by Gaby Triana
I stared at her.
She had it wrong. “I’m telling you. Your mother was Elena Villegas of this house, wife of the English avian researcher, Gregory Rutherford. It’s why you’re drawn here, why you’ve dreamed of this home so much, because of the trauma imprinted in your soul the day you were conceived.”
The words flew out of my mouth, the information coming to me through a portal that had opened up inside my higher self. Streams and streams of information, all by touching these walls, this necklace around my neck, by looking into the mind of this woman.
I wanted nothing more than to get off this island and close this portal forever.
She stared at me with blank, disbelieving eyes. “So I’m looking for the wrong woman.”
“Yes.”
“Then where is she?” Sharon asked. “Where is Elena Villegas then? Wasn’t she murdered here too?”
“Your father raped and impregnated her. My grandfather shot him when he realized what he had allowed to happen, then went crazy and killed everyone else, including himself, out of guilt. He spared your mother. She left the house, bringing my uncle back home with her. Nine months later, she gave birth to you.”
“Where is she?” Sharon was losing patience. Every moment of the last fifty-one years of her life was hinged on this one.
I breathed out slowly. There was no other way to tell her. “She committed suicide the same day as your birth. I’m sorry, Sharon.”
Sharon absorbed my words like a fish out of water desperate to breathe again. Her gaze would not move from mine.
I bent over and breathed to avoid heaving.
I felt sick with guilt, with knowledge I wish I had never received.
All my life, Uncle Bob and the tribe had been telling us to avoid Villegas House, telling us it was evil. Uncle Bob had remembered his father as a martyr, but he never told me he’d been there the day of the murders. He’d been there. And he’d seen. He’d witnessed what his father had done with Nesbitt’s shotgun. He’d even taken my grandfather’s gator tooth necklace back home with him as a memento. Why had he given it to me?
All these years, Uncle Bob had lied about what he’d witnessed.
Lied about the truth of Villegas House, but why?
To keep our honor as a people, otherwise, what would others think? What would officials think? What would government think? Fear, so we wouldn’t lose our benefits. Fear, so we wouldn’t be relocated. Fear that we would lose respect for our council leader, for a man with an immaculate moral record. To preserve his reputation.
Only it’d been a lie. ALL OF IT.
My grandfather hadn’t been an honorable man who’d been caught in the crossfire, killed by gladesmen out for revenge, like everyone had rumored. My grandfather had been possessed by the evil spirit of this house, had murdered people in cold blood. Maybe that made him a victim himself, but the facts were still the facts.
A murderer lived in my past.
And I wore his charm around me like a talisman.
“I need air.” I stumbled toward the front of the house, past the rotting, decomposed body of Linda Hutchinson. Outside, a group of gators stood hissing in the rain, asking for handouts. I screamed at them, wild angry animal to wild hungry animals, mouth wide emitting all the rage I felt.
They continued to gape, mouths open, minus the hissing.
“Avila,” Sharon called from the front door.
I turned and faced her. “What now?”
Just looking at her, I saw through her soul.
Elena Villegas Rutherford had escaped the horror along with my uncle, taken him down the river back to the village before disappearing. Where she had the baby, I didn’t know, but Sharon had been adopted by a nice family and raised near Atlanta. A life of wanting to understand her roots had led her here. Whether I’d learned all this through psychometry or through Linda Hutchinson who had somehow passed her knowledge onto me before she died, I didn’t know.
I didn’t want to know.
“All my life, I was scared that my father had been a murderer. But now you’re telling me he didn’t commit the crimes. Your grandfather did.”
“He committed a crime, Sharon. Rape is a serious crime, in case you didn’t know. Because of that, Elena gave birth to you. Because of rape, she couldn’t handle life and checked out. These are the impressions I’m getting thanks to you making me touch objects I didn’t want to touch.”
“Aren’t you glad you know the truth?”
“Not especially. You?”
“I’m alive because of your grandfather. But Nesbitt didn’t kill anyone—your grandfather did, and that takes a burden off my back.”
