Manchester House (28 page)

“You mean this thing’s a flashlight?” Holzer asked, disappointed.

Night looked at his friend, saying, “To us, yes. It is a flashlight. To the spirits…” Night paused, smiling devilishly. “To them it is something more.”

Night pointed the rifle at the plastic cubicle containing the two women and simply waited.

Nothing happened at first.

Then slowly, inch by plastic inch, a tear started to appear in the tarp hanging in front of the male team members. Both Holzer and Sinclair began to gawk, cheering with great surprise.

Lars gave both cheering men a stern look, shaking his finger at them, making both shut right up.

“We are only starting this battle, gentlemen,” Night warned. “Please conserve your energy.”

A pink liquid seemed to flow from the cubicle containing both Miranda and Teresa. Everyone could sense that whatever was holding them in place was slowly starting to lose its grip on them.

Suddenly the plastic wall exploded open.

Night blew out the candle burning in his weapon.

Gushing out of the plastic womb, both Miranda and Teresa spilled out onto the maze floor, coughing up mucus and fighting to breathe air once again. Night and Lars pulled away from the SOURCE members, expecting trouble from the open wall, but surprisingly there was none.

Holzer, while going to the women’s aid, noticed Night had his goggles back on. The tall man was looking all around, pointing his weapon in every direction.

“Are you two okay?” Holzer asked, scooping layers of ectoplasm off his two team members.

“What happened to us?” Miranda asked.

Sinclair rushed forward, taking Miranda’s weak hand in his, wanting to help the woman up. This action caused Miranda to look at him with great curiosity.

“You guys were frozen in some kind of a trap, right, Mr. Night?” Sinclair explained, rubbing Miranda’s hand.

Night nodded his head.

A rumble started to fill the maze, as if something had been made aware of Teresa and Miranda’s freedom. Night snatched both women up, bringing them to their feet.

“Dear ladies, please, forgive me,” Night said, panic in his voice, “but we must keep moving.”

All started to venture forward in the maze.

All except Lars.

“Lars, you better get&” Night started to say. Lowering his goggles once again, Night had thought it best to be prepared for another attack should there be one. What stopped Night from completing his sentence was what he saw seeping through the plastic walls of the maze, heading toward his deaf mute friend.

Behind Lars, gaining in strength and articulation was a huge tentacle which did not appear to be hindered by the maze. Instead it seemed to seep in from the outside of the plastic barrier into the known physical world. Night had suddenly been made aware of the bitter fact that his weapon helped break the spiritual barrier between both worlds-at least in that pane of plastic tarp.

In any case, the invisible tentacle started to wrap itself around Lars’ waist.

The deaf mute, not realizing the danger he was in, meekly stared up at his master, puzzling over the look of dread he was reading on Night’s features.

“Lars,” Night whispered softly. “Be careful.” He held up a warning hand. It was shaking violently.

Before Lars could do or sense anything, the tentacle went into action. Taking hold of Lars, it picked him up, pulling him toward the barriers separating our world from that of the spiritual.

Lars’ eyes filled with terror. He seemed to know the danger he had been placed in and tried his best to combat the situation. Taking out a blessed knife resembling a Bowie knife, the deaf man started hacking away at the empty air. His mouth opened and closed as hollow attempts at sound seeped from his silent throat. Lars silently begged Ingrid Night to come to his rescue.

Breaking away from his other SOURCE friends, Ingrid Night grabbed hold of a sacred wand, a vile of oil, and a grenade, focusing his goggles on the creature that was attacking his friend.

“Have at me, you heathen!” Night yelled, splashing oil on the tentacle.

At first, it appeared as if the tentacle was going to let Lars go. It quivered a few times, relaxing Night’s fears. The oil used had always served him well in past attacks, and there was no reason to believe that it would not in this instance.

It failed.

Tightening its grip around Lars’ waist, the invisible creature took hold, causing the spidery old man to gasp out in a silent pain that could clearly be read on his face. Shaking the man like a rag doll, Lars lost his thick eyeglasses. Panic clearly in Lars’ eyes, he dropped his knife, doing his best to battle away at the increasing pain he was going through. After all, the tentacle was slowly crushing his waist inward, making it almost impossible for the man to breathe.

