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Chapter 14

 

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Author: Rhonnie Fordham

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Nightfall arrived like the inevitable consequences of a feared curse. No one was really looking forward to it save for Kevin and Linda. In fact, Bridget had to continue her amateur therapist routine just to keep Tony and Amanda calm as darkness gradually took over.

The group had retreated inside the Christy home by nine o’clock. In Bridget’s guest room, Tony sat on the bed, more nervous than ever. At least he had covered the vicious carving on the wall with a huge blanket.

“I got a bad feeling about this,” Tony commented. His eyes drifted over toward the blanket. Even hidden, the words were still etched into Tony’s memory. Kill Em All.

“I think we all do,” Bridget replied. She was standing nearby, fiddling with her infrared camcorder, getting ready for the night’s work.

Tony looked at her, trying to get his focus away from that carving and those words. “You know it’s not too late, man.”

On the camera, Bridget played back the basement footage. She could’ve sworn she saw Dr. Carpenter down there. The hanging corpse. But it certainly wasn’t on tape. Not even in the infrared vision.

“We can just talk to Ms. Linda and get the Hell outta here,” Tony continued. “Before anything else happens.”

Disappointed with the footage, Bridget didn’t respond. She kept playing the clip back, hoping for a quick shot of the Doctor Of Death. Just a glimpse or any sign of the disturbedkiller.

Tony kept pleading with Bridget. “Come on, Bridget! This is crazy!” He stood up and advanced toward her. “We can talk Linda out of this shit! I know we can!”

The frustrated Bridget held the camera out toward him. “That’s what I was trying to do.”

“What?”

Groaning, Bridget waved the camcorder at him. “There’s nothing on here! She won’t go until we have more proof!”

Tony raised his hands out toward Bridget, calming her down. “Okay! Chill!”

Bridget lowered the camera in defeat.

“But what about all the other shit we got?” Tony pleaded. “We got voices, all the shit breaking.”

Shaking her head, Bridget looked at him. “None of it’s visual. There’s nothing on tape!”

“Why would that matter?”

Bridget ignored him. “It’s nothing like what I saw!”

Tony stepped closer to her. “But why the fuck does that matter, Bridget! Look at what we’ve seen. She knows this bitch is haunted! She bought the shit, so we can just come back or something.”

“But what if no one else believes her?” Bridget asked in a deadly serious tone.

“Come on…”

Adamant, Bridget placed the camera on a counter. “You know how people are,” she began. She faced the aggravated Tony. “Just look at us. We’re believers and even we doubted Amanda’s story.”

“So?”

“So?” Bridget said as she stepped up to him. “We just gotta get something big. Something visual or powerful.” She leaned in closer to Tony’s uncertain face. “Something that no one can deny.”

“Alright,” Tony relinquished. His face didn’t hide his disapproval. Or his fear. Bridget could certainly tell.

“Hey, we owe her that much,” Bridget said. She rubbed Tony’s arm. The gesture seemed to reassure him a little. “This is her dream. Hell, it’s mine as well.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m not crazy about staying here either, but it’s one more night,” Bridget said. She sounded more confident than she actually was. But at least Tony didn’t know that. “We can do it for her.” She flashed a weary smile. “Try to give her the definitive proof she’s always wanted. Let her win one.”

Tony chuckled. “I hear you.”

“You know she’d throw that shit in everyone’s faces,” Bridget said light-heartedly. “All those assholes we’ve put up with over the years. The Enquirer, Gawker, the Times.”

Tony laughed harder. They’ve all been wanting to give Linda her moment of triumph.

“Fucking Marcia Darden’s hating ass,” Bridget added on. “Remmeber when she called us the Wannabe Warrens?”

“Yeah, true,” Tony commented.

“This would be amazing to sit them the fuck down,” Bridget said, her genuine excitement full on display.

“Naw, you’re right,” Tony said. As his laughter died off, he stared at Bridget, his uncertainty returning. “Do you think we’ll be safe though?”

“Yeah,” Bridget replied. She ran her hand down his arm, still faking the immense confidence. She squeezed Tony’s bicep. “You’re our protection, remember?”

Tony chuckled quietly. “But why stay here like this? She just bought the damn thing.”

“Hey, just let her stay if she wants,” Bridget replied. “It’s one more night, and Amanda wanted to do this as well.”

“But come on,” Tony said. “We cane come back with an army or some shit.”

Scoffing, Bridget grabbed the camera. “And who would believe us?”

“I don’t know, someone.”

“It’s less than twelve hours, Tony.” Bridget gave him a reassuring pat on the back. “We can make it.”

“Yeah, we’ll see…” he muttered.

“Besides,” Bridget started. Grinning, she pointed upstairs. “Let her have her fun.”

“That’s the real reason isn’t it?” Tony asked dryly.

Bridget shrugged. “Can you blame her? It’s been years.”

“Uh, yeah,” Tony said adamantly. He followed Bridget out the room. “I don’t wanna get killed just cause she wants some realtor dick.”

*

Upstairs, Linda’s spiritual music played on her phone like a hypnotic soundtrack for the room’s sensual aura. The New Age jams seemed to never end. Compared to the rest of the Christy house, this particular guest room offered an escape from the house’s suffocating history and bad vibes. For Kevin and Linda, it was certainly an escape to something more pleasurable.

