Wendy's head bobbed up and down rhythmically as Bleak's chest expanded and deflated. Her hand, numbed, was lodged under his abdomen. She didn't care. She winced as she felt a sting under her wrist. When Bleak stirred and opened his eyes, he gasped before taking in his surroundings.
"Jesus, it's dark in here," he said.
"My hand," Wendy winced again.
"Oh." Bleak rolled to the side and Wendy slipped her hand out, sighing in relief and lifting the limp limb to her stomach. She gave it a few shakes.
"Sorry," Bleak said.
"No," she said. "I didn't mind."
"Why were you awake?"
"Couldn't sleep," she said.
"This whole time?"
"Huh?"
"You couldn't sleep this whole time?"
She ignored his question. "Do you want to sit on the veranda?"
"What?"
"Let's--"
"Why?" Bleak said, not hiding his confusion.
Wendy tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I don't know. I need some fresh air. We've been inside too long."
"But it's not safe."
"The field isn't safe," she corrected him. "The veranda's fine."
None of it's safe, he thought. He didn't seem convinced but found himself already rising up from their makeshift bed on the floor. "Okay," he sighed.
They left the parlor and tip-toed their way to the front door. They walked slowly with their arms out like zombies, Bleak leading and Wendy gripping his cotton sweater. When Bleak felt the door, he found the knob and twisted it with ease. The door creaked open and they stepped outside. Bleak propped a chair against the door to make sure they couldn't be locked out.
Wendy closed her eyes and sniffed at the cool air, feeling liberated for a fleeting moment. For a moment she was a free girl again, running across the street to Eldridge High and laughing with Bleak in class. Then it was gone.
She was a prisoner at Ashmore again. To be free again, she thought in despair. What I'd give to be free again.
Bleak wrapped his arms around her from behind, and Wendy flinched.
"What are you thinking about?" Bleak asked.
"I want to leave this place." It was such an obvious answer, but she really wanted that more than anything in the world. To leave. To run off this veranda, pass the fields, and find the block that welcomed her home. Home, she thought longingly. Was it the four walls she'd known her whole life? Did that define a home? Not exactly, she decided. But home meant knowing that she was free to come and go as she pleased. Ashmore was no home, it was a prison cell.
"We will," Bleak said, his arms closing tighter around her stomach. He couldn't know that, she knew, but she relished the faith anyway. To be peacefully sitting outside the school yard, or to watch the classroom from afar (she lived across the street from Eldridge High and was close enough to see, but not hear, her teacher's lectures from her bedroom window) and see Bleak wagging his hooded head obliviously to whatever music played in his head. Probably Radiohead. Wendy smiled. Her focus was sharpened again to the hazy lawn of the house. The moon was hidden behind smudgy clouds.
"I love you," Wendy said automatically.
Bleak smiled behind her. "You've never told me that."
"Really?"
"Positive. I'd remember."
"Well..."
There was a silence, and Bleak was still grinning.
"Well," she started anxiously. "Do you love me back?"
He held her tighter. "I haven't thought about it lately."
She frowned. "You haven't thought about it?"
"That's not what I mean, I mean with everything--"
As Wendy turned away from Bleak, the door burst open. They saw Victoria move to the fence, vibrating in fear, her eyes pale marbles of terror.
"What happened?" Wendy said, unhooking Bleak's arms from her waist.
Victoria seemed hesitant about answering. Should she tell anyone? And if so, should she wait to tell Ashley first? No, she decided, Ashley may be in danger already. And she wasn't going to let her die needlessly like Emily had. Like Icarus probably had.
She tried not to cry as she spoke. "I think Abner is here," she said. "With us."
***
Ashley sat, because she couldn't stand, while Victoria told her and the others what she'd heard. The others were gathered around the sitting room in silence while she spoke.
"I did hear some noise from my room," Winston said.
"But," Ashley stammered. "I don't remember any of it."
"Wouldn't make a difference," Geo said. "Those things can happen. And if you're asleep when it does, you wouldn't feel a thing. I mean, it's like sleep-talking, except..."
"You're saying I was possessed by a demon?" Ashley touched her forehead.
"We didn't say that," Victoria said.
"But that's what you mean," Ashley finished, her voice a ripping fabric.
"What Vicky's saying is that we should be extra careful," Kevin's deep voice loomed over the rest.
"Careful, how?"
"We'll keep a closer watch on Ashley at night. See if she acts up again."
Ashley looked down, mouth agape, tears welling up in her eyes.
Sasha spoke up. "But who's to say this...possession can only happen to Ash? We're all in danger."
"She's right," Mike said.
"Well then," Victoria stood. "We'll all be extra careful. Maybe we can sleep in shifts."
