Cal stiffened. “No. That thing started this when it took Hughie, and then killed Ginger. I’m here to end it.”
“I know, Cal, but we’re fifty-fifty partners—we’re Team One. I’ll watch your back, and you watch mine. Let’s do this together.”
She leaned her forehead against his chest. He surprised her with a kiss on the top of her head. Camm hugged him tightly before stepping away, keeping one hand gripped to his belt.
“Just what I need,” he said with a smile in his voice, “some scaredy-cat, little old lady here, getting in my way.”
Camm smiled back in the darkness. “Who you callin’ a scaredy-cat, little old lady? Show some respect or this lady will kick your butt.” They both laughed.
Camm held up her shotgun where it was barely visible in the almost nonexistent light. “Look, I came prepared. I brought my dad’s twelve-gauge shotgun and a full box of shells.”
“Good. I have a feeling that we are going to need all the firepower we can muster.” They turned arm in arm and headed for the dining room. There, they switched on a single flashlight.
Camm glanced around. Something didn’t seem right.
“Cal,” she asked, pointing at the door to the main hall, “didn’t I put a chair under that doorknob last night?”
“Yep, you sure did. I remember I was glad you thought of that. And a few seconds later, I heard it break when the door was forced open.” Looking puzzled, Cal strode over to examine the door. “I’m sure I heard the door splinter and break.”
There was no splintered door or broken chair. In fact, there wasn’t even a misplaced chair. Camm surveyed the room. The dining room was exactly as it had been the first time she’d seen it—spotless and in perfect order.
Cal turned to Camm, scratching his head. “Is it possible for a house to fix itself?”
“Not in real life, so don’t get all superstitious on me. There is a logical explanation for this, and I bet Mr. Samuel is behind it. I don’t think this is really an abandoned house.”
“Sorry, I forgot. You don’t believe in ghosts.”
“Yes, but it would be nice tonight to have as much light as possible. Are you going to use that big spotlight?”
Cal patted his side. “I have it right here hanging from my belt, but once it’s lit, it doesn’t stay bright for very long. I mean, when it comes on, it is huge. I mean, really, really bright. But only for a couple minutes, because the battery runs down so fast. I’m gonna save it until we really need it. With any luck, we can blind and confuse that thing with this bright light while we shoot it dead.”
When they entered the main hall, they hesitated, unsure of what to do next. Camm shone her flashlight on the floor. “Here—right here—is where Ginger landed when she was thrown from the balcony. She was all torn up. There should be dried blood all over the place.” They exchanged uneasy glances. The floor was spotless. Cal shook his shoulders, shrugging it off. He was obviously uncomfortable talking about Ginger.
“Let’s go check that big ol’ grandfather clock.” The clock was stopped with its hanged-man pendulum motionless; its hands pointed straight up at twelve o’clock. Cal’s eyes narrowed. “You think it will dong at midnight again?”
Camm shone her light on her watch. “We have some time before midnight when we’ll find out. What should we do ’til then?”
Cal gave her a look that said she wasn’t going to like his answer. “I want to go back down to that little stone room with all the bones and the big ugly painting.”
Camm feared he was going to say that. “Cal, why do you want to go down there?” She tried not to whine, but it came out sounding pathetic anyway.
“Where did that thing—whatever it was—come from last night? It had to come from somewhere either in or below the cellar, probably from that stone dungeon room. Remember, we heard the noise of it coming through the wine cellar door? I want to check both the cellar and the dungeon for more secret doors. Maybe we can catch it before it comes after us again, maybe trap it somehow.”
Cautiously, they hiked across the immense slate floor toward the cellar door, their footsteps echoing loudly on the surrounding walls. Camm was not sorry she had decided to be with Cal, but she regretted returning to the mansion. Walking across the hall larger than a couple of basketball courts made her feel tiny and insignificant. Their light cut only a small swath through the darkness, and Camm couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched by dozens of eyes just out of the light’s reach.
