Author: A.I. Nasser
Date: 2018-12-27 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Horror; Fiction; Thriller; Paranormal
Description: After the success of his first novel, John Krik has struggled to come up with a follow up that his fans would eagerly gobble up. On a spur of the moment decision, John leaves his suburban married life to spend six months in an abandoned house in the quiet eerie town of Cafeville, where secrets lurk in every corner. The town's biggest source of gossip is the Greens who live right next door. As John attempts to put his finger on what it is about the house that has everyone steering clear, he finds himself captivated by the seductively charming Eva Green who is as dangerous as she is irresistible
Publisher: Scare Street

Listen to Me Now

Written by A.I. Nasser

Copyright © 2018 by ScareStreet.com

All rights reserved.

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See you in the shadows,

A.I. Nasser

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Epilogue

Bonus Scene Chapter 1

Bonus Scene Chapter 2

Bonus Scene Chapter 3

Bonus Scene Chapter 4

Bonus Scene Chapter 5

FREE Bonus Novel!

Chapter 1

John Krik pulled up into the large Victorian’s driveway. He squinted through the rain at the large structure that stood ominously in front of him. He waited, taking in deep breaths as the sound of the car’s windshield wipers swished back and forth in perfect harmony.

This is it, he thought to himself.

He looked at the houses around him, two structures that were remarkably similar, albeit a little homier, to the one he was going to inhabit for the next six months. The illuminated windows promised warmth and comfort, and he couldn’t help but wonder what his neighbors were like. Then he decided that he didn’t really care.

He was here to work. Nothing else.

John took another deep breath and stepped out into the rain.

***

“This will be good for you.”

John Krik sat silently in his seat, looking at his editor with a frown on his face. He had been listening to the man repeatedly go over deadlines and contracts so many times that he had forgotten why he had come in the first place.

Derrick Fern was an odd character, burly and balding, and quick to light a cigarette without a care in the world as to whether his company would mind. He was a small town man who had fallen in love with the city, and he fit in perfectly with everything obnoxious New York had to offer. He knew what he wanted, got what he wanted, and was quick to voice his displeasure if the opposite of either happened.

John secretly wondered if, sometimes, the man had a little bit of the devil in him.

As an editor, Derrick was worse, and it showed with the number of manuscripts he had shoved to a corner where they waited to be shredded. John suspected that at least two of his own had experienced the same fate, but things were different now. He was famous, and he had fans.

That brought out a kindness in Derrick that was even scarier.

“Maybe the place will spark some creative juices,” Derrick was saying.

“I can’t just up and leave,” John replied. “My son is in school, and Karen’s been promoted. I can’t pull them away from the life they know because you think I need some time away.”

Derrick frowned. Then he faked a smile John had gotten used to over the years, a smile that bordered on annoyance, the calm before the storm. “Who said anything about taking them with you?”

“What do you mean?” John asked, already planning his next reply carefully.

“You need to get away from them as much as anything else.”

John shook his head quickly, waving away the suggestion as if it were ludicrous. “That’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever suggested.”

Derrick leaned in, folding his arms over each other, and fixed his eyes on John’s. “It’s not a suggestion, John, it’s a request from your editor who is on the verge of canceling your contract.”

John gazed at the man in anger, half of him wanting to throw in the towel and tell him to stick the contract where the sun didn’t shine. However, he knew that he had no leverage, and the last two manuscripts he had kept aside for a rainy day had already been handed in.

The truth was, John was in trouble, and Derrick could smell it.

“I still have six months to hand in a new novel,” John said.

Derrick nodded in agreement. “Hey, it’s your call, buddy,” he said, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. “But I happen to know that you haven’t written a goddamn thing in three years, and there’s no sign of anything cooking in the oven.”

John sighed and looked away, hating how well the man knew him.

“What do you say?” Derrick asked. “The house has been empty for years, and no one’s going to ask you any questions. Besides, I grew up in the town. It’s boring, a bunch of lifeless stores and farms and run-down factories. You’ll be surrounded by a bunch of people who’ve lived too long to know any better.”

Derrick threw a set of keys across the desk and John watched them land perfectly in front of him.

“Take what you need, tell the wife and kid, and disappear for the next six months,” Derrick continued. “Consider it a gift from me to you. I want you to write the next John Krik bestseller.”

John gazed at the keys, then back at his editor. “You want your commission.”

“And you want to keep your advance,” Derrick smiled. “Do us both a favor and take the keys.”

John left with a frown on his face and the keys in his pockets, jingling the song of defeat as he walked towards his car.

***

John Krik pushed through the front door, wiggling the keys out of the lock and failing miserably as the bags he balanced under his arms fell heavily to the ground. He groaned at the dust that rose in their wake, hanging in the air as if freed from their endless sleep, the specks dancing about in the sunlight that seemed to have been missing from the interior of the house for years.

He kicked his bags inside, barely glancing at the dust trails they left on the hardwood floor as he forcefully pulled his keys out and shook the rain off his coat. It had begun to really pour, and he decided that he’d go back for the rest of his things later.

He walked down the small hallway, turning into what was supposed to pass for a living room. He made his way to the large windows, pulling the drapes open and letting more light in. In the back of his mind, he imagined the house screaming at this sudden intrusion, too comfortable with the darkness that had found a home within.

He took in his surroundings with a frown, wrinkling his nose at the smell of dust and decay. If the house had a caretaker, he or she needed to be fired immediately. He fought with the window latches, the hinges creaking in protest as he pushed the glass panes open slightly to let some air in. He knew the rain would find its way inside soon, but the smell of the place was unbearable.

He inspected the spacious room, the furniture covered with sheets that had turned yellow with dust over the years. It would take him at least a day to clean the place up, and he immediately cursed Derrick Fern for putting him there. He cursed himself, too, for agreeing to it.

He made his way back to the hall, trying the lights, flicking the switch on and off in fury.

“Let there be light,” he called out and was greeted by nothing but darkness.

He had hoped he wouldn’t have to drive into town for at least a few days until he had settled in, but it was apparent that he’d have to do it sooner than expected. He walked through the rest of the house, trying different switches, slightly thankful that the lights still worked in the living room and kitchen. His steps left footprints in the dust, and he toyed with the idea of hiring someone to clean up instead of wasting his time.

You have time, a voice in the back of his head seemed to laugh at him. You have six months of this crap.

John made his way upstairs, barely glancing at the empty frames lining the staircase, careful not to touch the banister. The second floor had three rooms, each big enough to be the master bedroom. He settled for the one with its own bathroom and walk-in closet, already deciding on which of the other two to use for his writing space.

If he actually got to writing.

He thought back to the past three years of his life, the ones following the success of his first published novel. He had worked on the thing for years, pouring his heart and soul into it, determined to make it so good that he would finally stop having to pin rejection slips onto the wall above his computer. It had been a hit, and suddenly things had started to look brighter.

The problem, though, was he had no idea what to do next. He had burned himself out for two years writing the bestseller, and his mind had started drawing blanks as soon as he sat down to write the next one. When deadlines started to draw nearer, he had kept Derrick quiet with older manuscripts, none of which were as good as the one he had published. He was riding more on the branding of his name than anything else, and that had kept Derrick at bay for as long as possible.

Now he had nothing to show for the past three years.

John walked into the second bathroom on the floor, switching on the fluorescents that immediately started to flicker on and off.

Add that to the list, Johnny-boy.

His cell phone rang, and he fished it out of his back pocket, cursing himself for forgetting to call Karen as he had promised to.

“Two hours and you’ve already forgotten about us,” his wife said, her voice a bright light in the gloom he was currently standing in.

“I’m sorry.” He ran a hand through his wet hair and watched the drops smack against the floor. “I just got in, actually.”

“So, how is it?” Karen asked, seemingly more excited to know about the house than how he’d been.

“It’s worse than I could have ever imagined,” he said.

“Oh, come on,” Karen said. “It can’t be that bad.”

“You have no idea,” John said, switching off the bathroom lights that were already giving him a headache. He closed the door, knowing that he would probably be using the one in his new room.

“Derrick said this would be good for you,” Karen argued, “and I believe him.”

“Sometimes I get the feeling that you’re happier about me being here than I am,” John teased. “Admit it, Karen Krik, you like having me out of the house.”

“It does have its perks,” Karen played along. “At least I can walk around the house without any clothes on.”

“So, you’re going to basically scar our son for life,” John smiled. “I never had a problem with you doing that.”

Karen laughed, and John suddenly missed her tremendously.

“Okay, I’ll let you get settled in,” his wife finally said. “I have to pick Dylan up from soccer practice.”

“Give him my love,” John said. “Tell him Panda misses him.”

Karen laughed again before blowing him a kiss through the phone and hanging up.

John smiled to himself as he put his phone away, looking up at his surroundings and immediately feeling a lot better.

He had a family to provide for, and if this place was supposed to help him, then he was going to give it a chance.

Chapter 2

The town was everything Derrick had promised. Even if it hadn’t been raining, John could hardly make out anything that promised more than his everyday needs. He spotted an arcade that was probably the only form of entertainment anyone got around here, but the faded paint and the flickering neon sign were an indication that no one cared much about it. He had caught a glimpse of a movie theatre on his way into town, but he hadn’t recognized any of the titles playing.

Just you and the senior citizens, Johnny-boy.

He pulled up to what looked like a market, the sign outside barely visible in the rain and dying light. He raced into the protection of the striped awning, shaking himself as he quickly skimmed the used paperbacks on display in the window. His eye caught his own book, blasphemously dog-eared, the pages wrinkled as if someone had dropped it in a toilet. He knew people had certain reading habits, but he had never felt comfortable with the knowledge that someone might be reading his words during their morning routine.

He pushed into the store, the chimes above his head jingling ridiculously. He scanned the small market, eyeing the rows of goods as he tried to decide what his immediate needs might be. He had tried writing a list of things to stock the refrigerator with, but that had been shot down when he realized the thing didn’t even work. Canned goods it would be.

John grabbed a cart and spent the next hour filling it up, stacking up on beans and tuna, cereal and instant coffee, throwing in a boiler for good measure. He’d have to get a microwave if he wanted to avoid the hassle of cooking.

You’re here for six months, Johnny-boy. Accept it already.

He pushed the voice aside.

“Getting ready for a storm?” the older woman at the cashier asked, looking at the items he was setting down next to the registry and smiling.

John smiled back weakly, wondering if he was actually required to engage in any form of conversation.

“Passing through?” the woman asked, not letting up.

John shook his head. “Staying,” he replied, his voice hoarse. This was a small town, and word spread quickly. He didn’t want to leave a bad first impression with the one place he could get food from.

“Oh? Related to anyone in town?”

John shook his head again and forced a small smile. “I’m staying at the Victorian out on Steel Lane.”

The older woman squinted, her hand hovering over his canned tuna as she inspected him over the rim of her glasses. “Now why on God’s green earth would you do that?”

John frowned at her as she went back to beeping his groceries across her small screen. “A friend said it was a good way for me to get away.” He didn’t even know why he had said that.

“Haven’t heard of anyone willingly staying at that place,” she clicked her tongue. “Should be torn down, if you ask me.”

“Why? What’s wrong with it?”

The woman shrugged. “Nothing, really,” she said. “It’s been empty for so many years you start to wonder why the hell it’s still there. Kids around here use it as a Halloween dare. The Greens next door wanted to buy it just to tear it down and extend their yard.”

“That seems like a colossal waste of money,” John remarked.

“Not for the Greens,” the woman winked. “Money grows on trees when it comes to them.”

John smiled. It was amusing being part of small-town gossip. He looked over the woman’s shoulder at the lines of bulbs. He pointed to them, and she immediately grabbed half a dozen and added them to the rest of his groceries.

“Do you know anyone who would be willing to help me clean the place up?” John asked. “I don’t think I could handle it on my own.”

The woman placed a hand on her hip and gazed up at the ceiling, thinking. She suddenly nodded and took out a pad and pen from under the register. She jotted down a name and number, ripped the paper from the pad and handed it to him.

“Gina Andrews,” the woman said. “Give her a call. The old bird might not have a lot left, but she’s tough as a nail, that one. She’ll have the place sparkling in a few hours.”

“Wow, that’s great,” John said, pocketing the number and helping her bag the groceries. “I owe you one.”

“Forget about it,” she said with a smile and wave. “Tell Gina that June Summers gave you the number. She’ll give you less trouble that way.”

John smiled and thanked her again, carrying his bags towards the door.

“Do you mind me asking you something?”

John turned to her, shrugging. “Shoot.”

“I’ve seen you before,” she said, leaning on the counter, eyeing him closely. “Just can’t place it.”

John smiled and gestured with his chin towards the book stand. “You have my book on display,” he smiled.

June’s smile delighted him. “Right, that’s it,” she said, waving a finger at him as if he had swindled her. “I knew I’d seen you somewhere before. I’m not good with names, but I never forget a face.”

“John Krik,” he introduced himself, curtsying.

“Well, welcome to Cafeville, John Krik.”

John gave her a thumbs-up and shouldered back out into the rain. He was beginning to think he might actually enjoy it here.

Chapter 3

Hank Pollard parked his truck next to the blue Toyota in time to see its owner wrestle with the bags he was carrying and fiddle with his keys. Hank pulled up his collar and skipped towards the man, grabbing the bags off him before he dropped everything into the puddles that had quickly found their respective places all across Gale Street.

“You’re a lifesaver,” the man thanked Hank as he opened the back door and took the bags off him.

“No worries, buddy,” Hank said, pulling his cap lower over his eyes as if the rain threatened to blind him. “You drive safe.”

Hank left the man and raced into the supermarket, waving at June as he made his way straight to the alcohol row, grabbing a six-pack and dripping water all the way to the cash register.

“Helluva an afternoon, June,” he greeted, pointing to a pack of Lucky Strikes behind her.

“Now what are you doing out in this weather?” June asked, handing him the cigarettes and beeping the six pack.

“Ran out of juice,” Hank said, smiling.

June gave him a knowing look coupled with a smirk. Hank looked out the supermarket window, watching the Toyota pull out and drive away. He cocked his head towards the receding car and asked, “Tourist?”

“Writer,” June winked. “Staying at the old Dean house.”

Hank frowned. “Didn’t know anyone bought that old thing.”

June shrugged and packed the cigarettes with the beer. “I don’t think he bought it,” she said.

“Do you think he’s renting it out?”

“I have no idea, but the Greens are definitely going to be interested,” June said. “They’ve been trying for years to find out who owns the place. They’re going to harass that poor man for anything he could tell them.”

“Damn Greens,” Hank spat. “Think they own the whole town.”

June shrugged and pushed the paper bag towards him.

“Thanks, June,” he said. “You say he’s a writer?”

June nodded.

“Maybe he did buy it,” he said with a smile. “I hear writers make a lot of money.”

“Get out of here, you fool,” June said, laughing.

***

John sat in front of the empty screen, coffee steaming next to him, cigarette in hand.

“Start,” he said to himself. “Start!”

Nothing came, and it didn’t surprise him.

The fact that he couldn’t get any words onto the digital page in front of him was something he had gotten used to over the years. Not that it made him feel any better; his frustration was getting worse by the day, so it would have been rather surprising if things had been any different tonight.

He had set up a workstation in the bedroom, too tired to clean anything else, and he sure as hell was not intending on changing any light bulbs in the dark where he could fall and break his neck. The rest of the house could wait. He would call Gina in the morning.

“Start, goddamn it,” he whispered.

He ran a hand across his face, sitting back and sighing heavily as he stared up at the ceiling. The rain was still pouring outside, tapping like a double bass against his window, a stranger begging to be let in. He looked out at the lights of the nearest house to him. The Greens, he remembered June saying. Their money grew on trees.

John shook his head and pushed back his chair, walking into the bathroom and turning on the water. He waited for the initial stream of brown gunk to pass, then washed his face with what he was hoping was cleaner water. He needed to relax. Stressing out over the writing wouldn’t help. He just needed a good night’s sleep.

The words will come, a voice inside his head said.

He hoped so.

John made his way back to his laptop, shutting the screen without even trying to sit back down and give the creative juices another squeeze. He lit another cigarette and inched the bedroom window open, the cold breeze welcoming, the rain splattering against his face more refreshing than the water in the sink.

He thought about calling Karen, but he knew that it was already too late and she was probably fast asleep, ready for her first day as manager. He hated the fact that he had to leave her during a time like this, but she had been incredibly understanding. He had joked about her being the sole breadwinner of the family, and she had given him a look he was grateful for. Karen was not the kind of woman who would cater to a stay-at-home dad.

He remembered the day Dylan was born, how he had offered her the chance to extend her maternity leave indefinitely. He could go back to teaching high school literature, he had suggested, but she had laughed it off. She had wanted him to follow his passion, and he owed her for being patient, for putting up with the frustration and anger that came with every rejection slip. Sometimes he wondered what he had done right to deserve her.

John blew smoke out the window, finishing his cigarette and flicking it out into the rain. He watched the ember soar in the wind, blown sharply as it fell, and closed the window. He loved the smell of rain, and if it were up to him, he would be out on the porch, legs propped up, watching the water descend from the heavens.

You need sleep, Johnny-boy.

John looked at the bed and pondered how long it would take him to fall asleep, experience proving that it usually took forever on the first night in a new place. This was why he hated book tours.

***

When he heard the crash downstairs, he was in his boxers and ready to turn in. He froze for a second, listening intently for any other sounds that would explain the previous noise. When he was sure no one was moving around, he pulled on a shirt and crept out onto the second-floor landing.

How are you sure there’s no one down there? It’s not like they’d walk in with a marching band.

John thought twice about investigating, straining to hear any movement, a sound that would confirm his fears. When he still couldn’t discern anything, he walked downstairs, flicking on the light switch and cursing when he remembered that he hadn’t changed the light bulbs. He stood in complete silence, hoping that if he wasn’t alone, no one would reach for him in the darkness.

He walked slowly down the hall, turning into the living room where he knew the lights still worked. He switched them on, the warmth of the few bulbs instantly illuminating the space, throwing shadows up where the light didn’t reach.

Nothing.

His eyes fell on the open window, the glass pane large as it swung back and forth in the wind. The rain was rushing in, mixing with the dust, creating patches on the sheets that protected the furniture beneath. On the floor lay a vase in pieces, the source of the crash he had heard.

Frowning, John stepped around the broken shards and pushed the window closed. He wrestled a bit with the latches but finally got them to lock. He was confident he had gone through these motions earlier, making sure the entire house was locked down for the night. He’d have to find someone to change the latches. He didn’t need a heart attack.

Opting to leave the living room lights on, he raced upstairs and locked the bedroom door behind him.

Chapter 4

Gina Andrews was everything June had promised, and more.

John had called her early in the morning, his voice raspy, only a few words exchanged. She knew the house, she had said. She would be there in an hour.

He had been in the kitchen when she pounded on the door, making her presence known, a single bang that rattled the wood in its frame. John glanced at his watch, impressed that exactly one hour had passed since their phone call, and hurriedly made his way down the hall and opened for her.

Gina looked like she had seen the world a dozen times over, and had the scars to prove it. Her face was wrinkled beyond recognition, the only intelligent sign of life radiating from her piercing blue eyes as she smacked her lips and glanced around the inside of the house from the door.

“Are you alone?” she asked, her attention on a point over John’s shoulder.

“I’m all yours,” he joked, his smile quickly fading when he realized she didn’t appreciate the humor. The look she gave him was one of annoyance and utter impatience.

Gina pushed past him into the house, the bag in her hand pulling her weight down to one side. He reached for it, hoping to alleviate the burden, but she quickly slapped his hand away and wiggled a finger at him. He was instantly reminded of a Roald Dahl book that had scared the hell out of him as a child; Witches. He stepped away from the woman and followed at a safe distance as she walked into the living room and dropped her bag onto the floor.

He waited, allowing Gina to take her time. She clicked her tongue and shook her head, scanning the entire room, one hand even pulling off a sheet and tossing it aside in a fog of dust. She sniffed the air, her face cringing, barely waving the dust away as she moved out of the living room and into the hall.

It took her twenty minutes to inspect the first floor. Unimpressed, she glanced at John every now and then as if blaming him for the mess she was being asked to clean up. He was amused at her judgmental look, wanting to remind her that the house wasn’t his, but decided against it. Barely a word had been spoken since she had arrived, and he felt that saying anything might interrupt whatever trance she was in.

He felt small, as if being tested, as Gina turned things over, pushed things around, and got a feel of the house. When she reached the stairs, she sniffed the air again and looked up.

“You staying up there?” she asked.

John nodded. “No rooms down here.”

“Never seemed to stop anyone,” she muttered to herself as she walked back into the living room.

John was about to ask her what she meant when she suddenly stopped and sniffed the air again. She looked about, frowning, smacking her lips as she stood in the middle of the living room with her hands on her hips.

“Your basement is rotten,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t smell that?”

John sniffed the air, the dust clogging his sinuses and threatening to make him sneeze. Whatever it was she was smelling, he couldn’t sense it. He shook his head at her and watched her blue eyes roll.

“Figures,” she muttered.

She scoffed and walked to her bag, opening it slowly as she pulled out a change of clothes. She walked past him, her bony shoulder bumping into his, and made her way to the first-floor landing.

“I’ll be done in four hours,” she called out.

This is going to be fun, John thought and made his way back to the kitchen where his coffee waited.

***

He had given writing another shot, this time sitting more comfortably knowing that he wasn’t alone in the house, despite the strange vibe that seemed to radiate from Gina.

Nothing happened.

Fresh air. You need fresh air.

Gina barely gave him the time of day when he told her he would be outside for a bit, her back to him as she worked. In an hour she had quickly made the living room look more like a place where people could sit and laugh, rather than a place where rats came to die. He didn’t know if she had heard him, but he guessed repeating himself wouldn’t make much of a difference.

The air outside was cool, a light breeze blowing after the previous day’s torrent of rain. John breathed in the smell of fresh grass, a stark contrast to the stuffiness of the house. It was like it didn’t want to let up, even though Gina had opened every window possible to let some air in and give the dust a safe escape.

John walked to a side of the porch where an old bench stood, the wood rotten from the mix of rain and sun, and inspected it closely to see if it would take his weight. Testing it with his foot, he decided to give it a shot and settled down slowly, feeling the wood creak beneath him, rusted nails screaming bloody murder.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Unless you want a tetanus shot.”

He turned to where the voice had come from, its owner a petite blonde clad in shorts and an oversized sweatshirt that hung lazily off one shoulder, no bra strap in sight. She was smiling at him, a smile he was sure had broken many hearts before it had found its way to him, and the green eyes above it were just as mesmerizing. She was walking towards him, barefoot, comfortable with the grass beneath her feet as she maneuvered her way around loose rocks and twigs.

“That thing’s been sitting there for years,” she said, closer now, looking up at where he sat. “Doctor Black doesn’t have a very steady hand, if you know what I mean.”

John stood up and looked at where he had been sitting, one rusty nail dangerously propped up close to where he could have hurt himself. He looked back to the blonde and smiled.

“Thanks,” he said. “That could have been ugly.”

She giggled and stuck out her hand, which he took. “I’m Eva, from next door,” she said, gesturing to the house behind her with her head.

“John.”

He looked over at the Green residence and nodded. Part of him was surprised that anyone her age still lived in this town. He remembered what June had said about the family, and Eva didn’t seem to fit the description. Then again, he was used to rich city folk. He had no idea what rich looked like out here.

“John,” Eva smiled. “Welcome to the neighborhood. Sorry I didn’t bring a roast or anything.”

John chuckled. “That’s okay,” he said. “I’ll survive.”

He turned sharply when he heard a crash from inside, and for a moment thought about whether he should look in on Gina or pretend he hadn’t heard that. Opting for the latter, he turned his attention back to the blonde and pulled out his pack of smokes.

“So, John, what brings you to Cafeville?” Eva asked, leaning on the porch railing, also ignoring the sounds from inside the house.

“Vacation,” John lied. “Needed to get away from the city, clear my mind. That sort of thing.”

“You chose the right place,” Eva winked. “Cafeville’s a good place to hide.”

John smiled. “I never said I was hiding.”

“I never said I was talking about you.”

John smiled. He liked her. Witty, pretty, a dangerous twinkle in her eye that seemed a little too daring. What the hell was she doing here?

That’s it, Johnny-boy. Loosen up. It’ll be good for you.

“Are you here with family?” Eva asked, briefly glancing over his shoulder at the open front door.

“Nope, on my own,” John said. “Just getting some help cleaning the place up. Apparently, nobody’s been here since God knows when.”

“Well, I’ve lived here for twenty years, and I haven’t seen a soul walk in or out of this place,” Eva said. “Since the Deans, my father says the place’s been empty.”

So she’s the daughter. Isn’t that something, Johnny-boy?

John quickly pushed the thought away, frowning at the mere hint of anything more than a casual conversation. He took a long drag from his cigarette, making sure to use the hand with his wedding ring on it, and nodded as if in deep thought about her previous comment. She noticed the ring, and her smile only grew wider.

“Why hasn’t it been sold yet?” John asked, catching himself looking at her bare shoulder, squinting slightly as he tried to keep his eyes on hers.

Eva shrugged. “No idea,” she said. “We’ve tried buying it, but no one knows who it belongs to. The records are so old, it’s basically been forgotten.”

“I’m surprised the town’s letting it stand here since no one’s claimed it for twenty years.”

“Things move a lot slower in Cafeville, John,” Eva smiled. “We’re a lot more laid back than the usual folk.”

He smiled awkwardly and looked back over the girl’s shoulder. A man had stepped out of the house, Father Green he assumed, and waved at him. John waved back, a gesture that made Eva look behind her and wave as well.

“Well, I better get going,” she said, winking at him. “Enjoy your stay, John. Don’t be a stranger.”

John didn’t answer and watched the blonde skip her way back home, smiling only when she glanced back and gave him a quick wave.

She’s friendly.

John put his cigarette out and walked back into the Victorian.

***

Gina finished as promised, four hours on the dot, and was already changed into the same outfit she had arrived in. Bag in hand, she stood stoically at the door as John paid her.

The house was spotless. He had no idea how she had done it, but the old bird had made it look like a million dollars. He was surprised at how well the inside of the house fared as compared to the outside; even the furniture seemed to smile with color. It was like all it needed was a good clean sweep to truly feel like home.

Gina folded the bills in her hand and made them disappear inside her purse, briefly looking at John as she seemed to size him up.

“Your basement is rotten,” she repeated.

“I still don’t smell it,” John said. Actually, the house smelled great.

“You will,” Gina said with assurance. “And one other thing, sonny. We have a saying around these parts: Never trust a Green.”

John frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I saw you talking with that perky little snake,” Gina said, smacking her lips. “Not all that’s pretty is good, sonny, and you’d do well to remember that. There’s history in these parts, and the poison always starts with a Green.”

John had an idea about what she meant and smiled uncomfortably. “I’m married, Mrs. Andrews,” he explained. “Happily married. Don’t worry about that.”

Gina stared at him for a moment, her blue eyes searching his face, then looked over his shoulder at the rest of the house. “Sometimes that don’t matter, sonny.”

John was about to say something when she turned around and walked away.

Chapter 5

That night, he decided to write in the living room.

He had spent the remainder of the afternoon changing the lights and making sure all the windows had been closed properly. The winds outside had picked up a bit, and he didn’t want another unexpected accident. Besides, the house was cool enough, the dust and stuffiness that had suffocated him the day before, gone. For the first time since he had arrived, he actually felt really good.

