The Killing Room

by Manning, John

  She aimed the flashlight.

  The spotlight revealed Clem. He stood there, tears running down his face.

  Carolyn stood.

  “You don’t want to do this, do you?” she asked.

  The dead man made no reply. He was motionless. The only thing about him that moved were the tears running down his cheeks.

  “Someone made you kill that baby,” Carolyn said. “Isn’t that right, Clem?”

  Still no response. Behind her, Douglas staggered to his feet. Carolyn turned to him and asked if he were okay.

  He nodded. “Something grabbed the amulet from around my neck,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Then there was a plastic bag on the floor in front of me. I couldn’t help myself. I put it over my head and tied it. That’s the way my father must have died, too.”

  “But you didn’t die,” Carolyn told him. “Beatrice was right. Our love is going to save us. Isn’t it, Clem?”

  They looked over at the figure, still motionless in the corner opposite them.

  “For eighty years you have been a prisoner here,” Carolyn said. “Why?”

  She dared to take a step toward him.

  “You loved Beatrice, didn’t you?” she asked. “And in a moment of passion, you killed her.”

  Finally a response from the dead man. His dull eyes flashed for moment as they looked up at her.

  “No,” Clem said. “I did not kill her.”

  “Then who did?” Carolyn asked.

  But now Clem was silent again.

  “Whoever killed her has made you do these terrible things, isn’t that right?”

  But Clem just went on crying. Carolyn shone the flashlight in his face and continued her approach toward him.

  “You can be free,” she told him. “Walk out that door, Clem. The love you searched for in your life…Douglas and I have it. You don’t want to deprive us of that. You’re tired. You have done too much that you regret. End it now. Leave this room, just as Beatrice did. You can be free, too.”

  He looked up at her. There was no longer any malice in his face.

  “You know you can’t harm us,” Carolyn said. “Our love protects us. But not only are you powerless to harm us, you no longer want to. Isn’t that right, Clem?”

  Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he nodded.

  “Go,” Carolyn said softly. “Turn your back on the evil force of this room. We have shown that we can be stronger than it is. We came here to free you, Clem. Go. Go now!”

  Douglas had come up beside Carolyn. He had placed a hand on her back. He feared at any moment that Clem’s rage might surge up again, like bile in his throat. He could pounce again, his pitchfork aimed at them. But he didn’t. To Douglas’s great surprise the dead man walked. He walked past them, opened the supposedly locked door, and disappeared into the darkness of the basement beyond.

  It was only then that they noticed the first pink glimmers of morning filtering through the window.

  “We’ve done it,” Carolyn said quietly. “We’ve survived a night in the room.”

  “Is he gone?” Douglas asked, approaching the open door and looking out into the basement.

  Carolyn came up beside him. “I believe he is.”

  Douglas turned to her. “Then is it over?”

  She looked up at him. “It’s over,” she said. “We showed that we were stronger than the evil force of this room.”

  The shaft of sunlight suddenly flooded the room.

  They heard a creak. They braced themselves.

  But the figure that now appeared in the doorway was only Howard Young.

  “Praise God!” he shouted. “Praise God! The curse is over! It is over! Praise God!”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  “What I surmise,” Carolyn said, bringing her coffee to her lips with trembling hands, “is that Clem was being controlled by a force that made him do these things, and that once he was confronted with a greater force, he was finally free to rebel against it and find peace for himself.”

  “And that greater force was the love between you and Douglas,” Paula said, near tears. “That’s so beautiful.”

  “Remember that Beatrice was freed from that room ten years ago by Kip,” Carolyn added. “I believe that she exerted her own power to help free Clem, and therefore, save us. Before that, trapped in that room as he was, she was powerless to do anything. But now she could act.”

  “Then perhaps I owe Dr. Hobart more gratitude than I showed a decade ago,” Mr. Young said.