Kevin rolled his eyes--more for rebellious effect, because deep down he knew that she'd made the right call. They discussed what exactly was happening in the house. They knew about Abner Ashmore and his brother, about the girl he was driven to murder for. But other than what they'd heard through the grapevine, they had no other leads. Who knew if any of that stuff was even true? Why, for instance, were all the adults so afraid of even mentioning Abner Ashmore? Did they know something that the younger kids didn't? Victoria wondered if the house itself had hidden within it some sort of clue. It had to. She'd found that white dress earlier, so there must be other items that were left behind. Something that could help them solve this mystery.
Victoria left the room and went back upstairs. Ashley offered to accompany her, but Victoria declined. It had nothing to do with being afraid of her, she convinced herself. She just needed to do this alone. But she knew she was lying to herself. She was afraid of Ashley now. Afraid of her own best friend. Now when she looked at her, she could only see that horrible grin and the swelled-shut eyes. The malignant voice and the rolling head, veins bulging at her neck's side.
That wasn't her, Victoria's mind objected.
She retrieved a flashlight from Kevin's room and searched the corridor upstairs from end to end. Perhaps they missed something earlier in their exploration. For a while she found nothing new. Then, behind the stairs, she saw a large red curtain. She swung it aside. There were two doors that looked heavy and staid, like bouncers at a club. She tried the handle. To her surprise, they were unlocked. She slipped her head into the room and found it pitch black. It looked eerie in the dark, void of any life. She turned on the flashlight and searched the room in spasms, moving in waves over what looked to be dusty wooden pews. It looked like a chapel. As she stepped in, Victoria came across a bible that was opened sloppily atop one of the pews. She looked closer and saw that it was turned to the book of Psalms. For how long? she wondered chillingly. How long has this page been open for? Years? Decades? The thought disturbed her.
She read a random passage.
"Oh God, whom I praise, do not be silent, for wicked and treacherous mouths attack me. They speak against me with lying tongues; with hateful words they surround me, attacking me without cause. In return for my love they slander me, even though I prayed for them. They repay me evil for good, hatred for my love."
She dropped the book hard when she heard something fall near the altar. Her flashlight swirled to the right and held in place. She waited for a moment until a black rat raced for the back of the room, its silhouette like a dancing candle wick on the wall.
Treacherous mouths attack me, she thought. I feel your pain, Psalmist. Her legs carried her behind the altar, the floorboards wailed and dust puffed up from each step. She looked up at the statue of Jesus on the cross. It was life size. The messiah's face was a pasty white, his eyes the same pale skin color. His hair was long and chipped in places. By the look of it, Victoria felt that she could snap the weak-looking porcelain statue if she tried.
Why was there a chapel here? she wondered. Was Abner religious? Or the couple he murdered? She couldn't imagine Abner making any good use of this room.
She walked back to leave the room when her flashlight caught glance of something on the floor. It was a paper; it had fallen from the Bible when she'd dropped it. The note was folded and Victoria knelt down to pick it up. She unfolded it. The creases were deep and sharp.
She read the top.
My Dear Sebastian--
Victoria stopped and looked up slowly. Sebastian? Abner's brother? She lowered her gaze after a moment and continued to read.
My Dear Sebastian,
Especially on evenings like these do I feel the dread that comes from your absence. Has it really been only ten days? Unimaginable. Though I must be strong for twice the length of torture I endured this past week, I fear that I'm not able.
When I put this ink to use, I can imagine you lingering above me, reading my words aloud. In my former letter, I saw a droplet of ink seep into the side of the paper and was convinced, if only for a moment, that it was your tears landing strong on the page. I remember turning quickly to find that I was wrong. And I was alone again.
When shall you return, my love? I know the date, yet days are not days when you're gone. They become years. And months become too long to bear. You'll be gone a month, and I will age thirty years until you return. Until then, I will do my best to take good care of the house.
The house is well. Abner is, as expected, still behaving strangely. Since your father passed away (forgive me for bringing it up again), I don't think he's been the same. I suppose that's normal.
Regardless, things are okay. And I am happy. Believe me that I am. When you asked me to marry you, my whole world came together. We were meant for each other, Sebastian. I know it with all of my heart. I long, with a dripping pain in my chest, for us to be united as one again. I know you do, too. Our love is a masterpiece. Our love cannot be marred.
Hurry home, lest I die.
Love,
Evelyn
Victoria lowered the letter. Some parts of it didn't make sense to her, but Victoria would discuss it with Ashley later. Where had Sebastian gone? And in what ways was Abner acting strangely? She reminded herself not to forget to ask the others. Right now, she just wanted to get out of this room. She realized how cold the room was, and shivered as she made her way to the door, the bright light of the flashlight bobbing on the ground.
Then she heard a noise. A low groan. She didn't know whose it was, but it was a woman's voice.
