by Rick Hautala
Michael paused and took a deep breath. His eyes were staring far off, as if he was somehow seeing what he was describing.
“But it didn’t work, you know. There were chemicals or something stored in the room above where the family was hiding out. Pretty soon, the fire got out of hand. It was horrible! Oh, Christ! Horrible!”
Michael closed his eyes and doubled over, repeatedly punching his fists against the sides of his head. When he looked up at Dianne, she was absolutely convinced she could see flickering orange flames reflected in his wide, staring eyes.
Was it a memory of her dream, her vivid imagination, or the power of suggestion, she wondered, or could she really hear it now, just at the edge of hearing? The raging crackle of flames. A crying baby. The agonized screams of people, dying by fire, and the sharp report of gunfire in the distance.
“They were trapped in here!” Michael wailed. “Trapped! Just like I was. I hadn’t even been born yet. I was inside my mother’s womb at the time, and I could feel it! I could feel the heat and flames, and I could hear their screams! Their screams! Oh, God! The baby was crying, and they were all choking on the smoke, sizzling like bacon in the flames. But they wouldn’t come out. Oh, no! They were too proud. They’d rather die, and before anyone could do anything to put out the fire, they were dead … all of them! Dead! Dead! Dead!”
“But how do you know this?” Dianne asked softly. “If this all happened before you were born, how do you know any of it? Did your moth—”
“Because I felt it! I knew it, even inside my mother’s womb I could hear their screams, feel their torment!” Michael wailed, his face going bright red with anger. “And they told me afterward! They told me about it all the time! Ever since I was a little boy! Whenever I’d come out here, like when I was going to build my bomb shelter—in this very same room! I could always hear them whispering down here in the dark, talking to each other about all the pain and agony they’d all suffered.”
“You must have been … terrified,” Dianne whispered.
“Oh, yeah—it used to scare me… but there are other, scarier things in this world, you know.”
Slack-jawed, Dianne looked at him and nodded her head.
“And they used to come visit me in my bedroom, too, late at night, usually after Eddie was asleep. He never knew about them. The few times I tried to tell him, he looked at me like I was crazy or something. He and all of his friends used to tease me, saying I was insane—a retard! But I’m not a retard!” He punched the air with his fists. “And I’m not crazy! You know I’m not because you know they’re here, don’t you? Don’t you? Because you—” He raked the air with his clawed hands. “You were here all along! You must remember what they did to you, way back before the mill was even built. They built it right where the old oak stood. Don’t you remember?”
Paralyzed with fear, Dianne could only shake her head in denial and mutter, “No, I … don’t.” But after that, words failed her. She was no longer worried about saying the wrong thing to Michael; he was gone—completely insane, and somehow, for whatever reasons, he had plans to make sure she, Edward, and Brian all died … died to pay for—For what? For the sins his father had committed over forty years ago? For the deaths of everyone who had ever died even near here?
“Don’t you remember the hanging tree? They called it the ‘Witch Tree’ after you were hanged there, and the house—our house, they called the ‘Old Witch House’ because of you! But you must remember that day in November, the day Judge Talmadge had you hanged? So cold and dreary? Do you mean to tell me you don’t remember what you said?”
Had it really been a dream that night? Dianne wondered.
She shook her head and shivered at the memory of the vision she had seen in the mill window … of a person, an old woman, suspended in midair as though hanged. Was it a dream, or did I—somehow—catch a glimpse of something that had happened out here a long time ago?
She wanted to scream out loud but didn’t have enough air in her lungs to do so. Then the voices started whispering again, suddenly swelling much louder.
I curse this man!
We’ve been waiting for such a long time!
Do it, Michael! Do it now!
Let them and all their kin burn in the agony of hellfire!
None of ye shall escape the cleansing fire of the Lord’s judgment!
“None of us!” Michael said. “Don’t you understand what you said, Rachel? You said none of us will get out!”
“But my name’s not Rachel … My name’s Dianne. I’m married to your—”
“Oh sure, sure …” Michael said, cutting her off. He laughed tightly. “That’s what you say, but I know better. You’re Rachel Parsons. Your picture’s been upstairs in the attic ever since I was a little boy. You didn’t think I’d forget you, did you? That I wouldn’t recognize you when you finally came back? Hell, I knew it was you from the very first time I saw you, out behind the house last June. I was watching you all the time, you know, just waiting for you to give me some indication of what you wanted me to do.” He smiled and shook his head as though he were the victim of a simple practical joke. “That was pretty clever, though, having that surgery done on your face to change it, but did you really think you’d trick me? But you should have known that I can’t be fooled. I knew it was you all along. I could see right through your bandages, and even if I couldn’t have, I could tell it was you just by looking into your eyes!”
“Jesus Christ,” Dianne whispered. She slumped back against the cold stone, completely wrung out and feeling as though, after listening to all of this crazy talk, she had absolutely no sense of who she was or what the devil was going on.
“I’m sorry you had to come back like this and die again,” Michael said, “but I have to do it. Don’t you understand?” He raised his arms and shook them helplessly over his head. “I haven’t got any choice!”
