Holding the cat snuggly against her side she set off for the stairs. That was when she noticed that the rope had been pulled back across. Jack had taken it down when they first went up there. It had been down when she ran past only now it was back up. Blocking her way. If only they had listened to the Duncan’s, and not gone upstairs, then maybe none of this would have happened.
That didn't matter it was too late for what-ifs now, all she could do was find Jack and get the hell out of here.
Unhooking the rope, she let it drop to the stairs. The heavy metal clip made hardly a sound as it sank into the thick carpet. Without hesitating, she walked past. Slowly but confidently she made her way up the stairs. She still held the phone in front of her, the camera on, recording everything that happened. This was no longer an adventure, but she still felt it was important that she document as much as she could. After all, the phone would be there even if she and Jack weren't.
This time she ignored how the carpet changed as she climbed the stairs. It was immaterial. Part of her understood that the house was decaying, that it was only kept in a livable state by the energy of the spirits. That it was probably much worse than it appeared but she didn't need to think of that now, all she needed to do was find Jack.
When she got to the top of the stairs, her heart sank. There at the side was the discarded torch, still on, and shining at the paint peeling from the wall.
"Jack, Jack where are you. Please just give me a sign."
Shelly turned around looking down both lengths of the corridor. Hoping for a sign, hoping for anything to tell her where he had gone. And then she saw it.
There were clear signs that somebody had been dragged across the carpet. Dragged down the hallway toward the room with the piano. There were deep scuff marks, where the rotted carpet had been pulled up and torn. Fear squeezed her chest and raised the hairs on her arms. As she stared at the carpet the light at the end of the corridor started to fade. Once more the corridor was longer than it should be and Jack was somewhere down there. Down that never-ending corridor. Did she have the courage to find him?
All around her came the sound of whispers. Sibilant sounds just at the edge of her hearing. She turned around, no one was there.
A scream came shrill in the night behind her.
She whipped around causing the cat to meow in her arm. With the phone held up as a weapon she let out a sigh of relief. No one was there. The lights dimmed more and more, she was plunged into darkness.
Had the scream been Jacks?
Outside the house, Nick stood in the darkness and watched as the lights flicked on and off, on and off. He could hear the whispers like the rustling of leaves on the trees or the crack of a stick in the forest behind him. They were threatening sounds, the sounds of a predator prowling, waiting, and planning. They sapped the strength from his bones and the courage from his heart. For a moment he turned around, this was not his fight, not anymore, maybe it was time to let go. Slowly he started to walk away, as he did, he became less substantial. Less visible. He knew that if he kept going soon he would be nothing but mist and there would be nothing, no one, to help the young couple.
Ignoring his fear, he turned back and walked slowly toward the house. He doubted he could get in this door, doubted he could do much to help, but he would be here waiting, watching as he had always done.
Jesse knew that Gail was angry with him. Mad because he had kept this from her, he also knew that she was excited and scared in equal measures.
"You should have told me," she said her arms crossed as she stared out the windscreen. Jesse was driving as fast as he could but it was hard to concentrate, and it would soon be dark. The chances are it was already dark at RedRise House. Things happen differently in a haunted property, time behaved differently, the couple would be scared, and he didn't doubt they were in danger.
"I know I should have... I didn't think they would get in. From everything I've read the owners of the house can't be found. With Matron gone it seemed foolish to believe that there would be much danger."
Gail laughed. "I guess we’ve made that mistake a time or two." She raised her eyebrows at him and gave him a smile.
Jesse nodded but turned his eyes back to the road.
"I promise, I'm never gonna say, this will be an easy job, again."
Gail laughed. "You do have a habit of jinxing them."
"I guess we should have visited the house before now. We knew there was activity there, we knew those kids needed peace. Maybe we should have made the time sooner."
"Yes maybe we should, but who would we have let down if we did? Margie, Mark, Donna, Joe, Paul, or Philip? These are all the people we have helped with genuine hauntings never mind all the ones that we’ve put their minds to rest because they weren't being haunted. We were going to get to the house, but the priority has to be where lives are at risk and from what we knew they weren't, not at RedRise, not then. So don't be feeling guilty for things we can't change. We know what's happening now... let's go there... let's help these two and then let's put those children to rest."
"Thanks, I needed that. Did I ever tell you how clever you are and how much I love you?"
"Ermmmm, now let me think... maybe you did once or twice, but I'm not gonna stop you doing it again."
She reached across and rubbed his shoulder. "It won't take us long to get there will it?"
"About another hour."
Gail sighed. "I hate to say this, but my gut tells me we need to hurry."
Jesse nodded and put his foot down a little harder on the accelerator. The roads were difficult, he had to be careful, but Gail was right they needed to hurry.
60
Shelly froze in the darkness and bit back a sob. Why had she come here? Why had she been so foolish?
