by Sara Clancy
“Maybe we should go back up,” she whispered.
“We’re almost there,” he said in a soft tone. “If it’s not them, we’ll leave straight away.”
The metal of the door handles glistened under the beam of her flashlight as they edged closer. A sheet of white was draped over the glass of the doors. While it had invaded the building with a startling force, it didn’t seem to be thickening. But it wasn’t dispersing either. Suddenly, the walls felt like they were closing in on her, the ceiling dropping until she could almost feel it brushing the top of her head. Finally, they reached the doors. There was nowhere left to go. No way to put it off for any longer. So they stood there, watching the doors, waiting for some kind of movement to stir the mist beyond the glass. The cloud rolled in on itself in an endless motion but never parted enough to allow even a glimpse within it.
“Hello?” Tristan called.
Ruby snapped around to face him, fear tearing into her chest like knives. Torn between the need to scream and the desire to run, she was held frozen in place. There was a sharp slap and they both staggered away, instinctively bringing their knives up, ready for attack. The fog remained the same, ever-present and thick. But, within the center of the glass door, there was a single handprint. A child’s handprint.
“Hello, Miss.”
Ruby recognized the monotone immediately. It had crushed her to hear it on the radio. But to hear it now, undiluted and mere inches away, broke something within her. It wasn’t the boy, the one who had taunted her the most over the three days of hell. But the girl. The older of the two. She began to shake, her breath reduced to short gasps, her eyes prickling with acid tears.
“We’re lost and cold. Can we come inside?”
“No,” Ruby snapped, the single word leaving her empty and making her crumble in on herself. Why aren’t you inside already? She wanted to scream the question, but all that she could work from her throat was the single word over and over.
Holding Tristan’s gaze, she shook her head and tried to express with every inch of her being that he shouldn’t contradict her. His brow furrowed as he watched her, but he nodded all the same. Readjusting her grip on both her flashlight and her knife, she leveled her eyes on to the door. The beam of light glanced off of the glass, shining it back upon her and making it harder to see anything else. But the handprint was still there, steadily evaporating into the night.
“Miss,” the voice replied.
Soft but sure, and maintaining its dead tone, Ruby realized that despite the primal fear that it provoked within her, it wasn’t the same voice she had heard months ago. It was similar, almost identical, but it wasn’t the boy. She knew without sight that the speaker was one of the girls.
“We’re lost and cold. Please let us in.”
“No,” she stammered, struggling to maintain her anger as she was steadily destroyed from within.
“We’ll die if you don’t let us in,” the little girl countered.
A laugh crackled out of her throat, making her sound precariously close to hysteria. “You’re not going to trick me with that. I don’t care. Go and die.”
She could feel Tristan staring at the side of her head. The horror that he felt pressed against her at the very notion of leaving a child to the elements. Barely able to keep herself in place, she gripped the hilt until her knuckles were at the point of popping.
“You have to let us in. We’re lost and cold. You have to let us in.”
The small feminine voice continued the commands without pause. Ruby’s body revolted against her mind with each repetition. Her skull was on fire and she gagged as the contents of her stomach promised to rise. The air grew as thick as tar and the mist deepened its chill until she felt like she was standing knee deep in permafrost. She tried to tune it all out. Tried not to listen to the voice. Get away from the door! Go to the restaurant! It didn’t matter what commands her mind gave. None of them made it to her body. Not with enough force to make her move.
That’s when she noticed the internal tugging. Like a snake, the sensation had coiled around her mind, twisting so gently that she never noticed it was there until the moment that it struck. Now it was painfully tight and dragging her towards the door. The skin of her palms tingled, her fingers flinching and stretching as the urge to reach out grew within the fibers of her muscles. Locking her knees, she barely managed to keep herself in place. Pain crackled though her skull, rising into a crushing tremor as she fought off the sensation. Don’t let them in! Run!
Sweat beaded across her forehead as she forced her eyes open. She couldn’t remember when she had closed them, but the dim light scorched her eyes. It was getting harder to breathe. Her feet were locked into place. It took everything she had to keep her arm down, and she could feel the stress passing over her like a thousand fractures ripping apart her bones. But she couldn’t leave.
Run!
“You have to let us in,” the girl said.
It didn’t matter that she couldn’t discern voices. She could perfectly understand the threat that lingered in every word.
“You have to let us in.”
Ruby worked her mouth, but she couldn’t force herself to speak. Her lungs and lips refused to do what was necessary to shape the words. The door handle shook before her, and it took a moment to realize it was because she was trembling, the flashlight she held shaking back and forth. Her hands blistered with agony and she knew, somewhere in the back of her mind, that the pain would stop if she just reached out and touched the door. She was shivering now, sweat dripping from her skin as she strained to keep her distance.
Then, Tristan moved. The soles of his shoes squeaked as they brushed across the tiles. His body jolted. It looked as if each movement was forced upon him, rather than taken by himself.
“You have to let us in.”
