The Sound of a Scream (13 page)

Read The Sound of a Scream Online

Authors: John Manning

BOOK: The Sound of a Scream
10.51Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
“If you were all always cooped up here, how did he meet Kathy Swenson? How did Donovan get the chance to steal her away?”
“Well, by the time we were teenagers we were permitted to go to certain events, like the annual town fair, and some of the summer festivals. We were the mysterious boys from Witherswood.” Ben laughed. “People both wanted to meet us and feared us.”
Daphne was quiet a moment. “You know, Ben, you asked me if all of this was getting to be too much for me, living here. I want to say it’s not. But ... it’s hard, sometimes.”
He smiled sympathetically, reaching across the coffee table to take her hand in his. “I’m sorry, Daphne. I can imagine it’s all a bit much to adjust to.”
“I mean, seeing what I did yesterday ...” She shuddered. “It was so terrifying, so ...”
Ben lifted his other hand to stop her from speaking. “Look, Daphne, I wasn’t sure if I’d bring this up tonight, but I might as well.”
She looked at him. “Bring what up?”
“Sheriff Patterson called me.”
“What did he say?”
Ben hesitated. “He spoke with April Flynn, the violinist.”
“Did she see the clown?” Daphne asked excitedly.
“Yes,” Ben told her. “She did see a clown.”
Daphne nearly jumped off the sofa. “So you see! I wasn’t hallucinating!”
“Well, actually ...” Ben was struggling for words. “April said she saw the clown hand some balloons to a couple of kids.”
“Right. He did!”
“And then she saw you get up off the bench and walk away quickly. She said you eventually started to run.”
“I did! Because the clown was chasing me!”
Ben didn’t say anything for a moment. “Actually, Daphne, what April said was very different. She said you were running one way—but the clown was walking off in the complete opposite direction.”
ELEVEN
Daphne couldn’t sleep after hearing the news Ben had given her.
How was that possible? How could the violinist say the clown had walked the other way? Daphne had been sure that the clown had followed her, chased her down that side street. No, she hadn’t actually turned around and seen him, but she had heard the music!
But why would the violinist lie?
The clown had actually walked the other way.
Which meant—Daphne swallowed hard at the realization—that she really
had
hallucinated seeing the creature in the Dumpster.
But it was the very spot where Pete Witherspoon Senior had left one of his victims!
Could it be ... just a freaky coincidence?
She tossed and turned most of the night, trying to determine what was real, and what was not. Was she losing her mind? Had the shock of leaving the sheltered environment of Our Lady been too much for her? Was she in the midst of some kind of breakdown?
Dreams crept stealthily upon her like rats over a decomposing corpse.
Thunder was rumbling. Real—or in her dream? Her consciousness weaved in and out, and Daphne wasn’t sure.
But she could hear rain hitting the house. A flicker of lightning crackled by the window. Daphne thought she saw Gregory outside the window, but it wasn’t Gregory. It was another man she didn’t recognize. She turned on her lamp and got out of bed—was this a dream or was it real?—to peer outside into the rain.
A huge thunderclap made her jump.
“Who is out there?” she called.
There was another loud peal of thunder, and the lamp beside her bed went out.
Daphne didn’t want to face whatever might be coming in the dark.
She wasn’t, of course, Daphne anymore. She was someone else. Another woman in another house. She stood in the dark and tried to remember her name.
There was a small candle on the table as well, and a book of matches. The candle was little more than a stub. She lit the candle, and it flickered in a sudden breeze.
Daphne, or whoever she was, looked up at the door—and saw a man standing there, a man without a head.
Daphne screamed.
It took her several minutes to calm herself, to realize she’d just had a hallucination. There was no man in the doorway. It was her mind, playing tricks.
Or maybe ... this was a dream.
A dream
, she tried telling herself
. A dream!
Wake up!
Thunder again, the loudest yet, directly over the house. The candle struggled to stay lit, shivered, and then went out.
Darkness.
How terribly dark it was. Gripping the box of matches in her left hand, Daphne felt around for the candle with her right. The little stub would never last.... She moved her hand over the tabletop. Where was the candle? It had been sitting right there! The darkness was absolute. Deep and thick. The rain kept up its pummeling of the roof. She prayed for a flash of lightning just to show her the candle. But all she got was a low rumble of thunder.
