“I'm not sure,” Ann said. “I've got to check on this new house I've been assigned—an honest-to-God mansion, if you can believe that—and I don't know if I can be back in time.”
Deb sighed. “OK. What about three hours?”
“Fine,” Ann said. “I'll text you when I'm on my way.”
As she left the office, Ann caught Rebecca staring at her through the blinds.
Forty-five minutes later, Ann took an anxious step inside Hex House. The door slammed shut behind her.
Chapter 3: THE SEARCH
Deb Gordon couldn't understand what was taking her mom so long. She stood outside J.C. Penny's with her friend, Polly, texting and retexting. Her mother never replied.
Polly tried to comfort her. “Cell phone service can be pretty bad outside town,” she explained. “Maybe your mom's car broke, or she got busy and forgot.”
“No way,” Deb said. “Something's wrong, I can feel it.”
A gray minivan pulled next to them.
“That's my mom,” Polly said. “We can give you a ride home, if you want.”
“Thanks, I'd like that.” Deb climbed in the back of the minivan and texted Ann not to bother picking her up.
Deb came home to an empty house. Mom's silver Accord wasn't in the driveway and there was no note on the fridge. Deb got the number for her mom's work from the phone book and called. It was after six, but a woman answered.
“Prime Harbor Properties,” she said. “Rebecca North speaking. How may I help you?”
“Um, hi,” Deb said. “This is Deb—Debra—Gordon. My mom, Ann, works there.”
The woman's voice changed, becoming nervous, strained. “Yes?”
“She hasn't come home. She was supposed to pick me up at the mall, but she's not answering her phone and I'm getting worried.”
“I'm sure she's fine,” Rebecca said. “Listen, when she does get home, have her give me a call on my cell, OK?” The woman gave Deb her number.
“Can you at least tell me where she is?” Deb asked, not willing to let the subject go. “She said something about a mansion outside of town…”
Rebecca paused. “Yes, that's right. It's the old Hex House on Route 109.”
“What should I do?” Deb asked. “Should I go there to look for her?”
“No!” Rebecca said.
The older woman's tone startled Deb. “Why not?”
“Because…” Rebecca began. “Because… oh hell. Tell you what: if she's not home in an hour, I'll go there myself.”
Relief flooded Deb. “Would you? That'd be great! Only, I don't know, maybe you could give me a ride and we could go together?”
This time, the older woman didn't hesitate. “Of course. Honestly, I wasn't looking forward to going there alone. Especially after dark.”
“How come?” Deb asked. “Do you know something?”
“I have to go,” Rebecca said. “Call me in an hour, or as soon as you hear from your mom.” She hung up, leaving Deb staring at the phone, not sure whether to be shocked or annoyed.
She made a frozen dinner and sat in front of the TV, but didn't bother watching the shows. She kept checking the clock on the DVR, her phone, and the driveway through the living room window. No silver Accord pulled up, and there were no calls or texts.
Finally, the hour was over. Deb called Rebecca, gave the woman her address, and waited anxiously by the window. When Rebecca came to the door, she was surprised how pinched the woman's face was. She looked much older than she'd sounded on the phone, almost like some terrible secret was eating away at her.
“What do you know about this place?” Deb asked.
Rebecca's hands stiffened on the wheel. “It's old, been on the market for years. No one will buy it.”
“Why?”
Rebecca shrugged. “Supposed to be haunted. Lot of strange things have happened there over the years.”
“Is that why you said you were afraid to go by yourself?” Deb asked.
“Yes. I've only been there once, and the feeling I got sent chills through me. I couldn't even bring myself to go in.”
She remembered the day, the overpowering urge to flee back to the office and do whatever Arthur asked her to do. She'd been doing it ever since. When Ann rejected Arthur, she knew what he'd do. What he always did. Rebecca tried to warn her, but if Arthur had found out, he might fire her. She was getting old and needed this job. In her own sick way, she needed Arthur, even though “love” was the last thing she'd ever call it.
