John Manning - The Killing Room

“When we get out of here,” Douglas said at last, “I want to marry you.”

Carolyn just gripped his hand.

Outside the thunderstorm raged. The small lamp that sat beside the couch sputtered and died. They’d lost power. Carolyn switched on the flashlight that she held in her lap. A column of white light shot straight up toward the ceiling.

Only then did they hear the scratching.

“What is it?” Douglas whispered.

“It might only be a mouse,” Carolyn whispered back.

But it grew louder. Where it was coming from, they couldn’t be sure. Scratch, scratch, scratch. They drew closer to each other on the couch.

“Why don’t you just show your face?” Douglas finally said out loud. “Reveal who you are.”

But only scratching was heard in return. Louder and louder.

Then a flash of lighting lit up the room. In that brief instant, Carolyn saw a face.

“Dear God,” she gasped.

It was the face of a baby. Looking exactly like the face in Dean’s photograph.

The baby was crying.

Now its shrieks replaced the scratching. Low at first, then high-pitched. It seemed as if the baby were everywhere in the room. Its cries came at them from every corner.

“The poor child,” Carolyn said. “Whatever force controls this room controls that baby’s spirit. Refuses to let it find peace.”

“Whoever murdered Beatrice must have murdered the baby, too,” Douglas said. “What if that was the way it happened? What if the baby was murdered too, and my family never found it a home?”

How he knew this was a fact, he wasn’t sure. But he did know it. The baby was killed, too.

Carolyn seemed to grasp this as well. “Set the child free!” she said, standing up, swinging the light from wall to wall. “You can’t sate your beastly hunger this time! Beatrice won’t have it! There is love in this house again! A love that doesn’t hurt people! That doesn’t murder children!”

With that, the baby’s cries reached a crescendo, as if Carolyn’s words had infuriated it. No longer did it sound as if the baby were simply tired or hungry or frightened. Now the cries were angry. Full of rage. As if the child were throwing a furious temper tantrum.

Carolyn took a step back toward the couch, then realized the floor was wet. She turned the flashlight down to get a look.

Blood. The floor was covered with blood.

She swung the flashlight toward the wall. The words had returned.

ABANDON HOPE.

“No,” she called out. “We will not abandon hope!”

And in that same moment, the door swung open. Against the forces that controlled this room, mere locks were powerless.

Douglas stood quickly, taking Carolyn by the shoulders.

Even before they saw him, they heard Clem’s approach.

The scrape of metal against the basement floor.

The heavy thud of his footsteps.

And his breathing. His loud, labored breathing.

In the doorway appeared Clem’s face, red and smiling crazily. His pitchfork was gripped tightly by his dead hands.

Carolyn shone the flashlight in his face. He didn’t blink. He just made a sound in his throat and took a step toward them.

“You can’t harm us,” Carolyn said. “You have no power over us!”

But Clem continued his approach undeterred.

“Show him the amulet,” Carolyn whispered to Douglas.

He obeyed. He parted his shirt to reveal the amethyst around his neck.

Clem slowed in his approach, noticing the jewel, and seemingly intrigued.

“You have no quarrel with us,” Carolyn said. “It is time that you rested in peace, Clement Rittenhouse. Leave us. Rest!”

Clem stared at the amulet. Then he growled, a low sound deep in his throat.

And from somewhere in the dark room came a voice.

“Show them,” the voice said.

Light returned to the room. Carolyn gasped. It was no longer a dusty empty cell covered in cobwebs. It was a tidy little bedroom, and on the far wall was a baby’s wooden crib. Clem turned, dropping his pitchfork. He walked to the crib and reached down inside. Carolyn and Douglas watched transfixed. He lifted a baby out of the crib. It was wrapped in a baby blanket. It had been sleeping. Carolyn could see its small face clearly. Its little eyes flickered awake. And Clem held it in his hands, staring down at it.

“No,” Carolyn murmured, suddenly certain of what they were about to witness.

With ease, Clem reached up and took the baby’s tiny head in his enormous right hand. And then he twisted its neck. Carolyn heard the crack, like the snapping of a small twig. The baby’s little fingers clutched at the air for a second, then fell still. Carolyn screamed.

And blacked out.

She awoke covered in blood. She was on the floor. The bloody floor. The room was dark again. Douglas was not beside her. She tried to stand and slipped in the blood.

“Douglas!” she cried out.

She found the flashlight, still shining, casting its lonely column of light across the floor. She grabbed it, almost dropping it because it was slick with blood. She swung the light around the room, but did not see Douglas. Once again she called his name.

The room was different. It was longer, wider. It stretched on for a great length, and at the far end she saw the window.

Jeanette had managed to climb out that window. Had Douglas done the same?

But he wouldn’t leave me here, Carolyn thought.

She began to run. The bloody floor was slick, but she managed. She ran and ran but seemed to come no closer to the window. As she ran she heard the baby crying again. It was killed in this room, she thought. By Clem. He must have killed Beatrice, too, then. Perhaps Clem was the force that controlled this room.

But, no. She had a heard a voice. A voice commanding him to show them what had happened.

Finally, after what seemed like many long minutes, Carolyn reached the end of the room. There, slumped against the far wall, was Douglas. His shirt was in tatters. The amulet was gone from his neck.

And there was a plastic bag secured around his head!

“No!” Carolyn screamed, lunging at him, ripping the bag with her fingers. Douglas’s face was gray. He didn’t appear to be breathing.

Getting him onto the floor she began mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. “Breathe, damn it!” she screamed, pressing her lips to his for a second time. “Douglas, I love you!” she screamed, trying it a third time.

Finally he hiccupped a breath, and she could feel the life start moving through his body again.

She looked around. The room was back to normal. There was no more blood on the floor. The far wall was no longer so far. It was just a few feet from where they had been sitting on the couch.

But it wasn’t over yet.

The baby continued to cry.

And in the shadows Carolyn detected movement.

She aimed the flashlight.

The spotlight revealed Clem. He stood there, tears running down his face.

Carolyn stood.

“You don’t want to do this, do you?” she asked.

The dead man made no reply. He was motionless. The only thing about him that moved were the tears running down his cheeks.

“Someone made you kill that baby,” Carolyn said. “Isn’t that right, Clem?”

Still no response. Behind her, Douglas staggered to his feet. Carolyn turned to him and asked if he were okay.

He nodded. “Something grabbed the amulet from around my neck,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Then there was a plastic bag on the floor in front of me. I couldn’t help myself. I put it over my head and tied it. That’s the way my father must have died, too.”

“But you didn’t die,” Carolyn told him. “Beatrice was right. Our love is going to save us. Isn’t it, Clem?”

They looked over at the figure, still motionless in the corner opposite them.