by Dan Poblocki
Bree dragged Neil to the other side of the cage just as Andy used the hook to smack the mesh door open. Andy pulled himself into the common room, swinging around the corner as Neil and Bree clambered to the opposite side and the stairwell leading to the bedrooms above.
They slammed this next gate shut, but it swung open again, refusing to catch. Andy approached, chortling a wheeze of triumph. Bree paused at the bottom step, her fingers sticking through the small diamond-shaped openings in the wires, trying to latch the cage door before Andy could work it open again.
Andy raised his hook and slammed it against the metal. Bree screamed and pulled her fingers out of the way as the mesh was crushed. But the latch held. When Andy tried to pull the door open again, it caught with a jolt. He’d smashed the cage so hard, the crushed metal had blossomed inward, creating a makeshift lock, putting a barrier between himself and his target. Realizing his error, Andy released a howl of anger that echoed through the room.
Neil wanted to sneer, to stick out his tongue or worse, but Bree was already halfway up the stairs, calling for him to follow her. When Neil turned back, he found that the common room was empty. Andy had already gone.
UPSTAIRS, BLOCKS OF BLUE MOONLIGHT spilled through the open bedroom doors, illuminating the otherwise pitch-black corridor. Bree and Neil stood at the beginning of the hall, glancing back and forth between the direction they’d come and the darkness they knew they would find ahead. Bree held Neil’s hand, and he felt very young. He thought he could feel her heartbeat pulsing in her fingertips. If this had been some other place, some other time, he would have pulled away. Left her alone. Maybe even made fun of her. But here, he understood that inside that thrumming feeling, that beating beneath their skin, the same blood flowed through their veins. He knew he needed her. Now and for the rest of their lives — however long that happened to be.
Wind battered the building, and something knocked against the nearby windows. Twigs, leaves. Remnants of the storm. Bree squeezed his fingers even tighter.
“It’s just how we left it,” Neil whispered. It was something to say. His voice sounded funny up here. Lonely. Loud.
From down the stairs, a clanging noise echoed through the common room. “He’s looking for another way up,” Bree said. “We have to get out of here.”
Neil glanced down the stairs at the busted mesh gate. “But the door’s stuck.”
Releasing a measured sigh, Bree stepped into a puddle of moonlight that shimmered out from the closest room. “Then we need to look for another way down.”
At the end of the hall, they turned the corner and met a wall of darkness.
Stepping lightly, noiselessly, they passed the point where Neil was certain they’d first encountered Rebecca Smith. Room 13. The shadows here were so dark, they almost seemed to be filled with color, in the way strange shapes sometimes appear behind your eyelids if you press on them. Where was Rebecca now? he wondered. Was she watching them? She’d pulled them from the lake, but did that mean she was on their side, or did she simply wish that they’d die here instead?
They felt their way along the walls to another bend. Another double doorway. Another hall.
“What do you think happened back there?” Neil whispered as they blindly continued on. “At the aunts’ house? When we heard Andy calling Rebecca’s name?”
“It wasn’t Andy, obviously,” said Bree after several seconds and several footsteps. “It was Rebecca’s memory. Wasn’t it? I mean, that’s what’s been haunting us all this time. Andy’s voice, his apparition, was just another part of it. What I don’t get is why would Rebecca reveal that part only now? What’s so different about tonight than any other night we’ve been here?”
“Dad came to bring us home,” said Neil. “If Rebecca’s ghost has been learning how to show herself to us, to tell us the truth about what happened here at Graylock, then she might have had a reason to blast us with everything she had.” They’d come to another part of the hallway, lined with windows. For the moment, they could see each other.
“Yeah!” said Bree, stepping quickly past a long-forgotten wheelchair shoved against the wall. “Maybe Rebecca needed the storm and all of the electricity to reveal who killed her.”
“But we never saw his face,” said Neil. “She didn’t reveal who killed her.”
“Sure she did. She got us to call Andy. She knew we’d find her clues at his house. The antlers, the piano bench, and the birch logs.”
