Fear [from The Haunting in Connecticut]
Note:
This story is based very loosely on the recent horror film The Haunting in Connecticut. If you've seen the movie, note that it is in no way a "fanfic" for that movie, but uses it heavily as inspiration all the same. The names of characters have been used, and their appearances, but their dynamics are all screwy if you go by canon. For all intents and purposes this is just a story. I made no money from this story, nor am I affiliated with the movie's company/sponsors in any way.
Thanks to Rooster455 for beta-ing~!
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Black.
All she could see for ever and ever, endless, foreboding black shadow. All around. Forever.
ôDamn it,ö Jonah muttered around the flashlight in her mouth. ôIÆm gonna kill someone for thisàö
If, that is, she could get out.
Currently, Seven-Twenty ParanormalÆs resident demonologist was stuck in a tiny, inexplicably winding tunnel through gap after gap in the slats that supported the second-story floorboards of an old house. Her long-sleeve shirt was tucked into long jeans, which were tucked into her socks, the sleeves themselves covered partly by long gloves to keep her bare skin out of contact with the wood above and below and the slats to each side. She was sweating in the summer heat but it was better than getting in over her head when she had no good way to get out in a hurry.
Normally it wouldnÆt be worth all this investigating. However, the crawlspace had provided the family with objects dropped seemingly from the heavens. Small, very old coins, slips of aged paper, tiny bits of jewelry that were too odd to be any replica. It was beyond ôworth investigatingö to possibly being a pivot point of their investigation of the house, and as usual, Jonah had been the first person to unwittingly walk into the room when theyÆd been discussing who the task should fall to.
No that she minded. But they could have sent Mattà they could have sent Gibbsà heck, Aickman could have fit into this crawlspace easily. The other members of the team had insisted though, so sheÆd grabbed a flashlight and some covering clothes.
Sigh.
Slowly, the crawlspace narrowed until Jonah had to turn onto her side and kick her legs to move forward. She sighed and tilted her head back and then forward, wincing and stifling a curse when her forehead hit something hard and metallic. She spit out the flashlight and slowly worked one hand up to grab it.
ôOuch, damn it. The one time I find somethingùah well. Hmmàö
She wriggled forward to the end of the space, and satisfied that it was empty, jerked three short kicks into the line around one ankle. Three short, sharp tugs replied, and she kicked again to let them know that she was serious. The rope tightened and she slid backwards, slowly enough to grab the boxÆs handle in her teeth and crane her neck back to guide it into the space with her until she could flip onto her stomach and hold the box in both hands.
ôOkay, bend your knees.ö
ôàHuh?ö
Above her, MattÆs voice was a muffled but exasperated tenor that had trouble coming clear through the floorboards. ôI need you to bend your knees so we can pull you out. Hey, have you got room to turn over?ö
ôIà yeahàhold on a second.ö She sighed and flipped over onto her back, threading her legs through the small hole in the floorboards and angling her hips up a bit. Strong, warm hands grabbed her forelegs and pulled, and soon she was twisting out of the hole with her head tipped back, drawing her arms out behind her and kneeling for the box. The clunk of metal on wood was drowned out by her own rustle of clothing as she stood and brushed herself off, dust flying. Matt coughed and glared at her.
ôHey, go do that somewhere else!ö
ôBah. Puppy.ö
ôI take it someoneÆs been watching Crisis Core againàö
Jonah rolled her eyes. ôYeah right. You bear no worthy resemblanceùö
ôSo, did we find anything of value?ö Gibbs stood at the top of the attic staircase, blinking. ôFamiliar items to the family, maybe, bones, ashesàö He shot a glance at Jonah. ôBoxes of eyelids maybe?ö
ôShut up Gibbs. You know I work preboundàö
ôOh, of course. Far be it from you to do your own binding,ö Gibbs said dryly, walking over and kneeling beside Matt to go through the box. ôHmm. We need more light, and a better place to look these things overàletÆs go down to thùö
Just as he spoke, though, the door slammed shut. Matt yelled somewhere in the darkness as the lights flickered out, and Jonah yelped as warm glass brushed her handùthe flashlight had blown. She tried it anyway, foolishly, and the filament glowed for a moment before snapping in two like an old guitar string.
At first there was total and endless dark silence: nothing moved, nothing breathed.
ôOkay,ö Gibbs finally said, ôMatt. Take the box and give it to me.ö
ôOkayàö there was a shuffling and a grunt of lifting something heavy. Matt reached out his hand into the darkness. ôWhat have I got?ö
ôMy tie. Let go.ö
ôBut it feels like your shirt sleeveàö
ôWait, hold on. We need skin-to-skin. Who knows who has my tie and who knows whose shirt sleeve youÆre holding,ö he said, exasperated. ôOkay, have I got your face?ö
ôEr, no.ö
Jonah sighed and stumbled toward the door, tripping over something soft and falling. Uneven fingers ran down her spine with a deep chill, and heavy, labored breathing echoed above her. She wouldnÆt remember much later except adrenaline flooding her system and blood flowing slowly into her mouth as she bit her tongue to keep her weak gag reflex at bay, struggling and flailing against the distinct scent. Hands pinned her by the stomach, pressing deep, leaving bruises. Claws dug through the knit of her shirt and, when they tried to pull back, got stuck.
