CHAPTER NINETEEN
As a boy, I feared the voices.
They nested inside my skull, feasting on the terror and revulsion born from the Devil’s merciless embrace. His voice led the assault, his demons never far behind. When they spoke, when they taunted, I did everything I could to drown them out.
As a boy, I feared the voices.
As a man, I welcomed them.
It was all about mastering control. Once I realised the voices lived, and died, with me, there was nothing left to fear.
When they spoke, when they taunted, I listened.
Maybe that was my downfall.
I waited for the moment they stepped out of line, cutting deep into my pale flesh, blood falling freely as a reminder of just who was in control. And like clockwork, the voices scattered, hiding in the crevices of my mind I dared not touch. One thing was clear: they could not survive without me.
The only voice that did not fear my death was the Devil. He would follow me anywhere, dragging me into the fires of Hell with his sharp talons and crooked grin.
He was the only voice that challenged my control, stealing the reins when reality became distorted.
Here in the House on North Lane, though, he wasn’t the only voice whispering in my ear.
A candle flickered to announce her presence. The ghost of North Lane. My mother.
I stood by the splintered window of my old bedroom, breathing in the only ounce of freedom the House would allow.
Smothered by swirling black clouds, the moon’s pale glow vanished beneath a cloak of darkness, the trees surrounding North Lane transforming into monsters of bark and leaves.
“Augustus.”
The candle flickered out, plunging the room in darkness. I breathed in slowly, steadying my racing heart.
The voice was barely a whisper, easily mistaken as a sigh. Too soft to be the Devil. Too gentle.
I turned, slowly, an eerie emptiness staring back.
“Augustus.”
The voice came from the hallway, and I followed, as though in a trance.
“Augustus.”
The hallway was empty, dark—a thick dampness tainting the air. A dead rat rotted in the centre of the wooden floorboards, cobwebs spilling across the ceiling. A wooden beam groaned above me, the House and I once more at odds with one another.
“Show yourself!” I demanded.
I was sick of the games. I wanted her to face me; to confront the monstrous demon she’d always claimed me to be.
“Or are you too afraid?” It was my turn to taunt, voice mirroring the Devil’s. “You know I can’t kill you twice, right?”
A flicker of white flew past me, a barely visible apparition that descended the staircase before I could process what I had seen. I followed, quickly, floorboards grunting with every step.
In the centre of the living room stood a figure, a white mist emanating from within the faded chalk pentagram.
“Mother?”
“Augustus.”
The voice did not come from the figure standing in the circle. It came from behind me, urgent. Pleading.
I peeled my eyes away from the faceless mist and turned. The second my eyes landed on the solid figure standing at the top of the staircase, everything in me crumbled.
“You…” I breathed out, hand reaching to steady myself on the cold, dust-drenched railing. “It’s you.”