by Amy Cross
“Are you alright?” the woman asks after a moment, before stepping a little closer.
She's beautiful, and her belly is swollen. I try to reach toward her, but I can barely move my arm at all. I can see the pity in the woman's eyes as she edges closer, and I can feel a ripple of hope in my heart. Although I try to call out to her, to beg her to help me, all I can manage is a faint, guttural groan that I doubt she can even hear. Still, she's starting to make her way through the long grass, as if she actually means to help me.
“Please,” I try to gasp, “don't leave me here!”
“Marguerite, no!”
Suddenly a man grabs her by the arm, holding her back.
“Leave her!” he continues.
She turns to me. “But -”
“She's beyond help,” he adds, staring at me with the same disgust I saw in the eyes of the people in town. “Look at the poor wretch. There's nothing anyone can do for somebody who's that far gone.”
“She's in agony,” the woman points out, and now I can hear that she has a strong French accent. “We can't just leave her like this.”
“We can and we must.”
I try again to call out to them, to beg them for help, but I don't have the strength.
“Besides, she's diseased,” the man continues. “Look further along, my dear. Others have died down there. It happens sometimes. These peasants get thrown out of their towns and villages for one reason or another, usually something criminal that they've done, and they end up wandering the countryside until they can no longer manage for themselves, and then they end up like this. You cannot tell me, in all honesty, that such things do not also happen in France.”
“I'm sure they do,” the woman replies. “It's just that I have never witnessed them.”
“There is no need for you to witness this.”
He guides her away, and I can hear them still talking as they leave me here to die. I try again to get up, then again, and finally I feel fresh anger bursting through my chest. Although I still feel so painfully weak, I force myself up and start crawling through the grass, until I see that there's some kind of old-fashioned carriage parked nearby. The man looks to be feeding one of the horses, so I crawl toward the rear of the carriage, where the woman is settling into her seat.
Although I'm weak and in pain, I can feel a sense of pure fury rising through my body as I clamber to my feet and start climbing up the side of the carriage The woman seems lost in thought, to the extent that she hasn't even noticed me yet, and finally I reach for her. I almost fall, but I manage to push myself forward until I brush against the woman's arm, at which point she turns to me and cries out.
“She'll be taken from you!” I hear myself screeching, with the same horrific voice from before. “You left me to die and now a child will be taken from your family, so that I can live again and -”
Suddenly a blast knocks me away from the carriage, and I crash back down against the muddy ground.
Rosie
“No!” I shout, leaning forward and covering my face with my hands. “Stop!”
I can feel an intense, splitting pain in my head, but after a moment my own thoughts seem to rush back into my mind and the pain begins to recede. Lowering my hands, I find that although those experiences felt so real, I'm back in a room at Wetherley House, with the dresser still pushed against the door. A moment later I feel someone touch my arm, and I gasp as I turn and find that Toby is right next to me. His face is still covered in tiny holes.
“Are you okay?” he asks. “You looked like you zoned out for a moment.”
“She tried to get into my head,” I stammer. “She did get into my head! I saw... I think I saw memories from her life. She's some kind of witch! She wants my body!”
“Your -”
“She think it belongs to her,” I continue, trying desperately to figure out why she would have chosen me. After a moment, I start to realize that this whole night has been far more than just a coincidence. “She made it happen,” I whisper, before turning to Toby again. “My car breaking down, and then you spotting me at the side of the road... What were the odds of those things happening and delivering us to this house tonight?”
“I only -”
“She did it!” I say firmly, as I think back to the face of the French woman I saw a moment ago. “She must think I'm part of the family she hates, or...”
My voice trails off for a moment as I try to work out what's really happening.
“Or maybe I am,” I whisper.
“Your family?” He pauses. “I thought you were adopted?”
“I was! I was found in the middle of the road late one night, with my aunt. She died before she could tell anyone what had happened, and I was put into the foster system. I never managed to find out much about my birth family, but the man who found us that night said that my aunt Hannah was rambling about being chased by someone.” I pause for a moment, my mind racing as I try to put it all together. “Toby, is this house anywhere near a town called Ambershot?”
“Ambershot? Yeah, it's a couple of miles away. Why?”
“That's where I was found,” I stammer, feeling a shudder pass through my body as I realize that it's all true. “When my aunt ran into the road, she must have been taking me from this house!”
“What are you talking about?” he asks. “It'd be way too much of a coincidence for -”
“It's not a coincidence!” I say firmly, getting to my feet and looking over at the blocked door. “The creature in this house must have reached out and arranged things so that I'd end up back here. She must have been so patient, waiting twenty years for another chance. She thinks she's owed a new life, and she wants a body from my family. If I was born in this house, that'd explain why she thinks I'm owed to her.”
“That's insane!” Toby points out.
“She's insane,” I reply, as I realize I can hear more creaks coming from the other side of the door. “She's a witch, too, and she cursed my family a long time ago. We have to get out of here before she tries to get into my head again. I don't know if I can force her out a second time.”