The naked “couple” sat together in bed, cuddled up close. They were fresh off a bout of hot sex. Judging by all the signed sales papers scattered across the dresser, they were also fresh off a hundred-and-fifty thousand dollar deal. Linda’s signature was vivid and precise. Certainly signed with pride.

“You made me work hard for that one,” Kevin said to Linda with a smile.

“Oh, come now,” she swiftly replied as she raised a half-empty bottle of wine. “You can’t tell me it wasn’t fun, doll.” She pinched Kevin’s cheek with the tenacity of a starved M.I.L.F.

Smirking, Kevin watched her take a long swig of wine. “No, you were great,” he said.

Linda lowered the bottle, flattered by the compliment from her younger suitor.

“I’ve certainly done worse,” Kevin said slyly.

“What? For a sale?” Linda teased.

“Well, yeah.”

Chuckling, Linda got ready to take another swig. “I’m not surprised.”

“It’s part of the game.” Feeling a bit bruised by Linda’s barb, Kevin looked toward his pants that lied by the bed.

Linda savored the booze. She let out a mock yelp like a drunk sorority girl. While this wine didn’t make you younger, it certainly made you feel so. Linda noticed Kevin leaning off the bed. “Hey, what are you doing, dear?” she asked.

“Hold on,” he said as he dug through his pants’ pockets.

Curious, Linda moved toward him. “What is it?”

“Ah, here it is,” Kevin said triumphantly. Grinning from ear to ear, he sat back next to her. He held a lighter and an impressive joint in his hands. Grade A.

Linda couldn’t hide her excitement. The sight was almost as tempting as the hunky realtor who would do anything for a sale.

Kevin held the smoke up like a cherished relic worth millions. “A toast to our deal?” he proposed to Linda. He knew what the answer was gonna be.

“Mmm-hmm,” Linda exclaimed.

Ready to get the party started, Kevin ignited a flame. “Shall we-”

Interrupting him, Linda grabbed his hand, causing Kevin to cut off the lighter’s flame. “What, not in here!” she said with a laugh.

“Come on. Really?” Kevin asked in disbelief.

“Not in the house,” Linda pleaded. She motioned around the room. “This is history. We can’t desecrate this!”

Kevin cracked a mischievous grin. “Geez, don’t be such a prude.”

“I’m not gonna upset the other residents,” Linda said with authority.

“Look, they can have some too,” Kevin replied in the smartass tone of your average high school punk.

“Shut up…” Linda groaned.

“What, babe?”

Aggravated, Linda looked out a window. She noticed all the tall trees and rural scenery lurking amidst the quiet darkness. She got another idea.

“I bet ghosts like a good contact high,” Kevin continued.

Linda faced him just as he was ready to strike another flame.

“Hey, I’ll be careful, alright,” Kevin went on.

Right before he could hit the light, Linda snatched his wrist. “How about you give me a tour of the property instead,” Linda said as she leaned in closer toward Kevin’s intrigued face. “All ‘three full acres…'” Linda said in a seductive taunt.

“You sure you wanna do that?” Kevin asked.

“Yeah, why?”

Smiling, Kevin nodded toward the dresser. The current resting place for the broken figurine. “Cause I broke our little good luck charm.”

“I think we’ll be fine.” Linda stated. Playing along, she reached toward Kevin’s crotch. “We’ve got another good little luck charm right here.”

*

Another 90s sitcom played on the living room flatscreen. This time, Tony wasn’t solely relying on it as his safety blanket from the Christy home’s evil tricks. Instead, he wore earbuds and played brainless pop music on his phone as loud as he could. No more of those creepy kid voices. Not as long as Nicki Minaj and Taylor Swift had a say.

With the sweet overproduced music serving as his comfort food, Tony sprawling out on the couch, keeping his eyes glued to the cloying situational comedy gracing the T.V. screen. Now his vision and hearing were sealed away from the house of horrors. A temporary fix at least. The combination was even soothing regardless of the music’s ultra-catchy beat and the T.V. show’s ultra-lame comedy. Tony blinked a few times, his blank expression never changing. He looked tired even.

He was about to shut his eyes when a hand snatched out one of Tony’s earbuds.

“Wake up, sonnyboy,” Kevin shouted in a smartass manner.

Startled, Tony jumped and turned to see Kevin and Linda standing near the couch. “Shit!” Tony exclaimed. He yanked the other earbud out. “What the Hell are y’all doing!”

“Sorry,” the chuckling Linda said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“But I did,” Kevin commented with drunken glee.

Linda gave him a facetious punch in the shoulder. “Oh, stop it,” she said. Her playful demeanor would make even the most flirtatious high school girls cringe.

Tony saw Kevin holding a large flashlight. “Hey, where you going?” he asked.

“He’s just showing me around outside,” Linda said. She rubbed a hand along Kevin’s chest. “Just a little late night stroll.”

“Yeah, I was just gonna give Linda here a tour of the ‘estate,'” Kevin said with a chuckle.

In disbelief, Tony stepped off the couch. “Shit, it’s almost midnight!”

“Relax, Tony boy,” Kevin teased. He clicked on the flashlight and shined its bright beam right into Tony’s eyes.