Night attacked the creature again.

Taking out a magical wand given to him by a witch from Salem several decades ago, Night started to chant out a certain spell, hoping to cause the tentacle to fall apart into nothingness.

“Ingrid!” Holzer threw Night his crossbow weapon and another vial of blessed oil.

Night took the weapon, silently thanked Holzer, loaded it, and aimed.

Before Night could do anything further, the crack in the outer wall of the maze increased, shattered, and a gaping hole was left in its place. The invisible tentacle attempted to pull Lars through the walls of the maze, into the swirling purple mist. The same mists that had almost claimed Sinclair a day before.

Night’s eyes widened with a horror he rarely allowed anyone to see.

“Dear God!” Night cried, pain and panic warring with each other, taking over the overall tone of his voice. “No!”

Realizing that he was in danger, Lars spread both his arms and legs, clinging to the edges of the plastic tarp, hoping against hope that he could break away to his freedom and safety. However, the grip of the creature was secure, and his fear was starting to take its toll on his strength. Night could see that the deaf mute was in terrible pain.

Squinting with unfocused eyes, Lars tried his best to make eye contact with Night. He seemed to be aware of his master’s concern and smiled at the sense of it.

Lars was beyond saving and he knew it.

With swiftness found only by gunfighters, Lars let go, retracting his arms and legs, turning into a human cannonball. Like a shot through a gun barrel, Lars was pulled from the world of man into the spirit world. The only thing left behind was the man’s glasses and knife.

“Noooo!” Night shouted, dropping his crossbow weapon. Night started to fling himself at the hole, wishing to follow his comrade into the purple abyss.

Holzer, in sheer panic, raced toward his friend, grabbing him by the legs, breaking his stride, stopping him. “Ingrid! Don’t!”

Looking into the mist, hanging onto the edge of the maze’s walls, Ingrid Night saw Lars sinking into the horrible world of the lost and the damned. All the tall old man could do was feebly yell for Lars’ welfare. And, although deaf, Night knew that his dear friend could both see and hear him.

“Lars!” Night yelled, his eyes quickly tearing up. “Lars!”

Sensing a living being within their reach, hundreds of tortured spirits attacked Lars, burying him in a mound of rotted flesh. The only thing Night could see of the man was a defiant arm raising itself up out of a wall of bloodied and matted corpse hair, giving his master a victorious fist.

If they were going to extinguish the life force known as Lars, it would not be without a fight.

Ingrid Night could not have been prouder.

Within the course of twenty seconds, at least that was what Night had felt had gone by, Lars and the corpses attacking him were gone-vanished within a wall of purple haze.

Night, losing strength in both his legs, collapsed.

* * *

The SOURCE team members looked on, staring at the fallen figure of Ingrid Night meekly grasping at the clinging edges of the maze’s wall. It was remarkably calm and silent considering the circumstances of where they were.

Holzer stepped forward, kneeling down to look into Night’s face.

“Ingrid?”

No answer.

Night looked incredibly old to Holzer at that moment. There was haunting guilt swimming around in the old man’s eyes, a kind that Holzer had never encountered in Night’s features before. It was quite obvious to Holzer that Lars had become more than a manservant to Night. In point of fact, Lars was like a son to Night. His level of torment was enough to convince Holzer of that.

Still, Holzer had one thing on his mind: escape.

“Ingrid, we need you to help us out of this maze,” Holzer pleaded softly.

Night slowly broke away from whatever private hell the death of his friend had created for him and looked into Holzer’s eyes, lost. Night could only stare at Holzer with the same bewildering look a child might give his father once he has been made to realize that there was in fact no Santa Claus.

“What?” Night finally asked.

Holzer placed a pleading hand on Night’s shoulder, hoping that the connection between the two of them would be enough to snap the old man out of his loss.

“Damn it, Night!” Holzer shouted. “I placed my kids’ lives in your hands here. We need you, man.”

“Need?” Night repeated the word, as if the very mention of it was enough to defeat the purpose.

“Ingrid, I need you,” Holzer pleaded. “Lars would not wish to see all of us dead. Would he?”

