Ring around the rosie…
Blaire and Travis both jumped and looked around at the sound of something close.
“Did you hear something?” Blaire looked at Travis who was pale and thin. Travis picked up his flashlight and surfed the beams of light along the walls. “It’s just us down here,” he said.
It’s just us down here…faint, almost imperceptible whispers pushed through the walls.
Blaire spun around but there was no one there, slowly her eyes went back to the file.
“Where are the news articles?” Blaire looked at Travis for an answer.
Travis continued reading, “While interviewing the worker who discovered the bodies, she reported that Ida had recently complained that some of the children were acting strangely, that they were disintegrating mentally and for several weeks before the massacre took place, she was barricading herself in her room at night by pushing the dresser in front of her door. Ida was generally loved by the children, and she would sing to them at night to calm them for bed. Felina was a strange but quite woman. She did her job, but kept to herself mostly, staying in the shadows. Dmytro was generally liked as well. He told stories to the children and wrote poetry.”
“Why did Ivan’s mother not know about this? She said that she researched the place. Why aren’t there any news articles?” Blaire wondered aloud.
“Maybe they didn’t want anyone to know,” Travis guessed.
Blaire thought for a moment and said, “They tried to cover it up because it was the children. As for Ida, Felina and Dmytro, they aren’t trying to hurt us. I think they’re trying to warn us, warn us about the children.”
...they’re trying to warn us. Blaire could hear the almost inaudible whispers. The children in white will rip off your head.
“I need to lie down,” Travis said as he closed the drawer to the cabinet. Travis’ heart was beating so hard he thought it would thump out of his chest. He coughed again into his hand and felt faint at the sight of the large blood clot.
“My God, Travis, is that blood?” Blaire went over to him and put her arm around him.
“I’m fine. I just need to lie down,” Travis said. “Please,” he added in a raspy whisper.
“Let me get you to bed.” Blaire stuffed the folders into the front of her coat.
“Tomorrow, I will talk to Marko when he returns from Kerchaviv, and then we’ll go.”
Within minutes of returning to the room, Travis was unconscious. His breathing was harsh and ragged. His cheeks were sunken in and, to the touch of Blaire’s hand, he was burning up. She had to get him out of St. Sebastian. Blaire was sitting quietly in the bed, her eyes toggling between the continuous snowfall outside of her window and the dresser she had planted in front of the locked door, when three soft knocks permeated the room. Blaire froze at the sound, and then three more knocks, mild and inviting. Blaire looked at her phone, and it was almost 1:00 a.m. The bed sang out in strain as she got to her feet. After placing her hands on the dresser, she gasped and pressed her hand to her chest when three more knocks rang out harder and less forgiving this time. Blaire looked to Travis, who still had not moved.
“Who…who is it?”
“It’s me, Natalka.” She heard the sweet voice croon from the other side of the door.
“What are you doing up here? It’s late. You should be in bed,” Blaire said through the door.
“I just wanted to bring you something. It’s dark out here and I’m afraid. Can you open the door?”
Blaire exhaled deeply. She pushed the drawer out of the way, turned the lock on the knob, and opened the door slowly. Outlined in a barely lit silhouette, the girl lingered in the dark hall.
Natalka held up a plate of chocolate cookies. “I know you didn’t eat many lemon squares, and I wanted to make something you like. Everyone likes chocolate chip.”
“Here, have one.” Natalka picked up one of the cookies and held it out.
Blaire took a small step back from the girl.
Her face twisted at the sight of Natalka’s fingernails, which were caked with dirt.
