Sam

by Iain Rob Wright

  Angela sighed. “No, he didn’t. He asked for my help, though. He asked me to get rid of Chamuel.”

  Tim yawned and shrugged his shoulders. “Well, that’s what we do then.”

  “How? I get the impression that Jessica is going to kick us out of the house first thing in the morning.”

  Tim had pretty much assumed the same thing. Jessica had seemed irate at the situation she had awoken too, but surely she’d remember what had actually happened; would remember being blind, or would remember walking into the office and giving them a warning in a voice that was a serpentine hiss? “Maybe tomorrow she’ll feel differently,” Tim suggested hopefully. “She was just confused earlier. Things might become clearer to her by dawn.”

  “Are you still going to leave?” Angela asked.

  Tim nodded. “Sorry, but I’d be gone already if the place wasn’t sealed up.”

  “Do you know how it’s even possible that we’re trapped in here? How did they suddenly make the windows unbreakable?”

  Tim thought the answer was obvious. “It’s security glass, isn’t it? A house like this, with a family like the Raymeadys, is certain to have tempered glass to stop people breaking in. It might even have been a recent addition if the email I read was anything to go by.”

  “What did it say?”

  Tim shrugged. “It was all a bit weird, but it seemed that Joseph Raymeady was worried about his life and had some guy investigating for him. Turns out that Black Remedy is about as ethical as the Mafia – except without all the codes of honour. The investigator thinks that Joseph’s death might not have been an accident.”

  “Really? He thinks it was murder?”

  Tim nodded. “Somebody close to him, he suggested – but not Frank, I don’t think. It was Frank who the email was addressed to. It seems like he’s been trying to get to the bottom of all of this, too, for his own peace of mind.”

  Angela’s eyes widened. “Then that just leaves Mike.”

  “Yeah, I guess so, but there used to be a lot more staff here when Joseph died, so it could have been somebody else. Can’t say I liked the way he shoved me away from the computer to get a look at that email, though. He seemed pretty anxious to see what it said.”

  “I don’t trust him,” Angela said bluntly. “But I guess you already know that. At first I thought he was a pretty decent guy, but now I get the impression that he knows more than he is letting on. I think he might be dangerous.”

  “Yeah,” Tim agreed. “Perhaps.”

  “Which is why I’m begging you to stay.”

  Tim shifted in the chair. The last thing on Earth he wanted to do was stay at the house a minute longer, but he also knew that he didn’t want to abandon Angela – especially if she was at risk. He had to remind himself that he’d only just met the woman; he didn’t owe her anything. “I’m sorry,” he said. “But first thing tomorrow, I’m out of here.”

  It looked as if Angela was going to argue with him, but then she just nodded. “Okay, well, it’s your choice.”

  “You should get some sleep,” he told her. “I’ll watch over you for a few hours.”

  Angela smiled wearily. “Would you mind?”

  “Not at all. If you’re going to stay and get to the bottom of things, then you’ll need your rest.”

  “Thanks. I feel like I might drop into a coma if I don’t sleep soon. Wake me if anything happens though, yeah?”

  “Sure thing.”

  Angela closed her eyes and within two minutes she was snoring. Tim watched her sleep and wondered what her deal was. The woman was slightly overweight and baggy around the eyes – she was a drinker and an overeater which were sure signs of an unhappy soul. Was her misery because of leaving the church, or did she leave the church because she was miserable? Tim could tell that Angela was a caring person, a good human being, but her weaknesses were unhidden and clear for all to see. After a certain length of time, depression could become part of a person’s personality, and then the hope of ever shedding it became an unattainable fantasy. Tim hoped Angela found a way to face herself again one day. He knew that possibility was gone for himself – he would never be anything but what he already was.

  Against his better judgement, Tim rested his eyelids for a second. Eventually he had no choice but to let sleep take him.

  ***

  Angela opened her eyes to darkness. The candle in the room had extinguished. Usually, whenever she woke from a deep slumber, there was a brief moment of confusion as she wondered where she was, but in this case she opened her eyes and instantly knew. Her alert mind was unwilling to let her forget where she was even for a moment. She was still trapped inside the house.

