Manchester House (8 page)

“He won’t be alive for long,” Wells stated, fighting back the horrid smell rising up from Kyle Peters’ body.

“Shouldn’t we do something for him, Lieutenant?”

Wells paused, looking at the horrible victim. “Pray for him.”

In one hand, Kyle Peters was carrying the same butcher knife he had used to kill his wife-this would later be proven by the County Coroner when compared with the wounds on Cindy’s body. Both officers were scared half to death as they heard the telephone ring. The sound of buzzing flies was almost deafening.

“What happened here?” Wells asked.

The patrolman walked away from Kyle, inspecting the rest of the house. “My mother says that this house sits on the Gates of Hell. That the original owner went mad after making a deal with the devil.”

“Superstition, son.” It was hard to make the argument over a living corpse.

“I&am&a&happy&man&” Kyle Peters whispered.

With a painful spasm, Kyle breathed his last breath, moving his head only far enough to open his eyes, looking at Wells. Up till now, the unfortunate man’s eyes had remained closed.

Wells panicked, jolting back in surprise at what he saw.

Kyle Peters’ eyes were completely red, and Wells soon noticed his pupils were no longer circular, they seemed to have a spiral in them, making them look alien. Kyle’s body quivered one last time. His battle was over. He was dead.

Wells, however, would never forget the eyes.

It would not be the last time that eyes such as these would look up at him, wondering, questioning, and never blinking.

* * *

Teresa’s hands froze on the walls of the mansion, trying their best to pick up all the information she had been reading about both Kyle and Cindy. There was nothing more for the house to offer. The only other thing she could sense was that the young patrolman quit the force shortly after his encounter with the house. He killed himself two months later. Lt. Wells had attended his funeral.

:No one leaves my sphere of influence, child. I am all&here!:

Holzer moved forward from the corner of the staircase, noticing a small smear on the floorboards at the base of the stairs. He was studying Teresa’s face, still locked in a trance; Holzer saw her eyes flash open and heard her gasping with great concern.

Pulling her hands away from the banisters of the staircase, Teresa was surprised to notice that she was no longer near the kitchen. Her exploring into the home’s past had caused her to walk in her visions, and the rest of her team had decided to follow. All were transfixed on her every move.

Teresa was rather shaken up. The rest of the team came rushing to her aide, all except Sinclair, who was too fascinated in what was going on to leave his camera. He had documented everything.

“Teresa?” Miranda shouted, taking hold of her friend. “Are you all right? Teresa?”

Teresa, as if fighting her way back to our world and our consciousness, let out a loud scream as she blinked back to life. On her face was both confusion as well as genuine terror.

“Professor Holzer&” Teresa finally managed to say. “Professor!”

Holzer touched the frightened psychic on the shoulder gently. “Right here, Teresa. What is it?”

“The evil in this house knows we are here,” Teresa cried. Her eyes seemed to show the professor knowledge he couldn’t seem to understand at the moment. “It’s watching us. Curious at why we are here.”

Holzer, upon hearing this, picked up his EMR device and started waving it around the room. He silently motioned Sinclair to follow him.

“Smelling something, Doc?”

“Start filming,” Holzer ordered, paying close attention to his readings. “Teresa may be right. And if she is, I want it on film. Got that?”

Sinclair paid close attention toward his camera, making sure that he was doing what Holzer desired. Miranda started to closely comfort Teresa, who still appeared to Holzer to be shaken up a bit.

This did not escape Sinclair’s attention either. He started to fumble his equipment and was not really able to stand still in one place. At each sound, his camera darted to that location.

“This place gives me the creeps,” Sinclair finally brought himself to say, controlling the level of his voice.

Miranda looked up at him, slightly amused at the fact that the cameraman was doing his best to remain calm, to give the appearance of being brave. Holzer, taking a negative ion detector out of his bag, noticed this look and smiled. He theorized that, if given the chance, Sinclair could easily win Miranda’s heart if he wanted it. The tragic fact was Sinclair did-he just thought himself out of Miranda’s league.

The tragedy of young love.

