Chapter Six

Janice often dreamed of tragedy before it happened. When her uncle died in a pub, she saw his twisted neck and blood-frothed mouth shambling toward her, begging for a friendly pair of fists in another pointless drunken brawl.

“C’mon then, be a mate,” he said, throat wracked with the tinge of hard drinking, cackling through a broken esophagus.

Her mom, after spending hours locked away in her room with their grandmother, finally emerged in the late afternoon and called Janice and her sister to gather round the dining room table. Her eyes were dark and her cheeks stained with red creases cascading down her now gaunt face.

When she broke the news, they all cried, her mother, her sister, her grandmother. But not Janice. She’d already awoke that morning with enough tears in her eyes. Her mother took both girls in her arms and told them everything was going to be alright. But Janice was not reassured by those words.

She was only five at the time, and it would happen again. The next time was a couple years later. She saw her grandfather, her father’s father, twisted up in the branches of a gray, leafless tree. He wouldn’t look her in the eyes, instead staring off along the distant plains at nothing in particular, yet focused on a point all the same.

His mouth hung open, agape the whole time, drool dripping down his white, scraggly beard, strands of what was left of his hair blowing in the wind. Finally, at last, with a final, awful shudder, he collapsed into the arms of the tree, its limbs wrapping about him in a caress as his frail frame melted into the branches of the old tree.

Her mother did not cry over his death, but weeks later at the funeral, she saw her father, when he thought hidden from the crowd, weeping at the base of an old tree. The green leaves in full bloom shaded his cowering frame in a nearly full cradle.

She joined him beneath that tree and felt a full, warm embrace in his long arms unlike any she had felt before or since from him.

She often dreamed of her father. And so it was of little concern when she saw him in her dreams the night she came to lay a weary head down in his manor after a day and a half of no-sleep and bone-aching travel.

Sleep had come immediately but the dreams had not. Or so it seemed. Normally, she could tell. But not that night.

When she did finally dream, she was in a vast open field. The very same field she’d dreamed of the night her grandfather died. She’d never seen a field like it in all her life. Only in dreams.

The landscape was too flat, without nary a single dip or hill in any direction on until the almost endless horizon. The shin-high grass flowed in the gentle breeze, dense and perfectly arrayed like tiny green soldiers in formation.

She turned about in every direction, looking for the gnarled, withered tree but could not spot it. The sky was overcast. She reached a single hand up and felt her entire body lift as though taken up like a leaf in the wind.

A smile creased her lips as she soared through the air, eyes closed, twisting and turning in the gentle breeze, the loose gray cloak billowing at her sides. She relished the feel of the wind wrapping her body in its embrace.

When she did open her eyes, she spotted the gnarled tree. It was the same one she’d seen in her grandfather’s dream, or so she thought. So much time had passed. For all she knew, it was an entirely new dream, an entirely new endless expanse of grass. As much control as she could flex in her dreams, the hidden pockets of her mind and imagination continuously served as a source of surprise and wonder.

Janice landed back on her feet with a practiced grace as she approached the tree to find her father seated at the base of the trunk, the roots wrapped about his legs, his usual, confident smile planted on his face.

She moved to wave at him when their eyes locked briefly, but his gaze was ever-shifting. They darted in all directions with little rhyme or reason for their movement. As she drew nearer, Janice could hear him gently chuckling. He didn’t look in her direction again even though Janice sat in the grass at his feet, curling up toward his still body.

“Hi, dad,” she said, taking his hand in hers and kissing it softly. His fingers were smooth and unblemished, nails short and polished, not unlike his in the real world.

Holding him in a half-hug, Janice looked up to see his face, but his face was no longer his face. It was that of an old woman, an ancient woman with cracked, yellow teeth, scraggly white hair that was so thin Janice could see her pale, veiny scalp beneath. Her breath reeked of the sharp acidic smell of cat urine assaulting Janice’s senses from the woman’s broad, open-mouthed smile.

Before Janice could move a muscle, the woman was upon her, long nails digging into her shoulders. The skin of her face seemed to melt away revealing nothing but bloody, skinless flesh about the mouth and eyes. The woman had surprising strength, keeping Janice pinned to the ground.

She scratched and pounded with open hands about Janice’s shoulders and neck, while Janice could do nothing but writhe and scream. But her own screams were drowned out by the woman’s ear-piercing cackle. The blood from her shaking, skinless face splattered all about Janice, soaking the thin fabric of the cloak to her skin, dripping into her mouth and stinging her eyes.

After what seemed forever, Janice closed her eyes, calmed her beating chest and summoned the willpower to thrust the woman from her.

