by Angel Smits
“Hello?” Still no answer. She shivered and, picking up the groceries, headed to the kitchen. Maybe he was there. But he wasn’t. No note. Nothing.
Where was he? Maybe he’d gone over to the diner. She relaxed a little at the thought and looked around the small, cramped kitchen. Except for a couple pots and pans and some odd dishes that filled one shelf, the cupboards were empty.
A wide wooden door on the other side of the table caught her eye. Painted the same color as the wall, she hadn’t noticed it right away. It was open a fraction of an inch.
Where did that go? Outside? Into another room? David must be in there. What had he said just before hanging up? Rachel must have had a music box. She’d grown up here. Would it be in there?
She moved around the table and felt a cold draft slipping under the door. She shivered as she reached for the handle.
Blackness greeted her when she opened it. Thick, inky blackness. The light from the kitchen fell only a few feet inside, illuminating a couple of wooden steps and a rough stone wall on either side of the stairs.
The air smelled of stale, dry dirt. Where the rail was supposed to be, a two-by-four had been bolted at an odd slant along the wall. She leaned forward trying to see. Only darkness. Where did the stairs lead? How far down did they go? What was at the bottom?
“David?” He didn’t respond, and she realized she hadn’t really expected him to.
Curiosity nagged at the back of her brain even as common sense told her it was unsafe and unwise to go looking in dark, unknown places. Common sense won, and she stepped back into the kitchen and closed the door. She had enough to deal with without wasting time searching an old basement. She needed to find David.
She realized she wasn’t used to worrying about anyone but herself. It was an odd feeling—one that, she reluctantly admitted, felt good. Well, having someone to worry about felt good. She could do without the worry.
She pulled her cell phone out and dialed David’s number again and heard the distant chime of a phone. He’d left it here. She found it in the living room on the table next to his computer.
At least she knew he hadn’t gone to the bank. His computer and briefcase were still here. Along with several dishes from the night before. She gathered them up and took them back into the kitchen. Anything to distract her from her worry.
Immediately, her attention turned to the door.
What was down there? Surely, David knew. It was his wife’s house, wasn’t it? Even before Rachel’s death he’d visited here. She’d ask him when he got back.
“This is nuts,” she said out loud, as much to reassure herself as break the ridiculous spell the door and stairway had cast over her.
There’s probably nothing down there except old dust, furniture and maybe a few stray spiders. Junk stored away . . .
What if the music box is down there? Grabbing the flashlight, she pulled open the door again. This time she took a step. It wasn’t bad with the pool of light and the daylight coming in from the kitchen.
She stepped down, her gaze following the curve of the wall once, then twice, and again where the beam of light shone. She leaned her hand on the makeshift railing, hoping the creak of the first step only meant it was old, not rotten. The air grew icier as she descended.
She moved slowly, cautiously, down the stairs until her foot met the hard-packed dirt. Taking a few steps, she let her eyes adjust to the dimness. Across the room, she saw a single milky beam of light that crept in through a far window and fell on the unfinished floor.
She saw vague shapes and forms. Boxes probably, stacked against the far wall. She headed toward them.
Something brushed her face. She screamed and pulled back. The feathery cotton of a spider’s web dangled before her. She choked back another scream, shuddering. She hated bugs.
She almost turned around and went back upstairs. Determined, she headed toward the stack on the far wall.
Several chairs lay in pieces to the right. A broken headboard sat next to a cracked mirror. She looked at her distorted reflection through the numerous fissures, then quickly looked away from the broken image.
Three boxes were stacked precariously. The top one was full of filthy children’s clothing. The next held a set of old dishes. She’d keep those in mind in case they ended up here for awhile. Then she reached the third box. One side had caved in from the weight of the dish box on top of it.
It didn’t matter. The old photos lying on top were intact, even though some were wrinkled and bent. She looked around for a place to sit. She pulled the box over to the stairs and sat on the bottom step.
She propped the flashlight on a higher step and let its beam reflect off the wood. Whispers of memories barely broke through her thoughts as she opened the box. The forgotten past made her eyes mist with tears.
Dust coated the top few photos. She gently, reverently, picked up the first one and held it up in the dim light. She nearly dropped it when she saw who was in it. David’s parents. The resemblance was strong, and she recognized them from the visions and the painting in the mansion. They stood together, their hands clasped. The smiles they directed at each other showed love, desire, and deep warm passion.
David Senior had most definitely been in love with his wife, and she had at one time been devoted to him.
So what had happened that made him pick up a gun and end her life? Why had these two people left their son to deal with a lonely world?
She picked up the next photo. A small child stared up at her. A familiar child. So innocent and trusting. Too familiar.
Clarissa’s hand trembled and she dropped picture. It wafted down to mingle with the others.
“Oh, my God!”
She jumped to her feet. The box tipped over, scattering pictures and dust across the dirt floor. She didn’t care.
