Donned in black satin and an evil smile, Oliver opens the heavy chamber door. It creaks on its rusty hinges. Kissing the medium on each cheek, he escorts her into the parlor.
In the flickering candlelight, willowy spider webs hang from the four corners. Mold and rot seep from cracks. Piano music escalates to a heart-pounding crescendo, followed by blood—curdling screams. Oliver gestures to the dusty and ripped black satin settee, beckoning the medium to be seated. Silver goblets filled with deep red wine are laid out on the coffin table. When the door bangs, Oliver introduces his guest. |
The Returning
As she neared the front door, prickles of awareness raced up her spine. She could sense the ancient evil lurking behind the shuttered windows, oozing through the cracks and holes, tainting the air with its putrid emanations.
The edifice was old, three hundred years or more, and decayed beyond repair. The new owners of the property wanted to rebuild—something modern and fun, and the old building was scheduled for demolition. But whatever was in this place kept the workers from beginning.
Why did I agree to this! It was said that the house had once been the residence of a malevolent witch or hoodoo woman who’d practiced her trade with vengeance on the surrounding population. The history of the house seethed with tales of murder and mayhem and few were brave enough to venture too near.
She drew a deep breath, steeling herself for the next step. Her lips twisted in a wry smile. I’m here to force the entity to leave! A medium with some following, she’d agreed and took the new owner’s money before she’d researched the place. I needed the money, she mentally defended herself. And now it was gone and her only recourse was to do the job she’d been paid to do.
Sweat ran in rivulets from her forehead, palms grew slick with moisture. Heart pounding in her breast, she reached for the door handle, twisting it before she had a chance to change her mind.
The door grated open with a rusty moan. Stepping into the shadowy interior, she waited as her eyes adjusted to the gloom. Huge spider webs hung from the ceiling fluttering in the slight breeze generated by the open entryway. Dust covered the rotted furnishings spiraling in small whirlwinds as the dust motes caught in the puff of circulating air. But it was the knowledge the entity was very near that caused her heart to freeze. Foul secretions permeated everything. Her tongue swiped lips suddenly dry. Already afraid, sheer terror surged in a blinding rush.
She felt rather than heard the entity’s wicked laughter, thrilled by her rush of emotion. It lives for terror! She opened her senses, seeking the source of the being. Not upstairs. Not in the rooms leading off from the foyer. Below…in the basement.
I can’t do this! Bitter bile rose in her throat causing her to gag. Again, the entity drew from her fear! Hideous howls of pure glee raged through her mind.
It’s just stupid stuff made up by lazy workers, the new owners said. Just a bunch of old wives’ tales stirring the pot!
She knew better. She’d been in the presence of evil before, but nothing had prepared her for that which lurked in this dreadful place. Compelled by a force not her own, she stumbled down the long hallway, drawn to a small door at the far end.
This is the entrance to hell! For long moments she stared at the door, every fiber of her being quaking with fright. I wish Maman were here! Maman was so much stronger that she would ever be. Maman would not have been so foolish.
With shaking hands, she gripped the handle, gasping as the door banged open. Broken and rotted stairs led down into the darkness below. She stepped on the first step. It groaned beneath her weight. Then another step.
Don’t go down there or you’ll never return, the voice of her long dead Maman hissed.
Blood pounded in her veins loud enough to hear. I have no other choice, Maman!
You do! Run before you are lost!
She reached the bottom of the stairs. The darkness seethed with the entity’s evil presence. Rage, hate, murder, corruption hit her with full force, destroying the last reserves of strength and will.
Too long have you been away, the entity’s words slithered through her brain.
She bowed low. “I am here, Master.”
Taking a deep breath, Gemma offered in a trembling voice. “Food sickens her and
sunlight burns her skin. She stays abed most days and only ventures out in the eve.”
Lord Alric’s face grew grave. “How long?”
“A week, perhaps more.”
“And ye didst not think to advise me?”
Gemma twisted her hands in agitation. “Lady Chloe forbade me. She said it was a passing thing. I knew not what else to do!”
Gruesome memories long denied flooded Lord Alric. The last hours of Lady Isabet’s life had been horrific and he was want to forget any remembrances of that night.
Striding from the hall and running up the wide stairway, he paused at the entrance to Chloe’s chambers.
“Find Gavin!” he roared. Throwing open the door, he marched in, not knowing what to expect.
Bathed by the soft light of a single flickering candle, the room was a myriad of dancing shadows and dark corners and only the logs snapping in the fireplace broke the blanketing silence.
A lump formed in Alric’s throat. Willing his feet to move, he approached the bed, fearing what he would find. Chloe reclined on the bed, hands crossed on her chest, looking like nothing more than a newly dead corpse. Cast in the flickering light, her countenance was angelic and virginal, not the face of evil as he’d imagined. As he watched, she stirred and, yawning, opened her eyes. For a brief moment, red shimmered in their depths, but just as quickly, it was gone. Startled, she jerked upright, eyes wide with shock.
“Papa!” she gasped. “Ye frightened me.”
Smoothing her soft cheek, Alric murmured. “Gemma said ye be unwell. I came to see.”
“‘Tis nothing.” She smiled, swinging her feet over the side of her bed.
“Ailments never affect ye. I’ve yet to see a child so healthy.”
Chloe stood up, gripping the bedpost as she swayed. “I’ve not been myself,” she admitted, shivering in the drafty room.
Bio:I love paranormal and as a result, it's the perfect genre for me. I started seriously writing about 5 years ago and have since published five novels, Fiona, Riley's Journey, Aimee's Locket, Absolution and Into the Savage Dawn, one short, Heart of the Sorcerer, and two free reads, Prophecy's Bride and Songbird. I am currently working on a sequel to Into the Savage Dawn and have another manuscript, The Chalice, a SciFi story, which is on the merry-go-round of finding a publisher. Recently, I contracted with Willow Moon Publishing for another short story, Will-o'-the-Wisp. I am a mother of grown sons, a grandmother to my darling Tannis, and wife to my best friend and soul mate, Jack.
Patsy
P. L. Parker
Romantic Adventure at its Best