An angry exhalation of breath and a rattling, choking sound. Jonah squirmed and fingers clawed her. She brought one leg up and tried to pull awayà
Blood. Pain.
Hot, stabbing claws pressing into her and stagnant breath on her cold skin. SheÆd had worse, seen worse, and probably would still, but this feeling of being helplessà
By now Jonah knew, and well at that, that a humanÆs place in any circle that includes the nonphysical isà less than high. Low, in fact. Aside from a word of power that was usually only good once, a cross in some situations, or in her case, an insane amount of good luck, humans had a lot to fear from what lay beyond, and the closer a human placed themselves to that lineà well, it was obvious.
Becoming any sort of affiliate with that world was just like taking hold of a grenade with a loose pin. As a necromancer, every spirit she called to her aid was a chance for something to go wrong and every foreboding room she walked into had the potential to be a trapà
This was how she lived and for a split second of pure, unbridled panic, she wondered if this was how she would die too. Channeling (a fool's move anyway) or even simply calling for aid would do nothing if these were the spirits of the house. They obviously didnÆt want to negotiate. Jonah refused to bind spirits to her beck and call, and as a result her repertoire was limited to the souls around her.
Normally, this was not a problem.
But at the momentà
ôThe Lord is my ShepherdùI shall not want!ö
She jerked her head up at GibbsÆs voice. HeÆd scared her halfùnevermind. The important thing was that he was talking. She gulped down the cold lump in her throat and, voice faltering, followed suit.
ôHe maketh me to lie down in green pastures, He leadeth me beside still waters à!ö
Far to her left and front, as the pressure decreased, MattÆs voice was muffled by something thick and obviously repulsive from the hesitant tone of speaking through it, but she could hear him loud and clear.
ôHe restoreth my soul; He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His nameÆs sake!ö
ôYea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.ö Gibbs sighed as the lights flickered on. Jonah gasped in a breath and cleared the motionless bones from her lap. They seemed to have risen right out of the floorùburied in the insulation maybe? Or had they even been between the floorboards?
ôYou spreadeth a table before me in the presence of mine enemies; You anoint my head with oil; my cup runneth over,ö Gibbs said loudly into the silence. Jonah and Matt gave each other a look across the roomùa mix of relief and astonishment and calm exasperation at Gibbs, though they knew heÆd saved them bothùbefore joining in, matching the rise and fall of his voice.
ôSurely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.ö Gibbs nodded slowly and crossed himself.
ôAmen.ö
ôAmen.ö
ôAmen.ö
ôNow, we have a box to examine,ö Matt said, hefting the metal box onto his shoulder. ôI hope it hasnÆt turned to dustàö
ôDoes it feel like dust?ö
ôNah. Irregularà and too dang heavy.ö
ôBah. Puppy.ö
Matt grumbled and handed the box to her. ôGo on, then, take it if you want it so bad. Careful on the stairs, alright?ö He opened the door for Jonah and she nodded slightly over the large, cumbersome box under her chin and walked slowly down the stairs, heels hitting the warped wooden boards in an even rhythm.
Further down in the kitchen, the family gathered around the crew of Seven-Twenty, leaning far over to try and get a look at the contents of the box. There wasnÆt muchà a few handkerchiefs, one stained in a blackish substance that looked dramatic but was probably just ink. There were some old photographs of a family out in front of the house, a few pictures (oddly taken with screwy angles) of the staircase, kitchen, and one of the bedrooms, as well as the old basement entrance that was now a closet.
There wasnÆt much about the pictures besides that odd feeling to the latter group, though, so they were set aside for later. As the family gawked and pawed through the unimportant stuff, matching up sets of earrings, speculating on monograms, Jonah leaned away from the table and watched silently, never touching the things within the box.
This wasnÆt good.
That single fraction of a second of even entertaining the thought that she could be killed here had made this a lot more dangerous, and as she watched the boxÆs items laid out in neat order, her nervousness only grew.
Some things were normal, some things were average. But toward the bottom of the box were some tiny, delicate looking instruments, their ivory handles dyed a spookily uneven dark brown. They looked much like things youÆd find at a dental office, but the tricks of their use were known to only two people in the room.
ôHere,ö Aickman said, handing over a small tool used for spreading the nostrils so shaping tubes could be inserted. ôPretty good condition, if you donÆt count the rust on the metal.ö
Jonah nodded weakly and turned it over between her fingertips, analyzing the handle. It had nothing scratched into it, which was odd for such fine ivory. Usually there was, at the least, an initial engraved in delicate font, or a name scrawled in with the tip of a knife. Maybe this person had been new to the trade, or maybe theyÆd been old and had ceased to care about getting their tools engraved.
