Blackwater

by Paul McParland

  Karen stared at him. James was being held prisoner here and he didn't even realize.

  She grabbed his collar and yanked. He struggled as she pulled him towards the stairs.

  “I have to finish! I have to finish!”

  When Karen dragged him to the ground floor of the house, Clark was nowhere to be seen.

  “Good!” Karen said.

  She pulled the writhing James to the front door. He was crying in pain because he couldn’t reach the folders.

  Outside the front door, a single door was situated in the middle of the green land around the lake. Its physics-defying placement told Karen that the hospital room in which James now lay was beyond the door.

  “Run for that door!” She shouted.

  James’ eyes were out of focus. He stared at his wife with a lack of registration.

  Karen grabbed James by the arm and threw him into the fake outdoors.

  “Whore!”

  Karen gasped in shock and could not turn in time to see Henry Clark sprinting towards her with his hands outstretched.

  His fingers closed around her throat.

  James stared dumbfounded at his wife writhing in oxygen-deprived pain before turning and stumbling towards the singular door in the garden.

  Karen saw through her slowly decreasing aperture the hospital room and its gleaning cleanliness beyond the open doorway.

  James took a look back before slamming the door shut.

  85

  “She’s having a seizure!” The paramedic shouted to his colleague in front. “Step on it, Dean!”

  The paramedic leaned over Karen and secured a cotton-swaddled strap between her teeth. They had tied her down to the stretcher and she was violently struggling to break free of the restraints.

  Sophie and Marcus clung to each other in the back of the ambulance.

  “Is my Mommy going to be alright?” She whined.

  Marcus pulled his little sister closer to him.

  “We hope so, honey...” The paramedic said smiling weakly but briefly at the girl as he continued to treat their mother. “We’re gonna try!”

  The paramedic was leaning over Karen again, speaking to her.

  “Hold on, Karen. We’re nearly there...” Turning to the driver; “Dean, seriously man! Hurry the hell up! I don't know how much longer she can hold on!”

  “Shut up! You want to arrive at all, Brad? Then let me do my job!”

  Brad, the paramedic, looked at the two children whose mother was slowly dying in front of them.

  “I'm sorry, kids. It’s a...stressful...situation...” He felt like shit.

  ‘Stressful situation’ my ass, he thought ashamed. These kids are watching their mother swallow her own tongue; boiling herself into retardation, and all I can talk about is how stressful my job is...you’re a fucking idiot, Brad.

  “Hold on, Karen!” Brad repeated into the convulsing face. “Help is nea---” The paramedic fell back in shock.

  Vivid purple marks had formed on the woman’s neck. She had clear, intense bruising across the throat; bruising in the impression of fingers.

  “Deaaaan...?”

  “Twenty seconds, Brad, Godammit! Keep it together, lady! Don't go dying in front of your kids. That's a really shitty thing to do!” The driver looked around briefly. He had seen too many people die in the back of his truck, and even more survive long enough only to die on the operating table. He hated his job.

  The ambulance skidded as it rounded the last corner before the hospital; the same one in which James was just stirring from his coma.

  Dean brought the ambulance to a screeching halt and reversed in front of the bay doors. Two nurses came sprinting out.

  “Female, late 30s, seizure. The kid says she took sleeping pills and told them to call an ambulance in ten minutes.” Brad said looking over his shoulder at the two children standing on the edge of the open ambulance door, watching their mother be wheeled inside.

  Brad turned back to the nurse and raised his eyebrows. Her expression mirrored his own; shitty mother.

  Karen awoke. Her eyes hurt. Her throat was raw and her stomach felt like it had been punched twenty times by a coked-up boxer.

  Karen eyes fluttered open against the offensive bright lights of the hospital room.

  I made it, she thought.

  She craned her neck off the pillow to look around. She immediately regretted it and the searing pain in her head told her to lie back down.

  “Hello?” she croaked.

