The Spite House(54)

She did. There were two ponds along the big walking trail outside. If she followed the trail she would find one of them, and maybe being near it would help her figure out what the people she couldn’t see were talking about.





CHAPTER 25



Eric



Eric’s eyes opened to concentrated darkness. There was an element in the room, a force of reality, consuming any light and warmth with the hunger of a black hole. To call it Death was inaccurate. It existed before the Life that birthed Death. It was the original state of nature. Unlit blankness. Nothingness. Eric knew that if he could crawl from the bed and fumble his way to the windows to get a proper view, he would see that Nothingness all around the house.

Getting out of bed seemed impossible, however. He sat up, surprised that he still held the journal and pen. He turned on the lamp on the nightstand, expecting it not to work, but it gave him enough light to see what was in the journal. The handwriting was his, but looser, a little harder to read. Like he’d written it under duress and a tightening deadline.

His unwitting, automatic writing captured Peter Masson’s story up to the point that Eric had lived it. As Eric read it, something shifted to his left, in a corner of the room. He looked at the crowded shadows there and knew something hid within them. The cold intensified, making it difficult for Eric to speak through chattering teeth.

“Y-y-you d-died,” he said. “Y-you died and came back. H-how did you do it?”

Peter Masson remained silent and hidden, but Eric knew he was there.

“You just couldn’t let them take your land? Was that it? Do you even know how you did it or was it just like an accident? Come on, say something, damn it. What are you scared of?”

The quiet and cold brought Eric’s anger up to the same level as his fear. He felt less like he was back in the room at his grandparents’ house, afraid of fire and shadows, and more like he was channeling his grandfather.

“Whatever you think might happen if you talk to me, start saying too much, it’ll be worse for you if you stay quiet. You think I don’t know you’re there? I know. And I know your name. You’re Peter Masson. You died in the war, you were blown apart—”

The old man groaned from his corner, but still did not reveal himself.

“You were blown apart,” Eric said, shaking now. “You died, Peter. And then you were alive again. I know it. I just saw it all in my dream. I lived it.”

“There are no dreams in this house,” the woman said. The iciness she added to the room pushed a shocking chill into his bones and teeth. Eric winced, but kept his focus. He wasn’t going to break now.

Perhaps there were no dreams in the spite house, but there were other things. Lives and memories that you could step into. He’d done that twice now.

“No, no, no. That’s not true. You’re wrong.” She was close to him, maybe even close enough to touch him if the freezing sensation that numbed the right side of his body was any indication. “It’s all a lie,” she said. “He couldn’t come back. No one comes back. If you could, I would. I’ve tried. I’ve tried I’ve tried—”

“It’s not a lie,” Eric said.

“You don’t know. You don’t know.”

“I do,” Eric said.

“How? How, you liar? How? Hhh—?” A hissing gasp cut her short, like something sucked her out of the room. The chill vanished as well. Masson’s presence lingered long enough to whisper, “I’m sorry.” Then it was gone and the lamp’s light could reach the corner Masson had occupied.

Eric felt light-headed and nauseous. He tried to get out of bed anyway and after failing at that he sat back against the headboard and imagined how terrible it must be to exist as Peter Masson now did, and as the ghost woman did. Stuck in relentless desolation. Not like his baby girl. Stacy was warm with life. She had pulled herself out of death’s grasp and he was starting to think that how she’d done it was a mystery that could be saved for later. What mattered more was whether she legitimately came back. There seemed to be precedent. Peter Masson apparently came back, which lent much more credence to the rumors surrounding Eric’s grandfather. Both lived to be old men after returning, too. So it was possible that Stacy was here to stay, Eric thought. Presuming that she was herself, and not something in disguise, a changeling wearing her like a skin. Another question he needed to set aside. One thing at a time.

Above all else, at the moment, he wanted to believe that Death—a conscious and active force—wouldn’t up and discover she was missing someday and try to take her back. His grandfather lived long enough to meet his two great-granddaughters, who, incidentally, would never have been born if he had remained dead. And Masson lived at least long enough to build this house. How long after that? Eric thought he could find out. In the morning, if he didn’t feel too sick to move, he would do just that.





CHAPTER 26



Eunice



The Houghton Estate had little in the way of security. It never struck Eunice or any of her predecessors as necessary, despite their fear of death. The town itself was all the security they needed. The sheriff’s office favored them. The small-business owners favored them. All the people who enjoyed the fruits that they provided favored them, if for no other reason than that it was in their best interest. So it wasn’t until Lafonda moved in and insisted that a security system be installed for her own peace of mind that Eunice bothered with one, which she quickly found annoying, given that it announced the opening and closing of any door that led to the outside. She let Lafonda activate it only at night when no one would be coming in or going out.