There is nothing to fear, Hannah. Look at me...
Hannah hoped and prayed that her mother would come home, that anyone would come to save her.
But no one did.
She was alone, unprotected.
Hannah wondered if she would feel the pain before she died; if she would have a chance to scream before she felt the claws tearing at her skin and the fangs ripping at her flesh.
Long, unending moments passed in silence as Hannah remained there, cowering in fear, awaiting the inevitable. There was no escape. At last, her nerves could take no more. She would die of fright if she didn’t do something.
Slowly—very slowly—she opened her eyes.
There was nothing there.
Hannah gasped and let out the breath she had been holding. She sat up in bed and scanned the darkness.
The room was empty.
Come to me, my daughter...
Hannah jumped with fright. The voice—her father’s voice—came to her again. It was clear and vivid, but it hadn’t come from inside the room.
It came from somewhere outside.
“Father?” Hannah whispered. Her tiny voice quivered in the dark.
The witch is coming for you, Hannah. Come to me. Let me protect you...
Hannah wavered, her mind thrown into confusion. Could it actually be possible? What if it wasn’t a trick? What if it was her father?
She’ll come for you tonight, Hannah. She’ll get you unless you come to me...
Brushing aside her blanket, Hannah let her feet slowly drop to the floor. The planks were cold beneath her toes as she snuck to the bedroom door, heedless of her soiled nightgown. She lingered there for a moment, hand on the latch, ear pressed to the door, listening for sounds in the next room.
Silence.
With a deep breath, Hannah released the latch and pushed on the door.
The room beyond was painted with heavy shadows. Only embers remained in the stove, glowing like red eyes in the gloom. The cold brought goosebumps to Hannah’s flesh as she emerged from her bedroom. A gust of wind rattled the window and rooted her in place. Her eyes searched the shadows.
There was nothing there. The room was empty.
Hannah steeled her nerves and crept to the front door. She hesitated there for a heartbeat. What if it was a trap? What if something awful awaited her on the other side of the door? Something with sharp claws and long, long fangs?
Don’t be afraid, Hannah. I will protect you...
Hannah swung the door open.
The forest stood vast and sprawling before her. The wind was whipping itself into a fury, but deep in the shelter of the woods, a mist was forming in the crisp night air. It drifted between the trees, dancing green in the shards of moonlight that knifed through the skeletal boughs.
“Father?” Hannah’s whisper was snatched away instantly by a chilly gust of wind. “Father!” she cried again. Her voice echoed eerily through the trees and vanished into nothingness.
Hannah stood in the doorway, shivering in the silvery moonlight and waiting for a response. When she finally lowered her eyes, what she saw there turned her blood to ice.
She was casting two shadows.
She saw her own framed by the dim light spilling from the cabin. The black silhouette of her nightgown rippled in the wind. But there was another shadow by her side: tall and slender and unmistakable in its distinctiveness.
A chill crawled up Hannah’s spine like frost creeping up a windowpane. “Father?” she breathed softly. “Is that you? Are you truly here with me?”
I’m here, Hannah...
Hannah felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck. “Why can’t I see you?”
You must come to me...
“Where, Father? Where can I find you?”
The forest. You’ll find me there...
Hannah raised her eyes and gazed deep into the forbidding expanse of shadows and moonlit mist. She hesitated a moment longer, fighting back the fear that threatened to consume her. Then, shivering all over, she clutched her nightgown around her throat and stepped from the cabin.
The forest closed in around her, the tall pines enfolding her in their darkness. Hannah’s bare feet stumbled over roots and stones as she made her way, one fearful step after another, drawn ever deeper into the forest by her father’s kind and gentle voice.
That’s it, my daughter. Don’t be afraid...
The mist swirled and wrapped around her like a shroud. Sounds came to her from all directions, an ominous chorus of night creatures excited by her presence. More than once, Hannah thought she felt a hand brush against her bare flesh and a terrible chill shot up her spine. She whirled around. There was nothing there but endless mist. Tears sprung to her eyes. It was too awful, too frightening. She would die out here in these black and terrible woods. She would die here and no one would hear her frantic screams. And when it was all over, no one would ever find her.
