The Fall of Never(147)

She turned to run back into the house, but was halted by gnashing teeth and a gleaming blade. It went fast—too fast—and her shoulder was suddenly ablaze with agonizing fire, so potent and indisputable that she could taste the presence of pain in her mouth like copper. Before her face, Glenda’s eyes gleamed. Her withered old hand came away wet with blood. The hilt of the knife, protruding like an obscenity from Kelly’s left shoulder, was also covered in blood. As was her shirt. The pain was beyond real. And Glenda’s hand came down again, grasped the handle of the knife, extracted it with painful lethargy. Fresh agony erupted from her shoulder, then it all fell numb. Again, the knife was raised—she could see it so clearly now, as if in slow motion—and just before it completed its arc, two figures emerged from behind Glenda. One grabbed her arm. The second wrapped an arm around her neck, another arm about the old woman’s waist. And at first, like in some wild nightmare, Kelly thought it was the two dead girls from the institution returning for one last curtain call. But no—she caught the eyes of her saviors and realized they were her parents.

She felt herself grow lightheaded and, as strange as it was, felt a tremendous laugh build up inside her and rush out of her mouth. She felt herself whirl around and stagger down the front steps. She moved quicker than her eyes could keep up with: it took a few moments for the scenery to shift with each new perspective. Far off, she could hear Becky screaming, could feel a hand at her back—two hands—and then the world began to get grainy before her eyes.

You have to keep with it, Kelly, she heard Josh say inside her head. Focus and stay awake and this will all turn out fine. I promise you. But you have to fight it off, all right? You have to be strong and fight off the darkness.

But she couldn’t fight it off…

Use me, the voice said. It wasn’t Josh’s voice. Someone else…

There was a strong sense of giving, of exchange, and she could do nothing but accept it in her state. Strength blossomed throughout her body, like the lights of a city slowly coming on after an extended blackout.

She stumbled down the front porch stairs, Becky at her side, and spilled out across the front lawn, her back soaking in the wetness of the snow. Her vision blurry, she looked back up toward the house. In the doorway, she could see Glenda had disappeared.

“No,” she managed. Crying, Becky tried to get her to remain down on the ground. Kelly shook her away and struggled to her feet. “No…I’ll be okay.”

“Where are you going?” Becky called after her. “Kelly!”

In a fugue, she headed back toward the house. She could feel the solidity of the ground beneath her feet and never felt more thankful for anything in her entire life. Out here was real, was solid reality.

The face of the house looked like a scream turning in on itself. The peaked roofs and spires had crumbled inward, smashing through the main roof and third floor ceiling. The windows sprayed glass as if in synchrony. The balconies on either side of the house crashed and folded up into sandwiched bits of concrete and cinder. The massive stone columns that held up the canopy above the front entranceway collapsed, sending the canopy crashing to the earth in a bloom of smoke and ruin.

Kelly stepped around the front of the house and moved to the nearest first floor window. All the windows at this level had gone a brilliant orange-yellow, the flames reflected out into the night. Kelly moved against one of these windows, felt it hot to the touch and backed away. Peering inside, she watched as the spiral staircase collapsed, engulfed in flames, and the lavish drapes and carpets caught fire. Spiraling tendrils of smoke twirled toward the ceiling. Flames licked at the massive framed oil paintings; many had already begun to melt. The canvas caught fire almost immediately, sending the painting ablaze.

On her knees at the center of the conflagration was Glenda, bound on either side by Kelly’s mother and father. Head bowed, Glenda’s compact frame shook as her parents held her respective arms. Her parents’ faces were emotionless, just as they’d always been…but no, not quite…

They’re happy, it suddenly occurred to her. They’re happy and they’re proud. For once.

And on the heels of that: Me too.





Chapter Thirty


Sheriff Alan Bannercon pulled his cruiser up the hillside drive of the Kellow Compound and slammed on his brakes. As he peered through the windshield of the car, he watched in awe as the mansion came crumbling down on itself, its core destroyed by a blazing inferno that lit the night sky. And though it had been his intention to question the Kellows in the disappearance of Felix Raintree, all thought of that quickly vanished from his mind.

He radioed the location to the station, then shoved the car door open and sprinted toward the house. As he ran, he nearly trampled a young girl into the ground, as his eyes were glued to the crumbling house.

“Jesus shit,” he blurted, and backpedaled.

The teenage girl sat sobbing into her hands on the snowy lawn. At his words, she looked up at him with wide, terrified eyes.

“You all right, kid? There anybody still in there?”

The girl shook her head. “He’s dead,” she muttered.

“Christ. Who?”

“Simple Simon,” she said.

“Simple Simon,” he repeated. “Who’s that?”

Looking away from him, she said, “The Pie Man.”