ô...Sir? WhatÆs that for?ö
Aickman glanced over the happy young couple, smiling, wearing young peoplesÆ T-shirts and jeans. He noted the wifeÆs cross necklace and shrugged. Why hide the truth from these? He began to explain, starting with the instrument in JonahÆs hands and picking up others as he moved through the embalming process. The couple seemed fascinated.
At least he was having funà
ôDoctorö Aickman was the oldest member of the team, the leader and the boss. He wore a crazy beard and round Coke-bottle glasses when, shaved and in a better prescription [since he wasnÆt that near-sighted anyway], he might have looked ten or even twenty years younger. His true age had never been, probably never would be called into question, because nobody really wanted to know how wrong they were.
Besides that he acted as the ringmaster when they decided to spice things up a bit. He called forth yon spirits and spoke easily with the dead, with a medium at his side to channel for him, a demonologist at his other hand to spot for him, and a Reverend at his back, willing to jump in front of him and shield. Nobody really minded. They all knew that, at the end of the day, they had their even if different roles.
Besides, Matt rarely channeled anything except his own inner horror buff, the practice having been left for the crazy or stupid to try years ago. The Reverend was always on the job and Aickman was always in-character. Jonah, last but not least, got most of the collateral damage and most of the odd looks from the family as well. She certainly didnÆt look like a worthy demonologist, and if they looked past that to her being the teamÆs necromancer and ex officio executive in charge of combat, wellà there was a reason they didnÆt, and that reason was directly tied to how many calls the company received.
But hopefully, hopefully, there was some mistake. Hopefully this had not been the residence of the owner of these tools, or if the residence, maybe not the place of businessà please God, no. She couldnÆt take it after that. She couldnÆt take walking into that darkness again, couldnÆt take the feeling of those clawsà she couldnÆt sit down at the table in the dining room, link hands and shove her bare feet under the carpet line to touch the plywood beneath, connect with those spiritsà
No. Not happening.
ôYou okay?ö Matt leaned over when they were alone with the group, the family having left the room to talk. ôYou look kind of pale. Are you sick?ö
ôN-No.ö Damn it, there went her voice. Good thing Matt was the only one listening. Jonah bit down hard on her lip, sighing heavily through clenched teeth. ôIÆm fine,ö she muttered, forcing her voice steady. ôItÆs nothing. No problem.ö
Matt drew back, bluish gray eyes narrowing in wounded curiosity. ôJonahàö
ôItÆs nothing, okay? NothingÆs wrong. Just a little rattled is allà IÆll be fine in a second once the adrenaline dissipates, you know me.ö She shrugged and, for good measure, stood up and stretched, her short brown hair swinging down when she tilted her head. She glanced up and met his eyes, light denim blue to cool slate. ôHave you heard anything about what weÆre going with for a plan of action?ö
ôNah. IÆd say weÆre cleansing thoughà Gibbs is talking to Aickman at the earliest opportunity about what happened in that attic and weÆll probably do a sÚance to figure out what weÆre dealing with. You know. The usual.ö He leaned back against the kitchen counter. ôAre you sure youÆre alright?ö
ôYeah, IÆm fine. Mother hen,ö Jonah muttered under her breath, but she couldnÆt stop drumming the table with her fingertips either. Being nervous is always bad because it denotes that you have something to be nervous about. The fact that normally fearless, if intermittently cautious Jonah was actually considering the moment when sheÆd back out of tonightÆs activities was shameful even from her point of view. They needed every member of the team to function correctly, and her backing outà
It was shameful, and she knew it was, but they couldnÆt force her on pain of death to connect with this house. This volatile, unpredictable, violent old house that made her feel so helpless, the one emotion that could instill real fear anymore.
Revulsion and shock had long become normal, and they no longer gave true fear, though there was still that rush of adrenaline. But no matter how awful something looked or how suddenly it appeared, it had little power based just on that to make her afraid.
But this, this thing in the darkà things in the dark, she supposed. Plural. The spirits of this house were very different. They were capable of striking without warning, aù
Black.
She gasped as the claws dug back into her sides, struggling, kicking. Somehow she was back in the attic, in the pitch-darkness, and that thing was on her againà
Its hands pressed her sore stomach and she arched away, kicking.
Its breath touched her forehead and she lashed out, scratching blindly.
Its voice broke the silence and she screamed as the sound slowly morphed into recognitionà
ôùnah. Jonah! Wake up!! Open your eyes!ö
ôWhatà?ö
She was lying on the floor in a heap, sides heaving under MattÆs hands. HeÆd been screaming in her ear to be heard over her own wailing, and as the family filed in she climbed to her feet, ashamed.