“And places it on mine. Thanks for the reminder. That’s what I needed right now,” I said.
“You know what this means?”
“What?”
“You’re the one we should watch out for.” She pulled up the shotgun and cocked it. “All this time I thought it was me, thought a curse lived in my veins. But it’s you we need to be careful of. You we need to get rid of.”
I slowly stepped away. “You’re crazy, you know that? I’m not a killer.”
“You’re not? You have all the makings of one. You’re wracked with guilt, you live in the Everglades where it’s easy to dispose of bodies, murder runs in your family…”
I backed into a gator who snapped at my ankle, setting off hisses from the other gators. I kicked the lunging creature in the eye. The gators all stumbled into each other, forming a heap, as I jumped to avoid their teeth.
There was no denying that Sharon had lost her damn mind, but part of me wondered if she was right. With all the rage I’d been feeling, I could snap at any moment, and the first one I’d come for was her.
“Come back here, Avila.”
“Enough of this.” Kane tried wresting the gun out of her hands, but she shoved him down the steps and he tumbled onto his back.
Sharon took aim and fired off one shot that grazed my shoulder. I dove for cover, ending up in a thicket of trees near the bodies of Quinn and the golden panther. The smell reached my nostrils. Around me, two snakes slithered off in protest.
Eve shrieked and cried from the corner of the room, and Kane, back onto his feet, slowly made his way up the steps toward Sharon. “Listen to yourself. There’s no proof that a curse passes on through generations.”
“She walked in her grandfather’s footsteps, Kane,” Sharon said. “I watched her. I heard her talking through her grandfather’s spirit. Don’t we see this all the time? You want to wait and find out after she snaps? You want to die? Because it’s Avila causing these deaths. Open your eyes.”
“You are out of your goddamned mind,” Kane said. “Maybe her grandfather was already angry before he did this, maybe the entities here didn’t help. Maybe the builder of this house was already angry, too. You can’t just go and blame Avila because she’s related to him anymore than we should’ve blamed you for being the daughter of a murderer.”
“But he wasn’t a murderer. You heard her.”
Kane took slow steps toward her. “He shot a woman, Sharon. A woman who died later on. Put the gun down,” he ordered, moving closer. “None of Avila’s visions are facts anyway. The past won’t matter to a jury when you’re in jail. Put. The fucking. Gun. Down.”
But Sharon continued to aim out the front door in my direction, as gators debated between rushing at Kane and getting too close to the house they reviled. She’d lost it. The biological mother she’d sought all her life was dead. Had been since the day she was born.
She would not be meeting her on this trip.
Also, because of the deaths of two of her crew, because of being trapped here, because of the endless rain, because of the revelations, because her tormented life had led her to this moment, because of the ghosts… The reasons didn’t matter anymore, only the facts. Sharon was our enemy.
Sharon’s finger was on the trigger, and that was reality. I’d felt the temper within me too, but I hadn’t poin
ted a gun at anyone.
I closed my eyes and imagined Kane swiping the shotgun from Sharon’s hands.
A moment later, I heard the struggle unfold. As Eve screamed and covered her ears, Sharon and Kane grappled for control of the shotgun. Had I caused it? She kicked him in the groin but he fought through the pain, crumpling, knees buckling but still fighting for the gun. Both his hands twisted and pried the shotgun from her hands, and as they both fell to the ground, kicking and fighting.
Eve reached into the melée and yanked the shotgun from Sharon’s hands. I watched it all—this house of madness.
“You’re making a mistake,” Sharon yelled after her. “She’ll take it from you. I’ve kept my eye on her since she arrived. She’s been wanting that gun, Eve, honey.”
I stepped out from the shadows, hissed at an approaching alligator. Grabbing a stick off the floor, I jammed it into its snout, as I walked by. The reptile retreated back to the group. It would take more than alligators to scare me today.
“I never wanted the gun. I wanted it away from her,” I clarified. “For this exact reason. So crazy bitches like you couldn’t touch them.”
