dominique. “Rylan! Answer me!”

  “Here,” came a muffled voice.

  “Rylan?”

  She appeared on the porch of the cabin she had shared with Mundy. “What?” She looked annoyed.

  Relief flooded me. I hurried over to her. “I didn’t know where you were. I thought that Macon had… had…”

  “I’m still alive,” said Rylan, and her eyes were empty and hollow, and yet somehow still determined. She really was the toughest woman I’d ever met. She held up a backpack. “I’m packing things. We need food and water if we’re going to hike to that bridge.”

  “We do need to eat,” said Dominique dully.

  Food? Who could think of food at a time like this?

  But at the sight of some bread and cheese, my stomach started to growl.

  “I need to try the oil,” I said.

  “No,” said Rylan. “You do that, you die.”

  “It might work,” I said.

  “That oil didn’t work on him,” said Rylan. “Dominique couldn’t control him. He thought you were his father. He was… No. No one else is going to die, Deacon. We’re going to the bridge.”

  I should have put up more of a fight, but the truth was, I didn’t have a lot of faith in the oil working either. Running really did seem like our best option.

  So, I helped Rylan pack up some provisions in our backpacks. Then we put together some sandwiches. We ate them as we walked out of the campground area. We left.

  No one liked the idea of leaving behind all the bodies. We didn’t know what might happen to them while we were gone. I thought of scavenger animals, of flies who would lay their eggs, of birds that would peck and tear. It made me ill.

  But we didn’t have a choice. We couldn’t bring them along with us. Our best bet would be to get to the other bridge and then bring back help.

  Hopefully, we would leave the circle of Macon’s influence soon. Everything I knew about ghosts told me that they could only haunt a certain area. Maybe they could possess a person or an object or something like that, so that they could be mobile, but generally, they were tied to the land where violence had occurred. If we got far enough away from the site of the murder of Macon’s family, we should get away from him too.

  Then our problems would only be that we were on a remote mountain in the woods with limited food and water and no shelter against the elements. Also, our cell phones didn’t work. Maybe they’d work when we got clear of the haunted area, or maybe our batteries were completely dead. No way to know until we got out of here.

  My truck was on the other side of the bridge, but it didn’t really make sense to try to go and get it, since it was still in the influence of Macon, and it wouldn’t be any good for us.

  We might have to hike the rest of the way down the mountain before we could get help. How long that would take was anyone’s guess.

  We walked through the woods, and as we walked, we knew that Macon could be behind any tree trunk or bush, waiting for us. He wanted us dead. I wasn’t sure that we had a snowball’s chance in hell of staying alive.

  * * *

  We got out into the woods and Dominique started filming. She just whipped out the camera and pointed it out at the woods.

  “Put the camera away,” said Rylan in a quiet voice.

  “Filming grounds me,” said Dominique. “It calms me. I need to film.”

  “No,” said Rylan. “Stop.”

  “You could use it for your youtube channel,” said Dominique.

  �
�I’m not doing a stupid youtube video about this,” said Rylan. “People are dead, do you not realize that?”

  “That’s why it could be powerful,” said Dominique. “It would be real.”

  “Yeah, it’s real, all right,” said Rylan. “You’re the one who got Mundy killed, you realize that?”

  Dominique faltered. She lowered the camera.

  Rylan turned on me, her expression sour. “So, you’re welcome, Deacon. I got her out here for you, and I hope you’re happy.”

  Dominique shot me a confused look.

  Rylan turned back to Dominique. “Not only did you get Mundy killed with that stupid ritual, but you’re the one whose making the ghost corporeal. You’re the one getting everyone killed.”

  “Hey, Rylan, come on,” I said quietly.

  “Don’t defend her,” said Rylan. “Or are you just so eager to find out about Negus that you’ll do anything?”

  I grimaced.

  “What is she talking about?” said Dominique. “Who’s Negus? Why does that name keep coming up?”

  “You tell me,” I said to Dominique, lifting my chin.

  “I already told you, I’ve never heard that name in my life,” said Dominique.

  “Why would you want to film things?” spit out Rylan. “Something is wrong with you, isn’t it?”

  Dominique furrowed her brow. “Look, you’re the one who called me, okay? You wanted me to help out with your video. I’m just doing what you’re paying me to.”

  “That wasn’t me. That was all him.” Rylan pointed at me. “I didn’t need you. He begged me to pretend I needed you so that he could get you here.”

  The furrow in Dominique’s brow increased. “What?”

  “That’s right,” said Rylan. “He wanted you here because you’re important to Negus. That’s all.”

  “You made it all up?” Dominique included us both in the statement.

  “I was doing Deacon a favor,” said Rylan. “Why, I don’t know. Every time I’ve been around him, things have been crazy dangerous, and I always seem to get mixed up in it.”

  “Hey,” I said, “I may have made things worse here, but you got yourself into trouble at Ridinger Hall. You can’t pin that on me.”

  “And who,” said Dominique, “is Negus?”