“Stay here with him,” Blake instructed Ricky. “I’m going to go check on your mum.”
Liz was still on the living room sofa in front of the fire. Blake threw another log into the flames to keep them going.
“Blake?”
Blake spun around in shock. Liz was awake. “Liz? Are you okay?” He could see that she wasn’t. Her eyes were bloody and her hair was falling away in clumps. She looked like a zombie.
“I don’t feel well,” she said.
“I know you don’t, honey. You need to rest.” Blake knelt on the floor and passed Liz the bottle of water. She drank from it thirstily and when she had finished she gasped. “Thank you. Is Ricky okay?”
“Ricky’s fine. He’s…playing. Do you remember anything?”
“Just that we were going to talk, sort things out.”
Blake leant forward and gave his wife a kiss on her cold, sweaty forehead. “Everything’s going to be just fine,” he told her. “We’ll talk about everything once you’re better. I’m going to start looking after you more, I promise. No more hiding away.”
“And I’m going to stick to water from now on.” Liz managed a chuckle. Blake laughed too. He was glad Liz still had a sense of humour, despite how bad she looked. Maybe there was still time to help her.
Liz leapt to her feet and stood awkwardly, like a marionette with a broken string. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she vomited blood down her chest.
“Jesus!” Blake grabbed Liz by the shoulders and tried to ease her back onto the sofa, but she resisted firmly.
“Jesus can’t help you.” Liz spoke in a serpentine hiss that wasn’t her own. “The Lord and his sycophants are doomed and this world will fall. Eligos is coming.”
Blake snarled. “Boruta.”
Liz stared at Blake malevolently, a crooked smile across her bloody face. “Your death will be my beginning. Your tomb will be my birthplace.”
“We’ll see about that. I’m going to find a way to stop you, send you to Hell where you belong.”
“Humanity. Is. Hell.”
Liz seized, her body flailing. Blake grabbed her and felt the strength leave her body. He managed to get her back on the sofa safely and waited for the seizure to pass. Once it had, Liz fell into a deep sleep. Thatcher had said Boruta’s evil was inside of her, making her ill. What just happened proved it. Boruta’s spirit had come back to Poe’s Place and it was hollowing Liz from the inside out. Soon there would be nothing left of her.
The idea crossed Blake’s mind that Ricky might be able to change the picture inside the frame. He was no longer cursed by it and thus no longer under its control. Yet, the thought of Ricky committing murder was unpalatable, especially with what Thatcher had suggested it would do to his eternal soul.
A light appeared at the back of the room. “Ricky? How’s Thatcher doing?”
“Asleep. His leg looks better, but he’s soaking wet and shivering. I don’t think we can move him. Did I hear Mum talking?”
“No, just me. Come on, let’s find some blankets to keep warm. We’ll carry your mother into the family room where we can all stay together. It’s going to be a long night, but we’re going to get through it together.”
“We’ll be okay, dad. This is our home.”
Blake nodded. “Yes, it is.”
26
Everyone was asleep except for Blake. Thatcher had remained unconscious and so had Liz. Ricky scratched at the healing wound on his ankle for a while and then succumbed to slumber, too.
Blake’s watch said it was 3AM, but it was hard to tell for sure. The windows of the family room had been dark since late afternoon and the only time they lit up was whenever lightning split the darkness. The rain had gotten so fierce that it felt like the house was under siege. Blake wondered what it had been like when the people of Redlake converged on Poe’s Place eighty years ago to kill Boruta. The evil man hadn’t cowered inside, he’d strolled into the field to bury a picture frame that would eventually be dug up by a young boy generations later. Maybe Boruta had never feared his death; perhaps he always knew he would be back one day.
It was about two hours later when Liz went into a coma. It started with a seizure. Ricky snapped awake and helped keep her steady. Once it passed, Liz went completely still, her breathing irregular. Blake tried everything he could to get her to respond, but she was completely un-responsive, even when he placed her palm over one of the lit candles. Her body was limp, her pupils were fixed—Blake knew the signs from his research. He was as sure as he could be that Liz wasn’t going to wake up. She’d passed into a coma and would die in her sleep.