Janice scrambled to her feet but found her focus diverted from the bloodied corpse that was once an old woman. The gnarled tree had burst into flames. She could feel the heat searing into her flesh, while cracking embers turned the old woman into a hideously charred figure, her arms outstretched, eyes still burning with malice as she stumbled toward Janice.

But Janice ignored her. She instead scanned for her father, but before she could see anything further, her shoulders gave an involuntary shake and…..

“I can’t sleep either.”

Janice awoke to see her half brother standing over her, his form little more than a darker shape than the blackness surrounding him in the night-filled room.

“What?” she said rubbing her still-tired eyes.

“You’re not supposed to be here anyway,” he said simply before walking to his desk and alighting a candle to bring a small amount of vision to the corner.

Janice watched the shadows dance all about her, brought to life by the flickering flame. They shifted and skulked like predators in the night.

“What do you mean, Elliot?” Janice winced as she arose to a seated position on the edge of the bed. Her leather armor was still on, and she could feel the dirt and sweat sliding about her heated body as she stretched and cracked her sore limbs.

“Mom said we wouldn’t be seeing you anymore, and then she would go away. Then we’d be able to sleep in peace,” he said. His face was expressionless as he spoke with a matter-of-fact tone.

Janice began to unbuckle her cuirass, paying him little attention. She did not much care for her little brother. Spoiled and self-centered. Her mother’s words, though not something she could ever dispute. He had always been cold toward her, even as a small child. Elliot was, indeed, his mother’s son.

As she pulled her boots off, freeing her of the last bit of armor, relishing the feel of air on her skin and unencumbered movement, a twinge of pain struck on her left side. Pulling her shirt down over her shoulder, she spotted the fresh blood from several scratches and the bruising that had already developed on her arms. She found a nearby cloth to wipe the blood clean.

“You dreamt of her, didn’t you,” he said. “It took a couple of months until she came for me. Now I can’t get through most nights without her. I don’t think she’s ever hurt me that bad though. She must really not like you.”

He barely glanced at her as he spoke, instead focusing on a parchment displayed before him. His eyes stared at the first paragraph on the page but never seemed to waver as though he weren’t really reading or rather re-reading the same line over and over again.

“I was about to see something. Something important,” she said, rubbing her bruised arms and shoulder. “When did she start coming?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Elliot said.

Janice rose to her feet and walked toward him. His shoulders were hunched, and he barely moved, his body stiff, rising only from his stilted breathing. She placed a hand gently upon his shoulder, and he winced.

“Brother, how long has this been going on?”

“Mother said you would go away and so would she,” he said.

“Why did she say I was going away?”

He turned toward her, face puffy, a hint of tears beneath his shadowed eyes. It was apparent he had indeed not received much sleep of late.

“I didn’t want you to go away. Not really. But mother said you’d all be gone, and we’d get father back. And things would be better than ever. The best they’ve ever been. She promised me.”

Janice dropped to her knees, taking his now shaking hands in hers.

“Tell me when this started.”

“I’ll show you,” he stammered.

It was night, and the halls were empty as he led her on. His hand was still shaking as he clung to hers, never walking ahead, his eyes darting fearfully to every dark corner of the dimly lit manor.

They eventually reached the end of the hall, to a room tucked around the corner, dark and easy to miss. Janice knew every inch of the manor and recognized this storage room.

She used to sneak away here when she was younger and wanted to hide from her step mother’s judging eyes and her father’s even more judging tongue. It was boring but secluded. Quiet.

“We need a light,” Elliot whispered, as they stood just outside the closed door.

Janice led him back down the hall to fetch a torch but upon returning to the door, Elliot resisted entering, holding her hand like a vice.

“What’s inside,” she asked.

“Nan called it a dybbuk box. That there was something evil inside.”

Janice pulled her hand free from his despite his struggle and enveloped her arm about his shoulders. He was tall for his age, and despite the four year difference, stood nearly shoulder to shoulder with her though he now slumped far lower than his usual height.

“Dybbuks don’t possess boxes, little brother,” she assured. “And I don’t sense anything off here.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve been taught these things,” she said with a smile before releasing her hold on him and approaching the door on her own.

“Mother always said your family was weird,” he said.

“Is that all she said?” Janice turned the handle and swung the heavy door open. It groaned so loud Janice wondered if the whole manor would be awakened. Assuming they managed to sleep at all.

“No,” Elliot said as he cautiously followed. “She also said….”

“Oh, not now Elliot,” Janice said. “Show me this dybbuk box.”

The room was small and stuffy. Pointless crates and moth-eaten piles of wool crowded the shelves. Nothing had changed over the years. Except for one thing.

