by Amy Cross
“I could understand you leaving me to suffer like that,” he says calmly, “but Hannah? Really? You couldn't even go and see her one time?”
Turning to Hannah, I see the thick wound that runs straight through her head. Her lower jaw is still just about intact, with one side of her bottom row of teeth exposed and glinting in the moonlight. Again, she tries to say something, but all that emerges is a brief burst of blood that runs between her teeth and dribbles down what's left of her chin.
“Hannah, please,” I stammer, stepping toward her with my hands outstretched. “Mummy's here. Mummy's never going to leave you alone, not again.”
“It's too late,” David says firmly. “There's nothing you can do for either of us now. You should never have let us go out that day. You should have kept us at home.”
“I know it was my fault,” I sob, dropping to my knees just a few feet from Hannah, staring at her ravaged head. Tears are streaming down my face as I reach out toward her. “I'll make it up to you,” I whimper. “I swear, I'll never leave you alone ever again. I'll always be here, I'll never go anywhere. I should have made you stay home that day!” My fingers are just inches from the side of her bloodied face. “I'll never -”
“Beth!”
Suddenly someone grabs me from behind, pulling me back. I let out a cry, but my arms are being gripped too tight and I'm quickly dragged through to the hallway and then out the open front door. Struggling to my feet, I turn and pull away, only to find a breathless, wide-eyed John standing in front of me and blocking my way into the house.
“It's them!” I yell, trying to get back inside, only for him to hold me back. “John, they're here!”
“This way!” he says firmly, forcing me along the path toward the street.
“You must have seen them!” I shout.
“You're hysterical.”
“They were right there!” As he leads me to the pavement, I turn and look back at the house. “It was Hannah and David! They came back to me!”
“Get in the car.”
“I have to go and -”
“Get in the car, Beth!” he hisses, his voice filled with panic. Having pulled the door open, he manhandles me until I'm in the passenger seat, and then he slams the door shut. When he climbs into the driver's seat, I turn and see the look of shock in his eyes, but he's already starting the engine.
“You must have seen them!” I sob, before looking down and seeing that my hands are trembling. “They were right in front of me!”
Without replying, John puts the car in gear and floors the throttle, sending the car lurching from its spot. He keeps his eye on the road as he drives toward the junction, but I can see fear on his face and I feel certain that this time, finally, he must have seen what I saw.
“It was them,” I stammer. “John, please, you must have seen them.”
“I saw...”
His voice trails off, and a moment later he sends the car screeching around the corner at high speed.
“They were right there!” I shout.
“I saw something,” I replies, his voice shaking with uncertainty. “I saw two figures.”
“It was Hannah and David!”
“Maybe.”
“John, they were right there in the room with me! You saw them! I know you did!”
“I saw something, I'll admit that,” he replies, “but I'm not... I'm not saying...”
I watch him for a moment, before feeling a rush of panic starting to rise through my chest.
“I have to go back,” I tell him. “John, take me back! My little girl is in the house!”
“We need to figure this out first.”
“Figure what out? It was her!”
I wait for him to reply, but he's still watching the road ahead.
“You saw them,” I continue. “I know you did, John. Maybe you're finding it hard to believe, but this time you saw them. You must have!”
He glances at me briefly, before turning his gaze back to the road.
“I saw them,” he says finally, with a hint of disbelief in his eyes. “I never thought it was possible, Beth, but I saw them. I saw two ghosts, right in front of you in that room. You were right all along. They're real.”
Six
“What are we doing here?” I ask, as the car comes to a halt outside a cabin in the forest, at the end of a long and winding gravel road. “What is this place?”
“This is where I come to write sometimes,” John replies, switching off the engine, leaving us sitting in silent darkness. He pauses for a moment, and I can just about make out his shocked features as he stares straight ahead. “It's something of a retreat from the world. A place where I know that other people can't reach me.”
He seems lost in thought for a moment, and then suddenly he unbuckles his safety belt and opens the door, climbing out into the cold night air.
I step out and follow as he heads to the cabin. He's rooting through his pockets, and a moment later I hear the jangle of keys.
“Why are we here?” I ask, seeing my own breath in the air. “John, you have to take me back to town.”
His feet crunch against the forest floor as he reaches the cabin and unlocks the door. A moment later he steps inside and switches on a light.
“John, take me back!” I continue, hurrying after him. “My family is in the house!”
“Whatever those things are...” he stammers, heading over to table by the far wall and then stopping. He seems utterly shocked by what happened at the house. A moment later, when he turns to me, I can see the fear in his eyes. “Whatever those things are,” he continues, “they're not your husband and daughter. They can't be!”
“You saw them.”
I wait for him to reply, but it's clear that he doesn't quite know what to say.
“You saw them!” I hiss, leaving the door open as I step across the cabin's main room. “You can't deny it, John. You saw them. You know they're real. You admitted it in the car!”
“There has to be some other explanation,” he stammers, as if he can't bring himself to believe any of this. “There just has to be.”
