Page 133 of Grimstone

One way or another, this ends tonight.

I descend to the second level and stand outside Jude’s door, listening. I don’t hear snoring or even heavy breathing. Quietly, I turn the knob and peek inside.

I see his shape, the long line of his back humped beneath the blankets. He’s always slept like that, the blankets pulled all the way up with just the tip of his nose poking out so he doesn’t smother.

But as I listen, I still hear…nothing.

So I cross the room and yank back the covers.

Underneath, I find four pillows, expertly bunched up to create the exact shape of Jude when he sleeps on his side with his blanket over his head.

I stare at the pillows. Then, slowly, I pull the blankets back over top and shut the door again with the softest of snicks.

When I reach the main level, my toes land in cold water. A fresh lake spreads across the entryway, flat and dark, two inches deep. I slosh across it in my bare feet, headed for the kitchen.

The water is running again, overflowing the sink, flooding the floor. I shut off the faucet, gazing down at the deep, dark basin.

I don’t want to put my hand down that drain.

I’m dreading it with a revulsion that makes my stomach roll and all the little hairs stand up on my arms…

But I take a breath and plunge my hand down into the frigid water anyway, reaching through the slime and muck to find what’s been jammed inside…

I can feel it, skinnier than before, clogged with mud and leaves and stones, and softer in texture, almost rotting…

I dig out the object and hold it aloft as water glugs down the drain.

A human finger.

There’s no mistaking it this time because the finger is only days old, still clad in moldering flesh and somehow horribly familiar to me, even without checking the inscription on the gold class ring…

This is Gideon’s finger.

I drop it on the counter, turning my mouth into the crook of my arm to hold back the bile rushing up my throat.

A pair of boots stand by the back door.

My boots. Caked in mud.

A dirt-crusted shovel is propped next to the door.

My stomach rolls over again at the sight of those boots.

I get an even sicker feeling when I try to imagine what that shovel’s been burying.

There are two minds in there…two Remis…

All these strange sounds that no one heard but me…

All these occurrences inside the house, with the doors and windows locked…piano keys, dishes smashed, kitchen flooded…

I thought maybe you’d been sleepwalking…

I’ve been feeling like I’ve been going crazy for almost a year now. No, much longer than that…

The nightmares have been torturing me since theSeaDreamerwent down, dragging my parents to the depths of the Atlantic.

I woke up groggy that night, confused and disoriented, unable to remember what had happened for hours before…

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