Ricky retreated to the corner of the room and sat in darkness, sobbing quietly into his arms. Thatcher stirred briefly to drink some water, but was gone again soon after. It was at that point that Blake went behind the bar and picked up a bottle of Scotch. He poured himself two fingers and held the slightly warm glass in his hands.
He wanted to down the contents and follow it with ten more. His life was over. Liz would be dead soon and so would he. Ricky would be an orphan, placed into the care of an unreliable uncle. Stevie had come a long way in just a year, but alcoholics had a way of taking two steps back after every one forward. Their parents’ death had begun Stevie’s initial downward spiral. Would Blake’s death send him into a new one, not to mention the guilt Stevie held over possibly killing Cindi’s lover? Cindi herself was a train wreck. What kind of mother would she make?
Blake raised the glass to his lips and felt his saliva glands open, but he didn’t drink. Here he was, criticising his brother, and he was about to give in to the same weaknesses. How was Stevie any less a man than he? The only thing that really separated them was good fortune. Blake was a bestselling author, Stevie was not. Were they so different otherwise?
More lightning lit up the sky, giving Blake a brief glimpse of the field outside—the place where this whole nightmare had begun. Boruta’s evil had been buried deep down, but Blake had given his son the means to dig it up.
He snarled, slammed the Scotch down on the bar, and winced as it shattered in his hand. A large gash opened up on his wrist and began to bleed. He quickly grabbed a bar cloth and held it firmly against the wound, hissing at the pain. After a few seconds he took a glance at the injury and was relieved to see he hadn’t nicked an artery, although it had been close. A dark blue vein throbbed only millimetres away from where the glass had sliced. Another attempt by the curse to off him, no doubt.
Thatcher had said the curse could only get at him by manipulating circumstance. ‘Bad luck’ was what he’d called it. Liz had been too weak-minded to resist the curse from taking her over directly, but Blake was apparently strong enough to resist. It was surprising because he’d always felt like the vulnerable one. He was the one who needed pills to cope, who’d rushed them all away to the countryside. Liz had always been the strong one, but he’d forced her to crumble. The great Blake Price had destroyed his wife’s confidence, not Richard Heinz.
Blake had to make this right, but he couldn’t. There was no way, so he decided to go out like a man, without his son having to watch. He slid out from behind the bar and crept across the room. He was glad to see Ricky had fallen back asleep, huddled beneath the side table full of pictures. There was one picture frame that was missing and Blake retrieved it from the office. He plucked it from atop the stack of serial killer mug shots and placed it back inside the sackcloth. When he did so, he noticed that the fox bones were missing—the ones he’d originally mistaken as having belonged to a chicken. Had Stevie taken them? What was their significance, anyway? Were they what bound the foxes to the frame? If the bones were crushed, would the animals leave?
It didn’t matter now. If Stevie had pocketed the bones and forgotten about them, Blake wasn’t going to get them back. He was going to bury the picture frame where they’d originally found it. The hole would still be there, he just needed to fill it in. Perhaps burying it would break the curse? It was the only idea he had, an
d it was the only way he could think to be proactive. If he died going into the storm, at least he would go out facing Boruta’s evil instead of cowering from it. It was nearing dawn. The sun should have started to rise, but there was only darkness.
Opening the front door was like opening the gates to Hell. The rain fell in vertical rivers. The rhythmic thunder was deafening. The electricity in the air seemed to hum.
The foxes were still out there, their eyes glowing in the shadows.
Blake clutched the sackcloth firmly and stepped out into the maelstrom. The wind buffeted his face so stiffly that it was like being punched. He had to lean forward just to put one foot in front of the other.
A fox came up on Blake’s flank and snapped at him, managing to nip the flesh on his hip. He swung the picture frame like a weapon, knowing it was unbreakable. It cracked against the fox’s skull and sent it scarpering. He was ready for the next fox, too. He swung his foot and connected a kick Ricky would’ve been proud of.