  Pain again.

  ‘Lie back down and shut up!’ The pain added.

  A moment later, a nurse entered the room.

  “Hello, Mrs. Dawson. How are you feeling?” The young woman’s voice was high and sweet. Her gentle tone was easy on Karen’s sensitive ears.

  “Like crap,” she choked.

  “I'm sure.” The nurse said sweetly but Karen thought she detected a hint of disapproval. “You're husband is awake if you would like to see him...?”

  “James? Is he alright?”

  “He’s fine. A little sore but just bumps and bruises. I’ll bring him in now.”

  The nurse exited and returned pushing James in a wheelchair. His eyes were black and Karen thought him pale. He smiled apologetically at her when he entered.

  “Hey, Kay...” He said.

  “James! I'm so glad you're okay!”

  The nurse wheeled him next to Karen at the bed. Karen held her hand out and James took it in his own. He kissed it and his tears fell on her hand.

  “I'm so sorry, Karen. I...you were right – the house is evil. Clark...he...whispered in my ear and I couldn’t stop myself. I didn't feel like myself and I was doing things I didn't want to do.” He sobbed.

  “I know, Jay. I was frightened but I knew it was the house. I'm just glad we got you out before it was too late...” She let her eyes drop and when she raised them to meet James; there was no need to say anything more. They both knew what could have happened.

  “Where are the kids?” She finally asked, leaning towards her husband.

  “They’re out in the hallway. I gave them some money for the vending machines. Sophie was looking a bit pale so I told Marcus to get her a chocolate bar and something for himself.” He patted Karen’s hand reassuringly.

  She nodded and breathed a relieved sigh. She fell back onto her pillows.

  “They can’t go back, Karen.”

  Karen looked at him and frowned.

  “The house...Clark...it’s them he wants. He planned to possess the children so he may t-t-take their souls to the afterlife with him.” James stuttered. The tears made his eyes shimmer. “As long as they stay away from the house, they are safe!”

  Karen threw herself up in bed. James tried to stop her but he quickly fell back into his chair with a wince.

  “What are you doing?” He said through gritted teeth. “You technically died!”

  “I'm ending this once and for all!” She said. She rubbed her pulsing temples. When Karen had sat still long enough to not vomit, she stepped off the gurney.

  She groggily pulled her jeans and shirt on, stopping several times to catch her breath again.

  “Please be careful!” James shouted out the door as Karen hobbled out, whilst downing the glass of water that had sat by the bed.

  86

  Karen stood at the foot of the hill from which Blackwater House spread terror. Its face stared down at her, mocking.

  “You won’t hurt us anymore.” She whispered. She knew Clark heard her.

  Karen climbed the steps and entered the house that had once made her heart skip with excitement. This place was meant to represent their new life; the better life in a beautiful new town.

  Guess some things can’t be fixed, she thought bitterly.

  The door closed behind her. She didn't bother turning; Karen knew Clark had done it. She wasn’t going to be afraid anymore.

  Karen moved towards the staircase and the banister suddenly detached. The hard wood swung at her, k
nocking her off her feet. It sent her flying into the wall next to the front room.

  She coughed blood into her cramping hand.

  Karen swore she heard the creaking of the old manor form itself into a laugh.

  She pushed herself up and walked back to the staircase which had returned to its usual arrangement. She climbed the steps, looking at the window and walls as she did so; Karen was sure the banister was only the start of the assault.

  Karen was so busy looking ahead towards the landing she didn't notice the steps beneath her shift and move to a vertical position. She slipped and grasped at the banister which had disappeared. She stumbled backwards. The steps were at angles and large holes appeared randomly in the treads.

  Karen dropped to her knees and flailed her struggling fingers into whatever grapple she could manage.

  The holes that Clark had put into the staircase ended up helping Karen. She lay still halfway up the stairs, fingers spasming at the strain of their tiny purchase, trying to slow her heart rate.