“It's like in your book, The Devils of Caulfield Grange,” I tell him. “It's exactly like that! That's the book with the haunted house and the woman who -”
“I remember the goddamn back!” he yells, slamming the keys down against the table. For a moment he seems consumed by rage, and he quickly hurries to a cabinet in the corner. With trembling hands, he takes out a bottle of whiskey and unscrews the lid before taking a swig.
He holds the bottle out toward me.
I shake my head.
He takes another, longer swig.
“You can't deny it anymore, John,” I continue. “You always said that you'd believe in ghosts if you saw them with your own eyes. Well, that happened tonight, didn't it? If you were the only one who'd seen them, you could maybe dismiss it as a hoax or an illusion, but you saw the same thing as me.” I wait, but still he doesn't seem ready to admit the truth. “It was Hannah and David,” I add, stepping toward him. “They were hurt. They had the injuries from the accident. Hannah was barely recognizable, but it was her!”
Again, I wait for him to respond, but now he's simply staring down at the half-empty bottle.
“I'm sorry,” I add finally.
He turns to me. “For what?”
“For dragging you into this.”
He pauses, before shaking his head.
“I'm sixty-two years old,” he says finally. “If tonight hadn't happened, I might have gone the rest of my life believing that ghosts aren't real. I might have eventually gone to my deathbed, believing that a whole aspect of existence was just a hysterical lie.” He takes another swig of whiskey. “But now I know the truth, Beth. You're right, I saw them with my own eyes. I can't deny it anymore. They're real.”
He pauses, before setting the bottle back down. I've never known John to be lost for words, but right now it's as if the core of his world has been shattered and he no long
er knows what to believe. I've always looked to him for strength, and I've always relief on him to know what to do next. For the first time, he seems totally lost.
“In your books,” I say cautiously, stepping toward him, “ghosts always have a reason for coming back. There's something they want, something they need, something the living can do to give them peace. Do you think that's how it really works?”
“I was making it all up when I wrote those books,” he mutters.
“But in real life -”
“In real life, they shouldn't be real!” he shouts, turning to me. “I'm sorry,” he adds, clearly struggling to stay calm. “I've spent all my life writing books that I believed were steeped in lies. It's somewhat disconcerting to discover now, this late, that there might have been truth to it. If I'd known, if I'd even suspected for one moment, that the dead could actually come back, I don't think I'd have dared dabble in such things. I'd have written thrillers instead, or adventures books. I might even have tried romance. I certainly never would have...”
His voice trails off.
“What if Hannah and David want something?” I ask. “What if I can help them?”
“What could they possibly want from you?”
“Tonight, they said that they were all alone after they died, that I should have gone to see their bodies.”
“Why would that matter to them?”
“I don't know, but David said something about feeling the autopsy. He said he felt the cuts that were made.”
“That sounds like melodramatic nonsense,” John mutters. “It sounds like... Well, it sounds like something from one of my more lurid early novels.”
“It's what he told me.”
Sighing, he steps past me and heads to the window, where he stops for a moment and looks out at the dark forest.
“Well, then,” he says finally, “I suppose one shouldn't presume to argue with a ghost.”
“I have to go back,” I tell him. “I have to talk to them again and find out what they really want.”
“Out of the question.”
“I have to try! Jacqui once suggested that -”
Suddenly the words catch in my throat. With all the madness of the past couple of hours, somehow I actually managed to forget about the fire.
“Jacqui's dead,” I continue.
John turns to me.
“There was a fire at her house,” I tell him. “She was killed.”
“Perhaps you'll have a third ghost waiting for you, then,” he suggests. “I'm sorry, I suppose that comment was in bad taste, wasn't it?”
“Hannah and David are at the house,” I continue, “and that means I have to go back. I'm not saying that I understand what's happening, but I have to speak to them again. Maybe they can tell me what they want. Maybe I can help them, maybe -”
“No.”
“John, they're my -”
“I know who they are!” he snaps. “You can't go and face them, not until we understand more about this situation.”
“So what would happen in one of your books?” I ask.
“My books?”
“Your horror novels. If this situation happened in one of them, what would the characters do next? How would the story end?”
“Oh, curse my wretched books,” he mutters darkly. “They're just make-believe. They're nothing more than the inventions of a lazy mind. What's happening now is real, it's beyond our control!” He hesitates, and after a moment I think I see a hint of understanding in his eyes. “You're too emotionally attached,” he adds finally. “You can't possibly be expected to make rational decisions, Beth. Nobody could if they were in your position.”
“Then what -”
“I'll go.”
“Absolutely not,” I tell him. “They're my family, I have to see them.”
“Perhaps, if the time comes. But right now, you must wait here while I go back to your house. I'll see what's really happening there. We need to know what we're dealing with, and whose help we might require.”
