The Spite House(81)

Masson lifted his head, stared through Eric, and said, “I can’t even leave this room! I can’t do anything. I can’t. They won’t let me. They won’t forgive me. And I never even did anything.” Through hollow, echoing sobs he returned to his mantra. “I never hurt them. I never hurt them.”

Eric understood then that he was appealing to the wrong spirit. Masson built the house, but over time “they” ran the house. The children.

When he got back to the third floor, he went through the door to the first bedroom. Eric did not genuflect, shut his eyes, or clasp his hands. He did, however, speak with reverence he had not proffered to Peter Masson. He did not patronize the spirits of the children by forcing solemnity into his tenor, but he spoke deliberately and with a hint of gratitude, as though he owed them in advance for help he wasn’t sure they would provide.

“I know you’re here, I know you can hear me,” he said. “I don’t know what you want from me, but I have to believe you don’t want to see another child suffer here.”

The room grew no colder and Eric wondered for a moment if he was wasting his time. If he should instead go back outside and ask Millie Steen for her gun, and see if she might come with him, too, as backup.

Then he heard Stacy through the wall. “Daddy, I’m in here!” Hearing her dug hooks into Eric’s heart and reminded him that he could not afford any doubt or indecision or carelessness. He had to make this happen.

He held back tears and rooted himself to where he was. “I’m here too,” he said to Stacy. Then he continued his plea to the children. “Help my daughter. You can keep me if you want. You can ask me to do anything, tell me to do anything, I’ll do it. I swear. I swear on my soul that I will. Just please help my daughter. I’ll do anything you ask if you help her.”

He repeated this last sentence as he felt the temperature plummet and heard Max Renner telling him to stop. He said it again and again as he heard things happening in the hallway on the other side of the wall. Awful-sounding things, but things that did not touch Stacy, that only made Max and his wife scream and cry and struggle. He was sure of this, because he felt almost like he was part of the energy that attacked the Renners. That raw fury that had seared PROTECT and KILL into his consciousness was in the hallway with the children, perhaps even fueling them and the house as they snatched Max’s and Jane’s lives and souls. When their screams stopped, his anger dissipated, and his only thought was of Stacy.

Eric went to the stairwell and opened the door to the floating hallway. Inside, at first, he saw only Stacy. Then his eyes adjusted to the dimness and he saw someone behind her. A man whose stance matched his, whose eyes and skin and clothes were his as well, but whose expression was full of hate and horror and, worst, despondency, like he was staring at someone who abandoned him to die alone years before.

When Eric held out his arms and motioned for Stacy to come to him, the doppelg?nger mirrored him.

“It’s okay, Stacy,” Eric said, “I’m here. Now you get up, you come right over to me, and do not look behind you.”

Stacy did as she was told and ran into his arms. “I’ve got you,” he said. “I’ve got you.”

He said this to her all the way down the stairs and as he approached the now open front door, right up to the moment something kicked his legs out from under him and he fell forward, half tossing Stacy toward the door like someone was there to catch her and take her the rest of the way. His eyes never left Stacy’s as they both fell. She hit hard but got up quickly. Tough kid, Eric thought. I love you so much, Stacy, I hope you know that. I hope you never forget that. Now get the hell out of here and don’t look back.

Stacy still faced him, so she didn’t see what Eric saw through the open door. Dess, Lafonda, and Millie all ran toward the house. They ran as though the door might shut on its own and refuse to open if they didn’t get to Stacy fast enough. For all Eric knew, that was exactly what would happen.

“Get out,” Eric shouted, almost like he was angry with her. “Stacy, get out now!” He tried to stand but couldn’t. An impossible weight and cold pressed on him and he felt like he was turning into both ice and stone at once.

Stacy backpedaled toward the open door, her expression crushed by fear and grief. Eric felt his heart breaking. She shouldn’t have to see this. She’d been through too much already.

She yelled, “Don’t hurt him,” at something, then turned and ran out of the house, where Dess waited for her.

The door slammed shut and the world lost its light and color. The weight on Eric’s back lessened enough for him to turn over and see what Stacy had seen.

A young girl of maybe eleven or twelve stood at his feet. Her younger brother was right behind her. Peter Masson’s niece and nephew glowered at Eric and said nothing, as if waiting for him to explain himself and beg forgiveness for trying to leave without fulfilling his end of the deal he’d just made. I was just getting her out, he thought, but felt too tired to say. I would have come back.

Then it came to him again, the same as the night before, the great deep sleep that delivered him fully into the emotions and remembrances of those who once lived in the house, and who still occupied it well after their lives ended.





CHAPTER 38



The Children



Their uncle Peter did not want them. Eleanor was sure of that. She wasn’t as na?ve as he thought she was.