“I’m frightened, Father,” she whimpered, fearful of what horrors the sound of her voice might attract.
Don’t be afraid, my brave little girl. Come to me. I’ll protect you...
Hannah fought back her tears and ran deeper into the forest, tripping through the underbrush, mindless of the sticks and thorns that tore and lacerated her feet and legs. Dark shapes lurked in the mist on all sides of her, but if they were trees, Hannah couldn’t tell. She closed her eyes to them and ran blindly, wanting only to find her father, to seek protection in his arms...
Suddenly, she stopped.
The forest had come to an end.
Panting breathlessly, Hannah found herself standing on a tall bluff overlooking the lake. Moonlight spilled down around her. Far below, the surface of the water shimmered like a galaxy of twinkling stars. The wind was merciless here, howling and lashing at her as it swept over the bluff into the empty void beyond.
A spark of recognition flared in Hannah’s mind. She knew this place; she had been here before. She looked up, into the bare boughs of a giant oak.
There—looming in the darkness high above the ground—was the watchtower.
Hannah gazed up at it, her heaving breaths streaming white in the night air. The children called it the treehouse. Built around the oak’s massive trunk, the decrepit shack was perched dozens of feet above the ground like a tiny house clutched in the palm of a skeletal hand. Its walls sagged at awkward angles, their planks green with moss and rot. Gaping holes were visible in a slanted roof that was blanketed with dead leaves and pine needles. An empty window looked out over the valley and the lake, guarding against a Native attack that would never come. A crumbling series of crisscrossing ladders climbed up to the shack from the ground. Even as Hannah watched, the ruined structure shuddered precariously under a strong blast of wind.
Go to it, Hannah. I’ve left something in there for you...
Mindless of the numbness in her cold and bleeding feet, Hannah went to the first ladder and began to climb. The rungs beneath her were slick and treacherous with moss and mildew. They creaked and sighed beneath her as she ascended, moving carefully from one ladder to the next. Higher and higher she went, her nightgown whipping and flapping in the wind. Below her, the autumn leaves swirled and skittered in small twisters across the dirt.
Hannah didn’t look down. The boys had all teased her when she had first come here with them. You’ll be too scared to climb, they had said. You’ll fall and break your neck.
Hannah had shown them that day. She had made it to the top and she could do it again now—as long as she didn’t look down.
My brave, brave little girl...
Hannah heard her father’s voice coming from above as she ascended the final ladder. Clinging to the highest rung with one hand, she reached up with the other and gently pushed at the rotting plank of the trapdoor.
Beyond the square hole, there was nothing but yawning blackness.
Hannah remained there, dozens of feet above the ground, clinging to the ladder and peering into the inky darknes
s. None of the children had ever ventured inside the watchtower. They had climbed the ladders, daring each other to see who could climb the highest. One courageous boy had even stolen a peek through the trapdoor.
But none had dared to enter.
It’s haunted, the boys had said. You’ll die if you go in there. The ghosts will get you and no one will find you again.
For a moment, Hannah’s courage failed her. She wanted nothing more than to retreat, to climb back down from this terrible place and race home to her mother.
Her father’s voice urged her on, dispelling her fears. Moving slowly, cautiously, Hannah pushed her way up through the trapdoor and crawled into the watchtower.
The stench of vermin and feces greeted her. Hannah covered her nose to keep from gagging and inched toward the fresh air of the open window. Moonlight streamed through the crooked rectangle. Gazing out, Hannah saw the shadowy giants of the mountains rising in a panorama around the valley. Their massive black shapes blotted out the stars along the horizon. Far below her, the lake was a great, glittering void. The vista was staggering and Hannah was suddenly overcome by dizziness. She turned away from the window.
A large timber axe leaned against the wall.
