The Borderland

a Black Acres novella

Volume 2

By Ambrose Ibsen

Copyright 2015 by Ambrose Ibsen. All rights reserved.

Synopsis:

Something is wrong with the Beacon estate.

Kim and Julian try to adjust to their new home, but reminders of the previous owners are many. For Kim, it's difficult not to fixate on the mysterious disappearance of the house's last tenants and she quickly grows obsessed with learning more about them. All the while, the house's quirks and flaws become more than just an annoyance. They becoming frightening.

The strange door in the basement, which had been wallpapered over so as to keep it hidden, has opened of its own accord. The dead woods outside, though barren of animal life, seem to come alive at night with curious, masked onlookers. Kim feels like she's losing her mind and Julian is unsympathetic. What is it that ails her? Is the house or the stress of the move merely wreaking havoc on her mind, or is she being plagued by something more sinister?

Kim begins to gather clues, digs deep to find answers to the questions that keep her up at night. The more she pieces things together however, the less she wishes she knew.

The Borderland is the second novella in the Black Acres serial by Ambrose Ibsen. It is approximately 23,000 words and contains adult language, scenes of horror and a cliffhanger ending. Reader discretion is heavily advised.

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The Borderland

Black Acres Volume 2

Chapter 1

Julian took a step into the newly-opened doorway, squinting. He licked a bit of saltiness from his upper lip and stole a glance behind him at Kim, who waited with bated breath. “It's too dark to see in there,” he said. “Give me a flashlight.”

Shaking, Kim rummaged around in the kitchen drawers for a flashlight. When she found one, she switched it on and carried it down to him cautiously, staying close to the wall so that unseen lurkers would not be able to grasp at her legs from the edge of the stairs. Her heart quaked, her face was white. She knew she'd seen something dart across the floor. Julian may not have seen it, but that it'd been there all the same she felt sure. It'd probably come from that room, newly-opened and clotted over with darkness.

The shadows that poured from the open doorway into the already dim cellar appeared unnaturally dark. Like the queer shadows of the trees outside, it was an inky darkness, possessed of a unique hardiness that made it difficult to banish. How long the darkness had accumulated in this locked space, how many years it'd been distilled, was beyond guessing, but as Julian shoved the door open further and brought the light through the threshold, they found that the yellowish beam could not fully penetrate. The air was opaque, the darkness lending it substance like a haze. Picking up on some overwhelming, dusty smell, Julian placed a hand to his nose and held his breath.

In scanning the chamber slowly, the darkness parted and gave way to a few sights. The corner nearest the door was dressed up in gossamer threads, their owners nowhere to be seen. The space did not appear large; subsequent studies into its dimensions proved it roughly the size of their master bedroom, and it terminated in a concrete wall covered by a dust-encrusted painting. A mural. It featured trees, the shadow-darkened hues of a summer sky drawn in splotchy blues, a yellow sun with a mane of golden rays and an eerily-rendered smile. It looked as though it'd been intended for a child. It hadn't been completed; some of it had gone uncolored, and there were vague outlines left behind where the artist had probably planned for more.

Scattered across the room pell-mell were a number of abandoned fixtures; furniture, mainly. A crib, painted red, sat in two pieces against the far left corner, beside the edge of the unfinished mural. When he'd taken a thorough scan of the room, Julian lowered the flashlight and turned to Kim, offering up a relieved smile. “Doesn't look like there's anyone in here,” he said. Behind his eyes she noticed the turning of those rational gears; he was preparing to give an explanation for everything that'd transpired. “You were tired, probably saw some things. What were you doing down here, anyway?”

She couldn't really say. She wasn't a sleepwalker, historically, but that seemed to be the only explanation that made any sense. Kim hadn't made a conscious effort to get out of bed and march down into the darkened basement. Still shuddering, she gave a little shrug and slumped against the white bricks at her side.

Julian continued. “This door probably gave way on its own. The hinges broke down due to the humidity. The lock probably wasn't even engaged, but merely stuck. Maybe a change in temperature loosened it and it opened. The door is heavy as hell. I don't doubt that it could build some momentum and swing open under the right circumstances.” He ran a few fingers along the lock on the outside, tracing the keyhole. “Somehow I don't think there'll be closing this thing again, though. The hinges are a loss. Now that it's been opened, it'll probably have to stay that way.”

Kim didn't like the sound of those words. Taking an unsteady step down the stairs and glancing around her, she reached out and grasped Julian's shoulder, lowering her face against his chest. Now that it's been opened, she thought, there's no going back. She couldn't say why, but now that the door had been opened, she felt some subtle change in the air. This was a space that had been closed off, hidden away, for a reason. Probably it would have been better for it to have stayed that way.

Drying her tears on Julian's chest, she looked up at him, her eyes still teeming with fright. He comforted her, gave a warm smile. But it didn't matter. His explanation, neat and tidy though it was, couldn't account for the entire incident. There was no way this thing had opened just because of some change in humidity or atmospheric pressure. It was easy for him to say that, of course. He hadn't had the dream. He hadn't seen what she'd seen. She trembled afresh as she thought back to it; the horrible sound issuing from the other side, the savage pounding on the door. She grit her teeth, wondered how much of what she'd seen had been dream-borne fantasy and how much of it genuine.

“Well, since we're down here, maybe we should have a look around, yeah?” said Julian, wiping at his eyes and raising the flashlight once more. He waved the light about the space, highlighting a number of doubtful shapes within. A rocking chair, the crib. He paused on the mural, looking at the trees and clouds that'd been painted there. “Can't say for sure, but this looks like it was supposed to be a baby's room.” He chuckled incredulously, panning to the ceiling and studying its cobweb-ridden surface. “Hell of a place for a nursery.”

Looking inside, even from the threshold, made her heart skip a beat. Still, she broke away from Julian and peered through the doorway, watching as he slowly set about elucidating the room. There was some clutter to be found therein, but none of it appeared to be anything more than garbage. If the smell of the air was any indication, there was surely mold growing in some unlit corner. The air was heavy, misty, and the refuse within looked as though it'd been punished by years of humidity. Wooden furniture sagged, their pieces saturated with moisture so that they had begun to lose their shape. A changing table with a festering mat was stationed near the crib. She scowled at the sight of it. “Why is this stuff here?” she asked, looking up at Julian. “The previous owners didn't have a baby. So... so who did this stuff belong to and why did they put it here?” She glanced at the mural, its bright flourishes taking on something of odiousness in the scant light. The sun painted there seemed to grin directly at her with wide, searching eyes. “No one... no one would ever keep a baby down here, would they?”

Julian gulped, the question apparently making him rather uncomfortable. “I dunno.” A few moments later, he added, “That's what it looks like, though. Like someone was turning this into a nursery.”

In the other corner, to their immediate right, they found a rickety table overburdened with what appeared to be religious curios. A smashed porcelain statue of the Virgin Mary sat upon the floor beside it, while its misty surface boasted no less than a dozen others, all of different shapes. There were crucifixes, too, and a number of rosaries slung around the bases of the statues, their beads looking oily when brought to light. Something disturbed Kim as she perused them. She noticed that all of the statues had been turned away from the door, and were facing in the same direction. They were facing the corner. Why was this? She thought to remark on it but knew Julian would only try and explain it away. It wasn't a coincidence, though. Of that much she felt assured.

There were other things in the room, things that baffled them and defied easy description. An esoteric-looking panel set into the wall, replete with two large, red switches, could be found near the table where the statues stared solemnly into the corner. Julian wasn't sure what it was for, and after toying with the switches a short time, declared it useless. “I bet it was for an appliance or something, but the wires have probably been cut or ruined. No telling what it was for back in the day.”

Across the way, Julian zeroed in on a chipped-up dresser. As it was brought to light Kim noticed something atop it that made her take pause. “W-what's that?” she asked. Compelled by curiosity, she took a few steps into the room, reaching over an empty bassinet, towards the dresser. Her hands closed around something slick, cool. It felt almost like skin in her hands. She trembled, frowned, but picked it up all the same.

Walking quickly to the entrance, she asked for some light and looked it over with closeness, turning it this way and that in her hands.

It was a leather-bound book.

Misshapen and left soggy by years of neglect in the humid space, the book featured a singular word upon its dark brown cover. “Journal”. Kim brushed off a layer of moisture and dust and examined it further, running a hand along its spine. It was in bad shape, but was still holding together.

She decided to bring it upstairs with her. There was no telling what she'd find in it, but the prospect of reading a journal or diary left behind by someone in this mysterious little chamber filled her both with hope and unease. As she looked to the stairs and considered ascending with the book in tow, she very nearly cast it back into the dark room. The leather-bound volume felt unclean in her hands, and deep down she wondered if she wouldn't be happier without it. But instead, she gripped it tightly, holding back the impulse. This was her only lead, her lifeline. Maybe, in these pages, she'd find something about the previous owners. Some hint about where they'd disappeared to eight years ago.

Julian yawned and switched off the flashlight. “What a bust,” he said, trying to inject a little levity. “And here I was, expecting a stockpile of treasure or something.” He stepped back and tried to close the door, only managing to do so part of the way before the edge of the thing ground into the floor and came to a halt. It was still half-open. The door was so heavy and stubborn that it could not possibly have moved on its own as he'd earlier tried to explain. But that didn't much matter to him. Patting his hands against his sweatpants, he looked to the stairs. “Mind if we head back to bed now?”

She nodded, and the pair ascended to the kitchen. Kim switched off the cellar light and closed the door, stealing one last glance down the stairs as she did so. There was nothing there, but she couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. Julian wasn't focused on her, but was leaning over the sink, guzzling a glass of water. When the door closed behind her, the feeling subsided. There was something in that basement. I saw it. I saw that white hand. I know it.

“So, what were you doing down there again?” he asked, stretching.

Still at a loss for an explanation, Kim decided to lie. It would be more believable than the reality, anyway. “I, uh... I came down for a drink of water and thought I heard something in the basement. When I saw the door down there had opened, well, I freaked out and... must've been seeing things.”

But that hadn't been the case at all. Waking up out of an awful dream, she'd found herself inexplicably in the cellar, the door closed behind her, standing in the darkness and shaking. Then, upon switching on the light, she'd found the secret door had opened, and had seen something scurrying away from the newly-unfastened entrance across the floor. Something inhuman, terrible. She'd caught only a glimpse, but it'd been sufficient to set her screaming. No rational explanation could ever make her doubt what she'd seen in that cellar. Just because Julian's brief search of the basement yielded nothing didn't mean that she'd simply hallucinated it. It'd gone under the stairs and seemingly vanished. Perhaps it'd just hidden itself away, or maybe it'd disappeared into the ether, into the very stuff of the house itself.

Whatever the case, it'd been real. And whenever she thought about it, she couldn't stop herself from shuddering.

She placed the water-stained journal upon the kitchen counter. Then, taking a sip of water, she joined Julian in returning to bed. The pair settled in, pulled up the covers and tried to return to sleep. Though he tossed and turned some, the disturbance likely affecting his nerves, Julian managed without too much trouble and was snoring in no time. For Kim, restful sleep proved elusive.

She relaxed in the darkness, eyes closed, but mind ever-moving. Could she trust herself to go back to sleep? Would her body betray her, take her to some other frightening place where she would wake up and suffer another awful scare?

Hesitantly, she slipped back into an uneasy sleep. As she drifted off, the leather-bound journal came to mind. She wondered what she would find in it as her consciousness eroded and sleep washed over her.

Chapter 2

It wasn't until Julian set out to cut the grass that Kim began to leaf through the journal.

They'd shared a quick breakfast. She hadn't said anything about the book, had worked hard not to allude to it, for fear of ruining the mood. Still, she'd stolen many a longing glance at the musty volume as it sat upon the counter. When finally he'd finished his oatmeal and emptied half a carton's worth of orange juice, he announced his intent to try out their new mower and went out in his pajamas. The yard was massive, sprawling, and it would take him a good, long while to get it done to his exacting specifications.

Now was the time.

No sooner had Julian walked out the back door, humming to himself, did Kim rush from her seat over to the counter. She grabbed up the book and held it closely as though it were a treasure, before returning to the kitchen table and setting it out on the table before her. It'd dried up a little in the night, and the dark leather appeared puckered in the corners. It was in an awful state, worse than she remembered it, but she hoped that its contents might still prove legible.

Slowly, carefully, as to test its strength, she pulled back the front cover. The material tensed and the volume as a whole trembled as if under strain, but the stiff cover finally gave and she appraised the pages for the first time. Running her hands against the weather-beaten paper, the edges of most pages frayed, she felt an immediate rush of nausea. It was mainly owed, she told herself, to a surging doubt that anything in the threadbare journal should have survived. Anything that'd been written there would probably be a blurred, unreadable mass thanks to the water damage.

But there was something more to it.