He stopped abruptly and glanced over his shoulder at the door that led out into the larger part of the cellar. His shoulders dropped and his face softened. Then, in a much calmer, almost rational sounding voice, he said, “I have to go now. I’ve got everything just about ready up there, but don’t worry. I’ll be back just as soon as I can, to be here with you. I promise. After all—” He smiled again, shrugged and slapped his thighs. “I’m only doing what you told me to do!”
Dianne was about to scream that she had changed her mind, that she didn’t want him to do—whatever the hell it was he thought she had told him to do, but her breath was lodged like a stone in her chest and her voice failed her. Before she could say a single word, Michael turned, threw open the door, and ran out of the room.
After he was gone, Dianne just sat there. Her mind was so overwhelmed by the confusion of her thoughts that for several heartbeats, all she could do was stare blankly at the white core of the Coleman lantern.
“Come on,” Brian said. His voice barely sliced through the maelstrom of confusion and fear in her mind. “Come on, Dianne, get going!”
Her gaze drifted over to the unconscious form of her husband and then to Brian. She smiled weakly, her heart aching for them, lost in the hopelessness of knowing that—soon—she and they would all be dead. Her vision went dim.
“Get the hell moving!” Brian commanded, but his voice came from too far away; all Dianne could think was, even if she could move, she would never find him or Edward in the dark and confusion.
The other voices, if they had ever been there before, had stopped now. Faintly, from overhead, she could hear the heavy tread of Michael’s feet as he raced about upstairs, doing whatever it was he was preparing to do.
“Jesus Christ, Dianne, hurry up!”
With a sudden squeal, the extent of their danger hit her hard, she finally went into action. Leaning forward, she furiously began to undo the ropes holding her feet together. At first the knots resisted her trembling efforts, but soon enough they fell away. The instant she was free, she leaped to her feet, but the blood rushing from her head an
d into her cramped legs made her feel dizzy and hot. Bright spots exploded in front of her eyes, and her ears whooshed like faulty bellows. Every muscle in her body felt twisted into knots, but she focused her mind on only one thing—she had to act!
Now!
She wasn’t sure where to start. She knew she had to get Edward and Brian out of there, but first, shouldn’t she try to stop Michael from doing whatever he was about to do. She sucked in a steadying breath and moved stiffly over to the door.
“Come on! Untie me first!” Brian shouted. Struggling with his bonds, he rolled over onto his side, twitching on the floor like a worm on a hot skillet.
Dianne’s brain was moving in confused circles. She looked out into the cellar and realized that Brian had been right; it was nighttime. Thick, impenetrable darkness filled the cellar like inky water. She strained to hear what Michael was doing upstairs, but the night had suddenly dropped down into a steady buzzing silence. Then, like a vision from a dream, a sudden brilliant flash of light filled the night. It was accompanied by a deafening, sucking concussion in the air that almost knocked her over as the night erupted in a swirl of roaring flames.
For a second or two, Dianne just stood there in the doorway, numbed and immobilized by shock. Then, through the blinding glare of flames, she saw a dark shape rushing toward her.
It was Michael, and he was leaping up and down, whooping like a wild animal as he ran, and all the while he was screaming at the top of his voice, “I did it! I did it! I did it!”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Up in Flames
The night had become a swirling chaos of flickering light and flame. Overhead, Dianne heard the snap and crackle of dry, ancient wood as it was consumed by the fire. A strong breeze ruffled her hair as air was sucked up and out of the small cellar room, drawn to the heat that pulled like strong lungs, inhaling. Her mind went blank with terror as she stared at Michael racing toward her.
“Come on, Dianne!” Brian said, his voice tight with tension as he struggled with the ropes holding his arms. “You can’t just leave us here!”
She glanced back at him and saw the accusation and fear in his eyes.
He’s convinced I really hate him … that I want to leave him here to die!
She quickly ducked against the wall, out of the doorway, and scanned the room, hoping to see something she could use as a weapon. Other than the rickety old table, the room had been stripped clean. It was too late to get one of the rough two-by-four legs to use as a club, so she crouched beside the doorway, her entire body tensed, and waited to hear the heavy tread of Michael’s approach.
I’ve gotta time this just right! she thought, flexing her legs and bouncing up and down. One chance! … I’m only gonna get one chance!
Michael burst into the room. His arms flailed wildly to slow him down, but his momentum carried him several steps forward before he drew to a stumbling stop. As he had rushed past her, Dianne had caught a strong whiff of gasoline, but she gave that no thought as she sprang out the door. Her neck and shoulder muscles bunched up painfully; her arms chugged like pistons as she dashed out into the cellar.
She let out a twisted cry of panic when she looked up and saw through the cracks and holes in the ceiling a wild flicker of flames. Even in the few seconds it took her to get her bearings, the glow grew steadily brighter as the fire quickly spread upstairs, greedily feeding on the old building. She ran to the middle of the cellar, stopped, and just stood there, frantically seeking an escape route. The heat was steadily rising, prickling her skin. She knew it wouldn’t be long before the heat grew intolerable. Leaning forward, her hands on her knees, she strained hard to catch her breath, shivering as cold sweat streamed down her face.
