Lee just happened to be looking right at the reunion photo, and like a series of flash cards with each burst of light, he saw the Indian emerge from the shadows, look him in the eye, and then fall upon his family, swinging an axe as the posed figures crumpled and died.
He wiped his eyes, but the room was half dark again. In the gloom he couldn't make out what if anything was still going on behind the glass.
Deciding not to let himself look anymore, Lee steered Phoebe over to the love seat, his hands on her waist.
Maggie followed them with her eyes, her mouth drawn into that tight line. It was as hateful a glare as Lee had ever seen.
Phoebe sat her eyes down on her sandals. She was shivering, her hands locked between her knees.
The more Lee noticed how Maggie was glaring at Phoebe, the more he hated her. Nothing would ever be the same between them after tonight. He seriously began to consider running away from home at the first opportunity. Maybe I can go to Gatlinburg, he thought. I sure I could get a job or something.
The wall clock read 1:35.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: DEATH AND DESTRUCTION
No one spoke for the longest time. The violence of the growing storm outside was becoming so loud one of them would have had to have shouted to have been heard. It seemed just the sound alone might have enough force to begin tearing the house apart. And just when it seemed it couldn't get any louder, it picked it up another notch and then another.
Suddenly, Maggie screamed.
Her bandaged hand was stuck out straight towards the darkness of the hall. “There's somebody in here!"
Lee jumped up, putting Phoebe behind him. No light from the lanterns penetrated the inky mouth of the hallway, but there was something there.
Ted jumped up at the same time as Lee, handing Patty off to Maggie.
Patty screamed twisting around her arms outstretched. “No Daddy!"
Maggie gathered her in, drawing her struggling daughter in close.
That awful rotten meat smell was back, and along with it was the choking awareness of that powerful presence.
"My, God, what is that?” Ted said hollowly.
Whatever it was it was in the hall.
Lee felt it. Anger rather than fear was burning in him. He hated this, and wanted to be done with it one way or the other. Moving around from beside the love seat he was joined by his dad who'd come around the other way. They stood shoulder to shoulder in the edge of the dim light, trying to see what was there.
"Do you feel it, Dad?” Lee asked.
"Yes son,” Ted said slowly. “This is what's been going on with you and Patty, isn't it?"
Lee nodded, though his dad wasn't looking.
"Can you smell it, too?” Lee asked.
"I wish I couldn't. God, that's an awful stench.” Ted reached out blindly, putting his hand on Lee's shoulder. “What is it, son? What's it doin’ in our house?
"It has something to do with the Ballard place, from way back. The thing hates us. It's evil. It lives to make you afraid, and I think it wants Patty. You do feel it don't you? The power, the hate, it's not just me?"
Ted nodded, and then stealthily, keeping his eyes on the hall, he stepped sideways and snatched the flashlight off the table.
An intense, bright burst of lightening flashed through the windows, illuminating the hall for an instant. Nothing was there. But a line of wet footprints led out from Lee's door, ceasing just before the end of the hall, where a small puddle remained.
Lee knew where it was. He could feel it. It was in his room.
A huge thud hit the roof, and the whole house groaned.
The three girls screamed, forcing Lee and his dad to turn. A pair of bright yellow eyes was shining through the picture window, yellow halos reflecting hazily through the water streaming down the glass. Another flash revealed for but a brief second the goat-faced figure from the wall behind the picture. It had spread its arms to the top of the window frame as it held its ground oblivious to the gale and peered inside.
Another terrible flash sounded, followed with an immediate ear-shattering boom.
Patty shrieked again, her shaking finger outstretched as she pointed to the window. “It's there, Mama. It's there!"
Phoebe had twisted around to see, and was frozen, her fingers in her mouth.
The goat-faced thing was right up at the glass, staring in at them all.
The darkness came back, followed by another flash.
The thing in the window was gone.
Ted switched on the flashlight and stepped cautiously into the hall.
"Dad!” Lee called out. “Don't go back there."
"I'm getting the gun,” he yelled back.
