“Alright,” Eliza replied. “Let’s get him to the car.”
She helped Robert maneuver Granger to the Fiat, and placed him into the back seat.
“Can you drive him to the hospital on your own?” Eliza asked. “Your arms look bad.”
“They look worse than they are,” Robert said. “You need to see a doctor, too. Your hands!”
“I didn’t go through all that to have it seal up again,” she replied. “I’m going to move whatever’s in that room out of it. Come back for me once he’s been cared for.”
“I don’t like the idea of leaving you here alone. What if Tena or Dominic come back?”
“Their energy dissipated the second that legend shelf turned off,” Eliza said. “Go. Get your dad the help he needs. I’ll be waiting when you come back.”
Robert started up the car and looked at her skeptically.
“I’ll be fine,” she said, reassuringly. “I’m a big girl.”
He put the car in gear and pulled out.
She turned, walking back to the house. They’d left the gate and doors open as they hauled Granger out of the house; she didn’t have the key to lock the gate behind her, so she tried to make it look as closed as possible.
Inside the house she pulled one of the dust covers from the furniture and tore at it, ripping up makeshift bandages for her hands. Her fingers stung with the pain of the deep cuts, and she winced as she tried to stop the flow of blood.
Then she ascended the stairs, making her way back to the attic, wondering as she passed Reid and Agnes’ rooms if they were aware of the battle that had just occurred. Probably the most action this place has seen in decades, she thought.
Climbing the narrow staircase to the attic, she saw blood smeared along the wainscoting, and wondered which of the three of them it came from. She hoped the old man would be OK, but the weapon Dominic had been using wasn’t normal, and she was fearful some kind of inexplicable damage had been done to him that might confound the doctors at the hospital. She felt a small tingling in her back where the tip of Dominic’s blade had nicked her, and she wondered if she might have the same problem.
They’ll deal with the stabs at least, she thought. But I hope he’s not like Shane.
Shane. There’s got to be something up there that can help him.
A thin trail of blood led her back to the smashed wall. Dust still roiled in the air, making her want to cough. Light from a nearby dormer dimmed as clouds outside darkened the day, and it wasn’t enough to reach inside the hole in the wall and fully illuminate it to her liking. She switched on her flashlight and stepped over the collapsed brick, entering the room.
The small table was overturned; must have happened while I was fighting with Tena, she thought. She could still feel the sensation of the cold fingers around her throat.
The coffin sat at the other end of the room against a wall. She walked toward it, shining the flashlight into it, hoping to see whatever it was that had bitten her fingers.
The stone surface of the legend shelf was dark, its formerly chaotic lights turned off. It looked so simple and unremarkable without the lights; she wondered if anyone would even think of it as anything other than a piece of flat slate if they didn’t know its power.
Only two other things were in the coffin with the shelf: a collection of bones, including a malformed skull, and a spindle that looked like a giant wooden spool. She reached for it, lifting it out of the coffin. It was about six inches high, and wrapped around it was a thin cord that was composed of multiple colorful threads, braided together.
“I need to get this stuff out of this room,” she muttered to herself. I can wrap the bones and this spindle in one of the dust cloths and carry it down inside that. But the legend shelf…
She’d never tried to lift one, so she wasn’t sure how heavy it was. She wanted to reach down and find out, but she was concerned that she might be bitten again.
She leaned down into the coffin and angled her flashlight so she could look under the right edge of the shelf. The controls were there, subtle, worked carefully into the underside of the device. There was no movement; no scuttling of feet or gnashing of tiny teeth.
They’re gone, she thought. Whatever was under there, it’s gone now.
She slipped the flashlight into her back pocket and reached under the legend shelf, carefully lifting.
Thirty pounds? she thought, knowing the weight of boxes that arrived at the gift shop. Maybe thirty-five?
She raised it out of the coffin and started walking, carrying it carefully through the house. While the giant empty structure still kept her senses on alert, she didn’t feel the nervousness she’d always felt before; transporting the legend shelf, she felt like a conqueror, carrying away the treasure. She felt like she had defeated the place.
