Margret bit her lip and continued to rock as if she were deep in thought. “I wonder,” she whispered.
“Wonder what?” Karl straightened and peered down at her.
Her eyes widened for a moment. “The room in the cellar.” She stared at Karl, her eyes glassy and unblinking.
Karl’s heart rate quickened. “Never heard of it.”
“No, you wouldn’t have. Jeanie never showed anyone. Not even to me.” She licked her lips. “If anyone could find it…” She bowed her head toward Karl.
Margret sipped her drink and stared into the cup. "Look in the cellar."
Karl wiped his sweaty hands on his pants. Could something really be hidden in the house? It was unlikely but worth a shot. This was his last chance.
"Is there anything else you could tell me about her? After the sale, I doubt I'll come back and…" No, he didn't doubt it. He knew he wouldn’t come back. The boonies didn’t suit him, but something had drawn him here and wouldn’t let his mind forget. How could a college swimmer drown? Karl tried to play out something realistic, but every time he pictured his aunt falling in, he saw hands shoving her.
Margret shook her head. "I've nothing left to say, except." She looked around and motioned for Karl to come closer.
He leaned toward her, but she beckoned him closer. The scent of body odor blended with rank breath.
"Don’t take anything. Just tell me what you find," Margret whispered
"Why shouldn't I? She was my—"
"Some things should not be disturbed." Margret's voice was sharp.
She grabbed his wrist and her yellowed nails dug into his skin. Karl stared into her eyes, and she stared back hard.
"Her spirit lingers and taking anything would bring wrath."
Karl stepped back. "Her spirit?"
"Shhh!" Margret held her finger to her lips and looked into the forest. "She listens even now."
Karl backed up until the railing pressed against him. "I'll leave things as they are." He leapt off the porch and strode away, down the forest path and to his aunt's house. Something about Margret was different. It was probably just an attempt by a senile old lady to hide her sadness and keep memories alive.
He went to his car to get a flashlight. The light was dim enough in the house; the cellar had to be black. Once in the house, Karl made his way toward the kitchen. He opened the creaky door to the cellar and shined the flashlight down the stairs. They were narrow and darkened with dampness. Each one creaked under the slow steps downward. Karl illuminated the cellar. The floor was moist with dirt, the walls crumbled in places, and the ceiling a network of solid logs. He hadn’t been down here since carrying up an old stove for his mom, and even then he didn’t come back down to look. Mom had said Aunt Jeanie hadn’t been down in the cellar for years, so why bother?
But here he was. A part of him wanted to forget about it. Margret was a crazy old lady. He started on the wall to the left, inspecting the fieldstones carefully as he moved along. Shelves with empty jars showed nothing useful. Moldering wood leaned against the corner. Karl was on his way back up when he noticed something strange beneath the stairs—a large shelf and behind the shelf a dark blotch large enough for a person to crawl through. A door.
The back of Karl's neck tingled as he bolted across the basement. He shined the light through the shelf. The dark blotch was fabric. Karl reached out, and the heavy cloth moved when his hand pressed against it. He knelt down and crawled across the bottom shelf, pushing the cloth as he crawled through. On the floor in front of him were bones. Karl stopped.
The bones were small, from rodents and rabbits maybe. Karl rose to his knees and stood. A shelf on the wall held candle stubs, small skulls, and rocks. The skulls might've been from cats or raccoons. In the corner was a table and on the table sat a leather-bound book. Karl grabbed the book, and the leather cover felt thick. In the center of the cover was an engraving, Brystle. The family name, but spelled differently. Karl's mom had said that a hundred years ago or so the family had switched to the traditional Bristol and moved to the city. Everyone was surprised when Aunt Jeanie moved back out here—everyone except Mom, who'd said Jeanie was always close to nature.
This had to be a family heirloom, maybe a history. Karl opened the book. The words were hand-written, and the text was not in English. Had Mom known about this book? She'd never mentioned it. This room would need to be cleaned and emptied before the auction. Or whoever found this would probably call the press and tell everyone how his family members were devil worshipers or something.