The snarling animals were everywhere, spilling from the bushes and bounding through puddles. Blake’s visibility was so poor that he didn’t see them until they were already lunging from the shadows. He was bitten so hard on his right thigh that he broke into tears. The fox retreated before he could clobber it, and as he staggered, another fox leapt up and tore at his shoulder. He tumbled to his knees, breathless and in pain. When a particularly large beast leapt up and took a chunk from his cheek, he knew it was over. Blake prayed Thatcher was able to get Ricky to safety, and that Liz would pass peacefully and join him in whatever life came next.
He let the picture frame slip from his grasp and into the puddles at his knees. Then he slumped forward onto his hands and enjoyed the cold rain on the back of his neck. He closed his eyes and waited as the foxes surrounded him.
He opened them again as the sky lit up with another burst of lightning. Something exploded overhead. Blake glanced upwards to see the cottage’s roof give way. Bits of thatch and brickwork flew into the air as the chimney imploded. The large chunk of brickwork slipped from its base and tumbled down the roof towards the driveway.
Blake knew the chimney was plummeting right towards him, but he was too broken and battered to move away in time. This was his end. He bowed his head and waited for the last split seconds of his life to be over.
The impact threw him sideways. His mouth filled with water and dirt and he spluttered. There was a weight on his back, but it wasn’t as heavy as the chimney should’ve been, nor had it caved in his skull.
Blake rolled onto his back and wiped the mud from his eyes. He blinked and tried to make out what was happening in the darkness. Someone was standing over him.
“Stevie…?”
“I take it help didn’t arrive, then?”
“No, it didn’t.”
Stevie yanked Blake to his wobbly feet. “I’m getting you back inside, then I’m getting this goddamn curse off of you.”
“You can’t,” said Blake weakly, fighting to stay on his feet.
Stevie kicked at a nearby fox, but it was clear they were going to allow Blake to return to the house. It was where they wanted him. “I wouldn’t be so sure, big bro. I think I know a way.”
27
Stevie threw his brother down on the recliner next to Thatcher and shook his head in disgust. “They really did a number on you, man.”
Blake didn’t disagree. His body cried out and every movement hurt. His wet clothes clung to his back and made him shiver. “I…I feel like crap. You should have let me die.”
“You’re not dying and neither is Liz.”
“Dad, what happened?” Ricky’s expression was one of absolute terror. Blake looked at himself in the candlelight and saw that his entire body was leaking blood.
Thatcher was staring in half-awake shock and confusion. “W-what?”
Stevie turned to Thatcher and glared. “You promised me you’d bring help.”
“I…I couldn’t. No one can break the curse. It would’ve been false hope to get the authorities involved. I couldn’t risk Blake telling his story and having the picture frame fall into the wrong hands. I’m here to take it away, to keep it from doing further harm. I know you both think I’m cold, but I’m not. I want to save lives. I want to prepare for the upcoming trials and try to keep back the coming darkness, but I have seen enough to know when a battle can’t be won.”
“I already saved my nephew,” barked Stevie.
“By killing another. You did not break the curse, you just passed it on. That is not God’s way.”
“Who the hell cares?”
“God sees everything and we will all be judged.”
Stevie hissed. “What happened to you, man? You’re willing to let people die rather than risk making you buddy Christ mad. Well, screw Christ. I only care about my family, and if that means I’m destined for hell, then I just hope they have weekly AA meetings.”
Blake reached a hand to Ricky who approached cautiously. It hurt to hug his son, but it was worth the pain. “Stevie’s going to take you out of here, Ricky. He came back for you.”
“No, I didn’t. I came back for the frame.”
Blake shook his head in confusion. “What are you talking about? Have you found something out?”