Except for the fact that he still couldn’t write anything worth a dime.

You’re thinking about the blonde.

“No, I’m not,” he whispered to no one in particular, taking a drag from his cigarette as he squinted his eyes in concentration. He felt his mind rolling inside his head, the ideas mixing and matching, finding no connection, no presence. He was still drawing blanks, and it was starting to get to him.

He got up, frustrated, and made his way back to the kitchen.

He couldn’t deny that the girl had made an impression on him, but that was all it was, an impression. Gina’s words played over and over again in his head, her warning a little too ominous to be taken seriously, probably nothing more than an old woman’s attempt at throwing some excitement into an otherwise mundane day of cleaning.

Eva Green was nothing more than the neighbor’s daughter. That was it. Whether or not he could trust the Greens was up to him. He’d let his instincts decide that, not some old woman’s ramblings.

Turning on the boiler, he leaned against the kitchen counter and waited. He had called Karen earlier, listening to her with a smile on his face and honestly showing interest in her first day as department manager. She had been excited, dreamily recounting her new position and responsibilities, and he was proud of her. She had worked hard for her promotion, and he was happy that when it had come, it was all she ever imagined it would be.

He had given her a quick summary of his encounter with Gina and had voiced concern over the fact that he still hadn’t written anything. Karen had been supportive, as always, and it had made him feel a lot better.

She wouldn’t have been as supportive if you had told her about Eva.

John winced. He had conveniently left that detail out.

The boiler clicked off, the bubbles of water inside hungrily rising and falling, waiting to be of use. He scolded himself as he poured the water into a mug and mixed the instant coffee with his regular three spoons of sugar. His head wasn’t on right, and he needed to get back in the game.

Walking back to the living room, he frowned when he caught a whiff of something odd. He sniffed again and felt his stomach turn as the scent of something rotten raced into his nostrils. He looked around him, wondering if a window had opened again and let the smell in, but as he moved around the house, he realized that the source was from behind a door in the kitchen.

Your basement is rotten.

Gina’s words echoed in his head, and he cringed in disgust as he moved closer to the door. He had no idea how he had missed it earlier, but if Gina had smelt it, it must have been faint enough to be missed. He put his mug down on the countertop and opened the basement door, coughing violently as the rotten air escaped and slapped him in the face.

“Damn it,” he cursed.

He quickly closed the door and ran to the sink, grabbing a towel and flooding it with water. He coughed again, the smell lingering in the air like a blanket. He squeezed the water out of the towel and quickly pushed it under the door, blocking out the space beneath and hoping the water would trap the smell. He quickly opened the kitchen window, leaving his mug behind and closing the kitchen door, in an effort to keep the smell out of the rest of the house.

He was going to have to call Gina again.

***

There was little Samuel could do on the night he found out his son had died.

Pulling on his overcoat and lighting a cigarette, he stepped out of the funeral home into the falling rain, the darkness around him hugging him like a warm blanket. He felt its fingers caressing his skin, like an old friend that was trying to comfort him, maybe even take away the emptiness he felt inside.

Samuel fought back his tears. He needed to be strong, for him and his wife. Let her do the crying. Mothers should cry over their children. Fathers needed to make sure that the world moved on.

He pulled up the collar of his coat around his neck and began to walk. His keys jingled in his pockets, reminding him that there was always the safety and warmth of his car if he needed it.

He didn’t.

Tonight he wanted to feel the rain.

He continued down the dark street, barely registering the faces of the pedestrians he passed, each one looking a bit like his dead son, each one seeming to smile at his misery. You deserve this, their looks said. You deserve everything that happens to you from here on out.

Samuel shook his head, trying to clear his mind of the delusions he was starting to feel. He had all the time in the world to blame himself for his son’s death, but tonight was about retribution. Tonight was about fixing his mistakes, and making sure that what had happened would never go unpunished.

He walked slowly, letting the rain soak him, seep into the spaces between the coat and his skin, the winds blowing against him forcing his body to shiver. Memories of his son raced through his mind, images of their short time together flashing before his eyes. His lips quivered, the pain he felt barely contained, the anger stronger.

When he reached the arcade, he pushed inside without breaking his stride. In a corner, surrounded by his two associates, sat the owner of the establishment, laughing and drinking. He fell silent as he saw Samuel walk in, but his smile didn’t leave his face. He watched as Samuel walked up to the table and stared right at him.

“Samuel Dean,” he said. “I heard about your son. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Samuel said nothing, only stared.

“If there’s anything I can do, please, don’t hesitate,” the man said, smiling at the others.

“You made your point, Alexander,” Samuel said, his voice hoarse as the tears now fell freely down his cheeks. “Now let me make mine.”

No one could have anticipated what happened next, and they watched in horror as Samuel Dean pulled a knife from his coat pocket and began to stab the man repeatedly.

***

John woke up with a start, his breathing harsh, his heart racing. His head was screaming, the pain of inexplicable pressure within forcing him to squeeze at his temples as he tried to stop the world around him from spinning.

He tried to get out of bed, his legs buckling slightly, and he quickly grabbed onto the bedpost to stop himself from falling. Feeling his way across the room, his eyes shut tightly as he tried to wish the pain away, made his way into the bathroom, fell in front of the toilet and heaved.

He hadn’t eaten anything all day, but torrents came out of his mouth, and soon he was coughing uncontrollably and curling into a fetal position on the bathroom floor. His entire body seemed to spasm, and he felt incredibly cold despite the warmth of the house. Waiting for the attack to subside, he pushed himself to his feet, holding onto the sink for support, and quickly turned the water on. He washed his face, the cold water shocking him out of his spasms, and quickly started to feel the effects of his attack wear off.

He staggered back into the bedroom, slowly making his way to the comfort of his bed. His eyes caught sight of his laptop, open on his desk, the usual blank page he had grown accustomed to seeing now full of words. He frowned. Barely able to hold himself up, he leaned against the chair and took a closer look at the screen, blinking repeatedly and waiting for his imagination to regress and the blank screen to reappear.

He hadn’t imagined it, though.

John stared dumbfounded at the beginning of a story he couldn’t remember writing.

Chapter 6

June Summers saw a completely different John Krik walk into her market that morning.

She was amused at his whistling as he skipped in, waving to her and immediately rummaging through the rows of goods. She could hear him singing softly to himself, something by The Doors, or The Who, terribly out of tune, but at least the lyrics seemed right. She waited for him to finish and practically dance his way to the register, the groceries this time a lot more appetizing than his previous purchase.

“You seem lively,” she remarked, observing him closely as he smiled like a little boy.

“I’m writing,” he said, the excitement in his eyes mirrored in his voice.

June cocked her head to a side. “You weren’t writing before?”

John shook his head and leaned in, elbows on the counter. “You want to hear a secret?” he whispered. He motioned to her to come closer. “I haven’t written a word in three years. It’s why I’m here.”

June chuckled and started to bag his groceries. “Well, I’m glad Cafeville’s charm is bringing you your muses.”

“A lot more than that,” John nodded. “It’s like I don’t even feel it happening. It’s incredible. For the first time in years, I’m on cruise control, watching the words come out, as if I were simply a vessel.” He took his bags and winked at her. “It’s quite refreshing.”

June smiled and threw in a pack of cigarettes with the rest of his stuff. “It’s on me. Consider it a congratulatory gesture for getting off the bench.”

John thanked her and pushed out of the store, whistling happily as he loaded the car with his groceries and drove off.

***

He was on a roll.

Since the night before, he hadn’t been able to stop. It was everything he had hoped for and more, and by the time he had gone out for groceries, he had finished another seven thousand words.

And the story was still coming.

It was unusual, even for him, especially since he was known for his romance novels. He had never considered a genre change, and he was excited to hear what Derrick would think of it. He would probably have to find a way to throw in a romance scene here and there, keep at least some of his fans satisfied, but he wasn’t sweating it. For now, he was riding the high of seeing words on the screen.

He had smoked through an entire pack of cigarettes in less than four hours. His fingers danced across the keyboard, a smile on his face as his mind raced with more and more ideas, descriptions and characters coming to life at his very fingertips. Never had he felt this rush before. With his previous bestsellers, every word had been pulled out of him painfully and slowly. Maybe he had never been meant to write romance. This was definitely more exciting.

John closed off a chapter, then sat back and looked at his work, admiring how far he had come in only one day. The ten thousand word count at the bottom left corner of his screen made him happier than ever, and it was with a heavy heart that he decided to call it a day.

It will be here when you come back.

John had no idea if that were true, but he decided to trust that little voice in the back of his head on this one.

Standing up tiredly, he stretched and shut down his laptop, grabbing the pack June had given him and making his way downstairs. He had considered buying a TV, but somehow he thought the thing might work more as a distraction than anything else. Besides, he had internet, and YouTube was more than enough for now.

He walked into the kitchen and cringed as the ever-present smell hit him. He had forgotten to call Gina, too caught up in the thrill of writing to really care, and only now did he realize that the smell had escaped past the towel and had made the kitchen unbearable.

Lighting a cigarette, hoping the smoke would distract his nostrils from the scent of rot coming from downstairs, he opened the basement door and turned on the lights.

The smell hit him harder than the day before, and he realized that no one in their right mind would venture down there without an oxygen mask. He tried breathing through his mouth, gagging at the taste of the air, and made his way down the creaking staircase.

The light from the single bulb was scarce, and he quickly found himself wishing he had bought a flashlight. He took a quick look around, silently hoping he would figure out the source of the smell quickly and not have to spend too much time here. When he couldn’t find what was causing the rot, he paced deeper into the basement and kicked a few old boxes aside.

The basement was empty save for the heater and a few shelves collecting dust to one side. He could feel the humidity down there like a heavy blanket. It had probably gotten into the woodwork.

Or maybe something’s buried here.

John laughed the thought away, but his eyes still scanned the floor for any signs that would confirm the thought. When he found nothing out of the ordinary, he made his way to the two basement windows and pushed them open.

He could feel the air inside rush out, as if escaping from a prison, and wondered when the last time this place had been allowed to breathe. Looking about again, making sure he hadn’t missed anything, John dropped his cigarette on the floor, put it out and climbed back upstairs.

It was possible he didn’t need Gina after all.

Chapter 7

John woke up to a knocking at his door.

Groaning, he sat up slowly, confused as to why he had fallen asleep on the couch. He looked at his watch, registered that it was one in the morning, and silently cursed whoever had decided to visit him this late.

He made his way to the front door, switching on the hall lights and frowning as they began to flicker. Deciding to check on them later, he looked out at the front porch through the small side window and felt his heart skip a beat. He opened the door, and Eva quickly ran in, closing the door behind her and laughing.

“Eva, what are you doing here?”

She put a finger to her mouth and quickly turned off the flickering lights. “My father would kill me if he knew I was here.”

“Do you know what time it is?”

“Sure,” she said, nodding and making her way down the hall, looking around with wide eyes. “I had to wait until they were asleep.”

“You should go,” John said.

Eva turned to him and pouted. “Oh, come on,” she pleaded. “I’ve always wanted to see the inside of this house.”

“It’ll still be here in the morning,” John said, opening the front door and gesturing for her to leave.

Eva walked up to him and stubbornly closed the door. “My father’s never wanted me near the house, and he’s already given me hell about my last visit. So, this is my only chance.”

John frowned at her, and she grabbed both his hands and hopped lightly in front of him like a little girl. “Please,” she begged. “A quick look around. This place is a legend. I promise it won’t take more than twenty minutes.”

“It’s a big house,” John said.

She giggled again and pulled him down the hall. “Then we’d better hurry.”

***

This is wrong, John thought as he showed Eva around the first floor, barely able to stay awake, annoyed at her excitement.

Whatever it was that made this house so special, it went right over John’s head. He was amused at how many questions she had, most of which he couldn’t answer as he constantly reminded her that he had just moved in and wasn’t the actual owner. That didn’t stop her, though, and she continued to inspect every nook as if she were preparing to write a paper about it.

John felt incredibly uncomfortable, more than ever wanting the blonde to leave, although a small part of him was thriving on the attention. He had had fans come up to him before, flirt with him on several occasions, but none as pretty as Eva. He again wondered why the hell she was still in Cafeville.

A girl like that could have whatever she wants. She could have you.

John shook his head quickly, smiling politely as Eva looked at him in awe after discovering something else in the house that struck her fancy. She moved gracefully across the living room, down the hall, into the kitchen and out, checking everything, opening everything. For a moment, John felt like he was under scrutiny, but her smile each time she discovered something new eased that tension quickly.

“What’s upstairs?” she asked, looking up the staircase, already starting up.

John sighed and followed, knowing well that a simple answer wouldn’t be enough. His eyes dropped on her behind as she raced up, and he quickly looked away, forcing his eyes down.

Oh, let it go already. There’s no harm in looking.

There was a lot of harm in looking, and John quickly felt for his wedding ring as he waited at the end of the second-floor landing while Eva looked around. He was going to have to call Karen in the morning, hear her voice, reassure that sinking feeling inside him that somehow, in some telepathic, wife-only way, she didn’t suspect anything.

She’s miles away, and she has no idea. Stop beating yourself up.

Only he wasn’t. Something in the back of his head was playing at the chords of infidelity that lingered there, tied down and caged behind bars with no way out. Something was tugging at his inhibitions, and he fought against that urge to smile a little wider, act a little more excited, play along with the blonde’s eagerness until she was inspecting more than the house.

“This is cool!”

John’s mind snapped back to the now, and he frowned, trying to discern where her voice was coming from. He made his way down the hall and caught her staring at his laptop in his bedroom, reading what he had written. He suddenly felt violated.

“Get away from that!” he snapped, rushing forward and slamming the laptop shut.

Eva stepped back, a mix of shock and embarrassment on her face, and a hint of fear manifesting behind a pair of emerald eyes. John ran a hand through his hair and sighed, as confused as she was at his overreaction.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t like people reading my work before it’s done.”

That’s a lie, Johnny-boy. Karen reads your work all the time.

This isn’t Karen.

Oh no, but I bet you’d like her to be.

“It’s okay,” Eva said, forcing a smile. “Are you a writer?”

John nodded, sitting down on his bed, running a hand across his laptop.

“Is that why you’re here?” she asked. “To write?”

“I’ve been having a bit of a dry spell recently,” John explained. “My editor suggested I come out here and clear my mind, kind of find some inspiration.”

Eva looked at him, her eyes admiring, her small smile a bit more genuine. “Is it working?”

John tapped his laptop. “Better than I had imagined,” he said. “Although, I’m not sure how long it will last.”

Eva walked past him, apparently returning to her inspection, leaning into the bathroom as she looked around. “Why?” she asked.

John thought hard about it, wondering how much he was actually willing to share with the girl next door. He hardly knew her, but her curiosity was amusing. He was beginning to think that had a lot to do with being locked up in Cafeville for twenty years.

“Don’t you go to college or something?” he asked, watching her inspect the walk-in closet, her shirt riding a bit as she reached and clicked the single bulb. “Are you on spring break or something?”

“I’m taking my degree online,” she said, smiling at him. “My father’s a bit overprotective. Doubts that he could trust me.”

“I can’t imagine why,” John teased.

Eva laughed and continued her inspection of the bedroom, closing the drapes carefully so she wouldn’t be seen through the window. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

“About?”

“The inspiration,” she said, moving back towards the bedroom door. “Why wouldn’t it last?”

John shrugged. “Experience, I guess,” he said. “I’ve found that my bouts of writing are further apart than I’d like.”

He frowned as Eva closed and locked the bedroom door, turning to lean against it. She smiled at him, a smile he knew well, and his heart began to race in his chest.

Don’t you dare stop this! Let it happen!

He was about to say something when Eva pulled her shirt off and threw it to the ground. His eyes immediately fell to her bare chest, the blonde standing on full display in front of him. He looked up into her eyes and saw the twinkle in them he had noticed the other day, and he knew that if he didn’t stop this right now, there would be no turning back.

You want this. You know you do. Let it happen, Johnny-boy.

Eva turned off the lights, the only illumination in the room now coming from outside, faint, barely enough for him to see more than her silhouette. She walked right up to where he sat, gently pushed him down on his back and climbed on top of him.

Leaning in, her face inches from his, Eva whispered, “Then we’ll have to make sure you stay inspired, don’t we?”

The voice in his head laughed in delight.

Chapter 8

Eva was gone when he woke up.

John had gotten out of bed with a pounding in his head and a heavy weight on his shoulders that threatened to drive him mad. Flashes of last night flickered in front of his eyes, and he tried his best to shut them out, push them out of his mind, delete the last ten hours of his life and start over.

He couldn’t, though, and the realization of what he had done hit him hard. He was mentally beating himself up for being so weak, for giving in when he knew he shouldn’t have. How he had been so naïve was beyond him. He shouldn’t have let her in to start with.

Oh, come on. You LIKED it, Johnny-boy. You enjoyed every second of it!

“Shut up!” he hissed to the empty room.

I say relax, enjoy the memory, and let’s get back to work.

John looked at his laptop, the screen up and his word document open to where he had stopped the previous night. Had she taken a look at it while he was sleeping? How did she get the password?

Who cares, Johnny-boy? Let’s rock and roll!

John squeezed his eyes shut, dismissing the voice that seemed a lot clearer in his mind, pushing it to the back of his subconscious where he hoped it would find a corner and die. He got up slowly, pulled on his boxers and staggered into the bathroom. Turning on the lights, he groaned at his image in the mirror and turned on the faucet in hopes of drowning out his guilt.

By the time he sat down to work, his mind was on overdrive, and he stared at the screen with dread when the words didn’t come.

There you go, doubting yourself again.

“I can’t think right now,” John said to no one in particular, annoyed at his sudden habit of talking to himself.

Then stop thinking and just write.

John sighed heavily, this time allowing the voice in his head to lead the way. He shook his head, set his fingers on the keyboard, and watched in amazement as his fingers flashed across the keys and words materialized in front of him.

After about an hour and three thousand words, John had forgotten all about Eva and was lost in his bubble of words, smiling.

***

Karen called in the afternoon, probably during her break, and he ignored it completely, unable to muster the confidence to talk to her. He had no idea if he would be able to hide the guilt he was feeling, and Karen was good at picking up on when he felt odd.

He sent her a quick message after her second call, letting her know that he was on a writing roll and didn’t want to stop, and that he’d get back to her later. He didn’t mention when later would be, and when she replied with a kiss and a thumbs-up, he felt a pang in his chest that made him instantly shut down the laptop and pace his room in anger.

Get some air, Johnny-boy.

It was a good idea; he needed it desperately and he couldn’t sit around alone in the house letting the voices in his head drive him up the wall. He grabbed his coat and spent ten minutes looking for his keys before finally finding them on the kitchen table. Making a mental note of the smell still coming up strong from the basement, he raced out of the house, got into his car and drove off.

He drove into town, choosing streets at random as he maneuvered his way around the old houses and barren shops. Cafeville seemed a lot homier during the day, especially when it wasn’t raining, and he soon found himself parking in front of June’s supermarket. He thought about going inside, engaging in some small town conversation with the only person he had gotten to know.

You’re forgetting Eva, buddy. You got to know her real good.

John slammed his fists on the steering wheel and stepped out of the car, abandoning his first choice and opting for a leisurely stroll of window shopping. A small breeze had picked up, gently blowing through his hair, whistling softly in his ear as he zipped up his coat and pushed his hands into his pockets. He kept his head down, avoiding eye contact, barely looking at the display windows he passed by.

He stopped in front of a hardware store, his eye falling on a sign that promised a discount home inspection with every hundred-dollar purchase. Thinking he might find some help with the stench coming from the basement, he pushed his way inside.

He instantly recognized the man behind the counter as the Good Samaritan from his first night at June’s. The man’s face was buried in a beard, the cap on his head slightly askew, his hands fiddling with what looked like an old microwave. John lightly rapped on the counter and raised his eyebrows in greeting when the man looked up at him, squinting.

“I saw the sign in your window,” John said, pointing behind him. “I was wondering if I could get a paid inspection.”

The man stared at John for a while before his eyes widened and he smiled in recognition. “You’re that writer fella, aren’t cha?” he asked. “From the supermarket. I helped you with your bags.”

John smiled as he took the man’s hand and shook firmly. “John Krik.”

“Hank Pollard,” he said, adjusting the cap on his head. “What can I do you for, John?”

“I have a smell coming from the basement of the house I’m staying at.”

“The old Dean house, eh?”

John’s smile faded. “Excuse me?”

“Aw, don’t worry about it,” Hank chuckled. “It’s a small town. June told me where you were stayin’.”

John nodded, his mind trying to discern what he had just heard.

Did he say Dean?

“You okay, buddy?”

John blinked twice and shook his head. “Yeah, sorry, my mind blanked there for a second.”

“It’s the weather,” Hank nodded. “Damn rain’ll do that to ya.”

“I guess so,” John said, frowning as he tried to recollect his thoughts. “What was I saying?”

“Stench from the basement.”

“Right, yeah, well, it’s stinking up the house. I went down there yesterday and couldn’t find the source. I even left the windows open, but it isn’t helping.”

“Might be the sheetrock,” Hank said, playing with his beard as he stared off in thought. “Maybe a mouse dead in the walls or somethin’.”

“Am I going to need an exterminator?”

“Nah, they won’t help much,” Hank said. “I can pass by tomorrow, give it a look myself. Sometime in the afternoon sound good for ya?”

John smiled at the man and nodded. “Perfect.”

***

“I was beginning to forget what your dead zone was like.”

John sat clumsily at his desk, nestling his phone between his ear and shoulder, tapping away at his keyboard as he listened to Karen. Half of what she said went unnoticed, and his replies came in short one syllable words he knew were beginning to annoy her.

Probably for the best. We don’t want to slip up and tell her about our little one night stand, do we, Johnny-boy?

“Are you even listening to me?” Karen asked.

“I’m sorry, baby,” John said, sighing as he swiveled in his chair and gave his back to the laptop, shutting out the voices in his head. “I haven’t been writing this well in years, and it’s really flowing.”

Karen chuckled on the other end, but he could hear how tired she was. Apparently she was finally feeling the downsides of upper management, and balancing her job with her duties at home, especially without him around, must have been taking their toll on her.

“At least you’re writing,” she said. “I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks, honey,” he replied, his eyes falling on his bed, flashes of his night with Eva popping up in his mind. “Listen,” he said quickly, closing his eyes. “You sound tired, and I’m almost done here. How about we call it a night and I’ll call you in the morning?”

“Good idea, Panda,” Karen said, yawning. “Love you.”

“Love you, too, sweetheart.”

He hung up and sighed heavily, covering his face with both hands as he tried to decide on what to do.

I say get back to work, and let the world heal itself.

John nodded in agreement and turned back around.

He fell asleep at his computer.

***

He woke up later that night to the sounds of running feet above his head.

His head snapped up, suddenly alert as he listened to the noise carefully. For a few seconds there was nothing, and then he heard it again. Feet, definitely feet. Children’s feet. Racing around above him.

John jumped up, quickly opening the door to his bedroom and following the sounds. The running was coming from the attic, and he made his way down the second-floor landing to the small ladder that led upwards. He hadn’t gone up to the attic since he had moved in, Gina herself telling him that cleaning it out would be a waste of her time and his money.

Guess the old bird was wrong. She was probably scared of whoever’s running around up there.

“There’s no one up there,” John whispered. “It’s probably a rat.”

You sure, Johnny-boy? Wanna bet on that?

John stared up at the attic door, listening carefully as the sound above his head started and stopped, changing directions, moving further away from him, then back. He grabbed onto one of the ladder rungs, ready to climb up, when the attic door suddenly lifted up and crashed back down.

John fell back screaming, his heart pounding so hard it threatened to burst out of his chest. He scrambled away for the attic door, his back pressed against the wall as he stared upwards. The door lifted a few inches and crashed down again, this time harder.

That’s one helluva rat, Johnny-boy.

John pushed himself slowly to his feet, his eyes following the sound of scrambling feet above. His breathing came in gasps, and he listened to the sounds above his head in horror, frozen in place. Then, as suddenly as they had started, they stopped.

John listened carefully, waiting. He stood as still as possible, scared that any movement he’d make would send the feet scurrying about again. He held his breath, his hands shaking by his side, his eyes scanning the ceiling as if he could see through the boards and into the attic.

I don’t know about you, buddy, but if whatever’s up there comes down, I’ll be fine. You, not so much.

John didn’t need to be coaxed any further. Taking a deep breath, he sprinted across the hall and into his bedroom, half expecting the attic door to suddenly fly open and whatever was up there to come flying out, all fangs and claws, reaching out for him.

Nothing happened, though, and he quickly locked his bedroom door and crawled up in the furthest corner from it. He kept his eyes on the door, waiting, listening, his heart racing. When nothing else happened and the sounds didn’t return, he crawled into bed, tired and wasted, and quickly fell asleep.

Chapter 9

“I have to say, I’m a bit surprised.”

John sat quietly as he listened to Derrick Fern talk about his submission. He had spent the whole day fleshing out the storyline, pushing his protagonist in different directions, his story growing darker and darker the more he wrote. At one point he had even surprised himself with what was coming out of his head and making its way onto the digital pages. And still, he had kept writing.

“This is a completely different direction, John,” Derrick said, the crisp sound of turning pages clearly audible across the line. “Completely different.”

“Is it bad?” John asked, cutting to the chase.

“No, not at all,” Derrick chuckled. “Actually, it’s better than anything you’ve written before. It’s not what fans would expect from John Krik.”

“Then let’s change those expectations.”

There was a long silence on the other end as he could hear Derrick weighing out the costs and benefits of going along with this new project.

“Come on, Derrick, you said it yourself, the work’s good,” John coaxed. “Give it a chance. This might be a new cash cow for you.”

Derrick laughed, but John could hear dollar signs clinging in the background. The man was no idiot, and he knew a good manuscript when he saw it. The real question was how they’d market it. It was like they’d be wading into new waters, unsure of whether or not they could swim in the currents.

“I’m not your first thriller author, Derrick.”

“No, you’re not,” the man replied. “You’re my first romance author to write a thriller, though.”

“And you can’t handle that?” John teased, knowing that Fern could never say no to a challenge.

“You insult me, John,” Derrick replied. “It hurts when you doubt me.”

He definitely sounds hurt.

John waited for a few more seconds before he finally heard the words he had wanted to hear. “Fine, let’s do this.”

“Great!” John smiled, slapping his knee in excitement.

“You’re sure about this?” Derrick asked.

“Definitely,” John said. “I’m already another seven thousand words in. I think I might get this book done in a month.”

“What the hell’s that place doing to you?” Derrick chuckled, his uneasiness slipping through the laughter. “Never thought you had this much darkness inside you. It’s a little worrying.”

“As long as it keeps the money rolling and my advance in my pocket, I really don’t care,” John said, and he hung up.

***

Hank clicked his tongue as he stood in the middle of the basement, hand covering his nose, eyes squinting into the corners of the basement. John watched him work, first inspecting the furnace, then knocking on various parts of the wall.

The stench had gotten worse, the open windows apparently useless against whatever it was that was causing the smell. John felt that if he stayed down here any longer, he might melt from the sheer toxicity of it. He fought the urge to ask Hank to hurry up, hoping the man could finally find a solution to the mess. However, it didn’t look promising.

Hank took another quick look around before turning to John and shrugging. He pointed upstairs and John sighed in relief, leading the man into the kitchen and quickly closing the door. He grabbed the towel, soaked it and replaced it in the space under the door.

