Incantations, page 6
It didn't matter. Whatever this house was, whatever lived inside of it, could try its damnedest. Angela was going to get some answers.
“Spirits of the realm,” Angela started, “I invoke thee. Spirits of the house, I invoke thee. Spirit of Donald Tremblay, I invoke thee. Spirit of Lillian Tremblay, I invoke thee.”
She waited about a minute to see if anything would happen and launched into it. She spoke the words Viviana Talbot had given her to say.
“I am your conduit. The worlds are now open. I open a door into my mind and heart. You may enter the door. It's knowledge I seek. It's justice I seek. Tell me what I wish to know. Spirits come forth.”
Despite the breeze through the room, sweat was running down her brow. The candles continued to dip and flicker, but never went out. If anything, they seemed to glow brighter. Angela definitely felt something in the air. It wasn't necessarily a presence, but a distinct feeling of watchfulness.
“I speak these words before you now,” Angela said. “I ask who killed my sister. Who killed Lillian Tremblay?” There was still no movement except for the shakiness of her hands. She was breathing with the rhythm of her heart, which was quite fast.
Angela shouted over the sound of the rain. Above the sobbing from upstairs. Above the creaking from below. “Tell me, goddamn you! Tell me who killed my sister!”
The thunder boomed again from outside, and Angela jumped. Still the planchette didn't move. The baby inside her began to kick.
Angela lowered her head and began to cry.
2
It felt like hours she was crying, but it was only minutes. The planchette hadn't moved one bit since she started this experiment. Rain still pelted the windows, but it was definitely slackening. None of the incantations Viviana had given her worked. Not even the rush of anger at the end had produced any results.
That's it, she thought. I give up. Maybe not forever, but definitely for tonight. I feel dead.
She went around and blew each of the black candles out. The Ouija Board she would leave on the table until morning. No sense in cleaning up when her mind was exhausted. She was emotionally drained.
The sobbing from upstairs stopped and so had the creaking from below. Angela made a cup of hot tea and stood at the counter drinking it, staring at the boarded up basement door the entire time. Something had happened there months ago, and she knew it wasn't what the police kept calling it. She was so excited to finally have a break in the case, only to be let down by the lack of any evidence.
She turned all the lights off downstairs after washing her single cup in the sink. She changed into her pajamas and decided to go sit in Lil's room for a while. She entered the room and sat on the little love seat, looking around at Lil's mermaid collection.
Lil was drawn to the ocean. When they were teenagers living in Boston, Lillian would stand at the edge of the water in the summer. She'd gaze over the large expanse as the sun went down. When the sun hit the water right, the water would become blinding for a second or two. Lil never looked away.
She would stand there with tears in her eyes. When Angela would ask her if she was okay, Lillian would nod her head. Her blond hair would blow in the wind, and she would say, “It's pretty, Angie. Out of everything God made, I think the ocean is the most beautiful. I wish I could live in it like a mermaid.” And every birthday or Christmas, Angela would buy her something mermaid related. Lillian kept every bit of it, proudly displaying it where she could see it. She said it helped her dream and kept her creativity at its highest.
Angela stifled a yawn with the back of her hand and lay back on the love-seat. She folded her hands over her belly, feeling her munchkin move. Her mind would not let go, even though her body was ready to crash. What would happen when she would try the Ouija Board tomorrow? Would the results be like tonight? It was so frustrating knowing there were things in this house which were from the other side. Yet nothing would communicate.
As she drifted off, she thought of Viviana's warnings. She thought about the warning not to invoke an open door and invite certain entities through. You had to close the door before you ended your session.
Had she closed the door? She couldn't remember saying those words, but what was the harm? Nothing appeared anyway. It was all a dud as far as she was concerned. She yawned once more, buried her face in the pillow, and fell asleep.
Downstairs, the creaking began again. Slowly at first, it began to sound in rapid waves of friction. The basement door trembled and shook a few times in its frame.
Something hit the door from the opposite side. The frame shook wildly from the force.
Again, something struck it. Angela didn't hear it from upstairs and didn't even break stride in her snoring. A crack of thunder split open the sky and lit the interior of the kitchen in a harsh, white glow.
The kitchen darkened and as a second flash of lightning lit up the room like daytime in the Mojave desert, the planchette began to move from the center of the board. It crept along, inch by inch, finally stopping at its destination.
A final blow hit the door. One of the boards holding the door shut loosened at the top, nails screeching out of the plaster wall.
The creaking stopped as quickly as it began.
From behind the door came a ragged, muffled sound which could have been mistaken for the rubbing of cloth.
If you listened closely, you could hear it. Someone was breathing.
CHAPTER SEVEN:
A DOOR OPENED WIDE
1
Angela awoke from a frenzied dream of darkened hallways, spooky noises, and sallow things lurking in the corners.
It was dark outside the window. When she first looked at the clock which sat on Lillian's desk, she thought it was seven in the morning, which should have meant it was light out. It took her a second to clear her sleepy head enough to realize it was seven in the evening.
She somehow slept through the entire night and the next day. Twenty hours and some change.