  She sat up and could almost feel the darkness moving around her like a living thing. She listened out for noises, worried there might be someone else in the room, then remembered that Tim had promised to watch over her.

  She called out. “Tim, are you there?”

  There was silence in the room.

  Angela slid her legs off the bed and onto the floor. She cringed at the thud they made on the carpet. “Tim,” she called out again.

  Still no answer.

  Angela crept across the room, arms out in front of her as feelers. She bumped against the chair Tim had been sitting on. It was empty.

  Damn it, Tim! Where are you? You promised to stay with me.

  Angela wondered if he’d perhaps just gone to get a drink or something to eat. He doubtlessly was exhausted, too. Maybe he’d needed something to keep from falling asleep himself. Even so, Angela didn’t want to be alone in the house and didn’t like the thought of Tim wandering around on his own, either. They needed to stick together.

  She left the bedroom and sidestepped into the corridor like a secret agent on a mission of stealth. If anybody else was around, she wanted to be sure she spotted them before they spotted her. As it turned out, the corridor was deserted.

  She decided to go downstairs and look for Tim in the kitchen. She headed for the stairs. The moonlight shone in through the windows and Angela took the opportunity to check her watch. It was 6AM, yet the moon was still high in the sky. The sun should have been muscling its way onto the horizon by now.

  Angela reached the staircase balcony and realised she wouldn’t have to look any further to find Tim. He was right in front of her.

  “Tim? What are you doing?”

  Tim looked down at her from where he balanced atop the railing. His eyes were murky white and unfocused.

  Angela looked over the railing, at the three-story drop to the cold, harsh marble on the ground below. “Tim, please, could you get down from there?”

  He stared at her vacantly. The antique bannister beneath his feet rocked back and forth; his knees wobbled like loose springs. One false move and Tim would fall to his death.

  There seemed to be no sign of Tim getting down from the bannister of his own volition. It was almost as if he was sleepwalking or under some kind of spell. Maybe he had taken something to help him sleep, something he shouldn’t have.

  Angela crept forwards, one foot carefully placed in front of the other; she didn’t want to startle him. “Tim? It’s Angela. I thought you were going to watch over me while I slept? I woke up and you were gone. I was worried.”

  A strangled moan escaped Tim’s lips, almost as if he were a prisoner trying to escape his own body.

  Angela took another step.

  Tim’s moaning continued, grew louder.

  She reached out toward him.

  Tim flinched. His foot slipped. He fell.

  Angela managed to grab a hold of the back of Tim’s shirt just in time. She dragged his weight and managed to direct his tumble backwards to safety instead of forwards to his death. He landed in a crumpled mess on the carpet with Angela lying beside him.

  “What the hell were you doing?” she shouted at him.

  The milkyness had cleared from Tim’s eyes and he seemed confused. “I-I…how did I get out here?”

  “You do
n’t remember?”

  Tim propped himself up on his elbows and shook his head. “I remember sitting in the bedroom. You were snoring…”

  Angela blushed.

  “…and I must have fallen asleep. I-I don’t know what I was doing.”

  “Are you a sleepwalker?” Angela asked him. She hoped he was so that they had a reason for his behaviour that didn’t involve something sinister.

  Tim shook his head. “If I am, this is the first time. I wonder how long I’ve been out here?”

  “Well, it’s past six now.”

  Tim frowned at her. “What? But it’s still dark. Shouldn’t the sun be rising by now?”

  Angela shrugged. She didn’t understand it either. “Come on. I think we should go back to my room. This time you get the bed and I’ll keep watch.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Mike was clueless as to why the windows were suddenly unbreakable, but it fit well into his plans. Everyone needed to remain inside the house. Mike didn’t know what was going to happen, but he knew that an awakening was at hand – and that would require certain sacrifices. It didn’t matter if Angela and Tim were suspicious of him or not; it was too late for either of them to do anything now.