“What’s the matter?” Natalka asked as she took a step over the threshold and into the light of Blaire’s room. Her pale, intense blue eyes struck a chord of terror in Blaire. Taking the cookie, Blaire slowly raised it to her mouth as if in a trance when something chilling came over her. She looked at Natalka whose face distorted in that familiar photographic swirl for just a second before returning to normal. Blaire turned her head slightly to Travis, who was still lying in bed, undisturbed by this encounter, sweat dripping from his forehead. Blaire saw a sweet and strong man, who loved and often devoured the desserts that Natalka made especially for them. Blaire looked back to the girl who intently eyed her as she waited. Instead of taking a bite from the dessert, Blaire broke it in half and held it to her nose, which propelled the young girl into a silent fury. Wrinkles of tension immediately grew on the young girl’s doll-like face, making her look one hundred years old.
There was no overwhelming, putrid smell. It was no smoking gun, but Blaire did not need one because she had never been more sure of anything.
“What are you?” Blaire asked.
“Eat it.” Natalka demanded.
“How did you get out of your room?”
“Eat it!” Natalka’s sweet and innocent voice turned deep and was filled with an old foul breath.
Do it, Blaire! Jump! Blaire heard the wild girls calling out to her in her head. You can’t escape the curse.
“No!” Blaire yelled back.
Natalka’s greasy hair hung heavily in her face, one side pinned back with her glittering bobby pin. Blaire grabbed the plate from the girl and tossed it onto the dresser. With her keys in one hand and Natalka’s arm in the other, Blaire practically dragged the fighting girl back down the stairs and shoved the little savage into her room, locking the door. She stood on her tiptoes and peered into the window, watching as Natalka made her way over to her bed and crawled into it. She twisted and played with the pins in her hair, taking down one twist and putting up another, fondling the hair pins like rare artifacts.
“I can come out, come out…whenever…I…want,” Natalka said, taunting her captor.
Blaire ran down the stairs to the kitchen where she flipped on the light, its beams harsh and blinding in the late night hour. Her eyes went to the drawer where Natalka kept her baking supplies. Blaire pulled out several boxes of cake mix and other baking utensils, tossing them onto the floor like useless litter.
“Ugh,” Blaire said, gasping in disgust as she pulled out a mason jar brimming with dirt. Blaire’s heart jumped when the dirt moved. She shook the glass jar slightly to reveal the slithering worms inside. As if it were a bomb that might explode any moment, Blaire placed the jar on the floor gently. Further down in the deep drawer was another glass jar. Huge cockroaches crept along the bottom and sides of the jelly jar, fumbling helplessly over one another. Blaire’s mouth dropped open in a revulsion that was so great it could only be silent. Blaire put the glass on the floor and pushed it as far away from her as possible. Panic quickly grew inside of her, thumping into her chest as if she were being stabbed with a butcher knife. Blaire wiped the perspiration from her forehead and went back to the drawer.
“No, no, no, no…” she cried out as tears began to attack her cheeks viciously and without warning. Blaire held up the large box of rat poison that was almost completely empty, turning it over to read the warnings about the effects of human consumption, which matched Travis’ symptoms exactly.
Blaire dropped the box and scrambled to her feet. Somewhere in the building, a door slammed. Blaire ran through the double doors of the cafeteria, looking up and down the hall, but no one was there. Up the stairs, she raced to the second floor where she froze at the sound of the door to one of the rooms creaking open. It was Natalka’s room. Blaire tiptoed toward the door. She saw Natalka standing at the far end of the room, staring at her through the oily curtain of hair that partially covere
d her face. Blaire slammed the door and locked it again, her body generating a thunderous shaking as she slid down to the floor. A tiny whisper came through the door as clearly as if there were no separation at all.
“Goodnight, Miss Baker.”
Fleeing to her room, Blaire pushed the dresser in front of her locked door, the familiar noise making her hair stand on end as she was doing the very same thing that Ida had been doing shortly before her death. Blaire climbed onto the bed and pulled her knees up into her chest. Travis seemed to be sleeping more soundly than ever. Blaire had not known it before, but she knew now that he was not just sick, he was dying.
