by Michael Bray
“So I noticed.”
“I mean, take this place. He spends so much time up here by himself and now he’s dressing like this Donovan guy. I don’t know if it’s for the benefit of the cameras, or the show, or just to make himself feel young again. Family or not, he looks ridiculous.”
Steve stopped walking. “What did you say?”
“You know, the stupid new look of his.”
“I only saw him for the first time when I came here. What’s changed?”
“I wouldn’t worry about it, it’s probably all for the show.”
“Humor me.”
“Well, just look at him. The stupid hair-dye job was bad enough, now he’s even dressing the same. The guy’s obsessed.”
Steve’s stomach rolled as he stared at the confused presenter in the artificial glow of Sean’s camera. Flashbacks of the fire. Of Donovan re-inhabiting his own body. Surely it couldn’t have happened again?
“The teams, who decided those?” Steve snapped.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean who decided who went with whom?”
“Henry did, why?”
“Of course he did,” Steve muttered. “He knew she’d ask to swap.”
“What? I don’t know what you’re talking about I—”
“Follow the trail and get the others, then head back to the hotel.” Steve said as he turned back and started to shamble through the woods.
“What’s going on here? Where are you going? We have a show to film.”
“Just do it, I don’t have time to explain.”
With that he was gone, lost amid the trees. Dane looked beyond the camera towards Sean. “What do you think?”
“I think we should do as he says,” Sean replied.
“Alright, let’s go.”
The pair pushed on through the woods as Steve raced towards the hotel.
CHAPTER 18
The lobby was silent, a crypt hiding secrets, draped in heavy shadows. Melody and Emma were standing just inside the entrance, holding hands and willing themselves to move. The dining room entrance loomed like a wide open mouth of some slumbering beast, a cavern of the night. Melody nodded towards it, putting a finger to her lips. Message received, Emma nodded and both women crept towards it.
Other than the ghostly edge of the table, they saw nothing beyond. Melody peered into the pitch dark, Emma cowering against her. Fighting every instinct, she stepped into the darkness and reached for the light switch. Her fingers found the casing and then the buttons. She flicked them on, the dining room fizzling to clarity under the array of strip-lights hanging from the ceiling.
The room was empty.
Emma breathed a sigh of relief, and turned to Melody, intending to ask what they should do next, when she saw the expression on her face. Melody was staring at the table, open-mouthed, eyes wide.
“What is it, what’s wrong?” Emma said, her voice bouncing around the room.
She followed Melody’s line of sight to the object on the table, and if anything was more confused. It was just a toy. A red stuffed bear which looked to have seen better days. Its plush body was slightly grubby and one ear was missing, a rough stitching job mostly doing enough to keep the stuffing from escaping.
“I don’t get it, it’s just a toy.” Emma said.
And to her, that’s all it was. To Melody, it was more. It was Isaacs’s toy. The one she had left with him at Rebecca’s, the one he snuggled with when he felt ill, or if there was a storm raging and he was trying to be brave. There was no question. He’d had the teddy since he’d been two, and she was as familiar with it as she was with Isaac himself. He had refused to give it away, refused to have it washed or even be parted from it, even though he was starting to get a little old for such things. There was no way it should be there. It was impossible unless…
“Go call the police,” Melody croaked.
“Why? What’s going on?”
“Please, just do it. Get someone here right now.”
Emma nodded, turning away from Melody and heading to the lobby. She screamed. Melody whirled around, half-knowing what was awaiting her.
Henry Marshall stood silhouetted in the doorway, one black-gloved hand on the frightened boy’s shoulder, the other holding the carving knife to his throat, the blade shimmering in the gloom.
“Mr. Marshall, what are you doing?” Emma said, almost too quiet to be heard.
“Henry isn’t here,” he whispered as he pulled his hood down to expose his blonde hair. “You can call me Donovan.”
“Don’t you hurt him!” Melody screamed, her voice echoing around the deserted halls.