“Ah, damn!” Tony said as he shielded his vision from the aggravating light. The flickering ceiling lights had nothing on this monstrous beam.

“Bright enough for you?” Kevin joked.

“Get that shit outta my face!” Tony yelled.

Chuckling, Linda pulled Kevin away toward the front door. “Come on, leave him alone.”

“I was just having fun with him,” Kevin replied.

Linda patted Kevin’s chest with seductive glee. “Let’s go, ‘Mr. Riley’.”

Concerned, Tony took a step toward them. “But Ms. Kane-”

“Just relax, Tony,” Linda said with a smile. “We’re not leaving you.”

“Yeah, we’ll be back, kiddo,” Kevin chimed in, feigning a fatherly tone. “We love you.”

“Man, whatever,” Tony said.

Like a playful bully, Kevin flashed the light in Tony’s face multiple times.

Pissed, Tony waved at the flashlight. “Hey, cut that shit out, man!”

Kevin laughed. “Alright, geez.”

Tony walked toward Linda with the worry of an overprotective parent. “Just let me go with y’all-”

Kevin held Tony back. “Hey, we’re fine.”

“Yes, Tony, just stop worrying,” Linda said. “Watch your show.”

Unamused, Tony just stood there. He felt like the “adult” in the trio even though he was technically the youngest.

Doing her best drunk impersonation of a paranormal show host, Linda pointed to her temple. “Just keep your eyes and ears open…” she said to Tony.

“Ooh…” Kevin said with mock delight.

“Yeah, whatever,” Tony replied. His disapproving eyes watched Kevin swing the front door open. “Have fun,” Tony said facetiously.

With drunken clumsiness, Kevin stumbled backward. Linda and him burst out laughing.

Tony didn’t even crack a smile. “Jesus,” he muttered.

Kevin waved off Tony. “Just hold down the fort, bud!”

“Yes, Tony,” Linda said as she led Kevin out.  “Hold down the Christy house! We’ll be back!”

Still not keen on their decision, Tony watched Linda. “Ms. Kane, be careful-”

Kevin slammed the door behind them, interrupting Tony.

Disgruntled, Tony stared at the door. He wanted to say something mean but decided not to. After all, it was only Kevin being a douche.

Canned laughter off the sitcom distracted Tony. He put his earbuds back in and got back to his working “station.” The wasteland of pop music and corny comedy.

*

Linda and Kevin held hands as they journeyed through the cluster of tall trees. They were about fifty feet away from the garden, but within this rural landscape of darkness, it may as well have been a thousand.

With the aid of Kevin’s flashlight beam, Linda was actually admiring the yard. Somehow, it looked more natural and intimate at the late hour. Even though they were being constantly broadcast by all the surveillance cameras… but then again, the two of them certainly didn’t mind. Neither of them were even aware that the cameras could capture them out this far. They were too distracted by each other.

“It’s nice, huh,” Kevin commented.

“Mmm-hmm,” Linda replied. She stopped them near one of the bigger trees. They now had a perfect view of the expansive sky. “It’s perfect.” She looked up at the stars, mesmerized. For a haunted house, the Christy home did have some underrated perks.

“No doubt,” Kevin replied as he reached into his pocket.

“It’s so lovely.” Linda kept gazing at all the stars. The sheer conglomeration was stunning. She looked back at the house. With the sky and the handsome home, this buy was turning out to be quite the combo deal. “Lovely but haunting,” she said with a chuckle.

“Yeah.” Kevin pulled out the joint and lighter. He smiled at Linda. “But not quite as lovely as you.”

Linda played it off but still couldn’t hide her schoolgirl blush. She was glade the darkness was kinda hiding it at least. “Oh, please…”

“I’m serious,” Kevin said. He put the j to his lips and lit it. “You’re something else.” He took a hit off the joint. “So fucking beautiful…”

“You’re quite the smoother talker,” Linda teased. She leaned in closer toward Kevin as he took another cool hit.

“It comes with the territory,” he sputtered out. The pot was already getting to him.

“No shit,” Linda said with a smile as she got closer to Kevin’s lips. He flashed her an awkward look. “And you’re damn good at it,” Linda said.

Right before their lips could collide, Kevin turned away and unleashed a series of nasty coughs.

Linda smirked at the sight of Kevin doing his best impression of a high schooler trying marijuana for the first time. “You okay?” she joked.

“I’m fine,” Kevin muttered. Still coughing, Kevin held the roach out to her. “Here. It’s strong.”

“Okay, rookie,” Linda joked as she grabbed the joint.

“Hey, it’s been awhile,” Kevin struggled to say through his last few coughs.

“I can tell.”

“It’s strong,” Kevin reiterated.

Linda took a hit like a pro. It was strong, but she didn’t cough. Sensations ran through her mind. She grinned with ease.

“Damn,” Kevin stated. “You’re good.”

An adventurous smile etched upon her face, Linda took another hit. “Look at you,” she said. “Still shooting that shit.”

Kevin grinned and leaned in closer. “Yeah, well,” he began as they became nose to nose. “Not all the time.”

“If you say so.” In one relaxed motion, Linda handed him the joint back.