As much as she fought it, exhaustion won and Blaire dozed in and out of consciousness, moments of sweet peace filling her, thickly like honey. Then a flicker of reality would slip into the cracks of her subconscious, causing her heart to pound, and her head would jerk up as her eyes popped open immediately, training themselves on the door. Finally, her eyes opened in one of those breathless moments of forced waking, and the bright light of morning streamed through the blinds.
Travis woke feeling worse than ever. He had a fever but was haunted by reoccurring chills. His stomach was turning and coiling, and his head felt as if a bomb had exploded somewhere inside of it. Every morning the clarity of his vision took longer, and today, despite sitting up and blinking several times, there was still a slight blur on everything, but he could make out Blaire, who was sitting on her bed looking over at him through bloodshot eyes.
“Let’s get out of here,” she said.
“Today?” he asked.
“Today,” she confirmed, and he needed no more coercing than the fear that was painted onto her face. He pushed the covers back and began pulling himself out of bed.
“I thought you wanted to talk to Marko. What happened?” Travis asked as he packed.
“I will tell you everything once we get out of here.” Blaire made her way to the door.
“Where are you going?”
“To get my laptop.”
“Okay, I’ll be ready when you get back.”
Finding the door to her classroom unlocked, she shoved it open nervously and looked around to find that her computer lay in pieces on the floor. Blaire retreated quickly and was headed for the stairs when she heard someone coming through the front door. Blaire turned just as Anya swept into the entrance hall with several bags in hand, she placed them on the floor and began to shake off a layer of snow from her coat and hair.
Blaire went over and took her coat.
“Are you okay?” Blaire asked.
“I’m fine, but it’s a nightmare out there. It is a perfect night for a party because we will be shut in. The entire town of Borslav will be shut down, but we won’t care, will we?” Anya asked with a hearty laugh.
“Shut down? What do you mean shut down?” Blaire asked, feeling the skin around her neck tighten.
“Huge snow storm coming in as we speak, and everything will be closed down. We are expecting at least four feet,” Anya said. “…but don’t worry, we’ll be fine, I’ve got all of the party supplies. I probably should have gotten some batteries and candles just in case, though.”
“…but, but Travis and I need to go into the city this afternoon,” Blaire said to the woman as if she had the power to lift the threats of the storm and give them safe passage.
Anya gave a sympathetic look and said, “Sorry, it will have to wait. They have already stopped running the trains.”
“We can’t leave at all?”
“You can probably get around Borslav for a little longer if you need something, but if you are going, you better go now or risk getting stranded somewhere, and let me tell you, getting stranded in a snowstorm in Borslav is no laughing matter.” Anya reclaimed the bags and waddled toward the kitchen.
Travis was still shuffling around frantically when Blaire walked into the room, calmly closing the door behind her.
“Where’s your computer?” he asked.
Blaire did not speak.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” he said, instinctively feeling the disappointment as he sank into the bed letting his unneeded bag fall to the floor.
“There’s a storm.”
“I knew it,” he responded, shaking his head, as a heavy depression flattened the room. “No trains in or out?”
“No trains in or out,” she confirmed.
CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT
They sat in silence as the building came to life with morning movement. Travis coughed violently into his hand, the cherry red contents of his palm peeling away any confidence that he had left. “What about Petro?”
“What about him?” Blaire asked.
“Maybe we could stay with him and Soreena until the storm lifts.”
“Okay, that could work,” Blaire said, pondering the idea. “We’ll tell everyone that we are going to get provisions for the storm and last-minute supplies for the party. We will go to Petro’s house and see if he will board us for the night.”
“Okay,” Travis responded through one of his hacking coughs.
“Why do I feel so terrible?”
“Because we are leaving them,” Travis said. “We’re leaving them all to fend for themselves. What’s going to happen to them? What if they run out of provisions during the storm?”
“What other option do we have? We can probably help them more by getting out of here, because being here doesn’t seem to be helping too much,” Blaire said, trying to remind him of their dire situation. She thought for a moment. “Fine, we will go out and get supplies for the storm, and then we go to Petro and see if he will board us. We come back here, drop the supplies, and go back to Petro if he and Soreena will have us.”
