Chapter 16
Chapter sixteen
Iheard the screaming first. Then a cacophony of voices shouting instructions. And then came the crying.
“Mama, what’s wrong?” Henry asked, his voice edged with fear.
I shook my head. “I don’t know, baby. You stay here and watch cartoons, and I’ll take a look.”
It’d been relatively quiet in the couple of weeks since our outing with Whit, but this wasn’t an intruder trying to get through to me by reliving some horror from the past. This was one of the residents of Dawes House.
I hurried out of the apartment and realized the screaming was coming from the floor below us. I raced down the stairs and nearly ran into Ms. Pearlie and Merilee.
“What’s happening?” I shouted so they could hear me over the screams.
“Kitty’s in labor,” Merilee said in a rush, brushing past me to get to Kitty’s apartment.
“Isn’t it a little early?” I asked.
Pearlie turned me back toward the stairwell. “Don’t worry, honey. We’ve got it under control. Merilee is doing everything she can.”
“Shouldn’t Kitty be at a hospital?” I demanded.
“I’m sure Merilee will call if she needs to,” she said, her voice maddeningly calm. “Just go on back to your apartment.”
Clearly not welcome, I returned to the apartment to find Henry sitting on the couch, clutching his teddy bear.
“It’s okay,” I assured him, turning up the cartoons to drown out the noise from below. Eventually, the screaming stopped. I kept checking my phone, hoping to receive a text with an update from Merilee or Ms. Pearlie of June or—hell, anybody—but nothing came.
Finally, I tucked Henry into bed for the night, glad it was quiet but worried sick about Kitty and her baby.
“Mama,” Henry said as I pulled his comforter up to his chin. “Did somebody else die?”
“No, baby,” I said quickly. “I’m sure they’re fine.”
He slid down in his bed, his face half-hidden under the comforter, his eyes wide, anxious.
“Do you want me to stay with you until you go to sleep?” I asked.
He nodded, scooting over to make room for me.
I settled in beside him and leaned back against the wall, smoothing his hair.
It wasn’t long before his breathing slowed, deepened.
I smiled, relieved he didn’t seem to be too shaken by the events of the evening.
Not wanting to disturb him by getting up, I closed my eyes, letting myself drift.
I’d only intended to rest for a moment, but when I jolted awake, the room was thick with shadows cast by the full moon.
I’d been sleeping so soundly that I wasn’t sure what had awakened me. Then I heard it—a thin scraping. Like rats in the walls, but longer, slower. Deliberate.
Careful not to disturb Henry, I eased out from under him and rested his head gently on his pillow, then stood in the middle of the room, listening. I tried to locate where it was coming from, but the sound saturated the room, everywhere at once. I shut my eyes, straining, listening more closely.
There it was again.
Scriiiiiiitch
I took a step to my right, and the scratching grew marginally louder, so I opened my eyes, letting my sight adjust to the darkness, and turned toward Henry’s closet.
My throat grew tight. I forced myself forward, wincing when the floorboards creaked and casting a quick glance back at Henry to make sure he was still asleep.
Assured that he was, I leaned closer and pressed my ear against the closest door.
The scratching was louder now.
I swallowed, grabbed the doorknob, then took a deep, bracing breath and flung open the door.
The closet stood empty.
Thank, God.
I’m not entirely sure what I’d been expecting to find, but there were no monsters lurking there.
It had to be mice, I told myself. My imagination must’ve assigned something more to the sound, something more deliberate and human.
I made a mental note to ask Chase to call an exterminator in the morning.
Sighing, adrenaline still buzzing in my veins, I closed the closet door and turned back to Henry—only to find him awake and alert, holding his blankets up to his eyes. Before I could urge him to go back to sleep, a quiet creaking of hinges sounded behind me.
An icy quiver shot down my spine.
“She’s coming,” Henry whispered, his eyes huge with terror. “Mama…”
My heart hammered as I slowly turned toward the closet. The door inched open, the foul stench of rotting flesh flooding the room. I gagged, swallowing hard. As I stared into the shadows, too terrified to move, the darkness shifted.
Henry whimpered.
I saw her eyes first, glowing silver with fury.
Then her face emerged, twisted with rage.
She crawled toward us like a spider, limbs cracking and snapping at the joints like dry kindling.
Her mouth worked silently, screaming words I couldn’t hear.
Her head twisted in mad, jerking motions like poorly edited movie clips, disjointed, too fast then too slow.
“What the fuck!” I cried, scrambling onto Henry’s bed and gathering him into my arms as she moved ever closer, blocking the doorway. “What the hell do you want?”
Her head snapped toward Henry. Her eyes narrowed. She screeched something unintelligible then lunged at us, sharp, jagged nails curled into talons.
I screamed, clutching Henry close to my chest and curling around him to protect him from the spectral assault, bracing myself to feel the searing pain of her claws digging into my skin, ripping flesh from my bones.
But no attack came.
After a deep, shaky breath, I dared to open my eyes.
The room was empty. The closet door was closed.
Henry was sobbing into my chest, clinging to me, making it awkward to jump off his bed and race from his room with him in my arms. But I did, not waiting one damned second longer to get the hell out of there.
I hurried to my room and slammed and locked the door, backing away until I bumped into the mattress.
“Shh, shh…” I soothed Henry, rubbing his back. “It’s okay, now, baby. She’s gone.”
Sweet Jesus…was that the woman he’d seen? Was she the one that scared him?
