The Sinner. Amanda Stevens

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СКАЧАТЬ feel—that sense of wrongness I’d experienced on the back steps. My gaze traveled over the room, searching every corner and crevice. If I peeled back the area rug at the end of the bed, would I find bloodstains on the floorboards? If I emptied my mind, would I feel the reverberation from Mary Willoughby’s screams?

      There was nothing here, I told myself. No ghosts. No evil presence. Just that slight fusty odor that came from aging places. The house remained at peace.

      Even so, I quickly packed up all my belongings and hauled my suitcase down the hallway to one of the smaller bedrooms at the rear of house. After I stored my things, I took a long, cool shower and put on a fresh nightgown before wandering back out to the kitchen.

      Angus had finished his dinner by this time. He seemed content to curl up in a corner and watch drowsily as I ate a bowl of cereal standing at the sink. Then fetching my laptop, I settled down at the table for an evening of research.

      So much had happened I hardly knew where to start. As on edge as I already was about the house, I decided to leave the topic of the Willoughbys for another day, concentrating instead on memento mori symbolism and the concept of triplism. I found a wealth of information on the transmigration of souls, but nothing at all on the Eternal Brotherhood of Resurrectionists or their enemy, the Congé. Finally putting all that aside, I searched through dozens of mortsafe images trying to find a duplicate or similar design to the cages in the clearing.

      I had hoped once I began my research, a pattern would emerge that would help define my investigation, but by the time I finally closed my laptop for the night, enlightenment still eluded me.

      Angus followed me out to the porch and I stood at the screen door, gazing into the darkness while he took care of business. I saw no ghosts hovering at the edge of the yard, no in-betweens skulking through the shadows, but the dead world seemed closer than it had in months.

      Little wonder I felt so unnerved. It wasn’t every day Darius Goodwine came to me with a dangerous proposition. I half expected to catch a glimpse of him lurking in the shadows, but nothing stirred. The night was calm and yet my heart continued to race.

      As if sensing my unease, Angus came trotting over to the door, whimpering to be let in. I placed a hand on his back and felt the bristle of his fur.

      “What’s out there?” I murmured.

      If only he had been able to warn me.

      * * *

      That night I dreamed about Devlin. He appeared to me in the cemetery in much the same way as Darius Goodwine had. I looked up from cleaning headstones and there he was, standing so deeply in the shadows of the old church ruins that I thought at first he must be a mirage. When I tried to speak to him, he lifted a finger to his lips to silence me. And when I would have gone to him, he shook his head as if to warn me away. The dream seemed so real and I felt his presence so strongly that, when I awakened, I almost expected to find him standing over me. Instead, I saw Annalee Nash peering down at me in the dark.

      I bolted upright in bed. The moonlight streaming in through the windows was so bright I didn’t bother with the lamp. Clutching the covers to my chest, I glanced around, certain I would find Annalee hiding in one of the corners, but no one was there. I must have still been dreaming when I saw her.

      Angus was nowhere to be found so I climbed out of bed and padded down the hallway to look for him. He stood on the back porch peering through the screen into the yard. He didn’t seem alarmed or frightened, but when I opened the door to let him out, he wouldn’t go.

      I rested my hand on his head, gently scratching behind his ear nubs as I searched the yard. The night was still and quiet, perfumed by the lemony scent of the catmint. Moonlight spilled across the yard, cool and silvery, but the shadows along the orchard were impenetrable. I scanned the tree line once, twice, at least three times before I noticed a slight movement. When the outline of a crouching form took shape, my heart leaped to my throat and I reached for the hook on the screen door to make certain that I’d latched it.

      Even in the dark, I recognized her at once, and for a moment, I could have sworn she was the ten-year-old Annalee from Lucien Kendrick’s story.

      I started to call out to her and then thought better of it. She stared up at the house, but I didn’t think she’d seen me. I wasn’t even sure she was cognizant of her whereabouts. Whatever caused her to hunker in the shadows was something from her past. Something that only she could see.

      She watched the house for a moment longer and then rose tentatively as she glanced over her shoulder. Still half crouching, she backed deeper into the shadows and disappeared into the trees.

      I wondered if I should follow her, make sure she was all right, but the memory of that sly smile stopped me. I went back inside the stifling house, calling softly for Angus to come. With the doors and windows closed, the musty odor seemed stronger tonight and I detected a cloying under note that turned my stomach.

      Walking slowly through the darkened rooms, I opened closet doors and peered into murky corners. I didn’t know what I expected to find. I doubted that Annalee had actually been inside the house. Somehow, I must have picked up on her nearness in my sleep and manifested her face in a waking dream. Still, the very fact that she had come creeping around the property so late at night bothered me.

      The moldy odor was stronger in the front bedroom. The windows were closed here, too, and the closet was empty. There was nothing under the bed or behind the headboard. Nothing lurked in the corners. No one had been in that room since I’d moved out all my things earlier, but I sensed a presence as strongly as I’d felt Devlin’s in my sleep.

      “Show yourself,” I whispered.

      I heard something then that reminded me of a mewling kitten. The sound was so soft and distant I couldn’t be sure I’d heard anything at all. I held myself perfectly still, listening to the silence of that bedroom. The house didn’t creak and moan as would be expected in such an old structure. To the contrary, the quiet seemed uncanny.

      I’d had some experience with an entity that could scurry and scrabble through walls, but I didn’t think the sound had come from inside the house. Rather, the tinny, echoing quality made me think of a well or a tomb. Something deep underground. Something buried alive.

      My heart pounded as I turned to the doorway where Angus hovered. He wouldn’t come inside the room and his reluctance, even more than the sound, sent a warning thrill down my spine. I might have succumbed to my earlier curiosity and thrown back the rug to search for bloodstains, but my cell phone rang just then and I left the room in relief to hurry down the hallway to answer.

      A phone call in the middle of the night was never a good omen, but since I didn’t recognize the number, I expected it was just a misdial.

      “Hello?”

      Silence.

      “Hello?” I said, a trifle impatiently.

      Nothing. Not even so much as a hitched breath. But someone was there. Someone who knew that I was in the house alone.

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