Marshall only smiled, and to see it threw Melody into the past. Although they looked nothing alike in the physical sense, something had happened, and by some sick form of amalgamation, Henry Marshall and Donovan were now one and the same.
“I’ve been waiting for this, for you to come back,” Marshall said.
“Leave my son alone.”
“He’s not yours. He belongs to them,” he said, rolling his eyes. “He belongs to those who were here first.”
“What do you want?” Melody said, her voice wavering.
“I have something to show you. A grand finale. A surprise to end all surprises.”
“No,” she said, locking eyes with her son, who stared back at her, afraid and confused.
“You don’t have a choice. I’ll kill him if you don’t.”
She looked Marshall in the eye, and knew it was true.
“What about Emma?” Melody said.
“She’s free to go.”
Emma and Melody shared a quick glance, which was broken by Marshall’s laughter. “You don’t believe me? I should have known,” He said, shaking his head. Isaac began to cry, a low whine which cut Melody to the core. Henry smiled.
“She’s not part of this, they don’t want her.” He said as he unlocked the door, simultaneously pulling the blade tighter into Isaac’s throat, the pressure making a tiny incision in his skin.
“Get out.” Henry said flatly to Emma.
She hesitated and looked at Melody. “No. I’m not leaving you alone with her.”
Henry glared at Emma and smiled. “It wasn’t a request.”
“I won’t leave you with her.” she repeated, trying and failing to sound unafraid.
“You either go now and be free, or stay and suffer the consequences.” As he said it he switched on the lobby lights, exposing the rest of the space and expelling the shadows. Both Emma and Melody screamed in unison.
Fred was sprawled in one of the crème chairs in the waiting area behind Marshall, head bent back at a nauseatingly unnatural angle. Blood stood out in sharp contrast against the off-white furnishings. His head had almost been severed, his lower jaw removed. His horrified eyes looked up at the ceiling, one hand lay half clenched on his lap and the other arm hung over the edge of the chair.
Bruce lay on the floor at his side, face down on the tile in a pool of his own blood, the back of his head a bloody pulp.
“Stay or go, it’s up to you.” Henry stated, speaking to Emma whilst looking at Melody.
Emma was trembling, her teeth chattering as she looked at the blood-spattered mess behind Henry. Melody was watching her son, who was looking right back at her, his eyes vacant. The boy was in a place far beyond fear, and Melody was at least grateful for that.
“Just go,” Melody whispered.
“I’m not leaving you with him.”
Melody looked Emma in the eye. “There’s nothing you can do here. This is how it has to be. Go. Call the police, get help.”
Emma nodded, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. She half-walked, half-staggered towards Henry, who pulled open the door as she approached.
“Yes, you go now. You go call the police…” he repeated, grinning as she hurried past him, charging down the steps and screaming for help. Henry watched her go until she was out of sight down the access road, and then closed the door.
“And then there were three,” he whispered.
“What happens now,” she said, taking a cautious step closer.
“Now I show you the surprise I mentioned,” he replied, nodding towards the steel door behind the reception desk. “The key is on the counter. Go ahead and open the door.”
She shook her head. “Whatever’s in there, I don’t want to see it.”
Isaac started to gasp as Henry pushed the knife deeper into the soft skin of his neck.
Melody hurried to the desk and grabbed the key. Henry followed, shuffle-stepping Isaac in front of him. He watched as she unlocked the heavy steel door and pushed it aside. The smell hit her first, then she began to take in exactly what she was looking at. Henry grinned as he ushered her into the room beyond. Outside, the trees creaked and groaned their satisfaction.
II
Dane stumbled through the woods in the dark, completely lost and disorientated. Sean followed having already tossed his camera aside, both men unwilling to show just how afraid they were.
The voices were clear enough for both of them to hear. They were everywhere and nowhere, some barely audible on the very edges of clarity, others were so loud and close to their ears they would yelp and rear away from the disembodied sounds. The rain had begun again, and the steady shhhhhhhhhh as it barraged the leaves had transformed the forest into an intimidating cauldron of noise. Dane’s question of belief was gone. The voices alone would have been enough to do it. Now he could see things out there too. Howling faces carved into the trunks of trees, or worse still, actual figures, slivers of movement from the spaces in between the branches.