Hannah’s eyes fell upon it. Like the rest of the shack, it was old and rotting. But somehow, its sharp blade still shone brightly in the moonlight.
It’s mine, Hannah. Go to it. Take it into your hands...
Hannah hesitated. She didn’t dare move.
Take it, Hannah. It will protect you from the witch...
Hannah took a tentative step forward, like a marionette dangling from its strings. The decaying floorboards creaked and flexed dangerously beneath what little weight she carried. The walls groaned and shuddered around her.
Another step.
And another.
She reached for the axe.
That’s it Hannah. Feel it in your hands, my brave little girl...
Chapter 34
There were empty seats in the pews at Mass. Row after row of sturdy pine benches sat vacant as Carnes delivered his sermon. The few parishioners in attendance were women who had come to pray for Hannah Gill’s soul. The other villagers were all out searching for the missing girl.
Carnes’ voice sounded strange and hollow as it reverberated off the walls of the nearly empty chapel. As he brought his lackluster sermon to a merciful end, he blessed the handful of matrons and allowed them time to rise before escorting them to the door. He lingered there at the threshold with them, giving them his dutiful assurances that Hannah would be found. Then he opened the door and ushered them out into the street.
Left alone in the quiet solace of his chapel, Carnes swiveled on his heels and made his way up the aisle to the altar. His tread was weary and sluggish. He, too, had been up all night searching for something.
But not for Hannah Gill.
Carnes rubbed his bleary eyes and made an effort to rouse himself as he went to the vestry and divested himself of his vestments. A glance at the brass clock on the shelf told him he had a little less than fifteen minutes before he was supposed to meet Abigail Jacobs by the lake. He splashed a handful of cool water on his face from the washbasin and let it drip from his cheeks and nose. Moments later, he left the chapel.
A dense fog had descended sometime in the early morning. The deserted expanse of Main Street was now a dreary sea of gray and white. Heading south, Carnes could barely distinguish the bulky silhouettes of the buildings to his left and right. Ahead, the muddy lane was visible for only a few yards before it vanished into nothingness. It was as if the whole of the village had been snatched away overnight, leaving nothing behind but a vast, white wasteland.
With the fog had come an eerie silence as the townsfolk emptied the village in search of Hannah Gill. Carnes could now hear the occasional distant echo of a voice calling the missing girl’s name. The searchers had spread deep into the woods, having scoured the village and found nothing. There was miles and miles of forest to cover and the girl could be anywhere.
Carnes’ thoughts were dark and brooding as he crossed the outskirts of the village and made his way through the forest toward the lake. The fog was so thick here, it was almost suffocating. For a brief instant, Carnes became disoriented, lost in the white void, unable to distinguish the direction from which he had come. He came to a halt and turned in a slow circle until he caught the sound of the water lapping gently somewhere to his left. He went toward it.
Two shadowy figures materialized from the gloom and Abigail and Duncan turned at Carnes’ approach. Abigail held his copy of the Book of Enoch tucked under one arm. Behind where they stood at the water’s edge, only a few feet of shallow ripples were visible. The rest of the lake was cloaked beneath the thick veil of fog.
Carnes returned Abigail’s greeting and said, “You have heard about Hannah Gill?”
Abigail nodded. Her face was drawn and somber. She had offered to assist Colvin and Josiah in their search for the missing girl but Colvin had thought it wiser that she continue her research on the demon, Samael. He didn’t need to tell her that there were few who would welcome the help of the witch.
“Has there been any news?” Abigail inquired.
Carnes smoothed his beard and shook his head. “None. The last time anyone saw Hannah was when Sally Gill put her to bed before last night’s meeting. When she returned, Hannah was gone.”
