314 Book 3 (Widowsfield Trilogy)

by A. R. Wise

  “What are you talking about?” asked Paul.

  “There wasn’t carpet here before,” said Alma. “Someone put that here after what happened.”

  “Maybe it was part of how Rosemary was lying to Oliver,” said Paul.

  Alma nodded in agreement, but wasn’t satisfied. She went to the kitchen and reached for one of the knives in the butcher block. She noticed how the butcher knife was already missing, so she took a smaller blade and headed for the stairs.

  “What are you doing?” asked Rachel.

  “Checking on something,” said Alma. Paul and Rachel followed her up the stairs as she walked quickly down the hall. She stopped just before entering the bedroom and set her hand against the wall to steady herself.

  “Alma,” said Paul as he walked up behind her to provide support. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, sorry,” said Alma. “Just a little dizzy. I think it’s from not sleeping.”

  “What are we doing up here?” asked Rachel.

  Alma walked slowly into the bedroom where Ben was lying. Paul had placed him beneath the covers, but the invalid was writhing where he’d been left. He was agitated by their intrusion, and called out his sister’s name over and over.

  Alma knelt down near the foot of the bed and set the tip of the knife into the dirty carpet. She dug the blade in and used it to force the carpet up before sawing into it. She gripped the flap that she’d cut free and then pulled up on it before asking Paul to hold it. He did as he was asked and Alma continued to cut a hole in the carpet. Eventually, she finished the circle and Paul pulled the cut portion away. The wood beneath bore a deep, brown stain. Chunks of the wood had been cut away, and Alma pointed the tip of her knife at them.

  “There,” said Alma as she made a stabbing motion with the knife at the gouges that were already in the wood. “That’s where he killed her. That’s where my dad kept stabbing her over and over.” She stabbed the knife down hard, revealing the extent of her pent up anger. The blade stuck easily in the wood and wobbled in place as she let it go.

  “They covered it up,” said Alma as she watched the blade waver. “They covered it up for him, but this is where he killed Terry.”

  At the Harper Residence

  June, 1995

  Ben knocked on the bathroom door. It was late, well past midnight, but he could hear his sister crying and he wanted to make sure she was okay. “Alma?”

  “Don’t come in,” she said. “I’m taking a shower.”

  She hadn’t been, but she quickly turned on the shower to drown out her weeping. He could hear her trying to hum, but she kept breaking into sobs.

  Ben glanced across the hall at their parents’ closed door. Their father had returned from one of his frequent business trips, and had been in a foul mood most of the day. Ben and Alma had learned how best to deal with him during these times, although it was impossible to completely avoid his frequent outbursts. Their mother almost always sided with Michael, and explained to Ben and Alma how they needed to obey their father so that he would come home and spend more time with the family. Ben wasn’t certain he wanted that.

  Michael Harper had a quick temper, and Ben had earned more than a few lashings for things he never knew warranted punishment. Sometimes it was because he was talking back, or had tracked mud in on the carpet, and sometimes it was just because of the way he’d looked at his father that caused Michael to whip his belt out of its loops. Ben’s mother had explained that the best way to deal with a whipping was just to grin and bear it, and if the pain got to be too bad, then they should hum until it was over.

  Just hum a pleasant tune until the pain stopped.

  Alma had been trying to hum in the bathroom, but she was crying too hard to keep a tune.

  “Did he hit you?” asked Ben. “Did Daddy hit you again?”

  Usually Alma avoided their father’s wrath more deftly than Ben managed to. He preferred it that way, and had taken the blame for things Alma had done more than a few times to save her. He didn’t mind doing it. He loved his sister, and he hated nothing more than hearing her cry. He always felt like he needed to protect her.

  “I’m okay,” said Alma from behind the door.

  “I’m coming in,” said Ben as he started to open the door.

  “No, don’t,” said Alma from inside the bathroom, but Ben was already going in.

  He closed the door behind him and saw that Alma hadn’t turned the light on yet. He flicked on the light, and the multiple bulbs over the mirror blazed to life, revealing that Alma was hiding behind the shower curtain. Her hand was clutching the curtain, and there was blood on her fingers.

