Manchester House (29 page)

Sinclair had been standing close by and was holding onto his small camera with the same level of need for comfort as his counterpart. The cameraman had a need to hide behind his camera, but because of the fact that he had only two exposures left in the damn thing, his comfort zone was quite small.

Holzer could clearly see that the bond between the two was strengthening and he was pleased to see that they were getting along famously.

“Would you do me the kind service of not stepping on my feet, you idiot!” Miranda huffed, knocking Sinclair away from her with a strong nudge of her elbow.

“Excuse me, your royalness.”

Miranda’s eyes held a panic in them Holzer had rarely seen. In fact he had never seen her this terrified. That bothered him.

Turning to face Sinclair, the pathologist started to cry. Not because Sinclair had stepped on her foot. Because she just couldn’t hide the waves of emotions swelling up inside of her. Sinclair responded.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” Sinclair pleaded, dropping his camera. “You okay?”

Miranda, dropping her barriers, simply embarrassed the cameraman. All she wanted at this point and time was comfort. Sinclair was happy to respond. Surprised, but happy.

The entire SOURCE team looked on with dumbfounded silence. They were witnessing a miracle.

“Okay?” Miranda cried, controlling the urge to laugh. She stared up at Sinclair, deeply escaping into his eyes. “Shut up and kiss me.”

“Huh?”

Before Sinclair could act on the response, Miranda clasped her hands around the cameraman’s head and pulled him close to her. Opening her mouth, she kissed Sinclair with the passion of a terrified lover who needed desperately to forget the world around her.

“Oh&” Teresa was trying her best to pay more attention towards the EMF Reader than the passion occurring two feet in front of her.

Holzer even saw a look of amusement coming from Night who, trying to be decent, was turning his attention towards the black void which lay in front of them. What lay beyond was anyone’s guess.

Miranda pulled away from Sinclair, slowly wiping her lips. Taking a deep breath and patting down her clothes, the woman rubbed her hips nervously. As quickly as the emotions started, she was able to turn them off. Once again she was the trained professional.

“That was for luck,” Miranda tried to explain.

For the first time in his life, Sinclair was speechless.

“Well,” Night said. “On that note&”

The group started to move again as a whole.

No one seemed to notice that Miranda and Sinclair were now holding each other’s hands.

* * *

“Remember, Jonathon, we are dealing with evil here,” Night explained.

As the spiral came to its end, the SOURCE Team seemed to notice, more and more, the black void in front of them. So dark that it did not allow them to see what was on the other side. Night theorized that the time and space of the middle of the maze was so dense and complicated that it was its own dimension. Walking into the void was a gamble within a gamble. If they did not walk into it, they would possibly be condemned to stay within the maze forever. However, if they ventured into the void, entering yet another unknown dimension away from their own, they could find themselves in even more danger than eternal damnation.

“I make no promises,” Night stated carefully. “You all wish to know the truth. The truth you will know.”

Holzer turned to his people. “I personally have a date next Thursday. I say that we go.”

There was a moment of silence, which seemed to speak volumes.

All were ready.

Night approached the void that lay in front of them and paused. He was surprised when looking down at his hands; he found them shaking. He shifted the crossbow from right to left hand, then back again. Night noticed Holzer studying him.

“This is all so fantastic, isn’t it, Jonathon?” Night asked.

“It’s certainly worth at least one book.”

“I want a copy when you publish.”

“Of course,” Holzer solemnly agreed.

As if to reconfirm his own convictions, Night slowly gripped his crossbow and started forward. Reaching the dark void with inches to spare, he noticed that the darkness seemed to reflect his image back at him-as a black mirror might do. Was he near a door, or a wall?

Night placed his hand upon the dark void.

Several gasps of surprise were heard from the SOURCE team as Night’s hand ventured into the void and seemed to disappear. It was as if his hand had passed into another world, losing its cohesion, dissolving once it entered the dark.

In his own horror, Night pulled his arm out, relaxing upon seeing that it was still intact.

“What manner of door are we about to enter?” Night whispered in deep concentration. He rubbed his arm, realizing that it was incredibly cold.