“Nope, you’re different,” Kevin said confidently. He took another smoke and made sure not to cough this time. “Much different,” he said in a strained voice. But he still didn’t cough.

The two shared a carefree chuckle. “I’m glad,” Linda said. She rubbed her hands all along Kevin’s chiseled chest. “You’ve convinced me at least.” She leaned in closer.

Kevin got ready to kiss her lips. But Linda pulled a fast one. She grabbed the joint instead.

“Oh, nice,” Kevin joked.

Smirking, Linda took another hit.

“So you just wanted to come out here for a little pot and a look at the stars?” Kevin quipped.

Linda looked up at the sky, well-aware of how much she was toying with him. She liked the control. “Maybe…” She blew smoke in Kevin’s face.

“Well, I’m a little disappointed.” Kevin flashed her a sly smile. “We’ve got all this land.” As persuasive for sex as he is for a sale, Kevin motioned across the yard, toward the tall fence. “All this privacy.” He leaned in toward the amused Linda’s face. “It’d be a shame to see it all go to waste tonight,” he stated.

“Indeed,” Linda replied, not missing a beat.

Kevin got ready to lean in for another attempt at their long-delayed kiss.

Moving quicker than Kevin anticipated, Linda surprised him by shoving him up against the tree. She threw the j down, ready for the next part of tonight’s “entertainment.” “You ready, Kevin Riley,” Linda said.

“Okay,” the excited Kevin commented.

Linda ripped open her shirt, exposing her large and well-aged breasts.

“Whoa!” Kevin exclaimed.

“Let’s go,” Linda said in a commanding tone. With that, she lurched toward him with the carnal drive of a wild animal. Perhaps, a cougar?

Simultaneously intimidated and enthralled, Kevin watched her descend upon him. “Ms. Kane-”

“It’s Linda,” Linda proclaimed as she gave him a passionate kiss.

Kevin didn’t have a chance at escape. Not that he wanted to anyway. Pinned up against the tree, he let Linda work all over him. Her frenetic hands tore off his shirt as the two of them continued the steamy make-out session. Kiss after kiss after kiss. Their hands felt on each other’s attractive bodies.

Linda forced Kevin’s pants down, stripping him completely. She wrapped her arms around his waist and held on, gripping on to his soft skin.

Interrupting the burgeoning momentum, Linda looked right at Kevin. “How often will you come back and visit?”

“I don’t know,” Kevin answered.

One hard smack on the ass made Kevin YELP out loud. At least, it was the good kind of pain.

“Tell me!” Linda demanded. Her voice took on the tones of both a sincere romantic and obsessed lover.

“For you?” Kevin said. He caressed Linda’s smooth face. “Everyday, sexy.”

“That’s more like it.” With that, Linda squeezed Kevin’s ass and pulled him in closer toward her.

*

Holding her trusted camera, Bridget walked through the downstairs hallway, recreating her fateful trip from the night before. She was as focused as ever. Taking her time with each step, Bridget looked back-and-forth between the camera lens and her own vision. If someone saw her without realizing her real occupation, they’d suspect she was either a pretentious filmmaker or an escaped lunatic.

Bridget stopped and scanned the long hallway. “Hello,” she said aloud. Nothing. None of the activity from the previous night greeted her. Bridget even looked through the camcorder’s lens for good measure. But nothing was glimpsed through the infrared mess. She was all alone.

Frustrated, Bridget groaned and played back footage on her camcorder. Footage she had been shooting all night. All through the house including the basement and this damn hallway. But it was all for naught. She hadn’t gotten anything. It was like the spirits were somehow taking a holiday on Amanda’s last night home.

Bridget groaned and looked off at the closet doorway. The hallway was really quiet, Bridget thought. The whole house for that matter.

Canned laughter blared in from the living room, startling Bridget. She jumped and looked down the hall. The laughter ended so suddenly. Like someone mashed the mute button before the studio audience could finish.

“Tony?” Bridget asked. She waited for an answer. Nothing but silence greeted her. Bridget checked behind her, like she expected to see John awaiting her nervous gaze. But still, she was alone. Bridget was almost relieved to feel this isolated. She heard nothing but her own heavy breathing. Eager to get back to some semblance of civilization, Bridget turned and started walking toward the living room. “Tony?”

A loud, jagged creaking stopped her dead in her tracks. The creaking came from right behind her. And it sounded familiar.

“Look behind you,” little Amy’s voice whispered toward Bridget.

Bridget turned and saw the closet door open all the way out. The door hit the wall with a soft thud for finality. Bridget looked on in petrified fear. She could see the boxes even from here.

“Behind you, Bridget,” Amy whispered once more. Her voice was full of fear. Like she was afraid someone was gonna hear her if she dared speak any louder.

Bridget looked through the camcorder. Except no one was there. No ghosts or apparitions. Just an open closet that beckoned her.

Too scared to move, Bridget lowered the camera and stared right at the closet.

“Bridget,” Amy’s voice swept through Bridget’s mind.

Gathering up the courage, Bridget started to step toward the closet.

A large cardboard box slid all the way out of there on its own, screeching against the floor.  As if it was being pushed out by a pair of invisible hands.

Bridget jumped back in fright. “Shit!”