Her stomach flopped with unease, giving the spiced oatmeal in her gut quite the ride. As she touched the page, tasted that air that rose up from it, with its vaguely mildewy smell, she couldn't help but feel that it was an awful thing, an odious thing that she needed quickly to rid herself of. She could only guess at what might be stored on its pages, but it occurred to her that more knowledge about the previous owners would only see her grow more obsessed with them. Perhaps Julian was right in his nonchalance. He didn't care about those people, didn't pay them any mind. He berated her for her intense interest, tried to steer her away from her focus on the vanished couple. He thought her fascination with them to be unhealthy, something that would only contribute to her stress and recent jumpiness. Maybe he was onto something.

Nevertheless, as she bit her lower lip almost to the point of drawing blood, she slid a fingernail behind the first page, a blank, and turned it. The ancient paper was not much in the habit of turning, the stiff page crinkling and resisting on its moist binding like a large, dead leaf. On the center of this first page, Kim discovered a blurred bit of writing. A name.

She read it out aloud, tracing the elegant, though smudged lettering, with her finger. “Dakota.”

Her heart quivered in her chest, her pulse quickened.

This was Dakota's journal.

The former lady of the house.

One of the two individuals who'd disappeared.

Kim planted her feet against the tacky linoleum floor and glanced around the kitchen, half-expecting to see someone there with her. The feeling of being watched that'd so plagued her last night in the cellar had returned with remarkable force. She was being pressured, cajoled into something. Looking down at the book and carefully turning to the next crumbling page seemed to be the only thing she could do to allay it. A bit of dust was thrown into the air with the flipping of the page, causing her to sneeze.

This page, like the next several, would prove impossible to read. Though there would be numerous words she could make out along the way, or dates that hadn't been eroded by the years of humidity, it was impossible for her to make out anything of meaning in the passages. The earliest legible date in the journal was from 1973. Before Kim had even been born. It was strange to think that this journal had been started before her own parents had met. She took to flipping through it more quickly, seeking out a paragraph, a sentence she could make sense of.

She came upon such a passage about a third of the way into the journal. It was a nearly complete entry, dated from the second half of 1973, and it began with “Marshall simply doesn't understand.” Kim read it out in a hushed tone, flinching somewhat as though it were an incantation meant to draw up some monstrosity from the pit. These words, in their way, carried a kind of power for her. These thoughts, written down so many decades previous, embodied the mind of this woman, who'd gone missing mysteriously nearly eight years ago. To read her words aloud almost gave Dakota a new lease on life.

“Marshall doesn't understand why I'm upset all the time, why the happiness is gone from my smiles and why I idle around the house. Of course, he wouldn't. He's a man, and he finds his meaning and entertainment elsewhere. But for me, well, I rather prefer at this age to settle into a matronly role. We aren't young twenty-somethings any longer. We're into our thirties now, and the years of domesticity are upon us. What I want most, and what God seems least interested in giving me, is a baby.

“I've kept a close eye on my diet, have had fresh air and sun in abundance. Still, our efforts to conceive have come to nothing. And I fear it may stay that way. We've tried everything, even some obscure herbal treatments, but nothing has worked for us. A friend said recently that maybe Marshall and I aren't intended to have children. Perhaps that is so. And for that matter, my husband is content to remain childless and carefree. But I tell you I will never be happy in this life without a child to call my own. It is my calling in life to be a mother. I am sure of it. God need only send me a child...”

She wet her lips. This explained the baby furniture in the basement, she thought. The poor woman had wanted a child so badly, had prepared for one, but had ended up moving all of the stuff into the basement when she realized she'd never be able to use it. The hidden room in the cellar lost a touch of its eeriness and gained a melancholic air in Kim's thoughts. It was a room hidden away, a room full of lost chances, representing things that could have been but ultimately never materialized. No wonder it'd been wallpapered over; Dakota probably hadn't wanted the reminder.

Kim cleared her throat, giving a little frown as she finished reading the passage in a hushed tone. Reading this private journal and acquainting herself with a stranger's pain seemed suddenly in very poor taste. She flipped through the next several pages and found them mostly a water-damaged mess. She was almost thankful for that. When she did come upon something readable, her eyes locked onto it before she even knew what she was doing, however. She couldn't help it. Curiosity was getting the better of her.

More often than not, the surviving script included the word baby, or highlighted her yearning for a child. If the few readable blurbs were to be believed, it was a topic that Dakota wrote about often. When Kim got more than half-way through the book and had only found a few more lines worth of legible writing, she began to hope that the rest of the journal would be similarly effaced. It was better that way, for the elements to have ruined the journal and covered up her suffering, wasn't it?

A few pages later, there was another passage, this one partially smudged, but more or less readable. Kim didn't dare read it aloud, somewhat unnerved by the sudden change in penmanship. It was still Dakota's hand, but the words on the page were imbued with more ferocity for the way they'd been pressed in, hard. The strokes were bolder, wilder, and the writing less polished. In this entry, Dakota talked once more about her failure to conceive, and she had grown angry since the last entry. The tone, the word choices, were grave, erratic. I want a baby. I want a baby. Please, God, if you love me at all, send me a baby. And if you don't, then just kill me.

A few passages had been scratched out with intensity on subsequent pages, their rough lines blurred and running down the page. Why can't I have a goddamn baby like other women? I've prayed, and prayed, but I never get one. Why not? WHY NOT? What's the matter with me? Is my womb rotten? Am I unclean? Then, a few pages later, and flanked by passages that'd been aggressively struck out: If I don't have a baby I don't know what I'll do. I don't care how, I simply must have a baby. I'd give anything. I must be a mother. I must have a baby. I must have a baby. A baby... a baby... a baby... a baby... a baby...

The next several pages, though mostly water damaged and blurred, were easy enough to make out.

It was merely the word “baby” written over and over again in a progressively unsteadier hand.

Kim was breathing hard. She had a front seat view to Dakota's unraveling, and what she was seeing disturbed her. Edwin had earlier alluded to the fact that Dakota had wanted children. Still, Kim had never expected anything like this. The woman was obsessed, her writings bordering on insane. She'd fixated on becoming a mother, had focused all of her hope on becoming pregnant. When this didn't happen, what did Dakota do? Kim already knew how the story ended; the Reeds had never managed to have children. Did this factor into their disappearance somehow? Did Dakota become unhinged over the years and do something to her husband? Did their lack of children disappoint them so much that they left one another, fleeing in shame? Or, perhaps, had they turned to suicide? She shook her head. Her imagination was running away from her. Still, the writings were disturbing.

Turning another blurred page, Kim was suddenly startled.

Sandwiched between two pages, its edges marred somewhat by smudges of ink, she happened upon a photograph.

Before she even knew what she was looking at apprehension gripped her and she nearly went to close the book. Her thoughts drifted back to the other photos they'd found in the house; the photo of the smiling couple in the wall upstairs, the photo of the masked individuals in the attic. Happening upon photos in this house never seemed to end well for her, and she wasn't keen on frightening herself unnecessarily. Curiosity won out however, and taking in a sharp breath, she picked up the photograph and studied it.

Kim recognized the background of the photo at once. Tall, ashen trunks devoid of leaves. The woods behind the house. In the foreground, leaning against one of the trunks, was a woman with long, brown hair. Squinting at the image, Kim tried to make out her features. As best she could remember it, this was the same woman from the first photograph they'd found up in the bathroom wall during renovations. This, she assumed, was Dakota.

“No,” she muttered to herself, perplexed. “It can't be.”

The woman in the photograph, presumably Dakota, was holding something in her arms. A white bundle of flowing blankets.

From the bundle, came a small, lively arm.

A baby.

This was seemingly a photograph of Dakota holding a baby in the woods outside their house.

Kim stared at it a long while as though she expected the photo to change, or for it to offer some explanation. When none came she set it down and massaged at her eyelids, tugging on her black ponytail to ensure she was actually awake. “What the hell?” she asked herself. “How can this be? They didn't have any kids, so... why's she holding this baby?” Something about this photo didn't sit well with her. Her stomach opened up into a void, filled to teeming with dread in the next instant. Dakota was smiling in the photo, widely. She looked triumphant, relieved.

But most of all, she looked wicked.

In the photo, her thin white arms grasped at the bundled child and her eyes were wide. Though on first glance the picture had seemed relatively innocuous, Kim wondered if her reading of the journal hadn't colored her opinions. Here and there, if she looked hard enough, she could find in Dakota's visage, in her posture, subtle hints of that same rage and fixation she'd espied in the journal's rambles.

On the reverse of the photo, something had been written in black ball-point, but it'd become too smudged to read. Kim studied it, tried to suss out some meaning from the dark jumble, but came away empty-handed.

Her stomach groaned and she literally grew ill at the prospect of turning the page.

Thankfully, she heard Julian calling out to her from the back door. “Hey, babe, can you come help me with this mower? I've read the directions like a hundred times, but I must be overlooking something. Another set of eyes would be great.”

Relieved, she stuck the photo back into the journal where she'd found it and closed the book. Standing up and trying to banish the shakiness from her legs, Kim slid it across the kitchen counter and tried to put the questions from her mind. Maybe they really did have a kid, she thought to herself. But that can't be right. Edwin was a close friend and he didn't know about it. Despite her best intentions, the wheels kept turning in her head. Maybe it was someone else's kid, perhaps Edwin's. Yeah, that's gotta be it.

Kim gulped, turning back to the journal on the counter as she slipped on her shoes and prepared to head out back. It sat so heavily on the countertop despite its light weight. The stiff cover beckoned her, the pages within offering of a potential explanation for the photo.

That would have to wait. Julian needed her help now. And besides, she thought as she ambled into the back yard, you've got enough to think about already.

Chapter 3

Julian was half a day in completing the yard work. He took several breaks, did plenty of complaining, and when he was finally through with the yard around dinner, he declined to clean up the clippings and instead shuffled into the shower. When he was through, Kim prepared a simple dinner of steamed chicken breast, broccoli and rice, and the pair watched a DVD.

Tired out, Julian fell asleep on the sofa before the opening credits even finished.

Half-way through the film, Kim was feeling restless. Everything she'd done that day had been carried out in a distracted daze. She thought constantly of the photograph in the journal, of Dakota's intense ramblings, of the hidden door, now open, just beyond the foot of the cellar stairs.

She couldn't enjoy her dinner or the film and shut it off, throwing a blanket over Julian and pacing about the kitchen so as not to disturb him. She felt apprehensive as she glanced at the journal, undisturbed since she'd last set it down, and considered starting into it again. Just the sight of the cover, of the old photograph sticking out of it like a bookmark, was enough to make her heart take off on a sprint.

No, she wasn't ready for that.

There was housework to be done, and though the sun had set, she found herself with too much energy. Some of it needed burnt off. She carried a smattering of small boxes up from the downstairs and set them outside one of the bedrooms, which they intended to turn into Julian's study. He'd picked the room on his own, one of the four empty bedrooms, and thought it might make for a good office space because it lacked a window. “Less distractions that way,” he'd said.

To her, it just seemed like a dreary closet. Kim pushed open the door and carried the boxes in one by one. They weren't terribly heavy, stuffed mostly with office supplies and old documents. She wouldn't mess with his paperwork, but would set his curios out on the large writing desk that the movers had hoisted upstairs. Julian would rearrange everything no matter how she laid it out, but she didn't much care in the moment. She was just searching for some kind of distraction from thoughts of the journal.

Julian always needed to do his writing in a room of his own. Back in their little apartment, he'd sometimes shut himself up in the bathroom, sitting on the toilet with his laptop propped up on his knees. That was all the privacy they could afford back then, and in retrospect it seemed ridiculously silly that he went to such lengths. Unlike other creative types she knew however, Julian had always been fiercely private while doing his work. He insisted upon having a door to lock, on tuning out all distractions, and not emerging until he was pleased with his work for the day. The time would come, probably sooner than later, when the itch to write would return to him. With the sale of his screenplay, he'd discussed the possibility of starting into a novel. It was a dream of his, something he'd always wanted to do but had put off in favor of more lucrative work. She wasn't looking forward to the day he decided to start that. He'd be quiet, withdrawn again. Their interactions would be more distant and his thoughts would always be involved in a tug-of-war with the book. But she was happy he'd have a proper office to do the work in, anyhow. When he didn't get his writing in for the day, or something interrupted one of his projects, he was always in a foul mood. Better for him to have a comfortable room he could seal himself away in, she thought.

Scanning the room, she took in the four, plain walls and tried to visualize it coming together as a study. Before too long he'd have it cluttered with books and papers and who-knows-what-else. That was his way; he wasn't orderly where his work was concerned and was prone to leaving messes in his workspace. She recalled with a chuckle the way he'd sometimes leave notepads or typed pages on the bathroom sink, or taped to the walls around the toilet back at their old apartment.

Her laugh proved discordant, bouncing off of the walls and coming back to her with an unpleasant sharpness. Standing in the doorway, she appraised the office chair, sitting vacant before the desk. A few boxes of yet-unpacked office supplies sat beside the closet.