Karl closed the book and placed it back on the table. Something about this room had to do with his aunt's death, but what? Had someone thought her a witch and killed her? Karl had known her well and had never seen her doing anything strange. This room was probably just a place to house weird artifacts. Things she'd found in the woods, like bones.
He shined the light on the shelf. A wooden bowl sat on the top shelf between a symmetrical spread of candles. Karl removed the bowl. It should’ve felt dry, but instead it was moist and tacky. He placed it on the book and peered inside. There were bones. They were shiny-white bones that looked like human thumbs.
A shiver traveled up Karl's arms. He reached inside and took a bone. He'd take it home and investigate it. If these were human bones, he'd have to call the police. Despite Margret's warning, he shoved it into his pants pocket.
Karl turned to leave. He'd try his phone again and call Mom. As he turned, the flashlight slipped from his hand and thudded to the floor. It flickered and plunged the room into darkness. The room cooled, and it felt as if a breeze had slithered into the basement. Karl's heart thudded against his ribcage and the blood pulsing to his fingers threatened to shoot from the tips. He crouched and crawled toward the small hole
His knee caught the flashlight that rolled in front of him and flickered. Something moved in the corner of the room. Karl held his hands in front of him and his scalp tingled. He grabbed for the flashlight, which turned on once he gripped it. He slowly shined the light into the corner. It was empty.
Karl wiped his forehead with his hand before scurrying out of the room. He sensed he was being followed and raced up the steps, glancing back from the top of the stairs.
Once outside, he selected ‘Mom’ from his list of contacts and called her. His phone beeped and ‘call failed’ popped onto the screen. The tower on his phone was at zero. He'd told her he would be home soon, anyway. Karl made for his car, taking out the keys as he jogged.
He'd left it unlocked, so he flung open the door, jumped in and slammed the door shut. Karl took a deep breath as he stuck the key into the ignition and turned. After a few weak engine turns, the start failed. He turned again. Nothing. Had he left something on and killed the battery?
He didn’t know shit about cars, but he popped the hood latch and got out. After propping the hood, he tried the flashlight, which faded to nothing. Then he lit his cell phone to search the engine area for any obvious problems. He looked at the battery and tugged on the wires. All of them were tight. He pulled other wires and none were loose. Karl sighed and closed the hood.
The sun was going down over the forest. Soon darkness would blanket the area. Margret had to have a phone. Didn’t she? Karl strode toward her house. He glanced back and then quickly looked forward again, scanning the woods for the feral cat. The wind was weaving through the trees, rustling the leaves and underbrush. And the path seemed to darken within moments of his entering the forest.
Karl emerged onto Margret's lawn. Light shone from the front porch and her white hair glowed in the failing light. She stared in his direction as if she'd expected him.
He playfully hopped onto her porch, and she smiled.
"Going to call it a night?" she asked.
"Actually, I was wondering if you had a phone. My car died." Karl held out his hands is a what-do-you-do sort of way.
"Haven't you got a mobile phone?"
Karl held it out. It had a bar. "Actually…"
But as soon as he hit ‘send’, the screen went blank. He pressed the ‘on’ button, but the phone remained dead.
"Guess the battery's dead," he said.
"Well, I'm sorry, but I haven't got a phone." Margret adjusted her glasses.
Karl felt his shoulders sink. What would he do now? He couldn’t sleep in his aunt's house. Not with that creepy room in the basement. If he started walking, maybe someone would give him a lift. No, that wasn't a good idea. It was about thirty miles. What if a serial killer picked him up?
"My neighbor has a phone," Margret offered.
Karl looked to the west. There wasn't a house in sight. "I didn’t know anyone else lived nearby."
"Oh, yes. It's a bit off the road, but you can follow the drive easy enough. Helen is her name."
"Is she…friendly?" Karl asked.
Margret nodded. "Like a sister to me and your aunt."
Karl wiped his hands on his pants. "Oh, good. I'll just—"
"Yes, go ahead." Margret shooed him.
