Ghosts of Black Bear Mountain, page 32
part #1 of Middwood Series
My ass hit the floor as Peter slammed the door between Joshua and us.
It took me a second to orient myself. "What?" was all I could say, while I stared at Peter. "What just happened?"
His eyes and mouth were wide as he shook his lower jaw. "I don't know! I tried it again, and it opened."
"How did you open—"
I noticed the light-purple walls, oak furniture, and a single bed covered in a solid purple quilt.
We were in the locked room, the secret room on the left. "How did you—"
My eyes fell on a picture frame that set on a light oak dresser. I moved to it and picked it up. The frame held a photograph of a beautiful young woman with shoulder-length hair. “The woman from my dream.” I whispered. “Sarah, this is Sarah's bedroom."
It had to have been her. Before Turtle revealed her true ghost form she was just a sweet little girl. The resemblance between Sarah and Turtle was remarkable.
A heavy chop boomed into the door, breaking my reverie and causing me to jump.
The second slash came with such force it splintered through the upper left corner.
I marveled in terror at the supernatural strength Joshua Johnson had to break through the dense wood. Then he started hacking into the middle of the door near the frame.
Horrified, I realized what he was doing. "He's cutting away the wood around the hinges." He would be inside the room in minutes.
I rushed to the dresser. "Peter, help me brace the door."
Peter's shoulders and neck strained as we pushed the barrier into place. "I wish we had that devil painting."
"Why?"
"Because if something bad happens, you are supposed to hide in the bathroom!"
"What?"
"It's another unofficial rule—" Peter gasped. "What is that? There's a window!"
"What win—"
The door disintegrated into flying chunks of splintering wood, revealing Joshua Johnson.
I held my breath.
Somehow, my heart pounded even faster. It was deafening. I wanted to scream because there was nothing else I could do but wait.
The dark stirred.
The killer stepped into the light, like death breaking through a grave.
71
Joshua kicked the dresser. It crashed into me.
Everything seemed to slow down as I flew backward and collided with Peter, sending his smaller frame soaring. He grunted as he landed on the bed and bounced off, then hit the floor. I fell on my backside as the frame shattered, rose into the air, and peppered me. I watched as the frame spiraled across the room until it bounced off the window.
I couldn't see what Peter was doing, but I heard him gasp. I wanted to ask if he was all right, but my concern came out as a whimper. I couldn't look away as Joshua entered the room with his ax.
I lay on the ground, but I needed to move.
Joshua chopped downward. I pushed away, and the blade landed between my legs.
Joshua seized my foot with one hand and yanked me to him. I grabbed at the floor, but his strength was unnatural. He jerked me off the ground like the nothing I was to him.
He held me with his left arm, and he lifted the ax with his right. He gave me a sharp shake. It was like the wanted to make sure I was awake, so I could see what was coming.
I was paralyzed with fear as he held his shining ax less than an inch away from my cheek. He slid his blade into my skin. Blood dripped onto my exposed neck. I trembled in terror that was far worse than the pain.
"There are two more!" Peter shouted. "There are two more ghost children outside!"
Joshua’s hood looked to the window. I crumpled to the floor as Grace and Turtle phased through the unbroken glass with a shriek.
I didn't wait to see what was next. I had barely survived a single encounter with one of the brothers or the two sisters, but three of them together was an entirely different situation. Pushing all thought out of my head, I twisted around and grabbed Peter by the back of his collar and lugged him over the bed. I could hear him choking, but he could forgive me later. Peter kicked his legs to scoot closer to me. He pulled at his collar, so I grabbed his hand, lifted him up, and we bolted down the hallway, but Peter stopped.
I pulled at him. "Come on!"
"The painting." He flung open the hall closet, reached inside, and held the painting to his chest.
Screams clawed out of the bedroom at the end of the hall, stabbing at my spine like ice picks.
Joshua was thrown from Sarah's room and slammed into the door of the Tomb. The screams escaped the bedroom in blue light as the girls launched themselves at Joshua. They snatched him in a blur and returned to the room. The sound of breaking glass followed the frenzy of the commotion.
"They're fighting over us like a pack of hungry animals."
"Fuck, I don't know what to do," I spat.
We could go downstairs, but there was nowhere to hide.
"What are we waiting for!"
"Peter, wait!"
The front door rocked.
"He's run around," Peter said.
Grace and Turtle stepped out of the second bedroom.
I shouted, "You've got to be kidding!"
* * *
Even with the girls stalking toward us and another ghost at the door, I couldn't help but stare at the painting.
* * *
Peter moved in front of me. He knelt and placed the devil painting on the hardwood floor between the ghost sisters and us. “Eat this, bitches!”
The ghosts continued.
Nothing happened, and my heart sank.
I began to move, but Peter held out his arms for me to stay put.
It shifted.
I swallowed.
The image of the devil spun and slid toward the girls.
Grace and Turtle regarded the painting but kept moving toward us.
The reds swirled into the black as the painting melted, becoming a black puddle in the hall. The dark pool boiled and a wail rose from a deep place far below the first floor.
The banging on the door stopped.
The girls stopped.
