Incantations, page 8
Lil, why did you warn me if you're not going to help me?
It wasn't like you could blame a ghost for not helping you. But when panic was at its peak, a lot of stupid things went through one's head.
I don't know, Angela thought. All I know is he's going to get me.
She ran to the front door and pulled on it for all she was worth. The stupid thing wouldn't budge. Was this a part of the house's intentions too? To keep her trapped here? There was no time to contemplate that.
Angela looked toward the basement door, which was barely visible in the darkened kitchen. Her eyes were getting used to the dark it seemed. She lunged at it and started pulling. Some boards came loose in loud, squawking screams as their nails pulled free. Her hands scraped across some jagged nails sticking out, and she felt the blood flow fresh and hot from her palms.
Her father's feet descended the stairs, and they came down hard and heavy with each footfall. His workman's boots squelched with water from the day's work on the boat, even though he hadn't worked for sixteen years. They were coming closer and closer to the bottom. Angela still wasn't able to escape into the basement.
Oh, please Lillian, Angela prayed. If you're going to help me, help me now!
From the top of the stairs, the radio in Angela's room came on at full blast, blaring the Motown hit she'd come to know and loathe.
Right now, Angela could relate. There were strange vibrations piercing her right to her fucking core.
She heard the feet falter upon the stairs, and miraculously start back up again.
“Never Can Say Goodbye” played on as Angela dug at the boards and frame, splitting most of her nails to the quick and bleeding everywhere.
The blood made the wood extremely slippery as she tried to pry the last few off with her fingers and nails. She managed to get another one off before having to flex her hands against the pain shooting through them.
The footsteps faded into the music, and she heard nothing but her own labored breathing over the tune. As she went in for the last board, she heard a strangled cry. It was definitely her sister crying out in pain.
“Lil!” she screamed.
The music stopped and there was deep penetrating silence again. She threw all her weight at the last board, and it ripped free from the door. Her hands were an aching mass of crimson red. Her stomach clenched painfully and she felt close to passing out.
Oh, no you don't. Step it the fuck up, Angela.
The footsteps began down the stairs again, this time with intent. The boots thudded as they hit each step, matching rhythm with Angela's heart.
Angela unlatched the bolt of the lock and threw the door open. It opened a black hole which led not only to madness but to every one of her nightmares.
CHAPTER TEN:
FLASHES FROM THE PAST
1
The door slammed behind her, and Angela threw the inside lock her father had installed many years ago. It was a tiny, screwed in bolt, but maybe it would keep her safe for the time needed to do as the Ouija Board advised.
It was pitch-black in the basement And unlike upstairs, there was no moonlight to help brighten the landscape of the room. She stood stock still on the top step, feeling around for the banister with aching, raw, and bloody hands. The sound of the creaking rope from below was louder than ever.
A smell permeated the whole of the basement. It wasn't the usual wet, fetid scent most basements have. This odor was more metallic and meaty.
Angela reasoned her hands themselves, which were dripping blood from her fingertips in slow rivulets, were to blame.
They weren't the only things radiating the smell.
Part of her mind wondered why her father hadn't reached the door yet. She knew she should be descending the stairs. The darkness below and all that might be waiting in it kept her feet from taking the first step.
The thought of her father behind her finally overruled the fear of the dark.
Angela grabbed hold of the banister and felt her arms trembling. Her hand didn't want to grip the rough wood surface. She took a few faltering steps, maneuvering so she felt around with each foot, before making her way to the next step.
Halfway down, she felt something brush her face, stringy and sticky. She gasped, thinking it to be someone's hair. The hair of the dead girl as she tried to feed at Angela's neck, perhaps.
A quick brush against her hand told her it was a spider web. Even so, her heart was beating crazily in her chest.
As she plucked the last strands of the web from her face and hair, she heard tiny sounds below the creaking of the rope. Shuffling movements on the dirt floor and small intakes of breath, like sniffles.
She flexed her hand again and reached for the banister, her hand grazing her pocket. There was something in there.
She gingerly put her pointer finger and thumb into the pocket of her jeans and withdrew a familiar rectangular object.
Her phone!
Angela thumbed the button on the side. The screen lit her face, the sudden brightness making her squint. She put it in flashlight mode and turned it around.
The creaking sound stopped as soon as the light came on. Angela took a few wary steps down the last bit of stairs. She stood at the bottom getting her bearings and trying to be cautious about what she might find. The phone was letting her see a good distance in front of her, but the basement was still full of darkness and deep pockets of shadow.
As she moved the light over the room, the sadness washed over her as she remembered the last time she was down here. It was the night of Lillian's death. It seemed nothing had changed. But why should it have? It was a dead place. A graveyard of memories.
Something fell from above Angela with a squeal, and she jumped back, tightening her hand on her phone.
She swung the light around in time to see a large rat scurry away. Its bottom looked plump and bloated like a tumor.
Angela made her way to the rafter where Lil's body was found hanging. She did so slowly, not sure what she might find. The rafter was bare of any rope. The light from the phone showed ragged marks in the wood above where damage had occurred.