“I don’t know, but it seems to me you’re gonna have to tear the walls down, replace the insulation,” Hank was saying. “Whatever’s causin’ that stink, it must be comin’ from there.”

“You think something died in there?”

Hank wrinkled his nose and shook his head in dismay. “I really can’t tell, buddy, sorry,” he said. “All I know for sure, that towel there ain’t gonna keep the smell out forever.”

“Tell me about it,” John sighed. “So, exterminator it is.”

“Sorry, brother,” Hank said. “I really thought I could help. Out of my league, this one. Never smelled anythin’ like it before.”

John waved away the apology. “It’s just as well,” he said. “I hear rats in the attic. I need to get that checked as well.”

Hank packed his tools away, pulled his cap off to scratch his head, and replaced it. “If you ask me, this whole place needs to go. Might as well sell it off to the Greens. They’ve been after it for years.”

“It’s not mine to sell,” John said.

“Then ask whoever gave you the keys,” Hank suggested. “Get out and don’t spend a single dime on this place, if y’ask me.”

We’re not asking him, are we? Tell this fool to get out.

John shook the voice away and smiled at Hank, leading him down the hall and to the front door. “Thanks anyway,” he said.

When he opened the door, both men stopped at the sight of Eva Green standing on the front porch. John felt his heart sink, a part of him hoping he had seen the last of the girl.

Looks like little Miss Green is back for more, Johnny-boy.

“Hello, Hank,” Eva said with a smile, her eyes on John.

Hank tipped his cap and tried his best to hide his scowl. “Miss Green,” he greeted, albeit a little too harshly. “See y’around, John. Let me know what the exterminators say.”

“Thanks again, Hank,” John called after him, both he and Eva watching the man climb into his truck and pull out.

John waited for the truck to turn the corner and disappear behind the Green’s house before he turned to Eva. “What are you doing here?”

Eva smiled at him. “I wanted to apologize for leaving the way I did the other night,” she said. “I thought I could make it up to you sometime.”

I suggest making it up now. How about you, Johnny-boy?

John stepped out onto the porch, closing the door behind him, making sure their conversation remained outside.

“Listen, you don’t need to make up for anything,” he said quickly. “In fact, let’s forget that anything even happened, okay?”

“That’s going to be a little hard considering we both seemed to enjoy ourselves tremendously.”

John sighed, holding back his anger, her nonchalant attitude annoying him immensely. “I’m married, Eva. Do you know what that means? It means that what happened that night was a mistake, a very big mistake, and I really don’t want to talk about it. Ever.”

Eva smiled and leaned against the porch railing. “I don’t know, John,” she teased. “It didn’t seem like a mistake to me.”

“Of course not,” John hissed. “You obviously don’t get it, so my explaining it to you is useless. Just stay away from me, okay? Stay away from this house. Go home.”

Eva stared at him, her face quickly turning into a scowl. Their eyes were locked on each other for what seemed like an eternity, and before he could repeat himself, she turned around and walked away.

John quickly went back inside and locked the door behind him.

Chapter 10

That was stupid, Johnny-boy.

“Shut up,” John replied to the darkness around him.

He was sitting at his desk, his fingers tapping away as his thoughts raced. His protagonist was in the middle of one of the most gruesome scenes he had ever written, and he didn’t need any distractions. He needed to stay in the zone, lost in the bubble around him. He heard the racing of feet above him again, but this time, he didn’t flinch.

Let them run. Let them come.

He squinted as he dug deeper into emotions he had never tapped into before, letting everything unravel on the screen, his story slowly gaining a momentum of its own; a life of its own. Derrick was going to love this.

I don’t see what the problem is.

“Of course you don’t,” John whispered.

The voice was starting to get annoying, but try as he may, he couldn’t shut it up. In a way, he felt like it was half responsible for the sudden burst of energy he was experiencing, the race of ideas flooding through his head as his story materialized in front of him. He felt like he was a mere co-pilot, the flesh and bone needed to tell the story.

I hate to see a chance like this wasted. Don’t you remember how good it felt?

“I’m trying to forget how good it felt.”

John felt himself smile, amused at the fact that he was conducting a conversation with a disembodied pervert. Oh, if Derrick could see him now. It would probably explain the writing, the man quickly coming to terms with the fact that his best author had finally lost it.

You’re not crazy.

John knew that, but he also knew that this was the first time since he had started writing that he was completely aware of what was happening around him. Since the beginning, the whole thing had seemed like a trance, an out of body experience he had detached himself from. Tonight was different, though. Tonight he was completely here, fully in tune, the emotions racing through him both familiar and terrifying at the same time.

You know that there’s nothing dead in the walls, right?

“I know.”

So what are you going to do about it?

“What Hank told me to do.”

John could hear the scurrying of the rats in the attic grow more frantic the more he ignored them. If they could feel how little he cared at the moment, then they were probably pissed off. He barely heard the attic door opening and slamming shut outside the room, but this time he didn’t cower in a corner the way he had the night before.

That’s right. It’s not the first time. Not even the second time. They’ve been running around up there since you got here.

“The exterminator’s coming tomorrow.”

Those aren’t rats.

“Then we’re going to be in for one hell of a surprise, aren’t we?”

The attic door opened and slammed shut a few more times, the frequency increasing until the sound was like a constant drumbeat. John ignored it, his fingers flying across his keyboard, completely oblivious to the lights of the bathroom that were flickering on and off on their own. The sounds in the attic intensified, rattling above his head, begging for attention and receiving none. Soon the attic door sounded like a double bass that was deafening, and John felt the muscles in his body tense at the sheer amount of distractions that were threatening him.

“Shut up!”

His scream echoed in the empty house, and everything stopped abruptly.

John blinked twice, his trance broken, his breathing heavy as he felt a headache coming on and his temples throb. His fingers shook above the keyboard as the words on his screen swam in and out of focus.

Great. Now you scared them.

John flinched when he heard knocking at the front door. He looked at his watch, realized that it was well past midnight, and had a sinking feeling about who his visitor might be.

You know how I feel about this, but hey, it’s your call, Johnny-boy.

John waited, hoping whoever he thought was at his door would leave. When he heard the second series of knocks, he got out of his chair, turned on the lights and made his way downstairs. Rubbing the back of his neck, easing the tension that had built up there, he opened the door without checking to see who was outside.

He wasn’t surprised to see Eva Green, hands on her hips, clad in an overcoat that reached below her knees. She stared at him challengingly, both of them quiet, and then opened her coat to reveal the black lingerie she was wearing underneath.

“You still think it was a mistake?” she asked, her eyes daring him to look away, the smirk on her face dangerously enticing.

John swept her into his arms, slammed the door shut and carried her upstairs.

***

June Summers was locking up when Hank pulled up in front of her store. She waved at him as he leaned over and opened the passenger door, waiting as she rechecked the locks and climbed in next to him.

“Thanks for driving me home, Hank,” she said, rubbing her hands together for warmth.

“No problem,” Hank said, shifting gears and pulling out. “Can’t let you walk home this time’a night.”

“That’s sweet,” she mumbled. She checked her purse to make sure she hadn’t forgotten the keys in the door the way she recently had become accustomed to doing, and sat back comfortably, closing her eyes. It had been a slow day.

“Did I tell you that I was at the Dean house today?” Hank asked.

June was suddenly wide awake. Intrigued, she raised an eyebrow at him. “Really?”

“That writer fellow of yours, the one you said was stayin’ there,” Hank explained. “He came into my store yesterday talkin’ about a stench in his basement. Went there today, damn place smells like dead bodies rottin’ away. I ain’t got a clue how he’s holdin’ up in there.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time,” June said. “Remember last year? You couldn’t drive by that house without smelling the rot.”

“That’s just it, there ain’t nothing rotten there,” Hank said. “The basement’s clean. Couldn’t tell what was causin’ the smell.”

“Insulation?”

Hank nodded. “Told him to get rid of it. Dunno if he’s gonna do it.”

“It would be a waste of money if he did,” June said, looking out the window as they made their way out of the town center and onto the road towards her house.

“Told him to sell it to the Greens, said he didn’t know who owned it,” Hank said.

June nodded thoughtfully. “Don’t worry yourself about that. They’ll badger him about it soon enough.”

“I guess they’ve already started,” Hank smiled. “Saw Miss Eva there when I was leavin’. Seemed like they’ve run into each other before.”

June stared hard at Hank, and he frowned in confusion when he saw the look she gave him.

“What?”

“Don’t you go spreading rumors, Hank Pollard,” June warned. “That’s a married man, there. Don’t go talking about things you’re not sure of.”

“I ain’t sayin’ anythin’, June,” Hank said. “Just said I saw her there.”

“That’s already saying too much,” June berated. “You know David Green as much as anyone else in town. You know what he would do if he thought for a second something was going on between his daughter and John.”

“Fine, I’ll keep my mouth shut,” Hank said. “I only told you anyway.”

“Let’s keep it at that, right?”

Hank nodded, and they both fell silent for the rest of the drive.

***

John felt like a million dollars when he woke up.

There was no guilt this time, only a deep satisfaction that had lingered since the night before. He had stayed awake this time as Eva got dressed and left. Standing at his bedroom window, shades slightly drawn, invisible in the darkness, he had watched her race back to her house and sneak in through the back. He had lain in bed for a good ten minutes with a smile on his face before falling asleep peacefully.

Whistling to himself, he danced a little as he waited for the water to boil, completely forgetting about the smell coming from the basement, his mind free and rested. He had checked on his writing, happy with the progress he had made so far, and questioned whether or not to send what he had to Derrick.

Derrick could wait. Right now we’re celebrating!

“That we are, my friend,” John sang. “That we are!”

He filled his mug with coffee, lighting a cigarette as he moved to the music in his head. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this good, this alive, and he was going to cherish the moment as much as possible.

You never know how long the good times last, right, Johnny-boy?

John Krik couldn’t agree more.

He took his coffee and made his way upstairs, his cigarette hanging loosely from his mouth as ash dropped onto the hardwood floor. He was anticipating the next bout of writing, the next roll. He was really feeling how his story was coming together, the plot intertwining within itself to form a web of events that he knew would look absolutely beautiful when it was done. He felt like an artist, painting a canvas in what seemed to be random lines, and only he knew what the final image would look like.

His next bestseller was going to be massive.

John set his mug down and opened his laptop, slumping into his chair and readying himself for the rush.

Let’s get to work, Johnny-boy.

“Yes, please,” John said out loud, putting out his cigarette and immediately lighting another one.

He was about to start when he was stopped by knocking at the door. Frowning, he tried to remember if he should have been expecting someone. Had he called Grace or Hank? He clearly remembered postponing the exterminators for a few more days, feeling no rush to solve either the problem in the basement or the nest of rats upstairs.

Ignore it.

The knocking came again, and this time John decided not to listen to the voice in his head. He made his way downstairs, pulling on a shirt as he quickly put out his cigarette. When he opened the door, his heart stopped.

“Surprise!”

Karen threw her hands up in the air, her smile wide as she posed in front of her husband. She was wearing her travel pants, and two suitcases stood idly at her side.

“Karen?”

“Wow, John, don’t be so happy to see me,” she rolled her eyes.

John smiled and reached out for his wife, taking her into his arms and hugging her tight.

“I’m sorry, it’s just that this is completely unexpected,” he said, kissing her.

“Hence, surprise,” she said.

John held her at arm’s length and looked at her, taking her all in, unable to believe she was actually there. “What are you doing here?”

“For starters,” she said, “waiting to come in.”

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” John said, pulling her inside before grabbing her bags.

He watched his wife’s eyes grow wide as she took in the interior of the house, obviously impressed.

“Why the hell were you upset?” she asked. “This place is beautiful!”

“You should have been here when I first walked in,” John smiled. “You wouldn’t be saying that.”

What the hell are you doing? Why is she here?

John quickly shook his head and wrapped his arm around Karen’s waist as he walked her into the living room. She was clearly in love, and he found her admiration amusing.

“Where did Derrick find this place?” she asked.

Get her out of here!

“So, are you here for the weekend?” John asked, ignoring the demands of his subconscious.

“Actually, longer,” Karen said, slumping down onto the couch and throwing her legs up as she admired the fabric. “Took two weeks off work.”

“What about Dylan?”

“With Jody,” Karen replied. “You know she’s been begging me to let him stay with her for a while.”

John smiled as he sat down on the chair opposite her. “I’m flattered, but why take time off? You can’t possibly miss me that much.”

Karen looked at him for a minute too long, enough for John to know that something was wrong.

“Derrick called,” she said. “He sent me your manuscript. At first, I was surprised you hadn’t sent it to me first. After I read it, I kind of understood why.”

John nodded, already knowing what she was going to say. Karen was never a fan of the grotesque. “Are you here to bring me back to the rainbows and butterflies?” he asked with a grin.

Karen smiled and shook her head. “I’m here to make sure the darkness doesn’t tempt you with cookies.”

She’s going to ruin everything! What if she finds out about Eva?

John smiled at his wife.

For now, he would have to make the best of it.

Chapter 11

John woke up to the sweet smell of fresh coffee and bacon.

Stretching beneath the sheets, he opened his eyes slowly, letting the room swim into focus as he yawned loud enough to let Karen know he was awake. It was a little game between the two of them, and since she had come, he had quickly fallen back into his old habits.

Throwing his legs over the side of the bed, he waited for his mind to clear, and he slowly made his way to the bathroom. The lights didn’t flicker when he turned them on, and the water flowed as clear as crystal out of the faucet.

Things had changed for the better since Karen had arrived.

It had been a little awkward at first, both he and the house getting used to the fact that a woman had taken over and was bombarding them with her feminine touch. The color of the furniture seemed brighter, the electricity was stable and the lights stopped blowing out, and for the past week the smell from the basement had disappeared completely.

John remembered the first time he had walked into the kitchen, the day after she had arrived, and noticed that the towels he had put under the door to ward off the smell were gone.

“Why did you have towels there?” she had asked, clad in an oversized t-shirt while scrubbing away at the refrigerator.

“There was a smell coming up from the basement,” he had said matter-of-factly, confused as to why the stench had not stunk up the house already.

“What smell?”

She had actually gone down to the basement, fiddled with the boiler to stop the brown water from ever returning, and had aired out the humidity. He had been impressed, and a part of him was curious as to why she had succeeded where he had failed miserably. But he had quickly shrugged it away, happy that he did not have to breathe through his mouth every time he had to go into the kitchen.

Karen had quickly turned the whole place around, and the house finally felt like people actually lived in it. It was beyond him how her presence was enough to bring a different light to the place, but it pleased him, and he had quickly forgotten his initial reservations about her being there. Even Eva Green had disappeared completely, saving him the awkward need to introduce his wife to the girl he had cheated on her with. Twice.

The rest of his few acquaintances were a different story.

June Summers had fallen in love with Karen the minute she had laid eyes on her, both women hitting it off immediately when John took his wife to the market to stock up. June was quick to praise him in front of Karen, and his wife was quick to warn her that he was a charmer and wordsmith. Needless to say, John hadn’t needed to drive Karen into town any longer; she had quickly made herself at home.

That was the thing about Karen; she got along with everyone. Even when Gina Andrews had come to help with another round of cleaning, the old woman hadn’t seemed to mind Karen at all. She hadn’t said more than a few words to John, but she had talked her heart out while working side by side with his wife. He had begun to wonder why he had agreed to come out here alone in the first place.

John reached for the towel by the sink, dried his face and stared at his reflection in the mirror. He looked better, less disheveled, more himself. He had begun sporting the beginnings of a beard, something he had never done before despite Karen’s undying attempts to coax him into it.

His writing was taking a good hit, though, the past week giving him nothing more than a few thousand words, much less than he had written when he had been alone. When Derrick called, John had assured him that it was just a dip, but the story was still coming, albeit slower. His editor hadn’t seemed too upset, though, discussing John’s overall well-being more than he did his writing.

It freaked him out. Derrick had never cared about that before.

“Morning, cupcake,” he whistled as he made his way into the kitchen, hugging Karen from behind as she scrambled eggs. He gave her a quick kiss on the neck, forcing her to giggle when his beard tickled her, and poured himself a cup of coffee.

“That’s going to ruin your appetite,” Karen said, moving the pan off the fire and onto a cooler eye.

“I’m famished, baby,” John chuckled. “Believe me, nothing’s going to ruin my appetite.”

“Well, get some food in you and get to work,” she said, winking at him. “My man needs to make us some money.”

John smiled as he sat at the kitchen bar, nestling his coffee between his hands as he stared out the kitchen window at the yard beyond. The sun was piercing through, illuminating the kitchen fully and flushing out the off-white coloring of the cabinets and tiles. He hadn’t noticed their color before, couldn’t even remember if he had registered it at all when he had first arrived. Then again, it hadn’t always been this bright outside.

He sipped his brew as he watched his wife work, his eyes running over the curves hidden by the t-shirt, her ash-brown hair tied back in a high ponytail. She looked at least a decade younger than she actually was, which made him feel like an old fart next to her. He was more than aware of the wrinkles on his skin from the cigarettes and coffee, which was probably why Eva had been such a temptation. No one except for Karen had ever looked at him the way she did, and John began to wonder how sick he had to be to instantly fall for that.

“Did you call Dylan?” he asked, forcing the thoughts out of his mind.

Karen served him his plate and sat down in front of her own. “He says hi,” she said. “One day you’re going to have to learn to wake up early and actually talk to your son.”

“That’s not fair,” John said, already beginning to eat. His stomach growled in encouragement, satisfied that it was getting the attention it needed. “I talked to him yesterday after he got back from soccer practice.”

Karen smiled and winked at him. “My hero,” she said. “So what’s the plan for today?”

“Write, write and write some more,” John smiled.

“How’s that coming along?”

“Swimmingly,” John lied. “Just two more weeks and I might actually be done.”

Karen nodded and bit into her toast.

“You don’t look too happy,” he frowned.

“Oh, I am, believe me, I couldn’t be happier,” she said with a quick smile. “This place is starting to grow on me. I had kind of hoped we could stay here a bit longer.”

“What about Dylan?”

“Move him here with us,” Karen shrugged. “The school here looks pretty decent.”

John put his fork down and cocked his head at his wife. “Are you suggesting permanently moving here?”

“Why not?” Karen asked.

“For starters, we can’t afford this place,” John said. “Right now we’re riding on the publisher paying the rent, and that’s probably just until Derrick gets the final manuscript.”

“Then put off sending it to him for a few months.”

“I have a deadline.”

“Then let’s sell our house and buy this one.”

“And your job?”

“I can quit.”

“Karen!”

Karen slammed her fork down. “What?” she yelled.

John frowned at his wife, sitting back slowly and forgetting all about breakfast as he stared at her in disbelief. He had never seen her lose her cool like this before, even when he did something utterly stupid. It was a new side to her, and it worried him.

“I’m sorry,” Karen sighed. “The new job, well, it isn’t as easy as I thought it would be.”

“I thought you loved it,” John said. “Besides, you’ve only been at it for a week before you drove out here.”

“A week of hell.”

John frowned and leaned in towards his wife, grabbing her hand and squeezing it lightly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Karen shook her head and smiled weakly. “You had your own problems,” she said. “I didn’t want to burden you with mine.”

“You’re my wife. You’re supposed to burden me with your issues.”

Karen put her other hand over his and stared out the window. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “It just needs a little getting used to, and to be honest, it’s hard not having you around.”

John smiled, obviously amused. “One week without me and your whole world falls apart,” he teased.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Karen shot back quickly, smiling.

He laughed and went back to his breakfast. “How about this? I’ll get some writing done until dinner, and then we can talk all about the new job and what’s bothering you. Sound good?”

Karen nodded and picked up her fork, the two of them exchanging a smile as they resumed their breakfast.

***

Karen pushed through the screen door, sipping her coffee and closing her eyes as the sun’s rays grazed her face. She stood still for a moment, letting the soft morning breeze blow through her hair before she made her way to the porch bench and sat down.

Hank Pollard had fixed the bench up for them a few days before, Karen insisting that she wasn’t going to have furniture lying around uselessly. It had taken the man less than a few hours to get it done, and she remembered the accusing look she had shot her husband. Sometimes she wondered what John would ever do without her.

She pulled her husband’s pack of cigarettes out of her pocket and glanced quickly at the door to make sure he wasn’t coming outside after her, and lit one up. She took a long drag, filling her lungs with smoke before blowing it out, slowly. She had been careful not to let John know she had picked up the habit, and it wasn’t too hard since he was usually the one who smelled like a walking ashtray. Anything out of the usual could easily be pinned on him.

Cradling her mug between her thighs and untying her ponytail, she let her hair loose as she took another drag. Her eyes wandered across the small road to the closest house to her. The Greens, she remembered June telling her. She had asked John about them before, but he had been oddly vague, waving off the conversation as if he had had better things to do.

Which he did, but she found it hard to believe that her usually curious husband had not once toyed with any assumptions about his neighbors.

She knew from June that the only other house on the street was home to an old couple rarely seen by anyone, the blue truck in their driveway the only proof that anyone even lived there. In the past week she had seen only a single car stop there, every two days like clockwork and only for an hour, then disappear again. She assumed they had a caretaker.

Karen sipped her coffee, legs propped up in front of her and resting comfortably on the porch rail as she observed the Green estate. Soon enough, the blonde walked out the front door. Karen glanced at her watch, smiling at how the girl’s routine was as predictable as everything else in this town. The blonde immediately looked over, her gaze falling on Karen and her face in a deep frown. The first few times it had happened, Karen had found it confusing. Now it was just amusing.

What’s your story, little girl?

The blonde spent her usual five minutes outside, forcing herself to look straight ahead, Karen knowing well that she was observing her from the corner of her eye. She continued to stare at the girl until she turned on her heels and walked back into her house, inexplicably frustrated.

Karen made a mental note to ask June about the girl when she met her later today.

Are you sure you want to do that, cupcake?

Karen smiled to herself as she finished her cigarette.

What was the worst that could happen?

Chapter 12

John slammed his laptop shut in frustration.

It had stopped completely. During the past few weeks, he had been worried about how the thought process had slowed down a bit, daily word count going down, his characters becoming stale and boring. He needed a new edge, and that edge wasn’t manifesting. He had thought he had built momentum, a way to move forward, but he had been wrong.

Running his hands across his face, he sighed as he tried to think of a new angle, a new approach, something that might jump-start the writing again. But, there was nothing.

He shot up angrily, looking for his pack of cigarettes amongst the piles of notes that had accumulated over the past week. He looked at his workspace in disgust; it was starting to look more and more like his desk back home, and the image was depressing. Notes meant brainstorming, and that meant a loss for words he had not experienced before Karen had arrived.

Maybe Derrick was right. Maybe you needed to get away from her, too.

But Derrick had been the one who had called her. John kicked at his chair, looking about the room in fury, wondering why something as simple as lighting a cigarette was becoming so problematic.

He had switched rooms, moving the small makeshift desk and his laptop as soon as he realized that he wouldn’t be able to write in the master bedroom anymore. Besides, it was hard enough sleeping next to his wife in the same bed he had cheated on her in; the whole room had become a distraction.

Cursing, he made his way downstairs, his frustration getting the best of him. He searched the living room first, tossing cushions about and not bothering to put them back where they belonged.

Let Karen deal with it. This is her fault, anyway.

John stopped himself, freezing in place as the voice in the back of his head suddenly fell silent, cowering into the corner where it had been hiding for a week. This wasn’t Karen’s fault. Karen was helping. She had left her job, their son, everything, to be here with him. She was worried, and she was being the woman he had fallen in love with; considerate, patient, supportive. What was he thinking?

She’s here because she couldn’t handle things without you. It’s a selfish reason, come to think of it, Johnny-boy.

John quickly pushed the thought away. He had to be careful. The lack of writing was starting to get to him.

Making his way down the hall, his nose picked up a scent he had never thought he’d smell again. Frowning as he neared the kitchen, he groaned out loud as the familiar stench of rot seeped out from the basement.

“Damn it!” he cursed, opening the door quickly and switching on the lights.

When the bulbs didn’t respond, he laughed in annoyance.

Murphy’s Law, Johnny-boy.

Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.

Might as well not go down there. The way things are going for you, you might end up falling and breaking a leg. Or your neck.

John closed the basement door and immediately went for the towels. The stench hadn’t reached the point where he couldn’t stand being in the kitchen, and he was convinced that this time around he could stop it from getting any worse. He reached for his phone, hoping to catch Karen and ask her to bring some lights with her from June’s, and he wasn’t surprised when he couldn’t find it in his pocket.

Of course.

“You’re telling me,” John said out loud.

He grabbed the towels from the drawer, wet them and stuffed them in place. He scanned the kitchen, found his pack near the boiler, pocketed it and made his way out onto the porch. He sat heavily on the bench, lighting a cigarette with shaky hands, his mind racing as his body shook with frustration.

He needed to write. He needed to write now. He couldn’t lose the momentum, not now, not when he was this close to finishing the story. One idea; he only needed one idea to get him going again, and try as he would, he couldn’t find it.

You do know why, right, Johnny-boy?

John hated to admit it, but there was a part of him that had to agree. Ever since Karen had arrived, ever since she had changed things in the house, made it homier, his ideas had stopped coming. He laughed at how ludicrous the notion was, but it was the closest thing to an explanation he could find. His story was dark, twisted, a new John Krik who wasn’t supposed to be indulging in bright sunlight and home-made breakfast. He needed the dark, the flickering bulbs, and the running feet. He needed the voices in his head.

Hey, I never really left, buddy. You’ve just been ignoring me.

“Help,” John whispered to the wind, his cigarette stuck between his lips as he stared out into space.

You don’t need my help. You know what you have to do.

John thought long and hard about it, and nodded to himself. He had to get rid of Karen. He had to convince her to leave, to return to their son and her job. But, how was he going to do that? He had promised to talk to her tonight, and she was dead set on staying. It wasn’t going to be easy.

Well, you better think fast, buddy. I have a feeling she’s already got her eyes on your special friend.

John frowned as he looked over at the Greens’ house. He hadn’t seen Eva since Karen’s arrival, and he had counted his lucky stars for that. He had never considered the possibility that Eva had come before and Karen had scared her off. His wife had been asking him about the Greens for a few days now, and he had never once thought of the possibility that she might have met the blonde. Had Eva said something?

It doesn’t really matter, Johnny-boy. What matters now is writing.

Right. What mattered was writing.

John blew out smoke and flicked his cigarette out into the driveway. He thought long and hard, his mind trying to piece together a way to get back on track. He longed for the nights when his fingers danced on their own, the words popping up on the screen as if someone else had been doing the work, not him.

Fine, just this once. But from now on, we play it my way, got it?

John felt his eyes cloud over and his mind kick into overdrive. In an instant, he had the angle he needed to continue writing. He jumped up and raced back into the house, taking the stairs in twos as he fell heavily into his chair and began to type.

John wrote, and the smile on his face said it all.

***

“Tell me about the Greens.”

Karen was leaning against one wall of the small storage space, smoking a cigarette as she and June took a break from the inventory. She had promised the woman a few days before that she would help her with it, and Karen was never one to go back on promises. She had come with another agenda, though, and had waited for this break with anticipation.

Karen couldn’t really help it. She had to admit, she was as curious as her husband, if not more, which was why his vagueness and disinterest with the Greens annoyed and confused her. They had always been quick to play the guess-who-they-are game, each one taking turns picking out random people and making up stories about their lives. John did it for the inspiration; Karen did it for the thrill. She had offered him the chance to do the same with the Greens, and had been surprised that, contrary to his usual excitement, he brushed the notion off and told her to forget about them.