I make my way over to the window and look out at the moonlit lawn. I try to pull the window open, figuring that maybe we can climb out and run, but the damn thing is bolted shut. After trying a couple more times, I turn to Toby.
“You're supposed to be the expert on these things,” I point out. “How do we get away?”
He shakes his head.
“I thought you'd researched the -”
“I never actually thought I'd see anything!” he shouts, clearly starting to panic as he gets to his feet and keeps his eyes fixed on the door. “A few bumps, maybe some creaks in the night, but not this! This whole thing is insane! It was just supposed to be a bit of fun! I didn't think Mary was real!”
“She's not Mary,” I whisper.
“What do you mean?”
“You were right about there being something in this house, but it's not Mary Carmichael. It's something else. Something older. This whole thing is my fault, she -”
Before I can finish, I feel another rush of nausea in my chest. Stepping back against the wall, I start seeing more images in my mind's eye, and for a moment I feel as if I'm getting dragged back into another memory that was never mine to begin with. Somehow I manage to push the sensation away, and then I make my way across the room and start frantically pulling the dresser away from the door.
“What are you doing?” Toby stammers.
“She just tried to get into my head again,” I tell him, gasping as I struggle with the dresser's weight. “We can't stay here.”
“But we can't go out there!”
“She's dead, Toby!” I point out, as I finally get the dresser moved. “Blocking the door didn't stop her anyway. It just made us feel safer.”
With that, I pull the door open and find to my relief that there's no sign of the ghostly woman on the other side.
“She's not like this all-powerful thing,” I contin
ue, stepping out onto the cold landing and looking both ways. “Think about it. If she could just take what she wants, she'd have done it by now. Something's holding her back, or forcing her back, or making it harder for her in some way. I don't understand it, but we have to take advantage and make a run for it while we still can.” I turn to see that he's still in the room, as if he's scared to come out. “Staying in there isn't an option,” I point out. “At least if we try to run, we have a chance.”
“Where is she?” he asks, with tears in his eyes.
“I don't know, but it seems like each time she tries to get me, she has to retreat for a moment. This might be our only chance.”
I wait for him to accept that I'm right, but he still seems terrified. Hell, I'm terrified too, but it's not like we have a choice.
“Toby, come on!” I hiss, reaching a hand out toward him. “You're not safe in there!”
“I don't want to see her again!”
“Neither do I, so let's get moving!”
He hesitates, but finally he comes over to the doorway. I reach out and grab his hand, pulling him onto the landing and then leading him toward the stairs. He stumbles a couple of times, clearly ailing, and I struggle to keep him from falling to the floor.
After just a couple more paces, however, we pass another open door and I hear a sniffling, sobbing sound. Turning, I'm startled to see that there's a different woman sitting on the bed, weeping as she looks down at her own bloodied belly. Her hands are trembling, and after a moment she looks up and stares at me with tear-filled eyes. As soon as I see her face properly, I realize that I recognize her from that flash of vision I experienced earlier.
“Have you seen her?” she whimpers, with a strong French accent. “Have you seen my baby?”
“What the hell is that?” Toby asks, his voice tight with fear.
“Just keep moving,” I reply, turning and leading him to the stairs. “There are ghosts here, but we only have to worry about the witch.”
As we start making our way down, I can't help looking around for any sign that we're being followed. I know the naked old woman won't let us go without a fight, but so far she seems to be holding back. When we get to the bottom of the stairs, I look toward the front door, but I immediately feel an overwhelming sense of fear. I blink, and for a fraction of a second I see the outline of the naked woman, as if she's waiting for us to try to go out that way. Instinctively, I start to lead Toby toward the kitchen, figuring that we have to try the back door instead.
“I need to rest,” he groans.
“We're going out the back way!”
“I can't walk...”
“Trust me!”
“Rosie -”
“Trust me!” I say again, pulling him along as I look back at the front door. He's barely walking at all now, and I almost have to drag him the last few steps. “She's waiting for us there. I can feel it. I can -”
“There's another one!”
Turning, I look toward the open basement door, just in time to spot a hint of movement in the darkness. Sure enough, a figure is slowly coming up the steps, making a steady creaking sound as it emerges into the moonlight. After a moment, I'm horrified to see that this figure is a woman in an old-fashioned dress, walking with some kind of terrible disability. Her legs seem almost bowed, as if she can't stand properly, and she's mumbling to herself as she gets to the top of the steps. Finally she looks through at us, and I can see the anguish in her eyes.
“She made me do it!” she sobs. “She whispered and whispered in my ear until I couldn't -”
Suddenly the basement door slams shut, cutting the woman off. I hear her scream on the other side.
“Move!” I hiss, starting to pull Toby through to the kitchen, only for him to slip out of my grip and hold back. “Ignore the ghosts! They're just ghosts, they can't -”
Before I can finish, he slumps down and I fail to catch him. Leaning against the wall, he lets out a pained groan.
“We have to keep going!” I yell.
“Leave me,” he whispers, leaning forward and almost slamming face-first into the floor before I manage to hold him up.
