Familiar Spirit

Chapter Eleven

And there the journal ended, in the middle of a line. Sarah flipped through the book’s remaining pages, hoping for some postscript, some last thoughts, but the creamy blankness was unmarred by ink. She stared at the page she had just read, wanting more from it. She felt frustrated and muddled, emerging into her own world again.

What had happened next? Had her husband knocked at the door? Had the stone figure come to life in her hands? Sarah thought of Mrs. Owens. What had she said? There had been murders in the house—plural. Both Nancy and Walter Owens had died here. But who had killed them? And why?

Sarah became aware of the silence.

It was not a natural silence. It was as if the whole house had been wrapped in a muffling cloth, isolated from the rest of the world. Sarah got to her feet, her body already tensing for the expected attack, and then the world was plunged into darkness.

The darkness was as absolute as the silence, and the suddenness of it was dizzying, as if the room had fallen away. Sarah clutched the diary to her chest and remained standing, feeling the couch against the backs of her legs. Her eyes strained against the blackness, but there was nothing to see, no shapes or shades to grade the darkness. She was blind. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears, and the darkness seemed to throb around her. It was as if she’d been swallowed alive by some huge animal.

It wouldn’t do her any good to think like that. Sarah forced herself to be calm and breathed slowly and deeply. She had to get out of the house, to safety. There was no reason why she had to stay here—she could find her way to the door even in total darkness. To her left was the dining room; beyond that, the kitchen, the back porch, and safety. It seemed an awfully long way to walk blind, but she had no real choice.

She had taken only the first step when she heard the breathing. She took another step and did not turn back, although her skin crawled with the awareness that there was someone behind her.

There was a sibilant whisper, scarcely louder than the breathing. Had someone spoken her name? Boards creaked, across the room, as if someone was coming towards her. Her skin prickled, electrified, as if a hand had brushed her as a teasing threat.

Sarah walked more quickly, stumbled, and cried out, bruising her hip against a doorframe. Her own breath was coming so quickly that she couldn’t hear anything else above the sound of it rasping in her ears. Her hand trembled as she stretched it out, and she had to grit her teeth, but her fingers found the edge of the kitchen doorway and she oriented herself again.

Behind her—but she wouldn’t think about that. There was nothing behind her. There was no one else in the house—only Jade. And Jade could not hurt her. Jade was not a person, not a thing, not a demon, but only the leftover echo of someone who had once lived. He had powers, still, but they were not physical powers. He could only use her own mind, her fears, against herself. All he had was trickery, and she would not let herself be tricked by him again. Feeling a little more secure in her own strength, Sarah stepped through the doorway, and into the solid, immovable body of a man. Powerful arms crushed her in an embrace.

She should have been frightened, but, for a moment, all Sarah wanted to do was to relax, to give herself up to sensation, to be stroked by knowing hands. She had turned her face up to be kissed, straining forward, when her own response, the betrayal by her own body, suddenly frightened her far more than any invisible stranger. She jerked away, flailing out with her arms and shouting incoherently. Her blows did not connect. There was no one there.

Panting, her shoulders slumped. “No,” Sarah said, in case her point had not been taken. “I won’t—I don’t want you. Stay away from me.”

Jade’s voice came out of the darkness, cold and distinct. “You have not learned yet, have you, Sarah? A woman has the right to play coy, but there are limits. There comes a time to say yes instead of no. And if you will not . . . if you still reject me . . . then I shall have to show you what I do to those who reject me, to those who try to escape me.”

“You can’t,” said Sarah. “You’re not so powerful. I know what you are. I’m not afraid of you.”

“Aren’t you?”

“You’re not a demon, at all. You’re just a man—just what’s left of a man—a man who somehow didn’t die when his body did.”

“Ah,” said the voice, mocking. Laughter bubbled just below the surface. “Is that all that I am? And is that so little? To be a man who did not die—who will not die?”

“You will die,” Sarah said stubbornly. It was a feeble challenge, and she knew her voice must betray her own uncertainty and fear. “There’s a way you can be destroyed . . . there must be.”

“But you will never find it,” said the voice, still so close to her ear that she had to restrain herself from flinching away. “Nancy Owens thought she understood. She thought she could trick me. And do you know what happened to Nancy Owens? She could not save herself in the end.”

Sarah saw a light. It was a thin, wavering line of yellow seeping beneath the bedroom door. She was puzzled by it—she didn’t remember turning on any light in the bedroom. And there was something about the quality of the light—it made her think of candles. Candles burning in the bedroom?

“Go and see,” said Jade softly. “Go and see for yourself what happened . . . what will happen to you, if you continue to fight me.”

Sarah walked slowly across the floor, took hold of the doorknob, and opened the door.

Half a dozen candle-ends flickered and guttered on the floor, filling the room with a watery light that made the blood glisten like black ink. There were two bodies on the floor, a man and a woman, their throats gashed open. In the far corner crouched a small, black beast, the only living thing in the room. Its eyes reflected the candle flames and, as it saw Sarah in the doorway, its tail began to thump the floor.

Sarah shuddered and gripped the edge of the door hard, trying to anchor herself to reality. No, it’s not real, she told herself, and strained to see beyond the illusion—beyond the candles, the bodies, the animal—to the empty bedroom that she knew was there.

But even as she told herself that she was seeing only a scene from the vanished past, even as she tried to disperse the horror with the strength of her own will, the dead began to stir. There was a horrible, heavy, sliding sound, and tangled limbs and bloody clothing moved. The woman, her head flopping and lolling as if it would fall off, pushed herself up off the floor. Now she was on her hands and knees; now, horribly, rising. The blood on her face and dress and arms looked like dark paint. Her eyes stared glassily through a gore-streaked face, and she turned slowly towards Sarah.

