Page 56 of Eldritch

Open it.

She drew in a deep breath. Another.

She stepped forward and yanked back the curtain.

Empty.

A huge breath rushed out of her.

She left the light on in the bathroom and returned to the bedroom.

Maybe her sleep-addled brain had hallucinated the woman...the shadow woman.

You already see dead people.

A shiver wracked her body. She lifted her robe from the chair near her bed, slipped into it and eased her feet into her slippers. When she reached the large window that overlooked the north and the front lawn, she glanced outside into the pitch-black night.

Nothing to see here. Nothing.

She returned to the bedside table and grabbed her cell phone. It was only ten o’clock, but hopefully she wouldn’t be awake later into the night. She retreated to the chair and settled down to put her thoughts in order. Under the light of day, she might feel better about the dark figure. She left the chandelier on so that every corner of the room flooded with warm light.

She slid down in the large, comfortable chair, sinking into its wideness and feeling almost as if the chair embraced and protected her. She examined her phone texts and found the one Doug had sent her earlier tonight.

Hey there, Sybil. I’ll be there tomorrow at eight am to install the cameras and system if that works for you. Clarice approves. Doug.

Earlier she’d texted back her agreement on the time and thanking him, but not laying it on thick. Years ago, she would have been profuse in her thanks. Sticky sweet maybe.

Right then a text came on her phone.

Who would be texting her at this time of night?

The text wasn’t from someone Sybil expected.

Call me.

Her mother.

Sybil faltered. Her mother rarely sent texts at ten o’clock at night. Besides the fact they hadn’t talked or texted since before Sybil had taken on this job to clean the mansion.

Sybil decided to call rather than text, and her mother picked up. “Sybil, thank goodness.”

“What is it? You never text this late.”

“I’ve got bad news.”

Sybil’s anticipation rose, along with worry. Every muscle in her body seemed to tighten. “What is it?”

“I got a call from the penitentiary this evening. Your father was stabbed in prison.”

For a moment, Sybil thought she was dreaming again.

“What?” Sybil asked.

“Apparently, the man who stabbed him had a daughter that was kidnapped, raped, and killed around the same time your father was killing women.” Her mother’s voice sounded raw, deeper than usual. As if she might be crying. “The guy came up to your father at lunch and stabbed him before anyone could stop him.”

Sybil’s gut clenched. She didn’t know how to feel. Didn’t know what to think. Emotions wouldn’t come. She was thrown into a state of disassociation that happened to her sometimes when she was confronted by unexpected news.

Suddenly, the most primitive part of her shouted in relief. Is he dead? Please let him be dead! Like a little child, that part of her screamed. Please. Please. Please.

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