The Guest House Hauntings Boxset

by Hazel Holmes

  “You’re weak, you know that?” The question had come after nearly three minutes of dead silence, and Sarah felt her cheeks redden from both anger and surprise.

  “Excuse me?” Sarah straightened in her chair and resisted the sudden urge to strangle the bitch in front of her. “Well, why don’t we step outside so you can find out for yourself.”

  The therapist raised her hand and worked it like a puppet. “Talk, talk, talk, talk, talk. That’s all you do. And what little action you do perform is nothing more than a cry for help.” She leaned forward, matching Sarah’s intensity instead of shying away from it like every other adult that had tried to intervene in her life. “So you got hit a few times, and your parents are dead, and you had a really hard life growing up. You know who cares?” She leaned closer, so close that Sarah could see the hole from the nose piercing she had in her right nostril. “No one. Zero people give zero shits about you and your troubled past.”

  “Fuck you.” Sarah retreated into her chair and crossed her arms. She bounced her leg nervously and impatiently, staring up at the clock and wishing that their thirty minutes would pass quicker. “I don’t need to hear this shit from—”

  “From someone who doesn’t understand?” The therapist feigned sympathy and batted her eyelids as she puffed out her lip. “You’ve been giving that excuse since the day you figured out it worked.” She pointed to the closed door of her office. “You know how many kids I see every month? Every year? Hundreds. And every single one of them has a sob story, sister, so don’t sit in that chair where so many have sat and tell me that your story is worse than theirs.”

  Sarah lowered her head, picking at her fingernails, which she always did when she was nervous. “Maybe it is.”

  The therapist scoffed and shifted the papers on her legs as she fidgeted in her chair. “I can promise you that it’s not.” She huffed a little longer, and then finally settled down. “You keep heading down this path and it’s going to cost you more than you think.”

  “And what’s that?” Sarah focused in on her left index cuticle, scratching harder.

  “Your life.”

  Sarah stopped her scratching and looked up.

  “You could do a lot of things, Sarah.” She flipped through the papers on her lap and lifted one up for Sarah to see. “You scored through the roof on your assessment test, which means that your failing grades aren’t due to a lack of ability, it’s due to a lack of effort.”

  “Where did you get those?” Sarah asked.

  “And in my experience, kids with ability who choose not to flex them end up applying their time to more unsavory deeds, and that’s not a road that I want to see you walk down.” She set the test scores aside and folded her hands in her lap. “You can either come to these sessions and listen to what I have to say, which will help you, or you can just sit there like you have been for the past two weeks, do your time, and when you’re released, go and fall into whatever routine that you want.” She leaned forward and this time placed her hand on Sarah’s knee, squeezing hard. “But if you don’t change what you’re doing, you won’t be doing it for very long.”

  It could have been the fact that no one, in a position like the therapist had been in, had ever talked to Sarah like that before. Or it could have been the fact that Sarah was able to recognize the truth when she saw it, but when the session ended and Sarah was escorted back to her cell and she was forced to sit on her cot while her roommate yammered on about how she would cut Sarah if she tried any shit on her while she was asleep, Sarah decided that she did need to make a change, and the exclamation point was the heavy, metallic thud of the door closing and being locked in her cell.

  And that’s exactly what she did.

  Sarah was seventeen when she made that choice, and she suspected that if she had chosen a different path or decided to ignore the woman’s advice, that her future would have turned out exactly how the therapist had envisioned. Sarah had seen firsthand the future that the therapist described. She saw it in the homes that she was forced to live in and the people that were responsible for her care.

  Sarah didn’t understand it at the time, but that therapist saved Sarah’s life. And sitting in the woods in some forgotten town in the northern-most portion of the country where it got so cold you could freeze to death, Sarah wondered if she had wasted the opportunity.

  While she had been able to stay out of jail, she couldn’t stay out of trouble. And that trouble had led her here, and she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to escape.