“Wait right here!” I continue, propping him against the wall before stepping back. “I'm going to check the back door, and then I'll come back for you.”
I turn and hurry through to the darkened kitchen, but suddenly I hear panicked, stumbling footsteps nearby. Looking over my shoulder, I watch in horror as Toby hurries to the front door and starts trying to pull it open. It's as if sheer panic has suddenly forced him to act.
“Toby, get away from there!” I shout, filled with a slowly-growing sense of dread. “She's there, Toby! She's right next to you!”
“Why won't this goddamned door open!” he shouts, pulling harder and harder on the handle before stepping back and then trying to smash it open with his shoulder. “Let me out of this house!”
“Toby, stop panicking!” I yell. “Just keep your head and -”
“Help!” he screams, slamming his shoulder against the door again and again. “Somebody get us out of here! We're trapped! Help us!”
“Toby!”
“Help! We need -”
Suddenly he lets out a pained gasp and slumps against the door, panting heavily with his back turned to me. Something's clearly wrong, but I don't dare get too close, and after a moment I realize that he's starting to let out a low, anguished whimper.
“Toby, I need you to come over here,” I continue, holding a trembling hand out toward him. “Toby, for the love of God, I need you to get over here right now!”
He tries to say something, but his voice sounds croaked and damaged.
“Toby!”
Letting out a sudden gasp, he starts turning toward me, and I see that there are now hundreds – maybe even thousands – of maggots wriggling through the flesh all over his face, as if they're all flooding out of his body at once. For a moment I can only stare in horror at the sight of them squirming in the moonlight, and I swear I can even hear the sound of their pale little bodies slipping out of his face and falling to the floor. Soon they're all squirming on the wooden boards, writhing next to Toby's feet.
“Toby,” I whisper, stepping back as I feel a rush of panic in my chest, “what -”
Suddenly he gurgles and takes a stumbling step toward me, before dropping to his feet and reaching up to touch his face. He runs his fingers against the holes that cover his features, as if he can't quite believe what's happening to him.
“Toby!” I sob, edging toward him. “Come with me! We can still get out of here!”
I reach out to take his hand, but he lets out another pained gasp and I see that more maggots are starting to burrow out from inside his head. This second wave is fatter than the first, with maggots that are double the size of the ones that caused the initial damage, and I can barely make out Toby's features at all now as more and more maggots swarm out through the holes in his flesh. Finally, before I can think of any way to help him, he slumps down against the floor and I pull back in horror as I see that hundreds of maggots have eaten their way out through the back of his head and are now wriggling through his hair. There are flies, too.
Hundreds of fat flies come buzzing out from his head, filling the air.
“Toby!” I whimper, hoping against hope that somehow he might still be alive. “Toby, please -”
And then I see her.
The naked old woman is standing over him, grinning at me as flies buzz all around her.
“You didn't have to do that!” I shout, filled with anger but then pulling back as she steps over his body and comes closer. “He never did anything to you! Neither did I! If you're angry at someone, it can't be us! It you want something, it's not me that owes you! If anyone owes you anything, it's people who have been dead for years!”
She takes another step toward me.
“You're not Mary, are you?” I continue. “Everyone thought Mary was the ghost here, but you're someone else. I swear to you, you'
re not getting what you want. You can't have me!”
Panicked, I turn and run through to the kitchen. When I try to open the back door, however, I find that it's locked. I pull on the handle a few times, but I already know that I'm going to have to come up with a better plan. I look around, and finally I spot the gas cooker. My mind is racing, but deep down I know that there's no point getting away from this house and just leaving it standing. As long as the house is here, this thing will keep trying to get me back here. Even if I'm able to resist, if I have children myself I'll always know that they're in danger.
I can't get out of here.
But at least I can make sure that here doesn't exist anymore. Not after tonight.
Feeling an overwhelming sense of fear, I step back against the kitchen counter and slowly slither down onto the floor next to the cooker. I can't see the old woman right now, but I know she's close and I know she's coming. I'm too weak to fight back, and there's nothing I can do. She killed Toby, she killed so many people, and now she's coming for me. If they couldn't stop here, I can't stop her either. Not unless I take the only remaining way out.
“Please don't hurt me,” I sob, trembling with fear as I wait for her to reappear. “Please, I'm begging you, don't make me do this...”
And then I see it.
An old Polaroid photo, resting on the kitchen floor. Reaching over, I pull it closer and see that it shows two smiling people standing outside the house. At first I don't recognize them, but after a moment I realize that I have seen them once before, in a photo I managed to track down a couple of years ago.
These are my parents.
Jonathan and Louisa Cruikshank.
My real parents, who died the day I was born. They died here, in this house.
“You killed them,” I whisper, feeling a rippling sense of anger rising through my chest. A moment later I hear a creak on a nearby floorboard, and I turn to see the naked old woman standing in the doorway, watching me. I guess she thinks she has me cornered. “You killed them!” I sneer. “You killed them right here in this house!”
