Chapter 29
The November air left Samantha with a sudden chill as she walked down the front steps and toward the street. Bringing the front of her coat together, she zipped it up against the cold air. The house was not far away, but she would be longer than the thirty minutes prescribed by her mother. She walked quickly as the late autumn wind picked up, burning her ears and nose. In her hurry, Samantha had forgotten her hat, and was now realizing its value as a shield against the cold. Approaching the house, she watched for Henry, whom, she hoped was waiting in the back yard. Given his anxious tendencies, Samantha wasn't sure if he'd be there or not. For all his good intentions, it wasn't typical for Henry to be waiting alone, behind an abandoned house at night. She called to him quietly as she walked slowly down the driveway and was relieved to hear him answer. Until they were in the house, she avoided using her flashlight for fear of being seen. Arriving at the back of the house, she asked him how long he'd waiting.
“About maybe ten minutes,” he replied.
After some hesitation, they agreed to continue, and approaching the back door found it still ajar after having made a hasty retreat from their last visit when Samantha had been stricken ill.
Entering the house, Samantha took out her flashlight, and led the way. As they cautiously made their way through the kitchen, they could hear scratching within the walls as mice and squirrels settled in for the winter. Leaving for the dining room, Henry also took out a small flashlight. This was the first time they had come to the house at night, and he wanted to be certain the way was well lit, especially if they got separated. Quietly, they passed through the dining room, walking carefully across the floor boards, cracked and reshaped by time. But their cautious treading was suddenly interrupted by a quiet repetitive tapping on a nearby window. The wind had, again, picked up and stopping for a moment, Henry suggested it might be the tip of a small branch repeatedly kissing the window pane.
“I don't think so,” Samantha whispered.
“Why not?” Henry asked.
“Because there aren't any trees over there,” she replied.
“Alright,” Henry began. “Fuck this, I’ve got to find out what that is. It's fucking driving me nuts.”
Samantha followed him to a nearby window where they discovered the not so tiny culprit. A large fly, once again, seemed to have wandered into the house, and charging through the air, repeatedly drove its head against the grimy, smeared pane.
“What the fuck is a fly doing here?” Henry asked. “It's fucking November?”
He aimed his flashlight at the window as the insect continued on its mindless collision with the window. As both stared at it in bewilderment, Henry's flashlight flickered, and an instant later, the fly was gone. They both aimed their flashlights around the room but neither could locate it and the house was, once again, silent.
“Okay,” Henry began. “That was creepy.”
Wanting to avoid thinking about it too much, Samantha suggested they move on to the room just outside the bedroom.
With the closed door to the stairs in front of them, Henry and Samantha stood as if waiting for something to happen. Samantha wasn't certain that her plan of confrontation would succeed. It might, in fact, make her situation much worse. But as they began to quietly question the sanity of their decision to return, whatever was still in residence made itself known, with several heavy footsteps crossing the floor above them.
“Fuck,” Samantha said. “I was really hoping not to hear that.”
What she was hoping for was an instant fix, that whatever had caused her sudden state of mental anguish would simply release its grip.
“Alright,” Henry began. “Sounds like someone's home. Now what?”
Samantha took a deep breath, and found the resolve she needed to proceed. Henry was both concerned and terrified, not knowing if having returned would do more harm than good, and he had begun to wonder if they should have visited the house in the first place. Having an interest in the paranormal was one thing, but being in the midst of something frighteningly unpredictable was another. Had he avoided his need to prove himself, Henry would have learned from his experience at the Cumming's house to stay out of all matters of the afterlife.
Samantha took another deep breath and mustering her courage, stepped toward the door. But as she reached for the doorknob, she was interrupted by a loud thud. It came through the ceiling, and rattled the windows with such force that, to Samantha and Henry, it felt as though the house may have been jarred from its foundation. However, with Samantha reaching the edge of her sanity, she stood at the door, refusing to be frightened off and seeing the courage and resolve on her face, Henry made a silent vow to remain with her, no matter what happened. But as suddenly as they began, the footsteps stopped. The resulting silence only served to greatly unnerve them, and not knowing what might be next, both teenagers stepped back from the door. The continued silence left a dull fuzziness lodged in their heads, as they discovered that soundlessness possesses a sound all its own.