Miranda held Teresa, doing her best to avoid eye contact with Sinclair, but couldn’t help but glance a longing stare up at him. “That’s the first intelligent thing you’ve said since I’ve known you.”

Sinclair never left his camera.

“You should hear me when I really try,” he joked, adjusting the lens.

The cameraman continued to film, following Holzer. Teresa regained her composure and approached the professor.

“Professor Holzer, please!” Teresa said, almost a scream.

Teresa fought, pulling herself away from Miranda, who was surprised at her friend’s sudden burst of panic. It was not like Teresa to fall on her face so hard. She was not one to panic at the first sign of trouble. Not after exploring the minds and hearts of so many of society’s monsters, killers, and child predators. Whatever was bothering the young psychic was enough to strongly consider it as a formidable force. Teresa had managed to get Holzer’s attention. Sinclair turned toward them, filming.

The mansion turned quiet.

For a few minutes, there was nothing more than the grainy black and white viewfinder of Sinclair’s camera.

“What’s the matter, Teresa?” Holzer asked, stopping only long enough to place a careworn hand on the young psychic’s shoulder. “Why, child, you’re trembling.”

Teresa was somewhat embarrassed about the old man’s last comment, but continued with her warnings. This was something that the entire team needed to know. This was something that the house was telling her. Something that every fiber of her being needed to say.

“Professor, we have to leave this place,” Teresa cried, almost on the verge of tears. “It is not for us to be here. Not anymore.”

All the team members turned curious.

“What are you trying to say, Teresa?” Holzer said, looking down at his instruments. “I don’t understand.”

Teresa was uneasy. “It&knows that we are here.”

“It?” Holzer repeated. “You mean the house? Is that the evil force you mentioned? The house?”

Teresa started to shake uncontrollably. There was something she seemed to sense that the rest of the team could not.

“I do not know, Professor. I only know that if we do not leave, now, we may never get the chance to. I feel a force that is both frightened and hungry for the company of others. It will not let those that it is holding go. There is no rest. No loving white light. It cannot go to the light, so in its anger it will not allow other souls to venture beyond. That is where we are standing. In the middle of all of this.” Teresa paused, crossing herself. “That is why the house is so angry.”

Sinclair stopped filming. “Ahh, Doc, I don’t know about you, but she’s starting to scare the hell out of me.”

Holzer gave Sinclair a hard glance. He clearly did not appreciate what he was hearing from Sinclair. “Just keep filming.”

Holzer knew that he was starting to lose command of his team. If he were to succeed in this investigation, he had to gain it back just as quickly. He turned his attention back toward Teresa, deeply sympathizing with the fears she was being bombarded with. Still, she was a professional. She knew the risks.

“We will find the solution, Teresa,” Holzer comforted. “And with that answer, we will clear this house.”

Holzer started to really study Teresa’s features. She was indeed a pretty young woman, almost too pretty. Holzer had to wonder if anyone other than her parents had ever used her because of her angelic features. There was a motivation for profit coming from this girl, even he was aware of that.

Teresa gave him a controlled terrified look. He admired the way she genuinely tried to calm herself. Holzer had never seen her so aeffected or so scared by what her inner eye had seen. He made a mental note: Take an EKG reading of her mind once they returned to the college.

“We are here to help this place, not harm,” Holzer proclaimed, patting the young woman on the shoulder.

“I do not think so,” Teresa said. “The house doesn’t want our help.”

Each member of the team gave the other a worried glance. Uneasiness filled the air surrounding them. In the far distance, they all heard the sound of rustling plastic coming from one of the tarps being subtly attacked by the cold October wind.

“Let’s head back towards the kitchen,” Holzer suggested. “That does seem to be the focal point and the eye of the storm, so to speak. It should be the calmest there. Yes?”

Meekly, Teresa agreed.

They all headed back toward the kitchen.

* * *

After such a drama, the kitchen of Manchester House wasn’t so inviting toward the members of the team. Sinclair’s camera was lit up, and this time the room was somewhat under the influence of lights. Holzer had to direct Teresa back into the room. Clearly, the young psychic did not want to enter.

