The man studied the crack with acute fixation.
Perspiration dampened Evelyn’s forehead and trickled down her cheek.
Just when she thought the man was leaving, he turned back to the mirror, made a finger gun with the finger and thumb of his free hand, and pointed at the glass.
He mouthed “pew” and popped the finger gun upward to signify recoil. The mouth of his mask curved upward, hinting at a smile. Without warning, the killer bolted out of the room and then turned to the billiard room.
Evelyn didn’t need to say anything. Terrence was already moving swiftly in the opposite direction.
They navigated the tunnel and found the drop-off to the first floor. It was a tight shaft with a few ladder rungs. Another match seared Evelyn’s fingers. She winced and shook it out. The wood and dust in the corridor made every match a risky endeavor. Old houses like these were prone to fire and if something started in the tunnel, the smoke would suffocate Evelyn and Terrence if the fire didn’t reach them first.
Far behind them, they heard footsteps.
“It’s him,” Terrence whispered dreadfully.
“Get down there.” Evelyn commanded. “Hurry.”
Without time to swap out the gun for the matches, Terrence descended into the dark pit. He held the weapon between his thighs, pointing the barrel up high as his shoulders scraped against the sides of the shaft. Evelyn stared out into the blackness before her, expected to take a dart to the eye. Her pessimistic attitude wasn’t doing her any favors.
Wood snapped behind her, followed by Terrence’s brief shout and then the defining boom of a shotgun.
Evelyn felt the wind break by her head as buckshot blow through the ceiling. She ducked low as wood splinters and dust rained down upon her. The noise ricocheted through the tight corridor and deafened Evelyn to everything but a sharp ringing deep in her ear canal. The lit match fell from her hand and hit the floor, starting a small fire between her feet.
Still trying to process what just happened, Evelyn stomped the fire with her bare foot. She felt the flaming tongues lick her soul, but she suffered through the pain until the small inferno was extinguished. Teary-eyed, she glanced at the corridor ahead of her.
No sign of the killer. No yet. But he was coming, and Evelyn wouldn’t be able to hear his footsteps.
She glanced back down the shaft. “Terrence?” she called out. Her own voice sound like it was covered with a tin can.
Her husband mumbled something back, but Evelyn didn’t understand it. Feeling the walls were pressing in on her, she started down the shaft.
Terrence kept speaking, but it was like listening to someone talking under underwater.
Evelyn’s aching foot found the rung that had snapped away. She extended her leg down farther to the next rung and continued her swift descent. She reached the bottom and bumped into Terrence.
“Evelyn,” he said. “Are...okay?”
Evelyn found the match and struck it, casting a light on Terrence’s horrified expression. He put both his hands on her cheeks and locked her watery eyes with his own.
“Shi… I… Sorry, Eve…”
“Shut up,” Evelyn barked. “We need to keep moving.”
Terrence nodded and picked up his shotgun. He hastily started forward. Evelyn lagged behind. It still felt like she was stepping on fire. The pain worsened. She bounced from one wall to the next, like a pinball machine. An unbent nail scraped against the side of her chin, taking off a bit of her skin.
In the darkness up ahead, Evelyn saw a disembodied, featureless white mask.
“Andr… Doyl..,” Terrence said.
The ringing in Evelyn’s ears grew louder.
Something big flung through the darkness.
Terrence backed up a step, bumping into Evelyn as Maxwell’s limp body crashed down before them. He lay face down, with his arm twisted behind his back and no shotgun to speak of.
Evelyn did not have time to mourn.
Andrew Doyle approached.
Terrence aimed the gun.
“It won’t do anything,” Evelyn told him.
“I kno…” Terrence shouted back, but couldn’t bring himself to lower the gun.
Doom crushed Evelyn’s spirit knowing that the killer would be flanking them within moments. Evelyn pressed close to her husband. The match was dying. She had to choose: the condemned phantom or the killer at the rear.
Andrew’s walk gained momentum. It seemed like his mask was floating, but Evelyn could feel his stomping rattle the floor.
Together, Evelyn and Terrence watched their death sprinting to them. Wake up. Evelyn told herself. It’s all a bad dream. Deep down though, she knew it was very real.