The whispers surrounded her — they hissed like a wind of lies and deceit and came from every possible direction. She turned one way and the other trying to find the source of the sound, but it moved. It was always behind her. As she spun, she could swear she felt the splash of spittle on her neck. Batting at the air, she turned again. The whisper was so close. She felt the touch of lips on her ear. Hands flapping around her head, the phone caused sparks of light but showed nothing clearly. It was just a flash here and a flash there, showing shadows and empty corridors and so much darkness for something to hide in.
Turning and turning the panic rose inside her like a volcano bubbling to escape. As it reached its crescendo, her knees gave way. She sank to the floor. The carpet was damp, moist, and cold but she didn't care. Hugging the cat close to her she rocked and cried. Despite the fact that she had never been religious she prayed that she would escape this evil place. She prayed for Jack. How she wanted him there, wanted him next to her. Wanted to tell him how she felt and how stupid she was for putting him in danger. Only it was no use, she would die here. Jack was probably already dead.
Tears ran from her eyes and dripped down onto her hands. They were warm, and something about them gave her resolve.
The cat meowed again. Did it understand? Was it encouraging her to pull herself out of this? Shaking her head, she bit back the tears and swallowed. The whispers were still there, like rustling leaves in the lonely forest. She couldn't make out the words — it was like somebody trying to hide what they were saying.
"Shut up," she shouted into the darkness. "I came to help you. If you won't help me then shut up and get out of my way."
Putting the hand with the phone in it on the moist floor she gritted her teeth against the revulsion it caused. The carpet felt like wet skin that was skidding across bones. Forcing that thought from her mind, she pushed herself to her feet. Taking a long deep breath, she tried to still her heart. To calm the rushing blood that raced through her ears and drowned out all coherent thought. Nothing had changed, nothing could hurt her, she had to keep that in mind and search for Jack. That was all that counted.
"Jack. I'm coming for you, please just give me a sign." The words echoed down the hallwa
y, and the gloom lifted a little. She could see a few feet in front of her. Just at the edge of her vision, there were shadows. Misty shapes moved in and out of her field-of-view. There was nothing solid about them but occasionally she could spot a figure in the darkness. Then a face would appear contorted into a scream. Forcing herself to stay calm, to not jump, she walked toward the figures.
"Like I said, help me, or get out of my way."
The figures faded away, and the lights came back on. It was darker than it had been but she could see clearly. The corridor stretched out before her disappearing into the distance.
Her mind knew that couldn't be right. It had to be an optical illusion caused by the spirits, but it didn't matter, she could see. If she could see, she could find Jack.
Taking a shaky breath, she set off toward the room with the piano. The door had slammed in their face when they had heard the scream downstairs. She could see it was back open and she hoped that Jack would be there.
The door swung toward her as she approached it. Without thinking she put out her arm to stop it slamming shut. It touched her with some force but not enough to hurt, and she pushed it open again and peered inside. The piano stood there all alone. Just a relic, with chipped paint and moldy woodwork all alone in the center of a bare room.
Shelly pushed the door back even further and glanced inside there was nothing there, no one there. Disappointment was like lead on her shoulders, it didn’t matter, it was time to move on.
Pulling the door closed behind her she walked down the corridor to the next door which was on her right. It was open. She peered inside. As she did the temperature dropped, and her breath streamed out before her. She knew what this meant, spirit activity. It wasn't going to stop her, it wasn't going to make her fear, not now, not this time. This room was bigger, and she couldn't see it all from the doorway. As she tried to cross the threshold, the cat struggled in her arms leaping to the floor and darting away.
"Dammit no."
For a moment she hesitated in the doorway. The loss of the creature was a blow to her, but there was more. The cat was frightened of this room and so should she be. Letting out a sigh she almost laughed — she should be afraid of the whole damn house. Taking another long deep breath, she stepped into the room and noticed that it was even colder. It didn't matter, she crossed behind the door and looked around the mainly barren room. There was some furniture an old wardrobe, a bed that had seen better days. They were surrounded by darkness.
"Jack are you in there?"
Stilling her breath, she listened for any sign that he might be here. There was nothing, Even the whispers had stopped. Somehow the silence was even worse, but she shook it off and walked toward the door. Darkness coalesced there swirled swarming and swirling, and she was frightened to approach, but something else scared her more.
The bed, what was beneath or behind the bed?
She didn't know why but she felt that something hid there. That something dark was waiting and that once she approached it, all would be lost. The fear was so great that she froze on the spot, her legs wouldn't move, though she wanted to turn and run all she could do was stand there shaking.
"Stop this, dammit stop this."
Hearing her own voice helped and she took a step. As she did the shadow became more substantial it was a figure bigger than the children? This had to be an adult. One of the ones that were holding the children? She remembered the tales that Rosie had told of Matron. Fear was like a beast holding her back, crushing her down, forcing her knees to be weak, and her arms to fail. Only she wouldn't let it, she came here, it was her choice, and she would see this through.
"Get out of my way, or I will send you back to the hell you came from."
The sound of laughter wafted through the air behind her. She spun around. There was nothing there, no one there, as she turned back the mist had formed into the solid shape of a figure. Covered in a dark, heavy robe, the head bowed so she couldn’t see the face beneath the hood.
