Whisper, Page 25

  “Please… don’t!” Steve whispered.

  The Gogoku looked him in the eye and smiled, then reared back, and brought the blade crashing down towards Melody and the baby.

  He awoke with a start, a pained yelp escaping from his lips before he could cut it off. He was disorientated, and for a few seconds wasn’t exactly sure which part was dream, and which was reality. It was just as he had begun to calm himself that he realised Melody was no longer beside him. His stomach rolled, and he sat upright.

  “Mel?” he called out, even though he knew she was gone. And he had a fair idea where she was. He quickly got out of bed, opened the bedroom door and stepped out. He was about to call Melody’s name again when he registered a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. It was only his reactions—perhaps fuelled by the adrenaline that surged through him—that allowed him to jerk away from the blade, which cut into the air where his skull had been seconds before.

  He only had another split second to realise that it was Donovan who had attacked him. The knife—no more than a flash of silver in the darkness—darted towards him again, this time aimed at his throat. He stumbled backwards, and for a moment was sure that he was going to go over, but somehow managed to steady himself. There was no time to recover, as Donovan was right there.

  He took two quick strides forward and slashed at Steve, this time making contact, the blade cutting deeply into his forearm. The pain brought his mind into focus, and he narrowly avoided another lunge aimed at his throat.

  Questions as to the how and why of Donovan’s presence in his home was quickly rendered as secondary to the idea that his own life was in mortal danger, because as he looked into Donovan’s eyes in the shadowy half-light of the hallway, he saw a remorseless and aggressive beast devoid of any sense of humanity. They stood in stalemate; Donovan was swaying from side to side, and Steve was reminded of a cobra.

  “You ruined how it was supposed to be!” Donovan hissed, as he flashed a waxy grin. “Mrs. Samson!” he said loudly.” Why don’t you come out and join us?”

  In the confusion, Steve had completely forgotten about Melody, and was aware more than ever that every second wasted was vital if he were to save her.

  “You’re going down for this, I’ll make sure of that,” Steve said, hoping that he would be able to intimidate Donovan, but it quickly dawned on him that the game had changed.

  The man in front of him was a million miles away from the birdlike and slightly annoying idiot who’d first shown them around Hope House. This Donovan was a monster.

  “This isn’t my first rodeo, Mr. Samson. Just ask my mother.” As he said it, he let out a short, sharp cackle that frightened Steve more than the idea of the knife-wielding man himself.

  Time seemed to slow, and all Steve could think about was Melody and where she might be.

  “You tell that slut wife of yours to come out here and join us, or I’ll cut you and then hunt her down anyway.”

  There was a chilling calmness to the way he said it. It was as if the two were in idle conversation about the weather. Steve knew he had to go for broke, and try to bluff his way out of the situation.

  “She’s not here. She heard you break in and has gone to call the police.”

  Donovan frowned, and then grinned in the murky half-light. “No she didn’t. I’ve been in the house for a while now, and nobody’s downstairs, which means she’s up here somewhere. Tell me where she is, and I’ll make it quick.”

  “I’ve already told you, she’s not here!”

  The terror in his voice was convincing, as he truly didn’t know for sure where his wife was, although the sick and horrifying idea where she could be still lingered in his mind. Donovan grinned, and seemed to be enjoying the situation immensely.

  “Don’t screw with me. You have no idea what I’m capable of. Tell me where she is, or I swear I’ll gut you and feed you your own innards.”

  Again, the words had been said with a cool, calm indifference, and Steve believed every word. It was as if there was some twisted beast that had inherited the harmless man that Donovan used to be.

  “I’ll die before I let you hurt her.”

  “Yes, you will,” Donovan agreed, and lunged towards Steve with the knife.

  Without thinking, he grabbed Donovan’s wrist, and they were locked in stalemate. However, Donovan was stronger than he looked, and forced Steve backwards down the hallway. He was slammed spine first into the bathroom door frame, and the air was driven out of him. He relaxed his grip, and in that split second, Donovan pulled his arm free and stabbed the knife at Steve’s stomach.