Andrew was only a few yards away. He stretched out both hands. Terrence backed up into Evelyn. She could feel his every rapid breath. He could feel her. They’d be a couple to the end.
In a blink, Peter Calhoon appeared between the Carrs and Andrew.
“I told you…stay away from her!” Peter shouted and charged the masked phantom. They clashed, locking one another in place as the other four phantoms phased through walls and took ahold of Andrew from all directions. He tried to break free but failed. The phantoms pulled at him continuously. Andrew let out the most horrific scream, one that shook Evelyn to the core, as he was torn apart.
Instantly, the corridor was clear and quiet, apart from the dripping crimson smear splattering the floor, walls, and ceiling where the masked phantom once stood.
Terrence turned back to Evelyn, using his hand to wipe red from his face. Despite the blood, Evelyn would’ve kissed him. Nonetheless, the killer at their tail seemed to be the more pressing issue.
“Help me get Maxwell up,” Evelyn told him.
Terrence handed her back the shotgun and lifted her father’s limp body, propping it against his own.
“He’s breathing,” Terrence said with relief.
Evelyn felt her hearing starting to clear up. She gestured for Terrence to move forward while she watched the rear flank. He should be here by now, Evelyn thought as they stepped over the hot blood spattered and moved farther and farther away from the shaft.
They reached the place where the tunnel branched into the foyer and lounge.
A door opened.
Terrence took a few steps ahead, allowing Evelyn room into a cubby beneath the left set of curving stairs. Shaking the fire off her match, she peered through the peephole, seeing Deputy Painter and Sheriff Yates enter the house. The two plastic sheet windows bowed in at the will of the heavy wind.
“Evelyn!” Yates yelled out, keeping his pistol clasped in both hands and pointed at the floor. “It’s the sheriff. Come on out!”
Painter tried the light switch. “Must’ve blown a fuse.”
“Keep your theories to yourself,” Yates said. “She’s expecting us.”
“Ohh, I’m real scared,” Painter said sarcastically as he lit up a cigarette. The lighter’s flame reflected in his shark-like eyes.
“It never ends,” Terrence mumbled.
Evelyn followed him around to a better vantage point of the foyer that allowed her to see the curving sets of stairs, balcony, and a little bit of the domed ceiling.
The deputy and sheriff started toward the stairs.
“Hello, boys,” Alannah said from the balcony railing.
Painter and Yates stopped in their tracks and aimed their pistols.
Painter cursed loudly.
Yates raised both brows.
“Her neck!” Painter shouted, jabbing his pistol at her. “Look at her neck!”
“Oh, this?” Alannah said and raised up her chin, giving them a clear view of the slash that yawned with the ounce of blood it pumped down her chest. “It’s really nothing, darling.”
Painter scurried back and fell to his bottom. Cussing up a storm, he scrambled to his feet and ran for the door. Winslow appeared in front of him and “smiled.”
Painter shrieked and dove through the plastic sheeting, vanishin
g down the road.
Yates didn’t move. He bounced his eyes between Alannah and Winslow. “You, uh, Evelyn’s friends?”
“Much more than that, darling,” Alannah said, going down the stairs with her hips swaying and her fingers walking down the railing.
Winslow nodded many times.
“You might be able to scare my dimwitted partner with your… whatever you call this getup, but I’m the sheriff of this town and I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” Yates aimed his gun at Alannah. “Right now.”
Alannah clicked her tongue. “Oh, darling. You’re way out of your league.”
Alannah vanished mid step and appeared inches from Sheriff Yates. His face went stark white as Alannah kissed him on the lips.
After his hands phased through her, Yates took a few steps back, twisted around, and bumped into naked Winslow. Yates stumbled. He looked at the two phantoms, blinked a few times, and then ran out of the door without saying another word.
Evelyn smiled at the victory.
Terrence suddenly grabbed her wrist. Evelyn twisted back and saw the silhouetted figure at the end of the corridor. He aimed the dart pistol.
Terrence opened his mouth to say something when the dart pistol made a pint sound and a feather dart punched Terrence’s chest. He gasped and collapsed to the ground, taking Maxwell with him.