There the box stood a few feet away from her. Bridget stared at it with the unease one has toward a coffin at a wake.

“Look at it, Bridget,” Amy’s disembodied voice pleaded.

The box’s lids flew open on their own in a matter of seconds. These weren’t just a pair of invisible hands doing the lifting, but multiple pairs of young hands.

“Look at it, please,” a male voice whispered. Michael.

Bridget hesitated for a moment. The box was fully open and awaited her eyes.

“Help us,” Michael’s soft voice drifted toward Bridget.

Bridget took a deep breath and took cautious steps toward the box. Each footstep echoed through the hall. All the while, the voices continued. A chorus of Michael and Amy.

“Please, look inside,” Amy said.

“We need your help,” Michael stated.

“Help us,” Amy begged quietly.

Bridget leaned down toward the box and peered inside. A collection of framed photos and old Christmas decorations lurked inside.

Confused, Bridget stared at all the items. She put her camera on the floor and brushed a few of the box’s pictures aside.

“What the Hell…” Bridget said. More of the Baker family pictures stared back at her. Or better yet, smiled back at her. The photos did look recent. Most of them were taken in this very house. But why did they matter, Bridget wondered. Why were the children determined to show her this?

“Look closer,” Amy’s voice pleaded.

Apprehensive, Bridget kept digging deeper into the box. She took out several of the pictures and cheesy ornaments and placed them on the ground. Nonetheless, the box seemed to never end. Bridget felt like she was scouring through a bottomless treasure chest of family memories. But it was all so random. The happy family and their wide smiles offered nothing to her investigation.

As she was getting near the bottom, Bridget stopped to rest. She looked on at a picture of John and Amanda cuddling up on the living room couch. The couple actually looked genuinely happy for once. Amanda didn’t look half as stressed or haggard as she did now. The things that tragedy could do to you, Bridget figured.

“Closer,” Amy said. “Look closer…”

Before Bridget could react, she felt a force brush past her left arm. “Shit…” Then she felt another force brush past her right arm.

The forces pushed aside all the other items inside the box to reach the very bottom.

Bridget watched the forces move quickly. They loudly rummaged through the box’s darkest depths. And in the end, a series of rattles greeted Bridget’s confused ears.

“What the fuck,” Bridget stated. She looked closer and saw the items buried at the very bottom. Pill boxes. Two of them. They were all nearly full. Their labels still stuck to their orange plastic cases.

“Look closer,” Amy said once more.

Still feeling the children’s presence around her, Bridget leaned in and grabbed the cases. She read the labels. Bridget’s expression, her eyes, everything changed from puzzled unease to outright horror.

The names on both labels were clear as day: Amanda Baker. The name of the  medication was even clearer: Zyprexa and Clozaril. Antipsychotics, Bridget realized in teror.

“She’s crazy,” Bridget said to herself. She cradled the bottles in her hands, horrified by the sight and by their plastic touch.

“Save us from mommy,” Amy’s voice said in a desperate hush.

*

At night, the garden looked more like a graveyard, and its shed a neighboring mausoleum. The flowers and plants were as lovely as ever. The soil so smooth except for a slight indenture in the dirt where Amanda had stuck the spade in earlier. Only now the long-handled spade was missing.

Through the silence, a soft humming was heard coming from the shed. A meandering tune that wasn’t too recognizable.

Just then, a shadowy figure glided past one of the shed’s windows. Not so much a blur as a calm stroll. It was Amanda.

*

Like the Christy home, Amanda kept the small shed clean. However, she also furnished it with a human touch. After all, she built this shed from the ground up. It was her labor of love. And the fruits of her labor certainly showed. All the shelves were crammed with heavy bags and the most up-to-date gardening tools possible. This was more than a hobby for Amanda. This was her life… or what was left of it.

As she approached a table in the back, Amanda walked past a colossal pegboard hanging on the wall. The designated spot for Amanda’s favorite tools: a shovel, a rake, a pristine pair of garden shears. A missing space on the board was reserved for the long-handled spade.

Amanda’s humming retained its steady and creepy rhythm. It wasn’t very pretty, but it wasn’t out-of-control either. It just sounded despondent, like a compulsory routine rather than an enjoyable distraction.

Amanda laid the spade down on the table. She stopped humming and looked down at the tool. Her contemplative eyes evaluated the spade as she ran her finger down the handle in a gentle, smooth stroke.

Suffering an internal debate, she turned and looked toward the pegboard. So many tools. So many… options.

Moving in a confident stride, Amanda walked up to the pegboard. She evaluated each tool before her excited gaze settled on those garden shears. Amanda traced a finger over its shiny blade. The touch practically gave her an orgasm in the mind. The shears’ sharpness oozed such brutal potential.

“Finish them, Amanda,” a voice drawled out with sadistic intensity. The deep, nasty voice. The voice that wasn’t John. The voice that wasn’t even Steven. Dr. Artis Carpenter was back in practice. “Finish off the demons…”

The voice played like sweet music to Amanda’s ears. She caressed the shears’s handle with the excitement of a pre-game ritual.

“Kill ‘em all,” the doctor said.

A deranged smile crossed Amanda’s face.

*

Clutching the camcorder and pill bottles, a panicking Bridget ran through the upstairs hallway. She knew exactly where she was headed, what she needed to see.