“She set us up,” said Neil, wishing he could stay where he stood, in the light of the moon. But the darkness of the hall ahead seemed to call to him. Forward was their only option.
“Maybe,” said Bree, pulling him along. “But maybe not. She didn’t ask us to tell her father everything we knew.”
“Still,” Neil whispered, dragging his heels on the rough linoleum, “how were we supposed to know who he was? What he’d done?”
Bree huffed. “It’s too late now to worry about that.”
“Way too late,” said Neil.
He stopped and managed to hold Bree in place. With her arm outstretched, she turned and threw him an irritated glance — bug-eyed, the one she was so good at. “Please,” he whispered, his voice sounding as if it belonged to someone else — someone both older and younger than him, as if it were possible to be those two things at once. “Tell me we’ll get home okay. That everything is going to be fine.” He didn’t care if it wasn’t true. He just needed to hear her say it.
“I promise,” said Bree. Her words were like an impossible glimmer of light in deep water.
When they’d crossed into the new line of shadow, and their eyes adjusted to the darkness again, Bree and Neil found themselves standing in front of another door. Bree nudged it open with her toe. The hinges popped as the door swung against the wall.
Inside, a desk sat against a line of windows that looked out upon thick pine branches. Beyond those, moonlight flicked silver flecks off the surface of the lake.
“Wait a second,” said Neil, glancing at the wall next to the desk. He strolled over to it, reached out, and his hand disappeared into a recessed cavity in the stone. “I know where we are.” Bree followed, and together, they peered into the opening. There was just enough moonlight to show them several steps spiraling down. “This is the way Eric came that first day, when he found us in the ballroom. These stairs lead all the way down to the basement.”
THE STEPS WERE SLICK, THE STONE WALLS DAMP. Neil left a fingertip trail as he felt his way along, twisting slowly into the depths of the building.
His sister’s breath hushed in his ear, a comforting signal. In his blindness, his imagination soon began to buzz. He imagined turning around to find himself alone — what he’d thought had been Bree would turn out to be nothing, or worse … something else. “You there?” he whispered, to be sure. His voice came out a little too loud. He wished he could catch it as it echoed up and down the stairwell.
“Yes.” Bree touched his shoulder and he felt better, even as he wondered where Andy might have gone.
Maybe he’d be waiting for them back at the bridge.
Don’t think about that, he told himself as they passed a small landing and continued down.
After another short while, Neil’s foot met liquid instead of stone. He splashed up to his knee as he nearly fell face-first into cold water. Somehow in the dark, Bree managed to catch his arm before he toppled over and doused himself completely.
“The storm flooded the basement,” Neil said.
“How deep?”
Neil took another step and sank down to his waist. Reaching forward, he knew that they had several more stairs before the bottom. “Pretty deep. I’m not sure. Do we swim it?”
Bree sighed. “To where? The boarded-up window? Maybe we could use that desk we climbed in on to get back up and out. But how are we supposed to find leverage when half the gym is underwater?”
Neil didn’t want to say what he knew they were both thinking. He squeezed his eyes shut, discove
ring the same blackness there as when they were open. “We have to find another way.”
Turning back, they climbed back to the landing. Neil felt for the wall. “This must have been where —” Before he could finish, he managed to knock open the bookshelf door that Eric had come through on that first day. Before them, the old ballroom appeared, lit dimly by the night spilling in through the tall windows.
They stood in the doorway, listening to the silence, alert for any indication that someone was waiting for them here. A breath, a footstep, a rustle of clothing, a shifting of weight. A trickle of water echoed faintly from somewhere nearby, but that was all. The crows that had met them here several days ago had found shelter elsewhere. The two were alone.
Stepping into the room, Neil turned toward the door that he knew was on the far right wall.
“Wait,” said Bree. “That just leads back into the maze of corridors.”
“But there’s no other way,” said Neil. “There’s the flooded basement or …”
But Bree glanced at the windows across the room. His heart fell.
“You want us to jump?” he asked.