It took all my power not to kick her face in as I approached. She’d been cut on her forehead from scuffling with Kane who gasped for breath and had broken out into waterfalls of sweat all over his body. Eve backed into a corner holding the shotgun. “Give it to me. I’ll put it somewhere safe,” I said, holding my hand out.
“Don’t give it to her,” Kane ordered his wife and shot me a glance.
“Are you kidding me? I’m not the one to mistrust here.”
“I don’t know that,” he said. “None of us can be trusted at this point.”
That was true. None of us were in our right minds, especially not Sharon who stood, helped Kane up with an outstretched hand then promptly punched him square in the face. “Asshole,” she mumbled.
Kane reached out to grab Sharon, but she’d moved away, stumbled toward the stairs, and rose into the shadows, straight into the overhanging cloud of darkness that awaited her.
TWENTY-THREE
Not only had the gators arrived at our doorstep, but so had turkey vultures. They’d been circling above the cypress trees since earlier today, and now they’d landed in search of their treasures. Without a front door, they’d soon walk into the house and find themselves a meal.
I walked into the house as though floating through a dream.
Bellamy’s oppressive mist had grown, now taking up most of the house. I felt the darkness the moment I stepped inside. We were all under his influences—me, Kane, Sharon, even Eve. As long as Sharon didn’t take possession of the shotgun, the situation was still manageable. Though Eve held the gun, and Kane had his bowie knife, I had zero ways to defend myself.
Just as I was about to climb up the stairs, I heard movement to my right. I paused, one hand on the railing and looked over. Linda was sitting up, the sleeping bag and poncho fallen over to one side. Her exposed upper half was gray and black, her eyes bulged out and her tongue pushed out of her mouth.
My heart literally stopped beating.
From her corner of the room, her head twisted toward me.
She’s up there. Waiting for you.
“Who?” I asked, my voice shredded by fear. Sharon? Yes, that was why I was going up there. One way or another, Kane, Eve, and I had to handle this situation.
The witch, she said using no voice whatsoever, but I heard her clearly. I was horrified by the sight of the old woman, rotting away undead. The Red Witch.
My feet stumbled on the first steps, as I slowly backed away from Linda who continued to stare at me, stench emanating from her. Yes, she’d been a nice lady in life but I didn’t want her staring at me, sitting up, or looking like she wanted to walk the way she did right now. This house and everything within was doing this. Torturing me.
I tore my gaze away and slowly ascended, following the sounds of Kane and Sharon arguing, checking back frequently to make sure Linda wasn’t following. They were upstairs in one of the front rooms where a chair lay on its side and a pile of dirty rags sat in a corner. The sun was starting to dawn over the darkest night of our lives, but it was only the beginning.
Eve stood in the corner holding the shotgun, as Sharon encroached on her slowly. “Sharon, listen to me,” Kane said from the door to the room. I stood at the other door to the same space, keeping my eye on Sharon. Four of us stood in four corners. “I get it. We’ve been through a lot, and we’re all going a little cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs.”
“Understatement of the month, Parker,” Sharon mumbled.
“But we need to hang in there. We can’t get at each other’s throats. We can’t lose our shit. That is what the house wants. Do you hear me? It’s what it wants. We cannot lose our composure,” Kane said. “We have to focus on getting out of here. So, let’s all cool down and take a step back.”
“If she gives me the gun, everything will be alright, Kane. Tell your wife not to be an idiot. I’ve always known she was useless to the production team, but now she’s taking it to a new level.”
Kane feigned a scruffy laugh. “Sharon, I ought to drag this knife straight through your back for that. But I won’t. Because I know you’re talking from a place of stress. Baby, don’t give her the gun. Do not…give her the gun.”
Eve had taken to crying again. “I can’t take this anymore. I don’t know what’s happening to us. Kane?”
“Baby?” Kane approached slowly like four live bombs were about to go off. “Like I said…we’re losing our minds, but you’ve gotta hang in there. Whatever you do, don’t give it to her. In fact, hand the gun to me, baby. Hand the gun to me.”
But Sharon had walked Eve into a corner, and the poor woman shook like a shivering, wet mouse. “Stop. Get away from me, Sharon. I swear I’ll shoot you.”
