“I don’t blame you.”
She gave him a sweet smile. “So what about you? What are you doing here anyway?”
Eric laughed. If only it was as simple as nosing around where he wasn’t supposed to be. He told her his story, beginning with the dream and ending with him stranded inside this house.
“That must’ve been Altrusk you saw in the mirror. Sometimes he appears like that, just standing there for a second. I don’t know if it’s something left of who he used to be or what. He doesn’t last long. He kind of flickers through the house like that and then disappears back into it.”
“That’s weird.”
“Totally.”
The two of them fell silent. Eric reflected on all that Isabelle had told him and was surprised to realize just how easily he’d begun to accept these things. He began this day by rationalizing every odd thing he experienced and cramming it into whatever form of rational logic he could make himself believe. The recurring dream that filled him with terror and woke him with a driving conviction that he must get out of bed right now and leave, that there was somewhere he desperately needed to be, could only have been some form of repressed emotions, perhaps nothing more sinister than a subconscious desire to get out and see the world before he grew too old. The woman hanging her laundry, Annette, was only an old and addle-minded widow whose nonsensical ramblings were not prophetic, but merely coincidental. Even the barn was a fabrication, an optical illusion, a game of special effects. Even when he knew that his explanations no longer made sense, he clung stubbornly to them because these things simply could not exist. And then he met the wardrobe monster. Grant. The coyote-deer with their amusingly oversized heads. And all that had transpired to lead him here, to this queer little room. He was not forced to accept every word as God-given truth, but he was forced to accept that he did not have a rational explanation. Whether Grant and Taylor and now Isabelle were telling him the truth or not, it was the only explanation he had.
If he survived this, he was going to have an entirely new respect for all things paranormal and strange.
“He’s gone up to the library.”
“Altrusk?”
She nodded. Standing up, she said, “That’s at the far end of the house. Top floor. He’s still looking for you, but he’s calmer now. So is the house.”
Eric was now on his feet, too. He was pleased to hear that the house was calmer. That was good. Apparently.
“We may not have another chance. He doesn’t like coming down here, but when he doesn’t find us anywhere else, he eventually will.”
“Okay then. What do we do?”
“I’ve been able to open some of the doors here a few times, even though I can’t leave. Some have been easier than others. We’re going to head for the parlor. I’m not sure why, but that door’s always been the easiest for me. If I can get it open, I think I can get you out. But we’ll have to hurry. He’ll feel us before we can get there, but I know the house well enough to make it a fair chase.”
“Are you sure I’ll be able to leave?”
“No. I’m not. But I know Altrusk used to come and go before he was completely changed. I’m hoping you can, too. Besides, it’s the only chance you’ve got.”
There was no arguing with that logic. “So if I don’t make it, I could end up stuck here like you, right?”
“You could,” she admitted. Then, hesitantly, she added, “Or you could die.”
Eric nodded. “Okay then.”
Isabelle opened the door and peered out into the hallway. Finding it clear, she took his hand again. Her skin was warm, solid. Nothing about the feel of her revealed that she no longer existed in this world the same way he did.
“Hold on to me,” she told him. “If we get separated, you won’t stand a chance.”
“Got it.”
She looked up at him now, her eyes soft. “By the way, if you do end up stuck here, I’ll keep you company. Even if you’re crazy.”
Eric smiled down at her. “That’s…lovely,” he told her. “Thank you.”
She smiled brightly up at him and then led him out into the bedroom through which they’d entered the electrical room.
Chapter Thirteen
Isabelle led him by the hand through the empty bedroom, across a hallway, into another bedroom and through the bathroom door into what proved to be not a bathroom but a very large garage.
“He’s noticed us,” she warned.
“Already?”
“He’s a part of the house now. It’s kind of hard to keep things from him.”
“How long do we have?”
“Not long. But he’s restricted by the house just like we are. Weird as this place is, you still can’t walk through walls.”
They ran through the empty garage as a low, strumming reverberation began to rise in the walls around them. Upon reaching the far door, they passed through it and emerged from what should have been the linen closet of a small bathroom.
Trippy.
Out of the bathroom, through another bedroom and into another hallway, where they raced to the far end, opened a bedroom door and immediately ascended a wide set of stairs as the whole house began to tremble with a warbling, muffled tone that Eric once again realized contained words that he desperately did not want to hear.
A door at the top of the stairs deposited them in a large dining room.
“We’re almost there.”
“Thank God.”
They ran through the dining room and directly into another bedroom, into a closet and up another flight of stairs as the unnerving thrumming rose into a terrifying roar of voices.
“We have to hurry!” screamed Isabelle as they burst through one last door and into what must have been the parlor that she described.
There were large windows spaced all along the outer wall and a pair of matching French doors directly in the middle. Isabelle led him to this door and then let go of his hand as she seized the handle. The door did not budge.
“Don’t listen to it!” she cried.
Eric realized that the muttering had become a sort of chant. Words he didn’t yet recognize flowed over him, filling him with deep and inexplicable dread. He clamped his hands over his ears and tried not to listen.
Isabelle pulled at the door, her bright eyes fiercely fixed on the handle, her jaw clenched, her muscles taut. She looked intense, as if she were giving it everything she had, both physically and emotionally.
He began humming loudly to himself to cover the disturbing sound of the chanting, desperate to avoid hearing it. There seemed to be something profoundly evil about the voice.
Looking back, he saw something enter the room.
It had a vaguely man-like shape, but was little more than a smoky haze rippling through the air. Dark shadows etched themselves across the wall and carpet, snaking out from the shape at its center. Somewhere in the middle of the mass, an evil pair of eyes glared at him, as if not from a man’s head, but from his belly.
Altrusk.
There was a sound like fabric tearing apart and Eric looked back to see Isabelle slowly inching the door open, the small cords in her neck standing out with the exertion.
“Go!” she screamed at him. “Go now!”
The chanting suddenly gave way to an insane shriek.
Altrusk darted forward.
Eric wasted no time. He bolted through the door and out of the house.
Free now, he turned quickly and seized Isabelle’s wrist. “Come with me!” he cried.
Dark, twisted arms wrapped around her, clutching her, pulling her backward. A terrible voice howled with fury.