There!
She felt something in the dark. The candle—
She moved her fingers to grip it.
And whatever it was that she touched—moved!
It was hand! A human hand!
Someone was in the dark with her!
Daphne screamed.
“Who’s there? Who is it?”
Finally, a crash of lightning. The room lit up for an instant. Daphne saw she was alone in the room.
And there—there was the candle!
She grabbed it as the darkness settled in again. She fumbled for the matches, her hands trembling so much she worried she wouldn’t be able to light one. But she managed, and lit the wick of the candle. A small, flickering circle of light enveloped her. She sat back on the couch, her heart thudding in her ears.
The memory of that hand—
It was real
, she told herself.
It moved
.
No! It wasn’t real! This is all a dream! Wake up! Wake up!
Daphne lifted the candle and moved into the center of the room. But as she walked, she realized she was stepping in something sticky.
Was rainwater dripping in from the walls?
She lowered the candle.
And she could see plainly that it wasn’t water.
It was blood!
Daphne screamed.
Except she wasn’t Daphne. She was another woman in another house.
She spun around, just as another bolt of lightning illuminated the room. In her terror and panic, she dropped the candle. She was returned to utter darkness.
Wake up! This is a dream! It is the house playing tricks on you! This woman will die ... but you don’t want to die. Wake up, Daphne!
Her shoes made squishy noises in the blood on the floor.
Daphne was paralyzed with fear. Her mind could no longer process what was happening. She simply stood there, trembling, terrified—
Until the door blew open—and she saw the man without a head.
Daphne turned and ran. Her room was small, but suddenly it seemed cavernous. Such a small space—and yet she ran and ran, for many minutes it seemed, down an endless corridor that stretched farther and farther off into the distance. How could this be happening? How could she keep running for so long? What had happened to this room?
Behind her, the headless man’s footsteps echoed as he pursued her. Thunder clapped overhead. Daphne just kept on running, down that impossibly long corridor.
The dream went on that way all night.
In the morning, when Daphne finally opened her eyes, the dream fragmented into a million tiny pieces, and all she could remember of it was the terror.
When she looked in the mirror, her eyes were red and puffy. She staggered down for coffee, avoiding everyone, then made her way up to meet Christopher in the upstairs study, which they used as a classroom. Lately he’d been cooperative, and even if Daphne had kept her guard up, suspecting his too-wide smile was inauthentic, she’d at least been pleased that he finished all his assignments. This morning, however, he folded his spindly arms across his chest and told her he hadn’t done any of his homework. When Daphne asked him why, he said, “I didn’t feel like it.”
She told him he’d better feel like it tonight, because she was doubling the amount of work he had to do.
His round little button eyes burned with fury. “Why should I concern myself with petty little arithmetic assignments or reading about Paul Revere when we are all in danger of being slaughtered as we sleep?”
Daphne made a small gasp. “What do you mean?”
A sly smile played with his lips. “Surely you know, Daphne. You know all about my grandfather now. You know about all the little children whose throats he slit.”
“What are you talking about, Christopher?”
“I was at the computer late last night. I saw the history. I knew you were the last one to use it, and I saw all the news sites you’d visited, and the stories you’d read.” He laughed. “Apparently they didn’t teach you how to wipe out your online activity at that prissy little girls’ school of yours.”
“What I do online is none of your business.”
“But I think it would be my father’s,” Christopher said. “Gee, what would dear old Dad have to say if he knew you were researching his father’s nefarious crimes?”
“I suggest we get back to our lesson.”
Christopher jumped out of his chair and went over to the window. “I want to go outside. I want to search for the bones of the little children who were never found.”
Daphne said nothing.
“Surely you read about that, did you not, Daphne? There were seven little kids whose bodies were never located. Pity their poor parents, never having closure. What do you say you and me go on a hunt to find them?”
“We’ll do nothing of the sort.”
He pouted extravagantly. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. We’ll all be dead come winter.”
Daphne tried not to react, but the boy was frightening her. “Why do you say such things?”