Lee watched as his dad moved forward, crouched and ready.
The force of the presence spilling out of the hall was tremendous. It spoke without words, daring and taunting, overwhelming in its belligerent advantage, a bully, sure of its advantage and that its time had come.
Ted came abreast of Lee's door. Something rushed out slamming his dad against the wall and knocking the flashlight from his hand. The power and force was such Lee thought his windows must have burst as it appeared to be the storm itself blasting through the doorway and soaking the hall. The flashlight spun crazily, round and round on the floor.
The girls screamed again.
Lee looked back in time for another flash. Phoebe had joined Maggie and Patty on the sofa. All three were huddled together, their arms wrapped around with Patty in the middle. They were staring at the wall. The Indian had risen up and faced out. He seemed to be ripping and clawing at something in an effort to emerge from the wood.
Lee heard a huge crash come from the struggle down the hall. His dad and something were thrashing about in the dark. The flashlight had been kicked back and was lying in the middle of the hall up against the baseboard, the light shining back toward Lee.
Another flash of lightening caught the corner of his eye. Lee saw the photograph on the wall come free and crash to the floor. The goat face wasn't there. The wood where it had been was smoldering, charred black, empty.
The house suffered another tremendous blow from outside, this one heavy and rending like a head on wreck at seventy miles an hour. Something dragged down the length of the roof and then was gone.
Lee's dad screamed a bloody horrific cry of pain.
Lee reacted, running down the hall. But try as he might something nightmarish held him, and he moved against a maelstrom, trapped in slow motion. His feet moved, and he leaned in, but something like a wind pressed against his body so strongly it almost forced him back.
Lee's bare feet were slipping on the wet wood floor. He braced onto the walls and pulled with his arms, but could gain only inches at a time.
His dad screamed again, louder and then it cut off.
In a flash of lightening, Lee made contact with the eyes of his father. He was down on the floor only his head and shoulders still out in the hall. Something passed between them just as the man lost his grip and was dragged in, clawing the floor, disappearing into the utter darkness doorway to Lee's room.
The walls under Lee's hands were trembling. He could feel the terrible shudders as things unseen impacted the house with terrible force.
The girls were screaming again, but he couldn't look back.
Seizing an idea, he let go and threw himself down to the floor, hoping to not be swept away by the force pressing him back. His plan worked, and Lee hit the floor, free of the gale blowing past just above.
He picked up the flashlight and pointed it to his doorway. A section of one of the pine trees had torn through Lee's wall and was sticking out into the hall.
Lee crawled along, keeping low. He got to his doorway and shone the light in his room. His dad was lying on the floor, face up, eyes open; a slush of thick blood was spattered everywhere on the wet floor and walls. A section of a splintered branch was imbedded in his father's stomach. But there were great gashes torn in his father's legs, chest, and arms,
some down to the white bone, and the spearhead Phoebe had placed back on the desk earlier was imbedded deep in his father's throat.
"Dad!” Lee screamed. “Oh God, no Dad!"
Another horrendous crash hit the house. The girl's frightened yells seemed to come from far off, a thousand mile away.
Lightening made a direct hit somewhere near. There was a horrendous crackling and sizzling and the instantaneous explosion of a resounding thunderclap.
The gun! Lee thought. Get the gun!
Attempting to run, he got to his feet and slipped on the slick floor. He lost his balance, slamming his shoulder against the wall. Regaining his feet, Lee charged down the hall back to his parent's bedroom. Waving the flashlight around, he saw the pistol over on the dresser.
It was terribly quiet in the room and deathly still, as though the storm didn't exist here. It was a deep, frozen stillness just like that he'd experienced in the little house. Yet it was anything but frozen; the heat and the strength of the presence here was almost overwhelming. And Lee knew it was inside, daring him to set a foot just a little closer to the door.
Lee knew it was there, but he also knew he had no choice.
He flung himself into the room, made a grab for the pistol, and lunged back towards the hall.
