Page 34 of The Neighborhood Ghost

Hugo disappeared out the front door.

Chapter 10

The Curse of The Sinclairs

With a hand on the porch railing, Hugo leaped over the side. He landed on the ground and never broke his stride. He bolted forward, his body pulsating, as he swiftly rounded the corner of the eerie, dilapidated purple house. Glancing over his shoulder, the rider took off down the street.

“Wait!” Thaddeus shouted from the porch. “This is madness. Do not do this.”

With no fences, Hugo weaved in and out between the rows of mismatched houses. He scanned the area for the rider, but he couldn’t find him. He ran and ran, avoiding the shambling ghouls roaming the landscape. Their faces sunken like rotting corpses, covered in white with black rings around their eyes. They turned their attention to the sprinting vampire darting through the landscape.

They wailed and screamed as Hugo passed by, as if to warn the others. Some attempted to grab at Hugo. Their skeletal like fingers clawed away at his clothes. Hugo smacked their hands away as he zipped in and around the houses. A few attempted to block his path. Hugo lowered his shoulder and hip-checkedthem as he exploded past. A shambling ghoul tumbled to the ground.

Even though he was dead, the sprinting still winded Hugo. His lungs burned, and his heart pounded with every stride. His head throbbed. Hugo fought through it all, fighting to survive. To escape. He breathed deeply and focused on his target—finding a way out.

He doubled back a few times, hoping to lose the rider. He scanned the scene. The cloaked figure and black horse were nowhere to be seen. It appeared he wasn’t being followed.

Hugo took a moment to duck behind a house—something plucked from the 1960s. A small house, but serviceable for Hugo to hide behind and catch his breath. He bent over, hands on his knees. His lungs labored as air rushed in to fill every inch. At least, he thought air was rushing in. He couldn’t tell. There was a hole where his heart should have been located, penetrated by the wooden stake. He shouldn’t be out of breath or have a racing heart, yet he did.

He placed a finger in his chest. His internal organs were stiff and unmoving, yet the sensation of a beating heart coursed through his chest. Even the touch of his finger tingled his body as he poked and prodded inside his chest cavity.

“What the hell is this place?” Hugo muttered under his breath. He took a few more breaths. “Keep moving.”

The three knocks rang out throughout the land. Hugo didn’t know what was causing it and decided to avoid it at all costs. He took off in the opposite direction.

The sky roiled and thunder crashed. The dark gray clouds never parted. It was always an eerie twilight where the sun was about to set, but it never did. The land was bathed in darkness, yet things were still visible.

There were no streetlights. No porch lights. The occasional light spilled out from the festering, sickly homes. There weresouls inside, those who had not yet turned. The wailing and crashing against windows of those trying to escape. The occasional face popped up into view. Their faces covered in the banshee’s death mask. Cheeks emaciated. Their eyes sunken. The conversion process took hold.

Hugo turned away from the window and focused on the path ahead. Only good thoughts right now. He couldn’t dwell on the impossibility of his escape. He had to focus on the positive. Alice was alive, and she was coming for him.

He doubled back and weaved in and out of the houses until he lost track of where he was. The landscape was a labyrinth of houses, a maze to confuse those held within. The dark, menacing clouds roiled overhead as they crashed into the towering rock cliff. The lone visible landmark vanished into the abyss of the sky. If there was any hope of escape, the rock cliff would provide it. Hugo ran toward hope. Toward salvation.

There were no signs of the rider or anyone else coming for him. Was it all a ploy to keep him in the house? A ghost story to tell the captives so they never left? Hugo couldn’t let his mind wander. He had to focus on three things: avoiding the rider, avoiding the ghouls, and getting the hell out of there.

Hugo broke through a line of houses to an open area of dirty and decaying grass. The cobblestone path led to a dock and lagoon. The lagoon led out into the mouth of a cave entering into the rock face. The rock cliff vanished into the sky, the clifftop shrouded in the roiling gray clouds. This was it. This was Hugo’s chance to escape. He sprinted for the dock.

Hugo came to a stop at the end of the dock, taking a moment to catch his breath. The wooden dock was empty. No signs of the ghouls. No hearse. No rider. No boat. He placed his hands on his hips. His chest rose and fell after running his marathon.

“Come on,” Hugo muttered through his breaths. “There’s got to be something here.”

He scanned the shoreline. There was nothing. No boat. No rescue. Nothing. He was still trapped.

Hugo peeked over the side of the dock. Small ripples rolled over the water and crashed into the shoreline. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the water below. The black and white death mask had taken form on his face. It didn’t reverse after Alice’s appearance. He touched his fingers to his face. It wasn’t so much painted as it was now a part of him. If he didn’t escape, then it would overtake him.

The brackish water didn’t give up its secrets. No hints of the rocks or plants or creatures lurking below the surface. If he were to escape, then he had to swim for it. He took two quick breaths to ready his nerves. He twiddled his fingers and flopped his arms to warm them up. His foot twitched. A bead of sweat rolled down his neck. He backed up a few steps and readied himself to leap into the water.

“I wouldn’t jump if I were you,” a woman’s voice exclaimed. He recognized the voice, but it wasn’t the woman he had hoped to hear.

Hugo turned. Madeline Sinclair stood at the end of the dock, holding her black parasol over her shoulder.

“I’m getting out of here,” Hugo shouted. “I’m leaving your prison.”

“If you leap off the dock, I guarantee you’ll never escape,” Madeline said. “You might make it out a few feet before they drag you under.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“The river is filled with the souls who tried to escape. No one ever escapes. The tormented souls will drag you down, and you’ll drown in sorrow, becoming one of them.”

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