Abigail shuddered imperceptibly. The girl’s disappearance was too eerily similar to her own childhood abduction. A mother put her child to sleep, only to return to an empty bed. It brought back too many painful memories of that fateful All Hallows’ Eve, memories that Abigail had fought long and hard to keep buried. Once again, she wished that she had been permitted to help in the search. It had even occurred to her that a divination spell might help to reveal Hannah’s whereabouts. But that sort of witchcraft would require the participation of the girl’s mother in a blood sacrifice the likes of which Abigail doubted Sarah Gill would find palatable. Besides, Abigail was also bitterly aware that the precise incantation required for such a spell was contained within the Book of Shadows that Carnes was keeping under his own lock and key.
“And the evacuation?” Abigail asked, despite the fact that she already suspected the answer.
“Postponed,” Carnes replied. “No one is leaving until we discover what happened to Hannah.”
Abigail frowned. Was the girl’s disappearance just a coincidence? Or was it part of some greater and more sinister plan to keep the villagers from abandoning the town?
“You don’t think that Hannah could have...” Duncan let the rest of his thought trail away. His voice was weary and his eyes were thin and bloodshot from the sleepless hours he had spent searching for the girl. For the moment, he had stolen away under the pretense of retrieving some maps, but he would soon be obliged to rejoin the search to avoid the suspicion of Heath MacIntyre.
No one answered Duncan’s question. As disturbing as the idea was, they were all wondering the same thing. Was Hannah Gill already dead?
“Did you find what you were looking for?” Carnes asked with a nod at the Book of Enoch clutched under Abigail’s arm.
“I did,” she replied. She was glad for the change of subject as she returned the volume to him. “Before he was cast down from heaven, Samael was known as the Angel of Death, a fearsome and loyal archangel who slayed men with poison at God’s behest. He was tasked by God to tempt and seduce humanity and to execute His wrath upon those who were found sinful and unrepentant. Many early Christians believed it was actually Samael who planted the Tree of Knowledge in Eden and seduced Eve into partaking of the forbidden fruit. Others think it was Samael who deceived Sarah of the Old Testament into believing Abraham had sacrificed their son, leading the poor woman to die of grief. However, modern pathology has taught us that it is impossible for someone to actually die of grief. I propose that Sarah’s grief at the loss of her son actually led her to suicide.”
Carnes’
pale eyes widened slightly. “That is quite a leap in assumptions.”
“Perhaps. But in light of the deaths here in Tahawus, is it only coincidence that Jed Hawes should invoke the name of a demon known to deceive and tempt innocents? Or could there actually be some truth to his words? Consider the possibilities. According to the Book of Enoch, Samael slays men with poison. But perhaps this is not to be taken literally. Perhaps the demon poisons the man’s thoughts and turns him against himself. Before Keenan died, he told me he heard O’Brennan telling him to save himself. That is why he broke the circle and ran; he was tricked into thinking he was saving himself from the familiars I had summoned. What if the voice Keenan heard was actually that of Samael, luring him to his own destruction?”
“Just as Samael is said to have done to Sarah in the story of Abraham and Isaac?” Duncan suggested.
“My thoughts exactly.” Abigail’s eyes were lit with excitement now. “As an archangel, it was Samael’s duty to test humanity on God’s behalf and to bring death to those that failed. Now that he has become a demon cast down from heaven, perhaps he continues in his grim duty not out of loyalty to God, but out of spite.”
Carnes stroked his beard as he peered at her. For a moment, there was only the eerie silence of the fog and the gentle lapping of the water against the rocks. “Very well, Ms. Jacobs,” he said at last. “I concede that what you are proposing is a possibility. But there remains one other problem with your theory.”
“What is it?” asked Abigail.
“According to what I learned last night from my study of apocryphal demonology, a demon cannot simply enter our world of its own volition. Even if you are correct about Lake Tear of the Clouds—that it is some sort of gateway to hell—God will see those gates locked until the end times of the Apocalypse come upon us.”
“When the gates shall open and hell shall spew forth its abominations and the dead shall walk the Earth?” Abigail interjected with a hint of sarcasm. “I’m sorry Mr. Carnes, but that is one part of the Bible that remains a myth. I have already seen the dead walk the earth with my own eyes.”
The Suicide Lake (Book of Shadows 2) Page 19