“I have to see them!” I continue, with tears in my eyes. “My little girl is -”
“That's precisely why you can't be the one who goes!” he says firmly. “It has to be someone who can examine the situation calmly and dispassionately.” Stepping closer to me, he puts his hands on my shoulders, as if to hold me in place. “You'll see them soon enough, Beth, but right now, you must let me be the one who goes back to the house. If the situation were reversed, if it was my family that was haunting my home, I'm sure you'd insist on going. And I hope that I'd have the good sense to understand why. This is the only sensible course of action right now.”
I open my mouth to argue with him, but I'm starting to see that he might be right. At the same time, I'm filled with a desperate urge to go back to Hannah and David. They need me.
“It's just a few hours,” John continues. “I'll go to the house and then I'll come back and tell you what I've found. Then you can go back to them, and you'll be better prepared. I'm not just doing this for you, or for me. I'm also doing it for them. Look at you, Beth, you're weeping and you're clearly in no fit state to face this now. If you really want to help your loved ones, you need a calmer head.”
“I have to come with you,” I reply, with tears in my eyes.
“Trust me, Beth.” He pauses. “You do trust me, don't you?”
“Of course, but -”
“Then trust me now. No matter what you feel, you must trust me.”
This feels so wrong, but John has always been right in the past and I guess I might not be thinking straight.
“If I let you go first,” I say finally, “it's only on the understanding that I'll go as soon as you get back. Promise you won't try to stop me again.”
He pauses, before nodding.
“I just don't want them to be suffering,” I continue, finally breaking down and sobbing as John puts his arms around me. “I want them to be at peace!”
“They will be,” he replies, tousling the hair on the back of my head. “I promise, Beth. They'll be at peace soon. As hard as everything seems right now, it will all be okay in the end. We can figure it out.”
Once he's let go of me, he heads to the door. He seems a little slow, almost reluctant, as if he's worried about what he might find when he gets to the house. After a moment he turns back to me, and I see a hint of concern in his eyes.
“I won't let you down, Beth,” he says finally. “We'll ensure that Hannah and David find peace. I promise.”
With that, he heads outside and then pulls the door shut. I hurry to the window, and for a moment I feel that I might have made a terrible mistake, that I should go back to the house with him right now. As he gets into his car and starts the engine, however, I tell myself that for Hannah's sake, and for David's too, I have to stay calm. Above all, I have to trust John, because I still believe that deep down he knows what's best.
Still, as he drives away and leaves me all alone in the cabin, I can't help looking at the dark forest and wondering what else might be out there. If Hannah and David were able to return, they can't be the only ones. The world must be full of ghosts.
Behind me, a floorboard briefly creaks. I turn and look, but there's no sign of anyone.
***
“I'm almost there,” John says about an hour later, speaking to me over the phone. “I should be at the house in a few minutes. I can call you from there.”
“I made the wrong choice,” I tell him, as I continue to look out at the dark forest. “I should have come with you. I'm going to call a taxi, and I'm coming to the house.”
“No, Beth.”
“I have to!”
“You're getting hysterical.”
“My daughter's there!” I shout, with fresh tears in my eyes. “She must be so scared! She needs me!”
“You have to trust me!”
“John -”
“I'm at the house now,” he says, interrupting me, and I hear the sound of his engine being switched off. “There's n
o sign of anything so far. All the lights are off.”
“I should be there,” I mutter, already starting to work out how I can get a taxi to find me out here at this remote cabin. “John, what's the address of this place?”
“I'm going to go into the house now.”
“John, I need to call a taxi!”
“That's out of the question. I'll come and fetch you when -”
For a moment, a burst of static obscures his voice.
“- so just stay put,” he continues finally. “Don't be foolish, Beth. Let me decide when it's safe for you to come back. You have to trust me.”
“Hannah needs me,” I stammer, wiping tears from my cheeks. “I'm going to call a taxi right now!”
“Beth, just let me be -”
Again, a burst of static fills the line, and I can't make out what he says. A moment later, the call is dropped. When I try to reconnect, I find that I have no signal. I try restarting the phone, but nothing seems to work. Not only am I unable to call John back, but I can't even get a taxi to come out and pick me up. I'm stuck here in the cabin.
“Come on,” I mutter under my breath, tapping at the phone as I try to fix the connection. “Please, just let me get some kind of -”
Suddenly I hear a faint bump nearby. Turning, I look across the room, but all I see is John's writing desk at the far side. The bump didn't seem to come from in here. Instead, it was almost as if someone was outside the cabin. I stay completely quiet for a moment, and I swear I briefly hear what sounds like footsteps hurrying across the cold forest floor. I don't dare call out, but I'm convinced that there must be someone nearby. Figuring that I should be cautious, I head over to the door so that I can slide the bolt across.
Before I have time to do that, however, I hear a loud smashing sound from outside. Hurrying to the window, I look out at the forest, and I can just about make out something glinting in the distance, with some kind of steam or smoke visible in the moonlight beyond several of the trees.
“What the hell?” I whisper, trying to figure out what's happening out there. “It can't be a -”