  “Alma,” said Ben as he approached. “What happened?”

  “It’s okay,” said Alma as the shower got hot enough that steam began to fill the bathroom. “I’ll be okay. Mommy said that I should hum until it stops hurting. But it hurts so bad.”

  “Did he whip you?” asked Ben.

  Alma didn’t answer, and Ben assumed that his sister had been the victim of their father’s rage once again. Perhaps she’d talked back to him, or she’d woken him up while going to the kitchen for something to eat when she was supposed to be in bed. He didn’t know what she’d done, but whatever it had been, she didn’t deserve the punishment she’d received.

  Ben sat on the toilet, affording his sister privacy as she took a shower. “Do you want to talk?”

  Alma didn’t answer, and Ben didn’t pester her anymore. He listened as she hummed and cried, and he began to cry with her. He wished there was a way he could get rid of her pain forever.

  To make her forget what Daddy did.

  CHAPTER 27 - Lambs to the Slaughter

  Widowsfield

  March 13th, 2012

  The Skeleton Man was trapped. He was back in the place where he’d desperately tried to flee, lying on the same bed where The Watcher had first appeared and taken Ben’s soul as a sacrifice. He knew that his father was asleep downstairs, and he wanted to infect his dreams and finally murder the bastard that had been the cause of so much of Ben’s torture through the years. But he also knew that The Watcher would be quick to find him here, and that stepping into Michael’s head would invite The Watcher in as well.

  When they were at the facility, The Skeleton Man had felt The Watcher’s attention brought back from its web to the real world. He’d felt the approach of the cords, and heard the grinding of the creature that owned him. The Skeleton Man’s power grew once The Watcher approached, just as it always had, and he tried to infect Hank Waxman’s mind, but the big man fought off Ben’s suggestions, exerting a willpower that he wouldn’t have owned had they met in a dream. The Skeleton Man worried that he was trying to do too much, and that it was a mistake to leave a portion of his influence behind at the facility, but he needed to take every opportunity he could to have the revenge he craved.

  Now Ben was forced to lie and wait. He had to stay quiet and hope that The Watcher’s attention was pulled elsewhere as Ben Harper’s body slowly gained strength. The Skeleton Man felt like he was in a prison as he looked around the familiar setting.

  Then he heard a bubble plop nearby. He tried to look to the right, towards the bathroom, but he could barely move his head. He heard another bubble, and then a splash. Drops of water started to plop onto a wood floor as he listened to wet footsteps approaching. Finally, a figure came into view.

  Terry was there, as she had been sixteen years earlier. Her skin was blistering and brilliant red and her eyes were wide and bloodshot. She was nude and dripping with water, cleaner, and blood. A strip of flesh was missing from her arm and her teeth had fallen out, revealing purple, inflamed gums.

  “Ben,” said Terry as she approached the bed. “Look what you did.”

  The Skeleton Man wanted to flee, but he was trapped inside of Ben’s body. He’d been running from the red-haired woman for sixteen years, doing everything he could to avoid her grasp. Ben remembered how she’d reached out from the tub and pulled him down in with her,
and he knew that she could do it again. She was here to torture him; to burn him and rip away his skin. She would finally have her revenge.

  Terry reached out to him. Her arm dripped with a syrupy mix of melting skin and blood, and her hand was shaking as if she was in pain. She set her hand on his head, and he could feel the caustic burn of the chemicals that had ravaged her body. He could smell the stench of bleach mixed with the heavy, metallic scent of blood. He wanted to scream out, but he knew that the horrors she could inflict on him would pale in comparison to The Watcher’s retribution.

  Terry leaned in closer and she stared down at The Skeleton Man with her wide, bloodshot eyes. He could smell the decay coming from her open mouth, caused by her severely inflamed and rotting gums. He braced himself for the torture she’d dreamed up for him, and he closed his eyes in expectation of pain.

  She kissed his forehead, and then moved back again.