“I wouldn’t say want,” Bree answered, stepping farther into the room. “More like need. Come on. Don’t think about it, or you’ll chicken out.”
“We could get seriously hurt. It’s a long fall.”
“Well, we’re not safe in here either. Andy could be anywhere right now. I personally don’t want to find him waiting for us around some corner.”
Neil shuddered. He knew she was right. “Fine. But be careful. I can’t carry you home by myself if you break a bone.” As if that was the worst that could happen. “And watch out for the floor,” he said. “It’s weak.”
“I remember.”
Together, they stepped toward the broken window in the farthest corner, the one beside the giant mantelpiece where the crows had jeered at them. Several panes of glass were shattered but the frame was intact. Even though they were careful to avoid the jagged hole that had tried to claim Neil as its victim, the floor groaned and whined, sounding like a tired child on the verge of a violent temper tantrum. Feeling safe enough near the sill, Bree grounded her feet and pulled up on the wooden sash. But it refused to budge.
“Locked?” asked Neil.
“Stuck, I think.”
“Just break the rest of it.”
A crash echoed through the room as the far door — the one that led back into the hospital wings — flung open and hit the wall. As Neil and Bree turned, they saw a white streak enter the room and quickly disappear.
“What was that?” said Bree, pressing herself against the frame.
“Shh.” Neil waved her quiet. “Listen.”
From down the hall, they heard a flurry of footsteps. Someone was running toward them. The sound grew louder as the person barreled along. Even from far away, he managed to shake the floor.
Wham. Wham. Wham. Wham.
Neil and Bree instinctively crouched beside the rolled-up carpet that sat beneath the length of windows. They huddled as close together as they could, trying to shrink, to hide inside darkness.
The sounds, the tremors, stopped.
In the doorway across the room, Andy stood, his chest quickly rising and falling. He was still clutching the hooked poker.
For a moment, Neil was certain that he couldn’t see them.
The man stepped forward. “Sorry, kids,” Andy said through harsh breath. “Dead end.”
BUT THEN HE STOOD THERE. There wasn’t enough light to see Andy’s face, but his crooked posture showed confusion. “I saw you come in here, Bree,” he said.
That wasn’t us, Neil thought. You were chasing your dead stepdaughter.
After several seconds, Andy snorted. He entered the room, his boots heavy on the wood floor. “Ain’t too many places to hide in here. You two might as well come out.” He took another step. The building creaked.
Neil held his breath as Bree dug her fingers into his arm. If they stood now, would they have time to work the window open and smash apart the rest of the wood frame?
Andy’s eyes would soon adjust, and then he’d see them. Crouched in the corner, Neil and Bree were sitting ducks.
Hoping his sister would follow his lead, Neil leaned forward, gathering the strength to stand, to reveal himself. But then, a tiny silver light flickered in the center of the room, and Neil’s brain felt as if it turned off. He watched in awe as the light expanded, filling the darkness with a dim glow, until a shape had formed. A whitish silhouette. A girl.
A voice filled the room, sounding at once both distant and close — an echo from a world next to our own. “Daddy …,” said Rebecca. “Why?” She lifted her arms toward Andy as if calling him into her embrace.
And then she was gone.
Andy stood frozen halfway across the room. In the dim light that spilled into the room outside, Neil could make out the old man’s gaping mouth. “Becks?” he said, his voice high and quavering. “Is that you?” He glanced all around the room, as if she might still be near, listening. “H-how?” he added, as his eyes fell on the mantelpiece. And then to the floor beside it. His expression changed quickly from awe to surprise … to anger. He shuddered, shivering off the memory of his stepdaughter as if it were no more than a large cobweb he’d accidentally walked through. “You.” He was looking right at them now.
Neil stood slowly. “Leave us alone!” he shouted.
Andy came closer. The hook swung at his side. “How did you do that?” he said. “How did you make her voice?”
“We didn’t do anything to you,” said Bree, coming up beside her brother. “And neither did Rebecca.”