"Vicky," she heard from behind her. Like a whisper. Her muscles turned to stone.
"Vicky."
"Who's there?" she said, turning.
"Vicky," the voice said again.
It wasn't in her head like last time. It was coming from the altar. Victoria wanted to run away but found herself walking towards the noise. What the heck am I doing? she thought. But on she walked. She passed the lonely pews and the Bible she had dropped earlier, and stood before the altar. Behind the podium, she saw a small pool of...something. Too dark to be water.
No, it's blood.
Victoria felt fear nibble her insides as she raised her neck, despite the cold tickling in it. From her neck to her spine she felt the hairs rise like balloons being inflated.
She only glanced at the cross for a split second, and then she fell and her hands splashed over the pool of blood.
God, no. No, no-no. Shit! Shit... Impossible. Impossible. Why wasn't she sprinting away? she wondered. On the cross, Jesus wasn't there. No, she didn't see Jesus when she looked up.
Victoria saw her mother.
She looked again. They made eye contact, and when they did, her mother blew her a kiss. She hung on the cross, naked, bleeding from her groin. The blood dripped into the larger puddle on the ground. There were large nails holding her thin body up by her hands and legs.
And her mother was smiling. A wide, plastered grin. Her dark brown hair was greasy and hanging adhesively against her breasts.
"Hi, honey," the porcelain statue said in a cordial voice. "Could you help me down?"
Victoria felt her body rack like snapping branches. She stood frozen in place, her mouth a hanging hole.
"What's wrong, baby?" The woman's head swiveled, her hair following her pale, sweaty face like a flaccid tail. She spread her thighs wide, her vagina covered by a crop of thick hair. "Don't you like my pussy? It's bloody for you."
Between her next breath, the blood from the statue's vaginal area sprayed violently over Victoria's shirt and pajamas.
Victoria cried and maniacally wiped the blood off her hands. Somehow, it had already dried on her palms, like a remindful tattoo.
"Oh my God!" Victoria screamed.
"What is it, honey?" her mother said, looking concerned. "You don't like it? I thought you would. I'm your mother. I thought you missed me. You don't miss me?"
Victoria couldn't speak. Her brain knew no language for a moment.
"My own daughter doesn't miss me!" the statue screamed. "My bitch daughter doesn't miss me! And she won't even lick my bloody cunt! What good daughter wouldn't?!" The clay statue began to laugh, and her eyes became pale white. Sickly purple veins were bulging all over her body. Vicky felt like throwing up. She stood without strength and caught her balance on the podium behind her.
"Don't leave me," mother said. "I'm sorry."
"Shut up," Victoria huffed, feeling faint.
"Why don't you miss me?"
"Shut up!"
"Lick my cunt! Lick it, honey! It's tasty, I promise! Suck my tits!"
Victoria lifted the small, wooden podium and swung it hard into her mother's waist. A chunk of the porcelain statue smashed to pieces on the ground.
"Oww," the statue cried. "I'm already dead, don't kill me again. Remember how I died? "
"You're not my mother!" Victoria cried.
"If I wasn't your mother, how could I possibly know that you enjoy licking my cunt?"
The statue's laughter rose again. She began flicking her tongue wildly at Victoria, spreading her legs wider.
"What do you want from me?" Victoria asked, her voice a wisp of drained energy.
"I already told you," mother said. "It starts with..."
"Don't waste my time, Abner."
"Abner?" her mother feigned confusion. "Who's Abner?"
"You," Victoria said. "You're Abner. You're not my mother!"
"Suck my nice--"
"Shut up!"
"You got me-I'm Abner. I thought you would fall for my trick. I know how much you loved your mother's cunt."
The statue still resembled her mother in appearance, but her voice was deep like the heavy echo of a drunk man in an alley.
"I'm not going to let you hurt me," Victoria pressed her eyes shut. "You can't hurt me. You can't hurt any of us. This is all mental. A mental game."
"Too late for Icarus and Emily! Too late! Too late!" The statue's laughter grew so loud that Victoria wondered how anyone else in the house hadn't heard.
"But not anymore. We have our guard up now," Victoria said.
"Wrong. Wrong-wrong-wrong! Go see downstairs. Go see!"
Victoria stumbled over the fallen podium and looked back at the statue.
It was Jesus again. The broken chunk was still missing where Victoria had crashed the podium.
She bolted out and rushed downstairs. Bleak and Wendy were the only pair occupying a room in the first floor; the others apparently had already retired to their rooms upstairs. She saw Bleak emerge from the dining room with a glass of water.
"Where's Wendy?" Victoria cried.
Bleak nodded to the parlor. "Asleep," he said.
Victoria ran to the parlor door and jiggled the door handle.
It was locked. Victoria could hear Wendy on the other side of the door. The door was thick, but she heard it.
Wendy's muffled screams.