The Haunting of Quenby Mansion Omnibus: A Haunted House Mystery

by J. S. Donovan

  “Ten minutes,” Maxwell bargained. “I can’t remember when I had something other than squirrel and deer.”

  The microwave dinged.

  “Well, now you get to eat more meat,” Terrence joked.

  Evelyn sighed and sat down. She kept the shotgun propped against the table. “Ten minutes.”

  Maxwell nodded in affirmation while Terrence got the leftovers.

  Similar to the car ride, silence fell over them.

  “How long have you known about Zoey and the others?” Maxwell asked, searching for a conversation.

  “There were signs since we moved in, but we didn’t actually see them until a week or two ago.”

  “That’s something else,” Maxwell replied. “To have them here this whole time and never notice them. I must’ve been so blind.”

  “Maybe they didn’t want to be noticed. It was Mary who reached out to Terrence and me. Through blackouts at first.”

  “Mary,” Maxwell said, grieved by just saying the name. “Nice girl. I should’ve sought after you instead of treating her as a daughter, and she might still be alive.”

  Evelyn pursed her lips.

  Maxwell leaned in, a red rim about his tired eyes. “I apologize for what happened in the woods during our first encounter,” Maxwell said. “When I saw that man and the axe, something came over me. I couldn’t stand by.”

  Evelyn remembered Stephen’s head explode with the shotgun blast. It was a memory she did not want to revisit, especially before dinner.

  “You must think I’m a madman,” Maxwell said

  “I believe we’re all a little crazy,” Evelyn replied.

  Maxwell cracked a smile. It was the first time Evelyn had seen it. It was gentle and fatherly, if you could look past the yellow teeth.

  Terrence returned with three plates of barbecue, two on one arm and one in his other hand. He served Maxwell, then Evelyn, and then himself. He plopped into his seat and let out a sigh of relief. Without saying a word, they started eating. Awkwardness lingered at first but by the time they cleared their plates, the feeling had lessened. Still, Evelyn didn’t know what to make of the “stranger” in her home. It’s not your home. It’s his, she reminded herself.

  Maxwell lowered his fork. “I’m proud of both of you.”

  Terrence and Evelyn glanced at each and then him.

  “I don’t know anybody who would stick around after all that’s happened and all that you’ve seen.”

  “It’s not always been pleasant,” Evelyn replied.

  Chewing and staring endlessly, Terrence nodded.

  “What’s the plan now? Terrence said you live in Detroit. Do you plan to go back?”

  “I don’t know,” Evelyn said honestly. “Wherever I go, it needs to be relaxing.”

  Maxwell leaned back in his seat. “As a kid, I used to be so proud of this house and its secret hideaways. Then I learned the truth about my parents. That pride quickly turned to shame. You’ve had a similar experience, no doubt.”

  Evelyn opened her mouth to speak.

  That’s when the power cut out.

  30

  Father

  One moment, Evelyn could see the dining room, her husband, and her father, and then next it was nothing but blackness. The Quenby House instantly became much more dangerous, ominous and mysterious than it ever had before.

  Evelyn waited for her eyes to adjust and reached carefully for her shotgun, making sure to not accidentally pull the trigger. When she got ahold of the firearm, she snuggled it against her shoulder and kept her finger off the trigger.

  “Who do you think it is?” Terrence whispered. Evelyn heard him clamber out of his chair.

  Maxwell’s chair scooted out.

  “Where are you going?” Evelyn asked.

  “Have you moved anything around since you got here?” Maxwell replied.

  “For the most part, no.”

  Evelyn heard his footsteps go to the side of the room. A drawer opened. Suddenly, a match was lit and illuminated Maxwell’s skeletal face and the dark circles under his nearly black eyes. He suddenly froze, and fear caked his hardened expression.

  Evelyn turned back, seeing the five phantoms behind her. In the darkness, their leaking blood looked black.

  “He’s here,” Barker whispered.

  “Who?” Terrence asked, standing behind his chair.

  Zoey replied. “Our killer.”

  Evelyn tightened her grip around the pump action shotgun. “You’ve got to stop him,” Evelyn told Zoey.

