Page 16 of Eldritch

Sybil gave in and made a salute. “Roger that.”

As soon as her friend left the room, Sybil felt the doubt deep inside that had never changed, no matter reassurances from anyone.

“Get over it,” she said, her voice edged with a hiss. “Just fucking get over yourself, Sybil.”

A small rumble echoed in the house, the groan of a door hinge or something else metal.

She took her small flashlight and flicked it on. A large beam illuminated her way as she left the area. Although she’d studied the house plans Clarice had given her, she didn’t have the light switches memorized. Easier to have this light for navigation.

Mentally, something nudged her. She stopped on the way to the staircase. She listened, but not with her ears. Her feelings. What she heard in her head. Something nudged again. She walked away from the staircase and toward the cellar door. The closer she got, the thicker the air seemed. She inhaled deeply as her heartbeat picked up pace, and her stomach twisted. Oh shit. What was this? She didn’t know, but the desire to run toward the cellar increased. What was here? The air thickened, a molasses of resistance. How could it be fighting her while attracting her?

What do you want? She asked mentally.

No answer.

She took one step and then another. Two things battled inside her. Continue or ignore it and run upstairs to her room.

She moved toward the basement door. She stopped several feet away. The gigantic chandelier in The Great Hall illuminated the staircase, but the second-floor landing was dim. The cellar door was dark wood, knotty and opulently carved. As her flashlight beam illuminated the door, a face jumped out at her.

Sybil gasped, stepped back and hooked her heel on the runner. She fell back and landed on her ass with a grunt. Her flashlight flew out of her hand and spun across the floor, throwing shadows across the door. The face appeared. Disappeared. Appeared as the flashlight came to a rest.

The flashlight beam illuminated the cellar door and the ugly face on it.

A gargoyle face. Or maybe a Green Man? Weird for a cellar door, but the Victorians had liked their excess. The door looked beat up enough to be that old.

She grabbed the flashlight and stood. For a moment she stared at the door, but curiosity drew her until she stood directly in front of it but far enough away she didn’t touch it. Even the doorknob looked the part. She almost reached into her pocket for the master keys. One of the skeleton keys must fit this door. Clarice had handed them to her without explicit instructions, and Sybil kicked herself now that she hadn’t insisted on labeling them.

She took stock of the gargoyle-like face. Someone had taken a great deal of trouble to carve this, and their talent seemed considerable. One couldn't ignore each horrendous detail and sharp edge in the features. The tall, pointed ears, the sharp chin and long sharp teeth with thin lips competed with another feature. Blazing red devil eyes.

“Talk about cliche,” she said under her breath, a bit amused. “Are you keeping shit out or keeping shit in?”

Uncertainty didn’t sit right with her. Slowly, she reached out and touched the basement door, the wood rough under her fingers.

“I might get splinters off of this.”

Or maybe, just maybe, she’d wish she wasn’t doing this. Wasn’t allowing her ability to feel stuff to kick into gear. Yet it was already there and way past the point of return. It had been from the moment she’d seen the house...seen the forest. It called to her. Whispered in a language she didn’t understand and nagged like a song that’s become an ear worm. She visualized a worm wriggling. Tunneling into her ear.

“Stop it.”

She closed her eyes. Thought about reaching out to whatever lived behind this door.

No.

She jerked her hand back. Her hand was shaking, and she looked at it. She had felt nothing, so why was her hand trembling?

She left the door, making her way upstairs and flicking the lights off as she went along. It wasn’t until she entered her room on the third floor and turned the lock on the door that some ease returned.

Chapter Four

Sybil slept heavily. So much so that the polite knocking on her door startled her out of a deep sleep.

“What?” She slurred the word, and she realized in that half-awake half-asleep part of her brain that she sounded like one of those heavily drunk people who are arrested on that live cop program. “Wait a minute.”

The room was chilly and illuminated by a nightlight she’d plugged into an electrical outlet in the ensuite bathroom and a touch of light from outdoors. She groaned. That meant it was way later than she’d realized. Another knock on the door. She clicked on the table lamp next to her on the bedside table.

She stuffed her feet into her slippers, grabbed her phone to use as a flashlight and hurried to open the door. One sconce in the hallway was barely lit. She looked both ways. No one was there. Shocked, it took her a minute to register the fact. What the hell? She stepped into the hall and looked both ways. When she looked to the left, back toward the staircase, she noticed something on the runner.

“You’re kidding me,” she whispered. “What the hell?”

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