Latham's Landing (20 page)

The sound of glass breaking from the bay
window behind her spun Chung Lai to face the descending shadow.

Delilah continued into the third ground floor
room. This room was also empty. She hurried through the open
doorway to the next one.
There! Finally!
This looked to be a
carpenter’s workplace, with woodworking tools of all kinds and
racks full of various woods, all gleaming. Piles of fresh wood
swirls and dust lay in places, under vices. The air smelled of
fresh shavings. She touched her finger to the nearest worktable.
There was no dust.

There was a creak behind her. Delilah turned,
fear rising in her heart as she beheld a white faced man in an old
suit opening a cabinet, his eye glinting an odd grey white, as if
he were blind. But the moment she moved, his head turned, tracking
her.

“
A guest,” he said in a pleased tone,
his speech formal. “Come to admire my work?”

Delilah’s mouth worked but nothing came out.
She backed against the table, spilling some of the tools. In
desperation, she grabbed a chisel. “Stay away!”

“
You can’t go,” the man chanted,
advancing in jerking steps. “No one goes. Never. You’ll never go
home. Never, never, never…”

“
Stop it!” Delilah said, screaming as
she stabbed at the figure. Her strike carried her forward, and she
stumbled.

Nothing was there.

Delilah clutched the chisel, looking side to
side, panting. Then the floor at her feet began to buckle upward,
pushing up the plates of paving stone. Something was coming up from
beneath, bending and breaking the squares.

With a scream, Delilah dropped the chisel and
bolted. Hurrying, she ran through several empty rooms until she
found a flight of stairs, then went up it, darting into the first
room on the left and slamming the door. Shutting her eyes tight,
she said a prayer, then opened them.

She was in some sort of very old kitchen, the
walls rough wood, the floor bare earth. People surrounded her,
their dress colonial period, their smiles friendly as they
exchanged presents.

Was it Christmas?
No, it was a
wedding…there were the bride and groom.

Suddenly, a bell was gonging. Everyone froze,
then erupted in a flurry of activity, fear on their faces. The men
reached for old-fashioned rifles and bayonets, the women gathering
the children and going to a small trapdoor in the floor. The bride
clung to her husband, until they dragged her away, crying, shutting
the door as her husband barred it from outside.

Shadows of native men in war paint swarmed
into the room suddenly, the men fighting them. The scene became a
bloodbath, opponents murdering one another, the dirt soaking up the
blood. And when the last colonial man was on his knees, his throat
slit, the few remaining shadows marched to the trapdoor and broke
it down. A woman’s screams rent the air, then dozens more joined
her.

Horrified, Delilah ran to the nearest window,
pushing up the sash. Scrabbling with the metal mesh storm window,
she pried that up, preparing to climb through.

White clammy hands closed over her wrists
from the darkness outside, stopping her. Terrified, Delilah threw
them off, then turned and ran out of the room in the opposite
direction, deeper into the house.

Chung Lai braced herself for a wolf, spike at
the ready. But the shadow was instead a ghostly woman, her
expression pleading.

“
Help us,” she begged with tears in her
eyes. “Help us, please.”

Chung Lai, stepped back, uneasy. The woman
advanced, bloody hands knotting in a stained handkerchief.

“
Please, we are trapped. Please, we
need help!”

Chung Lai hesitated. In that split second,
the woman grabbed her, her transparent fingers digging deep. Images
bombarded Chung Lai, memories of terrible events that were not her
own.

The flames of a bonfire. The men were
clearing land to build a grand house, land we’d claimed as our own.
But bones were uncovered on the land, and evil things happened
almost at once. The house was haunted, the workers said. There was
whistling in the night, in the darkness. Cries for help, waking us
from sleep, drawing us to the basement. Two women fell to their
deaths that way, one of them being my mother, Gladys, when the
stairs suddenly gave way. I myself narrowly escape death, when I am
sent to bring up firewood and almost step out into nothingness.

