Mary Hades: Beginnings: Books One and Two, plus novellas

by Sarah Dalton

  “You’ll probably be dead by then, you stupid woman. Fancy trying to abandon your own daughters.” Bess lifted her hand once again but I shouted out to stop her.

  “Handy with your fists, aren’t you, Bess?” came a low growl of a voice. I turned slowly to see my sister Lottie standing at the top of the stairs with Miss Stevens’s arm around her shoulders. “At least that’s what your late husband thought.”

  Bess frowned and her fists clenched at her sides. “Quiet your mouth, demon!”

  “What does she mean?” I said, flabbergasted. “What is she talking about? You wouldn’t hit anyone. You’ve never hit us, not even when we steal sausages right from the pan.”

  “It was a long time ago. I had a—”

  “Problem with the drink, didn’t you? A bit of mother’s ruin. That’s how you ended up killing your own daughter.”

  Bess’s face shone bright red as she flew towards the stairs. I thought she was going to run straight at Lottie, but instead she stopped on the first step. “You know nothing about me. I’ve paid my dues for what happened to Beth. I’ve lived with the guilt ever since.”

  Mama sat slack-jawed throughout this exchange, and I tried not to look at her. Instead, I focussed on Bess’s shoulders, watching her hunch over from anger and grief. Then Lottie found my face with her hollow eyes, so black, so filled with nothingness, challenging me to look away. I could not. I was transfixed, held by her power.

  “Our lovely, podgy, caring Bess got drunk and let her daughter fall into the pond. She drowned in six inches of water as Bess lay collapsed against the wall of her house. Drunk as a London whore.” Lottie’s grin widened so far that the skin cracked at the edges. “What do you think of that, Liza? Do you still love her like a mother?”

  “Yes,” I said, swallowing my shock. “Bess doesn’t drink here. She looks after me, and I don’t care what you say.”

  The smile froze on her face. Even Miss Stevens appeared to sense the change in Lottie. She reversed a step, gently easing her hand from Lottie’s shoulder. My heart thudded so hard I felt it down in my toes. Bess moved away from the stairs. The air pulsated around Lottie as her mood changed from smug satisfaction to pure evil, so evil it seeped through her and down the carpet. A dark stain spread from her pale feet to the bannisters on the stairs. Tendrils of black twisted around the wood. Lottie opened her mouth and more tendrils poured from her body, climbing up the walls and pulling the wallpaper down around her. Lottie’s eyes rolled back in her head, and her body vibrated as the twisted vines flowed from her. A roar followed them, deep and desperate, akin to the primal call of a grieving lioness.

  I was vaguely aware of my mouth agape as Bess grabbed hold of me and pulled me away from one of the black coils snapping towards me. There was a hiss as I dodged from its grasp. But then, as Bess dragged me out of the room, the strange vines wrapped around Mama. A hideous scream tore from her body.

  “Get them off me!” she screamed, her voice a strangled mess. “Don’t leave me here. Don’t let me die!”

  “Mama!” I shouted. I reached to her, pulling away from Bess. A tendril snaked around my wrist but Bess was quick to yank it away. She lifted me up and carried me through the kitchen and into her room. There, she barricaded the door while I collapsed to the floor, shaking. “Mama. She’s dead, isn’t she?”

  Bess didn’t reply. Her lips were moving and old words came from her. “Pray for her soul,” she said to me. “Pray for her soul.”

  I got to my knees and put my hands together.

  When I pull myself out of the book, my breath is ragged and sweat trickles down my temples. Lacey appears at my side.

  “I’ve been watching your mum. There’s a spirit in there whispering to her. Can’t hear much, though.”

  “Is it called Miss Stevens?” I ask in a shaking voice.

  “I didn’t hear. What’s happening in the book? From the look on your face I’m guessing it’s not good.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know if I can read on.”

  “That bad? Holy hell.”

  “Those poor people.” I close my eyes and a tear rolls down my nose.

  “So it is a murder house,” Lacey says.