Karl turned to leave.
"Did you find anything?" Margret asked eerily.
Karl faced her. "What?"
"In the cellar. Did you find anything?" Her eyes looked sharp.
"Just some junk we'll have to toss before the auction," Karl said.
The evening air chilled, and Karl shivered slightly.
"Didn’t take anything, did you?" Margret asked.
Karl shook his head and clenched his fists to prevent himself from touching the bone in his pocket.
"Good." Margret picked up her cup and sipped.
Something pierced the air. It was like a scream. Karl looked about him, but Margret looked unconcerned.
"Just the wind," she said.
"See you later." Karl shoved his hands into his pockets. He touched the thumb bone to make sure it was still there.
Margret licked her chapped lips. "Better hurry along before Helen goes to bed."
"Thanks for your help," Karl said as he headed west, toward the road.
He crossed the ditch and set foot onto the gravel road. Part of him wanted to start for home. He didn’t know Helen. She might think him a thief and shoot at him. But he continued until a narrow drive cut across the ditch. It was overgrown along the sides and a thick line of weeds ran through the center. Karl expected to see lights ahead, but all was dark. Maybe she was already in bed. Something in his gut told him to turn around, but he was convinced he was just being a wimp. Soon he'd be talking to his mother who'd be there in less than a half hour.
After about a hundred paces into the forest, a faded white house rose up in front of him. All of the windows were dark, except one on the lower level. She had to be awake.
Karl searched the sky for phone lines, but saw nothing. It had to be too dark to see them. Margret wouldn't lie. He stopped at the front stairs that led to a porch and to the front door. Plants that resembled parchment paper hung awkwardly in hanging baskets above the porch stairs. The decaying steps led to a wavy wooden porch.
His forehead warmed. He would've been better off walking home in the dark. Karl knocked on the front door. After a moment of silence, a hiss came from behind. He glanced back to find the ratty-looking cat perched on the porch railing. Karl thought he heard footsteps, but he knocked again anyway. Another hiss. This time, it came from his right. Several cats approached from the right. Then, the left. A host bound from the forest and began up the stairs. The same one who'd met him in the forest hissed again, and it’s ears pointed back.
The cats were surrounding him. There had to be at least twenty. The door behind him opened, and a hand gripped his wrist. Karl yanked away, but the grip was tight. He looked at Helen. He'd expected a frail old woman, but she was broad with dark hair and a stern face.
"What do you want?" Her tone carried a warning and her voice was much lower than most women's.
"Ph-ph-phone." It was all he could stammer out as he felt the cats close in.
She pulled him inside. "Out of here!" she yelled. The cats scattered before she shut the door.
Karl took a deep breath. "Sorry to trouble you. My aunt Jeanie lived nearby, and when I went to leave her place, my car was dead."
"A young man like you ought to have a cell phone." She stared like she didn’t trust him.
"It died." Karl pulled the phone from his pocket. "Test it if you like."
She considered the phone before shaking her head. "Jeanie's kin is welcome. Phone is up the stairs and to the left." She straightened her dress. "Take you up there if my knees weren't so bad."
"No problem," Karl said.
"In the study." Helen pointed up the stairs.
Karl nodded and started up the stairs. He found a long hall to the left. The first room had an open door. He searched for a light switch and found none. The faint light cast from the hall was enough for him to make out a desk in the center of the room. He felt across the top of the desk and soon his hand found the hard plastic of an old phone. He picked up the receiver. A dial tone. He began to dial until he realized he had no idea what his mom's cell phone number was. He recalled the landline from having memorized it in elementary school. He punched in the number and soon heard a ring. The phone rang six times, and the phone died.
He smacked the receiver and listened for a dial tone. All was silent for a moment. A scream pierced the air. It sounded as if it'd come from the lower level. Karl raced out of the room. As he entered the hall, he heard a swoosh, followed by a blow to his face. He covered his face and fell to his knees. Warm blood ran over his hands and his sight darkened. A loud crack split the back of his head, and he lost consciousness.
