Page 50 of A Heart So Haunted
I struggled for words. Instead of throwing a front, I showed my cards. “I felt bad for him. I wanted to put him to rest, somehow, and thought maybe if I brought him out of the room that maybe …” I cleared my throat and blinked. “He cries, every night, down to the minute. I want it to stop.”
He nodded. Hummed a bit, but his jaw remained tight.
“Why can the boy not leave?” I asked.
Not even a hesitation. “He is tied here. He is not real.” Before I had a chance to process that information, he asked, “Pray tell, how didyouget in here?”
The grass had wilted while we were in the maze—as if it hadn’t rained for months. I didn’t realize how close we’d managed to inch toward the front of the maze, or how I’d been able to navigate while walking backward. But the way he walked, one step at a time, reminded me of a dog herding cattle. Like he was guiding, and I was blindly following.
“I … am not sure,” I said, candid. “A friend accidently knocked a hole in the wall and we found a door. I felt a tug to it. But then it vanished that night, and I was curious, so I took the wall down. Then I found Haddy. And you.” The sledgehammer drooped an inch. My hands ached from holding it up for so long.
“Interesting.”
A thought occurred to me. “When I disappeared through the door, what did you see on the other side? When you said it sucked me back in?”
“I saw nothing but blackness.” He tucked his chin and looked up from beneath his lashes.
A shiver skittered down my spine. So he hadn’t seen Harthwait on the other side. “Why?”
“If I knew, I would not be asking you,” he said, lip curled. “I do not have access—”
In the distance, a gong sounded. No, not a gong—but an echo of a clock striking midnight.
Everything went still. The birds in the far trees quieted. Even the clouds hesitated.
“What was that?” I perked, scanning the yard. It rang again. So muffled, I wouldn’t have heard it if I didn’t pay attention. It reminded me of the grandfather clock in the foyer. “I thought I heard—”
A crack split the air to my right. At the edge of my vision, I saw the man’s head snap to the side—like someone took his skull between their hands and broke his neck. I choked on a strangled shriek. Blood should have trickled from his nostrils, but he only blinked back at me.
I whispered under my breath—a prayer, a plea, something—and dropped the sledgehammer. His skin grew gray, from the broken area of his neck outward. His shoulders snapped and rolled, reformed, his legs cracked then—spiderwebs of black veins grew from the base of his jaw. His body reforming, healing, his skin turning gray, his stature expanding.
I covered my scream. Everything blurred, tinged black. The man—the creature’s—jaw unhinged. He tried to speak.
“Show me the—” But he didn’t finish.
From the house, a strangled cry. A child’s cry. I didn’t need a clock to know it was a quarter after midnight.
He bent over; the bones in his shoulders rippled.
The man or the boy? Which did I choose? I pictured myself making it to the child, trying to wrangle him into the house before the crying started and not being able to get him over the threshold. The boy kicking and wailing, blood pouring out of his mouth, and me, clueless about what to do next.
And then I would be leaving this man behind, with a broken neck. Was he right? Would it not work?
What did he know that I didn’t? This was his place. And if anyone knew what might be going on, it would be him.
The crying turned to screaming.
Panicked—I chose the boy.
“No!” he choked. A garbled moan chased me, but he didn’t stand. Didn’t give chase.
“No, no, no,” I muttered. I raced up the front steps. Gnarled ripping sounds came behind me.
I careened into the foyer. Haddy’s cries were quieter, but somehow near at the same time. The grandfather clock echoed a final ring, and I started up the stairs out of instinct. The railing groaned at my ascent. I had just passed halfway to the second floor when the front door burst open.
“Leave him!” the creature roared.
“Papa, hurts,” the boy cried. Yes—he was upstairs. Papa, not Momma this time.