ôWhatÆs goinÆ on in here?ö
ôNothing,ö she said quickly, and when Matt covered his face in one open palm with a loud smack she twitched. ôJust some leg cramps. I, uh, have low iron sometimes. No problem, go on your way. Nothing to see here.ö
The family filed back out. Matt glared at hear over the table.
ôWhat?!ö
ôYouÆre afraid.ö
Jonah felt anger, automatically, rise beneath her sternum and straighten her back. ôI am not.ö Though they both knew she was lying, and for no good reason it seemed. They were all fine. The wounds, like most wounds dealt by the nonphysical, had vanished quickly, and it certainly wasnÆt the worst thing that could have happened.
Definitely not.
ôThe only thing we have to fear is fear itself,ö Matt reminded her, and she was reminded of his first weeks with the teamà always afraid, easily goaded or startled. Not the best choice for a medium, heÆd been skittish for a long time. It was why they rarely ever had him channel or used him as anchor in seances, and her relative easygoing nature was why that responsibility, almost without fail, fell to Jonah.
SheÆd reminded him of the same fact before, and he was probably unaware of how much the words stungà his mantra that sheÆd laughed at every so often, once in a blue moon. The words of a æfraidy cat or coward, reminding himself verbally of what he should know on a deep, wordless level.
Weak.
She allowed the heat of anger to melt a little of the icy fear in her chest, hoping that maybe she could convince herself not to be afraid. The only thing we have to fear is fear itself. The only thing we have to fear is fear itself. The onlyà
Her vision flashed black again and the surge of deep, cold fear like northern water made her choke for a second. That was when she realizedà fear. They fed on fear. These creatures of the darkness were no mere trapped spirits. They were belligerent, malevolent things that took pleasure from seeing living eyes wide in terrorà
She forced herself to be calm and take her seat at the table a few hours later, near midnight. She would see what they wanted her to see, she would feel what they wanted her to feel, maybe hear what they wanted her to hear.
Blackness closed over her eyes and she felt a distinct heat in her stomach. The weak gag reflex that kept her from aspirating the ectoplasm that she manifested sometimes was a double-edged sword, and it meant that she had to work to keep everything down. She tightened her right hand, and Matt squeezed back, more reassuring than anything. Aickman had her other hand so tensing there was useless and a weak gesture this early in.
Wails and moans, heavy, rattling breathing through decomposed lungs. The scent of rotting flesh and stagnant blood. Hands trailing along her arms, tangling in her hair. Blackness in front of her eyesùshe closed them, calm. Claws piercing her sides and pain that blazed up her frame like dull fire.
She opened her eyes a little and the light was back in the room, the cameras were running between each personÆs seat. Malformed shapes danced slowly in a jerking, slow waltz around the table in a grotesque parody of their sÚance.
One figure had a hemangioma birthmark that extended over its whole faceùthe body was too swollen and deformed to tell genderùand as a result the lips were warped two winches wide and a dark, engorged purple. Another came forward from the circle and laid its cheek against hers, a normally calm and friendly gesture among the livingà but when it pulled away there was a sticky black and white splotch.
She glanced across at Matt, his eyes wide in horror as a rotten foot crowned his head, dripping awful smelling fluid. It would have been funny were it not for the scent and for his pale face. Poor Mattùshe knew he wasnÆt suited for this, and wondered briefly why he didnÆt keep his eyes shut like the rest, before it hit her: Solidarity.
That little idiotà
Helplessness could no longer be achieved. Helplessness was a one-trick pony and once she could resist, there would be no problem. She slowly drew the spirits onto herself, off the house, and stood from the circle, walked outside. She opened her fisted hands and the connections broke all at once. She hit her knees and coughed, blocking the pain of the ectoplasmÆs high-energy clawing motion as it dragged itself up out of her throat. No worse than a usual sÚance, she made herself think. That wasnÆt so bad.
ôWasnÆt so bad?ö Matt asked, handing her a glass of water. Jonah nodded silently and swallowed enough to wash the blood from her mouth before speaking.
ôWasnÆt so badàö
ôGood, then we can go home.ö
She nodded and filed into the van with the rest of the team. The family should be back from their hotel after sunrise tomorrow, so they wouldnÆt know a thing about the burning, writhing mass on the lawn. Even though its volatile nature could cause burns, there was always the chance that it would leave the grass alone or that the couples wouldnÆt notice.
As the van drove away Jonah sighed and trudged up the steps, through the lobby to the elevator. She rode up to her floor, stumbled into her apartment, stripped all her clothes off and crawled into bed, coughing slightly. When red spotted the pillow she groaned, but it was nothing unusual. She just needed to sleep.
As she lay on her back waiting for sleep to take her, claws dug into her sides and the weightless feeling of dreaming was offset by heavy, rough hands on her neck, choking her. She gasped and writhed in a nightmarish slow, jerking motion like a half-remembered dance, as a single emotion flooded the choking blackness like icy water and silenced her screamsù
Fear.
