“The way she protected Jeanette?” Douglas shook his head. “That’s not very reassuring.”
“It will be different this time.” She looked him straight in the eye. “Because we’ll be together. Together we will be able to fight off the force in the room.” She gave him a smile. “It’s all about love. Beatrice has told us that. She’s made it very plain.”
“No,” Douglas said.
“Do you think I would risk doing this if I truly believed we wouldn’t survive? You know I would never leave my sister Andrea willingly. She’d be lost without me. You know that, Douglas. I wouldn’t leave her alone in this world. So I must honestly believe that I will survive that room-and that the only way you can survive as well is if I accompany you.”
“We can’t afford to argue any longer,” Howard Young said. “It’s after midnight, the time when the room has always been entered. Who knows if we’ve already breached the rules too much? Douglas, whether it’s you alone or with Carolyn, you must go downstairs now!”
“Trust me,” Carolyn said, her eyes imploring Douglas.
Douglas hesitated for a moment, then grabbed her hand. Mr. Young stepped aside as they hurried out of the parlor and across the foyer, heading for the door to the basement.
“May God protect you both,” the old man said as they passed.
There was no time for any further good-byes. Down the stairs they rushed. Carolyn only had time to pick up a flashlight from one of the shelves. The door was open, waiting for them. Mr. Young would be downstairs momentarily after them to lock it.
They entered the room.
It looked just as it had the other day, except that every once in a while lightning flashed from the small window, illuminating the room.
“What do we do?” Douglas asked.
She gave him a small smile. “I suppose we just sit on the couch and wait.”
Douglas brought his hands together in a prayerful gesture, his fingertips touching his lips. “So many people have died here,” he said. “So many people have stood where we stand now, with the same kind of terror.”
They heard a small click. Uncle Howie was turning the key in the lock, sealing them in there for the night.
“Why would he never tell us about his father and the dream he had?” Douglas asked. “Why withhold so much about how the lottery started?”
Carolyn took a seat on the couch. “I’m not sure,” she said. “It’s as if he’s felt the fewer details known by the family, the better.”
Douglas sat beside her. “And so decade after decade we’ve trooped in here to die, without ever knowing why.”
“Your cousin Paula said it was like mindless sheep being herded to slaughter.”
Douglas looked at her with determination.
“Well, we’re not sheep,” he said, taking her hand. “We will walk out of this room in the morning.”
Carolyn nodded. She believed that. She honestly did.
Then why was she still so terrified?
They sat in silence. She was aware of their breathing. How long before something happened? They had no idea of the sequence of events in this room. Everyone who had ever been selected by the lottery was dead-except for Jeanette, and her voice had been silenced, apparently forever. They might have to wait all night. Perhaps nothing happened until it was close to morning. Perhaps there was no rhyme or reason at all.
“When we get out of here,” Douglas said at last, “I want to marry you.”
Carolyn just gripped his hand.
Outside the thunderstorm raged. The small lamp that sat beside the couch sputtered and died. They’d lost power. Carolyn switched on the flashlight that she held in her lap. A column of white light shot straight up toward the ceiling.
Only then did they hear the scratching.
“What is it?” Douglas whispered.
“It might only be a mouse,” Carolyn whispered back.
But it grew louder. Where it was coming from, they couldn’t be sure. Scratch, scratch, scratch. They drew closer to each other on the couch.
“Why don’t you just show your face?” Douglas finally said out loud. “Reveal who you are.”
But only scratching was heard in return. Louder and louder.
Then a flash of lighting lit up the room. In that brief instant, Carolyn saw a face.
“Dear God,” she gasped.
It was the face of a baby. Looking exactly like the face in Dean’s photograph.
The baby was crying.
Now its shrieks replaced the scratching. Low at first, then high-pitched. It seemed as if the baby were everywhere in the room. Its cries came at them from every corner.
“The poor child,” Carolyn said. “Whatever force controls this room controls that baby’s spirit. Refuses to let it find peace.”
“Whoever murdered Beatrice must have murdered the baby, too,” Douglas said. “What if that was the way it happened? What if the baby was murdered too, and my family never found it a home?”
How he knew this was a fact, he wasn’t sure. But he did know it. The baby was killed, too.
Carolyn seemed to grasp this as well. “Set the child free!” she said, standing up, swinging the light from wall to wall. “You can’t sate your beastly hunger this time! Beatrice won’t have it! There is love in this house again! A love that doesn’t hurt people! That doesn’t murder children!”
With that, the baby’s cries reached a crescendo, as if Carolyn’s words had infuriated it. No longer did it sound as if the baby were simply tired or hungry or frightened. Now the cries were angry. Full of rage. As if the child were throwing a furious temper tantrum.
Carolyn took a step back toward the couch, then realized the floor was wet. She turned the flashlight down to get a look.
Blood. The floor was covered with blood.
She swung the flashlight toward the wall. The words had returned.
ABANDON HOPE.
“No,” she called out. “We will not abandon hope!”
And in that same moment, the door swung open. Against the forces that controlled this room, mere locks were powerless.
Douglas stood quickly, taking Carolyn by the shoulders.
Even before they saw him, they heard Clem’s approach.
The scrape of metal against the basement floor.
The heavy thud of his footsteps.
And his breathing. His loud, labored breathing.
In the doorway appeared Clem’s face, red and smiling crazily. His pitchfork was gripped tightly by his dead hands.
Carolyn shone the flashlight in his face. He didn’t blink. He just made a sound in his throat and took a step toward them.
“You can’t harm us,” Carolyn said. “You have no power over us!”
But Clem continued his approach undeterred.
“Show him the amulet,” Carolyn whispered to Douglas.
He obeyed. He parted his shirt to reveal the amethyst around his neck.
Clem slowed in his approach, noticing the jewel, and seemingly intrigued.
“You have no quarrel with us,” Carolyn said. “It is time that you rested in peace, Clement Rittenhouse. Leave us. Rest!”
Clem stared at the amulet. Then he growled, a low sound deep in his throat.
And from somewhere in the dark room came a voice.
“Show them,” the voice said.
Light returned to the room. Carolyn gasped. It was no longer a dusty empty cell covered in cobwebs. It was a tidy little bedroom, and on the far wall was a baby’s wooden crib. Clem turned, dropping his pitchfork. He walked to the crib and reached down inside. Carolyn and Douglas watched transfixed. He lifted a baby out of the crib. It was wrapped in a baby blanket. It had been sleeping. Carolyn could see its small face clearly. Its little eyes flickered awake. And Clem held it in his hands, staring down at it.
“No,” Carolyn murmured, suddenly certain of what they were about to witness.
With ease, Clem reached up and took the baby’s tiny head in his enormous right hand. And then he twisted its neck. Carolyn heard the crack, like the snapping of a small twig. The baby’s little fingers clutched at the air for a second, then fell still. Carolyn screamed.