John Saul - Hellfire

“They’re gone.” Quickly she explained what had happened. “Hannah’s looking in the basement, but I’m sure they’re not there. When I woke up, I had a funny feeling that something was wrong, that something was missing. It’s the girls. I haven’t searched the whole house, but I’m almost certain they aren’t here at all.”

Phillip, already out of bed, was pulling on a pair of khaki pants and a golf shirt. With Carolyn at his heels, he strode down the hall, first to Tracy’s room, then back to Beth’s, where Carolyn was waiting for him.

“They’ve got to be here,” he said.

“But they aren’t!” Carolyn insisted.

“Did you look upstairs?”

Carolyn shook her head. “No, of course not. It’s all closed up. There’s nothing up there—”

“Well, they have to be somewhere. They wouldn’t just take off. Not in the middle of the night.” He started down the hall toward the back stairs that led to the long-empty third floor of the old house. Carolyn was about to follow him, when something caught her eye.

On Beth’s desk, there was an old leather-bound book.

She stared at it. She’d never seen it before, and she was positive it didn’t belong to Beth.

What was it, and why was it here?

She had no ready answer for either question, but suddenly, with the certain knowledge born of instinct, she knew that whatever the little book was, it was directly connected with the girls’ absence.

She picked it up and began reading, desperately deciphering the crabbed handwriting that filled the pages. After reading only a few lines she was certain she knew where Beth and Tracy were.

She went to the door, calling out her husband’s name. Then, as she was about to call him again, she saw him appear from the back stairs.

“They’re not up—”

“Phillip, I know where they are! They went to the mill!”

Phillip stared at her. “The mill?” he echoed. “What on earth are you talking about? Why would they go down there?”

“Here,” Carolyn said, holding the old journal out to him. “I found this on Beth’s desk. I don’t know where they got it, but they must have read it.”

Phillip reached out and took the book from her. “What is it?”

“A journal. It tells about the mill, Phillip, and I know that’s where the girls have gone. I know it!”

Phillip stared at his wife for a moment, then made up his mind. “I’m calling Norm Adcock,” he said at last. “And then I’m going down there.”

“I’ll go with you,” Carolyn said.

“No. Stay here. I … I don’t know what I’ll find. I don’t even know what to think right now—”

For a moment Carolyn was tempted to argue with him, but then she changed her mind. For already, in the back of her mind, she knew that something terrible had happened in the mill. Something out of the past had finally come forward, reaching out for an awful vengeance.

Tracy’s laughter slowly subsided until it was little more than a manic giggle.

She glanced around the room once more, furtively now, like an animal that was being hunted.

Then, in the soft glow of the lantern light, she dragged Beth’s body over near the far wall. High up, beyond her reach, there was a small window. Tracy placed Beth’s body beneath the window, one arm leaning against the wall, stretched upward as if it were reaching for the window above.

She returned to the place where Beth’s corpse had first fallen, and knelt down to dip her hand into the still-warm blood. When her hand was covered, she went back to the wall, and began smearing her bloodied hand over its blackened surface, leaving crudely formed marks wherever her fingers touched. Over and over she gathered more blood, until at last the message was complete.

Still giggling softly to herself, she went back to the lantern, and bent to pick it up.

And then, suddenly, the lantern light seemed to fade, and the darkness closed in around her.

She was no longer alone in the room. All around her, their faces looming out of the darkness, she saw the faces of children.

Thin faces, with cheeks sunken from hunger, the eyes wide and hollow as they stared at her.

Tracy gasped. These were the children her grandmother had seen. And now she was seeing them, and she knew they could see her too, and knew who she was, and what she had done. They were circling her, closing in on her, reaching out to her.

She backed away from them, and her foot touched something.

She gasped, knowing immediately what it was. She bent down once more, but it was too late. The lantern had tipped over, its chimney shattering.

The cap of the fuel tank had been knocked loose, and the kerosene had spilled out, running quickly in all directions. And then it ignited, and suddenly Tracy was surrounded by flames. She stared at the sudden blaze in horror, and then, dimly, heard the sounds of childish laughter. All around her the faces of the children — the children who couldn’t possibly be there — were grinning now, their eyes sparkling with malicious pleasure. She turned to the door, and started toward it. And then, as she came close to it, she saw another child.

A girl, no more than twelve years old.

She was thin, and her clothes were charred and blackened, as if they’d once been burned. Her eyes glowed like coals as she stared at Tracy, and then, as the flames danced close about her feet, she backed away, through the door.

The flames, fed by the spreading kerosene, followed her.

As Tracy watched, the door slowly began to close.

“No,” Tracy gasped. She took a step forward, but it was too late.

The door slammed shut.

She hurled herself against it, trying to push it aside, but it was immovable. Then she began pounding on it, screaming out for someone to help her, someone to open the door.

But all she heard from beyond the door was the mocking sound of the girl’s laughter.

Behind her, she could feel the spirits of the other children gathering around, waiting to welcome her.

The flaming kerosene spread rapidly across the floor of the basement, oozing under a pile of lumber, creeping around the pilings that had for so long supported the weight of the floor above.

The lumber caught first, and now the fire spread quickly, tongues of flame reaching out to find new fuel. Then the pilings began to catch. Tinder-dry after more than a century, they burned with a fury that filled the basement with a terrifying roar. Then the floor itself began to ignite, the fire spreading through its hardwood mass, turning into a living thing as it ranged ever wider.

The temperature rose, and cans of paint thinner began to explode, bursting into new fires that quickly joined the main blaze.

The heat reached the level of a blast furnace, penetrating even the metal door that sealed off the room beneath the stairs.

Tracy was surrounded by blackness now, the kerosene having burned itself out.

But she could feel the fire, and hear it raging beyond the metal door.

And then, as she watched, the door itself began to glow a dull red.

She backed away from it, whimpering now as terror overwhelmed her. Then she tripped, and fell heavily to the floor. Dimly, she was aware of Beth’s body beneath her.

Then, as the brightening glow of the door began to illuminate the room once more, she remembered the window.

She stood up, and tried to reach it.

And the sound of that awful laughter — Amy’s laughter — mocked her efforts.

She began screaming then, screaming for her father to come and save her.

Each breath seared her lungs, and her screams began to weaken.

She slumped to the floor, her mind beginning to crumble as the heat built around her.

Her father wouldn’t come for her — she knew that now. Her father didn’t love her. He’d never loved her. It had always been the other child he’d loved.