Angela brought herself up from the small couch and stretched. She walked down the short length of the hallway to the bathroom, stripping off her pajamas as she went. She turned the shower to full heat, and the steam rose as she finished undressing. She turned and stepped into the shower, pulling the curtain shut. She let the hot water wash over her body. Her head cleared as she lathered up. She realized she was dancing in the shower, slowly and rhythmically.
“Never Can Say Goodbye” had been playing from the other room, and she hadn't noticed it. She shampooed her hair, spinning around with the music and using the bottle as a makeshift microphone. She ducked her head into the water and rinsed the shampoo out.
When she turned toward the clear plastic curtain, she saw the dark silhouette of a person standing on the other side. Angela froze. The figure turned and walked to the door.
Her hand trembling, she pulled the curtain fast, only to find an empty bathroom. She heard the soft latch of Lillian's door and the music from her own room stopped.
She grabbed her towel and dried off, stepping from the shower. It was only then she noticed the wet footprints, leading from the bathroom to the hallway. Stepping into the watery print made Angela feel a touch queasy.
After dressing, Angela went downstairs and went to the living room, turning on lights. The footprints scared her. Maybe she wasn't quite awake.
Pressing the button on the television, it started up, already mid-scene in an episode of Twin Peaks. For not being able to contact Lil with a damned board, her presence sure was felt throughout the house. Everything from the music to the television programming to the sobbing heard from upstairs.
Angela went into the kitchen and passed the refrigerator. She barely paid attention to her surroundings. Getting a mug down from the cabinet, she made herself a cup of instant coffee. She settled onto the couch and noticed something odd from the corner of her eye.
Then she heard it. Soft and subtle at first, but firm and insistent. A whap-whap-whap noise which was the sound of wood on wood, lightly clicking together.
Angela set her cup down and walked back into the kitchen. Her heart told her what she would see before she saw it. She stood at the counter and stared at the jumble of boards on the floor, all pulled from the wall and solid door frame. The door itself was swinging back and forth on its rusty hinges. Whap-whap-whap. Each time it came back, it would smack the area of the frame which kept it from latching.
The space beyond the door was pitch-black. The air, which drifted from beyond, smelled foul and unpleasant. There was something sinister about the fetid rottenness.
Angela took a step backward and her back smacked the counter's edge, the edge digging a groove into her spine.
She screamed.
2
Angela pulled the basement door shut and locked it. Her mind raced. Did someone come in and do this? Her eyes turned toward the Ouija Board, still set up.
Her face was hot and there was cold sweat dripping down the middle of her back, despite her recent shower. She barely heard James and Maddie singing in their shitty voices on television. Her pulse was pounding inside her head and ears so hard.
Angela's thoughts were a jumble, trying to understand what had happened. Did someone come during the night, or even daytime, and take down the boards and open the door? A quick glance at the front door told her it was still locked. A break-in maybe? She knew these things were ridiculous.
Angela turned toward the sink and threw up the coffee she had drunk. It was still hot and steamy as it splashed the white porcelain. Her vision swam from the force of the vomiting. She shut her eyes tight and breathed in deep.
It took a few seconds of cooling down before she remembered all the events of last night.
A door. An open door. An open fucking door.
Angela looked back at the basement door. Her eyes moved across the room. They landed on the kitchen table where the Ouija Board still sat where she left it the night before.
She walked over to it and felt faint. The planchette, which had sat near the bottom of the board, was now over the letter “S.”
What did “S” stand for? She didn't know anyone whose name started with an “S.” She screwed up her courage and called out to the empty house.
“Lillian? Are you here?” There was no answer. No “Never Can Say Goodbye.” No creaking from the basement. No sobbing. “I need help. What is this? What's the letter mean?” There was the same silence.
That wasn't true. Because even though the house was deathly quiet, she felt herself being watched. Measured. Like a lion and a gazelle.
She was clearly the gazelle.
“Is there someone else here? Is there something else here?”
She heard the light scratching from below her and looked down. The planchette was sliding up the board, letter by letter. It hovered for a moment before finally landing on the word “YES.”
The sound of footsteps came to her, sharp and clear, from upstairs. She moved to the left enough to see up the stairs and through the rungs of the banister. It was dark, but not too dark to see dirty jeans and work boots walk out of the shadows and come into view.
Angela's heart jumped to her throat and lodged there, choking off any chance of a scream or a cry of surprise. Those jeans. Those work boots. They didn't belong to just any guy. They belonged to a man who had been dead for sixteen years.
Father? Angela thought incoherently. Oh no, is it Father?
Those were the pants and boots of Big Donnie Tremblay. The ones he wore when he went lobsterin'. Angela smelled the salty, fishy scent which clung to his clothes and skin after a day of work. It wasn't a pleasant smell by any means. If her belly had any more in it after the coffee, she might well have puked there on the floor.
The lower half of Donnie passed all the way across the landing, going toward Lil's room. Angela heard the thump each footfall made in the grim silence. Each one made her jump.
