The Summoning

Twenty-seven

I CLIMBED ONTO THE LADDER, pushed open the door, and peered inside —into the pitch blackness. I pulled back and looked down at Tori.

"Rae had a flashlight. We need to get it."

An exasperated sigh. "Where is it?"

"I don't know. I thought you'd —"

"Why would I know where they keep flashlights? Do you think I sneak around at night? Read dirty books under the covers? Just go —" She stopped, lips curving in a mocking smile. "Oh, that's right. You're afraid of the dark, aren't you?"

"Where did you hear —"

She plucked at my pant leg. "Get down, little girl. I'll lead the way . . . and fend off all the nasty ghosts."

"No, I've got it. Just give me a sec so my eyes adjust."

Where was Rae and her matches when you needed them? Wait. Matches. She'd thrown them in here. I felt around, but the dark earth floor camouflaged the match-book.

"Hello?" Tori said. "Petrified with fear already? Move or get out of my way."

I started forward.

"Head left," Tori said as she crawled in behind me. "It's about halfway to the wall."

We'd gone around twenty feet when she said, "Swing right. See that pillar?"

I squinted and could make out a support post.

"It's right behind that."

I crawled to the pillar and started feeling around the base of it.

"Behind, not beside. Can't you do anything? Here, let me."

She reached for my arm, hand wrapping around my forearm and yanking me off balance.

"Hey!" I said. "That —"

"Hurts?" Her fingers dug in harder. When I tried to wrench back, she kneed me in the stomach, and I doubled over. "Do you know how much trouble you got me in, Chloe? You come here, get Liz sent away, steal Simon, ruin my chance to get out. Well, you're about to get out yourself. A one way ticket to the loony bin. Let's see just how scared of the dark you really are."

She lifted a ragged rectangle. A broken brick? She swung. Pain exploded in the back of my head and I pitched forward, tasting dirt before everything went black.

Several times I woke, groggy, some deeper part of me screaming, "You have to get up!" before the sleepy, confused part muttered, "It's just the pills again" and I drifted back into unconsciousness.

Finally I remembered I wasn't taking the pills and I did wake. To the sound of labored breathing. I lay there, my brain still fuddled, heart racing, as I tried to call "Who's there?" But my lips wouldn't move.

I rocked wildly, unable to get up, unable to move my arms, scarcely able to breathe. Then, as I struggled to inhale, I realized where the sound of heavy breathing came from. Me.

I forced myself to lay still, to calm down. Something was tight across my cheeks, pulling the skin when I moved. Tape. I had tape over my mouth.

My hands were tied behind my back, and my legs . . . I squinted into the dark, trying to see my feet, but with the door closed and no light coming in, I couldn't see anything. When I moved my legs, I could feel something holding them together near the ankles. Tied.

That crazy bitch!

I never thought I'd call someone that, but with Tori, no other word fit.

She hadn't just lured me into the crawl space and knocked me out. She'd bound and gagged me.

She was nuts. Absolutely nuts.

Well, duh, that's why she's locked up in this place. Mentally disturbed. Read the label, Chloe. You're the idiot who forgot.

Now I was stuck here, gagged and bound in the dark, waiting for someone to find me.

Will anyone find you?

Of course. They wouldn't just leave me here to rot.

You've probably been unconscious for hours. Maybe they've stopped looking. Maybe they think you've run away.

It didn't matter. Once Tori'd had her fun —and her revenge—she'd find a way to let someone know where I was.

Will she? She's crazy, remember. All she cares about is getting rid of you. Maybe she'll decide it's better if you're never found. A few days without water . . .

Stop that.

They'll think someone broke in. Tied poor Chloe up and left her in the crawl space. That would make a good story. Chloe's last story.

Ridiculous. They'd find me. Eventually. But I wasn't going to lie here and wait for rescue.

I flipped onto my back and tried using my hands to push myself up. When I couldn't get a grip, I rolled onto my side, then twisted and squirmed until I was on my knees.

There. At least I could inch forward. If I could make it to the other side of the crawl space, I could bang on the door, get someone's attention. It would be slow going, but —

"Chloe?"

A man's voice. Dr. Davidoff? I tried to answer, but could only make a muffled "uh-uh" sound.

". . . your name . . . Chloe . . ."

As the voice drew near, and I recognized it, the hairs on my arms went up. The basement ghost.

I braced myself and looked around, knowing even as I did that I couldn't see anything in this blackness.

This complete dark.

". . . relax . . . come for you . . ."

I shifted forward and smacked nose-first into a post. Pain exploded behind my eyes and they filled with tears. When I lowered my head, wincing, I smacked my skull into the post, and toppled sideways.

Get up.

What's the use? I can barely move. I can't see where I'm going. It's so dark.

I lifted my head but, of course, saw nothing. Ghosts could be all around me, everywhere —

Oh, stop that! They're ghosts. They can't do anything to you. They can't "come for you."

". . . summon them . . . you must . . ."

I closed my eyes and concentrated on breathing. Nothing but breathing, blocking that voice.

". . . help you . . . listen . . . this house . . ."