“I’m not here to socialize,” he had said.

Karen didn’t believe it for a second. The Greens seemed intriguing, and the way June hesitated when she asked her to talk about them made Karen want to know about them even more.

“They are an interesting bunch, aren’t they?” June asked with a smile, as if reading Karen’s mind.

Karen nodded. “It’s rare for me not to know my neighbors.”

“And you haven’t gone over yourself?”

“I keep telling John that I want to,” Karen said. “He doesn’t seem very interested in getting to know them, which I think is quite odd. It’s not like him.”

Karen caught the confusion on the other woman’s face and instantly felt something in her stomach turn. “What is it?” she asked.

“Nothing,” June lied, and Karen knew it. “I’m thinking about what you said.”

Karen decided not to probe any further, for now. “Well?”

June sat down on one of the many boxes around her, dusted her hands together and leaned back against a wall. “The Greens,” she whispered. “Where do you start?”

Karen chuckled. “How about the beginning, June.”

June seemed to think about that for a moment, then nodded in agreement.

“Cafeville is an old town, one of the oldest in New England I suppose. Earliest settlement this part of the State, although right now you’d probably not even find it on the map. Never grew much larger than it is right now. Come to think of it, there’s only ever been three or four streets added to the ones that had first been established. The school could be considered new, although that was built in the thirties.”

June stared into space for a few seconds before shaking her head and blinking, as if she had suddenly traveled back to another time and place, and had returned just as quickly.

“Anyway,” she continued, “the town was founded by four families; Dean, Toled, Pollard and Green. You know Hank, of course. He’s the last of the Pollards left in Cafeville. The others all sold everything they owned here and left, scattered all over the country.”

“I thought Hank was married,” Karen said.

June shook her head slowly. “His wife died years ago. The poor soul can’t bring himself to take off the ring. He’s never been one to let the past be.”

“That’s sad,” Karen frowned, grateful she had found this out before going through with her plan to invite him to dinner; asking him to bring the wife would have been awkward.

“Well, all things considered, the Pollards are the only family of the four that’s had it good here in Cafeville. That’s probably why the rest left. Didn’t want to push their luck, I guess.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think it started with the Toleds, really,” June said, concentrating as she tried to remember the town’s history. “This was before I was born. They’re the family that lives to the left of the house you’re staying in.”

“The older couple that doesn’t want to leave?” Karen asked.

“Or can’t leave, depending on how you look at it,” June said, her voice barely audible. “All three families, Dean, Toled and Green, built their homes on that road, each with their own little riches, each trying to compete with the other, although my grandmother says it had all been good sport back then. You can’t really know, if you ask me. Happened way before her time, too.

“What we do know for sure was that Maverick Toled was the first to go nuts. Killed his entire family, only missing his youngest son because the boy was with relatives out of town. Wife, two daughters and eldest son, who was to be wed to the Deans’ daughter actually; all dead. Then he hung himself in the basement.”

Karen stared at her in shock. She had been expecting an interesting story, but nothing like this. June saw the look on her face and frowned apologetically.

“I’m so sorry, Karen, if I had known it’d bother you –”

“No, no,” Karen interrupted her. “Go on. It’s a little shocking, that’s all.”

June nodded as she eyed her, considering whether to continue or not. When Karen nodded at her, the woman went on.

“The Toled’s house stood empty for years, and over the generations, Green and Dean would fight over it, each trying to buy it for themselves. By then the two families were competing furiously, openly, no longer much of a sport. They were at each other’s throats the whole time.

“I was a little girl, taking my first steps, when Benjamin Dean died. By then, both the Deans and Greens were playing dirty, and the rumor was Alexander Green had somehow tried to sabotage the Dean livestock. They say it had been a fire, over one hundred cows burnt alive. It was the source of the Dean fortune at the time, acres upon acres of land just outside Cafeville in their family’s name. Little Benji had been playing in the barns with his siblings when the fire had broken out.”

“That’s horrible!”

June nodded in agreement. “Took the fire brigade two days to put it out, some of it making its way into the woods behind the barns, a real mess. Everyone had a feeling Alexander Green was behind it, but no one could really prove it. That’s when Samuel Dean took matters into his own hands.”

“Samuel Dean?” Karen asked, her eyes wide.

June frowned. “You’ve heard of him?”

Karen quickly shook her head, wondering if it was a coincidence that the main character in her husband’s story had the exact same name.

“Well, on the night he buried his son, Samuel went into the arcade a few stores down from here and stabbed Alexander Green to death, and then went after his entire family. He would’ve killed them all if the sheriff hadn’t stopped him in time to save the children.”

Karen suddenly felt very faint, her mind recounting the events in John’s story and correlating them to what she was hearing.

“June, have you told John any of this?” she asked, hoping that her husband had just decided to base his book on a small town’s lore.

“Not that I can remember,” June said. “Why? Is something wrong?”

Karen didn’t even know where to start.

Chapter 13

“For a second there, I thought I had lost you completely.”

John smiled as he listened to Derrick Fern praise the new chapters.

The sun had already begun to set, and for the past five hours, John hadn’t stopped writing. In less time than usual, he was done with ten thousand words and had sent them to Derrick to review, his editor calling an hour later with applause and a laugh that ringed dollars.

“I did kind of drift away for a few days,” John admitted.

“You don’t say!” Derrick chuckled. “I was slapping myself for calling Karen.”

“That was a stupid call,” John said, unable to let the man feel any satisfaction. “I only got work done because she’s been out all day.”

There was silence on the other line. “Then get rid of her.”

“Excuse me?” John said, static mixing in with Derrick’s words, unsure whether he had heard him correctly or not.

“You can’t get rid of them,” Derrick said, his voice louder. “They’re family. Family’s important.”

John frowned, unsure if those were the exact words Derrick had used just a moment before. “I’m going to try to get some more work done before Karen comes back,” he said.

“You do that,” Derrick said. “I’m rooting for you!”

“I’m almost done,” John said, and hung up.

***

John sat in the dark, cigarette in one hand, his head laid back against the couch as he smiled at the ceiling.

The story was coming along beautifully. In the two hours since his telephone call with Derrick, he had written another four thousand words, and was riding a literal high. He had wanted to celebrate with something stronger, but decided that if he were to finish up with the work at hand, his mind needed to be clear.

He took a long drag from his cigarette and blew smoke into the darkness. Karen was going to go absolutely crazy when she got home. She hated it when he smoked indoors, and from experience he knew well what her reaction was going to be. Surprisingly, not a thread of him cared. Let her blow. It might give her a reason to leave.

Doubtful, Johnny-boy, but I like where your mind is going.

John smiled.

Before retreating to the living room, he had gone into the kitchen, kicked the towels aside and opened the basement door all the way, letting the stench race out into the house like a dog that had been freed from its leash. The smell filled every corner of the Victorian, and for some strange reason, he didn’t seem to care. He was even breathing through his nose, letting the stench sting his lungs along with the smoke he was inhaling.

Somewhere upstairs, he could hear the attic door opening and closing, the familiar sound of rats in the walls ringing in his ears. This was it. This was exactly what he needed. This was the fuel that would push the story forward. He smiled to himself when he thought of what Karen would do when she got home. He looked at his cell phone, pondering whether to call her or not, and decided to wait for her to return.

She’s a big girl. She’ll be fine.

Again, he didn’t seem to care.

John stretched his arms wide, feeling exceptionally good about himself. Maybe there was a point to staying here. Maybe a year or two in Cafeville, and he could have a whole series of bestsellers lined up and ready to make him millions. Derrick would love that, and Karen could finally stay at home.

She’s holding you back. She’s been after that job for years, and now that she’s got it, she doesn’t want it.

John frowned. That was a bit like her, only interested in something until the moment it was attainable. That was probably why she wanted to move out here. An isolated town, a house that would eat up their savings; that was usually the direction Karen set off in whenever she made a decision. Always looking for the most complicated of goals, just to throw them away once she realized that she could achieve them.

You have to send her home. We don’t need her here. Look at how much you’ve achieved because she left the house.

John nodded to himself, agreeing with the voice in his head, the voice that had now confidently come out of hiding and was setting up shop in the forefront of his mind. The voice that now had a microphone and a direct line to every single part of his brain. A part of John dreaded it, but only a small part. The rest of him was grateful for its presence.

Of course you are. I’m basically writing your story for you.

“Cheers, brother,” John said in the closest imitation to Derrick Fern he could muster. He chuckled to himself.

If you could get her to leave completely, it would free some extra room in that bed for someone else.

John smiled, thinking of his nights with Eva, images flashing before his eyes.

Sounds pretty good to me, Johnny-boy.

His mind wandered to thoughts of Eva, what he would do to her if given the chance. The blonde would be helpless in his hands, and this time he wouldn’t let her leave. Just one night, that was all he needed. He didn’t care who her father was or how much pull he had in town. The girl was old enough to make her own choices. What was the saying? The heart wants what the heart desires?

There’s more than heart in this one, buddy.

John chuckled and took another drag from his cigarette, his nose stinging from the scent creeping up from the basement, the rattling of the attic door starting to become louder. He heard the window latches turning, slowly, screeching, metal scratching against metal as they loosened completely and the living room windows flew open with a crash. The house suddenly felt like a whirlwind was blowing through it, and the lights flickered on and off, on and off. A bulb in the hallway burst, the sound of shattering glass echoing through the empty house.

“Show off,” John whispered, a smile on his face as he sat still in the chaos around him.

Then, suddenly, all at once, everything stopped. The stench dispersed, the lights stopped flickering, and the attic door was suddenly still.

She’s coming.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, soft, calming, squeezing him gently. John laid his head back, looking up into the face staring down at him, eyes dead, beard similar to the one he was growing, grin wide and manic.

She has to go. We have work to do.

John smiled back, and the sound of his laughter echoed through the entire house.

Chapter 14

“Did you remove the towels?”

John sighed at the sound of Karen’s voice calling from downstairs. He had just started writing, opting out of breakfast after his wife had returned the other night and had gotten into a fit about him smoking indoors, and of course, the smell. She had replaced the towels, closed the windows and had decided not to talk about her day, especially after John gave her the cold shoulder when she tried to ask him about his writing.

The truth was he couldn’t bring himself to ask her to leave. He wanted to, God did he ever. Every inch of him was aching to tell her to go home, but his mouth would open and nothing would come out.

When they had finally fallen asleep, still arguing about the smoking, John had already promised himself that he would do it in the morning. But he had woken up with an urge to continue writing, and the thought of having a break that would get into another heated argument made him wince. The conversation could wait.

No it can’t, Johnny-boy. She’s already settled in and made friends. It’s only going to get harder.

John ignored the voice and went on typing. Not now. It could wait.

That wasn’t our deal.

“I said I’ll do it tonight,” John whispered, eyes concentrated on the work at hand.

“John!” Karen called out from downstairs. “Where the hell are the towels?”

John sighed and slammed his laptop shut, ready to drive his fist into the wall in frustration.

I guess she’ll push you to do it, buddy.

John quickly made his way downstairs, angrily storming into the kitchen as he pulled the towels out from behind the door. He held them out to his wife, Karen’s fury apparent in her eyes as she stared at him accusingly, as if he were the one causing problems. He wanted to slap her across the face.

“Why do I get the feeling that you actually enjoy the smell of whatever it is that’s coming up from there?” Karen spat, snatching the towels from his hand.

“I warned you about that,” John retorted. “I told you something’s dead in the walls.”

“Then fix it!”

“I tried!” John threw his hands into the air. “How about you do something about it? I’m actually busy!”

Karen stared at him angrily, then slammed the towels into the sink and turned the water on them. “Right, of course,” she muttered. “Why do anything when I can, right?”

“What was that?”

“You heard me!” Karen shouted, turning around to face her husband. “For the past few years it’s been me taking care of every little thing while you sat at your laptop and made up stories!”

John couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Hey, that’s not fair!” he shouted. “I’ve been helping out just as much as you have. You can’t deny that.”

“Sure you were,” Karen scoffed. “Tell you what, the next time I need a babysitter for Dylan, I’ll give you a call.”

John slammed his hand against the countertop and pointed at her angrily. “I gave this family as much as you have, if not more! Don’t you go taking your frustration out on me!”

“I wouldn’t be frustrated if someone had talked to me last night like they were supposed to,” Karen hissed.

“You’re the one who came in shouting up a storm.”

“You were smoking in the house!”

“It’s not even our house!”

They stared at each other for a few seconds, both frowning, each trying to come up with the best thing to say to get under the other’s skin. When neither could think of anything, Karen turned back to the towels and John stormed out, making his way back upstairs.

That went well.

“Shut up,” John said as he sat down, opened his laptop, and picked up where he had left off.

***

June Summers felt a cold wind rush through the store when David Green walked in.

The man was a towering presence, quick with a smile that chilled and eyes too cold to really be mirrors into any kind of soul. His white hair cascaded over his shoulders in neatly combed waves, and June was quick to notice how they hid a nasty scar along the side of his neck.

Fishing accident, she remembered someone once saying. She wondered how much truth was behind that.

David gave June one of his infamous smiles and absently grabbed a pack of chips off the closest shelf to him, his eyes locked on her. She braced herself as he walked to the register and dropped his purchase in front of her.

“What do you want, David?” June asked, matching his stare but not his smile.

David looked down at the counter and then back at her. “Chips,” he said.

“I’m serious.” June pressed her lips together, already annoyed.

“The author, the one living in the old Dean house, what’s his name?” David said, snapping his fingers as he looked away thoughtfully.

“John,” June said, trying to hurry the conversation up.

“That’s it,” David said, pointing at her. “John. I see his wife’s moved in with him. You wouldn’t happen to know if they’re buying the old dump, would you?”

June shrugged and swiped the bag of chips against her screen, pushing buttons on the register. “No idea,” she said. “Why don’t you ask them?”

“I would, but I doubt they’re a very friendly bunch,” David said. “I’ve seen his wife in here a few times,” David went on. “Seems like the two of you have gotten pretty close.”

“That’s really none of your business, but what of it?”

David smiled and leaned against the counter. “I thought that June Summers would be able to help a friend out and share some of what she knows,” he said. “I know where the town gossip starts.”

June folded her arms and stared angrily at the man, her eyes squinting. “First of all, you ain’t my friend. Second, you can find your gossip in the bar down the road, if they’ll let you in.”

June thought back to the month before when David and Hank had been at each other’s throats in Denny’s Bar after a heated argument. Denny had kicked them both out, and had warned them to never set foot in the bar again. Since then, Hank had apologized and won the man’s trust back. David Green was not the apologizing type, and had been trying to shut the place down since. Needless to say, it didn’t make him any more popular.

“How is Hank anyway?” David asked, his smile widening. “Has he gotten over Irene yet?”

“Watch it, David,” June warned.

David Green chuckled, a deep, hoarse laugh that had always made June cringe.

“So there’s nothing you can tell me?” he asked.

“There’s plenty,” June shrugged. “I just don’t want to tell you.”

David nodded as he straightened himself. He looked about the small shop, his eyes taking it all in, before he took out a few bills and threw them on the counter.

“I’ll be seeing you around,” he said, turning and walking out.

“You forgot your chips,” June called after him.

He didn’t answer her. June watched as the man pulled up his collar against the wind, looked back at her with that smile of his and walked away.

***

Karen blew smoke out in rings as she sat quietly on the bench outside. Wrapped up in her windbreaker, her hair loose and her knees pulled up to her chest, she quietly watched the skies change color as the sun set. It was calmer out here, more peaceful, and there was no way she was going to spend time inside the house with that foul smell floating around. How did John even handle it?

I think he’s right. Call an exterminator.

She wasn’t going to call anyone. If her husband couldn’t pick up the phone and do something as simple as that, then she was just going to suck it up and soldier through it. If he could stand it, so would she, until it at least got bad enough for one of them to fold.

He’s been living with the smell for a week before you got here. Do it yourself.

Karen shook her head in reply, the thought ludicrous. No more. She wasn’t going to go out of her way for him anymore. If John wanted something done, he would have to do it himself. She was done playing mommy.

She took a drag, hearing him moving around in the living room downstairs, not bothering to put out her cigarette. So what if he saw her smoke? He’d been smoking for years, hadn’t even quit when she was pregnant with Dylan, which was probably the reason why their son had to move around everywhere with an inhaler in his pocket.

He’s a selfish son of a bitch, that’s for sure.

She thought back to the years spent pampering and cooing, pushing him to write, always there when he needed her. She had been through it all, even before the bestseller that had finally given them some breathing space. She had watched him struggle to write another one, Derrick twisting his arm into sending in the other two manuscripts that were supposed to be their insurance policy. And she had smiled through it all.

You know, cupcake, there was probably a time when you actually liked being in charge.

“I was never in charge,” she whispered to herself.

Despite being the only one bringing in some constant income, she had maintained the husband and wife role she had been raised to believe in. John wore the pants in their household, and she had been more than happy with that. Now it seemed like he was taking her good nature for granted.

“He could call his own damn exterminator,” she mumbled.

I think it’s more than just that, cupcake. Don’t you think it’s a little funny he’s been acting up ever since you told him you wanted to stay here?

She hadn’t thought about that before, although the notion deserved some consideration. It was only after she had voiced her intentions did he suddenly shut down and change. Was he causing that smell? Was he doing it all on purpose to drive her away?

Oh no, he’s definitely an ass. But why show that much of it now?

Karen thought about it and could only come up with one conclusion; he wanted her gone. It was the only thing that made sense. He had started to write again only when alone, and yesterday had been the first time she had spent the entire day out since her arrival. She had seen what he had done, a bulk of his writing finished in only eight hours while she was with June.

He wants you gone.

The more she thought about it, the more it made complete sense. Suddenly, her frustration turned into anger, her mind finding it hard to believe that he would stoop so low to get rid of her, especially after she had told him she was going through problems. She couldn’t remember the last time he was this inconsiderate. What the hell was wrong with him?

I think the real question here, cupcake, is why he wants you gone.

Karen frowned and lit another cigarette. She inhaled deeply as a car pulled around a corner and sped by their house, cruising into the Greens’ driveway. She watched it with little interest, her eyes tiredly following the only moving object around her. The wind had started to pick up, and the skies had turned to a deep velvet haze that would slowly envelop the world in darkness.

She watched as the driver climbed out of the car, tall, his hair long and dancing in the wind. She assumed it was Papa Green. The man moved to the trunk of the car, opened it and froze when he looked up at her and saw her staring. They observed each other from across the twenty or so yards separating their houses, and Karen couldn’t stop herself from raising her hand in a small hello.

The man smiled and raised his own in reply, rummaged a bit in the trunk and closed it with an echoing bang. He looked over at Karen again before making his way up the porch stairs of his house, the front door opening as his daughter greeted him. He said something to her, and the blonde immediately turned in Karen’s direction.

She’s frowning again.

“She’s always frowning,” Karen whispered back. “Those are going to put some awful wrinkles on that pretty face.”

Papa Green seemed to notice the tension and said something to his daughter, the girl quickly turning to him and waving her arms about in a tantrum. The man grabbed her by the arm and roughly pushed her inside, the front door slamming behind them.

I wonder why she hates you so much.

Karen shrugged and went back to staring out in space, enjoying her cigarette in the light chill of the evening air. She had no idea what the girl’s problem was. She had never even spoken to her.

John knows.

“Why would John know?”

Well, he’s been awfully vague about the neighbors, a bit dodgy even. Maybe he’s already run into them.

Karen thought about that, but quickly dismissed it. Why would John not tell her about that?

Why does John do anything he does these days? It’s weird how uncomfortable she seems whenever she sees you.

“He would have told me,” Karen muttered as if trying to convince herself.

The girl is gorgeous, though, isn’t she?

“She is,” Karen agreed.

A real treat, wouldn’t you agree?

Karen suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable.

So, cupcake, remind me again why we think John wants you gone.

Goosebumps broke out on her arms as her body gave a sudden shudder.

Karen looked over at the Greens and took a long drag from her cigarette, her features folding into a frown of her own.

Chapter 15

Karen was gone when John woke up the next morning, his entire body in pain, his muscles screaming. His temples throbbed, and his head felt like an entire demolition crew blowing parts of his brain to threads as they worked tirelessly at causing the greatest amount of pain conceivable.

In the darkness, he rolled out of bed and reached out to pull back the drapes, expecting a little bit of sunlight to brighten his mood. All he got were gray skies and the soft trickle of rain. He called out to Karen, and when she didn’t reply, he quietly thanked the Gods for it. He had wanted to be alone, especially after the mutual silent treatment they had given each other the entire day.

Look on the bright side, Johnny-boy. The book’s almost done.

He felt like he had cheated the muses a bit, going back on his promise to push Karen away, his wife relentless in her quest to stay. She hadn’t even bothered with dinner, or anything else for that matter, letting the house sulk in despair as it went unattended.

What the hell was she doing out in this weather anyway?

He trudged downstairs, leaning hard against the walls as he tried his best not to buckle and fall the rest of the way down. His feet felt like lead, and it was hell getting himself to the kitchen to turn on the kettle. He glanced at the basement door as his nose wrinkled at the stench that had now become stronger, and he was half surprised when he found the towels tossed to one side as if someone had opened the door, and then forgotten to put them back in place.

She was down there. Probably trying to figure out what was wrong on her own.

It didn’t really matter anyway. All he could think about was the constant hammering inside his head, and he rummaged through the kitchen drawers in search of anything that might help him fight the pain. He was disappointed, though, suddenly frustrated as he slammed the drawers shut and kicked at the bar stool, stubbing his toe against the cold steel.

John wobbled his way to the living room, forgetting the coffee in favor of the need to attend to his toe. He felt like he had broken it, and as he slumped onto the couch, he wiggled it to make sure. It hurt, but it was definitely not broken.

He let himself drop onto his side, curling up in a fetal position as he squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the pain.

Okay, sissy, you need to get up and get to work. She might not be here now, but she’ll be coming home soon, and then you won’t get anything done.

“Just five more minutes,” John stammered, already feeling his body relax and his mind swim.

The knocking on his front door brought a groan out of him, and he sat up angrily.

Don’t say I didn’t warn you, buddy.

“Karen has a key,” John argued with the empty room as he stood up and rubbed his temples. “That’s someone else.”

Big whoop!

He trudged to the front door and opened it without bothering to see who was outside. He froze when he saw Eva standing on the front porch. She was wearing a jacket two sizes too large, her hair matted to her head and face, wet and dripping as she gazed at him. Even in the cold, she was clad in shorts that could have passed for bikini bottoms, her long legs ending at bare feet that had been muddied from her trek across the yard to his house. Her shirt stuck to her like a second layer of skin, wet and revealing, his eyes immediately finding their way to her chest as he stared at her.

Now would you look at that!

“Eva,” he greeted simply, dumb, unable to think of anything better to say.

“Is she here?” the blonde asked, peeking over his shoulder.

“Who?”

“Your wife,” she replied, her voice cold, the words coming out like a venomous hiss.

You know what, Johnny-boy? I take it back. Distractions are good.

John shook his head, ignoring the voice.

“Good,” Eva said and pushed her way inside, wrapping her arms around John as she pressed her lips against his, their touch soft and wet and everything he had ever wanted. His hands came up immediately, wrapping around her, kissing hungrily before he realized what he was doing.

He pushed her back. “Wait,” he said, blinking as he tried to clear his mind. “Stop, this isn’t right. We can’t do this.” Eva tried to kiss him again and he pulled away. “I’m serious.”

She stepped back and threw off her jacket, letting it fall in a wet pile next to the door. John could see her footprints across the hardwood, and he immediately began to think of how to clean them before Karen came home.

When Eva started to pull off her shirt, he grabbed both her hands to stop her. “Eva, wait.”

“Is it because you’re married? Really?” she asked, suddenly scowling at him, her face confused as to why he was not taking what she was offering. “It didn’t stop you before.”

She has a point, Johnny-boy. You don’t sound very convincing right now.

“Listen to me,” he said through the voices laughing in his head. “You’re a beautiful girl, and I will never forget what happened between us, but it stops at that. I can’t do this anymore. It was a beautiful mistake, and it should stay at that.”

“Two mistakes,” Eva said, still frowning at him.

“I can’t make a third one,” John explained. “My wife can’t know about this. I love her, Eva, do you understand that?”

You are one of the worst liars on Earth, Johnny-boy. You’re practically staring at her chest.

“I don’t care,” Eva said, surprising him with her boldness. “I want this, and I know you do, too. She doesn’t have to know. She isn’t here.”

John hesitated and shook his head, but he wasn’t convincing. Eva stepped closer to him and pushed her body against him, her wet clothes soaking his own.

“Ten minutes,” she whispered. “She won’t be back in ten minutes.”

I say go for it, buddy. It might just be what the doctor ordered.

“I can’t,” John said, unsure who he was talking to.

Eva pushed up on her toes, her face inches away, her lips grazing his. “Ten minutes, John,” she said. “If we’re never going to do this again, I want ten minutes.”

Are you going to refuse a girl’s request for a goodbye romp?

John decided he wouldn’t.

***

When Karen came home, the entire house was in darkness.

It was quickly turning into a storm outside, and it had taken her longer than usual to drive home through the torrents of rain. She wished she had left June’s earlier, but the story of the founders had been too intriguing, and June definitely had a way with words. She had made a mental note to tell John about that.

She turned on the lights and sighed when nothing happened. It was starting to get frustrating how much money they were spending on bulbs. She would have to call an electrician, worried that the house’s faulty wiring might cause more than a few blackouts.

Forget the lights. Didn’t we agree that the hubby would handle things from now on?

Karen felt her way down the hall, her eyes catching sight of the living room windows open and the rain flying in. One of the panes was broken, obviously from the force of it swinging open, glass barely visible in the moonlight and the occasional flashes of lightning. She wondered how John hadn’t heard it, and decided not to bother with that, either.

Let the hubby deal with it.

She turned the kitchen lights on and immediately closed her eyes against the blinding fluorescents. She put the bags of groceries down next to the refrigerator and started to unpack them, when she suddenly heard a loud crash from upstairs.

Looks like the hubby’s still awake.

Karen frowned, ignoring the groceries as she made her way down the hall and up the stairs. The crash sounded a second time, and suddenly she heard something else. She stood completely still a few steps away from the floor landing, trying to figure out where the noise was coming from. When she realized it was coming from above her, she instantly understood what the sounds were.

Rats.

It’s time to actually nag, cupcake. You need that exterminator.

The crash came again, and then again, slowly sounding more like a drumbeat than anything else. Karen walked up the final few steps and opened the door to her bedroom. John was in bed, buried under the covers and snoring, unaware of either the crashing or the sound of rats above his head.

She looked about, and it was only when she turned on the second-floor lights did she notice where the sound was coming from. At the end of the hall, the small trap door leading to the attic was opening and closing, rising a few inches before crashing down again. With every crash, the sound of rats increased, as if they were scurrying away from the sound and finding somewhere safe to hide.

Have you ever seen that before?

She hadn’t, and she made her way down the hall. She walked slowly, hands against the wall as she tried to look through the opening of the trap door, hoping to see why it was doing what should have been impossible.

When she was directly under it, the trap door flew open and the darkness beyond gaped at her. The scurrying of the rats disappeared completely, and a stench as strong as the one coming from the basement floated out of the attic.

Are you going to just stand there?

