John Manning - The Killing Room

The German woman just grunted.

Then they all fell silent, one by one filing out of the parlor and across the foyer to the door to the basement.

Uncle Howie went first, moving slowly down the stairs. Ryan followed, insisting he would be there in case the old man stumbled. Then came Uncle Philip, with a skittish Chelsea close behind. Carolyn went next, followed by Douglas and Diana. Huldah took up the rear, keeping her eyes on the precious cargo Douglas carried in his arms.

The basement was dark and damp. But there was nothing at first glance that gave evidence of the dangers that lurked down there. Douglas looked around at the boxes and cobwebs, the open doors to the various storerooms that had once been servants’ bedrooms. But then his eyes fell on the one door that was closed. Uncle Howie was nearing that door now. The keys jingled in his trembling hand.

Off to his right Douglas saw an old sink, and beyond that, an archway that had been sealed over with cement. At one time, Douglas realized, that had been the servants’ entrance. And the sink was where Harry Noons had stood, where he had watched as Beatrice and Clem had argued, right in front of that room. Then Noons had left, and Clem had taken Beatrice inside the room and impaled her to the wall with his pitchfork.

Instinctively, Douglas shuddered.

Diana felt it.

“You have reason to be afraid,” the woman in his arms told him. “The closer we come to that door, the stronger I feel the force.”

“Is it Beatrice?” he asked.

“I cannot tell.”

Uncle Howard had managed to unlock the door. With a creak, it swung inward.

The one small window high on the wall gave the room its only light. A shaft of sunshine pierced the dark shadows.

“Place me on the couch there,” Diana instructed.

“What is it that you intend to do here?” Philip asked, the impatience obvious in his voice. Douglas knew that his uncle was not used to taking direction-especially not from some strange armless and legless woman who lived in a crumbling tenement on the Lower East Side. But for now Diana was calling the shots. Douglas placed her carefully on the dusty, moldy couch, where, with her remarkable shoulders, she propped herself up against a pillow. Huldah was quickly on hand to make the necessary adjustments.

“I am here to get a reading on the energy in this room,” Diana said, her eyes moving all around the place.

“Then why were we all required to come along?” Philip asked.

Douglas looked at the older man. He was clearly uncomfortable being in the room where so many of his family had died.

“You needn’t fear, Philip,” Uncle Howie said. “No harm has ever come to any of us in this place except on the night of the lottery.”

“Then why did you never let us into the basement as children?” Chelsea asked, near tears, hugging herself.

Her uncle looked over at her. “Because I did not want you to see anything that may frighten you.” He moved his eyes to the far wall. “Like that.”

Douglas gasped. On the wall two words were written in fresh, shiny blood.

ABANDON HOPE.

Chelsea screamed.

“Dear God,” Philip uttered.

The blood dripped down the wall.

“It’s what I saw the first time I came in here,” Carolyn said.

Douglas moved closer to her.

“Who is doing it?” Ryan asked. “Beatrice?”

“No,” Diana said, her eyes closed. “It’s not Beatrice. She’s not here. Kip Hobart was successful in walking her out of this room. She’s no longer here.”

“Then it’s Clem,” Douglas said.

Diana just shook her head. “I don’t get the energy of a man.”

“Then was there another woman involved?” Douglas asked. “Someone besides Beatrice?”

Diana opened her eyes. “Perhaps.”

Philip made a sound of exasperation. “This is going nowhere!”

Diana looked at him sternly. “This is why I asked you all to accompany me here. We must together summon the forces of this room. Carolyn, will you close the door?”

“Close the door?” Ryan asked. “What if we can’t get back out?”

“We will be able to get back out,” Diana assured him.

“Please do as the lady says, Carolyn,” Uncle Howie said.

Carolyn closed the door. Douglas admitted that being closed off in this room unnerved him, but he said nothing.

“Ideally, we need all of those who will participate in the lottery to take part in this ritual,” Diana said.

“But my niece Paula and nephew Dean have not yet arrived,” Uncle Howie said.

Diana sighed. “Then we must make do with what we have.”

“What is the first thing we must do?” Carolyn asked.

“You place one hand on my shoulder, Carolyn, and Mr. Young, you place your hand on my other shoulder. Then the rest of you join hands in a circle.”

Huldah made a sound in her throat.

“Yes, you too, Huldah,” Diana instructed. “We need all the psychic energy we can get.” She paused. “Even yours.”

Douglas watched as Carolyn stood beside Diana and placed her hand on her shoulder. Then her beautiful eyes found Douglas, and he gripped her other hand tightly.

Chelsea took his other hand, and on the other side linked hands with her brother, who held hands with his father, who reluctantly took the hand of Huldah. The German woman made the circle complete by holding Uncle Howie’s hand.

“Now we must free our minds of extraneous thought,” Diana said. “Concentrate on feelings of compassion.” Douglas thought her eyes moved over to Philip and his children. “Do the best you can to feel nothing but compassion.”

“Should we be directing our compassion toward someone?” Carolyn asked. “Beatrice?”

“Just feel compassion,” Diana said. “Open your hearts and practice the feeling of love for all the world.”

“Dear God,” Philip groaned. “Shall we start singing ‘Kumbaya’ as well?”

“Philip,” Uncle Howie reprimanded. “Let us please give this a try. Nothing else has worked.”

Philip merely huffed.

“Compassion,” Diana said again. “Compassion for the spirits that reside here. For those who have died here. For those who go on living.”

They were quiet. Douglas looked around. Most everyone had their eyes closed. He turned to Carolyn. She was looking at him. So much she was managing to say just with her eyes. She was worried for him. Douglas could see that. She feared he would be the one chosen to spend the night in the room. She wanted desperately for whatever Diana was doing here to work. He gave her a small smile and squeezed her hand.

Then he concentrated on compassion. It wasn’t always an easy emotion to summon. It was a cinch when thinking about Carolyn, of course, feeling the pain she had experienced surrounding her family, the fear and grief and wounded pride she had felt regarding David Cooke. It was easy when he looked over at Diana, thinking about the struggles she must have faced growing up. It was easy to feel for Uncle Howie, too, for watching a family member die every ten years as he went on living. But it wasn’t so easy when his thoughts moved to Uncle Philip and Ryan and Chelsea. Growing up, they had always been so much more privileged than Douglas’s family. And then how he’d envied his cousins for their two living, breathing parents. As adults, money and success had come easy to them, and they seemed to enjoy lording that fact over Douglas. He knew, for example, that they had only come early for the reunion because he was there, and they had their claws out, trying to do everything in their power to push him aside in Uncle Howie’s affections.

But still Douglas managed to feel compassion for them. Surely they were as frightened as he was, even if they did their best to hide it. It might be one of them in this room a week from now. And Douglas wouldn’t wish that on anyone. Not after seeing his father dead from spending a night here.