Once in the wine cellar, they turned on another flashlight since there were no windows to give away their presence. Hughie’s sheet still lay where they’d left it the night before. Camm thought it strange that whoever was fixing up the rest of the mansion each day did not touch that sheet. Before she could say anything to Cal about the sheet, he had opened the hidden door by pulling on the hand-shaped candleholder on the wall.
“Maybe there are other hidden doors here in the cellar,” Camm suggested, shining her light along the walls. Cal walked around the circumference of the cellar and shook hands with all the candleholders. No other hidden doors appeared.
Taking each other by the hand with fingers interlocking, they started down the spiral staircase. Cal led the way. The steps were too narrow for them to walk side by side, but Camm was able to hold on to Cal’s hand while walking just behind him. Down and down they went, descending through a throat of cold stone into the deepest innards of the mansion.
At the bottom, they stepped into the small, rock-bound room. Skulls still lined one wall while a pile of bones still lay on the floor along the other wall. The painting of the green rat hung in its place, its eyes following them, sneering at them with fangs dripping ooze. Camm couldn’t tear her eyes away from the frightful image. Just as horrifying as it had been the day before, evil emanated from its every pore.
Camm stayed near the stairs while Cal traveled systematically around the room, tapping and pushing on each stone in the walls and ceiling, periodically stomping on the floor. Nothing moved or sounded unusual.
Stopping in front of the painting, Cal gripped one side, pulling it out slightly to check behind. He found only a solid, unmovable rock surface identical to the stone wall surrounding the rest of the room. Finishing his search, he kicked aside a few bones on the floor near him; he remained standing, staring at the grizzly pile of human and animal remains, clearly not able to summon the strength to sort through them.
“Cal, there’s nothing here. Let’s leave. The room is just like we left it.” Though it was not cold, Camm was shivering, while at the same time a trickle of sweat ran down her back.
“Is it?” Cal was studying the painting again. “Something seems different.” He touched the canvas, lightly rubbing his fingers along the back of the rat. Seeing him touch the painting gave Camm a sensation like that of fingernails on a chalkboard. She half expected the rat to lift its head out of the painting and snap off his hand at the wrist with one bite.
“It’s all the same. Come on, Cal, let’s go back upstairs.” She couldn’t stop her shivering.
“Look, Camm, when you saw this picture last night, did you notice that chain on the rat’s hind leg?”
She squinted at the painting. “No, but I couldn’t stop looking at its eyes—I still can’t.” She moved back until her foot hit the bottom step. “Please, Cal, let’s get out of here.”
“One of those figures partially hidden by the black mist in the background appears to be holding the other end of that chain. What does that mean?”
“I don’t know. Really, Cal, I don’t know.”
Cal hesitated a few more seconds, tracing the length of the chain with the tip of his index finger, counting the links, before ascending back upstairs all the way to the main hall, closing the doors carefully behind them as they went.
As eerie as the rest of the mansion was, it was a relief to be out of the cellar. “What do we do now?” Camm asked. “Do we just wait until midnight?”
“I guess. You know,
that’s the witching hour.” Cal was looking around as if he were trying to find something.
“What?” Camm furrowed her eyebrows.
“I don’t like it down here on the main floor. Let’s wait up on the second floor balcony.” Cal nodded his head as if in agreement with himself. “We can see it coming from there, and we have an escape route to our rear by going around toward the other stairs, like we did before. That way it can’t outflank us. Let’s set up, right up there.” He pointed up to a spot on the balcony across from them that had a clear view down to the cellar door.
They were here in its stronghold again. They were mocking it. It had been touched; its chain had been touched. It had been touched when it couldn’t fight back—not yet, but soon. In a few minutes, it would be released. The ravenous hunger was all consuming again. It would find them. It would take its revenge. It was determined to feast on human flesh tonight.
Camm and Cal settled in a spot on the balcony about halfway between the stairs and the back wall. Cal stood guard with his pocket flashlight on his .357 revolver, making sure everything was in working order. Camm sat crossed-legged on the floor, pulling shells from her shoulder bag as she loaded her shotgun.