The box immediately caught Janice’s eye, even though it was tucked into the corner, mostly out of sight. But it was the only thing in the room not covered in dust and cobwebs. Janice pointed the torch in its direction, careful not to let the flames too close.

The box was only about two feet in height, made of dark acacia wood. Its only noteworthy feature was a metal engraving of leaves and grapes on both doors. Janice put the torch away in a nearby sconce, but when she motioned to open the box, Elliot yelped and pulled her hand away.

“It’s ok,” she said with exasperation, pushing him away. “I know what I’m doing.”

“No, you don’t,” he said through gritted teeth. “Everyone always says they know what they’re doing, but they don’t. And then bad things happen.”

“It doesn’t really matter anyway,” Janice said with a sigh.

“What do you mean?”

“If there was a spirit in there, I don’t think it’s there anymore. If there ever was one.”

“What do you mean?”

“Dybbuks don’t possess inanimate objects like this box, Elliot. They possess people. Maybe it attached itself to the person associated with this box. Maybe whoever sold it to father. Then it got inside the manor somehow.”

“Why is she doing this to us?”

Janice stood tall and turned toward her brother placing her hands on his shoulders.

“Listen Elliot, I need you to tell me who has been acting strange. Who else is having these dreams?”

“Everybody,” he said.

“What do you mean? Even the staff?”

“I mean everybody. Well…..”

“What?”

“Except father. But I think that’s just because he doesn’t sleep anymore.”

“He doesn’t sleep?”

“I don’t think so. Unless he’s sleeping in the basement. That’s where he goes every night.”

Beneath the manor lie a web-like series of paths and storage rooms that made up the basement of the manor and beneath the basement lie an underground system of caves and chasms and ravines. She found the entrance once leading through a secret trapdoor. When her father found her, he unleashed so much anger, unlike anything she’d ever seen from the normally congenial man, that she never dared enter again.

Now she knew he must be hiding something down there. And she was tired. Tired of lies. Tired of everything. Her wounds about her shoulder and chest bled fresh, and she watched the red seep into her white shirt.

“Let’s get you back to your room,” she said, taking Elliot by the hand.

Once in bed, he whimpered and begged her not to go. It was unlike anything she’d ever seen or expected from him. So often, she had wanted to batter him about the face for his rudeness and caustic behavior. But seeing him like this reminded her of the bond they shared. And she vowed to protect him as best she could.

“I love you little brother,” she whispered from halfway through the doorway as she exited the room. She gulped and doubted he heard her, but it was all she could muster in the moment and let it lie. She had said the words out loud and meant them, and that was enough for the moment.

Janice knew the manor inside and out. She probably knew it better even than her father, who had been the lord there for more than 10 years. She figured this because so often she roamed and explored the hidden paths between walls from which she had successfully spied on everyone, including her father. And she’d never been caught.

One in particular led to a hidden crevice in the master bedroom. She’d gone there only a few times, never again after finding, and hearing, her father and step mother in loving embrace. Or whatever they wanted to call it. Sure, loving embrace.

But on this night, she wanted answers. Enough had happened for her to be unwilling to sit back for more tragedy. Not if she could do something to stop it.

She used the secret passages between the walls to mask her entire journey. A few times she heard footsteps and muffled rustlings and paused so as not to alert anyone to her presence. But no one ever appeared from the dark shadows when she managed to peer through the multiple peepholes.

Oh, she saw shadows. And movement. But never people.

She had to remind herself constantly to continue breathing, as she so often found it taken from her upon every close call and sense-shattering noise.

She was scared but still did not sense an evil presence of any kind like she kept expecting to. Though she was certain that meant little. Despite innate gifts, of which her mother and grandmother had often assured she possessed, she was not a trained medium. And she knew that if an evil spirit existed here, she could do little to expel it or even protect the one it had possessed.

When she arrived at the master bedroom, it felt strange and unfamiliar. Her memories of it were faint and born of a time when she was far smaller and the world engulfed her with its immense size. Now, she felt cramped and very very isolated.

The peephole here was located behind a table of some type. An unlit candlestick blocked part of her view, though she could still clearly see her stepmother seated upon the bed. She wore a long, white sleeping gown, decorated with elaborate frills like most of her clothing. She was brushing her already long, perfectly straight hair.

Janice watched her for several minutes, expecting anything to happen. But she never moved. And she never ceased her brushing. Janice wanted to scream at her. Yell for her to do something, anything else. To show her some glimpse of what was happening.

But she never stopped brushing. Even when footsteps pounded up the stairs toward the bedroom door, and a knock, which sounded more like a crash erupted through the once serenely quiet room. She did not stop brushing. But Janice did forget her breathing.