Note:
This story is based very loosely on the recent horror film The Haunting in Connecticut. If you've seen the movie, note that it is in no way a "fanfic" for that movie, but uses it heavily as inspiration all the same. The names of characters have been used, and their appearances, but their dynamics are all screwy if you go by canon. For all intents and purposes this is just a story. I made no money from this story, nor am I affiliated with the movie's company/sponsors in any way.
Thanks to Rooster455 for beta-ing~!
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Black.
All she could see for ever and ever, endless, foreboding black shadow. All around. Forever.
ôDamn it,ö Jonah muttered around the flashlight in her mouth. ôIÆm gonna kill someone for thisàö
If, that is, she could get out.
Currently, Seven-Twenty ParanormalÆs resident demonologist was stuck in a tiny, inexplicably winding tunnel through gap after gap in the slats that supported the second-story floorboards of an old house. Her long-sleeve shirt was tucked into long jeans, which were tucked into her socks, the sleeves themselves covered partly by long gloves to keep her bare skin out of contact with the wood above and below and the slats to each side. She was sweating in the summer heat but it was better than getting in over her head when she had no good way to get out in a hurry.
Normally it wouldnÆt be worth all this investigating. However, the crawlspace had provided the family with objects dropped seemingly from the heavens. Small, very old coins, slips of aged paper, tiny bits of jewelry that were too odd to be any replica. It was beyond ôworth investigatingö to possibly being a pivot point of their investigation of the house, and as usual, Jonah had been the first person to unwittingly walk into the room when theyÆd been discussing who the task should fall to.
No that she minded. But they could have sent Mattà they could have sent Gibbsà heck, Aickman could have fit into this crawlspace easily. The other members of the team had insisted though, so sheÆd grabbed a flashlight and some covering clothes.
Sigh.
Slowly, the crawlspace narrowed until Jonah had to turn onto her side and kick her legs to move forward. She sighed and tilted her head back and then forward, wincing and stifling a curse when her forehead hit something hard and metallic. She spit out the flashlight and slowly worked one hand up to grab it.
ôOuch, damn it. The one time I find somethingùah well. Hmmàö
She wriggled forward to the end of the space, and satisfied that it was empty, jerked three short kicks into the line around one ankle. Three short, sharp tugs replied, and she kicked again to let them know that she was serious. The rope tightened and she slid backwards, slowly enough to grab the boxÆs handle in her teeth and crane her neck back to guide it into the space with her until she could flip onto her stomach and hold the box in both hands.
ôOkay, bend your knees.ö
ôàHuh?ö
Above her, MattÆs voice was a muffled but exasperated tenor that had trouble coming clear through the floorboards. ôI need you to bend your knees so we can pull you out. Hey, have you got room to turn over?ö
ôIà yeahàhold on a second.ö She sighed and flipped over onto her back, threading her legs through the small hole in the floorboards and angling her hips up a bit. Strong, warm hands grabbed her forelegs and pulled, and soon she was twisting out of the hole with her head tipped back, drawing her arms out behind her and kneeling for the box. The clunk of metal on wood was drowned out by her own rustle of clothing as she stood and brushed herself off, dust flying. Matt coughed and glared at her.
ôHey, go do that somewhere else!ö
ôBah. Puppy.ö
ôI take it someoneÆs been watching Crisis Core againàö
Jonah rolled her eyes. ôYeah right. You bear no worthy resemblanceùö
ôSo, did we find anything of value?ö Gibbs stood at the top of the attic staircase, blinking. ôFamiliar items to the family, maybe, bones, ashesàö He shot a glance at Jonah. ôBoxes of eyelids maybe?ö
ôShut up Gibbs. You know I work preboundàö
ôOh, of course. Far be it from you to do your own binding,ö Gibbs said dryly, walking over and kneeling beside Matt to go through the box. ôHmm. We need more light, and a better place to look these things overàletÆs go down to thùö
Just as he spoke, though, the door slammed shut. Matt yelled somewhere in the darkness as the lights flickered out, and Jonah yelped as warm glass brushed her handùthe flashlight had blown. She tried it anyway, foolishly, and the filament glowed for a moment before snapping in two like an old guitar string.
At first there was total and endless dark silence: nothing moved, nothing breathed.
ôOkay,ö Gibbs finally said, ôMatt. Take the box and give it to me.ö
ôOkayàö there was a shuffling and a grunt of lifting something heavy. Matt reached out his hand into the darkness. ôWhat have I got?ö
ôMy tie. Let go.ö
ôBut it feels like your shirt sleeveàö
ôWait, hold on. We need skin-to-skin. Who knows who has my tie and who knows whose shirt sleeve youÆre holding,ö he said, exasperated. ôOkay, have I got your face?ö
ôEr, no.ö
Jonah sighed and stumbled toward the door, tripping over something soft and falling. Uneven fingers ran down her spine with a deep chill, and heavy, labored breathing echoed above her. She wouldnÆt remember much later except adrenaline flooding her system and blood flowing slowly into her mouth as she bit her tongue to keep her weak gag reflex at bay, struggling and flailing against the distinct scent. Hands pinned her by the stomach, pressing deep, leaving bruises. Claws dug through the knit of her shirt and, when they tried to pull back, got stuck.