“I don’t like her, Mama,” he hiccupped.
“I don’t either,” I whispered, still shaky. “You’re sleeping in here tonight.”
“Is she coming back?” he asked, his voice small.
“No,” I promised. “Not tonight.”
“But what if she does?”
I held him tighter and rocked gently. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll stay awake to make sure you’re safe.”
I jerked awake, instantly feeling guilty for falling asleep after promising to stay awake.
But my guilt quickly morphed into confusion.
Instead of being in my bedroom with the door locked, Henry and I were back in his room, sitting on the bed in the exact same positions we’d been in before the woman appeared.
What the hell…?
“Henry,” I whispered, gently shaking him. “Henry, baby. Time to wake up.”
He stretched and blinked up at me then rubbed his eyes. “Is it time to go to Mamaw June’s?”
“No, not yet,” I told him. “Are you okay?”
He sat up and nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
“You sure?” I pressed. “That was pretty scary.”
He frowned in confusion. “But it was okay when you kept me company. I wasn’t scared anymore.”
Now it was my turn to frown. “What about the woman in the wall? The one who came out of the closet?”
His eyes widened. “Oh, yes, ma’am. She’s scary!”
“I know,” I said carefully. “I saw her last night. Don’t you remember?”
He tilted his head. “What do you mean?”
My mind raced, reviewing everything from last night. Had I dreamed it? Was that why we were here in Henry’s room? Because we’d never left it?
I forced a smile, brushing his curls off his forehead. “Nothing. I guess I was confused. How about we get you ready for Ms. June’s since we’re already awake?”
While Henry watched his cartoons in the living room, I stood in the shower, letting the water run over me, hiding the tears that slid down my cheeks as silent sobs shook my shoulders.
The dream—if it was a dream—had felt so real, so terrifying.
The woman in the wall. The crawling. The stench.
Now it made me question the other dreams I’d had about Dawes House, Susanna…
Was any of it true? Were they memories? Or nightmares built from fear and fragments of history?
What about the other encounters? Were they real?
Hallucinations? Had I lost the ability to tell the difference between fiction and reality?
If so, where did that leave everything? The family I’d found here—the first I’d really ever known?
Was I planning to run from the only people who truly seemed to care about me, about my son, because of my overactive imagination?
Had Vivian been right all along? Was this all something I’d created in my mind?
Or the influence of something dark and sinister that Vivian sensed before I ever did?
And what about Whit?
Was my impression of things accurate? Or was that just my imagination as well?
I couldn’t deny I was falling hard for him.
Had already. But was it genuine? Could I trust any of what I felt for him?
Or was I just infatuated with the idea of him, of someone who actually treated me kindly and made me feel safe for the first time in my life?
A tentative knock interrupted my spiraling thoughts. “Cartoons are over, Mama!”
I wiped my face quickly and smoothed my wet hair back. “I’m almost finished, baby! Go ahead and get dressed!”
My eyes were still swollen and red when I dropped Henry off to June an hour later, but she had the grace not to comment.
Dottie, however, was less subtle.
“Lord have mercy!” she exclaimed when I walked into the bookstore. “You look like something the cat dragged in.” Her eyes twinkled wickedly. “I’m not one for gossip in general, but I might make an exception if a certain eligible bachelor I know is why you look exhausted.”
My cheeks burned at Dottie’s insinuation. But I shook my head with a little laugh that sounded devoid of mirth. “Nothing so tantalizing, Dottie.”
Her expression softened into concern. “Oh, darlin’,” she murmured, taking my hand and leading me to one of the comfy couches in a nearby reading nook. “Come tell me all about it. We’ve got time before the store opens.”
I intended to tell her I was fine, but the words started spilling out before I could stop them.
And I told her about all if it—the hauntings, the premonitions, the dreams, the fear of leaving, the fear of staying, the fear of losing the fragile sense of safety and security Henry and I had finally found.
“And what about Whit?” Dottie asked gently.
“What about him?” I replied, trying to sound casual.
She smiled knowingly. “I see the look in your eyes when you say his name. You’re proper smitten.”
“It’s that obvious?” I groaned. “I didn’t mean for this to happen, Dottie. I really didn’t!”
“Of course, you didn’t,” she said, giving my knee a comforting pat.
“It’s just the way of things. No accounting for what the heart wants, Zellie.
But it’s most important to listen to your soul—it knows the way.
What does your soul whisper to you when he’s nearby, accidentally brushes your hand, kisses you until you can’t breathe, like you’re the only woman in the world who matters? ”
Shocked by Dottie’s directness, heat crept up my neck. “It tells me I love him,” I whispered. “I feel like I have forever, like I was just waiting to find him.”
She smiled. “There now. That’s the truth. So, what are you going to do about it?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. My head’s telling me to be careful, that I’m just bound for heartbreak.”
She sighed wistfully. “Oh, my girl. The heart can be fooled as easily as the mind. But don’t you think it’s time you had a little happiness?
It’s not living if you shut yourself off from what you feel—the good and the bad.
Open yourself up to the possibilities of what could be instead of dwelling on what has been. ”
“What about the hauntings?” I asked. “These women? What do they want from me?”
She exhaled, the sound heavy with sorrow, perhaps reliving old wounds of her own.
“There are those who die without ever being heard, Zellie. These women were silenced then, and scream in silence now. They need a voice. Or they will never know peace. You know what it feels like to be denied a voice in your fate, darlin’. Don’t deny these poor souls theirs.”