“What’s wrong?” Holzer asked, noticing Night’s discomfort.

Night turned his attention towards Teresa, the team’s psychic. He answered Holzer’s question only out of respect. “Cold, Jonathon. My arm is cold.”

Teresa became quite aware of the tense stare she was receiving from Night and it bothered her.

Night approached the woman, saying, “I may call on you to help us all, once we enter the void.” He paused. “I think that you are aware of that.”

“Yes,” Teresa stated, her eyes darting down to her feet. She was uneasy.

Night reached softly to the timid psychic’s chin, raising her face and eyes to meet his. “You need not be concerned, Teresa. I will not use you just for the sake of the use. When I call on you, it will be for the better welfare of those that you love. Not to mention that it will be greatly beneficial to you as well.”

At this last comment, Teresa let out a surprised laugh.

Night’s eyes turned serious. “Can I count on you then?”

Teresa nodded her head in agreement.

Night took Teresa’s hand in his and silently guided her ahead of her fellow teammates, and suggested that she follow Night into the void, leading the way.

“A warning,” Night insisted, bringing a stern finger up to Teresa’s face. “In the void, I am quite sure that your powers will magnify. Be careful not to allow them to totally consume you.”

“Sir?” Teresa asked, confused.

“Just listen to the words of an old man,” Night insisted. “If using your powers, keep in mind the motivations of good. Do not allow hate and negative feelings to dictate your motivations. If you do, your powers will destroy us all. Understand?”

Teresa did not. Night was plainly aware of this fact, but could see that the psychic was properly warned and was starting to build mental barriers, should they be needed to help save her own sanity.

Teresa was ready.

“Good.” Night took Teresa’s hand. “Shall we go?”

Behind him, Night heard Holzer pulling back on the spring-loader of his crossbow. The college professor looked terribly worried. Holzer started to fidget.

“You know,” Teresa said, whispering so that only Night could hear her, “he really idolizes you.”

“And I him, dear,” Night stated, proud. “And I him.”

Holzer poured some more oil into his crossbow.

“Jonathon?” Night asked.

Holzer became alert. “Yes!”

Night meekly handed Holzer Lars’ old glasses. The college professor took them with a great reverence.

“Why?”

“For luck, my dear friend.”

Teresa took Night by the hand, allowing the old man to trail behind her.

All headed into the void.

* * *

Holzer, his heart racing, was surprised to discover that once they all walked through the dark void, they only moved down about a six-inch hop. They all landed on very soft soil-very rich soil. The kind of soil Holzer’s grandfather had tried to cultivate for years on the family farm. There was a sun, of sorts, which shone over the horizon that seemed miles away. All would have looked normal if it had not been for the row upon row of gravestones.

The gravestones were many, and made Normandy and Gettysburg look tame by comparison. Thousands upon thousands of calling cards marking a dead life and little more. No names. No dates. No nothing.

Bleak.

“Well, this is charming,” Miranda tried to joke. Her voice quivered, defeating the motivation of her attempt. “Where are we?”

“I think we are on a neutral plane,” Sinclair stated. “One where we and this evil force can combat each other without ruining the other’s natural world.”

Night turned, giving Sinclair a surprised if not astonished look.

“Be careful, Mr. Sinclair,” Night warned.

“Be careful of what?” the cameraman asked.

“Keep talking that way and people are going to start to believe that you have intelligence.”

Sinclair picked up his camera, focusing it. A flash went off as he took a picture of the graveyard. Within seconds, an instant picture spat out of the front of the camera. Sinclair took it, waving it in the air.

“Too bad,” Sinclair winked.

“One more picture only,” Night warned.

“I know,” Sinclair confirmed. “And that’s my money shot!”

Holzer waved his crossbow around, not wanting to be caught off guard like Lars had been. The thought of Lars spending eternity fighting with those poor souls who wished only to devour him was not a pretty one, but well worth the motivation to remember.

In fact, all in the group looked nervous.

All except Miranda.