  He half-twisted away, but the blade caught him in the abdomen, slicing through skin with ease. Trying to ignore the pain, he shoved Donovan towards the steps, hoping to push his attacker down them, but at the last second Steve felt himself swung around, and before he could halt his backward momentum, felt his foot slip off the top step and gravity take over.

  Instinctively, he held on to Donovan as he fell, pulling the psychotic intruder with him. The pair fell together, crashing and rolling as they tumbled down the steps. They landed hard at the bottom, Steve banging his head on the floor as they both came to rest. Steve attempted to lift his head, but nausea swept over him, and his vision began to dim at the edges. He was vaguely aware of Donovan clambering to his feet and picking up the knife. He was smiling.

  43. ALIVE DEAD, DEAD ALIVE

  MELODY MADE HER WAY through the snow, the uneven ground and freezing temperatures failing to wake her from her trance. She had passed over the water, and was now heading towards the circular clearing.

  The wind raged, and the trees shook violently, pushing her onwards and guiding her to her destination. She entered the clearing and came to a halt in its centre, standing motionless, the knife at her side.

  He appeared like a thin mist rolling out of the trees. As he formed, some deep part of her subconscious snapped awake, making her aware of everything and that she was in danger, yet also powerless to do anything other than observe. Her body was no longer hers to control.

  The Gogoku Elder who’d appeared to the dreaming Steve stood before her. He took the knife from her and tossed it aside.

  “No,” he said directly into her mind, “not this way.”

  She nodded absently and waited.

  “Let me show you,” the Elder said. “Let me show you what you have done.”

  They came from the trees. At first they were nothing but vague mists, formless tendrils that snaked across the ground. She would have done anything to be able to turn her head away, but her body forced her to look on as they formed into the shades of the dead.

  She was so preconditioned to the notion of ghosts being floating, transparent things, that it took her a moment to accept them for what they were: they appeared as solid and real as she herself was, and although she was desperate to scream and run, she was frozen—a confused prisoner in her own body. The Gogoku smiled at her, but it was humourless.

  “Look upon the dead. Why do you not heed our warnings?”

  “We didn’t know,” she said—or at least she thought she did. It was then that she realised that the conversation was taking place entirely in her head. In reality, both she and the Gogoku were silent.

  “You were warned. And now you will pay with the life of the unborn.”

  Panic swept through her which only served to highlight her absolute helplessness and frustration.

  “I need to wake up! Please let me wake up.”

  The Gogoku smiled, the voice in her head now just a sinister whisper.

  “This is no dream.”

  “Just leave us alone!” she pleaded.

  “Give us what grows inside you.”

  “Please!” she screamed in her head, even as her physical body stared into the darkness.

  “Give us what grows inside you,” repeated the Gogoku, and the other spirits of the dead began to repeat the mantra as they moved closer towards her.

  “I won’t let you
hurt my baby,” she roared, and in her mind’s eye hugged her own stomach protectively.

  “You have no choice. We are in control.”

  “I won’t do it!” she sobbed, but the Gogoku tribesman only grinned.

  “We shall see.”

  She was walking, and even though she fought against it, her body wasn’t hers to control. The sensation was strange. She could feel the icy bite of the snow and dirt under her feet, and the sharp numbness on her skin from the cold, but it was distant, as if she were observing someone else.

  The sensations of her detached body made her feel helpless and violated as she was forced towards the outer edge of the circle. She recognised the path, and knew where it led.

  She had gone way beyond afraid. Her terror had risen to an all-new heights, and she struggled to break the bonds with whatever it was that governed her, but like a puppet attached to the strings of a puppeteer, the Gogoku tribesman led her out of the circle and towards the huge old hanging tree. She screamed inwardly again, begging to be set free. The blustering winds buffeted her ears, and she could clearly hear the voices of the dead as they laughed and willed her on.