He let out a whooping kind of laugh. “Because it’s true. My grandfather has returned. He killed that barmaid. And apparently he’s been coming after you!”
Daphne gripped the side of a table to steady herself.
“Do you think I don’t know what you told the sheriff? Nothing in this house escapes me. There are all sorts of ways to eavesdrop here. I’ve heard everything you’ve ever said to anyone!”
She doubted if that was literally true, but clearly the boy had overheard her Saturday night telling Ben, Ashlee, and Abigail what had transpired in the village.
“This house has an evil life of its own,” Christopher continued. “It took my mother from me. She jumped off the tower to her death. Who’s to say she wasn’t forced to do so by the ghost of Pete Witherspoon Senior?”
“That’s nonsense, Christopher.”
“My mother was not crazy,” he said, growing stern and surly. “She wouldn’t have jumped without a reason.”
“Of course she wasn’t crazy. I’m sure she was a lovely woman.”
He scowled. “What would you know? You can’t compare to her. And neither can that slut my father remarried.”
“Christopher, I won’t have you speaking of your stepmother that way!”
He made a face at her. “You won’t have me? Please, Daphne. As if you could stop me. You—now,
you’re
the crazy person.”
The boy seemed to know all of the buttons to push this morning.
“Because the way I see it”—Christopher said, striking a pose of mock contemplation—“it’s either that my grandfather’s ghost is now haunting the village, or that you’re cracking up.” He smiled, his little black eyes shining. “I wonder which one it is.”
“You are being disrespectful, Christopher. I won’t stand for—”
“You won’t stand for it? My dear Daphne, I’m only speaking what you yourself have surely wondered. After all, you thought that clown had pursued you down the street. Now you find out that a witness saw him casually walking the other way.”
He must have been hiding, listening to her conversation with Ben last night.
“So either that clown was a ghost or you’re crackers.” He let out that whooping laugh again. “Gosh, I can’t wait to find out which!”
“Get out of here,” Daphne said, seething. “You have your assignment. It’s double from last time. If it’s not completed tomorrow morning, I will go to your father.”
He just kept laughing. “See ya later, Daphne!” He was bounding toward the door. “Sure you don’t want to come with me on a hunt to find some bones?”
His laughter echoed down the corridor.
Daphne felt as if she would cry. She felt the tears bubbling up, and she would have broken out into sobs if Ashlee hadn’t come in at that moment.
“What’s wrong, Daphne?”
Daphne looked over at her. “I can’t stay here anymore,” she told her friend. “It’s just too much.”
Ashlee gave her a look of sympathy. “Oh, Daphne, I don’t want you to leave. But ... I can’t say I don’t understand.”
“Maybe Our Lady will allow me to come back until I find another job,” she said. “I can volunteer there, help with the girls, in exchange for board.”
“Oh, Daphne.” Ashlee looked as if she might cry now.
“Could I use your cell phone? To call Mother Angela?”
“I should really let Pete know what you’re thinking.. . .”
Daphne shook her head. “I’ll speak with him afterward. After I speak with Mother Angela, I’ll go directly to him and explain my decision.”
Ashlee hesitated for a moment, then dug into the pocket of the pink hoodie she was wearing and handed over her phone.
“Thank you,” Daphne said.
“Reception sucks here,” Ashlee said. “The best place ...”
“I know,” Daphne said. “The tower room.”
She hurried through the house. Up the winding staircase she went, her footsteps echoing in the emptiness of the tower. Once at the top, she looked out at the estate, the nearly bare trees, the crashing surf beyond. It would be winter soon. Daphne didn’t want to be here when winter came.
Surprisingly, the call went through on the first try. By the time Mother Angela came on the line, however, the connection was fading. Mother’s voice went in and out. But she understood what Daphne was trying to say.
She wanted to come home.
“Listen, Daphne, my dear,” Mother told her. “You must stay where you are. These things you describe. . . they are not real. There are no such things as ghosts. And you are not going crazy. Please, I urge you. Speak to Mr. Witherspoon. He is a good man. I am certain of that. Explain to him all your fears. Be honest with him.”

Other books

Home is Where You Are by Marie, Tessa
Coolidge by Amity Shlaes
Sweet Seduction Sayonara by Nicola Claire
Troll-y Yours by Sheri Fredricks
Survivor in Death by J. D. Robb
Hot Off the Red Carpet by Paige Tyler
Death's Daughter by Kathleen Collins
Suffer Little Children by Peter Tremayne