The room smelled awful—a putrid mix of stale urine, excrement and death all rolled up into one breath-withering mix. She cupped a hand over her nose and mouth and tried not to gag as she swept the flashlight's beam across the room.
Something shied away from the light's touch—a hunched, humanoid shape that smelled like death.
Shirley backed away. She didn't know what hid in the shadows and didn't really care to find out. She'd learned long ago that some things were best left unexplored; this was certainly one of those times.
Perhaps if she closed the door, the thing would leave her alone. She knew from past experience that all the doors in this old house creaked; it was one of the things that had spooked her as a teenager. At the very least, it would give her some warning if the thing decided to move.
She half turned away, then stopped. A prickle of warning ran across the back of her neck. The shadows parted, revealing a mass of hair and pale, naked flesh.
It was definitely human. And yet not.
Fear slammed through her heart.What the hell ... ?
The grotesque figure lunged at her. Stumbling backwards, Shirley threw out her hand, thrusting the creature away kinetically. It slammed into the back wall, grunting in surprise. No sooner had it hit the floor than it was scrambling to its feet, its agility surprising.
Glimpsing movement to her left, Shirley whirled. A second creature ran out of the shadows, its face a mocking image of humanity. She reached again for kinetic energy. The heavy steps of the first creature were an express train drawing close. Sweat trickled down the back of her neck.
She thrust the second creature back through the doorway, then flicked a wrist knife into her palm. Spinning, she met the charge of the first, stabbing at it wildly. The blade cut through its skin as easily as butter and her fist slammed into the creature's pale flesh—flesh that was as cold as ice.
Or death.
Nausea rose, tightening her throat. Shirley swallowed and tried to back away, but her feet wouldn't move fast enough. The creature lashed out, connecting hard. The blow flung her backwards. Her back hit the wall, and for a moment she saw stars. Blood spurted from the creature's wound, spraying hot droplets across her face. Shirley gagged, scrubbing at it with the sleeve of her jacket.
The creature made a second grab for her. Dropping the flashlight, Shirley scrambled away, but it caught her shoulder and pulled her back. Talon-like fingers tore into her arm, burning pain down to her fingertips. She gasped, fighting the sudden wash of nausea.
The creature snarled; its breath was fetid, full of death, full of decay. Shirley shuddered and slammed the heel of her hand into its face. For a spilt second, its hold weakened. She reached quickly for kinetic energy. A sliver of pain ran through her mind, a warning that she was pushing her psychic strength too far.
She ignored it and forced the heavy creature away from her. It flew across the room and smashed through the window, tumbling out backwards with a guttural cry of surprise.
Moonlight fanned across the darkness, lifting the shadows and touching the face of the second creature as it lumbered back into the room. For an instant, it almost looked pretty. Shirley backed away. What on earth were these things?
It snarled, and any illusion of prettiness shattered. The creature took one ponderous step forward, then stopped. Shirley readied another kinetic lance. The glimmer of pain in her head became an ache. She was going to have a hell of a headache tomorrow—if she survived tonight.
Blood ran past her clenched fingers and dripped to the floor near her feet. She had no choice but to ignore it. One move, no matter how small, and the creature would attack.
Why wasn't it attacking now? It simply stood in the doorway, shaking its head and snarling softly. It was almost as if the creature was fighting a leash of some kind.
She had absolutely no desire to find out just who, or what, held the end of that invisible leash.
The creature snarled again, an angry, sullen sound. Then turned and leaped out the nearest window.The retreat sent a chill up her spine. She waited tensely for something else to happen.
The breeze stirred the dust from the corner shadows, and the heavy silence returned.
After several heartbeats, she sank down against the wall and drew her knees close. For a minute she simply sat there, breathing deeply and letting the silence run over her.
Why had the creature retreated? The desire, maybe even the need, to shed blood had been all too evident in its eyes. But it had left.
Because it had been ordered to.
Moonlight played across the glass that lay scattered all around her. Glass that was stained with bright splashes of red. She wasn't sure if the blood belonged to the creatures or to her, and knew in the end it wouldn't really matter. He would come for the blood. He would smell it and come for her.
Who he was, she didn't really know. Or care. She had to get out of this crazy house, had to escape, while she still could...
The thought stalled. What about Merry? Did she really want to leave the teenager to face fate alone?
Yes.
No.
She took another deep breath and pushed upright. At sixteen, Merry had barely begun to live. She had so much yet to learn, so much more of the world to see.
Ten years before, Shirley had left another teenager to his fate. He'd been a hell of a lot more capable of taking care of himself than Merry ever would be, and still he had died. This time around, she was not letting fate get the upper hand.
She eased off her jacket and studied the wound on her forearm. While the three gashes bled profusely, the creature's talons obviously hadn't severed anything vital. She could still move her fingers, even if it did hurt like hell. Digging a handkerchief out of her pocket, she wrapped it around the wound. Hopefully it would stem the flow of blood long enough to find Merry and get out of this house.
Putting her jacket back on, she walked across to retrieve her flashlight, only to discover it no longer worked. She gave it a quick shake and heard a slight tinkle coming from the globe area. It must have smashed when she'd dropped it.
"That's just great," she muttered, thrusting it back in her pocket. Now she'd have to cross the threshold of utter darkness with only instinct to guide her.
Instinct that had proven somewhat unreliable in the past.
The hallway was quiet. Her gaze was drawn to the darkness at the far end of the hall.
Merry had to be down there somewhere. But so was the presence that tasted so evil.
She took a deep, calming breath, then walked back to the T-intersection. A tingle of awareness ran across the back of her neck as she neared the stairs. She hesitated, studied the shadows that hid the staircase. The stranger had entered the house. Ethan Hunt, Shirley thought. His name is Ethan Hunt.
Shirley rubbed the back of her neck. Why could she read this stranger's mind? And why had he entered the house? Was he here to help her, or did he have something more sinister in mind?
No answers came from the darkness, and the spark of awareness flickered and died. Shirley frowned but continued on. The rapid beat of her heart seemed abnormally loud in the strange silence. Her senses warned of another door, even though she couldn't see it. She ran her fingers along the wall and touched a door frame, then the cold metal of a doorknob. Stopping, she listened to the silence.
Evil was near, maybe even in the room beyond this door. She clenched the doorknob so tightly her knuckles practically glowed, and wondered why in hell she was doing this.
The answer was easy enough to find. Merry reminded her of Jason, the teenager she'd left to die so long ago. To appease his ghost, to appease the guilt in her heart, she'd follow Merry through the flames of hell if that's what it took to save her soul—simply because she'd been unable to save Jason's.
Swallowing, she opened the door. Laughter greeted her, laughter that was young and sweet, and yet somehow cold.
Merry.
The teenager stepped out of the shadows, her smile easy to see despite the shadows that hid her face.
"If you wish to talk to me," she said, her voice melodious, yet holding a touch of menace. "First you must follow me."
She turned and walked into another room. Instinct told Shirley not to follow—told her to run as far and as fast as she could. Told her Merry wasn't worth dying for.
Told her if she ran, Merry would die in her place. That was a weight she just couldn't bear. Taking a deep breath, Shirley followed the teenager.
Straight into the arms of the devil himself.