* * *
Karl awoke in a dank room. He tasted musty air. His head throbbed, and his face itched from dried blood. Faint light streamed in from a crack in the wall behind him. It revealed the small empty room he was in. A cell.
His attacker had to be Helen. Would Margret come and look for him if he didn’t show up? He rubbed the crust from his eyes and peered into the next room through the crack in the wall. When his eyes adjusted, he could make out an empty room with a long table in the center. The table was stained, as if liquid had soaked into it many times, and thick leather straps hung beside it. A torture chamber.
Karl's body pulsed from his thumping heart and sweat beneath the dried blood made his entire head itch. He scratched it, and his fingers became caked and sticky.
Breathing. He heard breathing in the other room.
"Is anyone there?" Karl whispered in the room, but it sounded as if he'd yelled.
A mat of dark hair appeared and an eye. Karl froze and his scalp tingled. The eye stared at him; he could see a shred of a mouth smile.
"You're whom they've been waiting for." The woman's voice was soft and sweet.
"Who are you and what the hell is going on?"
"Becca's my name. Hell is about right."
"Seriously. I want to know why I'm locked in here! Did Helen do this?" Karl leaned closer to the light.
The squeak of a door stole Becca's attention. "You're about to find out," she whispered.
Through the crack, Helen and Margret crossed the room. Margret. Becca screamed and was dragged onto the long table. The leather straps crossed her body, and her hands were tied behind her head.
Margret crossed in front of him. A door to his left opened, and light flooded the room.
Karl stood, his fists clenched. Margret stepped in, a machete hanging at her side, and she raised a purple-veined hand. Karl's knees buckled, and he fell down. He tried to push himself up, but his arms were limp.
"Crawl," she demanded.
"What the fuck is going on?" Karl yelled.
The tight smile on Margret's face and her bulgy eyes made her look more like an insect than a woman. "Crawl," she hissed as she flexed her hands in front of him.
Karl's knees began to shuffle across the floor. He tried to focus on his legs, to stop them from moving, but he couldn’t.
"Stop. I'll walk," Karl whin
ed.
Margret relaxed her hands and Karl stopped moving. His arms felt normal again, and he pushed himself onto his feet.
"Don’t even think about running." Margret gripped the machete.
Karl followed her through the door. Becca stared at him from the table, eyes glistening with tears. Her mouth had been gagged. Her clothes looked dirty and ragged. Bones protruded beneath pallid skin.
"Sit," Helen said.
A chair slid from against the wall and pushed into the back of Karl's legs. He sat.
Karl cleared his throat. "Will someone—"
"—tell you what's going on," Helen simpered. She made a face like a concerned kindergarten teacher.
"Yes," Margret said. "You wanted to know what happened to your aunt."
A cold settled into the room and the far corner fell into deeper shadow. It felt as if ice had formed down Karl's spine.
"You were right, boy. She was murdered," Helen said. "Now we're paying the coven back who is responsible for it."
Becca squirmed and a muted scream passed through the gag.
"She did it?" Karl asked.
"Her kin did. And now we'll use her to bring Jeanie back," Margret said.
"Bring her back? How would…." The look in Becca's eyes told Karl all he needed to know. They would use her body. "But why would they kill Aunt Jeanie?"
"Use bone magic, them." Helen motioned toward Becca. "Jeanie has more power in bones than anyone."
Karl tried to clear his mind of the bone in his pocket in case they could read minds, but he couldn’t stop wondering if Becca could use it to overpower them.
"So why me? What do you need with me?" Karl's voice rose with anger.
"We need your blood," Helen said.
Margret held up a finger. "Not much. Just a prick." She motioned as if she was cutting off the tip of a finger.
"And after that, you can go," Helen added.
"Small price to get your aunt back," Margret said.
His entire body cooled, and his hands became clammy. He'd never be released. They'd keep him for some foul purposes. Like a slave or something. Or they'd kill him.
Dark Light Book Three (Dark Light Anthology) Page 30