  To make things even better, Jessica didn’t remember a thing about what had happened in her bedroom – about him choking her unconscious. Her voice was croaky and it was clear she had a bruised windpipe, but she was oblivious to the fact that Mike had been the one to inflict it upon her.

  Jessica was currently sat on Sammie’s bed, weeping quietly to herself as she cradled the boy’s grimy pillow. Mike was amazed that the woman still felt maternal over the wretched little monster - he was no longer the loving little boy he used to be. Sammie had become a monster, something inside manifesting like mould on a loaf. The boy’s soul had gone bad.

  “Are you okay, Miss Raymeady?” he asked Jessica.

  She looked over at him with teary eyes but managed to smile. “No, not really, Michael. I feel like I’ve just woken up from a coma. Nothing is making any sense right now, especially with Sammie missing.”

  “I’m sure he’s just playing games; hiding somewhere inside the house. I should really get back to looking for him.”

  Jessica raised her hand. “No! Stay with me. I don’t feel safe without Frank in the house. I don’t want to be alone.”

  Mike nodded. “I understand, but we really shouldn’t leave Sammie running loose with those two con artists in the house.”

  Jessica frowned at him. “Why do you think they’re con artists?”

  Mike huffed. “Come on, what have they done since they’ve been here, other than injuring Sammie and causing trouble? They’re probably the reason Sammie is hiding; he’s probably scared of being cut open with a needle again.”

  Jessica shook her head. “I believe they’re trying to help. Whether or not that’s enough for me to let them to stay, I’ve not yet decided. What time is it, anyway? I need to make a decision about them before the new day begins.”

  Mike checked his watch. “I’m afraid the day’s already started. It’s a little after eight.”

  Jessica looked at him like he was mad. “What? You must be mistaken. It’s still pitch-black outside. It can’t be morning yet – I mean, not late-morning as you’re suggesting.”

  Mike had not actually realised it was still dark outside. There was so much going on in his mind that the familiar surroundings of the house had become merely an unnoticed background. Now that he was aware of it, however, it left him a little disconcerted. The extended night-time, along with the sealed and unbreakable windows, made Mike feel uncomfortable. He was supposed to be marginally involved in the events to come, but he was beginning to fear that his part would be bigger than he intended.

  Mike stroked at the raised scar-tissue hidden beneath his shirt. He hoped the ancient flesh carvings would be enough to ensure his safety.

  Jessica dropped her son’s pillow and pulled herself away from his bed. “Come on, you’re right. We should be looking for him.”

  Mike opened the door for Jessica and followed her out into the corridor. He watched her sway unsteadily as if drunk.

  Ironic, seeing as it’s probably the first time she’s actually been sober in six months.

  Jessica stopped halfway down the corridor and glanced up at the wall. The Edwardian grandfather clock there displayed the exact same time as the digital display on his watch. Jessica was shaking her head at the clock as if she suspected it of playing some cruel prank on her. “Impossible,” she muttered.

  She got moving again and Mike continued after her. When she reached the staircase, she chose to head downwards, reaching the ground floor and marching across the foyer to the front door.

  Jessica rattled the handle for a few seconds and then spun around on her heels, looked at Mike with both her eyebrows raised. “Why won’t this door open? Have you done something to it?”

  Mike shook his head adamantly. “I don’t understand it myself, but no one has been able to open it since Frank left last night.”

  “That makes no sense. What about the other doors? The ones in the piano lounge? The exit in the kitchen?”

  “All the same. No one can get out anywhere at the moment. We were all waiting for daylight to investigate properly.”

  “Well, the sun seems to have forgotten itself today, so we need to sort this out now.”

  Mike shrugged. He knew trying to get the door open would prove useless, but Jessica was his boss and refusing her would raise questions. He stood before her, awaiting orders.

  Jessica looked around the foyer then back at him. “Well? Go and find something to help. No point standing there like a monkey without his bananas.”