“Mommy needs help,” Amy’s whisper rang through Bridget’s mind.

“Help us,” Michael chimed in.

Bridget endured their eerie chorus. Their scared voices were a chant that fueled her desperation even further.

The door to the home office was wide open. Bridget rushed inside. She saw the glowing home computer, its beaming screen an invitation for Bridget’s disturbing suspicions.

Determined, Bridget sat down right in front of it. Amy and Michael’s voices stopped momentarily as Bridget placed the camera and bottles on the desk and got to work. Like they knew Bridget was on the right track.

She moved the mouse. On screen, the litany of surveillance footage appeared. Bridget took a moment to understand the program’s controls. Then a force pushed against her wrist, like a small hand helping Bridget move the mouse pointer to a specific button. The program’s archives.

“Thanks,” Bridget muttered as she played footage from the previous night. Bridget watched the videos play rather slowly. Nothing was happening, and she wasn’t sure what to do. Then another force swept past her hand, making her click the mouse. The force felt like another small hand. Somehow it felt different than the one Bridget just experienced. A more masculine touch. Michael’s touch, Bridget realized.

Just like that the footage was fast-forwarded at a reasonable pace. Bridget clicked on the camera showing Amanda’s bedroom. It was twelve-thirty A.M., but Amanda wasn’t there. Her covers were all strewn about, the fan on full blast. All the room was missing was its normal occupant. On fast-forward, it was obvious Amanda was gone for a long time.

“What the Hell…” the uneasy Bridget said. Nervous, she reahced into her pocket and pulled out an unlit cigarette. Time for another one, she realized.

As she stuck the cig in her mouth, Bridget looked over the night’s footage from each security camera. The downstairs hallway’s camera showed Bridget looking through the boxes in the closet. Her late-night exploration into all the photos. Someone else was in the frame though… someone Bridget hadn’t noticed there then. Someone she wouldn’t have ever noticed without checking these clips.

Standing at the end of the hallway and out-of-view of the oblivious Bridget was Amanda. Deadly silent, Amanda glowered at Bridget from the distance. Amanda held the long butcher knife. Kill Em All. 

“Jesus…” Bridget exclaimed in shock.

As Bridget remained distracted in the hallway footage, Amanda then marched into Bridget’s guest room. She raised the knife almost like she was tempted to attack Bridget right then and there.

In the home office, Bridget stared at the footage, her nervous eyes watching Amanda disappear into the bedroom. Amanda’s appearance, her glare of cold eyes, her tight grip on the knife handle, all of it was scarier than any “ghost video” Bridget had ever seen.

“It was her,” Bridget said to herself. “It was her all along. Jesus fucking Christ…”

Stressed, she opened up the computer desk’s drawers. She was craving something. A lighter. She found it and lit the cigarette. Soothed by the drag, Bridget tossed the lighter onto the desk. She needed this.

Bridget looked back at the computer screen. Her bizarre closet incident from last night played on.

“Help us,” Amy’s whisper returned to Bridget in the home office.

“You have to stop mama,” Michael reiterated.

“She’s crazy,” Amy pleaded.

The army of tormented voices barged through Bridget’s temporary shell-shocked state. They were incessant and desperate, both Michael and Amy’s voice a call to arms for Bridget.

Still hearing them, Bridget ran a hand across her face. The voices were rapidly getting louder, burrowing into her skull with a desperation that matched the children’s tones. Within Bridget, intense and striking sensations accompanied the voices.

And then another voice broke through the other side. “Help us, please,” John begged. The voice was deep like Dr. Carpenter’s, but nowhere near as unnerving. It was actually sincere. And heartfelt. “Stop Amanda!” he stated louder.

John’s pleas cut straight into Bridget’s mind. Closing her eyes, Bridget cried out as the cigarette fell from her mouth and smashed against the wooden floor.

Visions shooting through her mind, Bridget leaned back in her seat. Quick yet vivid visions that immersed her with the sensory submersion and attention to detail no movie could ever provide.

The visual hit Bridget hard. Amanda’s kitchen a month earlier. John slumped back in a seat at the table, dead as a doornail. A long hose was tied tightly around his neck. So tight it cut into John’s fragile flesh.

Two earth staples that were once used for gardening were instead protruding out of each one of John’s eyeballs. They were lodged in deep and stuck out like blood-stained T.V. antennas. Trails of blood ran down from John’s eyes to the rest of his cold body. The trails completely drowned John’s clothing in wet crimson. Hell, the blood even got on the dinner plate lying before him. He now was literally having a bloody steak for dinner. Amanda had knocked him off right around suppertime.

Loud crying and sobbing echoed from the living room. The sound of scared children: Amy and Michael. Amidst their chaotic fear, a steady hum was heard. Not from lightbulbs, but the humming of Amanda.

In the home office, Bridget cringed in dread, her eyes still shut. This whole psychic process was equal parts meditation and psychological torment. “Oh God…” Bridget muttered. The children, she thought. How could Amanda do this?

Through the visual, Bridget saw footsteps walk out of the kitchen and head toward the living room. It was bare female feet. A huge metal rake dragged behind right behind them, scraping against the floor in agonizing fashion.