Evelyn leveled the shotgun and squeezed the trigger. The muzzle flash revealed the man’s ski mask as he dropped a phone. The scattershot blew over his head and punched a hole into a downstairs room. Evelyn readied the pump action when she felt a sharp, stinging sensation in her throat. She glanced down, seeing the long feather dart jutting from her neck. One shot. All I need. Her mind told her finger to pull the trigger, but instead her arms dropped the gun. The corridor grew ever darker as the masked man approached. Evelyn’s shoulder hit the wall beside her and she slid to her bottom. She fought to keep her arms open, but they disobeyed her. Like curtains, her eyelids shut and the world slid into an abyss.
Evelyn didn’t dream.
She awoke, strapped in a chair in a cold, square room devoid of any doors and windows. She recognized the brick walls and candle sconces. Little flames danced on a wick standing in a pond of wet wax. White tears dripped down the candlestick. Evelyn knew the room at once: the killer’s body dump.
She faced two other chairs, forming a triangle around the dip in the floor. With his head slack on his neck, Maxwell sat to her right. To the left was Terrence in a similar state. Like Evelyn, their wrists and ankles were tied to their chair’s arms and legs.
Evelyn heard whistling behind her and metal clanging. She tried to look back but couldn’t extend her neck far enough to see the source. A thick orange cable ran down from the corpse chute in the ceiling and ended somewhere behind. It appeared to be an extension cord.
“I used to do this in the hay field out back,” the familiar voice said, taking a break from his whistling. “I was honestly a little nervous to kill inside Quenby House. A little stupid now that I think about it. Heck, I was already storing the bodies here, why not kill two birds with one stone? Maybe I didn’t want to test fate. Max coming home during the act was a legitimate fear of mine.”
“A little part of me knew it was you,” Evelyn said. “Why not bring your friends along and make this a public lynching?”
The man paused to think about it. “It didn’t work out so well when we tried it on Maxwell. Besides, I wanted spend a little more time with you.”
Evelyn pursed her lips. She tried to pull out of her binds. It was very tight rope, coiled around a half-dozen times.
“This is the part where you beg for your life and the lives of your family,” the man said, still fiddling with something.
“I’m a realist,” Evelyn said. “Groveling is not going to get me anywhere.”
The man chuckled softy. “It might. Everyone at work says I’m a softie.”
“I’d rather not give you the pleasure,” Evelyn said.
Footsteps neared. The man leaned in next to her ear. “You already are.”
He pulled back and walked away. “It took me many years to find my method. I’m still searching in some ways, but chasing you through those tunnels… that felt so right. If you could feel my heart right now, you’d know.”
If it was anything like her own, Evelyn didn’t need to feel it.
Terrence groaned and lifted his head. His groggy eyes met Evelyn, and suddenly a burst of adrenaline snapped him awake. He tried to pull out of his binds. His chair teeter-tottered. The wood moaned but didn’t give. After his burst of strength, he mellowed out. He glanced up at the killer behind him. “Out of all the possibilities, you were the only one I liked.”
Dr. Gregory walked around Evelyn and stopped before Terrence. “You weren’t a bad guy yourself. Now, let’s wake up the father.”
With the back of his hand, Dr. Gregory slapped Maxwell’s face. He didn’t wake. Gregory tried again. This time, Maxwell sat up, grimacing. He took in the situation, and Evelyn saw true fear turn to rage.
“I said that if you ever came back to this house, I’d kill you,” Maxwell said and spit on Gregory’s black boot.
Gregory smiled at him. “That’s what I love about this whole situation. I’ve been killing here, right under your nose.”
“Because I took away Lily?” Maxwell asked.
“Yep,” the doctor replied. “Plus you were an easy target. And the house, good lord, I’ve loved it ever since you showed me the passageways when we were children. I’d sneak in sometimes when you and your parents were asleep and find new nooks and crannies myself. I believe I know it better than you.”
“All those years, you could’ve just killed me,” Maxwell said.
“Sure,” Gregory said. “But this felt better, knowing you’d be the perfect scapegoat. Rallying the others was so easy. I never needed to show them the bodies to convince them. They already hated you.”