“Stop it! Stop right there, Rachel!” Michael shouted.
His voice came from out of the darkness, roaring like the shrieking wind of a tornado. For a moment, Dianne was confused. She was fighting hard against the overwhelming feeling of being trapped. Her only dear thought was, I have to get out of here! I have to get away from Michael first!
But where could she go? Where were the stairs? How far had the fire already spread? Where was it safe to run?
All around her, the night was exploding with the gunshot-loud crackle of burning wood. The wild glow of the fire was steadily brightening, but off to her left, back in the direction she had come from, she saw a pile of rocks and rubble. Above it was a wide opening in the floor. Her only chance was to get up there and then out the side of the building before the whole thing collapsed!
But what about Edward and Brian?
The thought drilled into her mind.
I can’t let Michael catch me, but I can’t leave them down there, either!
“Rachel! You come back here, right now!”
Michael’s voice thundered louder. She turned and saw him, shifting out of the darkness, moving toward her slowly with his arms upraised, beseeching.
“Please,” he called in a voice broken with misery. “Don’t leave me here to do this all alone. It was your idea. You have to see this through … just like I do!”
“No! Stay away from me!” Dianne screamed. She shook her clenched fists in front of her face. Somewhere upstairs, something fell with a clatter onto the floor, making her squeal and jump, but she didn’t take her eyes away from Michael as he came slowly forward.
“Please… Rachel. This is all your own doing. I didn’t want to die! It was your idea!”
The glow of the burning building made the night all around her pulsate. Dianne’s skin felt blistered and tight as the heat of the blaze swirled in a mad dance. When Michael stepped out of the shadows, the firelight flickered madly across his face. He looked like some horrible, twisted demon from hell as he materialized out of the darkness to claim her … to claim her soul!
“I’m warning you! Stay away from me!” she shouted.
Her body was trembling as she watched him position himself between her and her intended exit. She desperately wanted to look behind her for an alternate escape route, but she didn’t dare take her eyes off him.
“Rachel … Don’t you remember what you told me—? How we all have to be purified by the flames? You called it the ‘cleansing fire of the Lord’s judgment!’ But you realize that you have to die, too. Otherwise—” He shrugged and slapped his thighs helplessly. “Otherwise all the rest of them won’t be satisfied!”
Feeling her way over the uneven floor and rubble, Dianne started taking little baby steps backward as he tried to close the gap between them. Her gaze was transfixed as she watched the hard, white planes of Michael’s face, like cold marble, catch and reflect the flames. His eyes were wide open and stared without blinking, like a snake trying to hypnotize a bird. They seemed almost to be the source of the fire that swirled around them.
I’m going to die!
The thought hit her with a cold, dread certainty.
We’re all going to die, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it!
“You’re right!” Michael shouted suddenly, his voice cracking with maniacal laughter. “We’re all going to die! And you have to come with me, now! Back to the others.”
Before Dianne could even blink her eyes, he took a few quick giant steps forward and then lunged at her. Purely on reflex, she spun and ducked to one side. His hand snagged an edge of her blouse, but she pulled away, feeling a hard tug followed by a loud ripping noise. Then she was free. Staggering for balance, she started running toward the rock pile.
“No! Don’t!” Michael yelled.
She blocked him and all of her raging fear out of her mind as soon as she reached the rubble pile and started up it. Her hands and feet skittered lightly over the rocks with the curious detached sensation of a dream as she quickly scaled the pile and then leaped up through the opening onto the first floor. Her ribs scraped against the edge of the floor, knocking the wind out of her, but she ignored the pain as she rolled over once and then leaped to her feet.
She screamed when she saw that th
e doorway was no more than twenty feet in front, but it was blocked by a wafting sheet of fire. The heat was intolerable. She shielded her face with her arm, but it beat her back. Sweat and tears streamed down her face. When she took a breath, her lungs felt like they were scorched. Backing away from the opening, she looked for another way out. Above the sounds of the fire, she could hear Michael, huffing like a racehorse as he clambered up the pile of rubble after her.
“Rachel! … Stop!” he shouted. “Come back!”
If she had something to use as a weapon, she would have waited for him and nailed him the second he appeared in the opening; but she was empty-handed, so she didn’t wait to see him scramble up onto the floor. She started running toward the far end of the mill where, through a wide, doorless opening, she could see the thick, black curtain of night. The fire hadn’t surrounded the entire building yet, but it was spreading fast.
“Rachel! … Please! … Wait for me!”
She started running again just as, with a shrieking groan, a section of interior wall collapsed. Like an explosion of diamonds, sparks corkscrewed wildly into the air, and flames roared all the hotter. Afraid even to take a breath, she started running for the distant doorway. She had no idea how far it was down to the ground through that opening, but she knew she had to try for it. She didn’t dare look back to see him, and she couldn’t hear anything above the roaring rush of flames, but she could sense Michael as he came after her, calling, “Please! … Rachel … Wait!”