“Cindi’s dead. When I got back she’d taken enough pills to stock a chemist. She was still alive for a while, but in the hospital she just…flatlined.” There were tears in Stevie’s eyes as he spoke but he kept them from falling. “She’d already phoned the police, said I was behind David’s death. They’re probably out looking for me right now. She also wrote a note which said she loved me and that David’s death was as much her fault as mine. She also said I needed to take responsibility for killing a man, or it will eat me up inside. She’s right, but the police will never link me to David’s death because I had nothing to do with the stabbing.”
“You’ll be okay, then,” said Blake. “Just take Ricky out of here. Go.”
“What if the foxes don’t let us leave?” asked Ricky meekly. He’d finally lost his youthful ability to cope and looked terrified.
“Thatcher tried to get Ricky out of here earlier,” said Blake, “but he couldn’t leave.”
“Because I have the fox bones,” said Thatcher. “I took them when you put the sackcloth on my desk at the museum. They are tied to Boruta. I hoped to use them against him if he were to return. When I tried to leave, Boruta’s spirit prevented me. He is strong enough now to sense my intentions. He will not let me leave while the curse is still active.”
Blake was angry at Thatcher’s deception, but there was no time to air grievances. “Once the curse is finished, Boruta will return, right?”
“That is my understanding. He will take the lives of those in the frame to reignite his spirit. The curse must run to its conclusion. Boruta needs the final two deaths.”
“Well, he isn’t getting ‘em,” said Stevie. “A curse can only be dealt with by using its own rules against it. Amy the Maid taught me that.” Stevie raced out of the room without disclosing why.
“Ricky, stay with Mr Thatcher.” Blake had no idea what his brother was up to, but he intended to find out. He got to his feet—wincing in agony—and hobbled across the room. With each step he was able to ignore the pain a little more.
Stevie had headed into the hallway and was now standing by the front door. Before Blake could stop him, Stevie stepped out onto the driveway and headed over to the picture frame, still lying on the gravel where Blake had dropped it.
Thunder grumbled overhead.
“Stevie, what are you doing?”
Stevie stood up and turned around with the picture frame clutched tightly to his chest. “I’m making things right, big bro. Hopefully this will make up for all the years I brought you down. Love you, man. Always have.”
“I love you, too, Stevie. I don’t understand.”
“You will.”
The foxes converged on Stevie, but he made no attempt to fight or flee them.
He backed along the driveway, heading for the back of the cottage rather than the road. The foxes followed cautiously, as if they were afraid to attack. The thunder roared so loudly that the very air itself seemed to vibrate.
Then the lightning started.
The first fork struck the trees over the driveway once again, bringing down more branches. The next bolt struck the driveway, sending worm-like sparks along the wet ground.
The third bolt struck Stevie in the centre of his chest. It sent him rigid, stretching him out on his tiptoes. In the blinding white light, Blake saw his brother’s neck muscles bulge and his teeth clamp down on his tongue. The lightning struck for less than a second, but it engulfed Stevie completely.
Blake sprinted through the rain as his brother’s body flopped lifelessly to the ground. “Stevie! Stevie, no!”
Blake didn’t understand it. He didn’t understand how Boruta’s evil had targeted Stevie when Stevie wasn’t cursed. It made no sense. What had his brother been trying to do?
Then he saw the picture frame and it all made sense.
The picture frame lay across Stevie’s chest. The photograph of Blake and Liz had been replaced. A torn photograph from Stevie’s wedding to Cindi now sat inside the frame. Pictures of Stevie and Cindi now covered the area where Blake and Liz had once been. Blake found the two scraps of the original photograph in his brother’s scorched fist. Liz and Blake’s images had been released, their smiling faces finally free from the curse. Stevie had taken the burden on himself.
The thunder boomed again, louder than ever. The foxes howled, not in anger, but in what sounded more like anguish. Blake watched the animals snapping at one another irritably, or running away with their tails between their legs. The rain, too, was retreating and the darkness began to clear as the sun fought its way back through the clouds. The moon slipped away beneath the horizon as the image of a slender grey figure seemed to appear briefly in the mist, before disappearing completely.
The BIG Horror Pack 2 Page 99