She frowned as she took in the closet. It was covered in a sliding door, its wooden surface carved by the previous owners. A large, tacky leaf motif adorned the front. Probably Marshall's work, like the bannister. She walked up to it, ran a finger through the grooves that comprised the wide, wavy leaf design and sighed. Julian would probably be willing to overlook it, be she couldn't. It would have to go.

As she took to unpacking the first of several boxes, she reflected on something that Edwin had said with emphasis. More than once he'd mentioned that the Reeds considered the house their legacy, that they'd worked on it and were very proud of it. She understood the concept of taking pride in one's home, however what Kim couldn't understand was why the house had been littered in clumsy carved flourishes when the carver obviously didn't have any talent for it. The bannister, the crummy spirals that adorned the edges of the cabinets in places, the leaf on the front of this closet door; none of them looked especially good.

Neither, for that matter, did the half-finished mural in the basement's hidden chamber.

She tried to stop her thoughts from progressing any further, gulping as she recalled the mural. Who had painted it there, and why? The presence of such a thing in a room so dark and damp as that made her uneasy. Very uneasy. The more she reflected on the mural, on the weathered baby furniture that littered the hidden room, the more she thought about the photograph in the journal, of Dakota holding a baby in the woods. Certainly the two weren't related. Or were they? No, Dakota wanted a baby more than anything. If that baby in the picture really was hers, and it almost certainly wasn't, then she wouldn't have made its nursery in a room like that one. Not with so many rooms upstairs.

She paused in her unpacking, setting a metal container of paperclips on the desk and sighing. “How in the hell did we end up in this house?” she mumbled, shaking her head. They'd gone from relative normalcy in the city, living in a cramped apartment, to buying up some massive house out in the middle of nowhere with a seedy and seemingly sinister past. She felt like she was a character in a suspenseful TV show, constantly on the verge of some new and terrifying revelation. It was beginning to grow tiresome. Where initially she'd been spurred on by curiosity about the former owners, she was becoming more and more hesitant to add to her knowledge about them. Every stone she turned threatened to reveal things better left hidden, the door in the cellar being a prime example. Kim could have lived a full and happy life without ever knowing about the things kept inside that dark chamber, or the mural, or the contents of the journal she'd found therein.

Not that it would stop her from trying to learn more. She was in deep now and she knew it. Too deep to turn back. Morbid curiosity would get the better of her, or otherwise she'd be compelled to keep reading the journal by stark fear. It was just the kind of person she was. Julian could throw his hands up and ignore all of the strange things going on in the house without a second thought, but not her. She cared too much.

A small noise from behind knocked her out of her thoughts. She was standing with her back to the closet, and turned to find the leaf-paneled door rattling somewhat. There seemed to come a soft knock from its other side.

Kim stiffened, watching the closet door closely.

The knock came a second time, even more gently than the first, if it was possible. It was the sound of knuckles grazing at the inside of the door, of fingers pawing the interior surface weakly. Her face went white and she staggered back a few paces. Was there something in the closet? What would Julian say in a case like this? Maybe... maybe a tremor is making it shake? A draft? She grit her teeth and watched as the sound came through a third time. The door swung very slightly, almost imperceptibly on its track. That something was inside the closet, actively agitating the hefty wooden panel, was plain as day. Something of substance was pushing up against the door from the inside, as if trying to feebly break out. She was certain of it.

Shaking with every step, Kim approached the closet. She placed her palm against the leaf motif and, tensing in anticipation, thrust the door open. It slid over on the track, smacking into the wall, and she jumped away with a little whimper, heart thrashing and brow now teeming with sweat for what she might see.

But the closet was empty. As far as she could tell, there was nothing inside. Just a moment ago she'd been certain as she was of anything that there'd been someone or something inside. The faces of a thousand phantasms had flown through her mind as the door was opened, but none had greeted her there. It was positively empty. From a crouched position, Kim peered into the closet, only the blank wall inside meeting her gaze.

Chapter 4

Kim dipped the brush into the bottle and dabbed another layer of pearly blue across her thumbnail. Pleased with the coat she carefully studied her fingernails and gave them a gentle blow. Julian could be heard to watch a movie in the next room while she was doing everything she could to avoid the journal on the counter. She hadn't touched it since the previous day, had slept in late and tried her best to put it out of her mind.

It hadn't worked.

She wanted to dive back into the volume, Dakota's smile in that picture haunting her thoughts ever since she'd laid eyes on it. But she resisted. She did just about everything else she could think of around the house. She'd cleaned the bathroom, finished the dishes, gone for a brief, unfulfilling walk around the yard. She'd even painted her nails. It wasn't something she did too often, and Kim didn't really like going through the trouble only for the color to chip off within a few days, but when compared to cracking open that journal and further acquainting herself with Dakota, it seemed a pleasant alternative. She'd picked her favorite color, a light, powdery blue with a pearl finish. She admired the polish in the fading light that drifted in through the kitchen window. It would be time for dinner soon. Then she and Julian would putter about the house a while longer and turn in. She wondered how else she might distract herself, if she could bring herself to wait another day to restart her reading. Maybe tomorrow you can check it out. It would be better that way. Maybe then...

Her nails were mostly dry when a devilish idea crossed her mind. She took out her phone and searched through the contacts, remembering the three names and phone numbers Edwin had given her. She'd intended to call these people, to ask them questions about the Reeds. With all she'd learned from the journal, Kim thought it an excellent time to capitalize on these contacts. Perhaps one or more of them would be able to corroborate Dakota's obsession, which had been highlighted plainly in the writing, or they would have some other insights to share. It was getting late, but if she hurried and called soon then there would be no problem. Any later and she risked interrupting dinners or early bed times.

She stopped a minute to talk to Julian, asking him what he wanted for dinner. He said he'd probably just fire up the grill and make steaks, before returning to the television and effectively tuning her out. From there she went upstairs and to the bedroom, pulling out her phone and searching for a good reception. It was a lot of guesswork and she could never really be sure that she'd find a signal. After a minute or so of trying, she finally got a few bars and stood near the window, dialing the first of three contacts. A woman by the name of Enid Ellison. Just one for tonight, she thought. You can always call the others later. Cold-calling strangers made her nervous, so for her own sake she decided not to contact all three of the individuals at once.

Kim licked her lips as the line began to ring. She hadn't pre-rehearsed anything, hadn't come up with some sort of apologetic spiel to recite. She could only hope that Enid felt up to talking about her old friends the Reeds with a perfect stranger. Pacing slowly in front of the window, the curtains drawn and a weak light drifting in from their edges, she listened closely to each ring.

Then, someone picked up.

“Hello?”

It was a croaking feminine voice, so positively ancient-sounding that the speaker seemed to Kim little more than a husk of an old woman. The Reeds, had they still lived, would have been quite old themselves, she realized. The same presumably went for their acquaintances. Edwin was showing his age certainly, but he remained lively, jovial. Not so with this woman. From the first word that much was clear. Kim instantly regretted calling her.

“Hello?” the woman repeated, a hint of annoyance showing through.

Kim cleared her throat and gave a hasty introduction. “Sorry to bother you today, I'm looking to speak to Enid Ellison. My name is Kim Taylor.”

“Well, this is Enid speaking, but I hardly think you're bothering me today... from where I'm sitting it looks rather dark out,” the old woman was quick to reply. She sounded frail, weak, but her voice retained a fierce edge and she still had her wits about her.

Kim loosed a nervous laugh. “Yes, I am sorry about that. I should have called sooner.”

Enid was not amused. “My, Kim Taylor, how very much you have to apologize about. What is it I can help you with? Do try and be quick about it. Anymore I haven't much time to spare for chit-chat with perfect strangers and seeing as I don't know any Kims or Taylors I can only assume that you're calling to ask something of me. So, out with it.” The line crackled as Enid doubtlessly waited with a crease-ridden frown.

“Right, well, my husband and I are living in the Beacon estate. I understand that you were acquainted with the previous owners, Marshall and Dakota Reed? I was calling in the hopes that you might be willing to tell me about them.” There was no sense in beating around the bush with this woman. Kim got right to the point, digging her heel into a floorboard and waiting with bated breath for a reply.

The quick-witted Enid did not respond at once, however. The line went silent for a time, and then the woman could be heard to draw in a deep sigh. The names of her old friends, probably, had roused dormant memories. It'd likely been a long time since she'd thought of the Reeds, of the Beacon estate. When finally she did speak, it was in a quieter tone of voice. It was kindlier in a way, perhaps more feeble than before. Her words lacked the venom they'd boasted only moments ago. “The Reeds? Yes, old, old friends. Why, it's been some time since I've heard their names uttered. Your request has taken me off guard, but I'll see if I can't help you. What is it you wish to know about them?” Then, she quickly added, “I hope that everything is all right in the house, of course. You and your husband are... faring well there, yes? Nothing has... happened?”

Kim hesitated. Did Enid know something about the house? Something that she didn't know? Were the two of them in danger for living in it? That was the way Enid made it sound, anyhow. “No, I mean... nothing has happened, really. We're getting along fine in the house, moved in a few weeks back.”

“That's good to hear,” replied Enid. “The Reeds, you know, disappeared from that house some years ago. I had no idea their house was on the market again after all those years. Must've been nearly a decade now.”

“About eight years,” Kim corrected. “They were... recently declared dead in absentia and the executor of their estate put the house on the market. A man by the name of Edwin?”

“Edwin, yes, I know him.” Enid paused. “Declared dead, were they? I had no idea...” she trailed off, her croaking voice marked with a hint of melancholy. “Well then, what is it I can help you with?”

Kim had lost the plot, was unsure where to begin with her questioning. Holding the phone to her ear clumsily so as to avoid the smudging of her nail polish, she thought back to what she'd read in the journal, to the photograph. That was the best place to start. “The Reeds... did they have any children?”

Like Edwin before her, the woman was quick to respond, and she did so with a finality and firmness that demonstrated utter certainty. “No, none. They were childless, the two of them. I know they always wanted children but they never did manage to conceive.”

“A-are you sure?” stammered Kim.

“Sure as I am of anything in this world, dear.”

Kim had to fight the urge to bite her fingernails. That's two people now who say they didn't have any kids. But then... whose kid was she holding in that picture? “I see...” She searched for some other question, opting to ask about the house's construction and how long the Reeds had lived in it before their disappearance. Though she didn't appear to be so well-acquainted with the house's history as Edwin had been, what Enid told her more or less meshed with the earlier details she'd received. “And the two of them... were they religious?” she asked, thinking back to the mass of religious statues and objects in the hidden chamber. She was curious to know how well Enid had really known the vanished couple.

“Were they devout?” asked Enid with a little snort. “My heavens, no. Not while I knew them, anyway. They never attended church, never spoke much of those matters, I'm afraid. Fond they were of poking fun at the faithful, in fact. I recall Dakota being rather averse to any such talk, in particular. Had a rough upbringing with a devout family. I reckon that turned her off of the faith. And as the years went on I never did see them much of anywhere unless I invited them over. They took to spending too much time in that house. When they were finally declared missing it came as quite a surprise for that reason; I figured they'd just been in the house doing who-knows-what all that time. It never occurred to me that they might've vanished. It was all so very queer, that.” Enid sighed. “I've always wondered what happened to them. It's almost as if that house ate them up, isn't it?”

Kim pursed her lips. She didn't like the mental image those words conjured up. The house ate them up. More than that, she was disturbed by the fact that the Reeds were not known to be religious. That didn't jive with the numerous examples throughout the house of Christian paraphernalia. The bannister with its carved cherubs, the mess of religious objects in the cellar. What were they doing in the house? In the journal, Dakota had talked about “praying” and “God” with frequency. Perhaps her indifference to religion had been just a ruse she'd worn in public life? Maybe she'd kept her faith hidden for some reason? Kim was going down the rabbit hole again, her imagination thrumming along at full speed and coming up with other, more frightful scenarios. Here a former friend of the couple was claiming that the pair wasn't religious, but then where had the heap of Virgin Mary statues in the basement come from? Something wasn't adding up, and Kim didn't like it.

After a bit more back and forth, Kim said goodbye and let Enid go on her way. She couldn't hope to learn more from the woman; it seemed clear that she only knew an aspect of Dakota, an aspect made digestible and proper for public life. But Kim knew, thanks to the journal, that there were other dimensions to Dakota's personality, things that she likely never aired. Lowering the phone and tucking it into her pocket, she made her way back downstairs.

The journal. She needed to read it.

Only in its pages could she possibly find the answers she sought. The other contacts Edwin had given her would likely end up the same, recounting only cutesy anecdotes and expressing their condolences. None of them would be able to offer anything of substance because none of them had actually known Dakota. None of them knew the Dakota that Kim knew.