Turning, she searched behind the washer and dryer area, looking up at the small window which was there. Just looking at it made her sick, remembering the night years ago when she saw the man who killed her father. She moved away from it, feeling strange about remembering that night.
Walking toward the dark corner where the water heater was, she heard more shuffling movements and those erratic sniffles. She panned the entire area with the light and couldn't see a thing. Nothing stood out as unusual. Nothing moved.
Look downstairs, Angela thought. What a waste of time.
Her thoughts trailed off as she caught a brief flicker of movement from the corner of her eye.
Turning slowly, Angela saw, for the first time since arriving down here, the faint form of a girl in a blue dress huddled in the furthest, darkest corner of the basement.
She found the dead girl.
2
Standing motionless, Angela was unable to breathe for a moment. Her aching hands clenched into fists and blood squeezed out from between her fingers, hitting the earth floor in fat drops. The dead girl wasn't moving. She stared at Angela with wide eyes.
Angela held her gaze, afraid if she didn't, the girl would disappear.
The pale teen exited the shadows slowly. She wove her way around boxes and basement debris with a feral, animal-like movement. As she entered the field of light the phone was giving off, Angela saw markings on the girl's throat. They looked like burns or crisscrossing welts.
The girl stepped toward Angela, but Angela backed away. There was something crude about the way the girl was moving. Angela's neck hair stood up painfully.
Angela took two steps back. The girl remained where she was, studying Angela.
There was something so familiar about the girl. A memory which was fuzzy and malformed. It was the kind of thing where someone asks a question too fast, and you can't come up with the answer, even though you're sure you know it.
Steadying herself, Angela lowered the light a bit, so it wasn't right on the girl's face. The girl was making sniffling noises with her nose. Twin plumes of frost painted the air as the girl breathed.
“Who are you?” Angela asked.
The girl knelt. Her scrawny, pale legs folded underneath her as she huddled on the dirt floor. Angela saw big bruises on the girl's arms and face, a sure sign of regular beatings. A pang of sorrow and protectiveness ran through Angela's heart.
Putting her finger on the dirt-packed floor, the girl started to draw a familiar shape. It wasn't long before the girl looked up to Angela expectantly, and Angela saw it was the letter “S.”
From above, the first strains of rattling at the basement door began. Angela realized whatever the hold up had been, her father was at the door. By the way the knob was shaking, he wanted in with a vengeance. Angela looked back at the girl's drawing.
“What is this?” Angela asked. “Why this letter?”
The girl looked at Angela and retraced the letter. Angela stepped forward and tried to tap the girl on the shoulder to tell her she didn't understand. Angela's hand went right through the girl.
Not here.
“You're a spirit,” Angela said.
The dead girl nodded.
“What happened to you?” Angela asked.
The banging on the door above increased. Angela jumped and wanted to hide, but this was significant. Every fiber of her being told her this was consequential. Ignoring the steady pounding from above, Angela repeated the question.
“What happened to you?”
The girl stood and pointed at her neck. The blood running from the side of her throat showed perfectly in the light pointed at it. The wound was clear indeed and Angela didn't need to be a doctor to know it was fatal.
Angela looked at the girl with desperation. “Please tell me who you are.”
The girl stretched her hand out and reached for Angela, putting her tiny white hand in Angela's bleeding one.
Angela staggered backward, the girl still holding tight. It was as if she was transported in a time machine. The basement was flooded with light. When Angela turned, she got one of the biggest surprises of her life.
3
This was Angela's basement, only from years before. There, tied in restraints, bloody and beaten, pregnant as hell, was the girl who had grabbed her hands. Not much changed about the dark, dirty room except for the girl tied in her bindings. Seeing her face through her dark hair and seeing the blue dress on her, Angela knew for certain it was the dead girl from the garden.
Angela slipped into the girl's mind without preamble. Slid inside her skin where their minds connected, Angela's and the girl's. Memories flooded into her brain from the girl, and she had to struggle to breathe. It was like watching a dream play out in front of her. Hazy and fuzzy at the edges. The images like from a grainy film, jump cuts and all.
The girl sagged in her bindings, beaten and defeated. She was tired, and her head rested at an unnatural angle on her chest. A noise came from above and Angela thought it was Father, forgetting she was in a different time.
A girl, raven-haired and beautiful, came down the steps carrying a small bag and a container. She kept glancing back up the steps as if to make sure she wasn't followed. The girl drew near and Angela's eyes widened in shock. It was a young Viviana Talbot, maybe thirteen or fourteen-years-old. The girl from the garden must be Viviana's dead sister. And their grandmother, the old woman…she was the witch.
Viviana went to the beaten girl.
“I'm here. Grandmother is asleep.” Viviana put the container to the girl's lips, making her drink. The girl wasn't able to drink much before retching between her feet. “Slow,” Viviana said. “Slow as you can.”
She took a bit of meat from the small bag and pulled a piece off for the girl to eat. The girl ate it slowly, holding it down better than she did the drink.