Peter ran back to me.
"What's happening?" I asked.
The shriek, from whatever depths it flew from, was sharp and moved fast.
A dark, slimy, claw pierced the breach of the bubbling paint, and I jumped back. "Oh, my God!"
Sulfur and char filled my nose. I covered my ears as the echoing scream rushed outward. A black, dripping arm, rippling with lean muscle, cut through the filmy fluid. Long, thin fingers stretched and stabbed into the hardwood and flexed as it pulled itself out of the tar-like liquid. The head of the creature emerged. My eyes couldn't comprehend the demon. It looked like a bat, a wolf—hell itself. It had glowing orange eyes and long, black, razor-sharp teeth.
Fear.
My thoughts were broken. There was no logic.
Fear.
"Oh, Jesus. Please." Tears formed in my eyes.
The ghost girls cried out. I couldn't tell if they were challenging it or afraid of it.
"Go. Go!" I shouted at them.
"What are you—?" Peter questioned.
The creature flipped its orange eyes on us.
"Oh, fuck." I backed into the corner of the wall.
Peter threw out his arms in front of me.
The girls rushed the demon. It whipped around to face them with a roar.
Grace and Turtle bolted down the hall, and the devil creature pursued them, cutting into the house with its spiked talons, every swift motion moving it forward.
"What was that thing?" I murmured frantically.
Boom.
The front door shook.
"We've gotta get into that other bedroom."
"On it." Peter ran down the hall, checking the other bedroom first. He gave me a thumbs up that the room was clear. He knelt down and got to work.
Bangs erupted against the door.
I glanced into the bathroom. A weapon, any weapon, I thought. There was nothing but pill bottles and my cereal bowl. I grabbed the bowl. It was the only thing with weight.
The door cracked.
"Hurry, Peter!"
"I'm working! It's different under pressure."
I clutched the bowl to my chest. Pain built in me. It was a new kind of pain, a sort of surrender, an acceptance. Tears formed in my eyes. I didn't feel weak. I couldn't pass that judgment on myself. Humans weren't meant to face these forces.
The front door crashed inward. I jumped back from the surge.
Joshua Johnson walked in. His face hidden, but he was bowed, heaving with anger.
I looked down the hall to Peter, bravely working on the door. He was a strong kid. I was glad I got to meet him.
The ghost's worn boots sprinted up the stairs.
Gripping the green bowl, I thought of my Rose-Mary Grand. The thought of her smile warmed me. I knew I would be with her soon.
72
Joshua continued his rush. I pulled the bowl back and threw as hard as I could.
The jadeite bowl disappeared under the monster's hood, and Joshua's head snapped back.
I froze.
He staggered and fell down the stairs.
I ran down the hall to the Tomb. "Hurry up. I don't know how much time we have."
Peter focused on the lock. "What did you do?"
"I threw a bowl at him."
"Hmm," he grunted and kept working.
Heavy-soled boots bounded up the stairs.
"One more second."
Joshua Johnson rounded top of the stairs and raced down the hallway.
"Peter!"
"Got it!"
The door opened, and I pushed Peter in.
"Close it!" Peter shouted running to the farthest corner.
My fingers weren't cooperating.
"Christian, shut the door!" he pleaded.
Green light shot past me, and the bloodwood slammed. I jumped to lock it.
"Holy shit! It worked." Peter shouted.
"Peter, help me block this thing!"
Peter nodded and grabbed the bed, and we shoved it across the door, barricading us in.
We stepped back. As I held my breath in the bottom of my chest, waiting, I noticed the room pushed in on us. It felt smaller than before, tighter. The single lightbulb burning with its tungsten yellow confirmed how artificial the room felt.
There was nothing but tension and silence.
"Why isn't he breaking down the door?"
"Shh!"
I crept to the wall that ran along the hall and placed my ear to it.
After several minutes, "I don't hear anything."
"The golem chase them off?"
"Golem?"
"The thing that came out of the painting."
I gestured for him to stop. "Are you all right? Are you hurt?"
He kept his eyes locked on the door, listening. "I'm fine."
Neither of us were fine. Neither of us were safe, but we were alive.
A rustle behind us from outside the house made us both whirl around. It was like a restless wind, but it grew from being merely eerie to the crushing and breaking of brush, branches twisting and popping.
Peter moved to the center of the room.
I followed him. "Is that the ghosts?"
We both stood still and watched the walls where the windows once were, long before the town went insane, before four children killed their parents.
I glanced at the bloodwood door. I wanted to run. I didn't care where. "Maybe they are all out front, and we could—"
"Christian? What are you thinking?"
"We could run to your truck and haul ass."
"Christian, are you crazy? Where?"
"Your magic house. Look, I know what the rules say, but—"
"We can't open the door. They're outside. They're just trying to trick us. This is the safest—"
"We're not safe," I scoffed. "Something is wrong. Something is different."
"This is where you're supposed to go."
"Exactly, this is where you're supposed to go. Now we're in here and it gets quiet."