Once more, they inched their way towards the door as Samantha cautiously reached for the doorknob but they were, again, forced back as it creaked open. Although opening by mere inches, the fact that it did so on its own served to peak the fear Samantha and Henry were already experiencing.
“Do you think that's an invitation?” Henry whispered.
“I hope so,” Samantha replied.
After a moment of hesitation, she again, collected herself and reaching out put two fingers behind the doorknob and slowly pulled it open. Her eyes immediately fell into the blackness of the stairway leading up to the unfinished second floor. She felt a light dizziness as the blood began to leave her head but recovered with another deep breath. Looking at Henry with wide-eyed fear, Samantha asked him if he was still going with her.
“Don't worry,” he began. “I got your back.”
Without another word, she aimed her flashlight up the stairs, and taking that first step noticed a cold breeze charging out of the darkness. Given the November night time wind and the empty space within the house, a breeze should have been expected, but its suddenness only startled them.
With their flashlights pointed up toward the second floor, both Samantha and Henry climbed the stairs, and only moments later, stood near the top step, their eyes searching the largely open space.
“Hello,” Samantha called.
She still didn't know what to expect, but thought that a simple 'hello' might be a good start. However, there was no response. She looked back at Henry, who shrugged his shoulders in bewilderment. She stepped up onto the floor, and walked a few paces.
“Hello,” she repeated. “Are you here?”
Still, there was no reply. Another cold breeze wound its way through the second floor, striking both teens in the face. Its sharp bite felt more like a slap as they brought their hands up, covering their faces. After a few moments, the wind subsided, and Samantha and Henry were able to continue with what they hoped would be an effective cure for what had become a threat to her sanity.
Henry, who remembered to bring his phone, retrieved it from a pocket of his coat and turning it on, began recording video as the two walked to the middle of the second floor. Again, Samantha called out to the unseen force she believed responsible for her illness. After a moment's pause, she continued, feeling as though she had to beg.
“Can you please take away whatever this is? I think something happened here that made me sick. Please?”
The only response came in the form of silence, and Samantha was quickly becoming desperate. By this time, Henry had walked off into another part of the second floor. He thought that as long as they were there, he would continue with even a small part of their initial investigation. Meanwhile, Samantha stood waiting for an answer, but when there was none, she began to look for Henry.
Realizing Henry's absence, Samantha suddenly felt the fear of being alone with what she believed to be a malevolent spirit, an echo of a life trapped somewhere between pain and anger.
“Henry,” she called.
In the houses' cold darkness, Samantha reduced her voice to a loud whisper, as if trying not to be discovered.
“Henry...god dammit, where are you?!”
She aimed her flashlight around the spacious second floor, and called to him again. But as she swept the dull beam around the walls, Samantha felt a sudden push against her shoulder, hard enough to nearly knock her off her feet.
“Henry!” she yelled. “What the fuck are you doing!?”
Pointing her flashlight in that direction, she expected to see Henry with his hands in front of his eyes, shielding them from the light's narrow beam. What she saw, however, terrified her into a scream, followed by hysterical tears. It was only a flicker, but the image was clear enough. A woman in Victorian dress, her hair long and wispy, stood only a few feet away. With her hands at her face, she drove her nails deeply enough to draw long streams of blood. On her face was the look of confusion and anguish, her open mouth drawn down into an expression of profound sadness. For all appearances, even at a glance, she appeared to be someone cursed with a deep mental lapse, and although the woman's scream was not loud, Samantha heard it in both its volume and clarity. Henry, on the other hand, heard only Samantha's terrified scream.