“Can we just go?” Travis asked with a shallow breath.
Just as the pair reached the front door, they heard a commotion erupt from somewhere on the first floor, followed by a montage of loud animated voices and scattering feet. Anya spotted Travis as she came clamoring down the hall.
“Travis, help! It’s Andre! I think his arm is broken,” Anya explained in a panic.
Travis looked to Blaire, to Anya, and then back to Blaire. “You just go and come back. I will take care of Andre, and then we’ll be out of here,” Travis instructed her in a whisper as he allowed himself be dragged back down the hall by Anya. Blaire stood frozen.
“Just go!” he called back to her.
Blaire ran to Travis and grabbed him, pulling him close.
“Please, Travis!” Anya pleaded.
Blaire whispered into his ear, “Stay away from Natalka! Don’t eat her food! I found out last night, it’s poisonous.”
“What?” Travis responded, his watery eyes glazing over in shock.
“Just stay away from her!” Blaire demanded. “I’ll be back shortly.”
Anya pulled him harder. “Travis, please!”
In silence, Travis allowed himself to be drawn back into the belly of St. Sebastian.
Blaire turned and ran out of the front door, hitting an icy tidal wave of cold air. By the time she got down the hill to the edge of town, she could hardly feel her fingers and toes.
The wind roared like a roller coaster, ripping through her head, into one ear and out through the other. It was the kind of cold that burrowed deep inside and froze one from the inside out.
Once in the heart of Borslav, Blaire began running through the streets that were empty and abandoned as people sought hibernation from the storm. On Petro’s block, the homes sat far apart, but each house along the row was more familiar than the one before, and she knew that she was getting close. Blaire started to run until Petro’s home came into view, and she was drained of all but an ounce of hope as she stared at the empty driveway, but Soreena, maybe Soreena was home. Morbidly stiff with the cold, Blaire’s legs had trouble bending for the porch steps. Darkness prevailed from the windows on the house. Blaire banged on the door and windows in an apex of fierce fury that had been building in her for several weeks now. She turne
d back to the abandoned streets, which were covered in the shimmering white death. Everything was being buried alive, one tiny particle at a time.
“Soreena!” Blaire called through painfully chapped lips. Her knocks grew slow and heavy. “Please…” she pleaded, as frost gathered on her eyebrows and in her nostrils. The thought of staying at St. Sebastian one more night terrified her, but the even more terrifying thought was that she would not make it back there on foot, as she was so cold now that she could barely move. Surely, there must be people around, but one wouldn’t know it from the landscape. Borslav looked as if it had been abandoned for years.
“Hey!” a high-pitched voice called out, and Blaire’s heart sunk as she knew who was standing behind her before she ever turned around. “American girl!” Another familiar voice sneered.
Franks Pertrick and his two pay-rolled punks dotted Petro’s front yard. There was no one but them and her, and she could not escape. They began closing in until the two followers were at either side of the porch railing, and Franks was at the foot of the steps. He paced back and forth gingerly, daring her to run.
“What are you doing here?” one of the sidekicks asked, his voice as sharp as a razor’s edge, cutting and propelling her back to a reality that made her feel severely conscious once again, bubbling inside with burning fear.
“I…I was just looking for Petro,” she stammered.
Franks took several steps toward Blaire, smirking at her in a way that made her press her back hard against Petro’s front door.
“Him and Soreena are gone for the weekend,” Franks said. “But I don’t have any plans. What did you have in mind?” He spoke to her with a wanton grin that featured one discolored tooth near the front of his mouth, damaged on an occasion when he had taken too many prescription painkillers while partying and passed out, falling face first onto a cement sidewalk. The other two punks wore matching mischievous faces. Blaire flinched as the one on the left hopped up over the porch railing in one sweeping move. The other followed, climbing over the railing and seating himself upon it.
The Unwanted (Black Water Tales Book 2) Page 22