Passing through the living room, she saw that the television was off and Julian was gone. He'd probably gone into the back yard to fire up the grill. All the better, she thought. That way, he wouldn't be around to interrupt her reading. Rushing into the kitchen, she grabbed up the journal from the counter and dropped it onto the table with a thud. She switched on the ceiling light and plopped into a chair, eyeing the book cautiously. Her fingers twitched as she reached for the cover, her neckline was dotted in sweat. She slipped her finger into the book, opening to the page she'd marked with the photograph. She flipped it over, the sight of it turning her stomach for reasons she couldn't explain, and set it aside. Perhaps, when she'd pieced this thing together, she'd show it to Julian. It wouldn't prove anything, of course, except that Kim's fascination with the previous owners had increased by a considerable degree. But if he saw it, picture proof that the vanished couple had had a child despite all reports to the contrary, then perhaps his curiosity would be piqued and he'd agree with her that something strange was afoot in the house.

She began to search for a readable passage, glancing over the open, water-damaged page and quickly flipping to the next.

She didn't have to look far.

Chapter 5

It finally happened, read the first line of the next page. The passage that followed was unmarred, crystal clear to an almost suspicious degree. Kim felt as though some outside force had acted on this journal and preserved this page in particular for her to read. The writing had returned to its former, neater style, and Dakota recounted something that happened in the woods outside the house that made Kim's stomach revolt.

The entry continued. I have my baby. Today, in the woods, Marshall and I were going for a walk. It was a chill day, somewhat overcast. We thought we heard something approaching from the distance and we both paused against the trunk of a large tree. Some moments later we were faced with a curious sight. A mangy wolf approached us, its fur falling out, its eyes bulging and its body shuddering atop four stick-like legs. The creature was in a bad way. Ordinarily I may have been scared by such a sighting, however I showed no fear, for I realized quickly that the mongrel carried something in its mouth. Something I delighted over at first glance.

A baby.

Bundled in white blankets, the wolf walked over to us, standing some few feet away, and set down the baby on the forest floor. Then, staggering away a few paces, wheezing and weak, the creature collapsed and drew its last breath. I picked up the baby at once; the child was unharmed. From whence the wolf had brought it to us we could not say; there are not many people in this area and none that we are aware of have recently given birth. This child was very young however, and it was clearly in need of a home...

I had Marshall take a picture to commemorate the occasion and then the three of us walked home to start our new life. I was beginning to feel certain that I would live out my days without ever becoming a mother. I can see now that my prayers were answered. I have decided on a name--

The start of the next page was incredibly blurred so that only a jumble of words could be made out. Stunned into silence, Kim read and reread the passage, trying to visualize what was described. It was simply beyond imagining however. “It's something out of a damn fairy tale,” she murmured, placing a palm to her forehead and trying to stymy an emerging headache with massage. How could it be that some wild animal had brought them a baby from some far-off place? It was ludicrous, and Kim wondered if Dakota hadn't fabricated the entire account. Perhaps the child had been kidnapped from some remote house and she'd written up the fanciful story in the woods as a cover.

Or, she thought, perhaps it really did happen that way.

Kim furrowed her brow, working over the words, the description of the wolf. This sounded like some sort of ancient myth; a messenger sent by the gods to deliver some reward to humankind. But at the same time, it didn't read like a cheery Greek myth to her. What kind of god sends a couple a child by way of a mangy, dying wolf? Not a good one, that's for sure. She pawed at the page, her heart convulsing in her chest. Was it possible that this really occurred? If so, where did the child come from, and how was it that neither Edwin nor Enid knew about it? Was the child a boy or a girl? What had happened to the baby? She felt her mouth go dry, her tongue sitting heavily against her teeth. She needed a drink.

Flipping the journal over, she decided she would call Julian inside and show him both the photograph and the entry. This was simply too weird not to share. She wasn't sure how he'd react or if he'd even give a damn, but this was something she needed to tell someone about. If she kept it inside she'd simply burst. Perhaps this was one instance where Julian's no-nonsense explanations could come in handy. His perspective on the matter might actually prove valuable.

Walking to the sink, she took a clean glass from the drying rack and filled it with cold water. Gulping it down, she looked through the dim kitchen window for Julian. She spotted the grill, saw a bit of smoke escaping from beneath its lid, but saw no sign of him.

There was something else, however. Something that made her stagger back a few paces and drop the glass of water, half-filled. It shattered against the ground with a riotous clatter, dampening her socks, but she didn't even notice.

Someone was standing in the yard, perhaps ten feet from the kitchen window in the dusk, looking straight at her.

And it wasn't Julian.

Chapter 6

The face was bloated and white, grotesque. It was highlighted in the fading light, its features exaggerated, its eyes reduced to two pinholes and the skin appearing patchy as though made of plaster. The body was slender, darkly outfitted so that it blended well into the dusk. A wide, sloping smile accosted her, lending the face a stiff and static appearance.

Like a mask.

Kim staggered back, knocking into the table and almost falling to the ground. Even as she did so she could feel those eyes on her. They never once strayed from her. It was just like the night she'd seen this same figure standing at the edge of the woods, looking up at her through her bedroom window. The figure had come back. Why it'd come she couldn't say, but it was standing there, a few steps from the outside of the house, unmoving and simply staring her down. The effect was far more potent at this distance and there could no longer be any doubt; the figure was wearing an almost identical mask to those she'd glimpsed in that old photo. Kim cradled herself instinctively, cast a terrified glance out the window as she straightened herself and leaned against the wall for support.

The figure was gone. The window was clear, filled only with the dying glow of the day.

The gasp of relief in her throat dribbled out into a moan in the next instant, however. To her right, she could hear the sound of the back door being tried.

And then, to her horror, it opened.

She let out a scream as the door swung open, dropping to her knees and cowering near a chair. The figure wasn't simply going to stare at her this time. It was letting itself in and would be upon her in an instant. She closed her eyes, kicked off of the floor until she was squeezed into a corner and shrieked like mad.

“What's going on?” demanded Julian as he rushed in through the back door. He was carrying a plate of freshly-grilled steaks and nearly dropped it as he caught sight of Kim on the floor.

She glanced up at him blearily. Julian was alone. It'd been him opening the door; the masked figure was nowhere in sight. Crawling towards him on hands and knees, she clawed her way up his pant leg like a frightened cat and thrust a shaking finger at the door. “Close it!” she screamed.

Julian did as he was told, quickly shutting the door and fastening the bolt. He glanced around nervously, taking her into his arms and guiding her over to the table. “What happened, babe? Have a seat.” Setting down the plate of food he worked a hand through his sandy hair and let out a sigh. His thin arms were trembling. “You scared the hell out of me,” he said. “I was just outside, tending to the grill. Then, when I came in, you screamed. What happened?”

Kim hadn't even had a chance to catch her breath yet, but it was clear there would be no explaining herself. From the plate of steaks she plucked up a sharp grill utensil and jumped out of her chair, stomping towards the window and glancing outside. The scenery was darker now than it'd been even a few moments before. Night was settling in fast.

Still, there was no sign of the masked figure. He would have stood out like a sore thumb, would have been impossible to miss had he been there. No matter how long she waited, no matter how frenziedly she scanned the yard however, there was no sign of him. Shaking, she dropped the utensil into the sink and slumped against the basin, reaching for her stomach and very nearly throwing up. Julian was upon her at once, holding her by the shoulders as her legs began to give.

“Kim, you're scaring me. What's going on?”

She sucked in a deep breath and tried to steady her voice through the tears. “I... I saw someone outside this window just now,” she managed through grit teeth. She dried her tears against his t-shirt and stole a nervous glance out the window. Still, there was no one out there.

Julian shook his head. “No, babe, I was just out there grilling, I told you that. I was all alone out there, I'm sure of it. If someone had come that close to the house, then I would've seen 'em.”

“No,” she pressed. “No, I'm sure it wasn't you. They were wearing a mask, Julian. A white, plaster mask. And dark clothing. It wasn't you. I'm certain.”

Biting his lip, Julian reached behind her and tugged the short curtains closed, blocking out their view of the back yard. Sighing, he paced before her for a moment, rubbing at his brow and growing red-faced. He wanted to comfort her, but it was clear he was exceedingly annoyed by this outburst. “Honey, I'm telling you... I... I've been out there more than a half hour now. All alone, by the grill. Your nerves have been shot lately and you probably thought you saw something, but looking out that window I don't see a damn thing. Just calm down, have a sit and we can talk about it. Please?” He gave her a searching gaze, extending a hand towards one of the kitchen chairs she'd knocked out of place during her fall.

Kim felt betrayed. He doesn't believe me. Why the hell doesn't he believe me? She fought back a fresh wave of tears, shaking her head. “I know what I saw,” she muttered. Though, the more she reflected on it, the less she could blame him for not believing her. She was sick and tired of his not putting stock into her fears about the property, but when monumental freak-outs like this one yielded no proof on later inspection, how could she fault him for his skepticism? In his position she may not have believed him, either. Still, it stung to be on the receiving end every time. He refused to take her seriously and she didn't feel as though she could rely on anyone. Julian was going to treat her like she was crazy until she actually did go crazy.

“Please,” he said, marching to the table and sitting down, hands folded. “Just knock it off. You've been too high strung lately. You've been dreaming up problems where they don't exist, babe. We left the city to avoid stress, but now here we are freaking out over nothing. Not exactly relaxing, is it?” He sighed. “And you scared the hell out of me. I thought you were hurt, that you...” He shook his head and trailed off, looking up at the ceiling. His jaw tensed in annoyance.

“I'm sorry,” she mumbled, pursing her lips. Kim gulped and approached the table, taking the seat across from his. “Just... just hear me out though, won't you?”

But Julian wasn't looking at her. His gaze had been drawn instead to the weather-beaten journal on the table. His face had grown a deeper shade of red at its sighting and with a terrible scowl he blasted the tabletop with his fist. “And now what the hell is this?” he barked, reaching for the volume. “Did you take this out of the basement? Is this what has you all worked up and seeing ghosts and shit?” He squeezed the journal so hard between his hands that he shook.

“It's... it's Dakota's journal. It belonged to Dakota Reed, one of the people who lived here before us,” she tried to explain. “I know you're not interested in this, but I've learned some really weird things and--”

Julian wasn't much interested in her explanations, however. “You know what? The only weird thing here is your fascination with these people. They're dead and gone and it has nothing to do with us. Let it go already! All you're doing is causing problems for us by filling your head with this bullshit!” He stood up and opened the book, wrenching it in two with a grimace and throwing it across the room, where it landed in pieces near the trash bin. Pages fell out of it as it sailed through the air, littering the floor. Livid, he stormed out of the kitchen and went upstairs without another word.

Kim heard the bedroom door slam a short while later. She didn't see him again till the next morning. Carefully, and with tears stabbing at her eyes, she crossed the room and gathered up the broken book, tucking the pages one by one into some semblance of order. She clutched the thing to her chest and placed it neatly inside a kitchen drawer, obscuring it with dish towels.

She understood Julian's frustration. She almost couldn't blame him for blowing up at her.

But she wasn't through with the journal yet. In a little while, perhaps when this had blown over, she'd dive back in. She had no choice. The book called to her, and she knew that Dakota still had a good deal to share with her.

She spent the night laying on the sofa, her phone playing soft music until the battery died.

Chapter 7

She awoke to someone nudging her in the shoulder. Opening her eyes, she found Julian standing near the edge of the sofa, shoving a small thermos into her hands and urging her up. “Come on, let's get out for a bit,” he said.

She stared up at him groggily, working a few tangles out of her black hair and yawning. “What's happening?”

“Nothing,” he replied. “I just think the two of us could use some fresh air. I want to go for a long walk, get out of the house for a little while. That's all.”

Shrugging, Kim sought out her hooded sweatshirt and threw it on. She ambled upstairs for a pair of jeans and then brushed her teeth before joining him at the back door.

The daylight was bright; how long she'd slept she couldn't be sure. She hadn't gotten a look at the clock. The day was chill, and a persistent breeze played across the sunlit landscape. The day was a curious marriage of warmth and ice, the sunlight providing ample heat but the wind stealing it away with every gust. She slipped the thermos into her front pocket and cradled it in her hands, following behind Julian with her head low and her eyes still bleary. It'd been a rough night. She'd slept a long, dreamless sleep and felt drained for it. Her head hurt and her memories of the previous night were grainy.

For his part, Julian seemed apologetic. “Sorry about last night,” he said. “I handled things poorly. But I want to make it right. And a day hiking the woods is exactly what we need.” He wrenched open his own thermos and took a small gulp of hot coffee. Zipping his jacket all the way up, he led them across the yard to the edge of the woods, offering a little smile. “You know, we haven't really explored the woods yet. You excited?”

At this, Kim's eyes shot wide open. They were going into the woods? She looked to the wall of dark, tall columns, the grooves standing out like stark crevasses, and shuddered. “Honestly? No.” And it was no lie. She'd follow him into the woods, if only to prove to herself that they were ordinary and that there was nothing to fear in them, but she couldn't even pretend to be excited about it. She'd seen and heard too many things out of these woods to want to spend time there. She was thankful for the sunshine, at least. “I guess it's about as good a day for it as any.”

Julian nodded. He knew that she was bothered by the prospect of hiking in the woods. This was likely just his way of making her face her fears. “Immersion therapy”, or something. “Hard to believe we've already been here more than a month, huh? Time flies,” he said.