  He opened his eyes and saw Terry as he’d never seen her before. She was young and beautiful, with bright red hair that seemed to glow even in the sparse light coming into the bedroom. Her face was no longer burned, but only colored by the light blush of her cheeks. She smiled and said, “I’m sorry for what I did to you and your sister. I wish I could take it all back.”

  “Terry?” asked The Skeleton Man with Ben’s quivering voice.

  She nodded and set her hand on his forehead again. This time her touch didn’t cause his skin to burn, and she stroked his hair as she grinned. “Your sister helped me.”

  “Alma…”

  “She helped me move on, but I didn’t want to leave without you. I owe you that much. I’ll help you get out. We’ll play our parts, just like he wants, but then we’ll escape. Okay?”

  Ben nodded, and felt his eyes begin to tear up. She leaned down and kissed his forehead again, and stroked his hair one more time. Then she got up and moved backward. Her expression became marred by pain again, and he saw her skin begin to blister. Her eyes grew wide and bloodshot. White foam and blood began to flow from the corners of her mouth as she said, “Play your part, Ben. Our lies will set us free.”

  She backed up, out of Ben’s line of sight, and into the bathroom. He heard her scream in pain as she stepped back into the tub. He could smell her skin cooking in the chemicals and boiling water as she played the role expected of her.

  Inside Cada E.I.B.’s facility

  March 13th, 2012

  Rosemary watched as Helen committed suicide. The old nurse had done her job well, and the final injection was for her. The Potassium Chloride caused the old nurse to begin to convulse almost immediately, and she slid out of her seat as her body shook. She fell to the floor beside Rosemary’s bed and foam began to rise from her mouth. Rosemary looked away, and focused on the ceiling of the room again. The end of Widowsfield was fast approaching.

  A year earlier, Rosemary had managed to earn Helen’s trust by altering the woman’s memories. Since then, Rosemary had perfected the use of her psychometric ability to implant memories into objects, and quickly learned how to tailor those memories to get people to do just about anything she wanted.

  At first, Rosemary had planned on sending Helen into Cada E.I.B. with the sole purpose of murdering Oliver. However, Rosemary learned that Oliver wasn’t the one in charge of the facility, and that another man named Vess was the one that funded the project.

  Vess had been in hiding for years, and despite everything that Rosemary and Helen tried, the old man never came to Widowsfield and Helen was never able to discover where he was hiding, although she suspected it was close by.

  Everything fell into place right before the sixteenth anniversary of the Widowsfield experiment. The group that founded Cada E.I.B. decided to start to shut down the project for reasons that neither Helen nor Rosemary knew, but the fervor that the decision caused meant that this year would be the last chance Vess would have of completing his experiment. Then the appearance of Alma Harper meant that the only other person to ever contact the entity in Widowsfield was now within their grasp.

  Helen snuck off to use Oliver’s computer during the commotion, and she sent an email to Vess explaining how Alma, Ben, and Michael Harper had all been caught and would be at the house on Sycamore, performing the ritual, at 3:14 in the morning on March 14th. If this didn’t draw the reclusive old man out, then nothing would.

  Rosemary knew what she had to do next. She forced herself off the bed, and the debilitating pain from her injury nearly caused her to fall to her knees. She cringed and gripped her stomach, hoping her movement hadn’t ripped the stitches Helen had given her. She had to make it down to the basement, and to the lab where the experimental machine was kept that had caused all of this to occur. She planned on waiting for Vess there so that she could put an end to this nightmare.

  Each step was arduous as she made her way slowly through the facility and to the elevator. Rosemary knew that when Vess arrived, he would find the dead sleepers, but she couldn’t risk leaving them awake and alive. She wasn’t just trying to kill Vess, she was also working on destroying The Watcher in the Walls as well. The entity that ruled Widowsfield had to be stopped, and she knew that he was using the souls of the sleepers to keep his world together. He was using, and abusing, their memories to craft his lies.

  After Vess was dead, Rosemary could finally end her own nightmare. She’d been plagued with nightmares about Widowsfield for the past five years. Every waking moment was filled with dread about the coming night’s sleep, when the dreams about cords and chattering teeth would come again.