As the kitchen became empty, the children’s cries became much more frantic and terrified. Their young feet could be heard scurrying away from that unsettling hum-and-rake combo. Yelling, Amy was heard tearing the front door open.

Overwhelmed by the frightmare of a flashback, Bridget opened her eyes and lurched forward. She gasped for breath like she just emerged from a cage under the sea. “No!” she screamed. “Leave them alone!” But the sensations didn’t stop there. It was a migraine from Hell. A migraine of violent imagery. Bridget cried out and closed her eyes, bracing herself for more of the agony.

The scene within her mind shifted to Amanda’s front yard on that fateful and fatal night. It was darker than ever out there. No bright moon or stars. And the same noises persisted: Amy and Michael’s helpless screaming, Amanda’s undeterred mumbling, Amanda’s heavy footsteps, the constant metallic scrape of the rake. Together, they blasted through the night, but only upon deaf ears in this seemingly-abandoned, albeit-lovely neighborhood.

Exhausted, Amy and Michael struggled to evade Amanda. They staggered past the towering trees, making their way through the rural landscape.

Michael turned to see Amanda hot on their trail. Amanda was completely naked, her nude body coated in blood. John’s blood. Amanda gave him a cryptic smile, maybe the same smile a savage mother in the animal kingdom gives to the runt of her litter before smothering them to death.

“I see you!” Amanda yelled aloud. Somehow, she seemed faster than the children without even trying. Her body revealed powerful muscles underneath all the blood. It was like she was being powered by her delusions and strong urge to kill. And urged by Dr. Carpenter as well.

Amy turned back and saw the possessed Amanda, terrified. “No, mommy!” she screamed. “Mommy, please!”

“Leave us alone!” Michael yelled at Amanda.

Their tortured screams devastated Bridget and scorched her emotions. She wanted to open her eyes in that home office but couldn’t. The forces in that house wouldn’t let her… Amanda’s family were making her see these haunting memories. Like they had placed a projector right before Bridget’s subconscious.

In the front yard, Amanda got closer and closer to her two young targets. Amanda raised the rake like an executioner’s axe. The weapon’s many blades begged for blood.

“You devils!” she yelled with the strong and calculating tone of Dr. Carpenter. The voice of a killer. “Y’all demons need to be punished!”

“No!” Amy cried.

“Come on,” Michael said to Amy as he led them through the yard. Frightened tears streamed down both their young faces.

“You evil bastards!” Amanda screamed. “You Heathens!”

The crying children further elicited sympathetic emotions in Bridget. She couldn’t bear to hear their desperate cries, much less see their helpless faces. They were all alone. And she couldn’t do anything to help them.

Michael and Amy neared the garden. The garden wasn’t quite as decadent as Bridget had ever seen it. But the potential was there. Amanda just needed the time to let it flourish.

“Hurry!” Michael told Amy.

“You’re all evil!” Amanda yelled after them. Her veins popped, matching her sweltering rage.

The children slogged through the garden. Their feet sunk in deep into the wet soil like quicksand.

“No!” Michael screamed.

“Y’all ain’t my children!” Amanda yelled, her voice booming to deeper levels that mirrored Artis’s frightening tone to a tee. It frightened the Hell out of her children.

Both Michael and Amy continued struggling to escape the garden. Dirt and bits of plants sprayed across their legs and shoes.

“Y’all took my family!” Amanda screamed.

She sounded closer than ever. Panicking, Michael turned and saw Amanda step foot in the garden. “No!” he yelled.

“Come on, Michael,” Amy pleaded to him. She followed his gaze toward the terrifying sight of Amanda hunting them down like a predator on the prowl.

“The wicked must be destroyed!” Amanda cried aloud. Just a few feet away from Michael, she swung the rake right toward him.

“Michael!” Amy cried. Being the protective younger sister, she leaped in and tackled him to the ground, just avoiding the many sharp points on Amanda’s impressive rake.

The two children collapsed into the soil. They struggled to get back on their feet. “Michael!” the panicking Amy said.

Wielding the rake, Amanda stepped up over them. She stood tall over her children. Her harsh eyes filled with Hellfire and brimstone. Amanda looked more Devil than executioner at this point.

Her hands gripped the side of her head like she was trying to rip the memories out from her skull, Bridget cried out. “No!” she yelled through the pain. As the vision played on, Bridget trembled, dreading the inevitable.

Terrified and helpless, the two children faced the ferocious maniac that was their mother.

Michael grabbed Amy’s hand. “Come on!” he said. He stood up, ready to lead them out to the front gate.

“You little devils!” Amanda cried out. “You’re not going anywhere!”

With the knowing precision of a calculating doctor, Amanda swung the rake like it was the world’s biggest scalpel.

The many blades sliced into Michael’s Achilles tendon. He yelled in pain and staggered to the ground. Blood flowed from his vicious cuts and all over the dirt stains on his leg, soaking all the way through his sock.

“No!” Bridget yelled as she convulsed in her chair. The memories hit her like electric bolts via shock therapy.

Michael balanced himself with his hand, keeping him from completely falling onto the dirt. The wound may as well have been fresh concrete beneath his feet. He wasn’t going anywhere.

Concerned, Amy rushed to his side. “Michael!”