Robert arrived an hour later, a couple of large bandages on his arms. She was waiting for him on the lawn, just outside of view from the iron gate. She had the umbrella, the legend shelf, and the sack of bones on the lawn next to her.
“How is he?” she asked.
“They’re worried,” Robert said. “Some of the wounds are deep, and they’re still trying to figure out if internal organs are OK. They might need to perform surgery. They suspected me until he gained enough consciousness to talk to them and clear me.”
“Oh, Robert,” she said, extending her arms to hug him. “I’m so sorry.”
He hugged her tightly. “He’s a tough old man. I know he’ll pull through.”
“I’m sure of it,” she said.
“Let’s get you to the hospital,” he said, releasing her. “This everything from the room?”
“Yeah,” she replied. “Just the shelf and this bag.”
“Did you figure out what did that to your fingers?”
“No,” she said. “Whatever it was, it’s gone now.”
Robert reached under the slate and lifted it. Eliza reached for the umbrella and the sack, and they walked to the car.
Chapter Eighteen
“She’s gone,” Eliza said, sitting on a chair next to Granger’s hospital bed. “They said she checked out last night.”
“Checked out?” Robert asked. “How could she have done that? She was in no condition to check out.”
“She might have changed hospitals,” Eliza replied, “for insurance reasons. They won’t tell me, of course. I wonder if that means I’m not covered?” She looked at her bandaged hands.
“They’re gonna charge you a couple of thousand dollars for those bandages,” Granger said weakly from his hospital bed.
“I can’t believe she’d just leave and not say anything,” Eliza said.
“You’ll find her,” Robert replied. “We’ll search the other hospitals until we do. Or someone at your work will know. She has to tell them, at least, right?”
“She had me tell them for her,” Eliza said. She was beginning to wonder if Rachel didn’t want any of them to know where she’d gone.
“You got the legend shelf?” Granger asked.
“It’s in the car,” Eliza answered. “Along with a skull that isn’t human.”
“Well, it’s kind of human,” Robert said. “Part of it looks human.”
“Much of it does not,” Eliza replied. “I know I’ve seen a skull like that somewhere before, maybe in a biology class. It’s almost simian.”
“An ape?” Granger asked. “Like the one you said you saw on the stairs?”
“Ah,” Eliza said. “I only saw the legs. Hard to say. And then there was this.” She held up the spindle, pulling the cord from it so they could see the braiding.
“Oh!” Granger replied, trying to sit up in bed but wincing from the effort.
“Don’t move around, Dad!” Robert said. “Stay still.”
“Can I see it?” Granger asked.
Eliza handed him the spindle. “I was hoping there would be a journal or something that would tell us what happened. There was only the shelf, the bones, and that.”
&
nbsp; “My dear,” Granger said, holding the braid. “Your hopes were not in vain. This is a journal!”
“That?” Eliza asked.
“This is a memory cord,” Granger said. “It’s an ingenious type of journal. Can’t be destroyed like paper. Can’t be read like paper, though. We’ll need a translator. We’ll have to call Edgar.”
“Edgar?” Robert asked. “Uncle Edgar?”
“Yes, him,” Granger replied.
“I thought you two don’t talk anymore,” Robert replied.
“We don’t,” Granger said. “He’ll want to be paid for doing it. We’ll have to scrape up some money.” Granger handed the spindle back to Eliza. “Keep that safe. It shouldn’t be hard, it’s damn near indestructible.”
Eliza pulled the cord from it once again, looking at the intertwining of colors. Some were red, black, and brown, while others were metallic; gold, copper, silver.
“A memory cord,” she muttered. “And we don’t know who it belongs to.”
“Could be Kendall’s,” Robert offered. “Or maybe Tena or Dominic.”