  Her face lay against the carpeted stairs. Karen’s heavy intakes of breath drew dust back into her mouth. She coughed.

  When her breathing had returned to its normal pace, she raised her head and steeled her determination. Karen pushed against the stairs and climbed to the first landing before anything more could happen.

  She made it.

  She was looking back down the stairs with some satisfaction; as much as she could afford. Karen looked out the window behind her and saw the glass mutate; its usual rigidity gave way to plasticity. The face of Clark leered out of the huge window. Karen backed towards the stairs and caught herself; knowing a few more steps could spell disaster for her.

  A simple ‘trip’ and she would tumble over and down the long staircase. Her neck would be lucky to remain intact never mind her arms, legs or back.

  Karen pushed back at the glass and it retreated; the face unsure in its shiny translucent surface. She then turned and continued up to the bedroom. She would pack. The kids and James would never have to return. She would pack only the things they needed and the Dawsons would disappear. They would be out of money, but they would be alive.

  She reached atop the wardrobe and pulled down the large suitcase that James and she had not used in over a year. Holidays had been common for the Dawsons in the years before his dismissal. The money James had earned paid for several a-year. Now, they had to be content with simple camping trips.

  She threw the case onto the bed behind her and looked at the creaking above.

  The face of Henry Clark had returned into the plastic reality of Blackwater House. It was sneering and laughing in a deep groaning sound that shook the house.

  “You can’t save them, Karen.” It said. “I already have them! You're too late!”

  Karen had tried ignoring the voice but this got to her.

  She ran down the stairs.

  “What have you done with them?” She shouted as she picked the phone off its receiver and dialed the hospital.

  The booming laughter sounded. “They have joined the others. They have become my children!” He bellowed again. “They are the very roots I built this manor upon!”

  The hospital operator picked up. The booming continued behind Karen as she screamed into the phone.

  “Where are my children?! Where are they?”

  “Madam, I don't know who your children are. You could giv---”

  “Marcus and Sophie Dawson!” Karen cried.

  “Oh, Mrs Dawson! We have been looking for you! You shouldn’t have checked yourself out! The doctor is very displeased; he said you were not fit enough to---”

  “Where are my children?!” Karen shrieked.

  “Mrs. Dawson, I don't appreciate your tone! We do not tolerate such behavior against our staff. Your children are not here. We assumed they had gone with you.”

  Karen dropped the receiver before the woman could say anything more. She felt herself go cold. Her head swam and she thought she might pass out.

  Karen ran down the basement stairs.

  “Marcus! Sophie!” She called. She was near hysterical.

  Karen flung boxes across the basement floor in frustration.

  “Ahhhh!” She screamed. “Tell me where they are!”

  The house only laughed.

  Karen sprinted back up the basement stairs and then to the upper floor of the house. She called for the kids again but this produced no answer from her missing children. She checked every room, looking under every bed and checking every closet.

  Karen ran down again. She flew out the front door and down the steps.

  She turned and looked back at the evil. She saw its eyes in the windows, its teeth in the paneling. Karen understood now.

  Karen stumbled in her hurry back to the house. She went down to the basement once more and started knocking on the walls.

  “Mark! Soph!” She shouted at the brick as she knocked. She knocked and placed her ear to the concrete. There was no sound.

  She fell her knees and banged on the ground. “Mark!” She screamed. “Sophie! Please answer me!” Her tears fell freely now and her nose ran into her mouth. Mucus fell from her nose in long strings. She didn't bother wiping it. She bawled her children’s names

  Clark’s maniacal shrieking continued to echo around Karen, mocking a mother’s worst fear.

  Karen let out an enraged screech and launched herself at the house’s walls. She banged on them with her fists until they bled. At this, she spotted something in the corner of the basement; a sledgehammer.