  He was seated again at the head of the table. Douglas and Carolyn were on one side, Paula and Dean and Linda on the other. They had been up all night, waiting and hoping. The children were asleep, and Philip and Ryan and Chelsea had retired in shame to their rooms. But Mr. Young had given them strict orders not to leave the house until this morning. He planned to speak to them about their treason and to make a decision about their place in their will.

  “But what of the power that controlled that room?” Dean asked. “We still don’t know what it was.”

  “Nor might we ever,” Douglas said.

  “But how can we be sure it’s gone?” Paula asked. “Defeated?”

  “They survived, didn’t they?” Howard Young barked impatiently. “They have broken the long chain of deaths. We did what the lottery demanded. We drew a name and sent one of our own in there. And he lived.”

  “And the baby?” Dean asked.

  “What about the baby?” Carolyn asked.

  “Is it free, too?”

  She paused.

  “I don’t know,” she admitted.

  And suddenly the terror returned. The relief that had flooded through her body with the coming if the sun was replaced by a cold fear—the same that had gripped her in New York.

  She turned all at once then and looked out the French doors onto the terrace.

  Standing there, staring in at her, was David Cooke. His eyes were wild. The scar on his face seemed to be pulsing.

  Carolyn screamed.

  “What is it?” Douglas shouted, standing.

  “Outside, on the terrace,” Carolyn gasped.

  He bolted out the French doors, looked around, then came back inside.

  “There’s nobody there,” he reported. “What did you think you saw?”

  “I…I don’t know,” she said.

  Howard Young stood. “You’re just jittery from the night in that room. It’s understandable. You just need to rest.”

  He hobbled out of the room.

  Paula reached over and covered Carolyn’s hand with her own. “What was it, Carolyn?”

  “Perhaps…just my imagination,” she said. “It has to be my imagination.”

  Paula looked from her to Douglas. “Is it really over? Or is there still more?”

  “It’s got to be over,” Douglas said.

  “Yes,” Carolyn echoed. “It’s got to be over.”

  But she knew now it was not.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Philip had had enough. He was getting out of the house. Will or no will, family fortune or not, he had taken all he could from Uncle Howard.

  Throwing his clothes into a suitcase, he was planning to walk downstairs and tell the old man that he was heading home. “Go ahead and disinherit me,” Philip grumbled, slamming the suitcase shut. “But I will no longer be treated like an errant schoolboy.”

  The embarrassment of last night still rankled. To be treated like a common criminal by his low-class relations. He couldn’t get over the contempt he’d seen in Paula’s eyes. “The goddamn dyke,” he spit. “How dare she look at me that way?”

  From the shouts of joy he’d heard from downstairs a short while ago, Philip surmised that Douglas had survived the night in that room. Perhaps the curse was finally over. Perhaps Uncle Howard would be in a forgiving mood. But no matter how he might find his uncle, Philip was tired of waiting in his room like a child being punished. He would not tolerate being treated this way.

  He hadn’t slept a wink, o
f course. He had consoled Chelsea and Ryan, who shared their father’s humiliation. He told them they’d find some way to stay in the will. He wasn’t sure he believed it himself, but it was the only way to shut them up and get them to go to bed. He thought about tapping on their doors to tell them he was leaving, but decided against it. He couldn’t take any more histrionics. They could fend for themselves.

  He glanced around the room one more time to make sure he hadn’t left anything behind. Satisfied, he clutched his suitcase with one hand and opened the door of his room with the other.

  And he let out a small sound of surprise when he saw a man was standing in the doorframe, blocking his way.

  A servant, he thought at first, before remembering that Uncle Howard had given the servants the day off, not knowing what would be found in that room this morning.

  “Excuse me,” Philip said loudly, officiously.

  The man did not move.

  He was a tall man, with dark hair and dark eyes, dressed in a black jacket, black T-shirt, and dirty dungarees. A scar ran down the left side of his face.

  “I said, excuse me!” Philip boomed.