  “No. Well, yes, but it’s much more than that. One of the girls has been possessed by an evil spirit, maybe a demon if they exist.” I think of the swarm from my dreams, the pull of the house. “I think the same spirit tried to possess me, but I think I must have somehow kept it away. When it couldn’t possess me, it possessed Mum.”

  “We have to get your mum to Emmaline,” Lacey says.

  My attention turns to the house. Mum has moved away from the window, but inside the living room I can just make out the blur of moving shadows. “How are we going to get her out of the house?”

  “I don’t know,” she replies. “Keep reading. Maybe the answer is in there.”

  “Somehow I don’t think this story has a happy ending,” I reply.

  Even the very foundations shook. Trembled. The house quivered. Bess and I were on our knees, our hands clasped together in prayer. It was all we could do. We had to hope that our love could break through the evil that had taken hold of Lottie. In a little pile next to us, Bess had collected her weapons: a large crucifix, a bottle of holy water, a knife, and a string of rosary beads.

  A cool breeze lifted the hair on my neck and for one single moment, the shaking stopped. Our lips stopped moving, and the house was still and silent. We looked around us, waiting, wondering. The wind swept through the room in a preternatural fashion, chilling me to the bone. But as the strange wind died down, the shaking commenced, rattling the dresser. Bess’s china dog fell to the floor, followed by her mirror, smashing dangerously close to us, and then her wardrobe tipped to the side. The wallpaper peeled to the floor. The bed lifted up and down, hitting the ceiling until plaster rained down on us.

  I started to scream, but Bess held my hands tight.

  “Keep praying. God will answer. He will answer, He has to.”

  I was frightened. When had He ever answered? Where was He when other murderers killed other innocent people? I’ve seen the headlines, I’m not stupid. Why would He save us when so many others have suffered? We are so insignificant, so small in the grand scheme of life.

  The furniture ended its dance around the room, and instead the door rattled louder and louder, until the hinges began to fall from the frame.

  “This is it, Liza,” Bess said. “This is the moment you and I have to face the devil. Stay strong, little lass. Keep a pure heart. It can never take your pure heart.” She grabbed the crucifix in one hand and the knife in the other.

  My warrior Bess, so strong and so full of passion. In that moment I fully appreciated how I love her. My heart filled with love for her.

  The door flew from the frame and there stood both of them. Lottie’s appearance was so altered that I no longer recognised my big sister. Her hair was falling out in clumps from her scalp. Her skin peeled and cracked at the corners of her mouth and by her eyes. Blood ran from her gums when she smiled. Her arms were covered in black veins, like the terrible vines that came from her, and the nails on her fingers and toes were bloodied and black. Behind her stood Miss Stevens, straight-backed and proper, her eyes cool enough to form ice.

  “Stay away from the girl,” Bess said, holding her weapons high.

  Lottie hissed at the crucifix. When she spoke, her voice was a thousand voices, deep enough to send a shudder all the way up my spine. “Give her to me.”

  “Never.”

  Lottie roared and dashed forward but Bess held strong, pushing the crucifix into her. Lottie scuttled away, but instead of reversing out of the door she moved up the wall, climbing backwards and with the bizarre motion of a crawling spider, her legs and arms bending in an inhuman way. Even Miss Stevens was temporarily stunned by this. Sudden vomit gushed from me and I doubled over to let it out. I could not stand it. I could not stand to see my sister in this way.

  “Lottie, please,” I
cried. “Please, if you are still in there. You must come out. Please return. I cannot bear it.” I dropped to my knees, begging her. “Please.”

  Miss Stevens saw an opportunity. She rushed towards Bess, but my beloved housekeeper was strong and fearless. She grappled with the governess, pushing her through the door. Lottie’s eyes rolled around their sockets as she watched us. Her tongue lolled from her mouth.

  “Liza, you must get out!” Bess shouted. “It’s too late to save her. Get out! Get out of the house!”

  Miss Stevens bit into Bess’s arm and my poor Bess cried out. I rushed at Miss Stevens with a vase, knocking her off her balance. It gave Bess enough time to compose herself, pushing her loose hair away from her forehead.

  “GO!” she yelled at me. “Go, now!”