  Finally, after another few minutes, the lights on the trooper’s car lit up and he peeled out of town, speeding toward the highway. Faye had come through. She had asked her to call in a report of a tip that they had spotted Dell twenty miles south. They said a young woman was with him.

  Once the lights had disappeared and she couldn’t hear the sirens anymore, Sarah darted from the woods and made her way toward the house.

  From her position in the woods, she was able to see the side door that she had used frequently to walk out back and take her breaks for lunch. She remembered that the doors had never been locked when she stayed there, that was until they tried to kill her.

  With daylight shining down and the sun acting as a spotlight, Sarah waited until a cloud passed overhead before she sprinted from the woods. She felt incredibly slow, but she figured that it was due to the fatigue and lack of sleep, which she’d gone without for nearly forty-eight hours.

  Black dots peppered her vision when she reached the door. The short distance had winded her and left her legs shaking like bowls of jelly. She shut her eyes, keeping below the window line of the door, and concentrated.

  She just had to keep it together for a little longer. She gritted her teeth, took a breath, and then opened her eyes. She slowly peeked her head above the window line in the door and peered inside.

  The sunlight made it difficult to break through the contrast of the darkness inside, and Sarah’s heart beat faster when she reached for the door handle. She gave it a quick turn, but it was locked.

  “Shit,” she muttered under her breath, then maneuvered her way toward the back. There were two other doors that she knew of that could grant her access. One was on the back side of the building that led into the kitchen, which was locked, and the other was on the mansion’s east wing that faced the great north, which was also locked.

  After the defeat of the last door, Sarah briefly considered checking the front entrance. The Bells were cocky enough to leave that unlocked, but it was also the entrance that they could see her coming from anywhere on the front side of the house.

  Sarah stayed low, tapping her foot, trying to figure out her next move. She still wasn’t pressed for time, but she also knew that the longer it took her to retrieve the orb, the less time she had to destroy it. The last thing she wanted was the clock ticking down to zero and pushing her luck.

  She briefly contemplated trying to project herself back into the house, but she figured that since those icy scales were gone that those abilities had vanished, too.

  Attempting to climb and try for a second-story entrance was out of the question since there weren’t any scaffoldings or concrete ledges for her to try and climb, which left Sarah only one option. Break a window, rush inside, and pray that she could hide before one of the Bells heard her escape.

  Sarah picked up a nearby rock, then crouched near the east wing door. It had a single window pane, which looked like single pane glass. She shut her eyes, visualizing where the lock was on the door, then smashed the rock into the glass. She thrust her hand through, the thick sleeve of her jacket protecting her from the shards, and grabbed hold of the lock before giving it a quick twist.

  Glass crunched beneath Sarah’s boot as she sprinted inside, and she immediately darted up the stairs and before she even made it to the second floor, she heard the commotion in the house.

  With her heart pounding, disoriented from the rush of adrenaline and confusion that was flooding through her vein
s, Sarah broke away from the staircase and sprinted onto the second floor. A quick scan of the hall revealed that the coast was clear, but the thundering footsteps coming from above signaled that they were getting closer.

  Sarah reached for a door handle, which ended up being the sixth door on the right, and she burst inside, shutting it quickly and quietly behind her.

  The room was one of several that hadn’t yet been cleaned, and Sarah tiptoed toward the closet and concealed herself in the darkness.

  Old clothes lined the rack, their scent musty and damp, the wool coarse and scratchy as it grazed Sarah’s cheek on her retreat deeper into the darkness. The hurried steps from Kegan were muffled by the walls, but it grew louder and when Sarah heard the quick opening and shutting of doors on the second floor, she struggled to quiet her breathing.

  Every slam that drew closer made her heart skip a beat and pound faster. She leaned up against the back wall and removed the pistol from her waist, gripping it with both hands.

  And Sarah waited, the door slams growing more frequent and closer, until she heard the quick rush of wind that accompanied her door opening. Sarah froze.

  The wooden floorboards groaned with every step, and panting breaths accompanied Kegan’s footsteps. Sarah aimed the pistol at the closet door, her palms sweaty against the pistol’s handle despite her knuckles being frozen stiff from the cold.

