David Golemon: The Supernaturals

Warren was amazed that the psych major had worked herself up into such a fear-induced frame of mind — something she of all people should have recognized.

He shook his head. She was now an uncontrolled part of the experiment, and he knew he was going to have to report her status to the professor. Jessica could no longer conduct herself as an observer of the house. Instead of lambasting her — or teasing her at the very least, as he normally would have done — Warren nodded and placed a hand on her shoulder. The girl was shaking. He patted her shoulder and then smiled.

“Look, I just have to place the last thermal imager down by the sewing room, and then we’re done. Why don’t you go wait on the third floor landing? That way you can still see me down the hallway, but you’ll be closer to an escape route.”

Jessica shook off his hand and glared at his bearded features. “Just because I’m hearing things that are definitely not house settling noises, doesn’t mean I’m too scared to do what Professor Kennedy has asked of me. Go ahead and get on with what you have to do, so we can meet the others in the ballroom. We’re running behind schedule.”

Warren smiled again, then pushed his wire rimmed glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

“Okay, that’s the stuff. Shall we place the last imager?”

She finally smiled in return and then gestured for Warren to proceed. As he turned away, Jessica heard the creak of a door. She stopped and once more reached out for Warren. “Listen! I just heard a door open up here.” She tried desperately to peer into the darkness of the hallway.

“Enough is enough. You know as well as I that all of these doors are locked. The owner of the property saw to that. We don’t have access to the rooms on the third floor.”

“Okay, they’re locked.” She grabbed his hand and directed his penlight down the hallway. Its weak beam settled on the two sets of large doors at the end. One set on the right side was the master suite; the door on the left was the sewing room. That door was standing wide open. “So why isn’t that door shut, like it was just a second ago?”

The door was not only open, it was pinned back against the wall, as if someone was holding it there as wide as they could get it.

“That door was triple locked, with two deadbolts and a knob-lock. And the damn thing was closed, just a moment ago.”

“That’s what I just said, smartass. I suppose that’s the sewing room settling because it’s so old?”

Warren shook his head. “Knock it off.” He reached for his radio with his free hand.

“Professor, this is Warren up on three,” he said into the small radio.

They heard a crackle and hiss, and then silence.

“Professor, are you reading me?”

Jessica and Warren watched the open doorway of the sewing room. They jumped when they heard the pounding. It echoed out of the sewing room as if some giant had started walking toward them. Jessica’s fingernails dug into Warren’s arm and her grip was iron. They both felt the pounding through their feet. Then as quickly as it started, the pounding footsteps stopped.

“What the hell was that?” Warren asked, not really caring if Jessica answered him at all.

“They had to have heard that downstairs — right?” she asked. Warren shined the light around the hallway.

A door creaked, but it wasn’t a sound one would associate with a door opening. It was more like someone was placing a stupendous amount of pressure against the wood. They could hear the cracking of the grain. Warren moved the penlight to his right, where the door to one of the larger bedrooms only feet away was bent outward. It seemed the wood of the thick door couldn’t withstand the pressure being placed on it. Then it rebounded, as if whoever was on the other side relinquished their assault.

“We have to leave,” Jessica said as she tried to pull Warren away.

He shook her off and raised the radio to his lips. “We have to get the professor up here,” he said and pushed the transmit button.

“Pretty boy.”

The voice that came from the radio made Warren freeze. He swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat the best he could, but the strange statement hung in the dark, cold air of the hallway.

“Get on there and tell whoever is screwing around to knock it off,” Jessica said angrily.

“Pretty girl,” said the feminine voice over the radio.

Warren looked down at the radio. The bedroom door next to them rattled in its frame, and then something on the other side hit it hard enough to shake the cut crystal doorknob. Once more, the door bulged, and this time the impact was so fierce that Warren and Jessica backed away, half expecting the wood to explode outward. Then once more, the door relaxed and went back to its normal shape, only this time with something akin to a deep breath, as if the exertion of bending the door outward had taken too much energy. A voice, different from the one they had just heard, came over the radio.

“ Run, ” came the whispered order. “Run, NOW!”

Warren started to turn, but his eyes fell on the sewing room at the far end of the hallway. A large area to the left side of the door bulged outward, sending plaster and wallpaper snapping off in small chips to fall to the Persian rug down the center of the hallway. The bulge moved a foot, stopped. It looked like a chest, inhaling and exhaling as it moved. It came on again, this time surging three feet before it stopped.

Warren backed away, pushing Jessica as he went.

“Get out of here,” he said as loudly as he dared. All thoughts of contacting Professor Kennedy in the ballroom had vanished.

“ Go!” came the whispered voice from the closest bedroom.

“ Pretty boy, pretty girl, babies, babies, please come home ,” this time the voice wasn’t coming from the radio, but the large pulsing bulge in the wall. It was only ten feet away now. “You’re mine!”

That was all Warren could take. He turned and pushed Jessica down the hallway just as the plaster on the wall bulged once more and came on like a shark cutting through water. Just as Warren neared the third floor landing, something grabbed him. It was as if an iron giant had grabbed his shoulder. His arms flailed and the penlight and radio went flying. The light spun crazily in the air and then hit the carpeted runner. Jessica stopped. The light had aligned perfectly with Warren’s legs. She screamed when she saw a large, dark, smoke-encased hand reach out from the bulging wall, shearing the wallpaper away as it grabbed hold of Warren.

“Help,” he screamed.

Jessica couldn’t move, she looked to the right, toward the bedroom door. It was still and silent, as if its warning earlier had never been. She looked at Warren and his fear filled eyes, and knew that she couldn’t stay. She had to run.

Warren was yanked hard into the wall. Half of his body was embedded in the plaster and wood. Then he was yanked again. This time his body went rigid and then he almost vanished completely. His eyes were pleading for Jessica to help him. His arms reached for her. She slowly reached out and her fingertips touched Warren’s, but with another sharp jerk Warren was pulled completely into the wall, his glasses flying free. Jessica heard the crunch of bone and the shattering of his arms. She collapsed to the floor, unable to move.

She didn’t know how long she remained on the floor. She was aware of the smell of plaster and mildew, even the dust as it formed and then scattered in the dark around her. She finally reached for the penlight on the Persian runner and then slowly raised it to the spot where Warren had been. The papered wall was intact. Not one mark showed; not one bit of evidence that Warren had ever been there. Jessica started shaking.