  “We can’t,” the goth replied dreadfully. “Every time we look at him, it feels like we’re dying. We can’t even see his face.”

  The others nodded in agreement.

  Evelyn gnashed her teeth, frustrated with their response. She bounced her eyes to Terrence. “Where’s your phone?”

  “Charging in the foyer.”

  The match died out. Darkness enveloped the room.

  Maxwell struck another match. The match top burst to life. The phantoms had vanished, leaving the three of them alone in the large dining room.

  “We get the phone, call the cops, and then get to the van,” Evelyn stated.

  “Simple enough,” Maxwell said. “Give me your gun.”

  The command sent a chill down Evelyn’s spine. He plans to go after the killer.

  “I’ve been hunting for the last decade,” Maxwell explained sternly, his hand still outstretched. “I won’t miss.”

  Reluctant, Evelyn handed him the shotgun in exchange for the matchbox. She glanced back at Terrence.

  “I got your back,” he said, keeping the gun.

  Maxwell stepped ahead of her and opened the door into the stubby hall that linked with the back of the foyer. If not for the phone, Evelyn would’ve suggested they cut through the kitchen and out the back. Nonetheless, their chances of survival would be much better with a cell phone and the police on their side.

  Evelyn followed close behind Maxwell while Terrence walked backwards, keeping the shotgun pointed at their rear flank. The walls had oil paintings of Antebellum-era plantations, cotton fields, and mountain vistas.

  Thump.

  Evelyn held up her finger and listened. Terrence and Maxwell glanced about the hallway.

  Thump.

  “It’s coming from the walls,” Evelyn said quietly.

  Fire bit her finger. She shook out the flame that ate away the matchstick.

  No one moving, they heard creaking within the wall nearby.

  With hands trembling, Evelyn struck another match. It didn’t take.

  Something clicked nearby.

  Evelyn tried the match again.

  It lit.

  About seven feet away, a three-foot portion of the wall was open like a door. The “door” part was on Evelyn’s side, preventing them from seeing into the corridor.

  Evelyn’s heart pumped rapidly. Terrence’s breath quickened.

  Gun up and seemingly without fear, Maxwell approached the opening. He slid his back against the opposite wall. In the match light, the sweat on his wrinkled brow reflected in the fire. When he reached the opening in the wall ahead, his finger slid on the trigger.

  Evelyn tensed, knowing that if he went into the corridor, he may not come out.

  Keeping both hands on the shotgun, Maxwell walked around the “door” and vanished from Evelyn’s sight. With Terrence’s back against her own, she approached the opening. The floorboards groaned beneath her feet, giving her pause. Her throat dried up. The killer probably could see the match light, but any noise she made still caused her to shudder.

  Following Maxwell’s trajectory, Evelyn pressed her shoulder against the opposite wall and started around the “door.” Standing away from the opening, Evelyn held the match out, trying to illuminate the corridor. The walls within were unpainted wood with a vertical beam flush against the inner walls. The sharp points of dozens of black nails jutted from the walls, but most had been hammered down to prevent anyone from catching on them. Li
ke white hair, clumps of cobwebs dangling from the ceiling. The corridor branched left and right. Evelyn saw no sign of Maxwell.

  Footsteps neared down the right side. Terrence swiftly maneuvered in front of Evelyn and took aim with the shotgun. His finger hovered over the trigger. His body quaked.

  The footsteps neared, getting closer and closer and closer.

  The hairs on Evelyn’s neck stood.

  A figure rounded the corner. Maxwell.

  Terrence released his breath and lowered his firearm as Maxwell stepped out of the tight corridor. His suit and soot-colored hair were covered with dust and cobwebs. His line-etched face was drenched with sweat. “There’s no one back there.”

  The match burnt out.

  Evelyn stuck another one, longing for a flashlight or oil lamp. Anything that wouldn’t die every twelve seconds.

  The little dancing flame came to life, illuminating Maxwell’s face and the tall man, clad in black, wearing a featureless white mask, looming behind him.

  “What?” Maxwell asked off Evelyn’s and Terrence’s disturbed look.

  “Andrew,” Evelyn said shakily.