She wasn’t, and despite her better judgment, Karen grabbed the first rung of the ladder and made her way up. She felt around the opening, making sure there weren’t any furry surprises waiting for her, and then slowly pushed herself all the way up. Moving quickly, she jumped to her feet and tried to make out anything in the darkness, the single window in the far corner barely letting any light in.

A silhouette moved in front of the window, something dark, the shadows around it rising and falling in ripples as the face of a woman seemed to materialize between them. Karen froze as she looked into the eyes staring at her and the smile that appeared beneath them.

We need to talk, cupcake.

Karen listened.

Karen watched.

Karen saw.

***

John woke up with a start, the sound of thunder rattling the window of the bedroom as flashes of lightning illuminated the room and threw shadows against the wall.

Something’s wrong, Johnny-boy. You better get up.

John rolled out of bed, quickly noticing that it was two in the morning and Karen’s side had not been disturbed. He failed to imagine any reason as to why she would still be out at this hour, and reached for his phone to see if he had missed any of her calls. When he found nothing, he dialed her number and pressed the phone against his ear, waiting.

He heard the sound of her cell phone echo up from downstairs, and he instantly relaxed, making his way out of the room to see why she hadn’t come to bed. He froze when he crossed the threshold onto the landing, his eyes registering the open attic door and the familiar stench they had been trying to shut away downstairs.

That door’s never been open before.

John felt his stomach turn and his heart skip a beat.

She’s up there.

“She can’t be up there,” John whispered, his head shaking slowly, his hand suddenly shivering against the cold that seemed to be dispersing throughout the house.

You sure it’s the cold, buddy?

John edged towards the attic, quickly turning on his cell phone’s flashlight and shining it through the dark opening. He tried to make out anything up there, but from where he was standing, it was almost impossible.

She’s up there.

John put his hand on the ladder rungs.

You sure you want to do this, Johnny-boy?

John felt his whole body shiver and nodded to himself. If Karen was up there, he had to get her down. There was no knowing how dangerous the attic was.

He climbed the ladder slowly with the cell phone in his mouth as he angled the light into the darkness. He pulled his body all the way up and sat at the edge of the trap door, shining his light through the entire space. It was bigger than he had expected, but he saw Karen instantly.

She was standing completely still in front of a small window to one side, her back to him, and her breath coming out in fogs. He instantly felt colder up there, and he wondered how she could stand the chill.

“Karen?”

She didn’t answer.

John pushed himself up to his feet, balancing his weight as he stepped over the trap door opening and edged towards his wife.

“Karen, what are you doing up here?”

This doesn’t feel too good, Johnny-boy. I say leave her here and get the hell out.

John frowned, the thought too ridiculous to even consider. He touched his wife’s shoulder and instantly pulled back from the coldness of her skin.

“Karen?”

He reached for her again, moving around her so she could see him.

That was when he felt his entire body go limp, his knees buckling beneath him. Karen was staring right out the window, not even registering his presence, her face static and emotionless. But, it was her eyes that brought the fear of God into him. Her beautiful auburn eyes were gone, replaced by only whites, the milky film a reflection of everything that seemed empty in the world.

He stepped away from her, his body shaking uncontrollably as he tried not to scream out in horror.

I warned you! Why the hell won’t you listen?

Karen’s head slowly turned towards him, the whites staring at him as her brow furrowed.

“She told me everything,” she said, her voice soft, as if coming from far away. “She showed me everything.”

John tried to answer, but his mouth was frozen shut. Slowly, Karen’s eyes rolled back into place, the whites gone as she blinked her vision back into focus.

“I know,” she said, staring accusingly at him.

John shook his head in confusion, still unable to voice anything comprehensible.

“I know, Johnny-boy,” she said.

“What are you talking about?” he stammered, his heart racing, his breathing coming out in gasps.

“Eva Green,” she hissed. “I know about you and Eva Green, you son of a bitch.”

Chapter 16

When John Krik walked into Hank’s shop, he was a different man.

For starters, Hank had no idea when John had last looked at himself in the mirror. The man’s hair was completely disheveled, a comb absolutely useless if used to tame the chaos. His eyes had dark patches below them, almost completely black, as if he had just been in a bar fight and had taken one too many beatings. There were scars on his right cheek, something that looked like a cat had tried to claw his eyes out, and the inflammation around the scratches looked horrible.

There was something else that worried Hank more, and he couldn’t put his finger on it until John was standing three feet away from him. That was when he realized the actual problem. John was staring at Hank with eyes that were utterly emotionless, like he was staring into space, looking right through Hank instead of at him. The look disturbed him, to the point where he wanted to turn away from those lifeless beads and busy himself with anything at all.

“Jesus, John, ya look like hell,” Hank said, his voice a whisper, still taken aback by the shell of a man who stood in front of him.

“I’m not sleeping very well,” John admitted.

Hank nodded and put away the small radio he had been working on. “Ya don’t say?”

“Karen and I have been having problems,” John stammered, “and that stench in the house isn’t helping.”

Hank nodded slowly, half listening to what John was saying. “Back, is it?”

“For a week now,” John replied, running a hand through the mess on top of his head as he scratched aimlessly at his scalp. “I wanted to see if you still had that contact of yours. The exterminator?”

“Sure, buddy,” Hank said turning around, keeping an eye on John as he rummaged through a few shelf drawers and pulled a card out. He set the exterminator’s business card on the counter, opting not to actually touch John, as if what he had was contagious.

“Ya sure you’re okay?” Hank asked, genuinely worried about the man. Over the past three weeks, he had really grown fond of the couple at the Dean house, and seeing John this way upset him.

John shrugged and nodded, apparently unsure how to answer that.

“How ‘bout we put off the exterminator a bit,” Hank suggested, “and get ourselves a coupla drinks at Denny’s?”

John scratched his head again and squinted. “I’m not sure, Hank. I don’t want to leave Karen alone right now. She’s in a really bad place.”

“The wife’ll be fine,” Hank said, grabbing his keys and crossing around the counter, gently nudging John along. “This’ll be good for ya.”

John didn’t argue and let Hank lead the way.

***

Karen sat idly on the bench on her front porch, cigarette in hand, legs crossed as she looked out at nothing in particular. For the past few days, this had been her usual routine, completely ignoring John throughout the day until they both went to sleep and she had made sure he was in his own room with his door locked.

He had frowned in confusion the first time he saw her smoking, indoors for that matter, but hadn’t said anything. Actually, he hadn’t said much since that night in the attic when she lashed out at him, breaking several nails as she clawed at his face and slapped him in relentless fury.

Karen thought it strange that only two hours after her outburst she had become completely numb, John’s presence nothing more than a reminder that another living being occupied the same space she did. By the third day he had become a mere haze, a presence that differed only from the rest of the furniture in the house in that he moved and talked.

She had moved out of their room the very night she had found out about his sexcapades, her eyes fully relaying her desire that he stay as far away from her as possible if he valued his life. Since then, he had complied, quiet, almost lifeless, giving her the space she needed to process what she had found out. Every now and then she would hear him tapping at his keyboard, and a part of her always wanted to storm into his room and slam the laptop against his head.

That desire only lasted a day, though. Now he was practically dead to her.

At least he’s stepping up his game, cupcake.

“Don’t call me that,” she whispered, already hating the voice in the back of her head. She hardly remembered anything that had happened that night, only that she had seen things so clearly. Every kiss, every position, every scream of pleasure, their bodies entangled together in her bed. How could she be so blind?

Well, now you know.

This was one of the many things Karen wished she hadn’t known.

John had changed dramatically since then, cooking, cleaning, making sure everything in the house was up to the standards she usually kept. She wondered how long that would last, how long the guilt would keep him trying. Then she realized that she didn’t care.

At least now he’s not trying to get rid of you.

“No, he isn’t,” Karen thought out loud, but deep down she wondered if she actually wanted to stay. She couldn’t stand being around him anymore, being in the same house he had cheated on her in. She had wanted to take the bed out to the backyard and burn it, sometimes imagining him tied to it while the flames lit up and he screamed into the night.

You have to let this go, cupcake, and move on. At least you’re staying, right?

“I said, don’t call me that.”

She heard a door open and close, and she numbly looked to her right as Papa Green walked towards his car. He saw her and waved, but this time Karen didn’t wave back.

Do you think he knows?

Who cares? She obviously didn’t. David Green waved again, probably assuming she hadn’t seen him, and when he didn’t get a reply, got into his car, pulled out of his driveway, and drove off in the opposite direction. She watched the car disappear, inhaling her cigarette smoke as she felt it burn her lungs.

It doesn’t matter whether he knows or not, you’re right. Let’s go back inside and try to find something better to do.

Karen shook her head slowly as she felt the tears collect in her eyes, her head starting to throb lightly as her emotions washed over her. She hated Cafeville. She hated the Greens and the Deans and the whole lot of them. She hated this house, and she hated Derrick Fern for sending John out here in the first place.

That’s a little overdramatic, cupcake.

She didn’t reply. She suddenly felt a weight on her chest, suffocating her, and she quickly realized that she was beginning to panic. She needed to get out of here. She needed to pack her things, get into her car and drive home. No stops, no breaks, all the way to their house. She wouldn’t even pick up Dylan for a few days. She needed some time alone with her thoughts, somewhere familiar.

Not here. Definitely not here.

You can’t go now.

“Why the hell not?”

Think about it, cupcake. You just found out about John’s little side project. You’ve been avoiding him since, and I don’t blame you. But, how do you think he feels?

“I really don’t care how he feels,” she whispered back. “He wanted me gone anyway. Might as well.”

I get it, I really do, but when you’re gone, whose arms do you think he’s going to go running to? Who do you think he’s going to bitch and scream about you to?

Karen took a long drag from her cigarette and stared at the Greens’ house.

And let me tell you something, cupcake. She’s going to welcome him with open arms.

Karen felt the cigarette’s flame at her fingertips as she let it burn down to the filter before throwing it onto the wet grass. She instantly grabbed for another one, lighting it up as the flames danced in her eyes. She stared at the twin Victorian down the road, looking from one window to the other, wondering which one looked out from Eva Green’s room.

Do you really want to go and leave him here with her?

Karen felt her brow furrow as her tears quickly dried up, her self-pity quickly displaced with anger.

I’ll tell you what, go. If you really can’t stand being here anymore, then go. But don’t be surprised if he decides to stay here and leave you a hundred miles away.

“I might get some closure,” Karen said, knowing fully how unconvincing she sounded. “Free myself from all this and run away.”

Stop being a drama queen. You know you can’t do that.

“Then what do you suggest?”

The voices went silent, and Karen wasn’t surprised. At the end of the day, they were her own thoughts, and they were equally ignorant as to what she was supposed to do now.

Do you want to be free?

Karen nodded.

You need to get rid of the girl. Then you can do whatever you want.

Karen took a long drag from her cigarette as a small smile appeared on her otherwise emotionless face.

Chapter 17

“And ever since then, I’ve been ridin’ the lightinin’ alone.”

John felt his head growing heavy as he listened to Hank talk about his life in Cafeville. On any other day, his story would have probably been interesting, a nice touch to an otherwise dreary conversation. On any other day, John would have been taking mental notes of various details, hoping to find some way to weave Hank’s story into one of his own, even create a protagonist out of him for his next book.

But today wasn’t one of those days.

John took several gulps from his beer before slamming it back down on the bar. He felt like he was going to fall off his stool, and when Hank’s hand rested on his shoulder to steady him, he realized that four beers were more than enough for one evening. Besides, he didn’t want to go home drunk. He didn’t want Karen seeing him like this.

“I think you’re done for tonight, buddy,” Hank chuckled.

John nodded, his head spinning, his eyelids heavy as he rested his head against the palm of his hand. “I need to get home, Hank,” he said, his voice slurred.

“Well, you’re in absolutely no shape t’drive,” Hank said, searching John’s pockets and relieving him of his keys. “How ‘bout I take you home? I could drive your car back to your place tomorrow and bring the exterminator along.”

John smiled, resting a friendly hand on Hank’s shoulder as he tried his best to stand straight. “That would be excellent.”

Hank wrapped an arm around his shoulders and nodded at Denny, mouthing the word ‘tab’ to him as the two of them trudged out of the bar and into the cold night air.

***

Eva Green was less than happy when she opened her front door and saw Karen standing in front of her.

Eva had recently been reprimanded by her advisor over the large number of homework assignments she had missed, the man berating her in a long email full of words like ‘immature’ and ‘lazy’, ending with a conclusion about how long distance learning was about more than sitting at home and pretending to be a college student.

Needless to say, her recent infatuation with John Krik had taken her mind off of what mattered, and she was suffering the consequences. She had a lot of catching up to do, and despite her father’s help, Eva was still a long way from making up for her lack of promptness. Seeing Karen at her front door was the last thing she needed now.

Karen Krik was smiling at her, carrying what Eva could only assume from the smell coming out from under the lid, was a homemade cooking experiment gone wrong.

“Can I help you?” she asked, less than friendly, the door only half open as she looked at the brunette with her ridiculous smile. What the hell did John see in her?

“Hi, my name’s Karen, from next door,” the woman said, a little too cheerfully. “I wanted to come over and say hi, although I admit it’s a couple of weeks late.”

Eva looked at her suspiciously, eyeing the tray in her hands, wondering how to respond to the gesture.

“I know,” Karen said. “It’s not usual for the new folks to greet their neighbors, but I was getting a little too fidgety. I’m used to knowing my neighbors.”

Eva forced a smile, hoping that it would be enough to send the woman back home. “I’m sorry, but my father isn’t here. Maybe you can come back later?”

“That’s a shame,” Karen said, pouting and handing Eva the tray. “Well, this is from us. I really wanted to get to meet you and your father, seeing as my husband’s already made your acquaintance.”

Eva frowned. “Your husband?”

Karen nodded, her smile unfaltering. “John, from next door,” she said. “He’s my husband. I thought you already knew that.”

Eva felt a chill run down her spine as her hands gripped the tray tighter. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve never actually met your husband. But thank you for this.” She stepped back into the house, shutting the door behind her.

Karen reached out quickly and stopped her. Eva pulled her arm away and stared at the woman angrily, challenging her, ready to give her a piece of her mind despite the other woman’s smile.

“I’m sorry,” Karen said. “I find that very hard to believe.”

“And why is that?”

“Well, you have been sleeping with him, after all.”

Eva froze in her place, her eyes locked onto the brunette’s, her body shivering as the woman’s smile faded and was replaced with a nasty scowl. Karen didn’t look very friendly anymore.

“What do you want?” Eva asked, not even bothering to deny the allegation, thinking that if Karen was confident enough to boldly confront her like this, then John must have told her everything.

Karen’s voice suddenly changed. “I want to see that pretty little face burn.”

Eva dropped the tray onto the floor, quickly reaching out to slam the door shut, but Karen had anticipated the move. She pushed her shoulder against the door, forcing it to swing completely open as it slammed against the wall, her hands immediately reaching out for Eva and only missing by a few inches. Eva turned to run, Karen slipping on the tray of food and falling hard on her knees, desperately grabbing for the blonde’s ankle as she fell.

Eva screamed, racing to the stairs and running up, not daring to look back, fearing that if she did, the other woman would be on her within seconds. She took the stairs as fast as she could, tripping in despair and pushing forward on all fours until she was on the second-floor landing. She could hear Karen behind her, footsteps heavy as she chased her.

Eva rushed into her bedroom, slammed the door behind her and locked it, instantly moving away. She screamed when Karen hurled herself against the door, rattling it on its hinges, desperately fighting with the knob as she tried to force herself inside. More slamming followed as Karen, frustrated, realized that there was no way in without breaking down the door.

Eva looked around her, panicking, trying to find anything she could use as a weapon, her tears falling in torrents down her face as the slamming continued. She raced around her bed, trying desperately to find her cell phone and crying out in despair when she remembered she had left it in the kitchen.

Glancing at her laptop, she quickly raced to it and clicked on the Skype icon, praying that any one of her contacts was online. She could reach them, have them call the police. She waited for the program to open, and when it didn’t, realized that her Wi-Fi was disconnected. She was running out of ideas, and the slamming at her door was not letting up.

The window.

She raced to it, sliding the glass upwards as she looked down at the two-story drop. She could do it. She had to do it. There was nowhere else to go.

Eva slid one leg out through the open window, bracing herself against the sill, hoping her years of gymnastics training would finally come in handy. By the time she had her other leg out and was desperately balancing her weight on her stomach and arms, the attack on her door stopped.

Eva froze, wondering where Karen had gone. Had she heard the window? She doubted it. There was no way Karen could have heard her moving in the midst of the commotion. Eva struggled with whether or not to actually risk the drop, and when she finally realized that her choices were to stay locked in the house with a crazy woman or take the chance and get out alive, she let herself go.

On any other day, the drop wouldn’t have been all that bad. On any other day, she would have remembered to drop and roll, relieving any pressure on her legs and only sustaining a few scratches and bruises. This wasn’t any other day, though, and her mind was clouded with fear. She landed on her feet, the pain instantly soaring up her legs and to her back, her ankle spraining as she fell to the ground in agony.

She desperately tried to push herself up, accidentally stepping on the wrong ankle and falling down to her knees again as she screamed in pain.

Get up. She had to get up.

She fought through the tears stinging her eyes and forced herself to her feet, resting her weight on her good leg as she began to wobble forward.

When Karen grabbed her by the hair, pulling her head back and bringing her down on her back, Eva screamed out as loud as she could, hoping somebody, anybody, would hear her. She looked up at the brunette standing over her, a manic grin on the older woman’s face, and desperately tried to push away.

Karen kicked her in her side, hard, and Eva cried out as she felt her entire rib cage shudder with the force of the blow. She turned around, and was rewarded with another kick to her midsection that forced the air out of her lungs and had her coughing in the mud. Karen grabbed Eva by the hair, pulling the girl roughly to her feet and dragging her back around the house. Eva tried to fight, thrashing at the woman as she tried to free the pressure that threatened to rip her hair out from the roots, but each attempt was rewarded with another kick.

Eva gave in, too tired to fight, desperately trying to stay on her feet as Karen pulled her into the kitchen and threw her to the ground. The linoleum floor felt cold against her skin, her hands slipping across it as she attempted to push herself up.

“That’s the problem with you Greens,” Karen said, opening drawers and rummaging through them as Eva slid away from her. “You think you can take whatever you want and there won’t be any consequences.”

Eva cried out again when Karen kicked her in the back, the pain from the blow soaring through her spine. Suddenly she felt the familiar tug on her hair and was pulled up into a sitting position. Eva blinked through the tears, Karen’s face inches from her own, swimming in and out of focus.

“Time to teach you Greens a lesson.”

Eva felt the blade of the knife slide in between her ribs, deep, puncturing her lungs as she gasped at the sudden invasion. She felt the breath race out of her, and grabbed onto Karen’s arm as the woman pulled away.

The world around her began to spin, and when Eva coughed, blood shot out of her mouth in wide splatters onto the kitchen floor.

No longer supported, she slumped down, her eyes staring out into space, the haziness she had first experienced quickly fading into complete darkness.

***

The first thing John registered was the smell of smoke. That was quickly followed by sirens and flashing lights.

“What the hell?”

John was about to say something in reply when Hank turned the corner onto their street and the world lit up in bright colors of orange, red and blue. John’s mouth dropped open.

Fire rose from the Greens’ Victorian house like tongues licking at the sky. The flames engulfed the entire construction, raging with heated fury, illuminating the entire street as firefighters tried their best to control the situation. Barricades had been set up all around, a small crowd having had gathered to watch as the house burned. Hank pulled up to the curb, a few yards away from John’s house as both men stepped out of the truck with wide eyes.

John caught sight of David Green as the man wrestled with two officers, trying to break through the barricade, screaming at the top of his lungs at the flames that were engulfing his home. John scanned the crowd, looking for Eva, his heart racing as he failed to find her, his eyes instantly falling back to the burning house and what her absence probably meant. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“What in God’s name happened here?” Hank exclaimed, taking his cap off slowly as his eyes followed the dancing flames.

John feared the worst and trudged behind Hank as they slowly made their way forward, mesmerized by the chaos in front of them. The firefighters were attacking the flames from three different directions, water shooting into the house as the men desperately worked to put it out. He didn’t know much about fires, but John was certain that no matter what they did, the house was gone.

Probably with everything inside, too, Johnny-boy.

John felt his stomach turn. Had Eva been inside when the fire started? Was she still inside now? He could almost see her body sizzling in flames, the fire eating her with everything else, turning her into nothing but a corpse of ash. He shook the image away, praying to God that he was wrong, but there was an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Murphy’s Law, Johnny-boy. Remember that?

John turned to his own house.

Karen was standing on the porch, arms crossed over her chest as she watched the fire from a safe distance away. She seemed incredibly calm, the light of the flames dancing across her face and throwing shadows around her. She looked peaceful, as if the fire were calming her down, her lack of emotion troubling in more ways than one.

She slowly turned to John, their eyes meeting, and in the shadows of the flames, she smiled.

Chapter 18

Sheriff Walter Garland felt like hell.

He pulled his cruiser up to the station, turning off the motor and sitting back with a frown. His eyes scanned the people walking back and forth across Gale Street, going about their business as they strode across the sidewalks, moving in and out of shops. He recognized many of the faces, a lot of the older ones he had grown up with. The younger, more vigilante ones had been only children when he had become Cafeville’s Sheriff.

He envied them. He envied the melancholy with which they went about their lives, most oblivious to what was happening right under their noses in their own town, the others ignoring things completely.

One would think that a small town brought about a kind of charm, where everyone knew everyone else, but Cafeville had changed over the years. The population had grown to almost a thousand, a number that would have been ludicrous a decade or two ago. There were times he would look outside his office window and not recognize more than two or three people walking by.

The competition between the founding families had done that. Healthy competition at first, but one that had grown quite sinister near the end. Still, the family feuds had brought more good to the town than harm, and Walter had been one of the first to pop open a bottle of champagne when it was finally over.

Thirty years without any incidents.

Thirty years, and now this.

Walter Garland shook his head in dismay as he heaved himself out of his cruiser and trudged towards the station. He had spent the last two days interviewing witnesses and going over forensic reports, and he was beyond tired. Insomnia, coupled with age, made the tragedy at the Green house more and more difficult to deal with. And all this just two years before his retirement.

He walked into the station, barely acknowledging his deputies as he kept his head low and made straight for his office. Unlike regular days when half the workforce would be kicking up their feet and just waiting for their shifts to end, everyone in the station seemed to be bustling about. They were already understaffed, but that had never bothered Walter. Nothing really happened in Cafeville that couldn’t be solved with a simple conversation and a pat on the back.

Except for arson, of course. And murder. Those were two completely different things.

Walter didn’t buy the initial reports of a gas leak. He knew the Greens; he knew all the founding families, or whoever was left of them. A gas leak would have been perfectly understandable if the family wasn’t paranoid and didn’t have everything in their house triple checked on a weekly basis. Hank Pollard’s business strived on the Greens, and it would be out of the question that Hank would miss something like faulty piping.

Besides, after interviewing the Kriks, Walter had a sinking feeling that there was more to this story than met the eye.

He shuddered as he slowly sat back in his chair, running his hands thoughtfully over his desk as he randomly organized papers and files. His mind kept returning to his latest interview with John and Karen Krik, the experience a little too familiar, too uneasy. He had known that something was terribly wrong the minute he had pulled up to the Victorian; it was as if a terrible weight had landed on his chest and threatened to suffocate him.

The last time he had set foot near that house was almost thirty years ago, and it was like he had just been there yesterday. The house was just as forlorn, and it had taken all his willpower not to jump back into his cruiser, turn around and drive the hell away. It was like the damn thing had been laughing at him, the wooden frames of its door twisting into the illusion of a grin.

Walter sat back in his chair, pulling out the small pad he had taken his notes in and opening it to where he had scribbled the couple’s statements. His handwriting was terrible, shaky even, a stark contrast to the rest of the pages in there. His mouth twisted in a grimace, his body shuddering as he tried to shake off the feeling that had lingered inside him even after he had left the house. He hadn’t noticed just how nervous he had been.

The husband seemed stable enough, although Walter had his doubts as to what passed for stable these days and what didn’t. His hair had been completely disheveled, as if he had just woken up and tried to comb it with his fingers. His eyes were bloodshot, the eyes of a man who hadn’t slept for days, like the world had decided to burden him with its infinite problems.

Walter had seen the photograph on the back sleeve of John Krik’s book. If he hadn’t known any better, he would have sworn they were two completely different people. The smile was faded, the face had atrophied, and the man living in the old Dean house could have used a little more sunlight for that pale complexion.

However, Walter wasn’t too bothered by that. He had asked his questions, which John had answered amiably enough, although his answers had come in fragments and mumbles, forcing Walter to strain in order to hear anything. His alibi was solid, not that he was really a suspect, and a quick telephone call to Hank Pollard had confirmed his story. All in all, Walter had felt sorry for the celebrity author.

His wife was a completely different story, though.

Walter had been welcomed into the house, but after a second’s thought, had opted to sit out on the porch instead. A part of him didn’t want to cross that threshold; a part of him still believed there was something evil lurking in there, something that had been waiting for nearly thirty years. Only when he had finished asking Krik his questions had the man called for his wife.

Walter had felt a chill run down his spine when she had come out to meet them. It was a mix of many things, a combination of horrors wound up into one moving mess of terror. Although dressed in a simple shirt and jeans, she looked like she had just been pulled out from under the bed. She had attempted to tie her hair in a ponytail, but had botched up the job so much that it looked like a hornet’s nest held together awkwardly to keep it from flying all over the place. Her eyes had been dead, lifeless, like she had not been completely there, and her smile had scared the hell out of him.

Walter could have sworn she looked just like Ana Dean. And even the idea of that had made him want to run for the hills. The thought alone had chilled him to the bone.

He believed that was probably when his hands had started to shake; that and the familiar smell that seemed to diffuse out through the front door. He remembered that smell, more clearly than he would have liked to, and it had brought him back to when he had last been to the Victorian to arrest Ana Dean for attempted murder. Looking at Krik’s wife gave him a terrifying sense of déjà vu, and his gut was telling him, even now, that there was some connection between the woman and the so-called gas leak.

Walter opened his desk drawer and pulled out a pack of cigarettes he had stashed away for times like this. He had given up on the habit years before, and had left the half-crumpled pack there for times when his will became too weak. If there were ever a moment of weakness that required a cigarette, this would be one of them. He frowned upon smoking inside the station, but at the moment, he really didn’t care how hypocritical he would look in front of his deputies. The way he saw it, he had every right to smoke, especially now.

He lit his cigarette and stood up again, crossing to the small file cabinet he kept in the corner of his office where the cases he had personally worked on were kept. He had made copies for himself, unwilling to indulge in the new wave of technology that had taken his station by storm. Let the youngsters have their computers and smartphones; Walter Garland wanted the feel of paper at his fingertips when he looked through reports and scanned crime scene photos.

With his cigarette hanging loosely from one corner of his mouth, he opened the bottom drawer and fingered through the files, slowly drawing out the Dean case reports and everything related to that fateful day thirty years ago. It was a case he had always hoped would remain in the bottom drawer, at the back, only visited in his mind during nightmares and conversations after one too many shots of whiskey.

Walter dropped the files on his desk, opening them tentatively as he settled heavily back into his chair. He scanned the police reports he had personally filed back then, looking over photographs he had hoped never to see again, images flashing before his eyes that had been secretly lurking in the back of his mind and had waited for this moment to come out.