  “Of course,” said Mike, fighting off the urge to mock-salute the bitch. She was almost back to the bossy, unbearable woman she’d been before her husband passed on. Perhaps she wasn’t the hopeless mess she’d appeared to be lately.

  “I’ll go check the kitchen,” Mike said. “Maybe we can try and pry the door open with a knife or something.”

  “Fine,” said Jessica. She continued rattling and punching at the door’s handle, every second adding to her frustration.

  Mike entered the main kitchen and instantly caught a chill. The lack of soft furnishings, in addition to the metallic surfaces and appliances, made the room harsh and cold. But Mike knew that the chill running through his bones had nothing to do with the kitchen; it had a lot more to do with the fact that Sammie was sitting on the centre island, grinning at him while his little legs swung back and forth.

  “Hello, Michael.”

  Mike took a step backwards and flinched as his back hit the wall. “Sammie? We’ve all been looking for you.”

  Sammie smiled knowingly. “You for different reasons than the others, I think.”

  “W-what do you mean?”

  Sammie hopped off the work counter and planted his dirty feet on the tiled floor. “I get the impression that you have some sort of interest in me that goes beyond simply being my mother’s chauffeur.”

  Mike nodded. “That’s because you’re a very special boy, Sammie. Very special.”

  “Why, thank you for saying so, Michael. What a lovely compliment.”

  “My pleasure.”

  Sammie’s smile grew wider. “You seem nervous.”

  Mike shifted uncomfortably. “No, not nervous. Just tiredness, I think. I’ve been up all night. You have too, Sammie. You should really be in bed.”

  “Perhaps. I seem to have less and less need for sleep recently.”

  Mike nodded. “Sleeping is unnecessary for someone like you.”

  “Because I’m special,” Sammie stated. “I wonder just how special I can be.”

  “You have no idea,” said Mike.

  Sammie reached over the nearest workspace and slid something long and metallic across its surface. “Don’t I?”

  Mike’s breathing increased as Sammie stepped slowly towards him with the knife held out in f
ront of him. “W-what are you doing, Sammie?”

  Another step.

  The knife came closer.

  “What do you think I’m doing, Michael?”

  “I-I don’t know.”

  Sammie thrust the knife out at Mike. Mike yelled, the sound a strangled whimper.

  Then Sammie flipped the knife over and presented it, handle-first. “You came in here for a knife, didn’t you?”

  The air came out of Mike like a deflated balloon. “Yes, I did.”

  “You best get back to my mother with it then. You know how she can get.”

  Mike took the knife and felt a quick spark run through his wrist. “Of course,” said Mike. “Whatever you require, I am at your service.”

  Sammie giggled. “Excellent. Then I trust you will not tell my mother you’ve seen me. The night is endless and I wish to enjoy it a little longer. The moon is magnificent right now. I hear it singing to me.”

  Mike didn’t know what to say, so he laughed nervously.

  “I see nothing funny,” Sammie said, in a voice that was both soothing and angry at the same time. “Leave me in peace, Michael. Now!”

  Michael left Sammie alone in the kitchen, moving as quickly as his feet would carry him.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  “It’s almost nine-o-clock,” said Angela.

  She was now officially nervous. The fact that she was looking out of the bedroom window at a full moon when there should have been a morning sun was enough to frighten her on a deep, primal level. Human existence relied on certain constants: there would be air to breath, food to eat, and the sun would rise each morning. Delete one of those constants and things went terribly wrong.

  Tim came and stood beside her at the window. “This is bad, isn’t it? Like, horror-movie bad?”

  Angela nodded. Clearly something bad was at work in this house; something powerful and malevolent. One man was already dead and Angela feared it was only the start of something even worse. “I need to perform another exorcism,” she stated. “But this time I need to be more…aggressive.”

  “What do you mean?” Tim asked her.

  Angela walked over to her suitcase and pulled out her exorcism kit. From inside she pulled out a long, stiletto-like dagger. “There’s something called a blood exorcism. It is something that the church condones only in absolute emergencies – no official records have ever been kept. There hasn’t been one performed in over seventy years.”