Her stomach knotted in fear and confusion. No answers came to her from the silent pictures. Just smile after smile and beautiful scene after beautiful scene. Those eyes. That boy’s face. She’d seen it before, too many times. Shaking her head, she tried to cleanse her mind of the painful visions from her own past. She’d been looking for the wrong boy.
A cool breeze slipped over her and she shivered. She spun around, looking up at the square of light in the open doorway above her. It seemed so very far away.
The light at the top of the stairs vanished. “Who’s there?”
BRAIN CELLS SLAMMED into each other, shifting and morphing. David cringed and then cried out as the pain increased and his body changed. He’d stepped over the property line.
He found it difficult to even think. All he saw was a blinding haze of color—first red, then blue, and finally a soft gold.
He looked around, the world at a lower height than his normal six feet two inches. Each time it was like this. Those lost minutes of thought, those moments of adjusting to discover what he’d become.
Glancing down, he saw four light brown toes edged in thick black, curled claws. Heavily muscled legs, four of them, came into sight as he turned a heavy head to look around. His hair was thick and his beard itched around his face.
Fear snapped through him. Clarissa had dreamed about a lion that attacked her. Was her dream—and his worst nightmare—finally coming true?
Fighting the instincts that came with each shift, he forced himself to keep walking, forced his new body to move.
Finally, the mansion loomed ahead. It was silent as he entered through the already open front door. There were a few lights that hadn’t burned out. The daylight muted their brilliance, but his mind’s eye still saw them as they’d appeared in the rearview mirror when he and Clarissa had sped down the driveway.
His feet clicked on the tile floor, and he felt their echo in the air all around him. He had to find the music box. If there was any chance the spell could be broken, he’d take it
.
Even as he thought it, he shivered. Then he dismissed his own hopes as masked fears. He’d have to try, but he doubted he’d accomplish much else.
He looked around. A frightening déjà vu settled over him. He’d once seen the world from this height. When he’d been five. When he’d watched his parents die.
His grief returned and pain engulfed him. He fell to his knees, and a loud, excruciating roar burst from him.
Before the agony consumed him, it was over. He stared down at the tile floor, seeing not claws, but his own human hands, his own arms supporting him as he knelt on the floor.
“So, where do we go from here?” He didn’t expect an answer and sat down, staring at the beautiful carved staircase.
He nearly jumped out of his skin when he raised his head and looked directly into the ethereal eyes of his dead wife. A cry of shock escaped him.
“It’s okay,” Rachel’s voice soothed him, though her lips didn’t move. The words simply appeared whole in his mind.
David gulped, forcing himself to let go of his fear and face Rachel’s ghost head on. “Rachel?”
“Yes, it’s me.” The image hovered a few feet above the floor and he couldn’t help staring. She wore a gossamer gown of white nearly too bright to look at. He wanted to shield his eyes but didn’t. Her beauty was too entrancing to look away.
He’d loved her once. So long ago.
Somewhere near where her image hovered, he heard the faint sound of a music box. And then he remembered. He had heard that song so many times. His father had also brought the small music box back from Germany years earlier. His mother had dearly loved it and played it often. After her death, it had been put it away. He hadn’t seen it since. Hadn’t ever wanted to.
It wasn’t Rachel’s music box.
The forgotten memories returned full force, tumbling over themselves to fill his mind. The strains of the music brought back memories—poignant, painful memories of his parents.
“Stop it,” he screamed.
He covered his ears with his hands, wanting to shut out the sound, but realized it echoed inside his head, not in the room.
How had Rachel found that box? When had she found it? Anger, strong and painful, filled him. He’d experienced so much of that emotion in his life—after his parents’ deaths, right after Rachel’s death. Anger at himself, at the world, at everything. He’d spent an entire year traveling the world, trying to find a cure for Rachel only to return home with nothing.
Not even his wife.
He’d hidden his anger deep inside. Anger at her for leaving him. Anger at the fates or God or whoever was responsible for being so cruel. Anger at the unfairness.
His anger had dimmed, but as he looked at this unreal image hovering before his eyes, he realized Rachel had been angry, too. And her anger was alive.
Her unspoken threat vibrated on the air. He realized that threat went well beyond himself. Clarissa, and anyone in his life, was at risk as well.
“What’s going on?” Could a ghost be reasoned with? He didn’t have any choice, he had to do something.
“What do you mean?” She still played the innocent.
“Aren’t you supposed to have crossed to the other side or something?”
“I don’t know.” Her eyes stared in confusion at him. “I can’t leave you. You need me.”
Was that why she was still here? Because of some misguided eternal bond? Was she trying to take care of him? If so, how? And why? In life she’d never been overly interested in nurturing him or his life.
“Damn it, Rachel. This doesn’t make sense.” David surged to his feet. “Let go and leave.”
The image moved closer without appearing to even move. Suddenly, David felt coolness glide along his arm. He shivered and took a step back.
“Dance with me,” she whispered.
Her translucent arms lifted and her hands gently caressed his arms. He shivered at the cold that seeped through his skin and settled deep in his bones.