  As Maxwell went to turn back, the phantom swiftly wrapped his arms around Maxwell’s torso and sucked him into the corridor.

  “Dad!” Evelyn screamed.

  Suddenly, the “door” slammed shut in her face. Her father’s muffled scream raced down the hall at sixty miles per hour, and then Quenby House was silent again.

  The match quaked in Evelyn’s hand. After a second of shock, she rushed to the wall and felt it with her free hand. There was no lever, button, or hidden switch. It seemed it only opened from the other side.

  “What the hell was that?” Terrence asked soberly. “I thought Andrew was on our side.”

  “I don’t know, Terrence,” Evelyn replied quickly. “But we need to get in there.”

  “Eve, we stick to the plan.”

  Evelyn twisted back to him, seeing the terror on her husband’s face. “Without my father, there is no plan.”

  Terrence didn’t deny it. “Then let us at least call the cops first. The killer is still in here, remember?”

  Evelyn chewed her lip nervously. She nodded in agreement, silently praying the other phantoms would deal with Andrew Doyle.

  With one gun and a few matches, they reached the foyer. The windows gave the room a little more light than the inky black hall, but Evelyn still had to rely on the matches for guidance. There were flashlights upstairs and maybe one in the kitchen, but Evelyn didn’t want to risk the journey. The phone had a weak light anyway.

  Keep the gun stock against his shoulder, Terrence stepped out from under the balcony and aimed upward, keeping an eye out for anyone lurking above. He bounced the barrel between the front door, hall of portraits, and the opposite hall with Evelyn’s mural. “Clear,” he whispered.

  Evelyn stepped out of the shadows and dashed for the sideboard near the right curving stairway. With Terrence pacing about the foyer, constantly aiming the weapon at the many entrances, Evelyn pulled the flip phone from the charger and held down the power button. Terrence’s smart phone had fried when the Doyles attacked, and his replacement left something to be desired.

  The phone company logo flickered and the phone fully booted up. Evelyn dialed 9-1-1 and held the phone close to her ear.

  “Evelyn,” a cheery, familiar voice said on the other end of the line.

  Terrence glanced back at her. His lips were parted and his eyes were wide. He heard the voice too.

  “Deputy Painter and I decided to direct your calls to us personally. What seems to be the emergency?” Sheriff Yates asked. “You aren’t still in town, are you? Don’t answer that. We’re on our way now.”

  Evelyn swiftly hung up. She patted down her short pockets in search of her wallet containing Officer Bailey’s personal number. No no no! She locked eyes with Terrence. “It’s in my jeans upstairs.”

  “Check the recent calls.”

  Evelyn did. “It’s not saved. Terrence, this phone sucks.”

  Dread sank Terrence’s face.

  Evelyn hated herself for not emptying her pockets before leaving the shower. That meant… “The car keys!” Evelyn exclaimed. She darted up the stairs.

  “Evelyn!” Terrence shouted as loud as one could when whispering. He chased after his wife.

  Using the railing to guide her, Evelyn reached the top of the interior balcony and headed for the nearest bathroom. Her sprint slowed when she noticed the figure silhouetted in the bedroom doorway. The moonlight leaking into the room behind him glistened on the abnormally long and skinny barreled pistol in his hand. Evelyn dropped prone as the pistol made a pint sound.

  “Terrence, stay back!” Evelyn shouted and rolled to the bathroom as the silhouetted figure slid another lengthy, feather-tailed dart into the pistol’s chamber.

  Evelyn clambered into the bathroom just as the needle-nose dart punched the bathroom’s door frame.

  Terrence pressed his back against the wall near the hallway. “Back off or I will shoot you!” he shouted.

  Inside the bathroom, Evelyn got on her knees and tossed aside the day’s shirt still damp with sweat and grabbed her dirty jeans. She shoved her hands into the pockets. Both back pockets were empty. She tried the front ones. She mouthed a curse and felt her chest tighten, like someone was clenching her heart in a vise grip. It’s not here. Why isn’t it here?

  “Make the call, Evelyn!” Terrence shouted.

  She desperately crawled around the floor, checking under the sink counter and beneath the door.

  Boom!

  The shotgun’s thunderous boom echoed through the house and deep into Evelyn’s ears.