I should have had it loaded this whole time, she thought.
Without warning they heard footsteps coming from a bedroom further toward the front. Out of the drenching darkness another light sprang to life, bathing them in its blue-white glow. The hair on the back of Camm’s neck stood up.
“What are you kids doing here?” The voice startled Camm; she recognized it immediately.
Both Cal and Camm swung their lights in the direction of the voice and illuminated Mr. Samuel. Everyone was silent for a moment, and then Mr. Samuel repeated, “What are you kids doing here? You’re both trespassing. I could have you arrested, and if you don’t leave immediately, I will do just that.”
Camm kicked herself for not making Cal hide his car.
“We’re here to kill it,” Cal said calmly.
“To kill what? What do you mean?” Mr. Samuel then noticed the guns for the first time and drew back in alarm. “What are you kids doing with those guns? You’re really in trouble now.”
Cal folded his arms across his chest. “Like I said, we’re going to kill it. We brought guns to kill it, whatever it is.”
“There is no ‘it’ here. There is nothing here. This is just an empty, abandoned old house. You kids go home right now or I will have to call the sheriff and have both of you arrested.”
Camm scrambled up by Cal. “Oh, I think you know what we’re talking about. You know what it is. Don’t you, Mr. Samuel?”
Mr. Samuel’s face fluctuated between worry and anger. He answered carefully, “I don’t know what you are talking about, and you both need to leave. Right now. I won’t warn you again.”
Cal frowned and stepped forward. Mr. Samuel stepped back.
Cal said, “We are not leaving.” With a quick glance at Camm, he clarified, “At least, I am not leaving. There is something here, something dangerous. It came after us last night, and it killed my dog. I am going to kill it before it can kill again.”
“You were here last night? That was trespassing, too. You kids don’t know what you’re doing. You must leave immediately.”
“No,” Cal insisted. “Call the sheriff if you want. It’s almost midnight anyway, and I am staying to kill it.”
Mr. Samuel glanced at his watch, uncertainty in his face. After a moment, he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and flipped it open. “You’re both in serious trouble.”
Cal just laughed. “The more, the merrier. Maybe the sheriff can help us kill it. Ask him to get here before midnight.”
Camm couldn’t tell if Mr. Samuel was just bluffing to get rid of them or if he was really calling the sheriff.
“Mr. Samuel, wait a minute.” She tried to reason with him. “You were right to be suspicious about me earlier today. I was in the old library just before you caught me.”
“So, you were trespassing there, too! You really are out of control. You kids need to be locked up.” Mr. Samuel feigned amazement. Cal looked at Camm, surprised. This was the first he was hearing about her research earlier in the day.
“Just wait, Mr. Samuel, and hear me out.” Camm took a breath. “I read in those old issues of the Los Angeles Times about all of those unexplained deaths and maulings that occurred right here in this mansion back in 1941. World War Two was fast approaching, and it happened here in Trona, just some backwater, sleepy desert town. So, it was conveniently forgotten. But it was never explained. There was some kind of cover up.”
Mr. Samuel’s face didn’t admit he knew about the deaths, but he didn’t deny them or pretend to be ignorant either.
Camm turned to Cal. “A bunch of people were killed
. . . the owners and some staff working here in this mansion. One morning, seven people were found dead, all with their throats ripped open and most had their guts pulled out as if killed and eaten by a wild animal. The animal, whatever it was, was never found. For some reason, the mansion was just vacated and locked up without a real investigation. It has been locked up ever since.”
Mr. Samuel shifted his weight uncomfortably.
Camm concluded. “It was after that massacre in 1941 that the children around town began to disappear. Every year or so, another one just up and disappeared.” She turned to glare at Mr. Samuel. “All these things are connected, aren’t they? The deaths here in the mansion and the disappearing children? We know they’re connected, because we found the Halloween costume Cal’s little brother wore seven years ago when he disappeared. That costume is here in this mansion.”