“Are you ok,” Janice whispered inaudibly, as though her brain had forgotten to stay silent. She gulped back her breath and reminded herself not to make a sound. She could not make a sound. Once that was settled, she reminded herself to take a breath.

Janice had resolved to check other rooms for her father, dreading the fact that her final destination may lie in the caves below if she ever wished to find him and discover any answers.

But before she could, a loud cry shook her from her stillness. And upon looking back through the peephole, she found her step mother had finally stopped caring for her hair and looked curiously toward the door. Footsteps approached, this time more uniform and less erratic. And the knock that followed was hasty though polite in its rapping.

“What is it,” her step mother said with her usual sharp, punctuated tone.

A guard timidly opened the door.

“I’m so sorry, madame. But it’s….. it’s….”

“Yes?”

“Visitor, madame. We have a visitor.”

“At this hour?” She rose from the bed and stalked the room to stand before the guard, who wilted upon the ferocity of her disproving glare. She seemed to tower over him despite the two being of equal height.

“Important visitor,” he stammered. “The master is with him and wished me to summon you.”

Forgoing a change in clothes, she pushed passed the guard before he could finish talking, moving as soon as he referenced her husband.

“We do not have time for this.” Janice heard her words echo from the stairway, as her step mother made haste downward. The guard scurried after. Janice waited until both left before making her own way to the foyer of the manner.

This journey was far more perilous as life had seemingly come back to the once quiet manor. In fact, it seemed as though the whole guards barracks emptied into its halls. But she wasn’t overly concerned for the secret glimpse into the main hall lie in between its ceiling where she would be both well hidden from sight and sound.

From her limited view she could see one man dressed in full plate mail seated at a bench, his helm tossed carelessly to the side. His long hair, drenched in sweat, covered his face as he breathed deep, his shoulders rising and falling with every breath.

The guards piled in, some stumbling in their rush to crowd the expansive room but never going so far as to fully surround or encroach on the armored knight’s space. Janice looked frantically but could not spot her father in the iron morass.

Eventually, as the room settled, the guards scattered to create an opening, through which her father walked. He wore elaborate black and gold robes, his back hunched in a way as though he were experiencing some form of pain or ailment. His head was hunched shrinking his normally tall, heavy frame.

“Alistair,” he spoke, naming the knight, though Janice was unsure how he could possibly know the identity of the man, who still kept his head lowered, as his breathing slowed but remained heavy.

“You should not be here,” her father said.

At last the knight raised his head though did not bother to remove the wet, scraggly hair from his face.

“I have traveled for one day and two nights,” he said through strained breathing. “I have lost every man in my retinue, broken two horses, left behind countless treasures of my family. I have come all this way to find a friend, and this is how I am treated?”

“Well, look,” her father stammered. “It’s just that we’re very busy. Preparing….”

“Preparing?” Alistair spat the words and bore down on her father with menace. Some of the guards stirred, but none acted. At last, he wiped the hair from his face and stared into her father’s eyes, who, for his part, did not budge an inch.

“I have much to prepare for,” her father said, his composure regained, though his posture remained weak and seemingly wracked by exhaustion.

Janice felt worry wash over her, the kind of worry she always felt when she’d done something, anything to damage her father’s pride. For he was a proud man, like none she had ever known. Though this immense pride often led to lies and deceit in order to maintain that image. So desperate was he for the envy of others.

She awaited his reprisal, his instant fury upon this knight, this Alistair, who had the gall to challenge her father’s rule and attack his stately pride.

But the fury did not come. Only a gentle hand upon the knight’s shoulder.

“Come my friend. We will find you a room, dress your wounds and draw a bath. I have not forgotten hospitality for my allies.”

Alistair shoved her father’s hand from him and took several steps backward. He pointed to the front doors.

“Do you not want to know what happened to my people? What evil stalks these lands?”

Her father did not speak. Only responding with a shrug of the shoulders.

Alistair rose his voice in response so that the entire hall could hear him. “There is a demon in that forest! It killed my men and stalked me my entire journey here. There is no time to dress my wounds, no time to draw a bath. There is only time to pray with all your might to God. And flee this home.”

Janice’s father stiffened. Life came back to his bones, the same life she saw in him upon her first arrival when he drew her into his arms.

“Demon, you say?” He spoke with nearly uncontained excitement. “And what, what exactly did it do to your men?”

“It boiled them in their armor,” Alistair said simply. “I watched my man, Boris, staring helplessly into the sky. His armor sparked and sizzled as though blanketed in fire. But I saw no flames. I could only smell his flesh as it baked.”

Janice’s father stepped forward and put an arm around Alistair, who was now the one slumped in his posture.

“And this demon.” he said. “Did you happen to uhhh gaze upon it?”

“I dared not,” Alistair said.