They’d lost all sense of direction, and any path they may have been on had long since been abandoned. Still the sounds came, and with them those barely visible phantoms, there and gone within the blink of an eye. Dane stumbled over a protruding root, going down hard on his hands and knees and knocking the wind out of him. The air was filled with a shriek of pure terror, a sound so shrill it made him grit his teeth. It was then he realized the scream had come from Sean, who had turned back the way they’d come and was charging blindly through the forest, ignoring the grasping claws of branches trying to impede him. He turned to see what had caused his friend such distress, and distinctly felt something in his already fractured mind break when he saw it. The only thing which stopped him from screaming himself was that he was still winded from the fall.
The giant tree was slick with rain, its branches reaching high into the forest canopy and beyond. At first he thought it was some kind of creature, some abomination which had pulled itself up from the very depths of Hell. It pulsed under the rain, and it was only then, while Dane watched and his brain connected the dots, he realized it wasn’t the tree breathing, but the people who were attached to it.
Some were already dead, their naked bodies limp. They’d been nailed to the wood through the shoulders, hips, and ankles with huge iron nails. Others still were alive, most hanging upside down, their eyes pleading, their tongues and toothless mouths moving as if begging for mercy. Dane was reminded of the goldfish he’d had as a child and he unleashed a sharp bark of manic laughter. He recognized them. He recognized all of them. There were at least ten of them strapped to the branches. The Gogoku actors who were meant to scare the teams later had been flayed almost to pulp, and yet somehow were still alive, their eyes wide and pleading for death. The others were Henry’s colleagues, his fellow town councilors, the ones who’d opposed his plan and had seemingly paid the ultimate price. The older woman was already dead, eyes staring, mouth agape and ringed with blood. The two men were still alive, writhing against the nails which held them firmly in place.
He recognized the girl, the one from the team. His team who, just a little while ago, had been alive and well when they’d separated and headed towards the clearing. She and the boy, Scott, had been stripped and tied – no, nailed – to each other, face to crotch, wrapped with barbed wire, and strapped to the underside of one of the branches, blood dripping from their slick bodies with the same regularity as the rain. Someone then walked out from behind the tree, bloody and naked, dragging the janitor’s body with him. He hadn’t yet seen Dane, and was grunting with the exertion of his efforts. Sensing Dane’s presence, Cody turned to face him, his eyes devoid of anything resembling humanity, a wide, bloody rictus grin spread across his face. He had broken his own teeth in an attempt to sharpen them.
“Do you like it?” he whispered, showing off his handiwork. “They say it’s the tree of life that will become death. They say no mercy will be given.”
Dane was unable to respond. He couldn’t move and even breathing was difficult. He was still staring at the bodies of Scott and Carrie, who were bleeding out in front of his eyes.
“I ran out of nails,” Cody said with a sigh, giving the dead janitor a disgusted glance. “I must be punished.”
“Kid, wait!” Dane said, watching as Cody reached up and tore out his own throat, sending a great jet of arterial spray into the tangle of trees. He was still smiling as he slumped against the bark.
Dane lurched to his feet, and echoing Sean, ran from the awful scene. He knew they needed help, he knew he should save them, yet his survival instincts told him in no uncertain terms it wasn’t going to happen. Those people were likely already dead. He still had a chance to survive. Eventually, the voices in the woods were lost in the deafening roar of his own screams as he desperately tried to escape.
CHAPTER 19
Steve stumbled out of the woods and across the bridge to the hotel. His body ached as he limped towards the entrance. He pushed through the door into the lobby, and immediately saw the bodies of Bruce and Fred in the waiting area.
“Melody!” he bellowed, his voice bouncing off the walls.
“In here.”
