27
Rayne
The Stone House
B y the next morning, the rain had stopped, but colder weather was swiftly moving in.
Thick fog rolled across the grounds as Salem and I walked along the narrow, winding path leading south of manor, toward the backend of the Balfour property.
Loki trotted ahead of us, sniffing here and there as he decided where to relieve himself.
Winter’s distinct chill was in the still air. Everything, from the mist to the sky to the brittle grass we walked through, was a pale shade of gray.
Salem stayed close. Her head was on a swivel, and every time there was a sound she didn’t recognize, her entire body flinched.
I wrapped an arm around her shoulders, tucking her close against my side. I pointed at the distant fence, topped with thick curls of vicious, sharp wire.
“Not even a monster will drag itself through that,” I said. “I checked the cameras this morning. We’re okay.”
She smiled shyly, but remained close against me. I didn’t want her to be afraid, but it made me feel good to comfort her, and that she felt safer with me close.
Maybe it was only her presence, but despite the bitter cold, it was a beautiful morning. Birds were twittering in the trees, the grass glistened with frost, spiderwebs shone with morning dew. It was peacefully quiet.
Until Loki let out a heart-stopping snarl and sprinted across the field.
“Loki!” I yelled out to him, but he was singularly focused.
He sprinted straight to the bottom of the hill, to the small stone structure my father had built there: a one-room cabin, with a narrow chimney and filthy windows.
Grass and moss covered the roof, and blackberry brambles clung to the walls.
He ran up to the boarded door and paced, barking furiously.
I huffed in exasperation. “A raccoon must have gotten inside there. Silly dog... Salem? Hey, what’s wrong?”
She’d stopped walking. She was staring at the building with an expression of utter terror, shaking her head slowly.
“I told myself it wasn’t real,” she whispered. “I thought—I thought I imagined it—”
I grasped her shoulders, making her look at me. “What is it? What are you talking about?”
She was so frightened, her eyes reddened with tears. “In the stone house... something... something big.”
An hour later, we returned to the bottom of the hill. But this time, we were prepared. I carried my rifle and a flashlight; Salem had my hunting knife. Loki walked ahead of us, ears up, nose twitching, as if he knew we were on a mission.
“Why did your dad build an office way out here?” she said. Her voice was shaky with nerves.
“He built it after I was born. I cried a lot through the night as an infant, and he hated it.”
The stone house was where my father spent most of his time when he wasn’t at the church. Locked inside, in communion with God, he would sometimes sleep out here for days before setting foot in the manor again. Toward the end of his life, he was locked in there day and night.
I’d always been strictly forbidden from entering.
My father couldn’t handle the thought of a grubby child touching his belongings, and the fear he instilled in me remained even now.
After he died, and the entire property became mine, I couldn’t be bothered to destroy the old building.
I never found his key, so the door had remained locked for years, until I eventually boarded it up and left it to rot.
As we reached the door, Loki began to circle the house. Nose to the ground, tail curled over his back, he trotted around the entire place until returning to my side and taking a very long sniff at the door.
“What is it?” I said, giving his thick ruff a scratch. “What is it, boy?”
He didn’t take his eyes off the door, nor did he lower his tail. He just stared, nose twitching.
“Does he usually do that?” Salem said.
Drawing my lips between my teeth, I used my sleeve to clear the window of grime and peered inside. It was dim, but nothing stood out to me as unusual. Just a dusty old office.
“Keep your knife ready,” I said, turning back to her. “Keep it close, hold it like this...” I adjusted her hand until she had a firm grip on the weapon. “If I tell you to run, you run. Okay?”
She nodded and swallowed hard. I seized a rusted old ax leaning near the door and swung it down to meet the moss-covered boards.
Wood splintered, chunks flying as I hacked my way through.
It wasn’t the most subtle way of getting in, but it certainly felt good.
There was something satisfying about destroying the door my father had used specifically to keep me away.
When only splintered wood remained and the dark interior was revealed, Salem released a slow breath.
“Wow,” she said. “That was...”
“Sorry. I might have gotten carried away.”
“Sorry? No, don’t be. That was hot. I’ll watch you chop down doors any day.”