  Bess lifted her knife as Miss Stevens ran at her one last time. Quick as a flash, I ducked between the governess’s legs and darted from the room, my heart pounding so hard I was frightened for my ribs. Straight to the front door I rushed, but it was stuck. The house mocked me with a laugh coming from its underbelly.

  Behind me I heard a scream, and I longed to turn back to help Bess, but then I thought of her warning. The house went very quiet. The shaking stopped. A thud sounded out from Bess’s room.

  A voice came from near the kitchen. “Liza. I am coming for you.”

  My body reacted before I even fully processed the threat. I ran up the stairs, into my room. I locked the door behind me and barricaded it. Then I reached beneath my bed and took out the music box. All I can do now is document what has happened at this house, Ravenswood, and pray that someone finds this before it happens to them. This house is evil. It is cursed. Please, I beg of you, get out, now. Leave this place. You will die in this house.

  I pray to God for your soul.

  The door is opening. Dear God, she is coming for me!

  Chapter Sixteen

  With trembling hands I close the diary and return it to the music box. Then I close the top of the music box, silencing the nursery rhyme forever more. I can’t believe I’m going to have to go back to the house. A slithering, squirming sensation of pure fear worms its way through me. What if Mum ends up like that?

  “You’re stronger than she was,” Lacey says. “You have experience with ghosts. It might not happen in the same way.”

  “Liza?” I say. “Are you here? Can you help me?”

  I lift my feet from the lawn and let the swing finally move. But there’s nothing else, no other indication that her spirit remains at Ravenswood.

  “We don’t know that she died,” Lacey reminds me. “She never finished the final entry.”

  “Exactly,” I reply. “If she had survived, she would have written about it. No, it ended with Lottie about to break into her room. I think we can presume that whatever possessed Lottie eventually killed Liza.”

  “Then how did the music box end up in the wrong room?” Lacey says. “From the descriptions, it sounds as though Liza was in your room. But we found the music box in your parents’ room.”

  “It’s been over a hundred years since Liza died. It could have been anyone. It could have been Lottie. No, there’s no way Liza could have lived.” My voice breaks. “What if… what if Mum…?”

  Lacey searches my face. “We just have to get her out of the house. Then we can get her to Emmaline.”

  I take the phone from my pocket and regard it for a moment. “I think I have an idea.” After a pause I hit the nine button three times.

  “What are you doing?” Lacey asks.

  “Reporting a disturbance.”

  Lacey raises her eyebrow. “What are you going to say? Your possessed mother is beating you up?”

  “Pretty much, yeah.”

  I’ve only ever called the emergency services once before, and that conversation flashes through my mind. It was after I’d been in a fire at my school, and my friend Anita had died. Phoning those three numbers was the heaviest weight of responsibility that I’ve ever felt. It weighed on my chest like a piece of lead. This time I feel somewhat fraudulent. All I can hope is that it might get Mum out of the house, and then I can somehow get her to Emmaline. It’s not a great plan, but aside from tempting her out with breadcrumbs, I’m not sure what else I can do.

  I keep it brief, not giving my name, telling the operator that I heard a disturbance coming from Ravenswood and that I’m frightened someone might get hurt. Lacey listens intently, giving me prods that are more distracting than anything.

  “Tell ’em she’s cooking drugs. Don’t give your name, they can’t make you. Tell them to send armed police.”

  When I hang up I roll my eyes. “We’re in Ashforth. They aren’t going to send armed police.”

  She shrugs. “The countryside is the worst. There are always those crazy gunmen around here, the ones who shoot their mothers and then go on a spree.”

  I shudder, thinking of how many serial killers are currently dead and ready to haunt me. I don’t want to be a magnet for every evil spirit within a hundred mile radius.

  “Do you think we should wait in the house?” Lacey says. “Because I don’t want to go in there. It’s full of bad ju-ju, and definitely not safe for you.”

  “No, we’ll talk to the police, see if we can get them to get her out into the garden.”

  “You should be all huffy and uncooperative,” Lacey says. “Whenever I acted like that, they always hung around for ages, waiting for me to fuck up so they could arrest me.”