It was the house. As ludicrous as it sounded, as crazy as it might have seemed, he had a sinking feeling that there was something seriously wrong with the Victorian. Something wrong with all three houses, for that matter.

Damn the founding families.

Walter flipped through the files one by one, reading, scanning, and ignoring the ash falling from his cigarette onto the yellowed sheets of paper. His mind was doing jumping jacks inside his head, and he could already feel a headache coming. He pondered handing the case over to one of his deputies, then quickly dismissed the idea. If anyone was going to relive the history of this town, if anyone was going to be burdened with the horrors that came with the founding families, it would be him.

Walter vaguely remembered Krik telling him that he had gotten the house keys from his editor, and it had hardly surprised him when he heard Derrick Fern’s name. His mind replayed his conversation with Fern’s mother three decades ago, the story she had told him about what she had seen and heard in the house. He had downplayed its importance back then, writing it off as a widow’s post-traumatic paranoia and need to explain the obvious. Now, he was seriously revisiting how wrong he had been about that.

Walter put out his cigarette and pushed the files away, rubbing his temples with his fingers as he tried to fight off what had started as a headache, and now threatened to turn into a full blown migraine. He knew that he would have to go to the house again, ask more questions, and spend a little more time interviewing the wife, this time alone. Maybe he could get something out of her he hadn’t been able to the first time.

Maybe he could ask her to come in. If he were on home turf, he would definitely be more comfortable, and whatever effect the house had on him would be out of the equation. The question was whether or not the Kriks would agree to that. In his experience, that house had a way of keeping people locked inside.

He briefly remembered looking up at the house as he was preparing to leave, an illusion of a shadow passing across the attic window having had caught his eye. The clouds, he had thought; the clouds reflecting across the glass.

Walter shuddered. Definitely call them in. He didn’t want to be anywhere near that Victorian.

Chapter 19

“I don’t know, buddy.”

John Krik ran a hand across his face as he clutched his cellphone to his ear, the stress of the past few days taking its toll on him. His hands were shaking, a slight tremor that would normally go unnoticed to anyone who didn’t know just how calm John usually was. He hadn’t slept in three days, hadn’t eaten anything proper in a week, and his only notion of sunlight came from the few rays that happened to find a way through the blinds he had drawn closed.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” he asked his editor.

John could hear Derrick Fern sighing on the other end of the phone, the soft sound of turning paper making its way across the phone lines and piercing his ears. For some obscure reason, which John blamed on the lack of sunlight, the rest of his senses had spiked, and he was starting to hear things that didn’t exist.

“It’s nothing like what we’re used to seeing from you,” came the quick reply, a reply John didn’t want to hear this close to the end of his story.

He had been pushing through the past few days on overdrive, eager to be done, wanting to end the writing as fast as he could. The urgency had more to do with his need to leave, a sinking feeling inside him that if he were to stay here any longer, if he were to spend any more time in this damn house, he would go completely insane. The charm he had felt at first, the ludicrous notion of entertaining Karen’s wishes and living out his life in Cafeville, had disappeared.

“You’ve known that since day one, Derrick,” John almost spat, realizing that he was getting more and more short-tempered the longer he spent locked up in his room. “You read the first few chapters a month ago, and you gave me the green light. Don’t give me this bullshit now!”

Derrick paused on the other end, and for a second John thought about hanging up. He had never liked the way Derrick seemed to linger in thought before saying something completely stupid, and that habit was getting more and more annoying with each passing year.

“It’s just so dark, John,” Derrick said, and John felt his body cringe at the tone of his voice. It was a tone that usually preceded a refusal or a request for absurd changes.

Don’t change anything, John almost begged him. Please don’t change anything.

“This is going to completely alienate your fans,” Derrick continued.

“Then I’ll get new fans,” John replied, squeezing his eyes shut as he fought to stay awake.

“Why?” Derrick asked, and John could almost feel the man frowning. “Why go through building up an entirely new brand for your name when we already have one established? And a successful one at that?”

John shook his head and fought the urge to start shouting. “Hire a ghostwriter, Derrick, or write a frigging love story yourself,” he finally said, making sure he kept his tone in check. He wanted to sound convincing, not threatening, and Derrick was making that hard. “This is all I’ve got. I’m trying not to breach my contract here.”

“You see, and that’s exactly what’s worrying me,” Derrick sighed. “I have the feeling you’re just writing anything to please me.”

That is absolutely not what we’re doing, is it, Johnny-boy?

John shook his head again, squeezing his eyes shut as he forced the voice in his head quiet. Not now. He couldn’t deal with any voices now.

“Derrick, coming here was your idea,” John measured his response. “You said this place would spark my creative juices and push a masterpiece out of me, right? Well, this is what’s come out. Take it or leave it.”

Derrick paused as he contemplated John Krik’s words before saying, “Take it or leave it?”

John sighed, sitting back tiredly in his chair as he rubbed his closed lids. “You know what I mean.”

“Actually, I don’t,” Derrick said. “I have no idea what you mean about anything, to be frank. I even tried calling Karen, and honest to God, the woman’s making less sense than you are, which is quite surprising.” There was a pause. “What the hell are the two of you smoking up there?”

“Nothing,” John replied softly.

“Are the two of you okay?”

John thought about how to best answer that.

Ever since the fire, ever since he had seen the look on Karen’s face as she watched the Greens’ house burn, he had known that absolutely nothing was ever going to be okay again. He couldn’t prove it, and nobody could, but he knew the truth. He knew that Karen had burned that house down; she had burned it down with Eva inside, and that notion haunted him every day. She didn’t have to tell him. She didn’t have to come straight out and admit to what she had done. But it was as clear as day, somewhere between the lines, screaming at him and mocking him.

“We’re fine,” John said.

“I know what fine means in your book, buddy,” Derrick said. “You only use that word when there’s something going on, and you don’t want to talk about it.”

Don’t tell him anything.

“Who are you, my mother?”

“I’m the only friend you really have,” Derrick replied.

John almost laughed. If he hadn’t been so tired, so drained, he would have fallen off his chair in a fit of laughter strong enough to bring tears to his eyes. The idea of Derrick actually being his friend was amusing, but the simple fact that the man believed it was hilarious. Joke of the day, ladies and gentlemen. Watch the clown dance!

“Well, I assure you, friend,” John said through clenched teeth in a mix of stifled amusement and distaste. “I’m using the word quite appropriately right now. We’re fine.”

Good boy, Johnny.

He and Karen were far from fine.

That look in her eyes had scared the hell out of him the day Hank Pollard had driven him home. It had chilled him to his very core, and since that night, he had not come any closer than a few feet from her. The look had lingered since that night, his wife carrying it with her everywhere, the coldness in her eyes unbearable even now. He had moved his workstation out of the bedroom, too afraid to spend the night in the same room - let alone the same bed - and had set up in his ‘office’. He locked the door every night before going to bed, and often left it locked throughout the day except when absolutely necessary.

The woman living with him in the Victorian was not Karen. She was a shell of his wife, just the walking skin and bones of the woman he had married, but nothing else. Inside, she had changed. It wasn’t one of those obvious changes that came with knowing that your husband had cheated on you. No, he could handle a change like that. He could cope with the looks of hatred and disgust, the accusing glares of a woman. He would have been fine if that were what he had to deal with.

But, that wasn’t what he was dealing with. There was something else there, something just below the surface, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on and was too scared to look for.

And he wasn’t the only one who was noticing the change.

First it was the Sherriff, who appeared to have not wanted to spend any more time near the house than John himself did. He had heard about the Sheriff from June, the praises and the lore of the man who kept Cafeville safe, and John had even incorporated a mirror of the Sheriff in his story. But, the man who had visited them after the burning was not the man John pictured. The Sheriff had appeared uneasy and restless, and seemed to shake like a leaf when Karen joined in the questioning.

Hank Pollard had said something about it, too. John had almost forced him to come find a solution to the godforsaken stench that was not going away. He had had enough, and had voiced his concerns to Karen over numerous occasions, especially when she had gone down to the basement and returned without closing the door, like she enjoyed the smell. Hank had found nothing wrong, again, and John wasn’t very surprised. A part of him had only called the man to have someone else around the house for a change, another living and breathing soul unaffected by whatever the Victorian was doing to him and his wife.

Karen’s usual joking demeanor, the soft, harmless flirting attitude she had always reserved just for Hank, had been missing completely. At one point, she had even ignored a direct question, and when Hank had looked at him, the frown of confusion on his face had made John feel more relieved than ever. It was good to know that he wasn’t imagining things.

“So what do you say?” Derrick said, his voice breaking through John’s thoughts.

“About what?” John asked.

“You haven’t been listening to anything I just said, have you?”

John felt like reminding Derrick that he never really listened to anything he said, but decided against it. “You lost me for a second.”

“Well, just a few changes to the ending,” Derrick was saying. “In a way, you make it seem like the bad guys won.”

John felt his fist clench. “There are no bad guys in this story, Derrick,” he said. “There’s just a man who’s been betrayed, and a woman who’s been scorned, and their revenge.”

“Well, the man’s a cheat and the woman’s friggin’ insane.”

John felt his mind stall, for a brief second wondering who his editor was talking about.

“So, if they’re supposed to be the good guys, the ones who come out winning, then this is not a story that’s going to sell.”

“I’m in the storytelling business,” John said. “I write to tell a tale.”

“Then publish your work online,” Derrick said. “I need to sell in bulk. I’m in the bookselling business, and that well’s starting to run really dry. So, try to see things from my perspective, buddy.”

“Don’t call me that,” John mumbled.

“What?”

“Nothing,” John said, a lot more clearly. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Derrick clapped his hands together, and John cringed at the mere thought of the man smiling in triumph. “Excellent!” Derrick bellowed. “How about you get the sheriff to shoot them both?”

John felt that familiar locking inside his head, as if he couldn’t tell the difference between reality and fiction anymore. “What do you mean?”

“You know, the sheriff?” Derrick sounded a lot more excited now that John had agreed to make changes. “Why don’t you have him shoot these maniacs in the end? Poetic justice.”

“I don’t see it,” John said, immediately disliking the idea.

Probably the worst suggestions that bastard’s ever made, Johnny-boy. Why not tell him to just shove it and hang up in his face?

“Make the sheriff a hero, or something,” Derrick continued, chuckling. “You know what? Never mind, you’re the writer. Think of something spectacular!”

John didn’t answer, and after a few more minutes of polite conversation, hung up.

He got up and walked painfully across the room. Being in a sitting position for almost eight hours had put both legs to sleep. He reached for his cigarettes, grabbed the edge of the blinds and contemplated letting a little sun in. The room was getting dark, and soon the sounds would start again; today, he didn’t have any new writing to shut them out with.

John pulled the drapes aside and realized that the sun had already begun to set, the sky a deep crimson that teased him with the passing of the day, pointing and laughing that he had missed his chance at a few good moments of yellow sun.

He didn’t care.

John opened the window to his room, the latches straining, the pane swinging easily. He stared out across the field where just weeks before he had watched Eva Green skip home after a night together. The field was barren, and the Victorian that had been her home was a burnt out pile of rubble.

John lit his cigarette, took in a deep breath and exhaled as the sound of running feet started to echo above his head.

Chapter 20

Nobody had expected to see David Green so soon.

The tall man strolled through Gale Street, his head high, his eyes darting left and right as the people passing by averted theirs. His hair seemed to float in thin strands around his head, the strains of white having had increased over the past few days, giving him the tousled look of a man who had definitely seen better days.

And everyone in Cafeville knew that David Green was not a man used to seeing bad ones.

The Green fortune was known to all, marked on every corner and in every building that lined the new roads coursing through Cafeville. Even on Gale Street, the family had left its mark with one of the most notorious venues in town, the arcade, a place that had once been filled with laughter and fun, but was now a Halloween attraction for those brave enough to venture inside.

David Green was a force to be reckoned with, even now, after losing his home and his daughter all in one night. His tall frame was as intimidating as it had ever been, and even in the cold, his coat hung open and blew in the wind like the cape of a super villain out of a comic book. The sneer on his face pushed anyone away as his stride went unabated until he reached Hank Pollard’s store and stormed inside.

“You!” he bellowed, his voice echoing across the store as he pointed his finger angrily at Hank.

Hank immediately dropped the work he was doing, his hand instinctively going to the double barrel shotgun he had hiding under the countertop in cases of emergency. He felt like this might just be one of them, and he prayed to the Heavens that David wouldn’t force him to pull it out of its resting spot.

“It wasn’t a gas leak, was it?” David yelled.

Hank frowned and shook his head in confusion, his mind taking only a few seconds to register what the man was referring to.

“My daughter did not die in a gas leak!”

Hank stepped back far enough to make sure David couldn’t reach over the counter and grab him. Hank’s hand clutched onto the weapon firmly, his knuckles a gleaming white.

“You ain’t makin’ a lotta sense, Mr. Green,” Hank said, his eyes locked onto the man’s manic gaze. “What d’ya want me t’say?”

“You’ve been checking my house for years,” David hissed. “You never said one thing about a possible gas leak.”

“Cuz there ain’t never been one,” Hank said. “Everythin’ was fine with that ol’ place.”

“So how are they saying it was a gas leak, Pollard?” David balked. “How are they blaming my daughter’s death on faulty piping?”

Hank shook his head, trying his best to keep cool as his shaking hands threatened to give him away. “I don’t know.”

Hank had his suspicions about what had happened, but he wasn’t about to share that with David. Not when they were the only two in the store. Whatever consequences might arise from him voicing his opinion, Hank didn’t want to have only his word to fall back on. Everyone knew to take whatever he said with a grain of salt, even when he was telling the truth. Doing something stupid, doing anything at all actually, without witnesses would only mean he was digging his own grave.

David Green saw that. At one moment he was furious, his clenched fists slamming against the countertop with every stressed word, and in the next he was suddenly very calm and pensive, one eyebrow cocked as he read everything in Hank’s eyes.

“You know who did this, don’t you?”

Hank quickly shook his head, a little too quickly for his own good, and instantly regretted it. There was a glimmer of a smile on David’s face, and that small arch that was his lips was a chilling thing to see on a man mourning the death of his only daughter.

“You know, Hank,” David seemed to be confirming his suspicions to himself. “I can see it all over that round, porky face of yours. You know.”

“I saw nothin’ more than what anyone else’s seen,” Hank said firmly.

“It was Krik, wasn’t it?” David nodded slowly, rapping his fingers around the edge of the counter, his calmness a lot more alarming than his anger. “John Krik killed my daughter, didn’t he?”

“John was with me all night,” Hank said. “That house was burnin’ long before we arrived.”

David cocked his head to a side, frowning at the sudden shattering of his perfect explanation, before his eyes widened with a novel notion. “The wife!”

Hank didn’t reply, suddenly feeling a shudder race through his body from hearing someone else voice his same suspicions.

“The wife, she did it,” David said. “That’s the only explanation.”

“They’ve already said what caused that fire, Mr. Green,” Hank said. “I suggest you lis’n to them.”

David shook his head, a slow gesture that made him look more dazed than anything. “It was the wife,” he said, and with a final glance at Hank, he turned on his heels and left the store.

Hank Pollard exhaled in relief, reluctantly letting go of his gun as he rested the palm of his hands on the countertop and tried to calm the beating of his heart. He looked at the door to his store, a part of him worried that David Green might just storm back in and attack him anyway. He counted down from ten, and when no one came back, he ran a hand through his hair and tried to think of what to do. He had a sinking feeling that David Green would do something that would only make matters worse.

Hank Pollard pulled out his cellphone and swiped through his contacts until Sheriff Walter Garland’s name appeared.

***

This is ridiculous.

John ignored the voice, squinting as he tried to concentrate on the screen in front of him. The scurrying above his head continued, and he had turned off the lights in his room to keep their flickering from bothering him. Everything that seemed to be happening around him in the house was part of the routine. It was the new normal.

He heard the slamming of window panes against walls downstairs, knowing that the latches had come undone despite his many attempts at fixing and replacing them. Over the past few days, he had come to terms that if they didn’t want to remain shut, nothing he or anyone else would do could keep them closed.

The stench had also become worse, and John quickly found himself using a towel against the bedroom door to hinder the scent’s insidious attempts at suffocating his sinuses. He locked the door as well.

This is a waste of time, Johnny-boy. You need to stop.

John continued with the editing, at first reading through the last few pages he had written before deciding to delete the final three chapters and rewrite them. He had almost felt like he could hear the voice in his head scream with every deleted word, as if he had ripped its soul apart. There were pleas of mercy, then threats of retaliation, and John ignored them all, working through the changes like a sledgehammer against the drywall.

You can’t change the story! Whatever you have planned, it’s not the way it ends!

“I don’t care,” John said to the empty room. “I’m giving Derrick his ending, and then I’m done.”

You’re a storyteller. You’re supposed to tell the truth.

John was telling the truth, at least the one he believed readers wanted to read. Or, to be more specific, the one his editor wanted to read.

He had felt good about how he had first ended his work, the final pages rounding everything up nicely into a gruesome resolution worthy of the story being told. However, Derrick had been right; it was too dark, and it was not going to sit well with a lot of people. It had to go.

You’re a liar!

“Shut up,” John whispered as he began typing.

His fingers raced across the keyboard, working on their own, already comfortable with the pace of relaying his thoughts. It wasn’t hard anymore, hadn’t been for a while now, and even when he was not being pushed by the voices, when he was not being motivated by some sinister stirring within, he knew that he could finish this off by dawn. It wasn’t the ending he wanted, the ending worthy of a horrific work like this, but it was still an ending.

At the end of the day, the books had to sell.

You’re kidding, right? Do you actually believe the bull you’re spewing?

He didn’t.

John knew that with every word that materialized on the blank screen in front of him, he was writing a story that was far from the one he had originally intended to write. At this point, however, he didn’t care. No one would know the difference. Fiction was fiction, after all, and people wanted to be entertained. They didn’t care what changes had led to the final manuscript they were holding in their hands.

He just wanted to get this over with.

And then what, Johnny-boy? What are you going to do next?

“Go home,” John replied immediately, his mind already set on the sequence of events that would follow the final approval by Derrick.

John had imagined that final day during each waking minute of the past few days. Derrick would clap his hands and praise him for an outstanding piece of literature, if that was what anyone could call it, and he would light one final cigarette in his room. He would go to sleep, ignoring the voices and the sounds and the lights and the house.

In the morning, he would pack his bags. He wouldn’t clear out his stuff completely, because he really didn’t want to spend any longer than he needed to here. Just his laptop and the clothes strewn in the closet. He would pack hurriedly. He would throw everything in without even bothering to fold or organize. Then he would throw the bags in the trunk of his car and get the hell out of Cafeville.

The only problem with that plan was Karen, or the woman who was pretending to be his wife.

John had no idea what he would do about her. He had already given up on any hopes of talking to her. She was too far gone for reasoning or listening to logic, and even if she weren’t, she wouldn’t listen to him. Still, she was his wife, and leaving her behind was a worse sin than having had cheated on her. He just had no idea how to reach her.

A part of him thought of June Summers, and of asking her to coax Karen into going back home. He had toyed with the idea, had even considered it a worthy solution before seeing how Karen had reacted around Hank. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

Karen’s not going to go so easily.

John knew that, but he owed it to her to try. He owed it to their son. Whatever evil had found its home inside her, he really felt like it was tied to the house. If he could get her away from here, out of Cafeville and back in familiar territory, there was a chance he could save whatever remained of the woman he loved. He didn’t care if his cheating tore their marriage apart; at least, he didn’t care right now.

You can’t leave. What are you going to do, Johnny-boy? Are you really going to go back to your mundane city life where you couldn’t write a book to save your life?

“Yes,” John said to the empty room.

You can’t do that!

“Watch me!”

And what about me?

John stopped typing, the sounds in the house suddenly gone, his thoughts deafening in the emptiness. For a second, he heard the voice in his head as loud as someone whispering in his ear.

“What about you?” he asked.

John waited, but there was no reply.

Chapter 21

“I’m not going back.”

John stood patiently in the kitchen door, watching as Karen ran the water over the dishes in the sink and proceeded to scrub one after the other. His mind should have been focused on the fact that she had been wearing the same outfit for three days straight, her clothes wrinkled from having had been slept in. He should have been taking a closer look at her blistered feet scarred with splinters from the attic floor where she had been spending most of the last few nights, alone.

Or at least he wanted to believe so.

Instead he was trying to remember when the last time they had had a meal was; one that warranted her current dishwashing chore.

“Karen, please,” John begged, his voice weak. He hadn’t called June yet, and he was hoping he wouldn’t really have to. Karen was his wife, after all, and there had to be a part of her still inside that shell of a body. He had to believe there was a way to reach her.

“What’s wrong, honey?” Karen’s voice came back, raspy, unlike her. “Can’t find a reason to stay now that your mistress is gone?”

John sighed. “Karen, the book’s done. There’s no reason for us to stay.”

“On the contrary,” she said, dropping the dish in her hand. John watched it shatter as it hit the ceramic floor. “I told you before, I want to move out of the city. I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised that you weren’t listening.”

John’s eyes were fixated on the broken plate, shards littering the floor around her bare feet as she dropped a second one. She didn’t flinch as the sound of breaking china echoed in the kitchen.

“We can find somewhere else,” John said. “Just not here. This place isn’t good for us, Karen. Cafeville isn’t good for us.”

She dropped a third plate, and John knew she wasn’t going to stop until all the dishes in the sink were lying in pieces around her.

“But I’ve made friends here, John,” she said. “So many friends. People who care about me.”

“We can always visit June and Hank during the holidays.”

Karen chuckled, a sound that was foreign to him, and for a moment he wanted to turn her around just to make sure it was actually Karen he was talking to. “June and Hank are not my friends, they’re yours.”

“That’s unfair.”

“Is it?” Karen suddenly stopped what she was doing and turned around to look at him. The gaze he received sent chills down his spine. “Is it really? Tell me, husband dearest, did they know about you and Eva?”

John knew where this was going and tried to think of a way to change subjects. “This house is poisonous,” he said.

“Answer the question!”

Her voice was shriek, loud and piercing. It seemed to rattle the walls around him. He could sense her anger everywhere in the kitchen, the force of it suffocating him as he stood still and met her gaze. Her scowl made him cower, and he suddenly pondered actually leaving her behind. This was not his wife.

“They knew nothing,” John said.

Karen’s scowl softened and a smile found its way to her lips. Somehow, it made her look even more intimidating. John watched in horror as his wife slowly made her way towards him, his eyes drawn to her bare feet as they scrunched on the shards of broken china, cutting deep and drawing blood. She didn’t seem to notice, her smile unfaltering, as if she had no sense whatsoever of what she was doing.

He pried his eyes away from the bloody footsteps she left behind, looking up into eyes that mirrored madness and fury, a stark contrast to her smile and the calmness of her face. She stopped only when she was a few inches away, her eyes locked on his, and she reached a hand out to his face.

John flinched at the cold touch, the warmth of the gesture lost in the horror he felt as she stood so close to him.

“I’d like to believe you,” Karen whispered. “I really do. But, it just seems so unlikely.”

John felt a shiver run down his spine. For a few seconds, he could see Karen’s face shift and be replaced by an unfamiliar image of someone else before returning back to the more familiar features of his wife.

“Trust me, Karen, they know nothing.”

“Trust you?” Karen frowned, her expression suddenly changing as she frowned at him. “That’s asking for a little too much, baby. All things considered.”

John didn’t know how to answer her; the only thing he could do was step back and put some space between them. “You’re bleeding,” he whispered.

Karen looked down at her feet, then back at her footprints. She smiled again and shrugged, as if she had no idea how that had happened.

“How about a break?” John ventured. “We can just go home for a few days, see what we’ll do about moving out here, and then come back.”

Karen looked over his shoulder at the suitcases he had left next to the front door, and then back at him. She shook a finger at him, slowly, and clicked her tongue in disapproval. “You don’t look like you’re packed for a few days, Johnny-boy,” she said, and the way she said his name made his heart stop. “You’re not trying to trick me, are you?”

John shook his head quickly. “We’ll leave the bags here,” he suggested. “Just you, me, and the clothes on our back.”

He could see she didn’t believe him, her eyes searching his for a catch. He just needed to get her away, even as much as outside the front door. He believed that a few miles between her and Cafeville might just be enough to snap her back to her senses.

What if that doesn’t work, buddy? What if whatever’s in this house has somehow found a permanent residence inside her?

It was a risk he was willing to take. Despite everything, this was his wife, the woman he loved, the mother of his child. He had to try.

He was about to speak again when someone began slamming on the front door. Karen’s eyes went wide as she gasped in mock surprise. “Someone’s at the door, sweetie,” she whispered. “Did you invite someone without making sure I was decent first?”

John peered over his shoulder at the door, then back at his wife. He wasn’t expecting anyone, but was willing to believe that fate had dealt him a card in his favor.

Another slam, this time harder.

“Well, don’t leave our guests waiting.”

John didn’t need another invitation, quickly turning and racing down the hall. He didn’t bother to see who it was, welcoming any interruption that might make the current situation less horrifying than it was.

David Green stormed in as soon as John opened the door, the tall man immediately grabbing him by the collar and slamming him against the wall. John felt his teeth clatter as his head ricocheted against the hard surface, the strong smell of alcohol barely hiding the stench that already filled the house.

“You son of a bitch,” David Green hissed. “I’m going to see you dead for what your wife did to my Eva!”

John tried to break free of the man’s grasp, but the vice-like grip made that impossible. The man’s eyes were blazing with fury, and John knew that no matter what he said or did right now, David was going to take his suffering out on him and Karen. John could see it in his eyes; David Green knew who killed his daughter.

“Why?” the man yelled.

Karen began to laugh, at first just a soft chuckle that slowly grew to an uncontrollable fit. It sent shivers down John’s spine, and when he looked her way, he saw her standing in the kitchen threshold, leaning against the frame as she watched the scene in her hallway unfold. John could see David’s features change as he set eyes upon the woman he knew had killed his daughter and had burned his home to the ground.

David Green let go of John and immediately made for Karen, his stride quick, his goal only a few feet away. John quickly got a hold of himself and sprinted across the hall, grabbing David by the back of his shirt and catapulting him into a wall. The surprise attack threw the man off, and for a second David seemed unable to decide which of the two Kriks he was going to go after first.

Apparently, John seemed like a greater threat, and the man quickly landed a punch that sent John to his knees, jaw pulsating with the force of the blow. In an instant, David had his hands wrapped around John’s throat, strangling him, lips pulled back in an angry sneer as his eyes reflected a murderous intent.

John tried to break free, but the man’s grip was too strong. David wasn’t going to stop until he finished the kill, and the pressure his thumbs were applying to John’s windpipe threatened to break the cartilage there and kill him.

John helplessly slapped at the hands around his neck, his blows doing nothing more than angering the man further.

Suddenly David Green’s grip loosened and his eyes widened in surprise. Blood splattered all over John’s face, and he looked past the man’s surprised features at Karen as she raised and dropped her arm quickly and repeatedly, the shard of broken china in her hand stabbing into David’s back.

David Green tried to turn around, but his efforts were wasted. Karen was stabbing at him like a woman on fire, and within seconds, the man’s tall framed was lying dead in the middle of the hallway, blood pouring out of his wounds in streams.

John quickly pushed away from David Green’s limp body, the man’s dead eyes staring out into space as Karen relentlessly continued her attack. John saw the smile on her face as she toiled, and at that moment he knew he had lost his wife forever. He pushed himself to his feet, and without a second thought, raced towards the front door.