  The footsteps traveled around the room, and Sarah heard the ruffle of sheets as Kegan checked beneath couches, chairs, and the bed, until finally all that was left was the closet.

  Two columns of shadows appeared at the crack at the bottom of the closet door, blocking out the limited light from the cracks along the closed curtains. Sarah’s muscles tensed as she placed her finger on the trigger.

  The door handle turned. Sarah held her breath, motionless as she waited for the reveal.

  And quick as a snakebite, the door swung inward. Sarah rushed forward, blinded by the light behind Kegan, who was nothing more than a silhouette.

  “Stop,” Sarah said, her arms shaking as Kegan froze, hands lifted into the air. “Don’t move.”

  “I can help.” Kegan spoke the words slow and articulated his speech carefully. “I’m not going to hurt you, all right? But you have to be quiet. You have to be—”

  “Did you find her?”

  Both of them turned toward the voice, but when Kegan turned back to Sarah, he raised a finger to his lips and stepped out of the closet, greeting the voice at the door.

  “No,” Kegan said. “Nothing.”

  “She’s here.” It was the witch’s voice. “I can smell her.”

  “I’ll keep checking and work my way up. She has to be here for the orb.”

  “Or to kill you.” Though Sarah couldn’t see her, she knew that the witch had said the words with a smile. “When you find her, bring her to me.”

  “It’d be better to kill her quickly before she can cause any trouble.”

  “Smart boy.”

  The witch’s laugh and Kegan’s footsteps faded down the hall, and Sarah was left in the closet alone. She waited until they ascended the stairs before she stepped out of the closet, still dumbstruck over her encounter.

  Kegan had just let her go. And what was more, he covered for her when the witch pressed him for questions. She finally lowered the weapon and leaned against one of the posts for support. It didn’t make any sense, but as Sarah listened to their ascent to the other floor, she realized that whatever window that Kegan had given her to break free was rapidly closing.

  If the orb was anywhere in the house, it was in one of two places: Iris’s room or Allister’s room. Since Iris’s room was closest, Sarah sprinted up the stairs to the fourth floor, being mindful of the witch and Kegan, who were just one floor above, and kept the pistol in her hand.

  Questions raced through Sarah’s mind on her way to Iris’s room. What would she do if Iris was inside? How would she react to the woman who had orchestrated her near-death experience?

  Sarah swallowed, then paused outside of Iris’s room before she slowly opened the door. The hinges gave a light groan, and when the crack in the door widened, Sarah found Iris on the bed, asleep. She entered and left the door cracked open, cautious on her approach.

  Iris lay in her nightgown on top of the sheets, her frail body fully exposed. The fire in the fireplace heated the room nicely and also illuminated the age and wrinkles along her exposed arms and legs. Her white hair flowed freely over her pillow, and while she resembled more of a skeleton than anything else, Sarah, for the first time since she’d met the old hag, found her gentle.

  The harsh tongue had been silenced, and the scowl had been wiped from her face, though a few of the wrinkles remained in a permanently angered position. But with no make-up, Sarah was finally able to see the face underneath. If they had met under different circumstances, if things had changed…

  With Iris asleep, Sarah searched the room, carefully opening drawers and checking beneath the bed and in the closet. But after searching the room as thoroughly as she could, she found nothing save for old clothes and jewelry and cash hidden beneath her socks.

  “Sarah.”

  She spun at the sound of her name, Iris’s voice so frail it reminded Sarah of the ghosts she’d heard when she first moved in the house. Iris had her eyes cracked open, but she hadn’t moved a muscle beyond her eyelids. Sarah aimed the pistol at Iris. “Scream and I’ll kill you.”

  Iris attempted to lift a finger to coax the girl forward, but struggled. “Come here.”

  Eventually, Sarah placed one foot in front of the other, moving all the way toward Iris until she was right next to her bed. She kept the pistol aimed right between the old woman’s eyes, who resembled a dying animal on the side of the road. Disgust and sympathy fought for control over her current emotional state.