He hurried to the open door behind the reception desk, and drew breath when he looked inside. The smell of burnt wood made him wrinkle his nose, and his brain took a few seconds to acknowledge exactly what he was looking at.
The remains of Hope House loomed in front of him. The single remaining side-wall, as well as blackened beams which had once been a part of the roof, in situ where they’d fallen. Even the ground underfoot had been untouched by the build, the marble floor ending abruptly to allow the debris-covered remains to be displayed in all their glory. Steve was reminded of the archaeological digs he’d seen on the news, the ones which unearthed and preserved for the viewing of future generations. The entire structure sat inside the inner courtyard, protected by a Perspex roof lined with spotlights, giving the remains of the property an eerie feel. It was the first time he’d seen the house since the night of the fire, and his skin crawled as memories of the inferno ravaging his skin returned with frightening clarity. Henry stood inside the charred remains where the door would have once been. His eyes burned with an intensity, a swirling vortex of hatred. He had a kitchen knife held loosely in one hand. The other was resting on Melody’s shoulder. She’d been gagged and her eyes were streaked with makeup.
“Welcome home,” Henry said, holding the blade to her neck.
He tried to ignore his wife’s horrified stare, instead watching Henry.
“Is that why you brought us here? So you could kill us?”
Henry grinned. Steve’s blood turned to ice.
He was looking at Donovan.
“Don’t flatter yourself, it’s not as simple as that.”
“So let us go.”
Henry widened his grin, and stroked Melody’s hair. “You know, even now you really don’t understand any of this, do you?”
“All I know is we did everything to get out of coming back here, and you did everything to change our mind.”
Henry laughed and shook his head. “You think the nigger slave was enough to stop me?” Henry said, grinning at Steve. “He did for a while, at least until I was strong enough. Until people came back here.”
“Donovan,” Steve muttered.
Henry smiled and teased the blad
e of the knife against Melody’s skin.
“What do you want with us?” Steve asked, forcing himself to keep his eyes on Henry and away from the blade of the knife.
“With you two? Nothing.”
“Then let us go.”
“Fine.”
Henry shoved Melody towards Steve. She staggered towards him, trying to ungag her mouth with shaking hands. He moved to help her.
“Nggnh gnn hnguhh.”
He loosened the gag as best he could, giving her enough room to push it down around her neck.
“He’s got Isaac!” she blurted, clawing at Steve’s chest. They looked back to Marshall in time to see him drag the boy to his feet, his hands tied at the wrists.
Acting on instinct alone, Steve lurched towards Henry, teeth gritted and with every intention of attacking him. In response, and in a single fluid move, Henry lifted the blade to Isaac’s throat, grabbing a handful of his brown hair with the other. Steve stopped mid-stride, his stomach knotting as he looked his terrified son in the eye.
“Back up,” Henry hissed, punctuating his words with a sick grin which was eerie in its similarity to the oily, reptilian smile of Donovan’s. There followed a second of utter silence as Steve considered what to do then, knowing who he was dealing with and the lengths he was prepared to go to, he backed away, standing by Melody, who clung to his arm and sobbed. He could feel her shaking, yet as cruel as it made him feel, he ignored her, knowing Henry was looking for any kind of weakness to exploit. Outside, the wind howled, the walls of the house groaning in response.
“Hurts doesn’t it?” Marshall said. “Those burns. The feeling of skin peeling away from bone, the pain of nerves dancing with their own individual inferno, the maddening deep-seated itch as flesh tries to repair itself.”
Steve didn’t answer, even if Marshall’s words resonated more than he cared to admit. For a second, Marshall was gone, replaced by Donovan, skin blackened and bubbling, eyeball dripping down his face and landing on the smoldering remains of his jacket with an audible hiss akin to frying bacon in a hot pan. The smell of flesh and smoke, the heat of the inferno as it intensified around them came back. Steve blinked it away, and yet all the same, Henry saw it and somehow knew how he felt. For the second time in quick succession, he unleashed his familiar grin.