He needed to get out, now, before Karen decided to take out the remainder of her bloodlust on him.

The front door slammed shut before he could reach it, and as he grabbed for the knob, he felt a heavy blow to the back of his head.

John Krik’s eyes rolled back in their sockets and the world around him suddenly darkened as he dropped to the floor.

Chapter 22

June Summers knew that it was going to be a terrible day.

The minute she had woken up, she could feel it in her bones. There were mornings when she would get up and out of bed with a spring to her step, a lightness about her that made her feel like she could take on the world and come out victorious. On mornings like that, she tackled the day with vigor, her mind concentrating on the ups and playing down the downs, and she usually ended up back in bed at the end of the day with a smile on her face.

This morning had not been one of those days.

For starters, her joints had screamed out in agony the minute she had tried to walk to the bathroom. Actually, every joint in her body seemed to have had joined forces and decided to give her hell in unison.

Hank had passed by late as well, and he had been quiet for most of the drive into town, only briefly discussing the weather and smiling when she told him about her new shipments coming in today. He had offered to help, but she was still holding out for Karen.

She knew Karen Krik had been traumatized by the burning of the Greens’ house, Hank having told her how shell-shocked the woman had seemed when he had arrived with John at the scene. She had tried calling, a gesture that had gone nowhere, and had hoped to grab a ride out to visit her.

It didn’t seem like Hank wanted to offer, though, and she didn’t want to force him into anything. He had never denied her anything, bless his soul, but she didn’t want to cross the line between politeness and imposing.

Now she was going over the shipments she had signed off for this morning, and frustration was an understatement to how she felt. Half the things she had ordered hadn’t come through, and she had given the man in blue overalls hell over it, especially since she had promised clients that she’d have what they wanted by now. She already anticipated angry calls and exasperated complaints. Plus, the door to the back room storage space was causing problems, and she knew that she would be calling Hank in soon so he can find a way to open the damn thing.

The day was definitely not going as planned.

So, when Karen Krik walked into the shop looking like she had just been through the storm of the century, June was already halfway between deep frustration and full-blown anger, seriously contemplating whether or not to close up shop early and just head home. The woman standing just inside the door to the store, staring at her with a frown that was more threatening than June would have expected, was three hells away from the Karen Krik she had come to know.

June stood up from her crouched position, her hand still on the cutter she had been using to open the deliveries, and stared back at Karen in confusion. If the burning had affected her, Hank had really downplayed just how bad she had taken it.

“Oh God, you look like hell,” June said.

Karen cocked her head to one side, her eyes locked on June, her fists clenched by her side as she just stared at her.

“Honey, are you okay?” June asked, knowing well that she wasn’t, but oblivious to what else she could possibly say. She looked over the woman’s shoulder, hoping to see John coming in behind her, because she truly doubted that Karen was in any position to come into town looking the way she did.

“You knew, didn’t you?” Karen whispered, her voice barely audible, yet the words ringing loud and clear in the empty store.

“What did you say?” June asked, hoping she had misheard.

Karen took a few steps forward, slowly, her eyes locked on June as the scowl on her face seemed to deepen. June unconsciously took a step back, taking note of the woman’s bare feet, dirty and bloody as she seemingly floated towards her.

“You knew, June,” Karen said, more assertive, as if stating a fact. “You knew what he was doing, and you didn’t tell me.”

June’s mind began to race as she tried to understand what Karen was talking about. She remembered what Hank had told her about seeing Eva Green at the Krik’s house, and her eyes suddenly widened in comprehension.

Karen smiled and nodded. “So you did know.”

June quickly shook her head. “Karen, my God, of course not,” she said. “Hank had told me something about seeing Eva Green at your house, but I thought nothing of it.”

Karen suddenly stopped, her smile vanishing as she looked hard and long at June. “So Hank knew, too?”

“No, honey, no,” June said, realizing that she had put Hank in a tight position, especially since she knew how close he had become to the couple. “It was just an observation. We never thought there was anything going on. What makes you think something happened between them?”

Karen chuckled, and the sound of it sent chills down June’s spine. “I know, June,” Karen said. “Ana told me everything.”

“Ana?” June frowned, not recognizing the name.

“She’s my new friend,” Karen said, starting towards June again. “A real friend. See, she cares about me, June, enough to tell me about what was happening in that house behind my back.”

“I don’t know who this Ana is, Karen,” June said, the counter stopping her retreat, “but I think you should talk to John before you take anybody’s word for it.”

Karen stopped again, looking behind her as if she had just remembered something. “John?” she muttered. “John’s a liar, June. Why would I believe anything he says?”

“He’s your husband.”

“He’s a liar!”

June’s eyes clenched shut for an instant at the sudden outburst, her hands beginning to shake. Karen was not herself, and June had no idea what to say that would calm the brunette down. Her heart stopped when Karen pulled a kitchen knife out, the blade glinting in the fluorescent light of the store.

“You’re a liar, too,” Karen said softly.

***

John opened his eyes slowly, wincing from the throbbing at the back of his head. He waited for the world around him to fall back into focus, blinking repeatedly as he tried to make out his surroundings. There was little light, and the shadows cast by the single bulb were long and dark. He was sitting in a corner of the room, the cold ground beneath him creeping through his pants and causing his body to shiver. There was dampness in the air; he could feel it on his skin, and as he tried to move, to get up and stretch his aching legs, he felt the taut ropes around his wrists dig deep into his skin.

Slowly, the realization of where he was began to sink in. It was the basement’s stench that hit him first, his senses slowly returning and bringing with them the appalling scent he had tried for days to avoid. He looked around and his eyes settled for a second on the furnace in the corner, and then on the windows.

He looked up at where his hands were tied, the ropes twisting and turning around the piping, his efforts to pull out of the knots unyielding. His mind raced with possible solutions, but nothing seemed to present itself, and the pain in his head was making it difficult to think.

He was trapped.

Slowly, he began to remember what had happened, how Karen had attacked David Green and killed him, how he had tried to escape. He remembered the blow to his head, the darkness that had followed, and wondered how Karen had found the strength to drag him down into the basement and tie him up.

What had she done with David Green’s body?

John looked around aimlessly, not knowing what else he could do, trying once again to break free from his bounds. Nothing. He closed his eyes and tried pushing the pain away, tried forcing his mind to think.

Doesn’t look good, Johnny-boy.

“Shut up,” he muttered.

You’re alone down here, tied to a pipe, with no way out. I’m your only company.

“Leave me alone,” John pleaded.

“Are you sure you want me to do that?”

John’s eyes flew open. He was not alone.

The voice wasn’t in his head. His eyes scanned the darkness, squinting as he tried to discern anything in the shadows, but came up short. The single bulb flickered, its light weakening, throwing the room into deeper darkness as the scent around him suddenly became unbearable. The windows above his head opened and slammed shut again, as if something had pushed its way into the basement through them. John felt a sudden chill in the air, and he began to pull against his ropes with even more force.

“That’s useless, buddy.”

John stopped, his head snapping left and right, panicking as he tried to pinpoint where the voice was coming from. He felt a shudder race through his body, and his heart beat changed from a quick skip to a racing thud.

“You know, this could have been completely different.”

John’s eyes grew wide as a figure stepped out from the shadows, familiar with her hair falling down to her shoulders, her dress dark. Eva walked into the dimming light, the shadows on her face hiding her eyes, but not her smile.

“Hi, Johnny-boy.”

John kicked back, pushing himself further against the wall, wishing he could crawl completely into it and hide. He felt the world around him shatter, knowing that he was losing his mind as he stared at the figure in front of him.

“You’re not crazy, Johnny-boy,” Eva said, her voice raspy, like sand grains being rubbed against each other. “At least, not yet.”

“You’re dead,” John stammered. “You died in the fire. How are you here?”

“I’m not exactly here,” Eva chuckled, “and you’re wrong about the fire. I was dead before the fire.”

John shook his head quickly, blinking as he tried to clear his mind, tried to fight the illusions he was experiencing before he went completely insane.

“You see, your wife did quite a number on me,” Eva went on. “She’s pretty lethal with a knife, did you know that?”

“You’re not real.”

“Of course I am,” Eva smiled.

“No,” John said quickly. “You’re only a figment of my imagination. I was hit on the head. I’m suffering from a concussion.”

Eva walked towards John, forcing him further against the wall, and crouched down a few feet away from him. “You’re only half right, buddy,” she said, and in an instant her voice changed completely. “Eva is dead, and in a way, you’re to blame for that, aren’t you?”

John closed his eyes. He didn’t want to hear any more. He wanted it to stop. He wanted his mind to stop playing tricks on him. He wanted out, and he wanted out right now.

A cold hand grabbed his jaw and pressed down hard, forcing his eyes open as he groaned in pain, the pressure threatening to break bones.

Eva was gone. In her place was a man he only recognized from his dreams, his beard heavy, his eyes bloodshot above a chilling smile. John stared into his eyes, and for a second he could feel his mind snap.

Images flashed before him, a montage of places and faces frozen in time and space as they reeled before his eyes. He could barely make out anything he was seeing, each image never lingering for more than a second, so many so fast that it gave him a headache. It was like he was trapped watching a movie on fast-forward, and he couldn’t make it stop.

“Do you see,” the man whispered, the sound of his voice coming from far away. “Do you see why I couldn’t let you leave, Johnny-boy?”

John felt a heavy weight on his shoulders, tightness in his chest, and as the hand grasping his jaw pressed down harder, he felt the images slow down as they projected through his mind. It was as if he were being given someone else’s memories, sharing someone else’s experience, and the sheer volume of it was overwhelming. Generations upon generations of anger, love, laughter, hate and loss raced through him, and he suddenly knew that if this didn’t stop, he would go completely mad.

“I will not be alone again,” the man said. “Not now, not ever. You wouldn’t listen, Johnny-boy, but Karen did. Karen wants to stay, and she will. She won’t leave me the way you wanted to. She won’t pack up her bags and go. She’ll make sure I’m never alone, and she’ll need you with her for that to happen.”

“Stop,” John pleaded, the pain in his head excruciating as he tried to wrestle free of the hand holding onto him.

“There’s no end, buddy,” the voice chuckled. “There’s only you and me down here, and we’re going to be spending a lot of time together.”

John kicked out in vain, and suddenly a second hand grabbed him by the neck, pushing him roughly against the wall and pinning him there as more images raced through his mind. He couldn’t breathe, the hand on his neck suffocating him, choking as he continued trying to wrestle free. He was going to die like this, and the realization of that made him fight harder.

Then it was gone.

John felt the pressure on his neck loosen and the reel of images slow and stop, then disappear completely. He inhaled sharply, filling his suffocating lungs with rancid air as he coughed and spit. He felt the pressure inside his head subside, and when he slowly opened his eyes, the tears that had been trapped behind the lids rolling freely down his face, he let his head fall against his chest.

He could hear someone laughing in the darkness, a shrill sound that boomed about the basement as he tried to catch his breath and slow down the pounding in his chest. After a few seconds he looked up, searching the room with tired eyes.

He was alone again.

Chapter 23

Sheriff Walter Garland pulled up in front of the Victorian and squinted at the large house looming over him.

The sun had begun to set, the skies already purple as the world edged into the night. The temperature had dropped significantly, forcing Walter to slip on his coat and pull the zipper all the way up. He wasn’t young anymore, and the cold always found its way to his bones, promising a morning of excruciating pain and agony.

Which was why he would have rather been somewhere else. Home, for instance. That seemed like a more appealing destination than the Dean house.

Walter had taken Hank’s call seriously, knowing well what the effects of a traumatic experience could do to a man. He remembered the rampage Samuel Dean had gone on after the death of his son, and it wasn’t farfetched to believe that David Green could be capable of the same viciousness. He had lost his daughter, after all, and that kind of pain made a man do things. Terrible things.

Walter had spent the entire afternoon looking for David, first stopping at the small loft he had been living in since the fire. When Walter didn’t find David, he stopped at all the regular places, avoiding the imminent drive out to the Kriks. He was hoping that David wouldn’t be stupid, but in retrospect, Walter knew that this should have been his first stop.

He just didn’t want to come out here again.

Walter had wrestled with the thought of sending one of his deputies out to the house, but had quickly come to the conclusion that this was something he needed to do on his own. The burden of the past needed to be dealt with those who had carried it for this long.

Walter climbed out of his cruiser and slammed the door shut, hoping that the sound of his arrival would bring out one of the Kriks. Preferably the husband. Walter didn’t think he could handle dealing with the wife again.

He waited for a few seconds, and when no one came out, he reluctantly made his way toward the house. His eyes quickly glanced at the attic window, and he sighed in relief when he saw nothing there. He couldn’t imagine what he would have done if his stare had been met by someone else’s.

Walter made his way up the porch stairs, and as he neared the front door, his eye caught movement behind the small side window. He couldn’t recognize which of the couple it had been, frowning in confusion as to why no one had come out to meet him if they knew he was there. He knocked on the door, and instantly stepped back when it swung open, slowly, and stopped an inch or two inside.

It had been open.

Walter quickly pulled out his gun, suddenly fearing the worst, silently praying that David Green hadn’t done anything stupid. The stench from inside the house escaped through the small opening, and he felt a sense of déjà vu as he pushed the door all the way open, keeping his gun level in front of him as he slowly stepped inside.

***

The skies began to really pour when Hank locked up the store and raced to his truck, pulling the lapels of his coat up around his neck as the wind took a few blows at him. He climbed into the truck, gunning the engine and turning on the wipers, and looked down the street at June’s store. He recognized Karen Krik’s car parked outside and smiled to himself, happy that the woman had finally found the strength to leave the house.

She couldn’t have chosen a worse night, though.

Hank contemplated calling June to see whether or not Karen would be driving her home tonight when he caught sight of the brunette leaving the store. He frowned as he watched her walk into the rain, calm and steady, as if it were only a drizzle. She was also dressed far too lightly for this weather, and when he saw that she was barefoot, red flags popped up everywhere in his mind. He watched her climb into her car and start it, quickly pulling out into Gale Street and driving away. He shifted gears, a voice in the back of his head urging him to hurry, every inch of him certain that something was terribly wrong.

He jumped out into the rain, the truck’s engine still running, and raced into the store.

“June!” he called out.

When no one answered, he began to panic, quickly searching the aisles. When he couldn’t find her, he sped towards the back room, praying that he would find her hunched over her shipments, completely oblivious of his arrival. She usually went into a sort of trance when she worked, and he hoped that was the reason she wasn’t answering.

He did find her, but not in the storage room.

June Summers lay motionless in the small hallway leading to the back room, her head at an obscene angle to the rest of her body, her clothes bloody and her eyes wide. He rushed to her, quickly falling to his knees and lifting her into his arms.

“Oh my God, June!”

The woman stared past him, her eyes dead and fixed on a point above his head. He could feel the warm blood on his hands as he held her, and tears suddenly erupted from his eyes as comprehension sunk in. He could see the multiple rips in her clothes where she had been stabbed, and he touched each one of them tentatively as if trying to heal them. There were so many.

Hank quickly pulled his cell phone from his pocket, smearing the screen with June’s blood as he dialed the sheriff’s office, hoping to reach Walter.

“It’s Hank Pollard,” he stammered when one of the deputies answered. “June’s been murdered. She’s been stabbed to death. My God, she’s…she’s dead! She killed her. June’s dead!”

Hank dropped his phone, his body shuddering uncontrollably as he pressed June’s body against his, holding her tight as he buried his face in her shoulder.

***

Walter edged down the dark hallway slowly, his gun level, his eyes darting back and forth between the shadows. The sun had set completely, and as he moved into the living room, he reached out for the switch.

Nothing happened, and Walter almost laughed at his luck.

He tried the hallway lights, and when the bulbs flickered on and off, immediately giving him a headache, he switched them off again. He made his way down the hall, briefly looking in the bathroom before continuing to the kitchen.

Something crashed behind him, and he turned around quickly, gun raised, ready to fire. He couldn’t see anything in the darkness, and the stench that was lingering in the air began throwing him off. He needed all his senses, and right now he was working without two of them.

A second crash came from the living room, and Walter decided the kitchen could wait. He made his way back, stepping into the spacious room, edging between the furniture as he caught sight of the swinging windows, glass littering the floor underneath them. The rain from outside was starting to find its way in, and he had half a mind to go over to the large panes and close them before the water ruined the hardwood floor.

As he edged back, he heard a door slam on the second floor, his head snapping immediately to the stairs. He glanced around a final time before making his way to the stairwell. Pressing his back against the wall, he started the climb upwards. Another door slammed shut, and Walter quickened his ascent, his mind already drawing scenarios of what he would find. He was one hundred percent certain he would find David Green up there, hiding, having killed the Kriks and trying to escape.

When Walter reached the second-floor landing, the doors to the rooms were all open, welcoming, and his eyes quickly found the source of the slamming. He slowly stepped towards the attic door, briefly looking into each room as he made his way to his target, the trap door rising open and then slamming shut again. Walter frowned, unable to find a logical explanation to what was happening. Above his head, someone started to run, and the attic door flew open completely.

Someone was in the attic.

Walter rushed towards the small ladder, pointing his gun into the darkness beyond, unable to make out anything and cursing himself for forgetting to bring his flashlight along. More running and the sound of a window opening above pushed Walter forward. He forgot all about the flashlight and grabbed onto the rungs, pulling himself upwards quickly in hopes of stopping whoever was up there before they escaped.

As soon as he was through the latch, Walter jumped to his feet and raised his gun, squinting in the darkness.

“David, if that’s you, stop!” he called out.

Only it wasn’t David, and when the figure materialized in front of him, seemingly out of the blue, Walter’ eyes widened in sudden horror. He watched as the face of the woman in front of him shifted in the little amount of light coming in from the attic window. She was smiling at him, a spine-chilling smile he knew well, and when she raced towards him, arms outstretched, her scream piercing in his ears, he froze in terror. She slammed against him, her nails clawing at his eyes as he stepped back from the force and fell through the attic latch.

Walter Garland fell to the second-floor landing with a crash.

Chapter 24

Hank Pollard pulled up to the Victorian and parked right behind Karen Krik’s car, turning off the engine and grabbing his shotgun from the passenger seat.

He had left June’s store well before the police had arrived, his mind already made up as to what he wanted to do. He had returned to his store, grabbed his shotgun and had rushed towards the Kriks’ house with only one thing on his mind; kill the woman who murdered June.

He hadn’t bothered trying to call John, hadn’t even tried calling Sheriff Walter Garland on his private phone. All he wanted to do was find Karen Krik and make her pay for what she did.

Stepping out into the rain, he stormed towards the house, hands on his gun as he marched up the porch stairs. He was about to kick the door in when something crossed his mind.

What if she was waiting?

He remembered the way Karen had looked as she had left June’s store, barefoot and drenched in the rain, a woman in a complete daze. She had been completely oblivious to everything around her, but how sure was he that she hadn’t seen him? What if she knew he’d be following her, was even counting on it? Whatever had made her kill June, whatever sick thoughts were running through her head, there was a chance she might have had it out for him as well.

Maybe this was her plan. Maybe she was luring him to the house where she had the advantage.

Hank stepped back from the front door, his mind suddenly clearer as he scanned his surroundings. There wasn’t a single light on anywhere. Karen would be waiting in the darkness, he was sure, and just barging in on her would put him at a disadvantage.

He needed to find another way in. Somewhere she wouldn’t expect.

Hank lowered his gun and hurried down the porch stairs, immediately racing around the house towards the back. He knew there was a door there leading into the kitchen. If he was lucky, she would be waiting for him somewhere closer to the front door, counting on his rage to muddle his thoughts and send him barging in where she could jump him.

That was when he saw the lights coming out of the basement windows.

***

Walter Garland opened his eyes and found himself staring at Karen Krik.

The woman was sitting a few feet away from him, legs folded under her as she stared at him from on top of the bed. He tried to get up, but quickly realized that he was cuffed to the radiator, unable to move. He reached for his gun with his free hand, and when he couldn’t find it, looked at the brunette as she held it up for him to see.

She smiled, and Walter could feel his body go completely numb.

***

John Krik’s eyes snapped open as soon as the hands fell on his shoulders.

He kicked out immediately, half-expecting to see Eva in her dark dress, sneering at him as her hands wrapped around his throat, ready to overload his mind and body with more images and emotions.

“John, damn it, stop!” he heard a deep voice hiss in the darkness. He recognized that voice.

“Hank?”

Hank grabbed onto his legs, pinning them down as he scowled at him. “What are ya’ thinkin’, man?”

John felt a sudden relief fall over him, and despite his situation, he smiled. “Hank, you have no idea how glad I am to see you!”

“You sure have a funny way of showin’ it,” Hank said, letting go of his legs as he swiftly started untying him. “Why the hell are ya’ tied up down here?”

“Karen,” John explained. “She’s gone completely mad. This house, it’s doing something to her.”

Hank nodded quickly, the frown on his face deep as he finally undid the bounds. John felt the sweet release and started massaging his wrists where the ropes had cut him, letting Hank pull him to his feet and hold him until he found his balance.

“We need to find Karen,” John said quickly.

Hank shook his head and reached down, John’s eyes following him as he picked up his shotgun.

“You need to go, John,” he said.

John stared at him, eyes wide. “What are you going to do with that?” he asked, gesturing to the gun.

Hank hesitated, and John instantly understood.

***

Walter Garland rattled the cuffs as he raised a questioning eyebrow towards Karen.

“What are you doing, Mrs. Krik?” he asked. “Do you know how much trouble you’re getting yourself into?”

Karen chuckled. “Trouble? Sheriff, I’m just protecting what’s mine.”

“You’ve cuffed a sheriff to a radiator and have stripped him of his weapon,” Walter said. “That’s a whole hell of wrong right there.”

Karen cocked her head to one side and pouted. “But you’re trespassing, Sheriff.”

“The front door was unlocked, and I was worried about you and your husband,” Walter said. “I received a call warning me that David Green might try something stupid. He thinks you killed his daughter.”

“I did,” Karen said, her smile wide.

Walter’ eyes widened in surprise, unable to truly comprehend what the woman had just said.

“Are you admitting to murder, Mrs. Krik?”

“I am, Sheriff Garland,” Karen nodded, her eyes glinting in the dim light coming through the bedroom window. “You don’t have to worry about her father, though. I killed David long before you came looking for him.”

For a split second, Walter was reminded of the way Ana Dean had looked at him when he had gone to tell her about her husband’s death. He could see the same look on Karen Krik’s face, the look of complete insanity, a mind lost and replaced with sheer madness. The expression frightened him, and he instantly knew there was no way he was going to get out of this alive. Karen wouldn’t be admitting to all of this if she had any intention of letting him go.

“The real question is how long it will take your deputies to find out what happened to you,” Karen cut into his thoughts. “Ana tells me that they’re not a very bright bunch.”

“Ana?” Walter asked, frowning. “Ana Dean?”

Karen nodded.

“Ana Dean is dead,” Walter said. “She killed herself almost thirty years ago.”

“Oh, I know that,” Karen smiled. “Tell me, Sheriff, have you ever heard the expression ‘the walls have ears’? Well, they do, but they can also talk, if you care to listen.”

Walter shook his head in confusion.

“They do. Really,” Karen continued, “and the more you listen, the more the voices manifest themselves into lovely people. You see, this house has been good to me. It tells me everything. It told me about John and that whore from next door, and it told me what I had to do to make sure my husband never strayed again. It cares about me.”

“Mrs. Krik,” Walter said. “Karen. You need to listen to me. This house is not talking. I don’t know what you’re hearing, but you need to listen to me now. You need to take these cuffs off me, and come with me to the station where we can discuss this whole thing in a more civilized manner.”

“But, if I let you go, you’re going to kill me,” Karen said.

“Are the voices telling you that?”

Karen sighed and turned her head to look past him. “See, I told you he wouldn’t believe me.”

Walter felt the temperature in the room suddenly drop.

“Who are you talking to, Karen?”

Karen looked at Walter and nodded towards the bathroom where the lights had suddenly begun to flicker on and off. “Him,” she said simply.

Walter looked to his left and felt his heart stop as he stared at the open bathroom door, the figure of a man appearing and disappearing with the flickering lights, his eyes bloodshot and his smile as manic as the one on Karen’s face.

For the first time in a long time, Walter Garland began to pray.

Chapter 25

“You can’t!”

Hank pulled the gun back from John, angrily shoving him back.

“She killed June,” Hank spat. “I’m not going to let her get away with that.”

John grabbed Hank by the shoulders and looked him in the eyes, trying his best to find a way to calm the man down.

“Listen, that is not Karen,” he said. “My wife is not a killer.”

“I saw her!”

“I know,” John nodded quickly, squeezing on Hank’s shoulders as he tried to talk some sense into the man. “I watched her kill David Green. She tied me up down here. She did all that. But, that is not my wife!”

“So why stop me?”

“Because it’s the house,” John pressed. “The house is the problem, Hank, not Karen.”

Hank stared as if he were trying to understand quantum mechanics, the look in his eyes clearly suggesting that he thought John was insane.

“I know this doesn’t make sense, but you have to believe me,” John said. “This house is poisonous. It’s gotten to her somehow. It went for her the moment I pushed it away, and it’s been messing with her since. We need to get her out of the house.”

“She was out of the house when she killed June,” Hank said. “How will gettin’ her out now be any different?”

John didn’t know, but he wanted to believe that there was a way to save his wife. Even after all she had done, he needed to believe there was some part of her still there that could be salvaged. She was the mother of his child, the love of his life, and he had to try, even if it meant pulling her out kicking and screaming.

“There has to be a way.”

Hank looked at him hard, his eyes angry, his frown deep. He sighed and shook his head, his shoulders dropping as John could see him give up on the idea of murder. At least for now.

“So, what’s the plan?” Hank asked.

John quickly scanned the basement, searching for anything that might give him an idea as to how to proceed. When his eyes fell on the pipe he had been tied to just moments before, the plan materialized quickly.

“How did they say the Green’s house burned down?” he asked.

Hank smiled.

***

Walter Garland was dying.

The cold hand around his neck had blocked the air to his lungs completely, and his body was shaking in uncontrollable spasms as he experienced centuries of emotions and pain surge through him. Images flashed before his eyes, quick glimpses of the past, every single event that had ever happened inside the Victorian quickly filling his mind as if he himself had experienced them. In a matter of seconds he had lived through generations of Dean family members as their lives unfolded before him, inside him, tearing at the threads of sanity in his head, his mind unable to cope with the volume of emotion and information rushing in.

He wanted it to stop, but there was nothing he could do. Try as he might, he was numb to the world around him. He could hear Karen laughing from far away, as if he had been torn from this reality and were swimming in a different one where nothing existed except a myriad of memories and emotions.

He tried to break free of the hand around his neck, slamming his free hand against it, but there was no use. The grip was firm, and he slowly felt his eyes grow heavy as the world around him darkened.

“Karen!”

Walter felt the grip on his throat loosen, then break away completely, and he drew in deep breaths as he fought to stay alive.

“Karen, we’re leaving! Now!”

Walter recognized John Krik’s voice immediately, and as he looked up at his captor, he could see the look of anger on her face. Karen got up quickly, forgetting about the gun as she grasped a kitchen knife in her hand and made for the bedroom door. Walter watched her leave, and as she turned into the dark hallway, he could smell something else mixed with the already familiar stench. The scent was vaguely familiar, and it took him less than a few seconds to realize what it was.