He almost made it. Something long and bony, like a hand, closed around his ankle. It pulled his leg right out from under, and he fell flat on his stomach, slamming his chin on the floor and biting his tongue. It was pulling him back. Desperately, Lee dropped the pistol and the flashlight and grabbed hold of each side of the doorframe, kicking back with his free foot, mashing the awful fingers that just wouldn't let go.
It was drawing him back, the strength was tremendous, inexorable. Lee knew that if he let go and was pulled back in it would have him. In seconds he'd be ripped to shreds. He actually hollered out with the effort, as he pulled as hard as he could, focusing his will as well as his muscles on not giving in.
Out in the hall the wind was roaring, pictures were falling off the walls, the house itself was shaking. But behind, in the real darkness, everything was cold and still. Lee held on desperately but was losing his grip. His fingernails were digging into the wood of the doorframe, but he was losing and knew it. His elbows began to shake, the muscles in his arms and shoulders felt about to tear apart. His fingernails were digging in, gouging free chunks of wood, which were embedding beneath his nails.
All at once the suffocating heat parted, a terrific, cold blast exploded behind, and Lee was showered with spray. The grip about his ankle dissolved, setting him free. Lee didn't wait an instant. He scrabbled, getting his hands and feet under himself he fled from the room on all fours. Once out, he picked up the pistol and the flashlight, stealing a brief look back. A length of thick trunk of a cherry tree had been driven through the outside of the house. As it had passed through the stone wall the dark, black wood was gouged and stripped of most of its bark, only the shorn stubs of a few larger branches remained. It had been driven clean through the far bedroom wall like the haft of an enormous spear.
Limping as he passed, Lee took a second to flash the light in and glimpse back into his room. He was horrified seeing his father's body lying there, his eyes still open. He'd seen him before, right after it happened, but in seeing it this time it became all too real and in a moment of absolute desperation Lee just wanted to just stand there and cry.
From the family room came a terrified scream and then another and another.
Lee, jolted back to reality, turned away and ran down the hall, his ankle tearing at him with every step.
The girls had abandoned the sofa and crowded themselves into the far corner of the dining area by the edge of the hutch. Within every picture still remaining on the wall there was an illuminated face, grey and ghastly, and yellowed eyes glared out, bright as coals. They were trying to escape the confines of the glass, all eyes locked intently on the three huddled back in the corner.
From all around, mixed into the tumult of the storm was laughing, sorrowful and sick, insane in its mix of delirious abandon and mirthless rage. The Indian had managed to draw a spidery hand out of the wall. The raw fingers curled out, stretching and reaching before finally drawing back in. Whatever it was that had been hiding in the photographs and the walls was becoming stronger in direct proportion to the violence of the storm.
There was no missing it when the shriek of the wind changed pitch, increasing in volume until the moan had become the splitting scream of a steam whistle. It kept on and on, louder and louder. Debris was streaming past the picture window, illuminated for but a second in the flashes of lightening, then gone. And with a relentless fury the rain lashed and pounded, sheet after sheet.
A long, bright flash pulsed twice, exposing to view that the enormous magnolia tree had been ripped from the ground, roots and all, and it had crushed the Ford out in the driveway. In that same frozen instant, to the left, Lee saw the ruined framing and foundation which was all that remained of the Riley house. The heavy black Cadillac was still in the drive, but was skewed around and flipped upside down.
Lee could feel it coming, the pressure changed in his ears. He dived to the floor as the picture window exploded inward, glass flying through the room like silvery shards of shrapnel.
The kerosene lamps on the wall to either side of the T.V. were blown out, leaving only one remaining by the kitchen wall. Lee scrabbled back to his feet. The storm, now inside, was raging all around. The rain stung like needles, the violence of the wind was alive, and the family room furniture had blown back, the dining room table pinning the girls who had huddled together in the corner.
Lee ducked as a picture flew off the wall and came spinning straight at his head, impacting the wall behind him and shattering.
The Indian was more than halfway out of the wall. He had his arms back, pushing, the muscles of his chest and triceps straining out with the effort.