  I try to respond to her smile, but I’m too sad, for her, for Liza, for Lottie. And Mum. How is it that this world is full of so much badness, from negligent mothers to evil spirits? And the good die, like Lacey and Igor and Liza? I shake my head, trying to loosen the thoughts from my mind. I jump down from the swing and rake my fingers through my hair, tugging on the knots and tangles until it hurts.

  This is all so frustrating I could scream. How is it that I have this gift of seeing the dead and yet I feel so helpless?

  “I should get the Athamé,” I say. The thought dawns on me as fast as the flash of a light bulb. “I can’t take Mum to Emmaline without the Athamé.” The old woman didn’t explicitly say I’d need it, but her expression did brighten when I mentioned it.

  “Emmaline might have her own. Jesus, that’s a terrifying thought,” Lacey says. “How many Athamés are out there waiting to send me to the spiritworld?”

  “There might not be a spiritworld,” I say, half to myself. “We don’t know what lies beyond.”

  “Cheers, that’s really cheered me up.” Lacey rolls her eyes. “There’s no way you’re going back in that house. Wait for the police to come.”

  “No, I have to get the Athamé.”

  “Are you sure this isn’t the house pulling you in?” Lacey asks. “Because it can do that. It has some sort of dark energy.”

  “I know my own mind, Lace. Stop telling me what to do,” I snap. And I immediately regret it when I see the haunted expression on her face. “I’m sorry. Liza’s story has me rattled. It’s this place, the fact that it took Mum.” I turn clockwise and examine every bit of Ravenswood around me, the dark shadowy trees, the long driveway leading to the narrow road—our only way out of here—the weeds poking out of the lawn and the disintegrating patio wall. The grey gravel and the dying ivy climbing up to the windows. I spin around over and over and each time I see Mum staring at me through the window. Staring. Just staring.

  “Stop it!” Lacey’s hand goes through me in a crackle as she tries to stop me.

  But I keep going, like some kind of nervous tic I can’t stop. Maybe it’ll go. Maybe I’ll turn around one more time and she won’t be there, waiting for me.

  Dirty girl.

  You’re more susceptible to these things.

  You’re vulnerable because of your illness.

  I don’t believe you. I don’t believe you. I will never believe you.

  The world spins. Green grass rises higher and higher until it hits the bridge of my nose. I clo
se my eyes against the cold blades.

  When I open them I have a horizontal view of the world. The toes of a pair of neat black lace-up shoes and the hem of a long dress are in front of my eyes. A smiling girl bends down, her brown curls falling forwards.

  “It’s all right,” she says. “Don’t be afraid. You’re stronger than I ever was.”

  “Liza?” I whisper.

  She smiles. The light warms her skin, making her glow like a beacon. “It’s the house. Use the house.”

  “I wish I could have saved you,” I say.

  “You were born to do this,” she replies.

  A high-pitched wail cuts through the air. She places a finger to her lips and backs away. I’m on my feet and running to the house before Lacey can try to stop me again. I need the Athamé. I need to be inside.

  “Mary?” Lacey’s voice crackles behind me. She flickers as she runs by my side. “Stop it. You need to stick to the plan.”

  On the steps leading up to the patio stands one of my Things, my warning zombies. It’s a young woman, burned down her right side, scorched skin hanging from her bones.

  “No,” I say. “I can’t stop. I have to be in there. I understand that you’re warning me, but I have to be in there.”

  “Walls have eyes,” she says.

  I run through her and she dissipates into smoke. “Thank you.”

  The wail is louder. It’s a police car speeding along the road. As I pull open the front door, I’m out of breath and the car is making its way up the drive. Without turning to look at my mum in the living room, I hurry up the steps, taking two at a time, desperate to get to my room.

  The knife is tucked away in one of my wardrobes and I’m scrambling through my untidy belongings when I hear a firm knock at the door. Mum’s steps pad along the floor as I grasp the hilt of the knife. I tuck the knife into my jeans and head towards the hall. The door creaks open.

  “Don’t hurt them,” I mutter.

  From the top of the stairs I see Mum leaning against the door frame, her hip jutting out at a suggestive angle. She twirls a tendril of hair around her fingers.