  “The orb,” Iris said, her voice so haggard that it sounded like it hurt to even speak. “You need the orb to stop this.”

  “I know,” Sarah said, confused by the sudden change of heart by both Kegan and his grandmother. “Where is it?”

  “Fifth floor,” Iris said. “Allister—” She coughed, and it grew into a hacking spat that curled her body forward and then buckled her chest as she tried to regain control.

  Iris took a few deep breaths, her lungs rattling with every inhale. “I’m sorry.” She shook her head, and her mouth downturned in grief. “I made the wrong choice a long time ago, and I don’t—” She winced as she swallowed, the grimace akin to someone with a sore throat. “I don’t know how to fix it.”

  Sarah wanted to tell her that it was okay. She wanted to tell Iris that she would have done anything to have an opportunity to see her parents again when she was a kid. To have them here, and to grow up knowing their love and learning from their wisdom. But she couldn’t even lower the pistol.

  “I’ve known people like you my whole life.” The pistol in Sarah’s hand started to shake. “You think that you can do whatever you want because you’re in a position of power. You think that taking advantage of people like me is okay, because there isn’t anything I can do about it.” Sarah hovered closer, her shadow engulfing Iris as she sank deeper into her pillow, and pressed the end of the barrel’s pistol against Iris’s forehead. “But you push someone far enough, you force them to show their hand.” With her free hand, Sarah reached for Iris’s throat, and she applied pressure, which caused Iris to bring her weathered and frail hands up to meet Sarah’s. But the old woman was too weak and fragile to fight back. “You want a second chance, but you don’t deserve one. You want to live a life that you think you’re entitled to, but you’re not. How much pain have you caused? How many lives have you ruined?” She squeezed tighter and Iris started to squirm. “You really want to atone? Then why don’t you go and meet your maker.”

  Sarah clamped down tighter, and Iris thrashed wildly, her liver-spotted hands clawing at Sarah’s chest and neck. Tears filled Sarah’s eyes and rolled down her cheeks. But while the ra
ge boiled in her heart, Sarah finally released Iris, who coughed and hacked and sucked down air greedily.

  Sarah stumbled backward and landed in a chair where she examined her hands. Hands that couldn’t kill no matter how much she wanted them too.

  “I know what I did,” Iris said, her voice still a horse whisper. “I know what I am.” She cleared her throat. She gestured to the dresser. “Bottom drawer. All the way in the back.”

  Her breathing still escalated, Sarah frowned, but then she slowly walked toward the dresser. She opened the bottom drawer, finding old pajama pants, and felt something hard wrapped in cloth. She wrapped her fingers around it and then removed the bundled object from the drawer.

  Sarah fingered the object, making sure it wasn’t a gun, and then peeked inside. Surprised, she turned back to Iris.

  “I wasn’t always like this,” Iris said.

  Sarah wrapped the object back up, and then walked over to Iris and gently rested it on her chest, where the old woman clutched it with both hands. She turned to leave, but Iris grabbed her wrist.

  “My daughter,” Iris said, longing in her voice. “You saw her?”

  Sarah faced Iris once more. “I did.”

  Tears fell from the old woman’s eyes. “How was she?”

  Sarah shook her head, unsure of how to describe it. “She wanted to help you. She wanted to make you understand that you didn’t have to do this.”

  Iris nodded and wiped the tears away. “Thank you for doing this.”

  “I’m not doing it for you.” Quickly, Sarah stood and returned to the door. She slipped out just as she heard more footsteps coming down the stairs. She darted into the room across from Iris’s to hide just when Kegan and the witch stepped into the hall.

  “She’s still in the house,” the witch said. “She has to be.”

  “She might be hiding until the ceremony tonight,” Kegan said. “Maybe she thinks she can stop it.”

  “If she’s waiting until the ceremony, then she’ll be too late.” The witch scoffed and headed farther down the hall. “I’ll check downstairs again, and—” The witch’s footsteps ended. “I shut your grandmother’s door when I left her room.”