  She dived for it and swung. The walls gave quickly. Bodies fell out almost immediately. Something had stuffed the cavity with the bodies of women and children. They were degraded in various stages of decomposition. Karen recognized the partially rotten face of Mary Clark; the wife of the great-grandson of Henry Clark. A large gash was imprinted into her face.

  The axe, Karen thought. Howie, Benjamin and Jessica would be here.

  Tiny skeletons piled out onto the rotting bodies collecting at Karen’s feet. Karen reached into the cavity and pulled them out. No sign of the children.

  Karen picked up the sledgehammer again and swung at random spots of the wall. When she was satisfied with what she had done, Karen clawed at the walls again.

  She pulled more bodies and then suddenly, her son’s sweet face appeared; buried beneath a multitude of corpses.

  Karen grabbed hold of the jumper he wore; the one she had knitted for him. She pulled backwards and brought her son out into the open of the basement floor. She felt a weak pulse in his wrist. His breathing was shallow.

  Where is Sophie though? Karen thought desperately.

  She kept pulling the bricks out of the walls and the countless bodies they contained, but still there was no Sophie.

  Karen looked at Marcus and the ground he lay on. She lifted the sledgehammer up and brought it down on the ground. Bodies popped out of the crumbling ground.

  She pulled them out of the hole she formed. Her daughter’s beautiful blonde hair snaked its way up between the skeletons.

  She’s down there, Karen thought desperately.

  Karen crawled into the ground. She pushed past the spindly fingers of the children that scratched at her skin.

  She grabbed hold of the pink squirrel sweater that Sophie wore all year round, despite its obvious Christmas tone, and grappled it out of the hole with the other hand.

  The fingers clawed and caught on her. Her arms and legs stung and there were holes in her clothing.

  When Karen pulled herself and Sophie out, she checked her daughter’s vitals.

  Sophie, too, was alive; barely.

  She sat in on the basement floor, hugging her two unconscious children.

  “You will not take my babies!” She screamed at the house.

  “There is no escaping!” Clark’s voice echoed.

  Karen stood, holding a child in each arm; their seats placed into the crook of her arms. She yelled at the house. It was a feral noise
of aggression and desperation.

  She ran out of the front door and down the hill upon which the manor sat. The front door slammed after her. She took the kids down the street, far enough away from the house that she felt they were out of its influence. Karen arrived at the bench she and her husband had sat on the day she had first seen the house, where they had both stared at it with hopeful longing. The bench they sat on when they thought they would have the dream life.

  Karen set the children down and roused them from their supernatural slumber.

  Marcus looked confusedly at his mother, “Where are we? How did we get home?”

  Karen shushed him gently and stroked his head. “It’s alright, don't worry. Just stay here. I’ll only be a second.”

  She kissed him on the forehead and then Sophie, before launching back up the street again.

  She stared the house down when she reached the hill, knowing it had eyes and they, too, were staring back.

  Karen ran into the kitchen and flipped the gas on. The stove hissed.

  She turned to leave but stopped at the door, turning and pulled the cupboard below the stove open. She yanked the piping free of the tank.

  Karen left the kitchen and turned into the open basement door. She hurried down and scoured the shelving and boxes for tubing. She found a long rubber tube looped around a vice grip. Karen snatched it up and ran back upstairs and out the front door.

  Karen approached the car and opened the petrol tank. She slid one end of the tubing into the tank. Turning her attention to the trunk, she removed the spare gas can. Karen sucked on the tubing until the terrible taste of gasoline choked her.

  She coughed up brown liquid as she transferred the end she had in her mouth to the portable gas tank.

  Karen filled it as much as she could. Karen had to suck and transfer several times to make sure as much of the petrol had been transferred.

  Karen ran back into the house and up to the airing cupboard. She grabbed a handful of laundry towels.

  She dumped some in a pile on the bedroom floor where she promptly poured the gasoline on them.

  Karen then drew a long crescent splash against the wall. The furniture, on which the family had sat, was now marinated in the foul stench of fuel.