“Let me do it, honey,” Sharon said, holding out her hand. “Let me save you the trouble and do it for you, for all of us. It’s the best thing we could possibly ask for right now.”
Eve’s tears ran down her cheeks. With eyes swollen and shut, she shook her head, holding the shotgun like a teddy bear, arms crossed over the barrel. God, I wanted to jump in and grab it from her then run the hell out of the house away from all these people. “This is all so pointless.”
“What is, baby?” Kane asked.
“All of this. We’re going to die out here anyway. It was a mistake to come here. I told you but you wouldn’t listen,” Eve cried, turning her cheek into the wall, smearing her tears into it. “You wouldn’t listen.”
“This isn’t the time to be pointing fingers, Eve,” Kane said, keeping his distance. From Sharon’s peripheral vision, he mimed the action of shooting at the ceiling to Eve. Eve did as he asked and fired off a round right into the ceiling. Wood chunks spattered in all directions. In fact, I’d never seen a time when Eve didn’t do as Kane asked, and she cocked the gun and warned Sharon with another round. “Stay away from me.”
If Sharon had reloaded the gun, that meant there were three, maybe four, left inside.
“Give me the gun, Eve. Or better yet, turn it on yourself.”
“Shut the hell up, bitch. Are you even listening to yourself?” Kane said.
“She’s lost it completely,” I told him, as I stepped closer to Sharon from her left side.
Sharon swiveled her neck to give me a look. “Says the girl on the brink of killing us all. The girl who learned the truth about her grandfather. The girl who walks in his shoes.” She lunged at me, ripped off the gator tooth necklace and tossed it across the room, laughing when another blast rang out.
Eve had shot the ceiling a third time. Pieces of wood splintered and rained to the ground, as dust exploded everywhere.
“That’s enough,” Kane told his shaking wife.
Sharon covered her head but still reached out a hand toward Eve.
“We’re going to die anyway,” Eve blubbered. “Let her finish us.”
“No, Eve!” Ka
ne yelled. “That’s not you talking. That’s the house, the demon within these walls! You said nothing of the sort when we were outside working on the raft.”
“I know, but I can’t…I can’t take this anymore.” Eve sobbed. “It hurts too much. Please let her end this pain.”
“Smartest thing I’ve heard all day,” Sharon said. “Let me do it so we can all die quick.”
“No.” Kane rushed at Sharon who rushed at Eve. He shoved her aside, pushing the flat edge of his bowie knife against her neck, pressing its point into her jugular. “Don’t fucking move. Babe, give me the gun.” He pried the shotgun from his wife’s trembling hands and aimed it into Sharon’s laughing neck.
“Look at us. And not a single camera rolling.” Sharon’s eyes squeezed shut as she laughed over and over again. “We finally have a scrap of real drama worth putting on TV and nothing.”
Just then, we heard it—a voice.
A woman’s singing.
We turned toward the source of the sound but found the hallway empty. Shadows covered the walls and floor and ceiling, and I felt Bellamy’s ire with every breath I let into my lungs. I hated these people. Hated them with a passion for being self-serving, for not listening to me in the first place, for insisting we come here and letting it get to this.
I wished I had Kane’s level-headedness to recognize that it was the madness inside of me doing the thinking, wishing we’d all be dead, so this could end. But I felt the pain with every cell of my body, even as I knew I was under the influence. Felt Bellamy’s years of isolation, humiliation, and penitence for the wrong deeds he’d committed. Felt Roscoe Nesbitt wishing his wife and two teen boys would be dead. Felt Rutherford slowly losing his mind in the isolation of studying the Kahayatle.
“Who is that?” Sharon twisted to look.
The woman’s voice came from deep within the walls, from the ceiling, from the ether. I knew her voice as though I’d heard it in my dreams, and maybe I had. Maybe I’d heard it a thousand times as I’d told the tales, maybe I’d even invited her into my life and now she was here. The woman Linda said was upstairs waiting. The same woman I’d seen out in the woods and on Linda’s crossword puzzle sketch.