Had it really been a month already? In recent days Kim hadn't much noticed the passage of time. And now, as they walked, she was less and less interested in his small-talk. The forest that rose ahead was a terrifying prospect. The bit of dead or dying grass that served to delineate the boundary between the field and the woods was striking to her. She felt herself approaching the borderland between familiarity and utter chaos. What would happen when they set foot on the other side of that border? Would they ever make it out again?

Slowly, as they stepped into the woods and left the house far behind, a subdued darkness began to fall over them. The towering trees, bald though they were, obscured the sunlight so that it fell in dribs and drabs. These woods, she thought, accumulated shadows just like the rooms in the house. It was the same darkness she'd witnessed there, substantial, and she was comforted little at the comparison. Everything in this area seemed bathed in the same darkness. The forest floor was mainly dirt. Here and there pockets of sparse grass or moss would turn up, but mostly she saw stretches of soft, flat earth and rocks. Weeds were precious few, and where they did occur they did so with great frailty, sticking out of the ground in thin tangles and limited in their proliferation, perhaps by the shade of the surrounding trees. The deeper they went, the more Kim felt herself wading in an ocean of shadow. It was like these woods were topped by a semi-transparent canopy, filtering the light and reducing it to a shadowed powder. She frowned, her nose accosted by a peppery earthiness, and found it harder to breathe here. It's like the shadows are a part of the air... like you're breathing them in.

“Can't wait to get started on that kitchen. I feel like we've been putting it off. But when I finally get started I'm going to rip out those cabinets and that flooring in one go. Just you wait. It's going to look like a million bucks when I'm through with it.” Julian talked on and on for a while about their renovation plans, however such things couldn't have been further from her mind. She didn't care about prettying up the house anymore. It could have been decked out in gold bricks and she still wouldn't have been happy there. Something was wrong with the property, and until she knew what it was and tried to set it right, she'd never be comfortable.

In order to keep from hyperventilating, she motioned to the woods around them and paused, looking upward. Since entering the woods, she hadn't heard a damn thing but their footsteps. There were no birdcalls, no frogs or insects ringing out. It was dread, pestilential silence, amplified to a disquieting degree. The sounds they generated in their advance seemed out of place, giving the overwhelming impression that this was not a space made for humankind. Their feet had never been intended to tread this stretch of forest. She broke up the silence with a question, recalling as she did so what Edwin had said on the matter. “Why do you think these trees are all dead? What's up with these woods? I haven't heard any birds, either.” She remembered Edwin saying something about how the woods had always been this way, and that he'd never seen a deer pass through them in all his decades living in the area.

He turned to her in a flash, sporting an exaggerated grimace and wide eyes. “It's because the ground is sour!” He laughed to himself, but when she didn't share his amusement he sighed and offered up a more serious response. “Well, I don't know a whole lot about trees, but maybe the soil here just isn't rich enough for them to grow. And... maybe the local birds all migrated or something. It is getting colder out.”

Kim arched a brow, shooting him a sidelong glance. “Man, you're a regular outdoorsman. A naturalist and a scholar.” She rolled her eyes. “When I was out with Edwin he told me a little bit about these woods. It doesn't make sense. The trees in the yard and in front of the house all have leaves. These woods, though... Edwin said that the trees out here have always looked this way and that he's never seen animals come through.”

“Huh,” replied Julian, giving his thermos a swirl.

Annoyed, Kim continued. “Of course, that doesn't explain the noise we heard coming out of here the other night. You remember that?”

At this, Julian twitched a little. He'd obviously worked hard to put it out of his mind, but now that the memory of that night had been roused, he didn't care to revisit it. “That...” He cleared his throat. “Just because he's never seen an animal come through doesn't mean that they never come through. I mean, maybe someone shot a bear and it staggered through here, wounded. Ever think of that?” He gulped, chasing his ever-mounting dread with a sip of coffee. His unease was written all over his face however. If the darting of his eyes past each and every dark trunk they passed was any indication, then he was having second thoughts about strolling through these woods where only a few nights back they'd heard that cacophonous, nightmarish cry.

Kim tasted her coffee, but it clashed with the aftertaste of her toothpaste so that she nearly spit it out. Screwing the lid back on, she looked somberly at the stretch ahead of them, at the unchanging, dim scenery. It was one tree after another, after another, with the rare lump of moss or sprig of grass to break up the monotony. Hiking along this flat, tree-infested land was about the dullest thing she could think of.

They'd been out just a half hour when Kim decided she wanted to stop for a break. The taste of her toothpaste had faded and her mind demanded caffeine. At first, she'd leaned against a tree to support herself, but the moment her back touched the rocky, ashen bark, she gave a jolt and ambled away from it. It didn't feel right. Sucking down a few mouthfuls of coffee, she peered around them, growing uncomfortable as though they were standing in the midst of a huge crowd. Their words, their movements; it was almost like they were being witnessed, monitored. The trees, then, were the eavesdroppers. “Not much to see out here,” she said, grimacing.

Julian smoothed out a blonde cowlick and set his thermos down on the ground, stretching. “Yeah, well, I never expected it to be the greatest hike of our lives. Just figured we should get out here and have a look around now that we live here.”

“How long do these woods go on for?” she asked.

Julian shrugged. “There's no telling, really. A long way, I'm sure. Longer than I care to walk, anyhow.”

She was ready to ask him if they could just return home when something caught her eye amidst the mess of trees. They'd passed it by without noticing, but something in the way it dully reflected the sunlight from this angle brought it into view. It was tall as any of the trees and nearly as wide. It seemed to stretch twenty or thirty feet into the air and its sides were worked into brownish, rusted grooves. It terminated in a clear bubble, which threw off the natural light.

“What is that?” she asked, walking over to it. The closer she got, the more she could make out. It had a wide base, about two feet across, and was well-planted into the ground. It looked like some sort of streetlight, but was far stockier than those she knew from the city. Its presence in this endless mess of trees was baffling. Approaching it, she ran a hand against its ruddy exterior, shivering as it proved colder than she'd expected.

Julian wasn't far behind. He glanced up at the thing, appraising it for a moment, before answering her. “Well, it's a light of some sort, obviously.”

Kim smacked him in the arm. “You think? But... what is it for? What is it doing all the way out here, in the middle of nowhere?”

Walking about its perimeter, Julian studied it. It was plain in design, uniformly grooved and giving no clues as to its operation. There were no buttons or switches to be seen, no cords extending from it. Nothing. It was a large, metal pole sticking out of the ground, topped by a small glass dome. “I dunno, but let's see if I can't figure it out.” Walking up to the thing, Julian threw his hands around it as best he could manage, planted his fingers in the grooves, and attempted to climb it. He had some difficulty at first, but made some headway after making a small jump. He was nearly a third of the way up when he slid back down, wincing. He'd earned a small cut on his hand from a piece of rusty metal. “No worries,” he said with a grin. “Pretty sure my Tetanus is up to date.” He patted his hands on his jeans and nursed his cut. “I only got up there a little ways, but there's no telling what it's for or how you turn it on. It's a light, that's all I can say. Maybe... maybe they used to do work out here in the woods and needed light. Or maybe, you know, they used it to make signals.”

“Signals for what?”

“Well, there's no telling how old it is. If it's from World War Two or something, it could've been a military thing. You know? Maybe that's why they call it the Beacon estate, eh?” He was pleased with himself, grinning ear to ear. Julian picked up his thermos and opened it, peering inside and searching for a few more drops. “It's rusted up and isn't likely to work anyhow, so who cares? Let's keep going.”

Kim didn't put too much thought towards the fixture and followed Julian soon thereafter, but as they walked, she wondered about the thing and whether or not it was still functional. If so, then they could possibly turn it on and find out what its purpose was. Turning back to glance at it one last time as they went, she stifled a shudder. She felt, for some reason, that it was a thing best left to obscurity.

***

“If we'd just turned back when I told you to, then this wouldn't have happened.” Kim grimaced, arms crossed as they pushed through the woods. The sky was darkening with unusual rapidity. Evening was on its way. They'd been out for a while, meandering aimlessly in the woods without regards to the time or their direction. The scenery hadn't changed much. Tall, bald trees still surrounded them. But considering how long they'd wandered, there was no telling where in the ocean of black trunks they were now. Kim divided her sight between the dusky sky and the woods straight ahead of her. She hoped for a break in them, for some sign that they were nearing the edge of the woods.

As usual, Julian was urging calm. But as the sky began to grow dim and his pace quickened, the fear in him became all too apparent. He didn't want to be lost in the woods at night anymore than she did. Stopping to appraise their surroundings he pointed out certain trees or moss growths that he thought looked familiar. It was futile, of course. It was like being lost in a maze.

They walked quickly, agreeing that if they simply kept going, they'd eventually exit the woods. “It could go on for miles,” he said, grunting. “But we'll get out eventually. These woods don't go on forever.”

And thankfully, they didn't.

Tired, annoyed and not a little disoriented, they came upon a break in the woods. Bursting out into a field of grass, they looked about them for a familiar sight, finding nothing but open space. Still, this was an improvement. Picking a direction at random, Julian led Kim onward, hoping that they might stumble upon a road. If only they could find out where they were, then perhaps they'd be able to make it back before dark. Time was of the essence, however. The sun was fading fast, dipping into the horizon and leaving the sky painted a deep purple.

As they hurried through the open field, tall grass whipping against their pant legs, Kim stumbled over something. It stubbed her toe despite her shoes, and she uttered a curse. “What the hell was that?” she asked, scanning the ground. “I stepped on something.” Parting the grass with both hands, she back-tracked and bent down, searching for the thing that'd tripped her up. She needed to look for only a moment, and when she found it, a little cry left her lips.

A toppled wooden cross made from broken twigs sat upon the ground where she'd just stepped. And nested in a dense clump of grass, she found a smooth, square stone.

It looked like a makeshift grave.

Taking a step back, she appraised it in the dusk, the dying sunlight and new moonlight elucidating it in equal parts. The stone was weather-beaten, smooth, and most certainly looked like a grave marker. There was no writing on it, making it impossible to know who was buried there. But, recalling the journal, the photo she'd seen in it, Kim had some guesses. “H-hey,” she said, grabbing Julian's sleeve and pushing him towards the grave. “This looks... this looks like a grave. Do you think... do you think someone's buried here?”

Julian stood before it, hands on hips, and examined the stone. Bending down, he picked up the cross and toyed with it before casting it back into the grass. “Might be,” he said, his eyes darting back to the nearby treeline and a subtle shiver running down his spine. He turned and began walking away from the grave, guiding her along by the arm as he went. “Never mind that. We need to hurry home before it gets too dark.”

Kim resisted a little, looked back at the parted grass, at the grave marker that was now awash in the light and glowing like some hallowed artifact. Who was buried there? Had the Reeds been buried there? Or, maybe, had their baby been buried there? She felt an intense desire to know and almost charged back towards it when Julian let go of her, but eventually she yielded to his urging and joined him in looking for a road. If they didn't make it back home, and fast, they'd be stuck out there in the night. In the pitch blackness. There were no other buildings around for miles. Save for starlight, they'd be navigating blind. And if it ended up a cloudy night, they'd be in real trouble.

Breaking away from the woods, their view of the distance improved and they spotted the familiar back-side of the house with tremendous relief. They hadn't been so far from it after all, had simply come up to the property from the side. The bay windows, the general shape of the wide lower story and the boxy upper perched atop it. A sight for sore eyes. They'd made it back, somehow.

But their joy eroded quickly.

They'd begun jogging towards the house when Julian pointed out something queer. Something that made them stop dead in their tracks and nearly retreat back into the black woods. Pausing in the field, nodding at the house, he narrowed his gaze. The lights were on, each of the windows twinkling like tiny candles in the distance. “Did you... did you leave the lights on in there?” he asked.

Kim shook her head. “No, of course not. The lights weren't even on when we left. It was daylight out.”

He pursed his lips, then pressed on slowly. “That's what I thought.”

They crept through the grass, skirting the edge of the property, and found that the back door was sitting wide open. Light poured out from it, clashing with the newly-laid night. Julian thrust out an arm and blocked Kim's way. He gulped as he appraised the house, his breathing growing ragged as he stood still and searched for signs of an intruder.

He balled his fists. “I think...” he managed after a time. “I think there's someone in the house.”

Chapter 8

Taking up the axe he'd been using for chopping wood, Julian led them across the yard and to the edge of the back door. He glanced at her, told her to stay back, and then crossed into the house. He took a single, nervous step, his boot landing on the kitchen floor and then wavering a little as though he'd just stepped in something unpleasant. Sucking in a deep breath, he bellowed into the house. “Is anyone there?” He glanced again to Kim, looking down at her pocket and adding in a hushed whisper, “Call the cops.”

Kim dug around in her pocket, pulling out her phone. It wouldn't turn off, however. Shit, she thought. She'd let it go dead the night previous while listening to music. It would be of no help to them. Shaking her head, she gave Julian an anxious look and returned the phone to her pocket.