  The man’s eyes seemed wild. He simply raised one large hand and placed it on Philip’s chest, shoving him back into the room.

  “How dare you?” Philip bellowed.

  The man stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

  Icy terror suddenly began pulsing through Philip’s veins.

  “Who are you?” Philip asked. “You’re something from that room…. You’re not human!”

  The man just glared at him, his eyes glassy.

  “Kill him,” came a small voice from somewhere above.

  The man reached inside his jacket and withdrew a long, wide, sharp knife.

  “No!” Philip screamed, backing away. “Help me! Somebody help me!”

  The man just grinned. He held the knife out in front of him.

  Philip ran to the other side of the room. He heard the rush of air made by the swinging blade. He felt the slice of the knife without seeing it. A sharp stab of pain in his upper left arm. He spun around, mesmerized by the sight of the bright red blood staining his crisp white shirt.

  The man moved in closer.

  Philip lifted his eyes as he saw the knife glinting in the light.

  “No!” he cried.

  He felt the sting of the blade cut into his neck. His lips were still moving as his head separated from his body, sliced off by one skillful swing of the knife. For several terrible seconds—an eternity really—Philip was still conscious, aware that he was flying through the air, then watching from the floor as his body staggered forward and fell down hard on its chest. He saw the muddy boots of the man who had beheaded him walk past, and he heard the door open and close. Then his brain shut down from lack of oxygen, and everything faded to black.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Paula couldn’t believe her eyes. When the doorbell rang and she opened the door, she had never in a million years expected to see who was standing there. Now she stood, blinking, unable to speak.

  “Aren’t you going to invite me in?” Karen asked, her smile practically blinding in its brilliance.

  Paula just stepped aside, too stunned to say anything.

  “I’ve missed you terribly,” Karen said, coming inside the house. “I knew how important this family reunion was to you, and so I wanted to be here. I want to finally meet your extended family.” She took Paula’s hands and looked her decisively in the eye. “Because nothing is worth losing you, Paula. Nothing.”

  A week ago—even a day ago—Paula might have struggled with such words. Of course she had missed Karen terribly, too. But it had been better—safer—to have her far away from the family curse and the forces that oppressed them. Now, however, with the danger having been averted, Paula could simply rejoice. Finally she was able to break through her shock and throw her arms around Karen. She kissed her over and over.

  “I’ve missed you, too,” she said. “Oh, baby, everything has changed. Everything!”

  Karen smiled. “What do you mean? How has everything changed?”

  Paula beamed. “We can have a baby!”

  Karen’s jaw dropped. “What—how—what is different? What has made you change your mind?”

  “So many things,” Paula said, stroking her beloved’s hair.

  “Karen!”

  They turned. It was Linda, followed by Dean and the children. Happy laughter ensued, with Zac and Callie running into their Aunt Karen’s arms.

  “We’re so happy to see you,” Dean said.

  “Especially now,” Linda added, “when we can finally live free and clear!”

  Karen was smiling, but her pretty brown eyes danced with confusion. “What’s happened?” she asked. “You seem to be in the midst of a celebration.”

  “We are,” Paula said. “Come meet Uncle Howard. And after that, sweetheart, I have quite the story to tell you.”

  She looked up and noticed Carolyn and Douglas coming down the marble steps.

  “Carolyn! Douglas!” Paula called. “I’d like you to meet my partner Karen.”

  Carolyn smiled, approaching with her hand extended. Paula watched her, and observed Douglas a few feet behind her on the stairs. But then, almost as if in slow motion, she noticed something else: a dark figure suddenly rounding the stairs. In a blur, the figure leapt upon Douglas, taking him down. It all happened so fast, Paula didn’t even have time to scream.

  But Karen did. Linda did, too, grabbing her children and running with them into the parlor. Dean, meanwhile, instinctively sprinted to his cousin’s aid.

  The creature on Douglas’s back was a man. He was dressed in dark clothes. Paula finally found her voice to scream when he raised a knife, an enormous shiny silver blade, and held it aloft over Douglas’s back.