“I see. I see.” Janice’s father walked away before spinning back around to face Alistair, gesturing toward his guards with outstretched arms. Nearly a dozen stepped forward, encircling Alistair before drawing their swords upon him.

“You dare?!”

“I’m afraid I simply cannot allow you to interfere.”

Before Alistair could respond, Janice’s father spun around and marched from the hall, his cloak billowing in his wake.

He passed his wife, who stood at the foot of the stairs, a wicked smile upon her face, eyes focused directly in Janice’s direction.

Janice tore herself from the peephole. And reminded herself to breathe.

Marauding killers, ghosts, leshy, dybbuks and now a full-fledged demon. For so long Janice had wanted to cry. Now she just wanted to scream. In her father’s face. For as long as her lungs would allow.

Not bothering to mask the sounds of her movement anymore, Janice scurried along her belly through the tight-fitting crawlspace with only one goal in mind. She was going to the caves. And she was going to get to the bottom of this.

Her mind flooded with thoughts. Had her father summoned the demon? Was he in fact possessed by the dybbuk? Was he…. Was he in some way responsible for all these deaths? Little Kasper. Her mother……

Janice pushed these thoughts to the back of her mind as she descended toward the basement with dogged determination. She had to exit the secret passages to get there.

She hid behind bookshelves, awaiting nearby guards to pass by on patrol. She snuffed out torches in their sconce to mask her movement. She even used the noise of a thrown book to distract and sneak pass one particularly dimwitted guard.

By the time she reached the basement, she found the trapdoor already flung open and could hear distant voices from the dank caverns below wafting through the musty air. She could not make out the words and thus hurried her step, flinging her boots to the side in order to stifle the crunch of dirt at her feet.

The cave broke off into multiple branching paths, only the continued conversation of those ahead kept Janice on the right trail. Though she did have to double back once when the voices disappeared.

Or rather voice. Singular. For when she mistakenly drew too close, Janice could tell only one seemed to speak though she heard the pitter patter of at least two. It was her father’s voice she heard. And he was not conversing to the other as she had previously thought. Nor was he musing to himself. He was chanting.

Janice, though she did not understand the language he spoke, understood the words as religious in nature. She had not only been raised in the world of her mother’s mystical witchcraft, but it had always been her father’s wish to bring both her and her sister up in the church. His teachings had not stuck.

She followed for a long time. How long she could not tell for her mind was too distracted by other thoughts. Her feet trudged along, always silent upon the craggy cave floor. Even when the rocks sliced and stabbed at her, she did not yelp or flinch. She stalked her prey. And that thought gave her purpose and more than a little solace. Which she so badly needed.

Eventually the cave trail emptied into an enormous cavern that stretched so far, she couldn’t even see the distant rock face through the blackness. She stood at the top of a winding path that reached further down into the cavern. There, she remained, peering over an outcropping of rock she could successfully hide her full body behind.

She watched her father and step mother, who held aloft a torch, descend over fifty feet into the depths. Not even the torch’s flickering light could reveal much of the cavern.

Janice was about to leave her hiding place and continue her pursuit when her father’s strange chanting suddenly stopped as he and his wife stood still over a pit of inky darkness.

“You should have killed him,” Marlie said in a loud, commanding voice.

Janice could only hear mumbles from her father as he stared into the pit. He placed his palms together and bowed forward, continuing his chanting, this time in a quiet whisper.

“I have been as respectful as I can be,” he said more intelligently this time upon finishing his prayer. “This work is too important. I’ve done all I can. It’s so important, and we’re almost done.”

“You’ve done so well, my love,” Marlie said, stroking the back of his head with her free hand, while holding the torch in her other aimed lower now toward the pit. As the darkness gave way to the light, Janice’s stomach sank. Her insides twisted. Her throat seized. And her heart… her heart broke.

Inside the pit lie dozens, perhaps even hundreds, as the pit extended far beyond the reach of the torch’s light, of something that Janice could not hardly comprehend. It contained bodies.

Some were mere skeletons, other rotted and wilted away while some were fresh. So fresh, their skin still pristine and smooth, looking as though they might open their eyes and rejoin the living at any moment.

“Oh, dad,” Janice whispered. She slunk against the rock outcrop and curled into a fetal position. And she cried. Not hard. But the tears came, nonetheless.

She would have stayed there for some time, continuing to ignore the conversation in the pit below, continuing to ignore everything in the world as it was, if not for another torch emerging from the cave.

The wielder of this new torch paused at her sighting and seemed to hesitate ever so slightly.

“It’s quite rude to eavesdrop, you know.” Alistair’s face soon came into view from the shadows, his lips twisted into a crooked grin.