Sarah’s chest hurt with fear. She stepped back quickly and pulled the door shut. Her heart was pushing up into her throat, and she saw stars of light circling in the blackness before her eyes.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Sarah,” said a man’s voice, Jade’s voice, mocking and easy and low. “It would be such a waste. You and I should be together. I can teach you so much.”

“No! I told you before—I don’t want to have anything to do with you. I won’t help you, I won’t bring you someone else to destroy.”

“Then you’d better run, Sarah. You’d better try to escape. It may already be too late.” There was an indescribably menacing tone to the voice.

Sarah had no inclination to argue. In two swift steps she had reached the door to the porch. The big metal knob turned loosely in her hand, and she rattled it impatiently, then tugged. But nothing happened. Impossible though it was, the door seemed to be locked.

From the darkness behind her, she heard Jade’s laughter.

Sarah reached up and pressed the light switch beside the door, and the kitchen was flooded with yellow light. She saw the skeleton key where it hung, still, on a nail behind the door, and although she knew she had never taken it down to use it, perhaps someone else had.

She heard the doorknob of the bedroom door rattle loosely, as if some weak, will-less hand grasped but could not hold it firmly enough to turn it.

“I told you it might be too late,” said Jade.

Sarah clenched her teeth. I won’t be afraid, she thought. None of this is real. Without much hope, she took the skeleton key down. But she could not use it, for the keyhole seemed to have vanished.

It is there, Sarah thought. It must be. Or maybe the door is already open, only I can’t see it. Jade keeps me from seeing it.

The bedroom door was opening. Despite herself, Sarah turned to look, and she saw the gory figure of the dead woman shuffle forward to slump against the doorframe.

Sarah backed away, and her shoulder jarred the back door. No illusion, this—it was solidly shut. She could not walk through it.

Filled with horror, she stared at the thing in the doorway. It was even more gruesome in full light, even more real. The flesh was mottled grey, the blood a harsh, violent red. Where it leaned against the doorframe it left red smears. Sarah could hardly take her eyes from the source of all that red, the raw, gaping wound in the throat.

As if galvanized by Sarah’s scrutiny, the thing began to move again, pushing itself away from the wall and taking a staggering, uncertain step forward. It made a sound—a terrible, high, wheezing gasp. Sarah shuddered, horrified, realizing that she was hearing the corpse breathe, the sound the helpless lungs made as they sucked air through the bloody rip in the neck.

One dragging, bare foot streaked blood on the light-colored linoleum.

Run, screamed all her instincts. But Sarah could not move. Her back was pressing against the door. One hand grasped the useless knob and rattled it desperately, willing it to turn.

Sarah noticed the dress beneath the bloodstains was white, patterned with small, lilac flowers. The thing which had once been a woman, the thing inside the bloody dress, moved its arms, opening them to embrace, and Sarah thought she would faint.

Then she heard Jade’s voice in her ear, feeling the warmth of a man’s breath against the side of her face.

“Run, Sarah. Run away now,” he said.

Her hand still grappled with the useless doorknob, but now, as Jade spoke, Sarah felt it respond, and turn in her hand. She jumped aside, pulling the door open, and as she did so, she brushed up against the staggering corpse. She caught her breath in fear, and then gagged as the stench hit her: the faint, sickly-sweet smell of blood and the much more powerful odor of rotting meat, the smell of inner flesh exposed to air.

But there was no time to be sick. The door was open, her way was clear, and she could run away from the rotting embrace of those dead, clumsy arms. So she ran. And as she ran, she heard Jade’s voice still close to her ear.

“Run away, Sarah. And stay away. If you come back, I’ll never let you go.”

Sarah tumbled down the steps, crying, running faster than she had ever done before.

At last she leaned against her car and in between her sobs drew in long, ragged breaths of the clean, crisp air. Her stomach clenched, and she swallowed hard, willing herself not to be sick. Her mind was blessedly blank. For a while she simply wept. It was a relief to be out in the open air alone, a relief too great for anything but tears. Gradually her sobs died away and she began to recover, to allow herself to think again. Sniffing, she took a tissue from her pocket, wiped her eyes and blew her nose. She stared up at the house, at the light from the kitchen. She couldn’t see anyone in the house, but from this angle she might have been fooled. The bedroom window was dark and showed nothing.

Calmer now, Sarah reflected on what had happened to her. Once again Jade had been victorious. He had chased her out of the house, and she had not been able to oppose him. So much for her strength of will, and her boasts that he could not control her. He knew how to play her. Her fears were all he had, but they were all he needed. He knew what would make her run, and what would make her fight. He could make her see Brian, or a walking corpse, or a rat with glowing eyes; create sights, sounds, voices, and smells out of empty air.

He might as well be inside my mind, she thought with dull horror. She sagged against the car again, feeling weak and helpless. Might as well give up and go away. That was her only chance to save herself—to run like hell. The longer she stayed here, the more he would know of her, the more he would have of her, while she would grow weaker as she saw her plans batted aside and faced more of the things she most feared.

But Jade wanted her to run away. He wanted her to give up, to leave the house and not return. Surely that meant that she posed some threat to him? That she did stand a chance of defeating him? Knowingly or not, she must have the knowledge and the power to destroy him, or he would not expend so much energy in frightening her away. If she were truly powerless, Jade would not have to try to convince her of that.

Sarah stared up at the house, imagining it in flames. Her hands tightened on the diary she still held, and she knew she could not walk away forever. She could not let Jade win. She would not. She was leaving now, but she would return when she had a plan. Just then, that time seemed distant and unimaginable.

But it was only a few minutes later, as she was driving across town on 38th Street, that the idea came to her, and Sarah realized what it was that the diary had told her; what she knew about Jade and the way in which he might be destroyed.