“You…shouldn't be doing this, Viv.”
“Shhh. I have a plan. I'm getting us out of here.”
The girl looked alarmed. “No. You mustn't. Please say you'll never—”
A noise came from upstairs and the young Viviana hugged the girl. “I'll be back. Not much longer now.” She hurried toward the steps.
Jump cut.
Angela could hear the girl's thoughts. Tiny and echoing inside her head.
No. Please. Grandmother.
The girl thrashed in her bindings, and Angela tried to lunge toward her, to help her. Angela couldn't move. The dream held her in place. A voyeur to the madness.
Angela cried out as a horribly aged and cruel looking woman came into view, grabbing the girl's face with her ragged, clawed hands.
The dead girl's eyes went wide, and she vomited blood all over the floor in front of her.
Somewhere in the background, Angela heard the young Viviana scream.
My little one. I can feel your heart beating as mine goes away. Mommy loves you. Please survive.
As the girl in her bindings pitched forward, dead, the room became black. There was nothing but darkness and fresh earth. Cold. Numb. Protected. Safe.
Angela knew this was the embrace of death. The girl was buried in the garden, and Angela was with her. Angela became the girl.
The amount of time spent in the blackness of the earth was interminable.
There was a voice. A call. The pull was too strong, and she felt the awakening throughout her soul as she dug herself out of her cold, earthly grave. Snow was on the ground when she first came up. She looked down at herself and noticed her body had not rotted at all, but her baby was gone. There was a keen sense of loss that both girls felt. Many years had passed. She looked back and saw the ground she came up from was undisturbed, despite knowing she had crawled from it seconds before.
Her body moved toward the house, unmindful of what her brain wanted.
Jump cut.
She stood in the basement, the place of her death. The old woman stood before her. Only, the witch wasn't as she was before. She was dead too, lacking the power she once held. Something tied the spirit of the girl to the ancient bruja. A curse. A binding of her soul to do the old bitch's bidding.
“You kill me only to bring me back, grandmother?”
The witch couldn't talk, but she invaded the young, dead girl's head.
You'll do my bidding, child. And you will suffer. Oh, through the years, you will suffer.
Jump cut.
Time passed, and the girl was made to be the babysitter for the new residents of the house. A doctor, his wife, and teenage boy. The old witch made her seduce the innocent doctor. To what end, the dead girl didn't know. And it even pleased the hag to have her granddaughter wag her ass at the teenage boy, get his hormones raging.
The ultimate insult to injury was having her role play getting pregnant as she suffered abuse at the hands of the man she'd been fucking. The witch delighted in such things. It made her cackle with glee.
Then the poor doctor shot himself, and there was no more need for the girl's set of charms. The bruja had other plans.
Jump cut.
When the scene shifted, Angela cried out from inside the dead girl. She was looking at herself at ten-years-old. Across the table was Lillian, five-years-old and very much alive. They were eating burritos.
The dead girl had her orders from the witch again. Angela understood even though the witch wanted her there for a reason, the teenage babysitter loved the two girls she sat with. Angela heard the young version of her call the dead girl Bianca.
Memories came rushing back, crushing her with their weight. Angela felt herself moan from within the girl/Bianca, and her childhood was returned to her. So many memories. So much love for the girl she now inhabited.
The door to the basement flew open as they ate. The younger version of her jumped, as did Lillian.
Bianca/Angela didn't flinch, because they knew who was calling.
It was the witch.
Bianca got up and walked to the door, turning to the girls as she got to it.
“I'll be right back. You girls keep eating your dinner.”
Angela wanted to scream out for her to stay.
Don't go down there. Because later, Father will be home, and the witch will call you again, and …
And what?
That part wasn't there yet, but Angela was scared. So scared.
Jump cut.
4
Angela staggered away and all was dark again, save for the phone light, as the connection was broken.
A vision, Angela thought. Is that what happened?
She reached for the girl's hand again, but the girl backed away, shaking her head.
“Bianca,” Angela said, her voice cracking with emotion. “I remember you now. You're Bianca.”
The dead girl closed her eyes and nodded her head. Tears slid down her cheeks. She once again knelt in the dirt, bending and drawing with her finger. It was the letter “S.”
“Yes,” Angela said, tears falling from her own eyes. “S for sisters. We're sisters.”
Angela tried to touch the girl again, but the girl drew back, growling deep in her throat. The sound was fearsome and nauseating in both intensity and intent.
Don't get close, the growl said. You'll wish you hadn't.
“Okay,” Angela said, backing away. “I won't touch you. What did the old woman do to you?”
The girl looked at Angela. She wavered in and out of focus for a second, as if she might vanish.
Angela took a tentative step forward. She held her bloody hands out, palms up. “I'm sorry I forgot you. I'm here now. Your munchkin.”
Bianca came forward and put her hand on Angela's tummy.
“I'm pregnant,” Angela said. “Like you were.” It broke Angela's heart seeing Bianca like this, even if she was a spirit.
Again, the banging from upstairs.