  No more.

  Within a day, it would all be over.

  Rosemary limped along, using the wall for support as she passed a fire extinguisher that was lying in pool of blood. She knelt and touched the red canister, and learned that Oliver had used it to attack Helen’s assistant. Then she proceeded to follow the trail of blood to reach the room where Vess’s monstrosity had been built.

  She discovered Oliver’s body lying only a few feet away from the nurse he’d murdered. She didn’t need to touch anything nearby to understand what happened. It felt like the room wanted her to know everything. It had expected her to come. It was welcoming her in.

  She saw the yawning door of the machine that they’d used to contact The Watcher, and she saw the blood splattered everywhere around it. Such a perfect tomb.

  Rosemary’s head was spinning, and she wasn’t sure why. Everything was as it was meant to be, and she was nearing the end of her journey. This was as good a place as any to die.

  This was how it was meant to be.

  Rosemary got to the door of the machine, took a deep breath, and stepped inside. She sat down in the blood of the murdered nurse, and she let herself rest. Vess would come. She was certain of it.

  Her legs felt stiff, and her arms fell to her side. She was stuck in the corner of the machine, barely able to move.

  The sacrificial lamb had climbed atop its own altar.

  Terry’s cabin

  March 13th, 2012

  “Yep, that’s it,” said Rachel as she held up her phone for the others to see. “My phone is officially dead.” It was nearing dusk, and the group had been trying to amuse themselves in any way they could, but none of them were willing to play games on their phones. They’d hoped their charges would last, but none had.

  “Mine’s been dead for hours,” said Stephen. The others agreed that the batteries on their phones had died off as well.

  “I guess we’re officially stuck here now,” said Rachel. “No calling for help.” She looked into a bag of chips from the haul that Stephen and Jacker had brought back when they went for food, but the bag was already empty.

  “I don’t think anyone could help us anyhow,” said Jacker.

  They were sitting in the living room, behind the couch where Michael was still sleeping. Each of them had taken turns napping, and the day had passed uneventfully. They spent some time reviewing what had happened, and trying to piece together the nightmare they’d sha
red about The Watcher’s Widowsfield.

  Alma was still confused about if The Skeleton Man was really her brother, and Paul explained that he believed The Skeleton Man wasn’t made up of just one soul. He thought that The Watcher used the fears of some people to create the monster that they’d come to know as The Skeleton Man, and that was the reason it seemed like it was Ben sometimes. Alma wasn’t sure, and explained that she thought there was more to it than that. She felt like the man sleeping in the bed upstairs was her brother, but that he’d been twisted into a monster by the awful things that had happened to him. The group went round and round in circles on the subject, but none of them knew anything for certain. It was all just theories.

  Occasionally, one of them would go upstairs to check on Ben, and he always looked the same. He was staring up at the ceiling, quiet and still, as if terrified of disturbing the ghosts that lived here. It was a feeling they all shared.

  “Have you looked in Rosemary’s bag at all?” asked Rachel as she glanced at the satchel that was leaning against the wall by the door.

  “Yeah,” said Alma. “It’s got the things we gave her, and the candles for the ritual tomorrow. It’s also got her sketchpad and paint brushes.”

  Rachel got up and went to retrieve the bag. “Well, let’s take a look and see how good of a painter she is.”

  Rachel brought the bag back over to their circle and sat back down. Before she took out the sketchpad, she pulled out a watch and showed it to everyone. “I guess we’re going to need this now that we can’t check the clocks on our phones.” She set the watch on the floor and then pulled out the sketchpad. She placed the pad on the floor and opened it to the first page. Each of them gawked at the picture, and fell silent as they stared at it.

  Rosemary had filled the book with pictures of awful scenes of murder and torture. Each page was gorier than the last, with depictions of people being flayed, boiled, and hung by black cords that reached out from the walls. There was a picture of the Salt and Pepper Diner on Main Street, but the front window had been broken and a corpse was on the ground, surrounded by shattered glass. His eyes had been plucked out and a bloody spoon was near his head.