  With shaking hands, she quickly lit a match. Everything in the room was as she had left it, unless… Andrew!

  “Why are you doing this?” Evelyn mumbled, her eyes getting wet. “I’ve done nothing but help you.”

  Terrence’s shotgun cocked. Evelyn peered out the doorway, no longer seeing the figure silhouetted in the master bedroom. Buckshot peppered the front end of the canopied bed’s mattress.

  Terrence carefully stepped into the hall.

  He examined the long, feather-tailed dart stuck into the railing and then returned his attention to the master bedroom. He proceeded forward.

  “Terrence,” Evelyn called out from the bathroom. “It’s not here. Andrew must’ve…”

  “We stop him ourselves,” Terrence said, equally determined and terrified.

  He passed by Evelyn, keeping an eye on the various closed doors on either side of the hall. The hardwood groaned beneath his feet. Evelyn stepped out and followed behind him. As they neared the threshold to the bedroom, another scream sounded through the walls.

  Evelyn turned to the sealed billiard room door, remembering the passageway through the arcade game cabinet. She had to make a choice. Go after the killer or go after her father. Both options were deadly.

  Evelyn grabbed Terrence’s sleeve. He stopped walking but didn’t turn to face her.

  “Maxwell,” she whispered into his ear.

  Terrence frowned at Evelyn. Evelyn could tell he wanted to try stopping the killer.

  Maxwell screamed again.

  Terrence’s brave facade weakened. He glanced at the billiard room and then back to the door.

  “Whatever we do, we do it together,” Evelyn said.

  Locking his jaw, Terrence headed for the billiard room. They closed the door behind them and opened the arcade cabinet. Evelyn went first, pushing aside a tangle of multi-colored wires overhead. She crawled into the uncomfortable wooden floor that brushed her knees. She stood up in the tight passageway, catching the sleeve of her shirt against the point of a small, rusty nail. It tore a small hole when she took a few steps forward into the musty corridor and lit a match. Terrence followed her inside. The shotgun wouldn’t function well in the three-foot-wide tunnel.

  “Which way?” Terrence asked.

  If they went straight, the co
rridor would take them to the master bedroom. If they went back, it would take her to the two-way mirror bathroom and to the ladder downstairs.

  Evelyn pointed ahead and whispered, “We try the bedroom and then double back.”

  Terrence nodded. “You’re in front. You take the gun.”

  He slid the weapon barrel under her arm far enough for her to take it. If anything came behind her, they would be screwed. Terrence took the matches and illuminated the path ahead. Surefooted, Evelyn moved through the corridor. She gulped down a mouthful of dust and kept her lips closed to prevent from coughing too loudly. They turned a corner and saw the peephole to the bedroom. Evelyn leaned in and squinted through it. The only light in the room streamed from the full moon outside. There was no sign of the killer. Evelyn continued to the dead end.

  Maxwell wasn’t here. He must be downstairs.

  Evelyn and Terrence traded the shotgun and matches. There were about twenty or so matchsticks left. It wouldn’t last long. They moved back to the way they came. It seemed to get hotter and dustier the longer they stayed in. After the long hike today, Evelyn felt like she was walking on spikes. The long hours hit Terrence. With slumped shoulders and heavy breathing, he held the shotgun near his waist. His eyelids shut like lazy garage doors. Evelyn punched him. He straightened up, but within moments, he was slumping again.

  A match burnt out.

  Evelyn lit another. The small glow only gave them roughly four feet of vision before the tunnel seemed to plunge into eternal blackness. They glanced into the small cubby with the double-sided bathroom mirror. Evelyn saw the figure within and grabbed Terrence’s shoulder, signaling for him to stop. The killer wore a black form-fitting turtleneck to match his black pants and black leather gloves. A ski mask concealed his identity. By the looks of him, he was in great shape with a stiff posture. He pulled aside the shower curtain and aimed the long dart pistol inside. He glanced at the mirror.

  Evelyn felt her heart skip a beat.

  Suddenly, the killer punched the glass, sending a spiderweb crack across the mirror.

  Terrence and Evelyn covered their mouths, muting their gasps.