She tried to help him stand up. But all it did was strain the wound: the tendon stretched further apart in agonizing fashion. Michael cringed and fell to the ground. His blood sprayed over the garden’s immaculate flowers and soil.

“Michael!” Amy cried out. She hugged him close. “I’m sorry, Michael! Michael!”

Yelling in pain, Michael snagged his wound. The blood streamed out like oil, oozing through his fingertips.

“You’re not fooling me anymore,” Amanda said as she stepped toward them. All the blood on her body resembled a translucent dress fit for a morbid prom.

Both the children looked right at her. Redness coated the rake’s talon-like ends.

Michael tried to push Amy away. “Run, Amy!” he yelled.

Amy held onto him. “No, I’m not leaving you!”

“Amy, go!”

“You can’t get away,” Amanda said. Her voice was a cryptic whisper, but still retained the nastiness of Dr. Carpenter’s madness. “God will see to it.” She held the rake out toward the petrified kids. “He won’t let your evil evade me.”

“No, mama!” Amy pleaded.

Amanda just glowered at her.

“This isn’t you!” Amy continued. Weeping, she begged in desperation like the pitiful and terrified child she was. “I know it ain’t you, mama! I love you! This ain’t you!”

Tears welled up in Michael’s eyes. Unlike Amy, he had no remaining hope left.

“Mama, please!” Amy begged. “Please…” She broke down and looked over at Michael.

Michael held her close in a tight grip. He didn’t say anything. All he could do was hold onto his younger sister.

Silent, Amanda leaned down and caressed Amy’s face. Even with traces of blood smearing onto Amy’s solemn face, Amanda offered a motherly touch. A gentle and smooth touch.

“There, there,” Amanda said softly. The first time her voice bored any resemblance to the real Amanda Baker in a long time.

Both Michael and Amy looked at her, a glimmer of hope in their eyes. They were simultaneously stunned and relieved to catch a glimpse of their real mom.

An evil grin then broke through Amanda’s gentile face, shattering the optimism. “But you’re not fooling me,” she said in that wicked Artis tone.

The horror reappeared in her children’s faces. All hope snatched away from the innocent as Amanda drew her hand back. “Goddamn you all,” Amanda stated.

“No, mama!” Amy said in terror.

Clinging to the rake handle, Amanda hoisted it up over the little children. “You demons won’t fool me.” Her expression was confident and cool. Like the face of someone who’d executed demons many times before. “You’re not Michael or Amy. You’re liars!”

Leaning in closer toward Michael, Amy held her timid hand out, trying to shield them both through miracle. “No, mama!” she cried.

“Kill ’em all!” With three words, Amanda’s reply sealed the fate of the rest of her family for good.

“No, mom-” Amy began.

Yelling out in a terrifying battle cry, Amanda hoisted her weapon back and slammed it straight down upon her own son and daughter. It was one ferocious, sudden blow.

The grisly impact of the brutal murders awoke Bridget from the horrifying visions. Struggling to breathe, she lurched forward, knocking the camera and pill bottles off the desk. She was like a patient suddenly awakening from a nightmarish coma.

On the floor, the bottles burst open upon impact. Capsules slid everywhere. It seemed like there were hundreds.

Bridget looked down at all of them, horrified. How long had Amanda been off her crazy pills, she wondered.

“God,” Bridget muttered. She wiped dense sweat off her brow. The visions may have been quick, but the unsettling sensations long lingered inside Bridget. The cries of the children. Amanda’s malevolent voice. The quick and efficient splat of the rake’s sharp points into Amy and Michael’s vulnerable heads. These horrors wouldn’t be going away anytime soon. And Bridget knew it.

Bridget took a deep breath and looked back a the computer screen. The footage from the previous night was still on. One of the many cameras showed Amanda carving into the guest room’s wall. Her back was turned to the camera, giving her appearance an uncanny vibe. Just a faceless yet disciplined figure hacking away into a bedroom wall. The carvings so deep and hard. She never turned once, not afraid in the slightest to be caught. Instead, she was a woman on a mission. As meticulous as those crude carvings were, the act took less than a few minutes. Amanda was extremely efficient in gardening, carving, and murder.

Too disturbed, Bridget couldn’t look away. Without any music for soundtrack, and with the slight increase in video speed, the clip felt like an eerie combination of paranormal footage and a home-improvement GIF.

“Please, help us!” John’s voice shouted through Bridget’s mind. His voice the epitome of helpless desperation. “She’s crazy!”

Uneasy, Bridget turned and looked toward the open office door.

John refused to relent. “You can’t let her get away!” he begged.

Bridget stared right at the hallway that awaited her. She knew she was only delaying the inevitable.

“Please, Bridget,” Amy’s pitiful voice begged.

Bridget took a deep breath.

“Help us…” Amy continued.

Summoning her inner strength, Bridget confronted the computer screen. The frightening footage of Amanda finishing her vicious carving.

In the video, Amanda hurled the knife to the ground and turned around real quick. She honed her distant eyes in on the camera, as if she was looking right at Bridget. Like she knew Bridget would be checking the footage at some point.

But Bridget was no longer in the home office. The room was empty save for the sounds of Bridget’s footsteps careening down the hall.

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