He wanted to move away, wanted to turn and run screaming from the house. The image of doing so flitted through his mind, but he found himself rooted in place.
As her unearthly hands moved over him, he let his mind drift back to the warm arms that had held him last night. To Clarissa’s hot response to his touch.
Sudden blinding pain shot through his head, and he stumbled away from Rachel’s cold touch. He backed into the newel post and sidestepped to keep from falling.
“No!” Her voice echoed through his mind. The crystals in the chandelier tinkled and the entire fixture shook. “No!” she cried again.
Her eyes, or what he believed were her eyes, filled with red and a single crimson tear slid down her cheek. The tear burned as it fell, leaving a black sooty trail in its wake.
“You’re mine. Yet you think of another when you’re with me?”
“You can read minds?” He was almost as astounded as he was frightened.
She laughed, the wicked sound notching his fear deeper. “You don’t know the half of it, of the power I have.”
“Power? What kind of power?” He needed answers. He wanted answers. Why was she driving him crazy? “Like the dreams you put in my head?”
“Dreams? What dreams?”
“The dreams you’ve been sending to my mind for the last month.”
“I don’t know anything about dreams.”
He knew she was lying. She’d never been good at it. A gust of hot air blew in from the parlor door, and David felt the heat push against him.
“Dance with me,” she repeated. The words were whispered in his ear, and he spun around to find Rachel’s frigid, ghostly arms slipping around him. The soft tinkling sound of the music box grew louder and louder until he not only heard it but felt it in his head.
They twirled around the room. He couldn’t stop his body, and didn’t feel his feet moving, but he saw in the mirror that they spun higher and higher into the air. The music vibrated around and through him. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t break free.
He saw his own arms lift and encircle her unsubstantial form. He saw the solidness of his forearm through her waist. Was this another dream? For the first time, he hoped so.
The only woman he’d held since Rachel’s death had been Clarissa, and her very alive image came to mind. Once again the blinding pain shot through his head, sending sparks behind his eyes that radiated down his entire body.
He felt himself falling. Then he landed with a bone-jarring thump on the floor. The clatter of his boots against the tile seemed unusually loud in the sudden silence.
He looked around. Nothing. No image. No music. No warm air. Nothing. He shivered, and his entire body shook with the impact.
“No.”
He heard the soft voice and spun around to see if Rachel’s image was behind him. It wasn’t, but he was certain she hadn’t gone far.
“Let me see you.” He stood, turning in circles in case he’d missed her. He ignored the dizziness that nearly knocked him from his feet.
“No.” Was that a sob in her voice?
“Rachel. I’m sorry.” And he was. For hurting her. For her death. For not being able to love only her.
Love only her? The words echoed in his mind and the realization stunned him. He was falling in love with Clarissa.
The air whooshed out of him, and before he could pull in another breath, a hot wind ripped through the house.
He sped for the open front door, only to have it slam shut. He tried to pull it open, but it was locked and the knob wouldn’t turn. He rattled the door hard but it still didn’t budge.
“Let me out, Rachel,” he demanded, though he had no idea how he could force her to do so.
Silence was the only thing that met his ears. For several long minutes t
he pressure grew until he felt sure his eardrums would burst.
Then wicked laughter erupted. It grew until it filled every corner of the room and wrapped itself around his senses. It tore at his ears, rubbed hot against his skin, and left a bitter taste in his mouth. Bright, blinding lights flashed inside his head, pulsing to the cadence of the laugh. He couldn’t escape and fully expected to feel himself explode any second.
As quickly as it began, the laughter stopped, taking the warmth with it. The air in the foyer grew ice cold. “Tell her good-bye.” Rachel’s eerie voice came from far off, followed by sobs. Why was she crying?
He’d been foolish to come here. To hell with the music box. He had to find Clarissa.
He fumbled with the door, which suddenly opened, and he rushed out into the welcome afternoon sunlight. He breathed, longing to fill his lungs with the sweet summer air and cleanse away the evil he was sure he’d inhaled. Even as his senses warmed, he felt the cold settle around his heart. He felt as if he’d lost something, and knew he’d never get it back again.
Rachel was gone—for now. And while he’d discovered his love for Clarissa, would he ever be allowed to love her? Would he ever be able to tell her his feelings?
The pain tore through him, and for the first time, he didn’t fight the change. He needed to escape from himself, from this man tormented by a past he couldn’t change, by the hurt he’d caused others, and away from the hurt they’d caused.
Fifteen
CLARISSA STUMBLED up the stairs with loud urgent footsteps. At the top, she shoved at the door. It didn’t budge. She turned and rattled the handle. No success.
She slammed her fist against the wood, knowing and not caring that her hand would be bruised and sore later.
“Please,” she cried. “Someone help me!”
She turned, looking back down at the shadowed basement. Could she get out the window? It was small and high above her head, but surely there was a way.
She banged on the door one last time, hoping but not expecting any response. David wasn’t here. Would he even hear her when he came back? Would he come back? What if something had happened to him?
