Sometime in the night, the trembling house came to rest, and so did its tenants. They slept on their life rafts, afraid of the spiders and whatever else could be lurking below; Poole, Malcolm, and Owen on the couch, Teddy on her island of a table. Though hers was likely the least comfortable place for sleeping, she slept the deepest of them all. With the spiders banished back to the shadows, and the malevolent force quieting too, the supernatural darkness felt less like a void and more like a warm, black blanket, covering her with its loving weight.
The next morning, she woke first. Sunlight burst through a gap in the heavy curtains, burning her eyes and revealing the destruction leftover from the night's events. Picture frames were titled, or had fallen entirely to the ground, their glass faces broken. Chairs had keeled over, knick-knacks were scattered. The front door was barricaded by thick weaves of web that sparkled in the morning light. Her friends were huddled on one sofa, sleeping stiffly with expressions of discomfort and leftover anxiety on their faces. The scene was proof that last night had happened, exactly as she remembered it. It wasn't another ultra-vivid dream.
She thought about the spiders, how they seemed to disperse the moment she willed them to. She wondered how she'd done it, or if she'd really done anything at all. Somehow she knew she had though—it was as illogical as everything that happened in this house.
Thornewood House was governed by the unnatural. Its laws were nonsensical, yet firm as the laws of physics. Here, up was down, dark was light . . . but also, dark was a void and a warm blanket at the exact same time. The house was small, but it contained an entire world within its walls. There was a force that seemed to want them out, Teddy observed, yet, there was another, equally strong, that wanted the very opposite. The law of this land was that there were no rules.
Soon, the others woke. She watched them take in the scene around them, watched their faces as they each recalled the events that occurred the night before. Malcolm grunted and stretched, Poole promptly stood up from his small share of the couch, Owen blinked, then steeled his face.
"What the heck happened last night?" Malcolm groaned.
Teddy shrugged and climbed down from the table. Owen shook his head.
"This being, whatever it is, has gained an incredible amount of power . . ." Poole said. "I wonder what feeds it, and what triggered this . . . intense discharge of power."
"Whatever it is, it definitely isn't happy we're here," Malcolm said.
Owen looked grave.
"If it wants us out, then why . . ." Owen gestured to the silk-covered door. "If that doesn't send a clear-as-hell message, I don't know what does."
"Yes, you're right," Poole said, furrowing his brow and pacing the room. "There are forces at work, dark forces, I think we can agree . . . but it's as if they're at odds with one another, somehow."
"Poole, have you ever seen the spiders act like that?" Teddy asked. As the others talked, she was stuck inside her own mind, and this question was itching to get out.
"Never to this extent. I . . . I didn't even know there were quite so many of them here," Poole admitted.
Malcolm perked up in his seat. "So, are you saying the spiders are separate from the--whatever the other thing is?"
"It would seem so, yes," Poole said. "They acted quite defiantly against it. I have seen them work as a kind of hive-mind before, but never at such a volume. It is clear they were working toward the common goal of, well, keeping anyone from leaving through that door."
They sat in silence, pondering the thought for several moments. Teddy couldn't help but notice the stark contrast the new brought compared to last night—sunlight, silence, and calm contemplation. It was incredible how a house as haunted as Thornewood could be, quite often, so warm and comforting. Apparently, not everyone in the room felt the same.
"I think we can all agree that Malcolm and Teddy should leave," Owen said, banishing Teddy's sentimental thoughts. "Today."
"What?" Malcolm said, whipping his head around to glare at his brother. "Are you seriously back on this shit?"
Owen glared back, but there was no fight in his eyes. Teddy could tell he had already given up this fight. It was a noble demand, Teddy admitted, even though it irked her to hear him say it. Despite his own situation, he was trying to keep his brother—and herself—safe from whatever was coming for them. He had to know what such a thing would mean for him. Without Teddy and Malcolm, there could be no more seances. Without seances, there would be no money left to support the house, and it, along with the bodies of Edward Poole and Owen Allan, would likely be condemned and destroyed.
Thus, the subject was dropped before any real argument had a chance to play out. They all knew what they had to do.
"We have a seance tonight to get ready for," Teddy said, standing. "Let's start cleaning this place up."
***
The day was spent in a blur of brooms and dustpans, for which Teddy was thankful. It kept her mind off the darker thoughts. Later, they completed the night's show, and won over another group of paying customers, who left Thornewood with shaky hands and shakier smiles. She wondered if the guests could feel the looming darkness that hung over the house, the darkness that wasn't quite so strong before.
She hadn't wanted the seance to end. The show was a happy distraction from what she knew must come next.