“We don’t know for sure they are connected,” Mr. Samuel stammered, sounding meeker than he had before.
“But you knew something was going on, and you knew it was connected with this mansion,” Camm added calmly. “That is what you have been trying to hide from Agent Allen. Isn’t it?”
Again, Mr. Samuel shifted his weight uncomfortably.
Cal was incredulous. “You knew! You knew something was going on and you didn’t stop it? My little brother was taken and killed by this thing, and you knew about it?”
Mr. Samuel tried to defend himself. “We didn’t know that was what happened. We didn’t know for sure, not really.”
“But you knew something,” Cal shot back. “You knew something, yet you did nothing. Well, I’m going to do what you should have done a long time ago. I’m going to kill it.”
Mr. Samuel hesitated, looking down nervously at his hands before flipping his cell phone closed. It occurred to Camm that he really didn’t want to call the sheriff after all.
He sighed and relaxed slightly. “You can’t kill it.” The statement was an admission that it existed. “It’s not true that we did nothing. We tried to kill it, more than once. I sent men in here, trained men, mercenaries, better armed than you. We saw them go in, but we never saw them again afterwards.”
“Why didn’t you call the police?” Camm asked.
“The sheriff—not this one, but a couple of sheriffs before—knew and tried to help us find the people we sent in, but they were gone without a trace. After we had failed to kill it, we agreed to keep it trapped inside the mansion.”
“You mean you bribed the sheriff to not do anything more.” Camm’s voice shook with outrage.
Mr. Samuel looked down at his hands again and didn’t respond.
“Why didn’t you try more? Why not bring in more people, or—I don’t know—do something? Why just let it go on? And why try to hide it from the FBI? Why not let them handle it?”
“It’s complicated,” Mr. Samuel responded weakly.
“Complicated?” Camm demanded. “People die, children disappear, and all you can say is that it’s complicated?” She threw her hands up and turned away in disgust.
Mr. Samuel spoke slowly, almost contritely. “After the incident in 1941, efforts were made to find out what was going on. It had s
omething to do with the man who bought the mining rights to Searles Lake after the turn of the last century. He was a chemical engineer, and received large amounts of money from somewhere in Europe to perform unusual experiments. No one knew what he was up to, and we still don’t know for sure today. He died that night in 1941, right here in this mansion.
“The authorities were going to shut everything down to figure out what was going on, but then World War Two broke out and Trona was the only source of potash for the whole country. Potash was a necessary ingredient for gunpowder. The war effort pretty much stopped the investigation, and the plant operations went into high gear. When a child disappeared, it wasn’t known if it was connected with this mansion or not. We still don’t know.”
“I know,” Camm said defiantly. “I know now.”
Cal’s brow furrowed, holding a hand to his head as if it hurt. Slowly, he looked at Mr. Samuel. “Okay, no more games. What is that thing anyway, and where does it hide in the mansion?”
Mr. Samuel took a deep breath. “I honestly don’t know.”
“Oh, come on!” Camm was angry. “All these years this has been going on, and you’ve sent all those people in here, and now you say you don’t know what it is? I don’t believe that!”
“It’s true. I’ve never seen it. No one has. No one has lived to tell about it.
“When I became manager at the plant, I started an investigation into the disappearances. A tenuous link was made to the mansion, so we hired people to look into it. We strongly suspected something was here, but could never find anything during the day. And when it came out at night, well, anyone that was here either died or just disappeared.
“After the mercenaries never came back, we appealed to the military for help, but some big shot from the federal government showed up and told us not to worry about it. They locked up the mansion and warned me to keep it locked, and everyone out. If I didn’t do as I was told, all of our contracts with the government, which are substantial, would be terminated.
“That was twenty years ago, maybe more. We had no choice. Our hands were tied, so we just pretended nothing was wrong, that the disappearances were all coincidences. In truth, they could have just been coincidences. There was no evidence at all.”
Pitch Green Page 9