An angry exhalation of breath and a rattling, choking sound. Jonah squirmed and fingers clawed her. She brought one leg up and tried to pull awayà
Blood. Pain.
Hot, stabbing claws pressing into her and stagnant breath on her cold skin. SheÆd had worse, seen worse, and probably would still, but this feeling of being helplessà
By now Jonah knew, and well at that, that a humanÆs place in any circle that includes the nonphysical isà less than high. Low, in fact. Aside from a word of power that was usually only good once, a cross in some situations, or in her case, an insane amount of good luck, humans had a lot to fear from what lay beyond, and the closer a human placed themselves to that lineà well, it was obvious.
Becoming any sort of affiliate with that world was just like taking hold of a grenade with a loose pin. As a necromancer, every spirit she called to her aid was a chance for something to go wrong and every foreboding room she walked into had the potential to be a trapà
This was how she lived and for a split second of pure, unbridled panic, she wondered if this was how she would die too. Channeling (a fool's move anyway) or even simply calling for aid would do nothing if these were the spirits of the house. They obviously didnÆt want to negotiate. Jonah refused to bind spirits to her beck and call, and as a result her repertoire was limited to the souls around her.
Normally, this was not a problem.
But at the momentà
ôThe Lord is my ShepherdùI shall not want!ö
She jerked her head up at GibbsÆs voice. HeÆd scared her halfùnevermind. The important thing was that he was talking. She gulped down the cold lump in her throat and, voice faltering, followed suit.
ôHe maketh me to lie down in green pastures, He leadeth me beside still waters à!ö
Far to her left and front, as the pressure decreased, MattÆs voice was muffled by something thick and obviously repulsive from the hesitant tone of speaking through it, but she could hear him loud and clear.
ôHe restoreth my soul; He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His nameÆs sake!ö
ôYea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.ö Gibbs sighed as the lights flickered on. Jonah gasped in a breath and cleared the motionless bones from her lap. They seemed to have risen right out of the floorùburied in the insulation maybe? Or had they even been between the floorboards?
ôYou spreadeth a table before me in the presence of mine enemies; You anoint my head with oil; my cup runneth over,ö Gibbs said loudly into the silence. Jonah and Matt gave each other a look across the roomùa mix of relief and astonishment and calm exasperation at Gibbs, though they knew heÆd saved them bothùbefore joining in, matching the rise and fall of his voice.
ôSurely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.ö Gibbs nodded slowly and crossed himself.
ôAmen.ö
ôAmen.ö
ôAmen.ö
ôNow, we have a box to examine,ö Matt said, hefting the metal box onto his shoulder. ôI hope it hasnÆt turned to dustàö
ôDoes it feel like dust?ö
ôNah. Irregularà and too dang heavy.ö
ôBah. Puppy.ö
Matt grumbled and handed the box to her. ôGo on, then, take it if you want it so bad. Careful on the stairs, alright?ö He opened the door for Jonah and she nodded slightly over the large, cumbersome box under her chin and walked slowly down the stairs, heels hitting the warped wooden boards in an even rhythm.
Further down in the kitchen, the family gathered around the crew of Seven-Twenty, leaning far over to try and get a look at the contents of the box. There wasnÆt muchà a few handkerchiefs, one stained in a blackish substance that looked dramatic but was probably just ink. There were some old photographs of a family out in front of the house, a few pictures (oddly taken with screwy angles) of the staircase, kitchen, and one of the bedrooms, as well as the old basement entrance that was now a closet.
There wasnÆt much about the pictures besides that odd feeling to the latter group, though, so they were set aside for later. As the family gawked and pawed through the unimportant stuff, matching up sets of earrings, speculating on monograms, Jonah leaned away from the table and watched silently, never touching the things within the box.
This wasnÆt good.
That single fraction of a second of even entertaining the thought that she could be killed here had made this a lot more dangerous, and as she watched the boxÆs items laid out in neat order, her nervousness only grew.
Some things were normal, some things were average. But toward the bottom of the box were some tiny, delicate looking instruments, their ivory handles dyed a spookily uneven dark brown. They looked much like things youÆd find at a dental office, but the tricks of their use were known to only two people in the room.
ôHere,ö Aickman said, handing over a small tool used for spreading the nostrils so shaping tubes could be inserted. ôPretty good condition, if you donÆt count the rust on the metal.ö
Jonah nodded weakly and turned it over between her fingertips, analyzing the handle. It had nothing scratched into it, which was odd for such fine ivory. Usually there was, at the least, an initial engraved in delicate font, or a name scrawled in with the tip of a knife. Maybe this person had been new to the trade, or maybe theyÆd been old and had ceased to care about getting their tools engraved.