“There, you see,” Holzer stated, “the same as when we left it. Really, Teresa, this is a fantastic opportunity for you. This house is one of the greatest mysteries of our respected fields. Believe me when I say we will all benefit from this investigation.”

“All right, Professor.” Teresa smiled, surrendering to his eagerness.

The sounds of rustling plastic suddenly stopped.

The house turned as silent as a tombstone.

“Ahh, Doc?” was all Sinclair could bring himself to say.

No one moved.

No one breathed.

Everyone was alert.

A series of noises were heard growing in the darkness of the kitchen, causing all in the group to become curious. So curious that even Sinclair momentarily stopped his filming. This last had caused Holzer some concern.

Sinclair hated surprises. He was nothing like his comrades. Things that went bump in the night did not concern him so. He was only interested in the things in the night that he could put a label on-things that he could immediately identify.

These noises were of the kind that Sinclair could not identify. That concerned him more than the harsh looks Holzer was glaring at him.

“Don’t stop filming,” Holzer barked.

“Hold your wad, Doc,” Sinclair nervously challenged.

With his hand shaking just a little, Sinclair took out a cigarette lighter, lit it, and proceeded to discover where the sounds were coming from and what the cause had been.

“Whatever that is, guys, it’s coming from in here,” Sinclair said. Everyone seemed to notice the tone of controlled fear in the cameraman’s voice. His hand, holding the cigarette lighter, shook slightly.

Sinclair and the rest of the team started to turn their attentions toward the kitchen floor.

Everyone gasped in surprise.

Rats!

To the team’s horror, they all discovered that the bodies of the rats on the floor were moving-no longer dead. Alive! Rats from varying shapes and sizes started to rush the team, causing them to leave the kitchen in terror. Upon exiting, Holzer noticed that several of the rats were still in their respected forms of decay. This was quite impossible, but it was happening.

Holzer did all that he could to hold back the level of disgust and fear growing up inside of him. As a child, he had always had an instinctive fear for rats. He was not surprised to see that his fellow members shared that same terror.

The house does not want our help.

Holzer allowed that phrase to rattle around in his head as he and Sinclair fought to reach the kitchen’s exit. The women of the group had managed to leave both men far behind, heading toward the main staircase. After such panic ran out, the women soon left the staircase, embarrassed and trying their best to save face in front of the men.

The team members reassembled in the main hall.

They all were suddenly attacked by a well of silence. No more squeaking rats. All that was heard were their heavy breathing and the rustling of hanging plastic.

Gathering his thoughts and trying to control his own surprise and disbelief, Holzer motioned toward Sinclair. The cameraman was checking his equipment, doing his part to make sure that nothing had been broken during the panic.

“Tell me that you got that all on tape.” Holzer’s voice was almost a pleading prayer. Quite often in the world of parapsychology, the fantastic occult side of the business was never properly recorded for the later scientific scrutiny that would surely follow.

This time, all went well.

“Sure in hell did, Doc,” Sinclair stated, excited. He clapped his hands together with the excitement of a small child who had suddenly been allowed to tell a great secret. “Man, that was whack! Hey, Doc, what’s with this place? I mean, where I come from, a dead rat stays&you know&dead.”

How could Holzer answer? He had seen the rats after first entering the mansion’s kitchen. Only a few looked freshly dead-the majority appeared long dead, almost mummified. There was no way, according to the laws of science-or God, for that matter-that he could even come close to a sensible explanation.

Teresa and Miranda soon joined in. Holzer could see that both women, especially Teresa, had once more regained their composure. Whatever had scared the young psychic was now buried and in the past.

Holzer couldn’t have been prouder.

Sinclair broke the mood by laughing out loud, changing the tape in his digital camera. “Shit! I almost need a new pair of pants here, Doc.”

Miranda, hearing the rustling of the hanging plastic, started to get a little nervous. She and Teresa started to head back toward the main staircase.

“I hate to break up this rather fascinating talk the two of you are having,” Miranda said, motioning up the stairs. “Perhaps we should explore the rest of the house, since we are not leaving.”