Janice was stunned into silence.

“Are you supposed to be here?”

She could only slowly shake her head dragging herself to her feet, never taking an eye off the armored man.

He had a somewhat handsome face. But a cruel glimmer in the eye.

“Who are you?”

“J-Janice.”

He scowled.

“And who is Janice?”

“The daughter.”

Alistair nodded.

“You stay here. I’m going to have some questions for you once I’m done with your father.”

Janice regained her senses and moved to block his path feet planted squarely in place before him.

“Why should I do that?” she hissed. “Who are you? And how did you even get passed the guard.”

Alistair seemed to alternate at all times between bemusement and annoyance. Upon her series of questions, he remained firmly in a state of annoyance.

“You dare? Do you even know who I am? Have you the slightest understanding how important I am? How I could ruin you and your sniveling, nothing of a father with just the flick of my finger? You are nothing. I am everything. Now stand aside, peasant.”

Janice could only imagine his threatening posture and boast-filled speech had been intended to intimidate. She may indeed have been nothing. That thought seemed to grow stronger within her with every passing tragedy and every passing revelation. But in this moment, the only nothing she saw was the pitiful knight before her, who whispered harsh words through gritted teeth but did not have the courage to act.

He was not going to be the one to confront her father. Only she could do that. Janice flicked a finger upon his nose, something she often did to her sister to annoy her while growing up, tore the torch from his hand and spun around to delve deeper down the cavern path.

“Come along if you’re so insistent on being involved,” she called behind her, still careful not to raise her voice. Before turning away, she witnessed a new look upon Alistair’s face, that of bewilderment.

But he did not stay behind for long, scrambling to catch up, regaining his bearing and posture, striding imperiously alongside her.

“What is going on?” Alistair asked leaning in cautiously rubbing his still sore nose.

“I believe my father is possessed.”

“What? I don’t believe in….”

“Believe in demons, do you?”

Alistair paused.

“Carry on.”

Janice no longer bothered quieting her voice, for Alistair’s clanking mail made silence impossible. The time for sneaking was over. As they rounded into view of the pit, both her father and step mother stood facing them, their faces as still as the stone at their feet.

“You shouldn’t be here,” her father stammered.

“No, you should not,” Marlie reiterated.

Her father glimpsed to the pit of bodies behind him, and Janice could see the paleness on his face even as Marlie’s torch tinged all in its orange light.

“Janice, I…..”

“Restrain my father,” she said. “I will handle her.”

Alistair cracked his neck.

“Right,” he said before raising his iron hands and rushing Jacob, who merely cowered toward the earth.

Janice walked slowly toward Marlie. She neither smiled nor glowered at her step mother.

“You won’t hurt me,” her step mother spat, literally spitting the ground before her.

Janice said nothing. She walked upon Marlie, cocked a fist and slugged the woman square in the eye. She dropped, the torch following her to the ground, as it flew from her now limp grip. Janice watched it clatter upon the stone, its fire dulling but still burning as she became bathed in darkness.

She did not return to the light for some time. She reclaimed her armor in darkness, keeping quiet so as not to disturb her thankfully still sleeping brother.

Finally, she lit a candle in the reception room where she had first awaited her father upon arriving at the manor. She was angry with him in that moment. She was angry with him now. More than angry.

Or was it pity instead? A swirl of complicated emotions she could not parse engulfed her. She pitied him. She worried for him. And she was filled with so much hate.

She watched Alistair tie him to a chair as he groggily moaned. His gaudy robes. And his damnable pride. Always scheming, her father. But yet, she loved him. And this pitiful creature before her was almost all she had left in life.

He looked upon her with moist eyes and a childlike smile as he roused from his forced slumber.

“Oh, Janice,” he said. “My little girl.”

“Shut up,” she said, standing before him, hands on hips. Alistair leaned against the wall, his gaze centered on the closed doors leading back to the foyer. He’d paid the guards outside those doors handsomely, and they had not hesitated in turning on their lord. Still, Janice did not trust them, and she did not trust Alistair. She knew she needed to act fast.

“Who are you?” Janice asked.

“What? I’m- I’m your father,” he said, turning his gaze to his wife, who herself was tied to a chair a few feet away. She remained unconscious.

Janice slapped him full in the face. But did not ask another question. She slapped him again. And then again. She furiously battered him over and over until he howled in pain, blood dripping from his nose and sliced lip. She did not know how to exorcise this spirit.

“Who are you?! What have you done to my father? What have you made him do?!”

Her father’s head was lowered, blood dribbling upon the floor beneath him.

“You’re going to understand, Janice. I promise,” he said. He raised his head and smiled, his teeth stained red. “You’ll understand. I did all of this for you. And your sister and your brother. Even your mother. I love all of you so much. You just have to let me go. And I promise everything will be alright.”