Once the guests were safely out the door, Poole re-appeared in his usual form and went to make his way back to his basement laboratory. Malcolm was pulling at his uncomfortable butler's costume, as he also started off to go change.
"Hang on," Teddy said. "Since we're all set up . . . Why not try a seance of our own?"
Malcolm, Owen and Poole stood and stared at her in silence.
"Are you suggesting we . . . attempt to communicate with this . . . being, through one of your bloody seances?" Poole said.
Teddy hopped up and sat on the edge of the seance table.
"Pretty much, yeah," she said, bluntly.
"But the seances aren't real," Malcolm said, clearly losing patience.
"Sure they are," Teddy argued. "Are you suggesting that Poole and Owen aren't real supernatural beings?"
Malcolm grimaced at her. She smiled in return.
They sat around the table. The scene was set just as it was for the show before. The room was dark, lit only by dancing candlelight. The heavy curtain closed them inside the room. Teddy still wore her medium getup, a deep maroon, floor-length dress with sheer lace sleeves. It was just as it was for the guests, except instead of fidgeting college students and local eclectics, it was the cast who occupied the seats, and there were no tricks hiding behind the curtain.
Teddy held out her hands. On her right was Owen, whose warm, dry hand accepted hers. On her left was Malcolm, whose hand was noticeably damp by contrast. Poole sat across from her, and he hesitated before she caught his eye, and then he rounded out the circle with each of his arms.
"Focus on that feeling," she instructed. Her voice shook. Somehow doing the real thing was harder than following a script in front of strangers. She felt naked without her theatrical medium's voice. For this, she had to be real. She had to be Teddy.
The others did as instructed, but they seemed just as uncomfortable. They closed their eyes, tried to focus on the dark energy, but their eyelids parted with uncertainty, and they scanned each other's faces often, as if afraid of being laughed at.
Nobody laughed. They could feel that dread, that sense of death and anger and doom, heavy in the air and in their chests. They could smell that familiar, honey-sweet stench. It was as if it had always been there, Teddy thought, just waiting for someone to notice. As they all tuned into it, it grew stronger.
Her hands shook as she pulled out the velvet pouch of powder. She used it in her seances, told the guests it was some special, supernatural substance. In reality, there was nothing special or supernatural about it. It was white flour she'd found in the kitchen cupboard. Still, it was the only thing she had. She had to give it a try. She poured the flour onto the table and spread it out with her hands, so that it covered the surface in a thin, white layer. Her heart pounded in her chest and her ears were ringing. She feared that the force would overpower them before they could get any answers. She had to get on with it.
She cleared her throat.
"We know you're with us," she said, her voice tight with fear and uncertainty. "We can feel you—"
The wailing began. That animalesque shriek that seemed to come from everywhere, that seemed to come from inside their own heads. Goosebumps formed on her arms, and she clenched each hand tighter in hers.
"We can hear you!" Teddy shouted over the screams. "But we don't know you! We don't know what you want!"
The shrieking quieted into a low, demonic growl. Nobody dared speak, nobody dared move a muscle. They sat, holding each other's hands, digging their nails into each other's skin and feeling nothing but fear and anticipation. They waited, listened to the growl and tried not to breathe in the ever-growing putrid stench.
Teddy felt tears spill down her face, but she didn't dare break the circle to wipe them away. She took a deep breath. She looked at the faces around her. Poole's grave brow, Malcolm's wide, wet eyes, and Owen's flushed, stricken face. She needed to be strong. She needed to pull them all together.
"Tell us who you are," she demanded. "Show yourself, or tell us what you want from u—!"
A scream erupted and the candles flickered, nearly extinguishing the flames, as if the force of the noise produced a wave of air. The circle broke as the group instinctively pulled back from the table, knocking over their chairs in an attempt to flee. In another instant, the flour blew off the table in one strong gust of air.
"Wait!" Teddy shouted to the others, who were tripping over each other to get past the curtain. They paused and watched as a line appeared, as if carved with a knife—or a sharp nail—etched into the wood of the table. Teddy watched in horror as another line was carved, then another, then another, until a word was clear:
LEAVE
"Oh my god," her voice came out in a sob.
The wailing continued, louder than ever, screeching in their ears, threatening to deafen them all if it didn't drive them mad first. Teddy held her ears and screamed, as if to fight it, as if to show it who was stronger. She watched as more lines appeared as thick scratches on the table, forming a second word:
GRANDDAUGHTER
Fury burst from her chest and she screamed louder, a force against the other, until suddenly, as quickly as it had come, it stopped. The smell receded, the wailing quieted, leaving the four friends terrified and shaking on the floor.