Her heart froze and missed a beat as the figure ran toward her throwing back its head. The hood fell away, and she let out a scream.
Beneath the hood was a skull the mouth twisted into a grimace of death.
Shelly tried to step back away, but her body wouldn't move, all she could do was close her eyes and brace for impact.
Jack jerked awake to the sound of chanting. Where was he? What had happened?
Flickering light did little to chase away the darkness. Shadows loomed across the stone walls like monsters stalking the perimeter. This was not the corridor he had been in. The room was too big and felt different, it felt like a cave. Fear sent a shockwave through him raising the hairs on his arms and tripling his heart rate. Terrified his head flicked left and right but no one was there.
He tried to sit up but his head ached, and his body felt bruised and battered. A wave of nausea had him slumping back down onto something hard and cold.
It felt like stone beneath him. Instinct told him he had to move and he tried to sit up again. The room spun, just like the time he drank too much and couldn’t get off the bed, he was forced to lay back down. For a moment he closed his eyes and listened. The sound of the chanting was getting closer. He couldn't understand what it was but thought it was Latin. Something about it turned his blood to ice and made him think of all the things he meant to do. Shelly, why hadn’t he asked her out?
There was no time for regrets, he had to get away before whoever was doing that chanting got here.
Once again he tried to sit, there was less pain, less nausea, but it was still too much. He flopped back down like a drunk or a ragdoll. There was no substance to his body, and for now, it wouldn’t support him.
Moving his hands, he explored the surface beneath him. It felt like a stone bench. The thought flashed through his mind, a picture from one of the movies that Shelly loved so much, of him lying on a sacrificial altar waiting for some occult priestess to offer him in supplication to a dark presence.
He pushed the picture aside, it left behind fear and desolation. Then he thought about Shelly. Where was she? Was she safe? Would she escape from here? It was enough to drive him to try again, and this time he managed to sit up. The pounding in his head compared to a jackhammer but he bit down on the bile that filled his throat and closed his eyes for a moment. The room stopped spinning or at least slowed down.
He swung his legs over the side and found his feet just reached the floor. It was too soon to stand, but it gave him a better view of the room.
They were four flaming torches, one on each wall. They cast little light and created shadows that bounced and flashed like gargoyles and demons hunting him down. Maybe this was just his imagination, maybe he was lying in the corridor, and maybe this was all a dream.
Something... sweat, was running down his neck and he reached up to find it was warm and slick. Blood. That had to be what the pain in his head was. Tentatively he searched with his fingers. They found matted, sticky hair and at the back of his head, he could feel a large lump and a gash within it.
A burst of fear flooded his arms with prickly heat and filled his stomach with grease. What if he needed stitches? There was no time to worry about that, no time for anything, for the chanting was getting closer and closer, somehow he knew that once they arrived, it was over for him.
The sound of footsteps on concrete could be heard below the chanting. Part of him wanted to shout at them to go away, to shut up, to leave him alone and part of him just wanted to run, but he couldn’t even stand?
He guessed it was time to try, so he eased himself along the bench. It was scratchy and cold against his butt and legs. He ignored the discomfort and the wave of nausea, hitching forward until his feet were more solidly on the floor. Using his hands to lever, he took his weight and was pleasantly surprised that his knees didn't buckle beneath him.
The chanting was getting closer. He had to move now. Quickly he checked his pockets, there was no phone, and he had dropped the torch in t
he corridor. There had to be doors to this room, had to be a way to escape but he couldn't see it. So he staggered away from the table toward the closest flame.
The flickering light was disconcerting. It flashed before his eyes creating darkness and light that was hard to see through, but it was all he had.
When he reached the wall, he pulled the torch from the sconce it was resting in and held it above him. Another wave of nausea buckled his knees. Biting down on his lip steadied him. He had to stay upright. Had to get out of here before... before they arrived and it was too late. There was one door that he could see directly to his right. The only problem was the chanting and footsteps were coming from that direction.
Holding the light out in front of him, he stumbled across the room searching for another exit. Searching for anything. For somewhere to hide, for some way of escape but there was nothing to see. The room looked like it had been carved out of rock and he imagined it was underneath the house. He walked to the furthest wall and put his hand on it. It was cold and slick with water but it was solid, there was no way through. If this was a dream it was realistic so how could he get out of here?
Bit by bit he circumnavigated the edge of the room, looking for something anything that could help him. The only thing he had was the torch. Maybe he could use it as a weapon, maybe he could escape by hitting the intruders when they came but there sounded like a lot of them, and his strength was already fading.
He had the urge to sit down and to let them come. Maybe even to go back to the altar and to lie in wait. Then this would be over, and he could rest. Only he couldn't do that, he couldn't let Shelly down. She was out there alone and terrified. He had to save her.
Inspired and given new strength he walked further around the dark, dank room, looking, searching, hoping for anything to help but there was nothing. Then he heard a hand on the door and knew that his captors were here, knew that his life would soon be over. Turning he faced the door with the torch as his only weapon, he wouldn't go down easily.
The Ghosts of RedRise House Page 34