“We don’t have all night,” Alistair warned. “I swear that demon was not far behind me.”

“Yes,” Jacob exclaimed. “The demon. It’s coming here. You just have to let me go.”

“Is that….. all those people, dad. Why?”

“They were not pious enough,” Marlie said. Janice turned to find her step mother awake, and seemingly alert. Her eyes burned with a furious anger, her body stiff, shoulders squared as though the rope that bound her to the chair were little more than mere ornament.

“Yes, yes,” Jacob said. “They were not ready for the new world. The new world I’m going to create for you. Let me go, sweetheart.”

“What do you want to do,” Alistair asked.

Janice paused and stared long and hard at the ground, wracking her brain for answers, searching for the right one. But she couldn’t think of anything. She could only think about all those dead bodies. Her home that was no more. Her mother, who was dead. Her father, seemingly gone. Possessed. Or was he?

She searched his pleading eyes. Searching for the father she knew. The man, who despite his flaws, despite everything that made him loathsome and detestable, still loved her. Of that she had no doubt.

“Foolish girl,” Marlie said. “You have fallen from the path. You are not pious. You are not devoted to our lord. And you are not worthy of our new world.”

“No,” Jacob protested. But before he could say anything further, a guard burst through the door, the faint sound of loud voices following him close behind. He didn’t say a word, however, progressing to a nearby table, filling a large pouch with as many gold and silver trinkets as he could.

“What the hell is going on?!” Alistair shouted.

“I’m getting the hell out of here is what,” the guard said.

Janice and Alistair rushed to the doors to witness what was transpiring in the foyer. They heard shouts, bloodcurdling screams from outside the manor walls, the pounding of frantic boots throughout the halls. More screams from above. And from the left. And from the right.

The guard shoved past them, joining many others in their frantic rush to flee the manor. The heavy front doors were wide open, and Janice could see embers burning through the night air.

“Stupid girl.”

Janice turned to find her step mother free of her bonds, body convulsing and twisting, bones cracking, blood seeping from her dark, now pupil-less eyes.

Before Janice could act, her step mother leaped across the room like some feral cat, arms outstretched, hands like claws gripping Janice’s throat, nails digging into her flesh.

“Die,” Marlie said, or whatever it was that spoke in her voice.

“Die.”

“Die.”

“Die.”

Janice cleared her mind of all fear and focused on her hips. She dug her elbows into the carpeted floor for leverage. She’d been here before. She’d been jumped before. Pinned down by a larger, heavier force. And she would free herself.

With a wild grunt, face beet-red, oxygen running short, she thrust her hips to the side, clearing enough room to wedge a single knee between herself and Marlie, and with a final, frantic push, she managed to fling away her step mother, who was immediately set upon by a diving Alistair.

The cacophony of noise made it difficult for Janice to think as she hacked and coughed breath back into her lungs. She arose and stumbled toward her father, who remained still in his shackles, a calm smile upon his face.

She pulled a dagger free from her boot and cut the rope that bound him. Her father stood tall like a king rising from his throne, head held high, a confident, stoic look upon his face.

“We have to go, dad,” Janice said.

“No,” he said calmly. “Everything is going exactly as I planned.”

With that, he took off in full gallop, out of the room, bee-lining straight toward the front entrance.

Janice cursed and took off in chase. On her way out, she noticed Alistair had already lost his advantage and now found himself pinned down by a giggling Marlie, blood and melted skin flowing like a waterfall from her rapidly disintegrating face.

“Bitch,” Janice said before kicking her square in the ribs, freeing a blinking, sputtering Alistair.

Out in the foyer, surrounded by panicking guards, Janice watched her father marching out the doors, arms outstretched as though he were a god awaiting the rapturous love of his worshipers.

“Dad,” she shouted, but he did not seem to register her voice.

“I am here,” he boomed. “Come to me! Take me! And we will be one!”

He began chanting at the top of his lungs, shouting above the insanity all about him. Janice ran toward him. She did not know what she would do. Tackle him. Drag him away. Talk him down. Knock him out with the butt of her dagger. She could not fathom a correct answer for this situation. But she would not leave without him, even if it meant her own death. Nothing else mattered. She would not flee.

A gust of wind blew forth from his outstretched arms, carrying his chanting voice into the air. And as Janice drew near, her feet beating the ground in a desperate dash, hand inches from his shoulder, her father, the man who taught her to wield a sword, the man who’s boisterous smile brightened her day whenever she returned home with skinned knees, the man who promised to always love and protect her --- exploded.