I plead with my family to leave, to give up
this land in the wilderness. We cannot tame it to our will. I feel
we will all die if we stay here! But Grandmother will not let us
sell and leave. She says it is our house, our land that many of her
family died for it. She says our blood is in the earth, that it
stains the bedrock, that’s why it’s dark red.

I know we are cursed if we stay here, that
more evil will come. But no one will listen!

I leave the house the only way open to me,
escaping into a loveless marriage. But nightmares of the house
haunt me, of shadows with no name that come with every
nightfall.

A telegram comes; Grandmother is dead,
everyone with her dead in an Indian massacre. The house is burned
to the ground. I do not want to return, but my husband says we must
claim the land, that we will rebuild. The Indians are dead, he
says, killed by troops. He says the danger is over.

A new house rises on the hill. Workmen
discover bones in the wreckage. They remove them to the cemetery,
building us a grand house of new pine and hardwood. But a ghost
walks there each night, as the floorboards creak. His features are
familiar, his eyes pleading.

Only I can see him, standing at the foot of
my bed near midnight. He speaks to me, his only living relative. He
tells me of horrors, of massacre and burning and screams and dying.
He tells me of inescapable evil.

He is Grandmother’s son, her illegitimate
child. He died here, in the basement, where he was locked up from
the moment the house was built, in a secret room. He desired his
half-sister, stalked her. Grandmother confined him, but too late….I
am his child! A cursed being of incest, doomed to die here, like
all the others!

I open my wrists, watching my tainted blood
flow out onto the floor. I pray for the mercy of Heaven. I hope for
peace in death. Instead, I rise a ghost, my bloodied wrists showing
my shame! My father jeers at me. He says I am doomed! That like him
I must haunt this terrible place and never enter Paradise!

The horrific knowledge hit Chung Lai like a
hammer, causing her to falter, breaking the ghost’s hold on her,
the images melting away to the walls of the room. With a shriek,
she ripped free of the ghost and ran.

Delilah stopped, her chest heaving. She
strained to listen for a sound, but heard only her own rapid
breathing.

Carefully, she advanced, eyes wide. She was
in some sort of a concert hall that seemed to stretch the length of
the house floor. Music stands abounded, along with sheet music, and
discarded chairs. Two lights burned at opposite ends of the
room.

She walked to the first one, using its light
to examine her wounds.

The soft sound of hauntingly sad music came
from behind her.

Delilah turned, stumbling back at the sight
of a young girl, her fingers wrapped around a silver flute. The
girl ignored her, continuing to play.

“
Who are you?” she cried.

A giggle erupted from behind her.

Delilah whirled, but no one was there. When
she turned back, the girl was gone.

She hurried to the far side of the room,
truing to watch for pursuit in every direction. There was something
that kept appearing just out of sight, too fast for her to see.

She paused again. The giggle sounded again,
louder.

She whirled. There near one of the stands was
a little girl in a frilly white party dress, her face in shadow.
She purposely opened the book to a spot, then ducked down with
another giggle.

“
What do you want?” Delilah
screamed.

“
To play,” an evil voice said, it’s
rumbling tones loud in the cavernous room.

“
Leave me alone!” Delilah
screamed.

The little girl stood up, her expression
murderously angry. She ran toward Delilah, shoving stands and
tables out of her way with supernatural force.

Delilah stepped back, grabbed a stand, and
threw it at the girl. It hit her square, knocking her down in a
flurry of lace and petticoats. Then slowly the little girl sat up,
her face now a wrinkled crone’s, her lips parting to reveal long
thin fangs.

Delilah bolted, a chilling guttural bellow of
rage echoing after her.

“
Do you hear that?” Caroline said to
Barb.

“
Someone is screaming,” Barb whispered.
“And those wolves are howling, too.” She turned to Caroline. “I
think we should try for the boat.”

Caroline opened her mouth to protest. The
ragged ends of her nerves stopped her, a voice coming up from
within saying,
you can’t win this.
She looked down at the
small pile of herbs, and the two boxes of bullets, both a fourth
empty. They could weather one big attack, maybe two, with these
supplies. But after that, they were finished.