"Mr. Christian going out at night is one thing, but driving at night? Cars have lights, and they're loud. There are more things to worry about in Middwood than just the ghosts—"
I held up my hand stopping him. "Don't. Just don't. I can't take any more fucked up things in the backwoods." I readied myself and grabbed the doorknob. "I'm going to peek into the hall—"
Peter pushed me away. "Get your mitts off that. He has an ax. We are not leaving this room. There's no way in hell I'm going—"
BOOM!
The foundation shifted and rocked beneath our feet.
Everything slowed as fear spread in Peter's eyes. His arms shot out as the floor beneath him broke away. His mouth formed words, and from the strain in his face and neck, I was sure they were shouts. But I only heard a distance cry. I lunged for him, catching one of his hands as the inner concrete walls of the room crashed in around us.
I had him and I would not let him go. The boy's faith in my determination showed on his face. His mouth was speaking unheard words, but I knew he trusted me, and his belief in me made me stronger.
"Hold on," I pleaded, the words sounding as if I were underwater, as I thrust my other arm toward him. My fingers clutched at his. I had him. I just needed another inch to get a firm grip.
A second explosion tore through the house.
His hand slid out of mine. My insides turned to liquid as our fingers slipped past each other.
"Peter!" I cried out in raw anger.
I laid flat, searching for him, trying to pierce through the black billowing smoke.
I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. I turned in time to see the bloodwood slab of a door fall from its frame and crash into me.
The Tomb’s floor collapsed, and I fell.
73
My ears and head rang dizzyingly.
I tried to think, clear my head, but the air was filled with smoke. If the flames didn't get me the fumes would. I tried to reposition myself, to push whatever was on me off, but it was no use. I struggled to find enough air to cough.
I feared death even though it had always surrounded me. My family was cursed to hold its blessed hand, but it was I who watched those around me get ripped away, which was its own form of torture. I prayed that God would let me pass quickly. I always wanted to go fast, not enter hell through the smoke.
Someone stepped through the fire.
"Over here!" I shouted.
Isaac, the ghost child, approached me.
"The fire will cover it all," he said.
Exhausted and broken, I didn't have the will to fight. "If you've come for me, then take me. Just get it over with."
Tears filled my eyes from deep sadness. "Are you here because I am about to die?"
Isaac knelt and extended his hand. "We don't have much time."
I hesitated but reached up and took his swollen dead hand.
I woke up. I was on an old, worn area rug laying across an unfamiliar, worn wood-plank floor. There was no consuming fire or lack of air. I was safe, but I didn't know where I was.
A vehicle roared, closing in from a distance.
A child's voice said, "Someone is pulling up."
There was a gentle crinkle of light fabric. I raised my head and saw Isaac peering out a large window.
"It's probably just Grandpa Frank," said Turtle. She sat on the rug playing with blocks. The little ghost child I'd first met, beautiful blonde hair and rosy cheeks were no less than three feet away from me.
"Nope. It's not him." Isaac said, facing the room. "It's all right. It's just Mr. Bankward."
"The banks are closed today. Why would the bank come out here on a Sunday?" asked Grace, stepping into the living room from the kitchen. I was so close I pulled back my hands to keep her from stepping on them. She moved next to Turtle, placing her hand on her little sister's shoulder. "Joshua!" Grace called. "Is he going to take us away?"
A shadowy figure moved toward the living room from the hallway directly across from where I lay. My heart rate picked up.
As Joshua entered the light, he lifted his arms and his sweatshirt above his head. He slid the sweatshirt over his head, concealing his face. Only his lower stomach was exposed. He walked past me and pulled at the bottom of his sweater.
He tussled his little brother's hair. "No one is taking us anywhere. This is our house. Even with mama and daddy gone, it's still ours, that's what Grandpa Frank said." Isaac smiled up at him. "Now everyone keep quiet, and I'll talk to him."
Isaac smiled. "Like diddy?"
"Yes, like dad," Joshua replied and made eye contact with each of the other children. And for the first time I saw him—Joshua Johnson. He wasn't the hard-faced killer I imagined, but rather a handsome boy. He had dark, wavy hair and dark brown eyes that did their best to hide his concern.
I hesitated, then held my hand up to Joshua. His eyes looked through me like I wasn't there. I spun my head to Grace, waving my arms in front of her. "Can you see me?"
No response.
I stood, but none of the children noticed me. I followed Joshua when he went outside onto their porch.
Joshua stood. His stance was wide and his arms were crossed. He glared at Bankward through the windshield of his car. "What can I do you for?"
Bankward sat in the car for a moment longer. When he exited the vehicle, I moved behind a porch post. I wanted something between the vile man and me.
Bankward approached with a slight bow but kept his eyes on the boy. "Good afternoon, Joshua."
"What can I do you for?" Joshua repeated.
"There is no need for that tone, young man—"
"I say there is. Grandpa Frank—"
Bankward cut him off. "Son, you lost your mother and father. I just came to check on you, is all."
A second car pulled into their driveway.
"Why is there another car?"
"Son, the church always reaches out to families in times of need."
Two men got out and walked over to stand behind Bankward.
My eyes narrowed. It was the pharmacist, Bill Self, and the pastor, Gresham.
