“You fell down the well…”
“I fell down the well, Mister. You better believe it. I got my finger back, though.” He wiggled an index finger on a skinny, dirty little hand. Smiling. Eyes blazing. “I sure do miss eating. The want didn’t go away after I fell. I’m hungry all the dang time.”
“What happened to your momma?”
“Oh, she got a book, did some hocus-pocus thing thinking she could stop me getting what I want. Didn’t work, though. Now she’s the one that’s trapped.”
Jeff watched as the boy went into a fit of giggles. The cottage expanded and whined around him.
“And what is it that you want?” Jeff asked his fever dream.
The ghost rose from the rocking chair. It only moved a little at his rising, as if merely touched by the wind. He walked barefoot across the room. Oddly, the floor creaked under the weight of the ghost.
“Before I can get what I want, I need something from you, Mister.”
Jeff kept his tired eyes on this strange apparition. This rascal. He watched it lazily put the hat back on its head.
“What?”
“I need you to let me in,” said the large-eyed ghost with an oblique stare.
Jeff felt the itch start up again. All over. An irritating invasion and molestation.
“Why?”
“Because I want your teeth.”
The smile full of useless teeth menaced at Jeff from beneath the rim of the hat. Jeff’s stomach acid surged and he spit up on the floor. The ghost boy flicked his tongue like a snake, as if he wanted to lick up the bile.
Jeff did not want to ask why the ghost desired his teeth. He just understood he had to fight. The sick feeling in his gut was growing until it felt like he would shit his pants and vomit at the same time. All he could do was deny the rascal’s want with what power he had.
“Damn,” the rascal said. “You’re a stubborn son of a bitch.”
The ghost boy glanced at the baseball bat in the corner of the room, then back at Jeff. His teeth glowed and were all Jeff could see of the boy’s face. “I’ll get in somehow, sonny boy. You can bet the farm on that.”
***
The temperature had begun steadily dropping and the winds had picked up when Chloe parked the Jeep outside the cottage. Her visit with Lana had been terrifying. She had no idea how far the woman would go to be with her daughter, but she’d never expected a psychic assault. She turned off the ignition and sat at the wheel. The winds rocked the Jeep, tempting her to get out, but she remained there for some time, dazed and trembling. She wiped her face and nose with her hand. She knew Lana was still watching in the direction of the cottage, even if she could not see her. Chloe’s rage was murderous, a hot bottle ready to explode.
Finally, she got out of the Jeep and went into the cottage. It was completely dark. The power had gone out and the fire was but embers. Through the sparse light offered by the night, she saw Jeff lying, a crumpled heap, on the floor in front of the couch. He moaned and squirmed, grabbing at his stomach. She ran to his side and instinctively reached for her cell phone.
“Please let there be reception!” she said. Jeff moved. “Jeff, honey. We’re going to go to the hospital. We’re getting out of here right now. Hang on!”
“No.” He groaned. “No doctor. I don’t need one. It’s only…”
No reception. “Fuck!”
“The rascal. It’s only…”
“I’ll be right back,” Chloe said. The phrase was an echo from her promise earlier that night. “I’m going to start the Jeep.”
At least, she thought, she could get him out of the cottage. Away from all this sudden rush of madness.
She left the cottage door open as she ran to the Jeep. She turned the key, but there was nothing. The battery was gone. The cold had sapped it of its power. The Jeep hadn’t even a last cough to give her. She tried again and again, but nothing still.
“Fuck!” She held her hands to her face. “Think. What to do.”
Then she heard it. A giggle. Not with her in the Jeep, but from the cottage door and carried on the wind.
It
was with her husband. The door slammed shut, separating her from Jeff.
Chloe sprinted back and pulled at the knob, but it did not give. “Keep away from him!” she screamed. She banged on the glass. “Jeff! Wake up. Let me in.”
Distorted forms danced in her periphery. The fiddler played in the woods.
With as much strength as she could muster and as solid a force as could be reckoned, she pushed against the door and it gave. She rushed into the cottage, staring around, on guard. Jeff was still where she had found him, doubled over on the floor.
“You keep away from him,” she warned the air.
Quickly, she crawled beside Jeff and reached for her cell phone again. There still wasn’t any reception and there might not be for a while. The storm was there and had arrived as angry as she had ever seen one. But there might just be enough power to get a text message through. She brought up Ethan on her address list.
HELP. COME NOW.
It sent. Now she could only wait and fend off whatever force haunted the cottage. Whatever unseen thing watched them.
Two Brothers
Ethan was not a racer. Even as a child he avoided the go-cart races on the block, the ones that helped solidify Jeff as the resident Golden Boy. But he was racing now. In his respectable blue Alero, he made turns with the skill of a getaway artist. It was Ethan against the elements. He had to get out of town before the storm made its way over land and iced the roads impassable. By the weather reports, he knew the worst of it had already reached Jeff and Chloe and that his drive there would only get more treacherous. He tried not to think on that, however. He listened to the calming voice of the GPS system and did exactly as he was instructed, having entered the address to the cottage from the mass email from Chloe he had received and saved months ago.
It had already been dark when Ethan’s phone lit up beside him on the desk back home. Chloe texted a plea through the distance and at once he stopped going over his lesson plans at the computer. She might as well have been standing right beside him, screaming. He jumped in his seat. He tried to return a message, then a call, but nothing went through.
“Storm of the century.” He had been hearing the phrase all week, as if the apocalypse was nigh. People were hoarding hysterically. Meteorologists were screaming as usual, but this time, it seemed, for good reason. And here he was, having to drive through all of it. Something had happened to Jeff. Ethan rattled with anxiety. He was going to have to leave his neat, warm life for something much chillier than a winter blizzard.