“Pardon me for making such an observation, dear,” Night stated, looking down at Miranda. “Why are you so damn calm?”

“Calm?” Miranda repeated, her eyes as innocent as a doe’s.

“Yes,” Night insisted. “You have been pissing your pants ever since we arrived. You do not give me the impression of a warrior.” Night’s eyes narrowed, looking sinister. “Why are you so calm?”

Miranda gave Night a sly smile. “Do you not see?”

“No,” Night insisted. His hands tightened around his conjure kit.

Miranda pointed toward all the gravestones.

“Manchester House has shown itself naked to us.”

Night and Holzer exchanged curious stares.

“These graves,” Miranda explained, irritated that no one else saw the pure ideology of the whole affair. “All these graves are the victims of the house and the land, in most cases.”

“Dear God!” Teresa stated, looking at all the gravestones.

“This can only mean one thing&” Night coached Teresa to continue.

“That the beast is waiting for us&” Teresa shivered. “And he is near.”

“What the beast fails to realize, young lady,” Night challenged, “is&so am I.”

As if on cue, the group suddenly heard the roar of an enormous beast. Sounding a lot like a lion and more like an enraged bear, the fury behind the sound was hard to match. So much power was behind the roar that Holzer made a silent gesture to Night that he could feel the power of the roar vibrate from the ground into his shoes.

A storm of some kind came across the calm of the vast graveyard, violently attacking the SOURCE team.

Grabbing his coat and holding it closed with one hand, Holzer looked up at Night. “What the hell is this?”

“That is the breath of evil, Jonathon.”

The team started to lose their footing as the strength of the wind picked up. Several of the tombstones rocked and tumbled over. Trees that seemed to be growing nearby started to uproot, crashing down to the ground, hungry for a body to fall upon. Several members of the SOURCE team had to dash away from falling trees, tombstones, and each other.

It was not a pretty sight.

“Stop!” Night yelled, holding up one of his many candles. The tiny light from the small white ordinary looking candle seemed to have the power needed to magnify the owner’s will.

The wind stopped blowing.

The trees stopped falling.

The graveyard appeared whole once more.

Beyond the team, Night noticed a huge mound of dirt which seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, towering over the rest of them. Consisting of rock, dirt, and coffins, the mound of dirt also appeared to have several of the plastic walls from the Manchester maze circling around it. If Night, Holzer, and his team were going to get anywhere toward the center of the mound, they would have to appeal to the power behind the whole affair, humoring it once again.

Appearing above the mound, grinning, was the Shape.

A soft wind seemed to tease at her dark auburn hair, covering once more the deathlike features which made up most of her persona. She was dressed in different clothing, however. Her appearance seemed more civilized.

“Notice the clothing, Jonathon?” Night said, helping his friend to his feet.

Holzer adjusted his glasses, accepting Night’s help. “Yes. Quite different. More becoming.”

“Dressed in her, as you Americans say, Sunday best,” Night stated. “Would you not think so?”

Holzer nodded his head.

“What is behind all of this, I wonder?”

The Shape from time to time showed her earthly age by looking up toward some invisible figure as if listening to a dirty secret. Like a child being told something devilish by an older adult, the Shape giggled from time to time, stopping only long enough to glare back down at the SOURCE team. Her focus appeared to be centered on Jonathon Holzer.

“What’s she doing?” Holzer asked.

“You do not ask the right question, Jonathon,” Night said, aiming his crossbow up at the Shape, waiting.

“What’s the question, then?”

“Who is she talking to?” Night’s eyes locked with the college professor.

Holzer seemed to realize what Night was worried about. The Shape’s body language did suggest another guiding her, speaking through her, and using her to do its unearthly bidding.

Holzer stepped forward.

His foot landed on a twig, breaking it.

Snap!

The Shape glared down at Holzer.

“Oh shit,” Holzer said under his breath, scared. The college professor tried his best to ease himself back into the comforting zone of his friends.

* * *

The Shape had been listening to the Master, doing her best to maintain an air of calm-listening to all the evil things that had been planned. All the delicious hurtful things that these humans would be put through.