Andy glowered, his brow growing even darker. “You don’t know anything about her. About us.”
“We know plenty. More than most people in this town,” said Neil.
“Too bad for you.” Andy raised his hand, clutching the fireplace poker like a baseball bat. Then he dashed toward them, his boots shaking the floor dangerously.
Neil turned toward the window. “Bree! Go.” He watched as she lifted her foot to kick out what was left of the broken window frame. Just as the wood shattered, something caught his shirt collar. Andy’s hook! He felt a ripping pain light his neck ablaze.
The world tipped upside down.
Bree screamed, a siren sound of panic.
Neil landed on his back and briefly glimpsed the ceiling high above him. An immense pressure squeezed at his back, and when he tried to catch air into his lungs, nothing came. He couldn’t breathe. Wide-eyed, he struggled to roll over and dislodge the hook from his collar.
Andy lay sprawled out behind him, his leg stuck into the floor. Dazed but determined, Andy reached out for the poker, capturing the handle once more in his fist. He pushed himself away from the floor — a sad but satisfied look in his eyes.
“Neil!” Bree cried. “Get up!”
Neil managed to inhale a minuscule amount of breath. He tried to move, but he felt as though all strength had left his body.
Andy was kneeling now, pulling his leg from the ragged gap. He raised the poker.
Neil closed his eyes. His mind went blank for an instant before filling with noise — his own voice crying, “No, no, no, no, no!”
A great cracking sound interrupted his plea. The entire building seemed to shake. The floor tilted. Neil slid forward toward Andy, who’d lost his balance, wobbling sideways.
Neil reached out, searching for something to hold as the floor disintegrated beneath him.
“NEIL!” BREE SCREAMED.
Dangling on the edge of a new precipice, Neil grasped a piece of solid planking. He glanced up to find his sister perched safely on the edge of the broken windowsill. On his right, a few feet away, Andy clung to splintered remnants of the ballroom floor. The iron poker slipped out of his grasp and tumbled into the darkness below, landing after several seconds with a splash in the flooded basement.
It was a long drop. Deadly, Neil thought. Dust swirled all a
round, and as Neil found his breath, he began to choke.
“Stay where you are,” said Bree. “I’m coming to get you.”
“D-don’t move,” Neil managed to say. “You’ll fall too.”
Andy clambered forward, struggling to pull himself from the cavity. But the floor shuddered again and he lost his grip.
“Okay,” said Bree. “Just … go slowly. Come toward me. Take my hand.”
Neil tried, but as he released his left hand, he felt himself slipping. “I can’t!” he said.
Bree glanced up. In shock, she stared over his shoulder toward the spot where Andy was struggling. Neil swiveled carefully and saw what had captured her attention. For a moment, he forgot where he was. He forgot everything.
Rebecca had returned. This time, she was no mere glimmer. She stood on the broken floor in front of her stepfather, dressed in her dirty hospital gown. Dirt caked her feet and ankles. Her dark hair hung like lake weed, draping her shoulders. Her face looked as it had in her final yearbook picture: empty, angry.
But she was no longer helpless. And she knew it. “Daddy …” Her voice was here now. It filled the room.
Andy froze. “Honey,” he responded, as if she were as alive as an apple tree in autumn. “Please. Help me.” He reached out for her, but she looked away.
Rebecca saw Neil. She saw Bree. She stared, but she did not acknowledge them. Neil’s hope that she might help him was dashed when she turned back toward her stepfather and raised one foot over his head. Neil didn’t have time to scream before she brought her heel down hard on the floor.
The wood collapsed with an ear-splitting blast. Andy screeched and slipped away into the shadows.
Neil’s head rang and he struggled to maintain his grip as his fingers slid from the wet board.
At the windowsill, Bree reached for him, her eyes filled with panic. “Hurry!” she said. Neil reached out for her, but the planking he clung to gave a final squeal and pulled away from the wall. As he fell, the last thing Neil heard was his sister’s horrified scream. Her face shrunk into nothingness, a pinpoint of terror before it disappeared altogether.