He began packing at once, filling a duffel bag he had kept since college with whatever clothes he happened to come across. It was a desperate and mindless forage through the house. Kelton, holding the sleeping baby, watched with bemusement as Ethan leapt from room to room.
“What are you doing?” he whispered over the baby’s head.
Ethan knew the look on Kelton’s face. It was the same look from the night Ethan had threatened to leave him the year before Bug came into their lives. As if his whole face had fallen apart and was trying to piece itself back together.
“Something’s happened to Jeff. I’ve got to go, Kel.”
“There’s a blizzard coming!” Too loud. Bug stirred. “There’s a blizzard coming,” he whispered again.
“He’s my brother. Try and understand.” He raced around, grabbing and packing.
“No. You’re not going. Besides, what about your classes?”
“Look at the forecast. Do you actually think there will be school? The whole city will be a ghost town by tomorrow morning.”
“Because people are smart. They avoid danger. You’re wanting to run right into it like a mad buffalo. You’re not supposed to tease danger, Ethan.” He was face to face with Ethan now. The baby was awake and staring at the two of them in confusion.
“I have to go to him. He needs my help.” Ethan swung the duffel bag over his shoulder. “It’s family.”
Kelton calmed himself. “You don’t even talk to him anymore. They’ve cut you out of their lives. Chloe’s made sure of that. We’re your family now. Me and Bug.”
Ethan kissed Kelton and then Bug. “And you mean more to me than I can say. But he’s still my brother. I can’t deny that. There are still ties, invisible and strained as they might be. They pull me, Kel. I have to go.”
He gave Bug another hug and then walked to the door.
“Ethan,” Kelton said. But there was nothing more to say. “You stubborn jackass. Be very careful.”
“I’ll call you when I get there.”
“Say bye-bye to Daddy, Bug.”
“Bye-bye.”
Ethan had waited until he pulled out of the driveway before he let a single frightened tear escape. And now there he was, on strange highways with strange cars. The miles did not stretch, however. He heard nothing but the kindly GPS woman and his own inner fears. He focused on the road, which he found an easier task at night. He was only forced to slow down when the snow began to fall in thick clumps. The storm had met him, and it was hungry, eclipsing most of the northern coast.
By the time he reached Wicker, he was crawling. He had stopped briefly a few times for gas and coffee, but didn’t linger too long in any location. He had not beaten the storm, but he had seen the bully eye to eye.
Wicker resembled a nuclear testing site: all the buildings were perfect and livable, yet there seemed to be no life in the town at all, only snow and dark windows. The faintest hint of candles and lamps could be seen through them if he looked closely, but there was not a soul to be seen. The shop windows watched the Alero eke past.
The hill was farther still, and Ethan feared the car might not make it. It was a daunting climb, and that was before he had even crossed the creek. Branches burdened by snow scratched the car roof, sending a chill through him.
Whatever it is, don’t let it in.
It was at the creek that the car finally could not take it anymore and died. He felt a tilt as it climbed over a slant, and then there was silence. He tried to start the car again, cursing at it, but even harsh language did not convince the vehicle to continue the steep ascent. Ethan looked ahead and up the hill, still holding tight to the steering wheel until his hands turned white. There was one of two things he could now do. He either had to get up to the top of that hill or freeze to death in the car.
He tried calling Kelton, but there was no service. Frustrated, he reached for his duffel bag in the passenger’s seat and the flashlight in the glove compartment and then carefully climbed from the tilted car and onto the coated rocks of the creek. A cold blast of wind shocked him and he nearly fell straight away.
“Just get there, Ethan,” he comforted himself. “Things aren’t as bad as they seem.” The hill and every tree on it watched him.
He followed the road through the trees by foot. The snow wasn’t as deep there, having been deflected by the branches. Despite the occasional fall, he made good time. He kept the flashlight focused on the ground in front of him. Ethan did not care to see what, if any, eyes glared at him in the night. If there were a hungry wolf or bear in the woods, he would have no chance against them anyway. There was one goal and that was to get to the cottage.
There came a point that he knew he was being followed. He heard the slight crunch of snow underfoot, and it did not pair with his own. His heart began to speed and his breath quickened. The darkness squeezed at him like a too-tight blanket. Ahead, the trees lessened in density. If he could get there, he would be fine. He began to walk faster. But the tread behind him was quickening as well, until he was certain he could hear breathing, even feel it on his neck.
He lost the argument with his fear and looked over his shoulder. It took him a moment to realize what he was seeing. Near him—too near—was the burly outline of another, and much larger, human form. It moved suddenly toward him. He was startled and lost his footing. His cheek smacked the snow, and he gave a muffled cry. With little to stop him, his body slid back on the ice-slide road toward the figure. He was panicked now. So much so that when he finally came to a stop, he could not get himself to open his eyes, afraid of what he might see. Yet when he finally did, there was nothing to be seen. He looked around. No burly form anywhere. Just the bitter cold quiet of the night and the icy echo of the snow.
His flashlight, which he had dropped in his terror, lay a few feet in front of him. He quickly rose and grabbed it. He stumbled more now, making up lost ground, than he had on the entire climb up the hill. Soon, however, he was out of the dense woods and he saw hope.
The big house was in view before he came upon the cottage. It was a massive silhouette against the sky, hardly discernible through the dark and the falling snow. Everything was blurred. Ethan wiped the flakes from his eyelashes.
Soon the trees to the cliff petered out and made way for a long drop to one side. Ethan walked closer to the woods, wary of another slip in the snow and a fall from the cliff. Ahead of him, he saw the old Jeep their father had given to Jeff. It was covered in snow, and the little cottage looked dark and lifeless. From inside he saw movement. Light, at least. He found himself calling out before he had even reached the porch.