“If there's anyone in here... I'm coming inside and I've got an axe!” It seemed like such a stupid thing to say. Telegraphing their movements in this way probably wouldn't help them, and Kim felt fairly certain it wouldn't intimidate the trespasser.

She wasn't sure who to expect, whether the intruder was a flesh-and-blood person or whether this was simply something they would come to write off as “unnatural” or “coincidental”. The kitchen floor groaned beneath them as they advanced through the kitchen. Kim closed the back door behind them, locking it and keeping three or four steps behind Julian. She glanced nervously about the kitchen, looking for signs of an intruder. Nothing looked out of place on first glance. She hoped beyond hope that this would prove some sort of strange misunderstanding. Surely they'd just absentmindedly left the door open and all of the lights on, right?

No. She knew they hadn't. Her optimism shriveled away, dying almost at once like the trees in the forest outside.

Leveling the axe at his side, Julian moved swiftly into the living room in the hopes of surprising any lurking attackers. The room was empty, though, the lamps all on and a faint draft giving the curtains the slightest sway. He canvassed the room, paced around the sofa and was ready to swing at anything. He continued on in this fashion as he went from room to room, his brow covered densely with sweat and his hands growing red for their tight grip on the weapon. Finally, when he'd concluded his search of each bedroom, bathroom, the attic and, finally, the cellar and garage, he dropped the axe onto the kitchen floor with a thud and sighed, shaking his head and collapsing into a chair. He pawed at his forehead and shuddered, sucking on his lips pensively. He was shaken, perplexed.

There was no one in the house but the two of them.

Kim cradled herself, looked around the kitchen as though she were privy to some other presence. It didn't seem right; surely someone had been there just moments before they'd arrived. A quick search of their belongings found nothing of value missing; Julian's wallet, for example, was still in its usual spot, beside the refrigerator. Their car was undisturbed. The utter normalcy of the scene made Kim doubt her own memory.

“One of us,” said Julian, looking up at Kim with a somewhat antagonistic narrowing of the eyes, left the lights on. And the door open. Wind must've blown it open because it wasn't locked all the way.”

Kim sucked her teeth, giving her head a weak shake. “No, I doubt it. I'm good about remembering these things and so are you. And... anyhow the two of us were outside all day. I dunno about you, but I hardly remember much of a breeze out there. At least, there was nothing strong enough to blow open a door. And the lights... I was asleep before we left. I wouldn't have even had a chance to switch them all on if I'd wanted to.”

Julian scratched at his ear, sniffing the air. “Could've been that I left some on, I guess. Or we had a power surge of some kind. Old house, old wiring.” He was playing that game of his again, attempting to justify everything that'd happened with a rational explanation. The way he grit his teeth and fidgeted in his seat proved to her that it wasn't working this time. He was shaken up, badly.

“Maybe,” she uttered, trying to make him feel a little better.

The two of them jumped when a loud sound as of the rushing of water issued from the upstairs.

Reclaiming the axe, Julian stomped up the stairs and shoved open the door of their newly-renovated bathroom. The tap in the bath was on, full-force, and was spewing water into the basin like a fire hose. Taking a quick scan of the room, Julian reached in and shut it off, his face growing redder and his hand shaking so badly he nearly dropped the axe. When he exited, he jumped a little in finding Kim outside in the hall. Clearing his throat, he motioned to the bathroom door. “Pipes are old,” he said, mainly for his own benefit. “Change in water pressure made it spew like that, I think.”

Though she was happy that the strange occurrences around the house were getting to him, Kim didn't like to see her husband scared. Up to this point he'd been the steady one among them, the one she could rely on for normalcy and indifference. Now he was a little spooked. Had they not just spent the day traversing the hideous woods outside and stumbling upon graves and weird light fixtures, then perhaps he'd have been more ambivalent towards all that was happening.

They returned downstairs, milling about the kitchen in silence until Kim chanced to speak. “So, it's like I've been telling you. I think something's weird... off, about this house, Julian.”

He shook his head, throwing out a single finger and wagging it with an exaggerated gesture. “Nah, nah. Let's not even go there. You want me to believe that the previous owners are really coming back for the house or something like that?” He slicked his sweat-ridden mane back and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. “I'm going to have a home inspector come by and check out the wiring, the pipes. It passed inspection before we bought it, but that doesn't mean they don't need replaced, you know? It'll probably cost an arm and a leg to get people out here to do the work, but I could always call Bill back in the city. He's good with that kind of thing, has friends who can get him discounts and such. We'd save a bundle if we did the work ourselves.”

He wasn't listening, wasn't even remotely interested in exploring this occurrence further. It'd happened just moments ago and he was already working hard to put it out of his mind, to pretend it'd never happened. There was just no way she was going to make him see. There was something wrong with the house, something strange surrounding the property. Maybe this strangeness had been responsible for the disappearance of the previous owners, or maybe it'd been set into motion by them. Whatever the case, Kim realized this would be her battle and hers alone. She couldn't rely on Julian for anything but the most superficial support in these matters. He simply didn't want to hear any of it. Unless Dakota Reed herself sprang from the shadows and tried to attack him there was nothing for it. He wouldn't believe anything she had to say on these matters. The reality was too uncomfortable for him.

Tired from their hike and thoroughly shaken, Kim drank some water and paced about the kitchen before deciding she needed to sleep. Too much had happened that day already; she wasn't looking to stay awake and see what the night held in store. She'd get some sleep, hopefully, and wake up more refreshed in the morning. Leaving Julian in the kitchen, she rose up the stairs, her legs aching for the exertion, and threw off her sweaty clothes. She hopped into bed and burrowed beneath the covers, seeking security in the perfect darkness of the bedroom.

Julian wasn't far behind, none too fond of staying alone in the downstairs, apparently. When he'd checked and re-checked the locks, he ran up the stairs and slipped into bed beside her. She could hear his ragged breathing, could feel the way he shuddered against the mattress and sought to get comfortable.

In the morning he'd pretend everything was all right, that he'd worked himself up over nothing.

But, for now, Julian was scared.

Chapter 9

Sleep had done little to exorcise the soreness in her bones and even less to calm her mind. Preparing a late breakfast, Kim busied herself in the kitchen, slicing up a large bell pepper. Julian was back to his normal self, walking confidently about the house and seemingly willing to leave the night's events behind him as though they were merely a bad dream. To her, this most recent incident was but the latest in a long chain of things she couldn't put out of her head. She was far past the point of denial. The sound of the skillet sizzling startled her from her thoughts and she turned it down to medium.

Julian was sitting at the kitchen table, flipping through a magazine and humming to himself. Now and then she'd catch him looking out the kitchen window at the woods, searchingly. But, finding them empty, barren, undisturbed, he'd give a little nod and return to his reading, affirmed. Kim sliced through an onion and began to mince it. There were so many questions, so many incidents, all of them tugging her towards some inevitable conclusion. But what was it? What did this property wish to tell her? What was she going to discover if she pressed on? She bit her lip, recalling Dakota's journal. She'd stashed it away after Julian's fit, placing it in a nearby drawer beneath a mass of dish towels. Knowing it was there she felt an immense pull to read it. She was cooking, preparing a meal for the two of them, however hunger didn't even register. Kim peered over at the drawer in question longingly, Julian's humming and the click-click of her knife against the cutting board being drowned out by the weight of her thoughts.

Then, there was pain.

Stinging, white-hot.

Kim looked down at the cutting board, at the stream of red that streaked the onion and bell pepper, at the knife in her hand. She dropped it, and it clanged against the wooden board, its edge blurred in blood.

“Oh... oh, shit,” she muttered, taking a step back. One of her fingertips on her left hand, the pointer finger, was partially missing. Without even realizing it, she'd lopped about half of the fingertip off, carving straight through the fingernail, with its lovely blue polish. The cutting board was grown slick with her blood now. It fell in fat drops, splashing as he held the damaged digit in the air and tried not to panic. She looked over at Julian, eyes wide, and gasped. “H-honey, I... I...”

Julian's gaze narrowed and he threw down his magazine. “Whoa, damn,” he said, rushing over and taking her forearm in his hands. He looked at the new wound and grimaced. “What'd you do, babe?”

She was shaking now, her gaze traveling glassily between the damaged fingertip and her husband. Feeling as though she might lose her balance at any moment, she leaned against the counter and bumped the cutting board, sending the knife onto the counter with a metallic thud. Her head was spinning, her face feeling suddenly sweaty and her body cold. Blood dripped from the opening and also ran down the length of her finger, over the back of her hand, towards her wrist. Her vision was getting spotty as she looked to Julian with tears in her eyes. She'd never been very good about seeing her own blood.

And, for that matter, she'd never spilled quite this much of it at once.

He guided her slowly to the table, leaving a trail of blood in their wake as they went. Situating her in a chair, she shuddered and flopped, looking for something solid to hold onto with her uninjured hand. The room was spinning and she felt sure she'd pass out. Julian had disappeared into the upstairs in search of their first aid kit. When he finally returned with the blue zip pouch some time later, Kim felt like an eternity had passed. She leaned against the back of the chair, drew in a shaky breath, and closed her eyes. Julian took hold of her arm. She could hear the ripping of plastic packaging, the opening of a bottle.

“OK,” he said, pouring a bit of rubbing alcohol into a bowl. “Stick it in there.”

She hesitated, but Julian swiftly guided the injured digit into the solution. The liquid in the bowl turned a light shade of red and pain coursed through every nerve in her arm. She wanted to pull away, and tried to, but Julian held her firm, telling her that she needed to sterilize it before they could dress it. His words seeped into her ears stubbornly. She felt like she'd gone swimming and gotten water into her ears; sound was muffled and echoes resounded through her skull. The stinging continued, albeit to a lesser degree, as Julian drew her hand out of the bowl and appraised the cut afresh. It was still bleeding, but it had stopped somewhat. Kim chanced to look at the wound, leaning forward. Not a moment later, she wished she hadn't. Her stomach quaked and she began to dry heave.

“Come on now,” he said, “It's not all that bad. Let me wrap it up and when it starts to heal we'll throw some antibiotic ointment on it. It should be fine. It'll probably grow back, even.”

She'd done quite a number on it. That finger would probably never be the same, and she wasn't sure if she'd require stitches for it. His calm attitude clashed with the horror that rose up in her chest, stealing her breath away. Julian began to wrap it tightly with gauze, immobilizing the finger and going through multiple small rolls. The first few layers had been saturated in no time, but as the wrapping continued, the digit seemed to bleed less and less. Finally, placing a long piece of paper tape around the whole thing, he squatted down on his heels and looked it over.

“OK,” he said. “I think that'll do it.”

She steadied herself against the table, looking at her bandaged finger stupidly. “D-do I need to go to the hospital?” she asked. “C-can they r-reattach it? Or give me stitches?”

Julian shook his head, toweling off his hands and scrubbing a bit of blood off of the floor. “No, babe. It's not as serious as all that. Trust me, if we drove you all the way out to the nearest ER they'd just have a look at it and wrap it up the same way. In fact, they'd charge us a few hundred bucks for it, too. No point.” Collecting up a number of bloody dish towels, he ventured to the counter, pulling open the drawer in search of some fresh ones. Grabbing up a large stack, he paused for a moment and seemed to stare into the open drawer with great intensity. Surprise, even.

He'd found Dakota's journal.

Julian said nothing, but shut the drawer and licked at his lips. He wasn't going to cause a scene right now that she'd just hurt herself, but that he was displeased to find the book in the house was all to clear in the way his face reddened and his jaw tensed into a grimace. He scrubbed up the remainder of the blood on the floor, counter and table, shut off the stove and sighed, throwing the bloodied rags onto the counter in a heap.

“Is... is my fingertip still there?” asked Kim, quivering. She couldn't stand the thought of seeing the severed piece. She retched as her eyes traveled over to the cutting board across the room. “Please, get rid of it... I... I don't want to see it.”

Julian nodded solemnly and looked through the mess of bloodied onion and pepper on the cutting board. Picking through it, he shook his head. “I don't see it. Could have fallen into the sink or whatever. I'll make sure to get rid of it if I find it. You just... just go read or relax or something, OK? I'll throw a pizza in the oven.”

Kim stood up, sniffling. “All right.” Stepping into the living room, she paused. “I'm gonna go upstairs and wash the blood off of my hands. Do you... do you think it'll be all right?”

Staring down at the cutting board, slowly ushering it into the sink, Julian snapped. “I'm sure it'll be fine. For Christ's sake, you cut your finger. You aren't an extra in Saving Private Ryan, so why don't you calm the fuck down and quit with the theatrics? Why does everything have to be an emergency for you? Why does everything have to be such a huge concern? You aren't dying. Get over it.”