ô...Sir? WhatÆs that for?ö
Aickman glanced over the happy young couple, smiling, wearing young peoplesÆ T-shirts and jeans. He noted the wifeÆs cross necklace and shrugged. Why hide the truth from these? He began to explain, starting with the instrument in JonahÆs hands and picking up others as he moved through the embalming process. The couple seemed fascinated.
At least he was having funà
ôDoctorö Aickman was the oldest member of the team, the leader and the boss. He wore a crazy beard and round Coke-bottle glasses when, shaved and in a better prescription [since he wasnÆt that near-sighted anyway], he might have looked ten or even twenty years younger. His true age had never been, probably never would be called into question, because nobody really wanted to know how wrong they were.
Besides that he acted as the ringmaster when they decided to spice things up a bit. He called forth yon spirits and spoke easily with the dead, with a medium at his side to channel for him, a demonologist at his other hand to spot for him, and a Reverend at his back, willing to jump in front of him and shield. Nobody really minded. They all knew that, at the end of the day, they had their even if different roles.
Besides, Matt rarely channeled anything except his own inner horror buff, the practice having been left for the crazy or stupid to try years ago. The Reverend was always on the job and Aickman was always in-character. Jonah, last but not least, got most of the collateral damage and most of the odd looks from the family as well. She certainly didnÆt look like a worthy demonologist, and if they looked past that to her being the teamÆs necromancer and ex officio executive in charge of combat, wellà there was a reason they didnÆt, and that reason was directly tied to how many calls the company received.
But hopefully, hopefully, there was some mistake. Hopefully this had not been the residence of the owner of these tools, or if the residence, maybe not the place of businessà please God, no. She couldnÆt take it after that. She couldnÆt take walking into that darkness again, couldnÆt take the feeling of those clawsà she couldnÆt sit down at the table in the dining room, link hands and shove her bare feet under the carpet line to touch the plywood beneath, connect with those spiritsà
No. Not happening.
ôYou okay?ö Matt leaned over when they were alone with the group, the family having left the room to talk. ôYou look kind of pale. Are you sick?ö
ôN-No.ö Damn it, there went her voice. Good thing Matt was the only one listening. Jonah bit down hard on her lip, sighing heavily through clenched teeth. ôIÆm fine,ö she muttered, forcing her voice steady. ôItÆs nothing. No problem.ö
Matt drew back, bluish gray eyes narrowing in wounded curiosity. ôJonahàö
ôItÆs nothing, okay? NothingÆs wrong. Just a little rattled is allà IÆll be fine in a second once the adrenaline dissipates, you know me.ö She shrugged and, for good measure, stood up and stretched, her short brown hair swinging down when she tilted her head. She glanced up and met his eyes, light denim blue to cool slate. ôHave you heard anything about what weÆre going with for a plan of action?ö
ôNah. IÆd say weÆre cleansing thoughà Gibbs is talking to Aickman at the earliest opportunity about what happened in that attic and weÆll probably do a sÚance to figure out what weÆre dealing with. You know. The usual.ö He leaned back against the kitchen counter. ôAre you sure youÆre alright?ö
ôYeah, IÆm fine. Mother hen,ö Jonah muttered under her breath, but she couldnÆt stop drumming the table with her fingertips either. Being nervous is always bad because it denotes that you have something to be nervous about. The fact that normally fearless, if intermittently cautious Jonah was actually considering the moment when sheÆd back out of tonightÆs activities was shameful even from her point of view. They needed every member of the team to function correctly, and her backing outà
It was shameful, and she knew it was, but they couldnÆt force her on pain of death to connect with this house. This volatile, unpredictable, violent old house that made her feel so helpless, the one emotion that could instill real fear anymore.
Revulsion and shock had long become normal, and they no longer gave true fear, though there was still that rush of adrenaline. But no matter how awful something looked or how suddenly it appeared, it had little power based just on that to make her afraid.
But this, this thing in the darkà things in the dark, she supposed. Plural. The spirits of this house were very different. They were capable of striking without warning, aù
Black.
She gasped as the claws dug back into her sides, struggling, kicking. Somehow she was back in the attic, in the pitch-darkness, and that thing was on her againà
Its hands pressed her sore stomach and she arched away, kicking.
Its breath touched her forehead and she lashed out, scratching blindly.
Its voice broke the silence and she screamed as the sound slowly morphed into recognitionà
ôùnah. Jonah! Wake up!! Open your eyes!ö
ôWhatà?ö
She was lying on the floor in a heap, sides heaving under MattÆs hands. HeÆd been screaming in her ear to be heard over her own wailing, and as the family filed in she climbed to her feet, ashamed.