Walter looked at the cuffs holding him prisoner, and then at the thumb of his bound hand. There was only one thing to do.

***

“What are you doing, John?”

John stood in the threshold of the kitchen door, hands held out, staring at his wife as she slowly walked towards him. He could see the knife in her hand, stained with what he could only assume was June’s blood. Her eyes were wide and crazed, her lips pursed as she frowned at him in disapproval, and for a moment John felt like he had bitten off more than he could chew.

Still, he had to try. Karen had come here because of him. She was in this state because of what he had done. He owed it to her to at least try.

“Karen, we have to go,” he said softly.

“We’re not going anywhere,” she replied, her tone firm as she edged closer to him. “I thought I had made that clear.”

John nodded. “You did, but I’ve changed my mind.”

Karen laughed, her knife raised so that her weapon was pointing straight at him. “You act like you have a say in this, baby.”

“I do,” John said. “I’m your husband, and I’m telling you, we’re leaving.”

Karen stopped, the look on her face changing from one of disapproval to anger and hate. “My husband?” she sneered. “You lost all privileges the moment you jumped in bed with little Miss Green.”

John held his ground. “Now, Karen,” he said. “Put the knife down, pack your things, and let’s go. I’m not going to ask you again.”

Karen smiled. “I’m not going –”

“Karen, now!”

His sudden anger resonated through the house, his voice loud and harsh, and it had the desired effect. Karen screamed in fury, raised the knife high and charged at him. John quickly retreated into the kitchen, his eyes locked on hers as she raced towards him. As soon as she was past the threshold, he watched Hank swing his shotgun around and slam its butt against the back of her head, sending her sprawling to the floor.

The knife fell out of her hand, and as she tried to push herself up, Hank brought his gun down again, harder, and she fell motionless to the ground.

“Quick,” John said, helping Hank lift his wife up. “We need to go now.”

The lights in the kitchen flickered and went out.

Hank looked up at John, and quickly turned around to follow his gaze.

A dark figure stood at the end of the hall.

John instantly recognized her. The woman from the attic, her face shifting as she stood motionless in front of them. John knew that the back door would be locked, and he wasn’t even going to consider the basement. Hank slowly stood up next to him, and John felt a little relief knowing that he wasn’t going to face this on his own.

“No one leaves,” the woman said, her voice like nails against chalkboard as she floated towards them. “No one will ever leave.”

John began to panic, unsure as to how he was going to handle this. He had hoped that taking Karen out would put the house to rest and give them a chance to escape, but apparently, he had been wrong. Hank raised his gun and fired, the shotgun’s sound echoing across the house and rattling the glass.

The woman kept coming.

Hank was about to shoot again when a voice rang out from the darkness.

“Ana!”

The figure stopped its motion, its eyes shifting as its head slowly turned to look behind it. John could see Sheriff Garland standing at the foot of the stairs, one hand holding his gun, the other limp at his side. He glanced at Hank in confusion, and the man simply shrugged at him.

“Ana, I knew,” Walter said. “I knew all along, and I did nothing.”

The lights in the kitchen began to flicker, and John suddenly began to realize that the attention was no longer on them. The house was concentrating on the Sheriff.

“Benjamin,” Walter was saying. “I knew Alexander Green killed him, and I did nothing.”

John motioned to Hank, and together they began to back towards the kitchen door. They moved slowly, holding Karen between them, and John prayed that the Sheriff could keep the house occupied long enough for them to get out.

“Benjamin,” the woman gasped.

Walter nodded. “That’s right,” he said. “I knew Alexander started that fire. I knew.”

The figure suddenly screeched, the sound piercing as glass shattered around them. John rushed to the door and flung it open. He looked back over Hank’s shoulder, and in the darkness of the hallway, he could see Walter Garland wrestling with the wraith, the woman’s screams making the hair on the nape of his neck stand.

“Get out!” Walter screamed, and in his hand, John could see the glint of a lighter.

John Krik turned and raced out into the night, throwing his wife’s limp body over his shoulder and shoving Hank in front of him.

There was a sudden whoosh, an instant intense heat, and the Victorian exploded in flames behind them.

Epilogue

Derrick Fern slumped into the chair behind his desk and ran a tired hand across his face.

He had spent the last few hours in meetings with the board members, partaking in mundane bureaucracy and watching as they gawked over graphs and numbers displayed across the large boardroom screen. He hated quarterlies, and if it hadn’t been for the sales of John Krik’s recent book, he would have had some very bad news to share.

Derrick wrapped his fingers on the small package his secretary had placed on top of his desk. The return address said California, with no name attached, but Derrick knew who it was from.

He hadn’t heard from John since his call from Cafeville two months back, after Karen had been released from the hospital. He had told him about the house, the gas leak, and how it had almost killed them and their visitors had it not been for the Sheriff’s quick thinking. Derrick had offered to help in whatever way he could, but John had politely declined, saying that he would take a long, much-needed vacation.

Derrick grabbed his letter opener and cut the package open, pulling out a small wooden box from within. The top lid slid off easily. Inside were a note, a blank check signed by John Krik, and a key.

Derrick recognized the key instantly, holding it up and smirking as he read the note.

Sorry about the house. Fill in the check with whatever you need.

Derrick chuckled to himself as he tossed the key back into the box.

He took out the check, looked at it for a moment, then ripped it in half and threw it on top of the manuscripts he was never going to read.

* * *

Bonus Scene Chapter 1

Audrey Fern covered her eyes and looked away.

No matter how many times she had dreamt of this day, no matter how much she had imagined looking into the dying man’s eyes as he shook and writhed in his chair, bolts of electricity racing through him, she still found it hard to experience the reality. She could almost smell the flesh burning, the man’s muffled screams as he shook in the chair hauntingly resounding in her mind, his eyes wide as he gazed back at the witnesses.

Then it was over.

Audrey got up quickly, not bothering with any hands that tried to comfort her, hurrying out of the witness room and escaping into the fresh air. She ran to the side of the road, belching loudly as she emptied her stomach into the ditch, the taste of acid on her tongue and lips.

She felt a hand on the small of her back and jumped, looking back to see Henry Pollard eyeing her kindly, the smile on his face one of pity rather than satisfaction. She could see it in his eyes; he hadn’t been comforted by the execution either.

“I’ll drive you home,” Henry said, waiting for Audrey to straighten herself and breathe before walking her to where his car was parked.

Audrey looked back at the prison, the walls dark and looming, the sounds of the dead man’s muffled screams still echoing through the architecture.

It was going to haunt her forever.

***

Sheriff Walter Garland walked down the halls of the Sanctuary Park Asylum with a frown on his face. He was flanked by two orderlies, closely following Doctor Hammond as the man led him to cell 4A. The doctor was whistling a tune he couldn’t make out, the sounds echoing off the walls amidst screams and shouts coming from behind the locked doors they passed. It took every ounce of energy in Walter not to tell him to stop. He had no jurisdiction here, and it was only through the doctor’s good nature that he was allowed entry.

Not that he really wanted to be here in the first place.

Sanctuary Park had always scared him, the irony of its name enough to keep any sane man away. He hadn’t been here much, but the few times he had been required to visit were enough to give him a picture of what happened behind closed doors. He had seen the almost vegetative state of patients out in the yards or in the ‘playroom’, and he had a pretty good idea what kind of healing methods were being used at Sanctuary Park.

Still, it wasn’t his place to say anything.

“I still don’t understand what it is you hope to achieve with this conversation, Sheriff,” Doctor Hammond said, almost a little too cheerfully given the circumstances. Sometimes Walter wondered if the man was high.

“It’s more of a courtesy call, doctor,” Walter answered. “I have to let her know that her husband’s dead.”

“And you believe that this will be wise, given her current condition?” Hammond asked, looking back at Walter with a smile that showed he didn’t really care. “First her son, and now her husband.”

Walter shrugged. “I’m not the one who makes these decisions, doc. I’m just following protocol.”

“Ah yes, protocol,” Hammond muttered. “Sometimes I ask myself for whose benefit we have them.”

Walter didn’t answer.

When they reached 4A, Hammond pulled out a key and pushed it in place. Just before turning it, he turned to Walter and smiled. “We have her, how should we say, tamed,” Hammond said, “for your conversation. An orderly will be with you in case she causes any unforeseen troubles.”

Walter nodded, not entirely comfortable with using the word tamed in any context that involved Hammond. Still, he had no idea what Ana Dean would be like after he told her the news, and maybe tamed was better than the alternative.

He remembered when she had first found out what her husband had done, laughing hysterically when news of Alexander and Martha Green’s death reached her. It was one of the deputies who had given her the news that her husband had been arrested and charged for murder, and when he called Walter in, Garland couldn’t hear the man over Ana Dean’s laughter.

They had picked her up from home when she had tried to set fire to the Dean house where the children had been staying with their aunt. Henry Pollard had stopped her just in time, Ana scratching his face and kicking at him as she escaped back into her own house and locked herself in. When Walter had broken down the door to get to her, he had to fight through a stench that made him gag, a darkness that was uninviting despite the sunlight coming in through the front door, and a madwoman swinging knives at him as she screamed at him to get out.

He had brought her to Sanctuary Park himself, and the words coming from her mouth were enough to make the Devil blush.

Doctor Hammond unlocked the cell door and opened it for Walter, smiling as he gestured for him to enter. Walter walked in, closely followed by the orderly named Ethan, and looked back at the cell door as it closed and locked behind them. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim light, the silhouette of Ana Dean barely visible as she sat in the corner on her cot.

“Mrs. Dean?” Walter said, his voice barely above a whisper.

The figure in the corner shifted but said nothing.

“Mrs. Dean, it’s Sheriff Walter Garland. I’m sure you remember me.”

“Of course,” came the reply, a raspy voice that sounded nothing like the Ana Dean he knew.

“Ma’am, I’m here on behalf of the state to inform you that your husband, Samuel Dean, died at three o’clock this afternoon.”

A chuckle. A cough.

“Mrs. Dean?”

“My husband didn’t die, sheriff,” Ana said. “He was executed.”

Walter hesitated. “I would also like to inform you that the Greens are pressing a whole bunch of other charges. We were wondering if there were any relatives you’d like us to contact to handle these matters.”

“Are the children okay?”

John was taken aback by the question. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Dean, I’m not quite following.”

“The Green children, are they okay?”

Walter winced at the mention of the children that had been left orphaned by Samuel Dean. “Yes, they are okay, all things considered.”

“Good,” Ana chuckled. “I’d hate to see anything happen to them before I leave this place.”

Walter felt a chill run down his spine as he glanced at the orderly, who just shrugged.

“Mrs. Dean, if you do get out of here, your stunt at the house will put you away for a very long time,” Walter said. “Not to mention you just threatened two children in front of a sheriff and another witness.”

Ana shifted again, standing up slowly as she stretched. It was then that Walter noticed one of her hands had been tied to the bed. Ana moved a bit into the light, her hair falling around her face, her eyes barely visible, only her smile shattering the distance between them.

“The house will get them, Sheriff,” Ana hissed. “It always does.”

Walter noticed the rope tied to her hand hanging loosely by her side, blood streaming down her arm to the floor. She looked down to where his eyes were focused, and then looked up again. Her smile widened and she suddenly jumped at him, screaming, hands outstretched as she went for his eyes.

The orderly stepped in immediately, and with a quick swing of his hand, had her lying still on the ground. He quickly banged on the cell door three times, and Walter finally let out the breath he was holding as he was quickly dragged outside.

Bonus Scene Chapter 2

Audrey Fern woke up to the sound of her son playing in the living room, already awake and wreaking havoc. She groaned, her body aching from the strain she had been under the past few weeks. She rolled out of bed, slowly, barely looking at the side where Sebastian had slept less than a month before.

The night Walter Garland had knocked on her door still flashed in her mind. The way he had looked at her, uncomfortable as he had told her the news of her husband’s murder, how he had sat with her for hours as she had wept. Explaining to her son what had happened, that had been even harder

Audrey walked out of her room and watched her only son play with a makeshift sword his father had made him. He was the striking image of her husband, and looking at him made her miss him even more. At least the boy was handling it better than she was.

“Breakfast, sweetheart?” she asked, walking into her small kitchen as she opened the shelves and scanned them for anything she didn’t have to spend too long making.

The boy didn’t answer, swooshing his sword as he jumped across the couches and coffee table. Audrey couldn’t help but smile.

She walked him to school and waved as he raced inside with the rest of the kids, immediately jumping in line next to a little girl in his class. He turned around and waved back, the girl doing the same, and Audrey’s heart ached at the thought that one day they would grow up and face misery and pain of their own.

Audrey made her way back into town, slowly, taking her time as she counted her steps. She almost laughed at the irony of her life. Working for both the Greens and the Deans, the two households that had helped keep her own home afloat, had been the same thing that had torn her life apart.

Sebastian Fern had worked hard ever since their son came to the world, but they had soon realized that his pay alone would not be enough to keep them going. He had asked Alexander Green if he needed a helping hand at home, Martha eagerly welcoming Audrey in and making her feel like part of the family. She had loved that woman, although she had never felt comfortable around Alexander.

She didn’t know if there was any truth behind his involvement in the fire that had taken the life of the Deans’ son. She had asked her husband about it several times, Sebastian always shrugging it off and telling her to stop asking questions she didn’t want answers to. Eventually she did give up asking, but only when he had assured her that he had had nothing to do with the fire. He never denied Alexander Green’s involvement, and the entire town supported his innocence.

Samuel Dean had obviously thought otherwise.

Audrey made her way down Gale Street, looking at the windows for any sign of help needed. She had called her sister in Boston and had already made plans to send Derrick there. She was in no condition to provide for both of them, and her sister was more than willing to help. She had a soft spot for her nephew that Audrey had been counting on. Telling Derrick would be the real problem.

When she neared the arcade, the doors and windows boarded and a deputy sitting guard outside, she quickly crossed the street. She didn’t want to be anywhere near the place where her husband had been stabbed to death, knowing that she would never truly be happy in Cafeville as long as that place was there to remind her of what had happened.

When Walter Garland pulled up to the curb next to her, she was eyeing a dress hanging in a boutique window, the same one Sebastian had promised to buy her with his next paycheck. She watched the sheriff climb out of his car, tired and wary, the last few weeks obviously taking a toll on him. He took off his hat as he approached her and attempted a smile.

“Mrs. Fern,” he greeted.

“Sheriff,” Audrey nodded back. “I’m starting to feel like I’m going to be seeing a lot of you from now on.”

Walter sighed and scratched the back of his head. “I’m sorry, Audrey, I really am,” he said, “but there are a few things we need to get settled, and you’re involved in a lot of it.”

Audrey frowned. “How so?”

“You’re going to have to come with me,” Walter said. “Everything’s at the station, and quite honestly, I want to get this whole thing over with as soon as possible.”

Audrey hesitated. “I’m not under arrest, am I?”

“Oh, God no,” Walter said. “It’s just a bunch of paperwork, a few questions, and a box with your name on it.”

“A box?”

Walter gestured to his patrol car. “Please? It won’t take more than an hour.”

Audrey eyed Walter Garland and then reluctantly got into the car.

Bonus Scene Chapter 3

“Sorry about all this.”

Audrey sat uncomfortably in the seat across from Walter Garland, eyeing the papers he was looking through, frowning in confusion as he struggled to find where to start.

“Ana Dean died last night,” Walter suddenly said, pushing a small box towards her, the initials A.D. on the cover. “She slit her wrists after lights out. They found her this morning.”

Audrey’s eyes widened in surprise. “Oh my God!”

“The doctor said it was probably because of her husband’s execution. The news must have hit her a bit too hard.”

Audrey tried to shake away the images of Samuel Dean writhing in the electric chair. She grabbed the small box, running her fingers over the wood and the carvings, trying to wrap her head around the news of Ana’s death.

“She left a message on the wall of her cell, written in what we can only assume was her own blood,” Walter said, leaning in. “It said ‘Fern knew’. Does that mean anything to you?”

Audrey frowned, a chill running down her spine as she avoided Garland’s eyes. “I don’t understand.”

“Well, I know you worked for both families for a while,” Walter said.

Audrey finally looked up, squinting at Walter. “I thought I wasn’t under arrest,” she said.

“You’re not,” Walter said. “It’s just follow-up, really. It was a strange thing to do, and I’m a little curious as to what the message meant.”

“Just curious, Sheriff?”

“Come on, Audrey,” Walter said, leaning back in his chair as he folded his hands over his belly. “Humor me.”

Audrey didn’t answer, her concentration quickly shifting back to the box in her hands as she turned it about in her hands. The truth was, she had an idea of what Walter was talking about, but she wasn’t sure if it would make any sense. Cafeville was a town that had its secrets, and she was just as guilty as everyone else when it came to those.

“What is this?” she asked, holding up the box.

“According to her will, Ana left that to you.”

“Why?”

Walter shrugged. “I was hoping you could tell me. I haven’t opened it, of course, but would appreciate it if you did that right now.”

Audrey looked at him for a moment, and then looked back at the box. She had no idea what Ana could have left her, and a part of her didn’t want to know. She began to wonder if maybe there were a way she could just give it back.

“Audrey?”

Audrey flipped the box over, looking at her former employer’s initials on the cover as she slid it off. There was a note inside, and a key, and Audrey took one look at both before dropping the box on Garland’s desk and getting up, quickly backing away.

Walter got up in an instant, worried.

“Keep that away from me!” Audrey screamed.

Walter turned the box around, looking inside. He frowned and looked up at Audrey questioningly.

“I don’t want it,” she said. “You can’t make me take it!”

Walter grabbed the paper and began to read, his eyes widening as he looked at the woman cowering away. He held the paper toward her. “This is the deed to the house,” he said. “Why did she leave you the deed to the house?”

“I don’t want it!” Audrey screamed out again.

Walter hurried around his desk as the woman collapsed onto the chair by his door, visibly shaking, her eyes fixated on the box and its contents. He sat down next to her and grabbed her hands, squeezing tight as they shook uncontrollably.

Audrey suddenly began to cry, leaning against Walter as he held her, muttering something incomprehensible as he strained to understand what she was saying.

“Audrey, you have to tell me what happened,” Walter whispered, and as he held her, as she shook in his arms and cried, she began to speak.

Bonus Scene Chapter 4

Audrey

When I first met Samuel Dean, Ana Dean had been visiting the Greens. I had always found it strange that the feud between the two families stopped at the men, the two women closer than anyone I had ever known, as if their husbands were acting like a bunch of children. I didn’t give it too much thought, though, and soon enough I was helping at the Dean household as well.

It was more than I could have ever hoped for, the extra bit of money a blessing really, and soon I was managing my time between both families as if it were nothing at all. The women were civil enough to manage their expectations and time the hours perfectly so that I was able to be of help to both.

To be honest, I loved the work. Many people would find it demeaning, but I liked that I was being of use. Sebastian’s job wasn’t enough, and we both knew how important this was. Besides, the children were wonderful, and both Martha and Ana treated me like one of their own. They even let me bring Derrick along, which was more than I could ask for.

Alexander Green was a harsh man, and I did my best to stray clear of him. I never liked how he treated his children, and he definitely was quick to use his hands on Martha. I never said anything, obviously. Maybe I was scared he’d lash out at me if I opened my mouth, and I didn’t want to put Sebastian in a tight position with the one man who was providing him with steady work. The men had been working together for years, and I didn’t want to get in the middle of that.

So, I kept my mouth shut. About everything. Whatever happened at the Green household while Alexander was away was none of my business. But, that didn’t mean I didn’t see things. I was there most of the time, after all, and soon enough Martha was comfortable enough around me that she sometimes forgot I was even in the house.

I had seen Samuel Dean only a few times. The man was the complete opposite of Alexander. He was charming, quick with a smile, and those eyes could easily make any woman melt. He treated Ana like a queen, and she cherished him like a king. Benjamin was their pride and joy, and it wasn’t hard to see that the child only brought them closer.

I don’t know how it started, or how long the affair had been going on, but it had definitely started well before I had started working for the Greens.

The first time I noticed it was when Samuel would pick up Ana. There was something in the way he looked at Martha, and the way she looked back. I didn’t give it much thought at first, but the more it happened, the more I felt something was going on between them.

I never brought it up with her, and I didn’t think that Ana had any idea. Alexander was definitely in the dark. A man like that wouldn’t let something like this slide, his wife bedding the one man in Cafeville he hated the most.

Soon I started to hear them. I’m telling you, Martha Green had gotten so comfortable, she didn’t even notice whether or not I was still in the house. There were days at a time when her husband would be out of town, and usually mine had been with him. During days like that, I spent the entire day there. I would hear them down the hall from the room she’d let me stay in, and I don’t know if she knew I heard them, but it didn’t stop her if she did.

Samuel knew, though. One night when Ana was visiting Martha, he confronted me, asked me a lot of questions, cornered me until I gave in and admitted that I had an idea. I’m telling you Walter, something was wrong with that man a long time before Benjamin died. He smiled at me when I told him I knew about the affair. The smile scared me more than anything, and he just stood there, looking at me, his eyes moving up and down my body like he was undressing me with them.

I stopped going to both houses after that. I made up some stupid excuse so Sebastian would stop berating me, and I locked myself in my home. I didn’t go out for a week, scared I might bump into any of them in the street. I ignored their calls, Sebastian usually answering and making up an excuse like I was sick or tired, or that Derrick had come down with the flu.

I could only escape them for so long, though, and soon I was working the Green household again. Ana had stopped coming over, and Martha had changed completely. She was angrier, more stressed and frustrated, once even throwing a glass at my head when I had spilled some wine on the floor. I’m telling you, something had happened, and I was finding it harder and harder to work there. I begged Sebastian to not make me go, but he had been insistent, reminding me how much we needed the money.

I remember the last night I worked at the Dean house clearly. It was a Monday, and Samuel was out of the house, probably down the street, and Ana had been drinking heavily. I had a feeling that she had found out about the affair but was keeping her mouth shut. The house had changed, too. It was getting harder to clean. It seemed like every time I went over, it was like I had to start from scratch. And that smell! Oh God, the stench! It was like the entire house was dying, rotting away from the foundations. It was intoxicating!

That night, Ana Dean had asked me to stay with her because Benjamin was feeling under the weather. I agreed, but to this day I have no idea why. I had never felt so uncomfortable before. The only thing on my mind had been how bad I wanted to go home. I wanted to get out of my clothes, take a shower, and scrub away the smell of the place.

I slept in the bed next to Benjamin’s. Well, not really slept. The smell and the cold made it hard for anyone to fall asleep, and the boy was tossing and turning in his bed. That’s when I started hearing the rats.

They were everywhere above my head, running back and forth, their little legs scurrying across the floor above me. I had never heard it before, and never in my life had I heard that many at once. It scared me to death, and I began to worry about Ana. I quickly wore my robe and stepped out onto the second-floor landing, with every intention of checking on her.

When I noticed the open attic, I ran to Ana’s room. I wanted to warn her about the rats, about the open attic door, but she wasn’t in her room. I looked in Samuel’s office, but she wasn’t there either. That’s when I heard her. It took me a while to notice it, but it was definitely her, and she was in the attic. With the rats, and whoever it was she was talking to. She wasn’t alone. I knew that, but for the life of me, I couldn’t tell who was up there with her. I doubt it was Samuel, but I wasn’t going to wait and see.

Walter, the darkness! I have never felt darkness that heavy before. It was everywhere, claustrophobic, as if it were a living, breathing thing that was swallowing up the light. I thought my eyes would adjust, but they didn’t. I tried to find Ana, but it was hopeless, and her voice had disappeared completely, as if she knew I was there and she didn’t want me to hear her.

I climbed the ladder, quickly, praying she was ok. I got to the top, and before I could pull all the way up, Ana fell to the attic floor in front of me. She was barely visible in the light, on all fours, screaming at me to get out, her eyes bleach white. My hands let go of the ladder immediately, my head hitting the side of the opening, and I fell. I landed hard on the floor, my eyes still locked on the face looking down at me, my pain forgotten as what I thought was Ana screamed at me again and again to get out.

I ran, Walter. I ran like I had never run in my life. I didn’t stop until I reached Gale Street. I staggered into Denny’s, screaming for help, out of breath, my feet bleeding.

I stayed there until Sebastian came to take me home. I never went back to that house. I had nightmares for weeks. In each of them Ana was screaming at me, those dead eyes digging into me, her mouth open in an endless scream as she chased me. Get out, she would scream, over and over again.

Two weeks later, Benjamin Dean died in that fire, and a few days afterward, Samuel started killing people.

Bonus Scene Chapter 5

Walter sat quietly next to Audrey Fern as she finished her story.

The woman had her arms wrapped around her shoulders, rocking back and forth, and he found himself wondering how much truth was actually behind her story. He had known that Martha Green had her moments, and it was understandable when you actually got to know Alexander. But, Samuel Dean, now that explained a lot.

“Was Alexander Green responsible for that fire?” Walter finally asked.

Audrey didn’t answer, just continued to rock as she stared out into space. He decided that was answer enough.

Walter sighed and stood up, trudging to his desk as he sat down heavily behind it. His eye caught the back of the deed, and he pulled it closer to see what was written there.

You’ll know what to do with it.

He compared the handwriting to the signatures and realized it was Ana’s. Whatever had happened in that house, whatever had pushed her to try and set fire to the Greens, she knew that Audrey knew about it. Why burden her with it?

Walter looked up at Audrey and saw that she was aware of what his next question would be. She shook her head, her eyes begging him not to ask her, but he couldn’t.

“That night that Samuel confronted you –”

“Please, Walter,” Audrey begged him. “Please don’t.”

Walter nodded, understanding that more than just a talk had gone on between the two, and folded the deed neatly. He replaced it with the key in the box and closed it. He got up, walked to Audrey and handed the box to her. She looked at it, and then shook her head quickly, turning away.

“It’s yours now,” Walter said. “I can’t use a crazy woman’s blood painted words to prove anything. I won’t even admit to having heard your story, but you can’t stay in Cafeville, Audrey.”

The woman began to cry again, but she nodded. She knew he was right.

“Take it,” Walter said, placing the box gently in her hands. “This is yours now. Deal with it as you see fit. Sell it if you have to.”

“No,” Audrey said. “I couldn’t do that to anyone.”

Walter shrugged, sighing as he scratched the back of his head. “Then tear it down. If your story is true, then that place needs to go.”

Audrey looked up at him, her eyes red with tears, her body shaking again. “Alexander knew about the affair,” she said. “They all did.”

“That can’t be helped anymore,” Walter said. “We’re all going to have to live with what happened. God help us all.”

He walked Audrey out of the station, his hand on her arm to steady her. As soon as they were outside, the sun in their faces and the light breeze rustling her hair, he gave her a hug and sent her on her way.

It was the last time anyone saw Audrey Fern in Cafeville.

***

Derrick Fern sat silently at his desk, looking at the small box that had been hidden under his mother’s bed.

For most of his life, she had been a quiet woman, her secrets many and kept well. He had cleaned out her room a few days after her funeral, and finding that small space hiding under the floorboards had been quite a surprise, even to him. He had hidden under that bed several times as a child, playing hide and seek, and had never noticed that the floorboards weren’t even.

Derrick opened the box and unfolded the sheet of paper inside, the key within sliding out onto John Krik’s manuscript. He scanned the deed, frowning as he saw the handwritten message on the back.

Shrugging, he folded it back into the box and dropped the key inside.

Cafeville could wait.

* * *

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