Page 113 of Eldritch

“You probably gave her a concussion,” Pauline said, her tone laced with disgust.

Pauline still sat on the couch, and so did a tearful Maria and stoic Clarice. Letisha sank down onto the couch again.

“That’s what a woman needs when she talks back and doesn’t do what I tell her,” Taggert said, as a sick smile crossed his mouth.

The throbbing in Sybil’s head increased again.

Creak. Creak. Creak.

The chandelier swayed again, this time with more force.

“What the hell??” Taggert bit out. “Old lady, I thought you said this house won’t fall apart. Maybe Sybil and I should leave now.”

Clarice stared at Taggert, her steady gaze as icy and hateful as anything Sybil had seen on a human face. Heat rose inside Sybil, her face turning hot. She wanted to run outside into the blizzard and cool the flame. The one that made her want to scream and somehow stop what could happen if Taggert got his way.

Sybil wanted to glance over at Doug and the other women in the room to see if they felt any measure of what she did. Her stomach tightened, her breath coming a little shorter. Every muscle in her body tensed.

The chandelier picked up speed.

That's good, Sybil. Really good. Back in the day when your daddy and mommy tormented you, you couldn't feel. Didn't want to feel. What did that therapist call it? You know what it is. You wanted to run. Disappear into the floorboards until no one could see you, didn't you? Now you've got it nailed. You can feel that old tape playing, can't you?

“I see,” Clarice said, her tone imperial and aristocratic. “Are you certain that is the wise thing to do, young man? I don’t think it’s wise.”

A deep, eerie groan like end stage metal fatigue issued from the ceiling. Everyone looked up.

“What the hell?” Taggert asked. “Is there someone upstairs? Sounds like a damned army marching up there.”

“Oh yeah, an army.” Sarcasm dripped from Letisha's voice. “We forgot to tell you about that.”

“No,” Sybil said. “There's no one.”

“She is wrong,” Clarice said, making Sybil peer at her in confusion. “There are so many people here. Dozens, in fact.” The old woman smiled again. “So many, many things you don’t understand, young man.”

What big teeth you have. Sybil didn’t wonder why the old saying popping into her head. Something about the old woman’s grin disturbed her.

“What?” Taggert took a step toward Clarice. “What the actual hell, you old bat?”

“Don't.” Doug's tone stayed muted and collected. As cool as a man talking about clear skies and sunny weather. “I made sure your truck was disabled. You won’t make it very far.”

Taggert turned toward Doug. He lifted his gun, and Sybil gasped. She thought she heard the other women make noises of distress...except maybe for Clarice.

“What do I do with you, soldier boy?” Taggert asked in a low, almost whispering voice. “You think you're some special army weenier?”

Doug's mouth tightened. A slight twitch, a brace in his posture that said maybe he would do something he'd regret but enjoy it and damn the consequences.

Sybil snagged Doug's forearm. His muscles tensed, but he didn't make a move or speak.

Taggert smiled, a soft chuckle in his throat. “Oh. Oh, I get it. You're a pussy. One of those washed-up ex-military guys who then thought he'd make a good cop. Then you couldn't hack it.”

“I wouldn't say that,” Clarice said. “In fact, Doug is an accomplished former Marine...what kind did you call it, Doug?”

Doug kept his gaze on Taggert, his expression even. Not a sign of anger or fear. “Marine Force Recon.”

Taggert's expression flickered with uncertainty.

Another groan came from upstairs. This time, it rumbled. Moaned. Acted like the very ceiling might open and collapse on them.

“God, what is that?” Maria’s question filled with worry. “Is it the trees?”

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