ôWhatÆs goinÆ on in here?ö
ôNothing,ö she said quickly, and when Matt covered his face in one open palm with a loud smack she twitched. ôJust some leg cramps. I, uh, have low iron sometimes. No problem, go on your way. Nothing to see here.ö
The family filed back out. Matt glared at hear over the table.
ôWhat?!ö
ôYouÆre afraid.ö
Jonah felt anger, automatically, rise beneath her sternum and straighten her back. ôI am not.ö Though they both knew she was lying, and for no good reason it seemed. They were all fine. The wounds, like most wounds dealt by the nonphysical, had vanished quickly, and it certainly wasnÆt the worst thing that could have happened.
Definitely not.
ôThe only thing we have to fear is fear itself,ö Matt reminded her, and she was reminded of his first weeks with the teamà always afraid, easily goaded or startled. Not the best choice for a medium, heÆd been skittish for a long time. It was why they rarely ever had him channel or used him as anchor in seances, and her relative easygoing nature was why that responsibility, almost without fail, fell to Jonah.
SheÆd reminded him of the same fact before, and he was probably unaware of how much the words stungà his mantra that sheÆd laughed at every so often, once in a blue moon. The words of a æfraidy cat or coward, reminding himself verbally of what he should know on a deep, wordless level.
Weak.
She allowed the heat of anger to melt a little of the icy fear in her chest, hoping that maybe she could convince herself not to be afraid. The only thing we have to fear is fear itself. The only thing we have to fear is fear itself. The onlyà
Her vision flashed black again and the surge of deep, cold fear like northern water made her choke for a second. That was when she realizedà fear. They fed on fear. These creatures of the darkness were no mere trapped spirits. They were belligerent, malevolent things that took pleasure from seeing living eyes wide in terrorà
She forced herself to be calm and take her seat at the table a few hours later, near midnight. She would see what they wanted her to see, she would feel what they wanted her to feel, maybe hear what they wanted her to hear.
Blackness closed over her eyes and she felt a distinct heat in her stomach. The weak gag reflex that kept her from aspirating the ectoplasm that she manifested sometimes was a double-edged sword, and it meant that she had to work to keep everything down. She tightened her right hand, and Matt squeezed back, more reassuring than anything. Aickman had her other hand so tensing there was useless and a weak gesture this early in.
Wails and moans, heavy, rattling breathing through decomposed lungs. The scent of rotting flesh and stagnant blood. Hands trailing along her arms, tangling in her hair. Blackness in front of her eyesùshe closed them, calm. Claws piercing her sides and pain that blazed up her frame like dull fire.
She opened her eyes a little and the light was back in the room, the cameras were running between each personÆs seat. Malformed shapes danced slowly in a jerking, slow waltz around the table in a grotesque parody of their sÚance.
One figure had a hemangioma birthmark that extended over its whole faceùthe body was too swollen and deformed to tell genderùand as a result the lips were warped two winches wide and a dark, engorged purple. Another came forward from the circle and laid its cheek against hers, a normally calm and friendly gesture among the livingà but when it pulled away there was a sticky black and white splotch.
She glanced across at Matt, his eyes wide in horror as a rotten foot crowned his head, dripping awful smelling fluid. It would have been funny were it not for the scent and for his pale face. Poor Mattùshe knew he wasnÆt suited for this, and wondered briefly why he didnÆt keep his eyes shut like the rest, before it hit her: Solidarity.
That little idiotà
Helplessness could no longer be achieved. Helplessness was a one-trick pony and once she could resist, there would be no problem. She slowly drew the spirits onto herself, off the house, and stood from the circle, walked outside. She opened her fisted hands and the connections broke all at once. She hit her knees and coughed, blocking the pain of the ectoplasmÆs high-energy clawing motion as it dragged itself up out of her throat. No worse than a usual sÚance, she made herself think. That wasnÆt so bad.
ôWasnÆt so bad?ö Matt asked, handing her a glass of water. Jonah nodded silently and swallowed enough to wash the blood from her mouth before speaking.
ôWasnÆt so badàö
ôGood, then we can go home.ö
She nodded and filed into the van with the rest of the team. The family should be back from their hotel after sunrise tomorrow, so they wouldnÆt know a thing about the burning, writhing mass on the lawn. Even though its volatile nature could cause burns, there was always the chance that it would leave the grass alone or that the couples wouldnÆt notice.
As the van drove away Jonah sighed and trudged up the steps, through the lobby to the elevator. She rode up to her floor, stumbled into her apartment, stripped all her clothes off and crawled into bed, coughing slightly. When red spotted the pillow she groaned, but it was nothing unusual. She just needed to sleep.
As she lay on her back waiting for sleep to take her, claws dug into her sides and the weightless feeling of dreaming was offset by heavy, rough hands on her neck, choking her. She gasped and writhed in a nightmarish slow, jerking motion like a half-remembered dance, as a single emotion flooded the choking blackness like icy water and silenced her screamsù
Fear.