  ***

  Consciousness came back to him slowly, and he was immediately aware of the thick throbbing in his head. He made as if to hold the suddenly heavy appendage in his hands, but found that they were bound in front of him with duct tape.

  He looked up, the kitchen lights burning into his brain and bringing with it another wave of nausea and dizziness. He was pretty sure he was concussed.

  Donovan was leaning on the kitchen counter, absently chewing on the tip of the knife.

  “Rise and shine,” he said warmly as Steve’s head fell back to his chest. It was hard to hold upright, but in the brief glimpse he’d had of his assailant, he was dismayed to see that he looked completely unharmed.

  “Melody…” Steve murmured.

  Donovan continued to watch and chew on the tip of the knife blade.

  “Funny you should mention her, Mr. Samson, or can I call you Steve?”

  He didn’t respond, and instead concentrated on clearing the thick soup of confusion that clouded his mind. Donovan went on anyway, enjoying the moment.

  “I think we’re beyond formalities by now aren’t we Steve? I think you and I are friends now aren’t we?”

  Ignore him. Don’t answer.

  And although the advice was sound, he didn’t think he could, even if he’d wanted to. He attempted to focus on his feet, attempting to piece together what happened since the fall down the stairs. As best he could tell he was sitting on one of the kitchen table chairs, and it didn’t take a genius to work out that Donovan had brought him in here and tied him to it, waiting patiently until he awoke to administer whatever kind of punishment he had in mind.

  Just focus on something. Anything.

  He did. He stared at his big toe, trying to make the three that he could see become one. As he focused, Donovan continued to goad him.

  “But it seems you and I have the same question that we want answered. Where oh where is your lovely, sweet wife?”

  Steve felt rage welling up inside him, and forced himself to push it aside and concentrate on his toe, to bring it into focus. Donovan crouched in front of Steve and lifted his head. Now instead of his toe, he could only see Donovan’s crazy-eyed gaze.

  “Let me tell you Steve. I really did try with you. But I always knew you had a problem with me. I tried to build some rapport with you. Remember, back when I first showed you this place?”

  He did remember. He remembered Donovan in his tatty suit and ridiculous glasses, leering at Melody’s chest, and he remembered thinking that, although an irritation, Donovan was harmless. But how wrong he’d been, because it seemed that when all of those external layers were peeled back, the Donovan underneath was a cold, brutal monster.

  He went on

  “I knew then you know, I knew that you would be trouble. You with your arrogance thinking you were better than me, and that bitch leading me on with her tight clothes and her flirting.”

  He leaned close and whispered in Steve’s ear. “I think she will enjoy it when I fuck her.”

  Steve tried to lunge, but Donovan pushed him back down into his seat by the shoulder.

  “No. You’re staying here. Please don’t make this difficult. Whatever happens, you are going to die here tonight. The only question is how quickly and how much it hurts. Now tell me where your wife is.”

  Steve looked Donovan in the eye, and smiled himself.

  “Fuck off,” he grunted, hoping that Donovan would get angry, but he didn’t. He simply walked around Steve and stood behind him.

  “I admire your strength. I admire you as a person in a way. I think under other circumstances, we could have been great friends. Don’t you agree?”

  Donovan sounded so pathetic and hopeful, that for a split second, Steve almost felt sorry for him.

  “Why are you doing this?” Steve slurred, wondering just how hard he’d hit his head to feel so groggy.

  Donovan began to laugh, and walked back in front of Steve so that he could at least see him.

  “Oh, I suppose this is the part where you expect the long movie-style explanation of what made me a monster? If so, then you’ll be disappointed. What you have to understand is that sometimes, things just happen. Sometimes people are born who are of superior intellect and who aren’t afraid to take what they want. You ask why? I say there is no why. Some things just are.”