“The one you want is me. It’s always been me.” Maxwell said. “Let them go.”
“Come on, man. There has to be some way we can work this out,” Terrence begged.
Gregory gave Evelyn an I-told-you-so smile. Strong jawed and with hazel eyes, he was devilishly handsome with silver stripes in his rich brown hair.
He headed back to whatever he was working on.
“Don’t walk away from me!” Maxwell said through his teeth and leaned forward in his chair.
“Don’t worry, Max. I’m going to kill you first.”
Evelyn looked around, waiting for the phantoms to come and rescue them, but Quenby House was quiet. She knew she was on her own. She needed a plan. Something in this room must be able to help her. Think, Evelyn. Think.
Her thought was interrupted by a metallic scream behind her.
“Oh,” Terrence said, wide eyes on whatever Dr. Gregory held.
Evelyn twisted back to see it but failed.
She heard footsteps and the cord dragging behind her. Gregory stopped in the middle of them and showed off the modified circular saw without a safety guard. Its blade had polished teeth.
“It’s the first time I’ve used one of these.” He walked around Maxwell. “I’m going to open the back of your skull with it.”
Gregory pressed the power tool’s trigger. The blade screamed and blurred as it rotated. “I’m sorry, Evelyn,” Maxwell yelled over the noise. “I failed as a father, but I love you.”
“I love you too, Dad.” Evelyn said, feeling tears trickling down her pale cheeks. She didn’t know if her words were truth, but it felt real at the moment.
Gregory hovered the whirling blade an inch from Maxwell’s skull. His face sank with a frown and he let go of the trigger. The spinning blade died down.
“Thank God,” Terrence mumbled.
Gregory glared at Evelyn. “You know what’s funny? He may not actually be your father. It may be me. I’ll test your DNA after this.”
“You’ll kill me without knowing?” Evelyn taunted. “I thought yo
u were a man of certainties.”
Gregory glared at her for a moment, as if he was a parent thinking up some punishment for his child. “For that snide comment, I’ll kill Terrence first.”
He turned the blade back on and marched to Terrence’s chair.
“No!” Evelyn shouted. “No!!!”
Terrence pulled back his bald head as far as he could from the spinning blade.
“Zoey! Alannah! Barker!” Evelyn yelled up at the corpse chute. “Do something!”
The blade neared Terrence’s skull. “Evelyn!” he shouted.
Evelyn stood up, chair and all, and dived at Gregory. The spinning blade nicked the side of Terrence’s head as Evelyn took Gregory down.
Gregory rose up with the circular saw, readying to bring it down on Evelyn, when Barker appeared. Standing over his head, the seventy-year-old in a sweater vest vomited blood on Gregory’s face. Eyes closed, Gregory swung the blade through Barker’s legs. The deadly power tool phased through the phantom.
“What are you!?” the doctor screamed desperately, being showered by Barker’s blood.
Evelyn rolled over, breaking the back leg of the chair. She saw Zoey. The goth clenched the back of her head with her face screwed up in pain. She knelt down and untied Evelyn’s hand.
“I can’t--it hurts too bad,” Zoey yelled and vanished. With one hand free, Evelyn loosened her other hand. By the time she got her ankles out, Barker had vanished.
Gregory wiped away the blood and saw Evelyn standing before him. He looked down the barrel of the shotgun. He let go of the tool.
“Please,” Gregory begged and whimpered. “What’s happening?”
“You’ll confess to everything or they’ll tear you apart.” Evelyn said coldly. Behind her, Winslow, Zoey, Peter, Alannah, and Barker stood, keeping the reins on their pain. Gregory stared at them with pure horror. His lip quivered.
“Y-yes,” Gregory said, tears streaming down his face. “Anything you want.”
The phantoms vanished.
With a hardened expression, Evelyn slammed the shotgun stock into his nose. Unconscious, the doctor toppled over.
Evelyn set the gun aside and rushed to Terrence. She turned his chin up to her face. There was a slash on the side of his head about three inches long and a centimeter deep. “Terrence.”
The Haunting of Quenby Mansion Omnibus: A Haunted House Mystery Page 37