“Gee, thanks. You've got great bedside manner,” she mumbled, pacing out of the kitchen and towards the stairs. He's just mad because he found the journal in the drawer, she thought. When accidents like this happened Julian was usually warmer, more understanding. As she departed she could hear him scrubbing angrily at the sink and spraying down the wooden board. Without even looking at him she knew he was struggling to keep his mouth shut. He wanted to criticize her, to dress her down for keeping the journal even after his earlier freakout. But he didn't. Silently fuming, he worked in the kitchen and didn't say a word.

A short while later the two split a frozen pizza and watched an old action movie. Julian, trying to smooth things over, joked about cutting her pizza for her and about how she wouldn't be able to help in renovating the kitchen. For her part, Kim was trying not to think about the injury. Any time she remembered the look of the wound, the sheer volume of blood that'd poured from it, the nausea that'd washed over her, she felt her heart race. To so much as glance at the bandage was to incite a dreadful throbbing in her hand. She could feel her pulse, could sense the blood rushing through her limbs, and it made her uneasy. Instead, she kept her attention on the TV, ate a few bites of food and reclined on the sofa, the day growing dimmer and dimmer with each passing hour. When the movie was over, she picked up a book and Julian started into another.

Later in the day, Julian complained of a headache and went up to bed. She stayed behind, reading by lamplight. The pain in her finger had subsided; so long as she didn't try and hold the book with that hand, it wasn't a great nuisance to her. He rose the stairs, clutching at his forehead and mumbling about a migraine. She heard him close the bedroom door and flop onto the bed. The floorboards above creaked as he did so.

Now, she was alone. She'd have the whole evening to herself, she felt sure. Setting down her book, Kim stood up and made her way into the kitchen. There was something she needed to do. Until she'd finished reading Dakota's journal, her mind would be unable to focus on anything else. Leaving the journal unfinished was just an unhealthy distraction. The sooner she got it out of the way, the better.

Before heading upstairs, he'd cleaned things up thoroughly. The cutting board and knife were clean, spotless, and the first-aid kit was still sitting upon the counter. She looked around the counter, half-expecting to find her misplaced fingertip, and gave a sigh of relief when it didn't turn up. Julian had said that he couldn't find the severed fingertip, and figured that he'd simply thrown it out with the bits of onion and pepper. It was a good thing, that. If she'd seen it, she'd have gotten miserably woozy.

Kim paced before the counter. The journal. Would it still be there, where she'd left it? She wondered if she shouldn't check the garbage first, or if Julian had gone to the trouble of destroying it. Gritting her teeth, she peered down at the drawer.

Taking the aged knob between her fingers, she pulled the drawer open.

Inside, looking out at her with its familiar, water-damaged cover, was Dakota's journal.

It wasn't relief that washed over her in finding it, but another emotion, unnamable, that made her intestines writhe noisily against one another. She trembled, hesitated for a moment, and then picked it up.

Chapter 10

What remained of the journal was unreadable.

Kim spent the better part of an hour attempting to put the displaced pages into some kind of sequence, but even as she did so she recognized that the remainder of the journal was too damaged to read. The entry after the photograph, where Dakota had detailed the incident in the woods with the mangy wolf, was the last legible thing in the volume. Everything else was just a mess of smeared ink and spotted mildew. A few of the pages had crumbled, the words on them falling away into a kind of dust.

The journal was a lost cause.

She fell into despair. Without being able to read the rest of it, she wouldn't find the answers she was seeking. That journal had been her only hope; there was nowhere else she could turn for answers. The contacts she'd been given wouldn't know about this journal or the strange events described therein. Even Edwin, seemingly the Reeds' closest friend, didn't know about the child they'd taken up in the woods. She was at a dead end.

Closing the volume, Kim sighed and slid it across the kitchen table. She kneaded at her brow, piecing together the readable content in the journal and attempting to extrapolate upon it. Nothing came to her, however. By all accounts the Reeds were childless and there was no sign of the child they'd found in the woods remaining in the house, except, perhaps, in the hidden chamber down in the cellar. She thought about poking around in there again, about seeing whether she couldn't dig up more clues, but peered out at the darkening evening and thought better of it.

Defeated, Kim returned the journal to the drawer and shuffled out into the living room. She laid down and tried to finish the romance novel she'd started earlier in the day, but ultimately dozed off. There seemed little else to do. The mystery of the Reeds' disappearance was as captivating to her as ever, and with every dead lead her fascination only seemed to deepen. Nevertheless, she knew that, without the journal, she might never learn what'd happened to the couple, to the baby in that photograph. She reflected dreamily upon all of the strange things that'd occurred in the house; the photographs they'd found, the masked specters emerging from the woods, their coming home to find the lights on and the back door open without explanation. Something queer was certainly afoot in the old Beacon estate, but Kim would probably never be able to figure out the cause behind these seemingly unrelated incidents. If there was a thread tying all of these peculiar phenomena together, then she couldn't see it.

Maybe it was better that way. Maybe, if she couldn't progress in her research, she'd be forced to hang it up and she'd learn to live with the house.

Kim dozed, the paperback slipping out of her grasp and landing on the edge of the sofa.

***

She awoke with a start, bolting from a dream she couldn't fully recall. Kim sat up and blinked for a few moments, the light of the reading lamp overwhelming her eyes and blinding her. When she straightened herself and scanned the room, she was startled once more to find Julian standing nearby, beside the TV. He looked groggy, like he'd just crawled out of bed, but he'd pulled on a sweater and was wearing boots. The look on his face was grave. Perhaps it was merely the light, but Kim thought she spied in his visage hints of grey, as though the color had been washed out of him. Sweat dotted his forehead in fat beads and his hands shook a little as he went to speak. He didn't look at all well. “Babe,” he began, “I know that something's been going on around here. Something... something isn't right in this house.” He paused, surveyed the living room pensively for a time. “I believe you. I really do.”

Kim leaned forward, reaching out to take his hands in hers. His skin was ice cold, and she gave a little jerk at the sensation. “Honey, you're freezing. Whats the matter?” She tried to warm his hands, rubbing at them with her own, her bandaged finger sticking out awkwardly as she did so. “Are you feeling OK? You don't look too good.” He'd gone to bed complaining of a headache not too long ago. She wasn't sure what time it was, but a glance out the window told her it was dark, and that the moon was out in full force. Perhaps he'd come down with something?

Julian shook his head. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “I know I'm asking a lot, but...” His gaze drifted listlessly to the nearby window. “I'd like for us to go out there again, to the woods.”

Kim exhaled sharply, arching a brow. “W-what? You want to go out there again?” She gulped. “Right now? Hell no.”

“Hear me out,” continued Julian, kneeling beside the sofa. “Something is going on here and... I think I know what it is. We need to go out there. I want to show you something. Something that might tie this all together and give us some answers.”

Kim shuddered at the thought, tugging on the collar of her sweatshirt as if to keep out a nonexistent cold. “I dunno, babe... it's late, and dark...” She laughed nervously. “What's come over you? Do you really want to go out there again after the last time?”

Julian stood up and gave a weak shrug. “Of course not. But I have to go. I have to check something out. I'll go it alone, if I have to.”

She stiffened. “No, I'll... I'll come, too.” Wiping the last of the sleep from her eyes, Kim ventured to the kitchen and sought out a flashlight. “Let's hurry, though. And we'll make sure we lock up really well this time.” What was this change in him? What had he found that'd left him looking so unsettled and compelled him to wake her in the night? What could be so urgent that it required their attention at this late hour? Whatever it was, she knew it would be important. And without anything left in the journal to guide her, Kim knew she didn't have a choice. If Julian had found something, then it was the only lead she'd have into the mystery surrounding the property. When she'd put on her shoes, she walked to the back door and waved Julian on. “Lead the way.”

He stepped through the door, looked out to the woods with a wince, and nodded. “OK, follow me.”

Chapter 11

The woods towered blackly, obscuring the full moon as they walked along the treeline. The tall grass was chill, and the individual blades seemed to reach up and touch her as she passed. In some spots, the grass was at her knees, and the blades would brush up against her ankles with vigor at each step. Kim recoiled, keeping the flashlight as steady as she could on the figure of Julian a few paces ahead. The night was silent, cool. The only sound she could register was that of the breeze ambling through the woods. It may have been mere fancy, but it sounded to her like a soft, breathy flute, especially in those moments when the wind picked up.

Scanning the sky, Kim tried to break up the silence. “Look at that moon,” she said. “It's enormous.”

Julian said nothing. He marched through the grass, never once looking back at her. He trudged on determinedly, stuck in his own head. She knew this look; he was focused on something. It was bothering him deeply, whatever it was, giving him the look of a stoic statue. He'd claimed to want to go into the woods, but so far they'd avoided them by a slight margin. They were edging along the woods, keeping just outside the tree-line. Whatever he sought seemed to be just out of the woods, rather than in them.

Kim turned back and saw that the house was now out of view. They'd turned slightly, rounding the border of trees and starting up that stretch of open field she recalled from their flight during the last hike. This was where they'd found that grave.

She slowed down, nearly stumbling, as she remembered it. The tiny, blank headstone. The crucifix made of twigs and twine. Who or what was buried there she couldn't guess, but she did know that she didn't want to be anywhere near the site this late at night. She scurried ahead, keeping pace with Julian only because she didn't want to be left behind.

The wind picked up once more, whipping the tall grass into a frenzy and sending up a cloud of earthy dust that made her cough. How much further would they go? “Where are we headed, exactly?” she asked. “What is it you wanted to show me?”

Julian's pace had slowed. He was parting the tall grass with his hands, looking for something on the ground.

Oh, God. He's looking for that grave... Why? Why does he want to find that damn thing again? What could he have possibly learned to make him want to come out here in the dark? She exhaled, brought the flashlight forward and tried to light his way.

Then, Julian stopped. Even from a few steps away she could hear the way he gulped when the headstone came into view. “There,” he said in a voice just above a whisper. The towering trunks cast black, ominous shadows against the grass and the grave before him. Though the trees lacked leaves and limbs, the shadows still managed to squirm somehow with the passage of the breeze, as though they were fat snakes. Try as she might to raise up the flashlight, she found its beam a trifle when compared to the darkness. Even the moonlight could not fully penetrate the shadows thrown up by the woods. She crept forward on tiptoes, glancing at the headstone. It was awash in a mixture of shadow and moonlight, glowing in places with an eerie phosphorescence. Long, diaphanous threads clung to its far left corner and disappeared somewhere into the grass.

A sound like the snapping of a twig came from the nearby woods, followed by a low murmur. Kim felt her heart surge into her throat and quickly turned around, throwing light all about the black curtain of the woods. “W-what was that?” she stammered to Julian.

But as she looked over at the grave, she found Julian was gone.

“J-Julian?” she said, her legs shaking now. “Honey... where...” She turned this way and that, casting light all over the immediate vicinity. The woods, the grave plot where he'd been standing not a moment before; none of them featured any sign of him.

Kim was alone.

Trembling, she tugged on the sleeves of her sweatshirt and glanced around, sensing movement in the nigh impenetrable veil of black trees. Something had moved in there, had shifted soundlessly. Had he gone into the woods? Hidden in a tall thicket of grass for some reason? “Julian?” she repeated, this time at greater volume.

Kim canvassed the woods for a time and paused as her light revealed a wan, vein-ridden hand against the ebony trunk of a wide tree. Red pits seemed to take the place of fingernails on the long, bony fingers and the joints stuck out stubbornly.

She knew that hand. She'd seen it in the basement that night when the hidden chamber had been opened. Kim loosed a gasp and fell a few paces back. “Julian!” she shrieked, her light wavering, shaking. She tried to keep it fixed on the trunk in question, on the pale hand and on the stranger it belonged to, who was now slowly emerging from behind the tree. Her stomach churned and her mouth went bone dry. She took a step back, then another, allowing the light to fall upon the half-hidden visage of the figure who lurked just inside the boundary of those moon-starved woods.

A single, incomplete glance was sufficient.

Kim took off running, a scream bursting from her lips as she went. The flashlight dropped from her hand and died out as it hit the ground.

It didn't matter. All she wanted was to make it back to the house. She sprinted as hard as her quivering legs would allow, rushing through the sea of tall grass and gasping all the way.

The thing was beyond horrific, beyond her most fevered imaginings. She felt in some innate way that she'd seen the figure before, had been met with its visage previously, perhaps in a dream, but could not be sure. It didn't matter to her then, whether the hideous wraith-like thing were in some way familiar to her; her heart broke into a gallop at the sight of it and her muscles tensed in anticipation of an escape. At her most fundamental level, base, animal instinct had impelled her to run from it. No explanations were necessary, no time was needed to evaluate the figure past a single narrow glimpse. It was a threat. There was zero doubt of that.

It was a woman. Or, it had once been a woman. But where its humanity ended and its monstrosity began was clear. It wore a scarce assortment of silver hairs upon its head and boasted nothing in the way of clothing. Sagging breasts and stomach could be seen to droop as it took a shambling step forward. The depthless sockets that once answered for eyes were swollen with the same shadowy stuff that seeped across the ground from the woods. A jagged, hideous maw of a mouth hung wide open, and from its gullet there rang after her a damnably familiar cacophony. The roar, like a stifled, gasping scream, came loud as the thing began to give chase. This was the sound she and Julian had heard issuing from the woods, the sound she'd heard in the cellar before the door to the hidden chamber had been opened.