Holzer could sense that Night was giving the question he posed some thought. Then, by degrees and very slowly, the glimmer of defiance returned to the gaze of Ingrid Night. Little by little, strength returned to the old man’s limbs.

Night once more clasped hold of his crossbow and cocked the firing hammer back into an active position. He had never fired the thing and it was still loaded with the oil he had placed in there earlier with the hope of saving his deaf mute friend.

“We shall prevail, my friend,” Night promised Holzer, hugging Holzer’s face in the same loving manner a father might use to comfort his children.

“I have no doubt of it.”

Night finally regained his footing, standing.

Upon reaching his towering height, Night studied the faces of those around him. Holzer could see that Night was aware of the personal pain each member of the team had felt by the loss of Lars. However, each wanted to live and wanted to escape the environment they were currently in.

“You do realize,” Night started to say, clearing his throat, “that in order to leave this void we must proceed with our mission to destroy the beast at the center of this maze.”

Slowly, all within the group shook their heads, realizing the task they were soon to face.

“More could be lost,” Night suggested, helplessly raising his hands. “I cannot see any other way.”

Holzer joined his friend. “We are all seekers of the truth here, my friend. We all knew the risks before we came here.”

Night nodded his head with great approval. He was pleased with what he was hearing. “Very well.” Night started to lead the way deep into the maze. “Follow me. We have a long way to go, I fear.” Night’s victorious tone had returned to his voice. He was once more the man Holzer had come to both love and admire.

“Crazier than a bed bug,” Sinclair stated, folding up his camera.

“Perhaps,” Holzer agreed. “But that bed bug is our only hope. Now pick up your gear and keep your damn smart-ass remarks to yourself. Understood?”

Sinclair was surprised at the harsh look he was getting from Holzer. “Okay, Doc. No offense.”

Venturing toward the center of the maze, the SOURCE team prepared for war.

Unknown to them, a hidden evil was ready.

Ready for more blood.

Holzer was incredibly surprised when Night handed him the other crossbow weapon which had been reserved for his manservant Lars. Befuddled, the college professor looked at the bulky weapon as if it were an artifact from outer space.

“What the hell do you want me to do with this thing, Ingrid?” Holzer asked, not knowing whether he should hold it or drop the bloody thing.

“You will need defense of it, I think,” Night explained.

“For heaven’s sake,” Holzer interjected, his face clearly on the verge of spastic panic. “This is your thing. I don’t hunt dragons, I study them.”

Night wiped away new tears from his eyes, storming down on his friend. It had been a long and challenging few hours for him and Night was in no mood for one of Holzer’s debates. “Do as you are told! I have no time for this. We are approaching the center of the maze and I will have need of you. You do wish to leave this place, do you not?”

Holzer was surprised at the outburst. Night had usually been the calm one at an investigation. True, he had just lost a valuable and beloved friend, but Holzer could not accept the fact that Ingrid Night would lose his cool, biting off another authority just because.

“Ingrid?” Holzer probed Night’s eyes, questioning.

Upon seeing the surprised look in Holzer’s eyes, Night seemed to realize that he had crossed a variety of lines. The college professor could sense the battle to mourn and the not so strong battle to survive warring away inside the skinny frame of his trusted friend. Whatever became of them, Holzer seemed to realize that Ingrid Night had changed some during the course of this investigation.

“Jonathon, I apologize,” Night humbly said, breathing deeply, trying to regain his focus. “We are near the center. If I am injured or worse&” He paused, pointing to the weapon Holzer was holding. “If I am injured, that weapon is your only hope. I lost one friend this night; I do not wish to lose a second.”

Noises around the maze began to magnify in ferocity. Since entering the plastic maze, all the members of the SOURCE team were bombarded with the agonies of the damned. Moans, pleas, and the sounds of teeth ripping flesh invaded each of their ears. Dante himself could not have painted a more despicable picture. However, this time there was a sound that invaded their ears like no other. A sound they had never heard in this place before.

Silence.

“What’s going on?” Miranda asked. In her hands, she had managed to piece together a makeshift EMF reader from the two that had been fried. It looked more like a toaster than a scientific instrument. She started waving the device in the air. Holzer perceived it as a comfort to Miranda more than a need to be a scientist in an unscientific moment.