  Steve found that he could half understand where Donovan was coming from, and even though he was an egotistical lunatic, he at least seemed to be able to justify his actions.

  “Why can’t you just leave us alone?” Steve said, his voice a little less slurred and the cobwebs just a little bit clearer.

  “If it was up to me, I would,” said Donovan apologetically, “but there’s more to this than the two of you, I’m afraid. I… well let’s just say that there are a lot of skeletons in a lot of closets that I don’t want found. And as I told my mother, I can’t afford any loose ends.”

  It dawned on Steve just how pointless that fighting was. Melody wasn’t in the house, and if she had, in fact, headed outside to the circle, then ghosts or not, she was probably dead or on the way, and even though he didn’t want to admit it, he too was probably about to die. He looked Donovan straight in the face and spoke as clearly as he could.

  “Enough talk. Just do it already. Make it quick.”

  “I would Steve, I really would, but you know how it is, there are two loose ends to tie up not just one.”

  He had partially reverted to the sleazy salesman Donovan, although the wide grin took on a different tone with the wild way in which he was glaring.

  “I suppose,” he went on, “I could do you here and now and wait for her to show. But something tells me you really don’t know where she is.”

  “So do it, then,” Steve grunted, “Do it fast and get it over with.”

  Donovan grinned then, and as scared as Steve was, the expression took him to new heights of fear.

  “Oh no. I’m going to take my time with you. I want you to experience every last cut, every moment of sweet agony.”

  Donovan began to approach, and Steve knew it was coming. He hoped it wouldn’t be bad, that it would go numb eventually and he could drift away, but something told him Donovan meant every word, and intended for him to suffer. He had never thought about death before, but now that it was close he couldn’t help but think about all the things he had never done, all of those things he had put off for another day. His eyes drifted to the knife, then to Donovan and then…

  There was a man.

  At first, Steve thought he was suffering from his suspected concussion, especially as it seemed that Donovan couldn’t see him, even though the figure was right next to him. He looked to be some kind of slave. He was thin and clad in rags, his skin such a dark shade of brown that it seemed to have an almost purple sheen.

  Steve looked at
him and although the man didn’t speak, a name popped up into his head.

  Isaac.

  “Spirit…” Steve mumbled, still not fully in control of his faculties. Donovan only widened his grin.

  “Oh, let’s not even go there. I know all about the things that haunt this house. Don’t worry about me though, I’m protected.”

  He reached into the large front pocket of his hoodie, and pulled out the wooden crucifix and showed it to Steve like some hard-won trophy. Steve was barely listening. He was too busy concentrating on the man or spirit or whatever it was glaring at Donovan.

  “No!” said the apparition, this time out loud instead of in Steve’s head. Donovan flicked his head towards him, and this time saw him, as he recoiled and held out the knife.

  “Stay back!” he blurted, waving the knife. “You can’t hurt me—I’m protected!”

  Steve couldn’t help but be amazed at the transformation. Donovan flipped from a confident, remorseless killer into a frightened, wide-eyed and uncertain man.

  “Your weapon can’t hurt me.”

  The spirit said it calmly, speaking to Steve’s would-be murderer as if chastising a child. If he’d heard him, Donovan didn’t show it. Instead, he glared and waved the knife.

  “Maybe not against you,’“ sneered Donovan “but it will against him!”

  Steve saw it coming, and tried to recoil, but was unable to move as Donovan took two quick steps towards him and drove the knife all the way to the hilt into Steve’s chest.

  44. POSSESSION

  MELODY STOOD AT THE base of the massive, ugly tree that had housed the protective crucifix. It looked sinister enough during the day when she’d last seen it, but now deep in the shadow with snow at its base, it looked positively terrifying. She could sense the Gogoku and the other spirits behind her, watching and waiting for her to die.

  “This is our sacrificial tree,” the voice of the Elder said inside her mind. “Climb it and offer yourself to us. Give us the thing that grows inside you.”