“All speculation until we reach Edgar,” Granger replied. “His number is in my rolodex at home. I want you to give him a call and convince him to come translate it. It’ll help that it’s not me calling. If he wants money, negotiate.”
“What I really need is a solution for Shane,” Eliza said. “I was hoping that once we got through that wall, a solution would be evident.”
“It may well be,” Granger replied. “Your solution is likely on that memory cord.”
“I’ve got to go back to work tomorrow,” Eliza said. “Three days sick, and Rachel gone — they’re gonna be pissed.”
“Go,” Robert said. “I’ll set something up with Uncle Edgar and let you know.”
“When do they make the surgery decision?” Eliza asked.
“We won’t know until tomorrow,” Robert replied. “I’ll call you with that news, too.”
She stood. “I want you both to know how much I appreciate what you did for me in that house. I never would have made it inside without your help.”
“Would you like me to move the legend shelf to your car?” Robert asked. “You want to take it home?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I kinda do. I’ll leave the bones and this spindle with you, if you don’t mind.”
“We don’t mind,” Granger said. “Go home and we’ll let you know as soon as things with Edgar are arranged.”
They said their goodbyes and Robert drove Eliza back to his place, where he transferred the legend shelf from the Fiat to her car. As he finished the task, he turned and accidentally bumped into her.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “Standing in your way.”
“You’re never in my way,” he said, smiling at her.
“Goodnight,” she said.
“Goodnight,” he replied.
She walked to the driver’s side and got into her car, and replayed the day over and over in her mind as the highway rolled under her.
●
“Your father isn’t here?” Edgar asked, stepping into Robert’s place. He was a tall, thin man wearing a long trench coat.
“He’s in the hospital,” Robert replied.
“Oh, getting corrective treatments for his asshole problem?” Edgar asked.
“Actually,” Robert said, escorting Edgar to the sofa where Eliza was waiting, “he was cut up pretty bad.”
“Cut up?” Edgar replied, the sarcasm leaving him. “Oh. I’m sorry. I apologize for that comment.”
“Look, whatever happened between you and my dad,” Robert replied, “we really do need your help.”
“I told your father to never call on me for help again,” Edgar said.
“I’m calling, Uncle Edgar,” Robert replied. “Not my father. It’s me asking, not him.”
“He’s not involved in this?” Edgar asked. “Not in any way?”
“He’s involved,” Eliza said, extending her hand. “Granger and Robert have been helping me. Well, helping me and my brother, who’s very ill. You’d be helping me and him.”
“And what is wrong with your brother?” Edgar asked, shaking her hand.
“He’s so violent they have to keep him drugged up,” Eliza said. “We think he was infected by an object that was in Pitmon House.”
“Pitmon House?” Edgar repeated, his eyebrows rising. He turned to Robert. “You didn’t say anything about Pitmon House!”
Robert replied with a weak smile.
“We may have cracked the place,” Eliza said, reaching for the spindle on the coffee table. “We got several things from it, including this.”
The look of horror on Edgar’s face surprised Eliza. Edgar stood and walked behind the sofa.
“It’s safe,” she said, holding it up. “At least, we think it is.”
“Think it is?” Edgar asked. “From Pitmon House? I doubt it!”
“There was a legend shelf that had gone haywire,” Robert said. “Eliza shut it down. The most violent manifestations have gone.”
“And whatever secret was held inside that house,” Eliza said, “is probably contained in this memory cord. If I’m going to help my brother, I need to know what happened. I need you to translate this for me.”
“So, all the bad blood between our families,” Edgar said, “and you still want a favor from me. Not only a translation, but a dangerous one. That’s a lot to ask.”
“I don’t have any bad blood,” Robert said. “And certainly Eliza doesn’t.”
“But your father does,” Edgar replied. “He shouldn’t be surprised that I’d refuse.”
Eliza put the spindle back on the table and stood, walking around to Edgar until she was standing right next to him.