The blast sent her reeling back, her feet sliding beneath a torrent of blood and guts that flowed like a river, eventually taking her completely off-balance and sliding her feet free from the floor. She landed upon her back, her head thudding against the ground.

She spat bloodied bits of skin from her mouth, blew chunks of flesh from her nose. As she turned onto her belly and looked upon the foyer through red-tinged eyes, she finally beheld the full scope of the horror.

The bodies from the pit had indeed returned to the land of the living. And they took their revenge on the guards and servants who were no doubt complicit in the bloody reign of her father.

Janice scrambled to her feet and darted toward the stairs. The undead feasted on the entrails of the still living all about her, while some managed a feeble defense against their hungry onslaught. Alistair emerged into the foyer to join Janice, wordlessly following her up the stairs.

“How do we get out of here,” he shouted as they stood against the balcony of the second floor looking upon the carnage below them. Only screams emerged from those who sought safety to the outside, where a soft green light began to grow in intensity and the wooden doors had caught fire, the inferno quickly spreading throughout the foyer.

“I don’t….. I don’t. Oh god, Elliot.” Before Janice could finish her scattered, tortured thoughts, she felt a tug at the bottom of her shirt. She looked down to behold Kasper at her side. He no longer bled, but the flesh had slowly begun to dissolve from around his eyelids and around his right cheek, revealing his rotted teeth underneath.

He pointed and ran down the hall. Janice had no time to question. At this moment, the ghost of her cousin was the only ally she had, and she followed. Alistair looked confused but followed as well.

She scrambled to keep pace with him, barely seeing his fleeing feet as she rounded every corner through the maze of halls. Finally, she watched him vanish through the closed door of her brother’s bedroom.

She burst inside and found him asleep in his bed. She shook him awake.

“Elliot, we have to go.”

“What?” he said sleepily.

“No time. Come on, let’s go.”

“No,” he argued, pulling away. “Mother!”

He jumped from his bed and ran to the doorway, where Marlie stood. He did not see her bloodied, skinless-face until he was at her side. He shrieked, but it was too late. She gripped his head in her hands and held him aloft as though she pulled a bowl of milk to her lips.

His screams pierced the room, his legs kicking the air helplessly, her hands squeezing his head like a vice.

“No!” Janice shouted and ran forward, driving her shoulder into her step mother’s side. The two collapsed into the hallway, Elliot rag-dolling to the floor beside her. Janice gave her brother a desperate shake, but he remained still, bleeding eyes wide open, staring into space, his mouth hung agape.

She felt Alistair pull her up, but she could not shake her eyes from her dead brother, even as Marlie rose alongside him, a delighted grin planted upon her melting face.

“C’mon!” Alistair screamed, pulling Janice down the hall with him. When she finally turned to look ahead where they ran, she saw the back of Kasper vanishing right at the upcoming branch. She followed. She had no choice.

When Kasper next entered into a room, the door was open wide and inside Janice found the old man from the manor steps standing at the windowsill. She stopped dead in her tracks, as he held a hand open wide, the obsidian stone placed at the center of his gaunt, wrinkled palm. A black hood still obscured his face and body.

Within seconds of arriving in the room and seeing the man, he vanished, leaving the obsidian behind as it fell silently to the floor. Kasper was nowhere to be found, but another form soon emerged from the open window, hands gripping the windowsill, a grunt as those hands pulled up to reveal a familiar face.

“Lawrence!”

“Janice! I’m here to rescue you!”

“Back down,” she shouted and ran toward the window to find a grappling hook buried into the window, heavy rope falling from it between Lawrence’s legs. He muttered an approval and immediately began to climb back down the rope. She motioned for Alistair to go first, as Marlie soon emerged in the doorway. Bits of her skull had now emerged from beneath the rotting flesh that dripped to the floor.

“Die,” was all she said, a demonic smile seemingly etched like a permanent scar into her hellish face.

The grappling hook shook and nearly buckled at the weight of the two armored men progressing downward, but Janice had no time to waste as she proceeded down after them narrowly ducking out of the way of a clawed attack.

She felt the drip of blood upon her head and face as Marlie peered out the window after them. Curdled screams wafted through the night air.

The rope landed on a small ledge, where another grappling hook awaited, another in a series of ropes going all the way down the 50-foot cliffside the manor sat upon.

When Janice landed on the forest floor, after nearly half an hour of descent, she wasted no time in joining the others in retreat. The manor fully burned behind them, though none turned back to behold the sight. But Janice could feel the heat on their back. She did not know where they were going. She did not know where they could possibly go. She only knew to run as fast and as hard as her legs could take her.

She had become used to this. Life on the run. No hope. And no looking back. She dared not look back. Her life was over. And this time, the tears did not wait.