The voice shattered. It was no longer one but thousands. Still, all of them were the same. Each one falling over each other to create a whispering buzz that filled the air and crowded into their ears. The six words, the voices, all crammed into her mind until she could barely hear her own thoughts. Tristan was still inching closer to the door. Fighting against the crush, she tried to scream at him. She felt her throat rattle with the force of it, but only a slight whine broke out. There was nothing but the whispering voices. Slowly, as if being tugged forward by strings, he lifted his hand, fingers poised to wrap around the lock.
It felt like her skin was being torn open by the motion, but she managed to lash out. She could only summon the one attempt, but he had closed in enough to make it worth the agony. The thin blade of her knife sliced across the back of his hand. The sudden pain was enough to make his body respond and snap him back to his senses. He lurched back, clasping his wound as thin trails of blood seeped through his fingers. The first droplet left his skin. It disappeared within the mist. But the moment it hit the tiles, it sounded like the strike of a colossal drum. With it, she could almost feel something physically snap within her, and then her body was her own again.
“Run,” she gasped as air crashed back into her lungs.
She bolted to the side, her shoulder colliding with Tristan’s as she went. He rocked with the blow and stumbled back, barely able to keep on his feet before he fell into pace beside her. They sprinted down the hall, moving as fast as their bodies would allow. The demands followed them, no longer merely whispers twisting together to form a siren song. They were screams. Furious and volatile. Each shriek dripping with a rage Ruby could barely fathom.
The beam of the flashlight swung wildly as they raced towards the stairs. Every so often, it would streak across the windows. The glass rattled as it was struck from the outside. The fog contained its secrets, but Ruby could see the handprints that emerged with every smack. They littered the windows, each one coming with the sound of thunder, the rapid sound interrupting the screams.
“Let us in!”
Tristan had pulled ahead and was a few feet in front of her. Suddenly, he toppled over as
he tried to bring himself to a sudden stop. Ruby trained the light in the direction he was staring. The towering walls were all glass. They both knew there was nothing out there that someone could stand on to get to the top. Still, a trail of handprints raced down from the top floor, like a child crawling over the wall.
Ruby called to him as she passed, trying to shake him out of his shock and get him to follow. Her voice was barely audible over the demands and rattling windows. He didn’t respond to her words. Hands full, she kicked at his shoulder. He jolted with the blow but still lurched to his feet. Blinking rapidly, he turned and reluctantly followed her up the stairs. Ruby was already on the landing when she heard what he was screaming up at her.
“What if there are more upstairs?”
She hadn’t thought of that and the concept now sent her mind reeling. But the glow of the candles was alluring, comforting, and she raced towards it. Tristan followed her. The moment his foot hit the top stair, the noise stopped. The screaming. The thudding against the glass. It all disappeared and left the world in silence, broken only by their panted breaths.
By the glow of the candles, Ruby could make out the blood that was still seeping out between Tristan’s fingers. Every so often, the candles would flicker, dulling to turn the crimson red blood into an ebony ink. The sight made her take a step back, her eyes constantly searching for the color in his own. She couldn’t see it within the restricted light. He staggered a step closer to her and she took another step back, keeping the table between them. It didn’t seem like he noticed. He was too busy trying to look everywhere at once.
For a while, Ruby focused solely on drawing one more breath into her lungs. It was difficult to keep her thoughts straight. Each time she tried to think of what to do next, there was the one repeated sentence that couldn’t be silenced or ignored. It can’t be them. It’s not them. They’re dead.
The words raged within her skull, growing hysterical with her desperation to believe it. All she wanted was to give into it, to push aside everything else until she convinced herself that she was safe. To simply pretend that everything was fine. To tumble into a blissful state of denial. She could feel herself sinking and had to fight against it like a riptide. Lie to yourself and you’re dead.
The realization polluted the allure but it didn’t stop her mind from racing. So she kept her gaze focused on Tristan. Standing in the middle of the restaurant, his eyes darted from the staircase to the window and back again. Why he had decided to put all of his focus on that one window, she didn’t know. It was the one just to his right that seemed to be the focus point of his fascination.
Carefully, she trailed the flashlight over the glass but she couldn’t find the slightest smudge or speck of dirt. There was only the fog. So she looked back to him and found him staring at the staircase again.
“That didn’t just happen,” he muttered. “That couldn’t have happened.”
“It’s okay,” Ruby ventured, not quite sure how to even start to comfort him.
She hadn’t expected Tristan to whirl around and face her. “Okay? What part of this is okay? That kid just climbed down the wall like a spider! And they ...”
His voice trailed off into a whimper and he snapped his mouth shut.
“They were inside your head,” Ruby finished for him.
“I heard them whispering,” he said weakly. “In my head. Not that I was just hearing them. They were … that girl …”
“I know,” she nodded.
She put down the flashlight, resting it on its end so that the beam shot straight up to the ceiling.
“No, you don’t. I didn’t want to move. They made me move.”
“I know,” she said again. “They did the same thing to me.”
“I couldn’t stop myself,” he mumbled.
Ruby gathered up the supplies she had brought out from the first-aid kit. She had originally intended them to be for herself. The plan had been to wrap them around her stomach and ankle to keep them from moving too much. That plan had been altered.