Caroline fingered her cross.
I never
thought my faith would matter to anyone. And here it is, probably
saving my life. But Rob was a believer, too. Why didn’t his faith
save him?
She bit her lip.
How long does a blessing last?
More than a decade of church school, and I’ve got no answer. But
they prepared me to be a good Christian at Thornfield. They never
prepared me to fight real demons.

“
I know you came here to destroy the
house,” Barb persuaded. “But Helter’s charges probably won’t work
any better than your gasoline did. We need to get out of here,
while it’s distracted.” She drew a hitching breath. “I feel
terrible, but we can’t help whoever else is here now. We have to
help ourselves.”

Only forty-eight hours ago, Caroline had been
ready to die to destroy Latham’s Landing. She still was ready to do
that. But Barb was right. Dying here for nothing wasn’t worth it.
Next time, those wolves—or something worse—would kill them. They
had to take their chances on the water.

“
All right,” she said, standing. “Wake
up Helter. I’ll grab the weapons.”

Chung Lai burst through the door into the
night. Breathing deep, she tried to clear her head.

The house was trying to scare her. It was as
evil as Mac was. She had to get out now. Chung Lai looked around,
her gaze falling on an expanse of still water gleaming in wan
moonlight. She headed for the water, uncaring there was no boat.
She would swim if she had to. It was better than dying here.

Delilah staggered into yet another room,
hyperventilating, trying to get her breath. She had run down
flights of stairs, and was again on the ground floor. Ahead of her
seemed to be the same door she had come in. Cautiously, she looked
out into the night. There was no sound except for the soft rustle
of wind in the pines.

Mac was in the big house, or he had been. A
light shone from an upstairs window. There was probably a phone in
there, but it was too risky to go in.

A small, unlit building was to the side of
the main house, connected by a walkway. Delilah limped across the
expanse carefully, heading for it.

She went through the battered half-door, then
closed and locked it behind her. The top had no lock, but she
closed that, too. She looked around, taking in many cupboards and
cabinets, but no phone. But there were also only two high windows,
too small for anything to enter.

She was safe here.

With relief, Delilah sank onto a stool,
letting herself sob for a few moments.

Pulling herself together, Delilah began
opening cabinets, looking for a weapon. She also was hoping to find
some food and water, as she hadn’t eaten since her single pop tart
breakfast early this morning. If Mac came here, hopefully he had
some food stashed somewhere. There had been none in the helicopter
with them.
It would be so wonderful to taste some kind of
comfort food, like a Twinkie.

She half expected the cabinets to be empty,
or to contain torture implements. Saying a prayer that nothing bite
her, she pulled out drawer contents, one after the other. Each
contained paper packages, yellowed and faded, tied with string.

She tried another larger cabinet. This one
held candles of all sizes, and a metal box of matches. Most of them
were black, of some kind of thick tallow. Willing to risk some
light, she struck one, lighting a candle. With the light in her
hand, she continued her search.

Most of the cabinets held packages tied with
string of all sizes. Nothing smelled edible, and most were moldy.
Some seemed to have leaked, the packages damp and greasy. But
finally, in a glass case, she found Mac’s food stores: pre-packaged
Twinkies and other non-perishables, soda, and water. She let out a
moan of delight as she broke open a package of cupcakes and
devoured them.

After sating her hunger and thirst, an
invigorated Delilah began opening the last cabinet. Instead of
packages, this cabinet held pumpkins and squash, their skins firm
as if they had just been harvested.

Why were these here? Halloween was over.

There was a noise from above her head.
Delilah looked up. Bunches of herbs, covered with cobwebs hung from
the ceiling. Yet several near the door looked new, their leaves
still green but wilted.

Delilah turned, an uneasy feeling washing
over her as she took in the many vials with labels on a crowded
high shelf.
Hemlock? Belladonna?
What was this
place?