“I understand,” she said. “Pitmon House scared the shit out of me when we first went there. I know it has a reputation. Listen, I don’t have much experience with these things. And I don’t have much money, either. Robert has been helping me try to save Shane, and hasn’t asked for anything in return. Neither has Granger. Three people have been hurt pretty badly by all of this, so I understand completely if you want to say no. But I think I’m close. What’s on that memory cord might end it all.”
“Do you have any idea what kind of dangerous things can be woven into a memory cord?” Edgar asked. “It could be nothing more than a booby trap. It’s a huge risk.”
“Is there any way to detect that,” Eliza asked, “before you translate it?”
“No,” Edgar replied. “The only clue you can get from it is the subject matter itself, and to determine that you have to translate it, inch by inch.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Eliza replied. “My brother’s life is in your hands. I’m begging you to put aside whatever history you have with Granger and put aside whatever fear you may have about Pitmon House. Please help my brother. He’s only fourteen. He has his whole life ahead of him. None of this is his fault, yet he lies strapped down to a bed. I think you can change all that with just a few moments of your time. Please.”
She watched as he looked at the spindle on the table. He walked around the chair and picked it up, examining the thread. “Seems benign,” he said. “It’s oral, not visual.”
“What does that mean?” Robert asked.
“It means I can’t project an image from it,” Edgar replied. “I’ll have to recite what I find.”
“Perfect,” Eliza said. “We’re ready anytime you are.”
He sat in the chair. “If we encounter material in this cord that is threatening or dangerous in any way, I’m going to stop the translation. Entirely my prerogative. As long as it remains informational I’ll keep going, but I reserve the right to stop at any time.”
“Alright,” Eliza said, sitting next to him. Robert took a seat opposite them.
Edgar removed a small box from his jacket, about the size of a checkbook. A lid lifted open on hinges, doubling its size, exposing a complex series of gears and arms inside. Eliza watched as Edg
ar carefully threaded the cord into the device, following a channel that wound it around the gears, creating a loop that hung out over the edge of the box.
“Eliza, I’ll ask you to handle the spindle,” Edgar said. “Pull off sections of it and make sure there’s plenty of slack to feed into the mechanism.”
“Alright,” she replied, reaching for the spindle.
“Robert, I’d like you to wind up the processed part,” Edgar continued. “It’ll come out here; just wind it around your hand. When we’re all done, we’ll feed it back onto the spindle.”
“Sure,” Robert said, moving to sit next to Edgar’s left.
“Now,” Edgar said, removing a pair of thin gloves from his jacket and slipping them on, “I’m going to drop into the River and I’ll be using my fingers to translate here, at the loop. As I do, I’ll pull more of the cord into the device. Eliza, you make sure it feeds OK; I won’t be able to monitor that. As I finish with a section, it’ll pass through here, and Robert, you wind it up.”
“The gloves allow you to read what’s on it?” Eliza asked.
“No, the projector allows me to read it,” Edgar smiled, “combined with my abilities. These gloves are for protection, in the event I encounter something nasty. They slow down the translation a little, but I can’t take the chance with this thing.”
“Understood,” Eliza said.
“Alright,” Edgar replied. “If you’re ready, I’ll begin.”
“I’m ready,” Eliza said. “You, Robert?”
“Let’s do it,” Robert replied.
Edgar took a deep breath and became silent for a minute before he began to speak.
Chapter Nineteen
My name is Jonah Pitmon, Edgar said, his voice low and quiet.
Jonah? Eliza thought. Not a name we’ve heard before.
Edgar continued. I’m leaving this journal in the hopes that someone in the future may discover what happened to me and my dearest, and set things right. Dominic and Tena can’t destroy this; I know they would if they could, since it’s been Dominic’s mission in life to destroy mine at every turn. I realize if it’s found by a layman it will probably be discarded, but I’m hoping it’s found by someone with the gift. Given Tena’s terrible use of it, it will probably take someone with supreme talents to find this journal. So, whoever you are, your attention to my story is appreciated in ways you will never know.
The Haunting of Pitmon House Page 20