For a moment, I could only stare at her, speechless. Her eyes sparkled with what I could only describe as awe.
I’d had plenty of hookups who lusted after me, complimented me, but somehow, when Salem did it, it felt entirely different. Like a songbird was in my chest, trying to fly away.
Before she could see me blush, I cleared my throat and said, “I’ll go first.”
I stepped inside, with Loki following closely, the old wood creaking ominously beneath my feet. Dust cascaded from the rafters, which were strewn with years of thick cobwebs. The interior was dark and smelled musty, the windows so filthy no natural light could penetrate.
“Ugh, what is that smell?” Salem hissed, pulling her sleeve over her hand and covering her mouth and nose. She was right; beneath the smell of mold and dust was the stench of something rotten and decayed.
“Something must have died in here,” I said, clicking on my flashlight. Dust motes swirled in the beam as I swung it around the room. “Looks like the roof has been leaking.”
The wooden floor was moldy and discolored, some of the boards bowing as I put my weight on them. Being in here felt entirely wrong. The songbird in my chest had died, leaving a weight between my ribs that only grew heavier as I examined the many shelves lining the walls.
My father had an extensive library, but these books looked ancient.
Cracking spines and peeling covers, some with their titles worn away.
Melted candles stood entombed within piles of their own wax on every available surface.
A single bulb, long since burnt out, dangled from a chain in the center of the room over a filthy square table.
Salem gingerly picked up a rusted metal instrument from the table. I couldn’t even hazard a guess what the thing had once been used for.
“So, what exactly was your dad studying in here?” she said. The table was smeared with discoloration, dark stains blemishing the wood. Those dark stains encircled the table too, on the floor, as if something had once dripped off of it.
“He wrote his sermons here,” I said. A large desk stood beneath a filthy window, with loose papers, pencils, and books scattered across the surface.
A worn leather Bible lay there, its thin pages mildew stained.
It was open to the Book of Romans, and a highlighted passage: We also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance.
“How cheerful,” Salem said dryly. She screwed up her mouth as she looked around.
“I was so sure I saw someone. But it doesn’t look like anyone has been in here for years.
Except maybe rats.” She made a face as she kicked at some rodent droppings near her shoe.
“I don’t even see how anyone could have gotten in here. ”
She was right, but a lingering doubt remained in my mind as I cast my light across the floor. The thick dust showed our shoe prints and Loki’s paw prints. But there, near the far window... I narrowed my eyes.
“Salem, look over there,” I said, keeping my light on the floor. She crouched down for a closer look, frowning. “What do you see?”
“It’s... um...” She shook her head slowly, as if she didn’t want to say it. “There’s hoofprints. At the window.”
Sudden sharp pain seared through my eardrums. I flinched violently, grabbing my head as the flashlight clattered to the ground, my head filled with the sound of screaming.
“Shit, no, no, no, not now!” My breath came rapid and shallow as the horrifying screams overwhelmed me. I didn’t have my earbuds, my music, nothing that could shut it out.
“Rayne? What’s wrong? What is it?” Salem’s voice was panicked. The pain was too great to open my eyes. My arms were locked into position as I held my head, teeth clenched, willing it to stop... please... stop...
A sinister voice hissed in my skull, The blood, the blood, in blood do I call thee.
“Leave me alone!” I gasped in pain. My upper lip was wet and the taste of blood was in my mouth.
“Rayne? What—what’s happening to you?”
It came again, like someone was speaking right in my ear: To the bones, to the bones, right down to your cracked and rotten bones!
Bile rose in my throat. The voice was vicious and angry, but the screaming was agonized —the sounds of someone in torturous pain.
And then...
It’s here.
It’s here.
It’shereIt’shereIt’shereIt’shereIt’shereIt’shere—
The voice and the screams melded together, becoming a cacophony that shut out all else. I couldn’t breathe, blood was dripping from my nose, and when I forced my eyes open, the world was a blurry haze of pain.
“Oh my God, Rayne... I’ll help you, let me...” Salem stepped closer, hand stretched out for me.
It was too late that I noticed the red glow beneath the floorboards.
I could hardly speak. “Salem, don’t—”
The moment she put weight on her foot, there was a loud crack and a rending of wood as the floor collapsed.