Lee still had the flashlight in one hand and the pistol in the other. He pointed the light at the three huddled into the corner, and was startled by the nearness of two large jagged pieces of glass from the picture window, which were imbedded in the wall just above Phoebe's head. And he could see Maggie, her hair whipping about wildly, but no Patty.
The Indian submerged into the wood, then reemerged, bursting out to the hips. Soon he'd be free.
Lee tucked the pistol into one pocket and the flashlight into the other. He pulled and tore at the furniture until he was at table. Leaning back, pulling with his shoulders, he was able to get it away from the wall. Rushing in, he signaled with his hands for everybody to kneel down. Then he picked up on the edge of the table, flipping it over on its side and bracing the legs against the walls to act as a shield. It was just in time as a screwdriver, as though fired from a cannon, drove into the table, only the handle keeping it from passing clear through.
"Where's Ted?” Maggie screamed, inches from Lee's ear.
"Dad's dead!” Lee heard himself yell, though he wasn't sure Maggie had understood.
Another thud impacted the table, and they huddled down even more. It was almost impossible to hear as the whole world seemed to be flying apart.
Slate shingles above were ripping off of the roof, snapping as the stone broke away, and the sharp fragments were being added to the mix of lethal projectiles being driven with deadly force by the dark by the horrific wind.
Lee realized that he'd just said his dad was dead, and it was in saying the words out loud the numbness was stripped away, and the awful truth lying on the floor in his room become terribly real.
"The house! Maggie!” Lee yelled right into her ear, “It's coming apart!"
Lee dared to look over the table. Something was coming. A black shape hurtled through the air twisting and tumbling.
"Down!” he screamed, pulling the others with him as he hit the floor.
There was a tremendous crash, everything shook, cold, driving rain and pieces of the stone wall, floor, and splintered furniture
flew everywhere. But the table held.
Lee untucked and shone the flashlight out into the front of the room. There was no more front of the room. The hurtling object was the black Cadillac which had been across the street. The car was upside down, the roof crushed, buried in a hole it had torn in the floor where the loveseat had once been.
With that impact the last kerosene lamp had been knocked from the wall. It had broken and purple-green flames from the kerosene were whipping up and down the wall and licking about on the floor.
Lightening was almost constant now, cracking and booming, the walls behind them shuddering with every bolt and thunderous explosion.
Lee hazarded a quick look to the wall. The Indian had one leg free and was pushing back with the other.
The low moan of the train whistle came back, if it had ever gone away at all, and was quickly rising to an ear-shattering shriek. The sound seemed to circle the house. It was everywhere, now mixed in with a grinding roar which just grew louder and louder.
A ripping and snapping, followed by a horrendous groan, drew all eyes above.
In the light from the flashlight, the ceiling had begun to come apart.
And without any warning, the whole roof lifted away and was gone, vanishing into the night. The force of the wind was tremendous, and the blast of the rain stung, driven like needles by the ferocity of the gale. Little pieces of the remaining walls began tearing away and flying by, lost into the awful swirling blackness above.
Lee looked over the table. The Indian was almost out; he only had to get his last foot out. But before he had finished, the wall came apart and the panel flew off, dragging the entity away with it.
What little was left of the front and side of the house was flying apart. Lee didn't know how much longer their corner could last. He was thinking as fast as he could. They had to go somewhere, but where? If the force of this storm was such that this house was being destroyed, there wouldn't be anywhere above ground which would be spared.
Before he could imagine a refuge, the wall to their right by the kitchen was impacted by a section of tree trunk and just crumbled away. Another piece of tree, really a ball of roots, hit the Chevy, spinning it around half way. The couch, the chairs, the rug, everything except the table wedged into the remaining corner were instantly just gone. Only about ten feet of the house to their left was standing, and their little corner of safety was fast disappearing. The protecting table had taken impact after impact, shielding them from what had come so far. But if the wall gave out behind them, they'd be lost.
Evil Heights, Book IV: In the Pit Page 22