  Carolyn, too, had leapt forward, landing on the man at nearly the same time as Dean. The three of them struggled. Karen kept screaming, clinging to Paula. Their happy mood had changed to terror in a matter of seconds.

  Carolyn had grabbed the man’s hand, preventing him from plunging the knife down between Douglas’s shoulder blades. Meanwhile, Dean had straddled the man’s back and was attempting to pull him off of Douglas. But the intruder seemed to have superhuman strength. Carolyn he shook off like a pesky fly. And with a grunt and a backward thrust, he was able to send Dean crashing into the banister.

  But it gave Douglas time enough to slip out from under his attacker. He scrambled to his feet as the man growled like a wolf and retrained his eyes upon his prey.

  Karen had backed up behind Paula and was frantically pressing numbers on her cell phone. But as the man flashed that enormous knife, Paula realized he wasn’t just after Douglas. He wanted to kill all of them.

  It was the room.

  The curse was not over.

  They had to get out of there. Since the maniac blocked their way to the front door, there was only one other option available to them. Taking hold of Karen’s arm, Paula yanked her toward the parlor. Carolyn and Douglas were rushing that way as well.

  But that left Dean on the stairs.

  The man let out an inhuman roar. He seemed like an ape at the zoo, banging its chest in a raw display of power and aggression. The doors of the parlor opened a crack, and Linda urged them inside. Paula frantically looked around for her brother, but she was pushed along by the force of Carolyn and Douglas and Karen. They literally fell into the parlor as Linda locked the heavy oak doors behind them.

  But then she realized her husband was not with them.

  “Dean!” she screamed.

  “Daddy!” Zac and Callie began shrieking.

  “I’ve got to go back out there and get him,” Paula said. She had always protected her baby brother. She couldn’t abandon him now.

  “No!” Karen said, clutching at her sweater. Her eyes were wide with shock and terror. “You can’t go back out there! He’ll kill you!”

  “What’s wrong with
the phones?” Douglas shouted, desperately trying to call for help on his cell phone.

  “Useless,” Carolyn said, looking down at her own.

  “Mine has no power either,” Karen cried. “What’s going on here?”

  They heard a scream.

  “Dean!” Linda shouted.

  “I’m going out there,” Paula said. With sudden force she grabbed one of Desmond Young’s rifles from the wall. Uncle Howard had told her that he kept them loaded. “The rest of you take the children out through the window,” she instructed. “Run as fast as you can down the cliff path and get the sheriff.”

  “Paula, don’t go out there,” Carolyn said. “You have no idea how dangerous that man is. I know him. He’s a killer.”

  “Then he’s human,” Paula said. “Not some apparition from that room.”

  Carolyn shuddered. “He’s human. At least, he was.”

  Paula gave her a tight smile. “Then he’s not so dangerous that a bullet through his heart won’t stop him.”

  “No!” Karen was crying hysterically. “Please, Paula, please don’t go out there!”

  “Oh, baby.” Paula lightly touched Karen’s face. “There’s no way I can just leave my brother,” she said, before opening the door and heading back out into the foyer.

  When she was a girl, Uncle Howard had taught her how to shoot, and she’d always had very good aim. She’d have to trust that she hadn’t lost the talent. Holding the rifle out in front of her, her eyes scanned the foyer for the maniac. He was nowhere to be seen. Uncle Howard was somewhere in the house. Perhaps he was in danger.

  Then she spotted Dean.

  Her brother lay on the floor in a pool of blood. Paula hurried over to him. The blood was gushing from his shoulder, and he was struggling to stand. Thank God he was still alive.

  “I’ll get you into the parlor,” Paula said, helping him up, “and they can bind your wound.”

  “Should’ve known you’d come for me,” Dean said, his voice weak. “But you shouldn’t have risked it.”

  “Where is he?” Paula asked.

  “He went outside.”