Hurrying from the far end, Henry approached her as she stood trembling violently.
“Sam!” he said.
Seeing her in such a panicked state sent him into a fearful concern for her safety, believing that Samantha had been frightened to the point of breakdown.
“Sam, what is it?!”
Taking her by the shoulders, he gave her a gentle shake.
“Sam!” he continued. “Jesus Christ, what happened?!”
Samantha blinked her eyes as she emerged from her momentary catatonia, and taking several rapid breaths, alerted Henry about what she had just experienced.
“Henry,” she began.
Her voice stammered with fear as she tried to string her words together.
“There's something here! We have to leave!”
Still holding by the shoulders, Henry continued his attempt to calm her.
“Sam,” he said. “We already know that.”
“No!” she interrupted. “I saw it! We have to leave. Now!”
Henry held his grip on her shoulders, wanting her to calm down and think rationally.
“Sam!...Sam!” he shouted. “Just tell me what happened!”
In her panic, Samantha flailed her arms, and broke away from Henry's grip.
“Don't fuckin' touch me!” she screamed.
Henry took a step back, and spoke to her with a calm, reassuring voice.
“Alright,” he began. “Let's just go back outside. You can get some air and we can figure this out, okay?”
After everything he'd experienced – the attack at the cemetery, the Cummings house, and Samantha's illness – Henry had changed. He had substituted fear with strength, panic with clarity, and now, he was the one being strong, supporting Samantha during a moment of crisis.
In her terrified state, Samantha pushed Henry aside as she ran for the stairs, dropping her flashlight on the way. Fearful of her safety, Henry called to her to wait while pointing his flashlight at her back. But with her first step down the stairs, whatever had shown itself to her, again, made its' presence known. What happened next left Henry stunned, and he might not have believed it, had he not seen it for himself. Just moments before her hand touched the rail, the anguished spirit committed one last assault, pushing her hard enough to lift her off her feet. It happened with such suddenness that the impact arched her body back as she sailed down the stairs.
With the stairway turning at a right angle, Samantha landed hard against the wall with a loud thud. The initial moment was free of pain until she realized that she was unable to stand. Her screams were loud and long as she became aware of the severity of her injury. While the shell of the house had been completed, the walls of the second floor were ignored, leaving an occasional nail exposed and Samantha had somehow found one. A four-inch nail, normally used to hammer plywood to studs stood out, having missed its mark. Its rusty tip, angled up slightly, pushed its way through Samantha's right eye and deep into her brain. With her brow and cheek planted firmly against the wall, the pain suddenly overwhelmed her.
“Henry!”
A new panic now began its torment as Samantha became keenly aware that she was unable to move without the risk of pulling her eye from its socket. What made things worse was that she landed with knees against the wall and could neither stand nor kneel. Her fall had, in fact, left her hanging by her eye socket.
With the beam of his flashlight lighting his way, Henry rushed down the stairs to where Samantha hung frozen from the steel spike protruding from the wall. Samantha's screams were ear-piecing as she begged Henry not to touch her, and raising his flashlight, he took a silent gasp upon discovering the nature of her injury.
“Jesus fuckin' Christ!” he said.
He had never so much as witnessed a car accident, much less someone hanging from a four-inch nail. He spent a brief moment making a closer inspection of her injury, and noticed how little it bled. But where the nail penetrated her eye, he saw a yellowish gelatinous substance weeping slightly.
“Fuck! What do I do!?”
Having brought a foot to the floor, Samantha braced her palms against the wall.
“Get some help!” she screamed. “Just go get someone!”
Henry turned and ran down the stairs, but moments after reaching the doorway turned back, promising to return.
“Sam,” he said. “Listen to me. Don't move. I'll be right back, okay? Just don't move.”
With those words, Henry rushed out of the house, leaving Samantha in the cold, silent darkness, her heart pounding in her ears as seconds ticked by like hours, waiting for Henry to return.