“Let me check your hand,” she said. “I’m sorry I cut you by the way. Well, I’m not. But it seems like I should say it.”
“You want to check my hand? Now? Don’t you think there are more important things to worry about?”
“No,” she said. “Because if we have to fight our way out, I’m going to need you to be okay. So get over here.”
Tristan moved in staggered lurches. She kept the table between them until she was about to see the whites of his eyes. The dim light played across the brilliant blue of his irises, the sight making the cold lump of panic inside her slowly crumble. He fell rather than sunk into a chair, as if all of his muscles had given up and left him to drop. Still, he was focused on the staircase. The window. The staircase again.
“Let me see your hand,” she said softly.
She really hoped that she sounded far more reassuring than she felt. It took a little more prodding for him to lift his wounded hand and place it on the tabletop. Still, he didn’t remove the hand he was using as a tourniquet. It left her to peel his fingers free. Fresh blood rushed out and began to pool across the table.
“Well, it doesn’t look too bad.” In truth, she wasn’t entirely sure about that, but she was certain it was something that she was supposed to say.
“How did that happen? What happened?” Blinking rapidly, he lifted his face to look up at her. “How are you so calm?”
She shrugged. “I’ve been through it before.”
Still, seemingly unable to stop from blinking and twitching, he turned away from her and resumed switching his gaze between the two points. Back and forth. Never ending. Never settling.
“The first time I saw them,” she continued as she placed the gauze tightly over the open wound. There’s so much blood. How deep did the blade go? “I sat down and didn’t move until sunlight.”
“Why?” he asked numbly.
“Because,” she shrugged. “They only seem to come at night.”
Twitching and trembling, he slowly turned to look at her. “When’s dawn?”
Chapter 9
Tristan’s injury helped to keep Ruby calm. Any lingering guilt she felt about that was put aside, added to the pile that had been building since her first encounter with the children. But the fact was that having something to focus on helped anchor her in the moment. She had something to do. A task to complete. Something she could focus her mind on while she allowed the storm of her thoughts to pass and settle.
So she had methodically cleaned him up. The cut was a thin strip that streaked out across the skin just below his knuckles. Mercifully, it looked shallow. Given the kitchen’s hygienic standards, she was sure that infection wasn’t going to be a problem worth worrying about right now. Still, she cleaned the wound with an antiseptic wipe. She also used the cleanest of the gauzes, the one that had been on the top of the pile and hadn’t touched the table. Careful not to hurt him, she wrapped another of the long thin bandages around his hand to keep it in place. It was only after she had finished and tucked the stray end through the weave, that she took another look at his face. He was still dividing his attention between the two chosen spots. It didn’t seem like anything beyond those points held any interest for him.
Is that how I looked the first night I saw them? The thought whirled around in her mind but never found a place to land. It didn’t stop her from conjuring the memories of that night. They were sharper now, fed by the exposure to the voice until she could play it with each one of her senses. The fear. Tears. Pain. The consuming cold that left her with the beginning of hypothermia. Everything else faded into oblivion. It felt like swimming against wild rapids to pull herself back to the surface of her thoughts. She needed a new distraction.
Since neither of them was ready to discuss what had happened, she examined her stomach. It was difficult given the low light. So she had to grab the flashlight and angle it towards herself for a better view. The shift of light made Tristan jump. His chair
scraped across the ground as he turned towards her, eyes wide and one hand tight around the hilt of his steak knife. The tension of his shoulders slowly released as he saw what she was doing. For a few heartbeats, he lowered his eyes to her stomach. Soon enough, he went back to his self-appointed post.
A bruise was already beginning to form across her tender skin. Other than the aesthetics, however, there didn’t seem to be much damage. It hurt when she bent, but it was nothing immobilizing. Her ankle was another matter. Removing her shoe made her hiss through her clenched teeth, but mostly because she couldn’t keep from twisting her ankle as she worked her foot free. The cold air hurt more than removing the sock did.
Again, there were a few patches of dark, damaged skin. It was a small mercy that it hadn’t started to swell. The worst of the pain was when she tried to move it up or down, and she was relatively sure that nothing was broken. She wrapped it quickly, tight enough to keep it in place, but loose enough to allow the blood to flow. And that expensive first-aid training just paid for itself, she thought as she slowly rolled her sock back into place and put her shoe back on. And with that, she was left with no other distractions. Out of the corner of her eyes, she noticed Tristan beginning to move. He pulled out his phone so he could see the screen, and hit the speed dial. The phone was plastered to his ear as he began to click the radio.
“Nina,” he said under his breath. “Nina, you have to pick up now.”
The radio only buzzed in her ear.
“Nina.”
There was a little click and he sagged against his chair. Words shot from his mouth too fast for Ruby to keep track of them all. But it wasn’t hard to tell what he was trying to express. Help us. Get us out of here. Send someone. After all, they were all the things that she longed to scream. Tristan responded to something Ruby hadn’t heard and she completely lost track of the conversation.