Kim could hear the maniac footfalls of the figure as it followed her, could hear the way those flopping white feet smacked the earth and trampled the tall grass underfoot. The pursuer's cry echoed through the otherwise quiet night, cutting through the air and leaving Kim partially stunned. The sound hit her ears like a dizzying punch, and in tandem with her tears she found it difficult to see straight. It was only an animalistic automatism that saw her through and kept her from collapsing due to sheer, debilitating fright. As she sprinted she could all but feel the grasping white hands upon her. Had she slowed for even an instant, it would have taken hold.

But she did not slow down, did not look back. And in the space of some few seconds, she'd rounded the corner, leaving the unmarked grave behind her, and could now see the back of the house, its windows lit up like welcoming beacons. Invigorated by this sight, she loosed a scream and charged onward, her leg muscles contracting so hard they quaked beneath her skin. She balled her fists and knocked a string of tears from her face, panting and listening for the sounds of her pursuer.

At some point, as the border of her property neared and she could no longer hear the footsteps behind her, she glanced back at the wall of trees. There, buried amidst the shadows, she saw the crooked, bone-white form of the monstrous crone, the body being drawn back into the black growth as if it were leashed. It lingered in the air for a time like a puppet and then disappeared altogether into the shadowy morass. The awful cry resounded once more, pained, jarring. And then silence returned.

Kim stumbled through the back yard, through the fire pit, and fumbled with the back door. When she'd managed to unlock it, she dove inside and bolted it, sobbing as she knelt down upon the kitchen floor. She crept away on all-fours, grasping at the edge of the kitchen table and hoisting herself up. She was a shuddering mass, a mess of spit and tears running down her face. Her lungs burned as if she'd inhaled hot smoke, and it was some time before she managed to regain her breath.

Kim had never been this scared before. The house had frightened her in the past with its creaky floors and dense shadows. Roller coasters, car accidents had all shaken her up before, too. But she'd never experienced anything like this. She placed a hand to her breast and felt her heart throttling in overdrive. Whether it would ever slow down again she was unsure.

She was a half hour in composing herself, and even when the tears stopped flowing the fear refused to dissipate. Cradling herself, her sweatshirt ringed in cold sweat, she fought her way through the house on sore legs and went upstairs. Slowly, she eased open the door to their bedroom, finding Julian snoring on the bed. As the hall light flashed across his sleeping form, he stirred and looked out at her sleepily. “Hey, close that, will you?” he asked, licking his lips. “My head's killing me, babe.”

Shuddering, Kim did as she was told. She said nothing, but simply closed the door and slumped against the wall outside.

Julian hadn't led her outside to the woods. He'd been asleep in bed the whole time. Something else was at work here. The house, some energy she hadn't accounted for, had taken advantage of her and led her there, posing as her husband.

She palmed at her eyes, gritting her teeth.

This was a new development.

Whatever was at work in this house was through with games.

The ante had been upped.

Chapter 12

She wanted to wake him, to tell him everything that'd just happened.

But Kim knew that this was her fight. Convincing Julian that the house was haunted or that the possessed property had fooled her into going out into the woods was an exercise in futility. Julian had seen things there, been scared, but ultimately hadn't gotten worked up enough to act or even to ask the necessary questions. He was comfortable simply putting it out of his mind and letting her do all of the fretting.

So be it, she thought as she laid down in bed beside him. She'd taken a brief, hot shower and changed out of her sweat-soaked clothes. Kim wasn't feeling calm enough to sleep, but her body craved rest and the bed seemed to her the only secure place in the house. She didn't want to linger around downstairs, where she might peek through a window and find some monstrosity looking back at her. No, here in bed, she could do like Julian did and simply pretend everything was fine. Bumps in the night could go ignored, curious sounds from the woods could be blocked out by the pillow and she could emerge from the packet of covers when the sun was up.

Fatigued and shaken, she couldn't help but laugh at herself. In what now felt like a past life, Kim had always been critical of the characters in stereotypical haunted house movies. “Why don't they just leave the house, move somewhere else if they're so spooked?” she'd always wonder of the protagonists. Of course, in reality, things weren't that easy. She wondered if she couldn't convince Julian to leave the house and stay in a hotel for a while, but then, what would such a move solve? The presence surrounding this house, the bad vibes, would continue even without the two of them. She was sure. Moreover, this was their house, the asset they'd poured their time and money into for the past weeks. Though they could probably manage a short stint in a hotel, they'd have to come back eventually. Their only other alternative was homelessness. Staying with family wasn't much of an option, especially not in the long-term. The pair needed a place to live, and like it or not, the Beacon estate was it.

She wondered if leaving the house would be sufficient to break its hold over her anyway. No, it wouldn't be... She realized that it was her own curiosity that had allowed the property's potency to deepen, and it was ultimately this same curiosity that would keep her leashed to the property. Had she not prodded so much, had she not wondered about the former owners and sought to indulge her inquisitiveness at every chance, then perhaps she could have bought into the “old, unremarkable house” hypothesis that Julian believed. But she'd learned too much, had gone far too deep. The house, the property, had its claws in her. Even though she wished to flee, to never set her sights on this accursed, cupola-crowned abode again, she knew she couldn't do so until the mystery had been solved. And when you finally know what's going on around here... what happened to the previous owners, then you'll finally be at peace here.

Kim was shaken by the incident in the woods, and the mere thought of that hideous, screaming specter was enough to chill her blood. But she put it out of her mind. This was a house of secrets, tightly kept, and she wouldn't be able to make progress without first weathering her share of frights. She was safe and sound in bed now, could plan her future moves with more care so as to avoid that kind of set-up in the future. She'd been lured, tricked out into the woods. But it wouldn't happen again. She half-wondered if it hadn't been a fated encounter, too. Maybe the property was leading her down this track for a reason, feeding her clues one at a time. This, possibly, had been an educational incident, something meant to bring attention to a fresh clue and to get her back onto the right track. She'd hit a wall after discovering the rest of the journal was illegible, but then she'd picked up on a new trail. That grave near the woods. She would have to revisit it during daylight hours.

And, possibly, if she wanted some real answers, she would take a shovel with her.

Pursing her lips, Kim shoved the thought from her mind and fought to sleep. Her tired limbs pounded against the mattress. She closed her eyes, breathed deeply and curled up against Julian, who grumbled in his sleep.

***

The dreamscape opened up before her like a projector screen. She was shown the basement stairs, glowing in an ethereal light. Then, descending as though disembodied, the hidden door came into view. Slipping into the inky depths of the chamber, Kim could see her surroundings with more clarity than she could in her waking life. The table of Virgin Mary statues sat to the right, near the strange control panel on the wall. The fractured crib, the moldy changing table.

There was something in this scene that didn't quite fit, however.

Standing in front of the far wall was the silhouette of an old woman. Naked, sprigs of coarse silver hair draping her bare shoulders, she seemed hard at work before the mural. The painted sun, even in this dream, seemed to grin back at Kim with great energy, and the colors appeared brighter, more vivid than they did in real life.

The sight of the woman, hunched and working at the mural, inspired caution in Kim, who stopped at the threshold of the room and merely watched. Her eyes were drawn to the painting, whose blank, open spaces had since been filled in. The woman was drawing, had some painting instrument in hand, and was making additions to the work she'd presumably started in life. Tall, black columns were sketched in, somewhat bent. She knew what the woman was drawing in an instant.

The woods.

Kim hated the sight of those trees, wanted to step forward and erase them, but she stopped in her tracks, not daring to move even a single inch. The woman at the mural had stopped, seemingly taking notice of Kim. This woman, naked and hunched, was fast becoming a fixture of her dreams. Kim had first seen her in the kitchen, making tea. The most recent sighting of the hag in the woods had taught her to use caution.

The woman was turning around to face her.

Kim tensed, looked away and wished she could hold up her hands in defense. She wasn't possessed of a proper body here, however. She was merely drifting through this environment, a spectator. The woman was going to look at her again with those dense, shadow-filled sockets where her eyes had been. She'd open her large and hideous mouth to loose that dread scream she now knew so well.

But instead, Kim saw Dakota's smiling face. The old woman had turned, growing several decades younger in the space of an instant. Dakota Reed, with her long, brown hair hanging low over her shoulders, turned, set down her brush and smiled at Kim warmly. She looked exactly like she did in the photographs Kim had seen. So... this mural is Dakota's work, then?

Kim remained silent, did not approach. For her part, Dakota, too, was silent. She continued to smile, still as a statue, until some other expression began to creep into her face. Kim recognized this, too, even if she'd never seen it with her own eyes before. Dakota's eyes began to widen, greatly, and her smile grew to exaggerated proportions. Her pearly teeth showed through her lips like the fangs of some savage animal, and her shoulders stiffened from their previously relaxed posture. This was what Dakota Reed really looked like. This was the Dakota from the journal; obsessed, hysterical. The Dakota that Edwin and Enid had never known.

Before Kim could even process the movement, Dakota was sprinting at her, face red and eyes ablaze. The effect was terrifying. She sprinted through the dim, dusty room like a demon, her bare feet smacking into the floors with thunderous steps that made their surroundings shake. “What are you doing here?” she demanded, screaming so loud that the dreamscape shuddered. Her teeth were bared, lips curled back. With every passing moment she appeared less and less human.

Kim stepped back into the blackness, was surrounded by it. Dakota disappeared in the next instant, just as she was about to reach the doorway of the chamber. Sighing with relief, Kim felt the dream ending and her mind ushered into a deeper phase of sleep. She'd been released from the dream, and just in time.

***

Kim awoke just before dawn. With some difficulty she managed to check the time. She hadn't been in bed long enough to get a full night's sleep, but somehow she found herself awake, the fragments of her dream clinging to her mind like a thin film. Sitting up in bed, she was pulling back the covers before she even realized it.

There was only one thing for her to do.

Kim stepped out of bed quietly, walked out of the bedroom and began downstairs. Then, in the kitchen, she unplugged her phone from its charger, activated the flashlight setting and stood before the cellar door. Sucking in a deep breath, she opened it and looked down the stairs at the darkened basement, at the shadows cast by the hulking door, still ajar.

She needed to go down there and check.

Last time Kim had dreamt of the woman, she'd come down to the kitchen only to discover the tea kettle and other assorted items out on the counter. Would it be the same thing with the mural? Would the dark trees be painted in where they didn't exist previously? There was only one way to find out. Bolstering her courage, she reached out and flipped on the cellar light. Then, slowly, she took the first step down. Then the next. Holding her phone firmly, she hopped down the last couple of steps onto the concrete floor.

She was standing outside the hidden chamber now, sticking the light through the narrow opening. Already she was sure of what she'd find, but she simply had to see it with her own eyes. She had to know whether Dakota Reed was really trying to reach out to her, and that her fevered dreams had contained some kernel of substance. Slipping inside, Kim blasted the far wall with light, giving a sharp whimper as the mural came into view.

“Oh... holy shit...” She staggered forward a few paces, studying the piece from end to end.

Sure enough, scrawled messily and repellently where before there'd been only empty space, was a wall of black, leafless trees. Perhaps it was simply the darkness of the chamber or the haphazard way in which they'd been thrust upon the wall, however the trees seemed to her nauseously life-like.

She walked up to it, gulping down dust and dread in equal parts, and canvassed the painting in disbelief. The light shook as she took in the bright yellow sun, still grinning eerily, the blue sky. And then those damnable trees. The paint still looked wet, the streaks of black not yet fully dried. They'd been painted very recently indeed.

As Kim approached the mural, she stepped on something. Recoiling immediately and thinking it a large insect, she jumped back and looked downward, lifting her bare foot and examining the sole. There was a smudge of reddish blood upon it. Thinking it strange, she brought the flashlight's beam to the floor and examined the soiled concrete.

There, on the floor before her, was a severed fingertip. It was still moist, runny, the blood nearly obscuring the pearly blue nail polish on the nail bed.

She moaned and tumbled back, dropping her phone. It flickered for a moment before stabilizing, sitting a few feet away from her. What is that doing down here? she thought, her heart thundering in her ears.

Then, from behind her, her light a bit too far for her to easily reach, Kim heard something.

The sound of a palm striking the cold, concrete wall. It came from the corner directly at her back, where the table full of statues was situated.

She could feel eyes on her. Dozens, maybe hundreds of eyes all converging on her trembling body from somewhere in the darkness. Shaking, she lurched forward and took hold of her light. Then, scrambling away so that her back was up against the broken crib, she flashed it into the corner.

Her scream rang throughout the house.

To be continued...

Thank you for reading! I hope you've enjoyed this volume of Black Acres. Look for the next volume, “The Amber Light”, coming soon. And remember that you can read the series for free in Kindle Unlimited!

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