As terrified as I was, the moment I heard the words "this house" spoken with such urgency, I had to listen.

". . . good . . . relax . . . concentrate . . ."

I struggled against my bonds, trying to push myself up.

"No, relax . . . come for you . . . use the time . . . make contact. . . I can't. . . must get. . . their story . . . urgent. . ."

I strained to pick up more, struggling to understand. Relax and concentrate? Sounded like what Rae suggested. It had worked when I was with her, at least enough for me to see a flash.

I closed my eyes.

". . . good . . . relax . . . summon . . ."

I squeezed my eyes shut and imagined myself making contact with him. Pictured him. Visualized pulling him through. Strained until my temples began to throb.

". . . child . . . not so . . ."

His voice was louder. I balled up my hands, willing myself to pass through the barrier, to contact the dead —

"No!" the ghost said. "Don't—!"

My head jerked up, eyes flying open to blackness.

Are you there? I thought the words, then tried saying them, an "uh-uh-uh" against the gag.

I ticked off two minutes of complete quiet. So much for pulling the ghost through. I must have shoved him farther out of reach.

At least the interlude gave me a moment to calm down. My heart had stopped its scared-rabbit pattering, and even the dark didn't seem so bad. If I could inch toward the door and bang on it . . .

And what direction is the door?

I'd just have to find out.

I started toward a sliver of light that probably came from around the door. The ground trembled, and I pitched forward.

As I straightened, the bindings around my hands moved, loosening. I twisted my arms, pulling my wrists apart. Whatever knot Tori had tied was poorly done, and slipping.

Rich girls, I thought. That's what Rae would say.

I worked my hands free. When I reached for my legs, the tremor came again, stronger now, and I had to brace myself to keep from falling over.

An earthquake?

With my luck, I wouldn't doubt it. I waited it out, then started fumbling with the rope around my feet. It was twisted and knotted in several places, as if it had knots before Tori found it. Finding the right knot, in the dark was —

A crunch cut my thought short. It sounded like someone stepping onto the dirt floor. But ghosts didn't make any noise when they moved. I listened. It came again, a shifting, crackling sound, like someone dropping a handful of pebble-filled dirt.

I swallowed and kept working on the knot.

What if there's a real person down here with me? Someone who could hurt me?

A scraping noise behind me. I jumped, wrenching my side. The gag stifled my yelp, and I searched the darkness, heart pounding so loud I swore I could hear it.

Thump-thump-thump.

That's not my heartbeat.

The sound came from my left, too soft to be footsteps. Like someone's hands hitting the dirt. Like someone crawling toward me.

"Stop that!"

I only meant to think the words, but I heard them rip from my raw throat, muffled by the gag. The thumping stopped. A guttural noise, like a growl.

My God, there isn't someone down here, there's somet hing, some animal.

A mole. Rae and I had seen a dead mole yesterday.

A mole? Growling? Making a thumping loud enough to be heard across the room?

Just stay still. If you stay still, it can't find you.

That's sharks! You idiot, sharks and dinosaurs can't find you if you stay still. This isn't Jurassic Park!

Hysterical laughter bubbled up in my throat. I swallowed it, twisting the sound into a whimper. The thumping grew louder, closer, underscored now by a new noise. A . . . clicking.

Click-clack-click-clack.

What was that?

Are you going to sit here and find out?

I reached for my gag but I couldn't get a grip on the tape, so I gave up and fumbled for the rope around my feet again, fingertips whizzing along it so fast it cut into my skin. At every knot, 1 felt for loose ends and, finding none, kept going until —

There it was. A loose end.

I worked at the knot, tugging this bit, then that bit, searching for the one that would yank out an end. I put all my concentration into it, blocking the sounds.

I was trying to get my fingers under a section of knot when something rattled right beside me. A rustle, then a click-clack.

A thick musty smell filled my nostrils. Then icy fingertips brushed my bare arm.

Something in me just. . . let go. A small rush of wetness trickled down my leg, but I barely noticed. I sat there, frozen, holding myself so still and tight that my jaw started to ache.

I tracked the thumping, rustling, clicking thing as it seemed to circle me. Another sound rose. A long low whimper. My whimper. I tried to stop it, but couldn't, could only huddle there, so terrified my mind was an absolute blank.

Then it touched me again. Long, dry, cold, fingerlike things tickled across the back of my neck. An indescribable smacking, cracking, rustling sound set my every hair on end. The sound repeated until it became not a sound but a word. A horrible mangled word that couldn't come from any human throat, a single word endlessly repeated.

"Help. Help. Help."

I lunged forward, away from the thing. Ankles still tied, I flopped face-first to the floor, then pushed up on all fours, moving as fast as I could to that distant door.

A hissing, thumping, clicking sound came from my other side.

Another one.

Oh God, what were they? How many were there?

It doesn't matter. Just go!

I dragged myself until I was at the door. My fingertips brushed the wood. I pushed. It didn't budge.

Locked.

I backed up and slammed my fists against it, screaming, banging, calling for help.

Cold fingers wrapped around my bare ankle.