“So why'd you let my mom go?” Deb asked.
Rebecca chewed her lower lip. “I'm sorry,” she said. “I tried to warn her.”
Rebecca had been out of the office the last few times Arthur had pulled this stunt. The first girl, Callie Mercer, had been found a week later locked in the house, stark raving mad. She'd been on anti-depressants, Arthur explained, so it should come as no surprise that she'd had a nervous breakdown. Only a breakdown didn't turn your hair white, and it damn sure didn't turn you into a drooling lunatic. Callie Mercer had to be locked away and never let out.
The second girl to turn Arthur down was Jill Reardon. She was never heard from again. The police found her car parked at the house, the only trace of her one red heel in the attic. It was as if the house had swallowed her up.
State Route 109 was a heavily forested stretch of road that ran from Aberdeen, north toward Ocean Shores and the tiny beach communities of northern Grays Harbor County. There were cliffs here on both sides, sometimes overlooking the sea, sometimes dense woods a hundred feet below.
This is the road that killed my Dad, Deb thought bitterly. It better not have killed Mom too.
“There it is.” Rebecca slowed her blue Camry, pointing at the FOR SALE sign through the windshield.
They drove in silence, the thick forest hemming them in, making the evening darker than it was, more sinister.
“I can see why people say this place is haunted,” Deb said as they came to a stop in front of Hex House. ”Who would want to live here?”
“No one,” Rebecca said. She reached over and removed a flashlight from the glove compartment. She left the keys in the car, the headlights illuminating the the mansion's front porch.
Deb got out and ran over to her Mom's car. The silver Accord was parked, the doors shut and locked. There were no lights on in the house. What would her mother be doing in this horrible place after dark? Why hadn't she answered her phone?
“Hey,” Deb called to Rebecca. “Aren't you coming?”
The older woman shook her head. “No, I can't. God forgive me, I thought I could, but I can't.”
Deb tried to argue, but Rebecca was beyond listening. Her eyes were wide with fear. “H-here,” she stammered. “You go. Take the flashlight. I'll wait for you.”
Deb grabbed the flashlight. “Fine. I'll do it myself. Mom!” she yelled. “Hey, Mom! You in there?”
No answer.
“Great,” Deb muttered. “Fantastic.” She pulled out her phone and tried calling her mom. The screen jumped and dropped the call. When Deb tried again, the phone died. “Can you get a signal?” she asked.
“No,” Rebecca said. “Mine's dead too. You sure you want to go in there? We could go back to town, get the cops…”
“My mom's in there,” Deb insisted. “Stay here if you want, but I'm going in.” She stalked toward the house, wondering at how cold it had gotten. Up the stone steps she climbed, one foot in front of the other, drawing strength from her love, from her need for her mother to be all right.
I'm coming, she thought. I'll find you.
Chapter 4: THE HUNGER
Hex House sensed the girl outside its door. It had tasted blood once today and wanted more. Sweet, red, delicious blood, the flow of life pulsing strong in youthful veins. Veins that must be pierced, tapped, and made to feed its insatiable hunger…
Chapter 5: THE HORROR
The front door swung open before Deb could even tou
ch the handle. The room inside was black, so black the flashlight beam barely seemed to penetrate the gloom.
“Mom!” Deb cried. “Can you hear me?”
The house groaned in reply.
Deb swung the beam around the front hallway, seeing nothing. A little of her courage melted away, but she still had enough to step inside. “Mom?”
The door slammed shut behind her. Deb whirled and saw nothing, no reason the door should have closed on its own. “Shit,” she muttered. “It's just a door. Stop scaring yourself.”
But she was beginning to feel a sense of panic creeping into her soul. The air thickened and every breath made her feel strange, lightheaded, an intruder in this strange place.