As she braced herself to investigate the stairs, a blood-curdling scream came from Lillian's room. Angela knew the scream well.
Oh, fuck. I'm coming, Lillian!
The lights went out.
Everything was in darkness.
3
It took a moment for Angela's eyes to adjust enough to the newfound darkness. She realized there was moonlight filtering through the windows. It was enough to give a vague outline of her surroundings. She heard those footfalls again, but from Lillian, she heard nothing.
She considered running out the front door, but she'd come too far and was in too deep. Now that things were in play, she might never find out who killed Lil if she bailed.
She lunged to the left and leaped on the couch, throwing herself over it and behind it. It wasn't easy in her condition. From the side, she had a good enough vantage point of the stairs and a decent view of the kitchen. She heard the footfalls approach and start down the stairs. Even from her hidden place, she felt a wave of fear and nausea wash over her.
First the legs and boots came into view, ambling slowly down the stairs. The huge torso with the barrel chest and hairy arms. Finally the head and the great big walrus mustache. Angela hadn't seen her father for almost two decades, and he was like she remembered him. Big and scary.
He reached the bottom and looked around as if searching for something. Angela locked in a scream, thinking he'd found her out. He turned and walked into the kitchen and toward the basement door. Opening it, he entered and the door closed behind him. Not long after, Angela heard the creak, creak, creak of the rope.
Angela ran out from behind the couch and contemplated nailing the wood back up to the basement door before taking the stairs two at a time. She got to the top, panting and sweating fiercely. As she gripped the banister for balance, she saw Lillian enter her writing room, the door closing behind her.
“Lil!” Angela shouted. She pressed against the wall for support and got to the closed door. “Lillian, open the door. I believe you. I saw dad. I read your journal entry. It's all true. You need to tell me what happened, Lil.”
Nothing. Then the sound of the MacBook's keys typing. Whatever she was using her writing room for after she had died, at least she was working on her last book.
“Lillian,” Angela whispered. “Lil, please.” Angela had no idea what she would do if Lillian didn't answer. She couldn't think that far ahead.
The sound of the keys stopped. Angela heard breathing on the other side of the door.
“Angie?” a voice whispered to Angela through the keyhole.
Angela felt relief. Here she was. Here was her Lillian.
“Yeah, Lil, it's me.” She started crying. Never had a voice sounded so sweet to her. So needed. She hadn't let herself feel how much she missed her sister until that point.
A soft sound of nails dragged against the grain of the wood on the door.
“Run, Angie,” her little sister whispered through the keyhole. “He's coming.”
From downstairs the basement door slammed open and Angela heard it hit the wall. It had to have been hard enough to ruin the plaster. She heard rapid footfalls approaching as if someone was running.
Angela dove for her bedroom, running inside and locking the door. She ran to the other side of the room and cowered behind her bed on all fours.
She listened for the footfalls to appear outside of her door, but she never heard a sound. After about ten minutes of kneeling and wiping tears and snot from her face, she fished out her cell phone. There was only one person she knew of to call in this situation. Squinting to see the readout, she dialed the number and waited. The woman answered on the third ring.
“Hello, Angela,” the voice on the other end of the line said.
Angela's voice was shaky, and she was short of breath. “Viviana, if you can, get over here. I need you. I think I did something bad.”
CHAPTER EIGHT:
THE RITUAL OF SAGE
1
It wasn't Viviana Talbot who came to the house the next morning as the sun broke across the horizon. The man who rang the bell was mid-twenties and good-looking. His long hair was tied loosely in a ponytail. He carried a large duffel bag with him.
Angela rubbed her eyes and peered at him through the two inches she gave the door. She had barely gotten to sleep an hour or so before and was still wearing the clothes she had put on after her earlier shower. As it was, she was probably blowing morning breath all in this guy's face.
“Viviana sent me,” the man said. “My name is Edmund.”
“You know Viviana?”
“Very well. I'm a friend.”
The man looked honest enough.
She stepped aside and let him inside. “Yes, put the bag on the table there.” She closed the door behind her.
He put the bag on the table and started taking items out of it. There were four large bundles of what looked like grass or herbs, all tied up with twine. “We don't have much time. Right now, there's a protection spell on me. More importantly, there's a spell blocking the doorway you opened.”
Angela tried to protest. “Are you trying to tell me I did all this?” It was all hard for her to swallow.
“The important thing is to realize a door is open and there are things which are trying to come through. Things you may not be able to communicate with or control. I'm here to help seal it.”
“Why didn't Viviana come? Why did she send you?”
“Viv has her reasons,” he said. “That's all I can say.”
Angela guessed she would have to live with that.
Edmund grabbed one of the bundles by its thick stalk at the bottom and took a long grill torch lighter from the bag. He lit the first bundle. Immediately it began to smoke.
The acrid, herbal smell hit Angela's nostrils, and she grimaced. “Sage?”
“Nothing but the best. I'm going to start with the upstairs and make my way down. Do you mind?”
Angela didn't mind at all. The guy could do nude jumping jacks and sing tribal chants through the house, so long as she didn't have any more scares like the night before.