Deb tried to shrug off her growing sense of unease. The hall opened into a broad room with a staircase leading to a second and third floor. Left and right, she could move into a living room and dining area, while straight ahead, past the stairs, the hallway continued to a door. Which way? The house was bigger than she'd thought.
“Hey!” she yelled. “Mom! Come out!”
The door at the end of the hall creaked open, just an inch.
“Mom?” The name died to a whisper. Fear gripped her throat, closing it tight as the door swung wide. She heard shuffling, the sound of slow footsteps in the dark.
“Mom!” Deb ran forward, through the door into a kitchen. The room was empty, ransacked. Cobwebbed cabinets hung open, silverware drawers were pulled out and rusty knives and forks scattered everywhere.
There was blood on the floor.
The kitchen door closed behind her. Deb spun and saw her mother standing there, shivering, her back to her. She reached out an unsteady hand to touch her mother's shoulder.
“Mom? It's me, Deb…”
As soon as her hand made contact, her mother turned around. Ann Gordon was covered in her own blood, and she held a rusty butcher knife in one slim, shaking hand. Her eyes were glassy, unfocused, her mouth muttering madness. Ann raised the knife, and stabbed the blade into her own hand. It ran straight through. Ann was already missing several fingers, and there were multiple punctures and slashes along her arm.
“I can't get it out,” Ann babbled. “It's in so deep…” She pulled the knife free, splattering gore across her daughter's face, then stabbed herself again, this time higher up the arm.
“Oh my God, Mom! Stop!” Deb grabbed the arm holding the blade, wrestling with her mother for control. “Let go! What are you doing?”
Ann released the knife and collapsed to the floor, her eyes rolling until only the whites showed. Her palsied limbs thrashed and jerked. A hideous, wet gurgling came from her throat, rising into a growl that became the five most terrifying words Deb had ever heard:
“Get… out… of… the… house!”
Deb didn't know what to do, only that she had to run. She raced outside, tearing open the door, squinting in the glare of Rebecca's headlights.
The older realtor was on her second cigarette, and it fell from her lips as she saw the Gordon girl come tearing out of the house covered in blood holding a dripping knife. In that moment, Rebecca North saw her own death reflected in the dull glint of that blade.
Convinced the girl had gone crazy and killed her mother, Rebecca backed toward her Camry. “Stay away from me!” she screeched. “You're crazy!”
Deb didn't know what the woman was talking about. She took several steps forward before she realized she was holding the knife. She threw it down, calling, “Wait! You don't understand!”
But Rebecca had already turned tail and scrambled back into her car. She screamed as the girl's bloody handprints slapped across the driver's side window. Rebecca hit the door lock button, threw the car in reverse, and disappeared down the driveway. She never made it. In her panicked state, she misjudged the road and went sailing off the cliff onto the jagged rocks below.
Deb heard the distant crash, then her mother's scream. She ran into the house and found her mom plunging another knife into her chest. The blade snagged on a rib and stuck. Deb knelt next to her, trying to help.
Blood! There was so much blood…
“I can't get it out,” Ann gasped. “Don't you understand? The house loves me! It won't let me leave!”
Deb was sobbing, holding her mother tight as the blood poured from her. “Mom, no! Don't leave me!”
Ann's eyes regained a bit of their focus. “I love you,” she said. “It's too late for me, but if you hurry, you can still leave. Please, Deb! You have to get out!” Her hands tightened around the knife handle. “Go! If you ever loved me, in the name of God, Deb, go!”
Ann twisted the knife into her chest. Her savaged heart pumped and pulsed, then beat no more.
Deb held her, rocking back and forth, hot tears stinging her cheeks. She didn't even notice when her finger caught a jagged splinter from the broken knife drawer as she stood. She didn't even feel it as the house possessed her. One minute, she was Deb Gordon, the next she was possessed.
Like her mother.
Like so many before her.
Chapter 6: THE NEW OWNER
The house had a new owner now, one who would never leave. The splinter would see to that. Inch by deadly inch, it crept closer to Deb's heart, heedless of causing pain or encountering resistance. It was the way it must be. It would creep its way into place and be ready to pierce her heart in an instant should she ever try to leave or disobey.
The house did not think of this as evil, it thought of this as love, as bonding, making itself one with the new owner. The house did not want to kill Deb, only keep her safe inside its loving walls. Once the splinter, which was the will and voice of the house, reached its destination, then Deb would understand. She would embrace Hex House as the house embraced her.
Together, they would feed on blood and souls until Deb died, and then another owner would be found. Such was the way of things, the only way. Without it, Hex House must die, and the house did not want that. It must go on, and by the bonding of its wood with mortal blood, it could.
Now and forever.
Chapter 7: THE INVITATION
Polly Mitchell thought it was strange Deb wasn't in school the next day. Her new friend hadn't responded to any of her calls or texts. Maybe something was wrong with Deb's mom, an accident or something.
Polly was chatting with some friends at lunch when her phone beeped. It was Deb. Her text said:
Having a party at Hex House tonight. Bring friends. I'll be waiting…
THE HUNGER AND THE HATE
From the grave, she rises,
her lips, bloodstained shadow,
her eyes, crimson pits.
And always, the hunger and the hate
for your life,
your chance to be what she has lost.
EMPTY GIRL, EMPTY GRAVE
Every suicide attempt is a cry for help, but what happens when a vampire answers? Are we so desperate that we'd be willing to trade one life of pain for another?
Chapter 1: ONE LITTLE WORD
“Suicide is a sin.”
I thought I was alone in the cemetery. I looked up from where I'd just drawn the razor blade across my wrist. A man's shadow detached itself from the mausoleum. It was just after midnight and I should have been scared, but I was too sick of living to care.
What did it matter if a psycho killed me or I did it myself?
Only if this guy was gonna murder me, he better hurry up, because I could already feel the cut opening, the hot blood oozing out. I'd be dead—free of this life, this pain—any minute now. At least, I hoped so.
“Suicide is a sin,” he repeated. It was an old voice, but not like an old man's. It was world-weary, slightly mocking.
“What are you, some kind of religious nut?”
“No,” he laughed softly. “Not that. Just someone who knows a thing or two about the afterlife…”
Whoever he was, he moved like ink on water, flowing forward from the mausoleum. A deeper darkness with
in the dead of night. He stopped just outside the range of the lit candles I'd melted into place on top of the nearest tombstones. It was the night of the new moon and dark as hell. He was maybe ten feet from where I sat, dangling my legs over the edge of an empty grave.
Who was he?
I wasn't even sure he was real. Maybe I'd already bled out and he was some kind of ghost. Next thing I knew, he'd be telling me to “go into the light” or something stupid.
“Oh yeah?” I said. “What do you know that I don't?”
“Well, for one thing, if you kill yourself they'll only make your soul come back in a new body and suffer all over again.”
“Who's they?”
“The ones who made us come here in the first place.”
“You mean God? Like angels and stuff?”
He shrugged.
“Look,” I said, “no offense or anything, but can you leave me alone? I'm kind of in the middle of something.”
“I can see that,” he said. “But you're doing it the wrong way. That is, if you're serious about killing yourself.”
“What?” I couldn't see his face very well, but I thought I saw him smirk. It sounded like he was.
“You can't kill yourself like that,” he said. His eyes glinted red in the candlelight, like some kind of wild animal. “You have to open up the vein from the crease of your elbow down to the wrist.” He gestured how to do it and his nails glinted in the candlelight. Long and sharp. Between the eyes and the nails, I must be hallucinating.
“Thanks, but I think I know how to kill myself.”
“Do you? Forgive my saying so, but you seem to know as much about dying as you do about living.”
Great, I couldn't even kill myself without some jerk telling me I didn't know what I was doing.
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