The Haunting of Ashburn House (22 page)

She had just seconds until Eleanor emerged. Marion stood close by, her outline visible in the thin moonlight, poised to throw Adrienne back to the floor if she tried to run. Adrienne reached for the lamp, grasped the twisted metal handle, and launched herself forward.

As Marion reached out to drive her back into the ground, Adrienne smashed the lamp across her head. Marion exhaled the beginning of a strangled cry then crumpled.

“Sorry again!” Adrienne scrambled towards the table beside the stairs. Marion wouldn’t stay down for long, and clicking noises were already echoing from the basement door. Adrienne grabbed the matchbox she’d dropped when trying to light the lamp. It was nearly empty, but she shook one of the matches out, struck it, and held it towards the black doorway.

Eleanor’s head and torso poked through like some grotesque insect crawling out of the ground. Her one good eye widened as the match’s light touched her, and she sucked herself back into the basement with a cracked wail.

The match went out almost as soon as Eleanor disappeared. Adrienne began scrambling up the stairs as quickly as her torn leg would allow and struck a second match as she passed the fourth step. She held it over the bannister, aware that the light was faint but would still reach the base of the stairs, then dropped it when the flame came close to burning her fingertips.

She repeated this with her remaining two matches, knowing that with each step she drew farther away from the door and her tiny flame would have less influence over the shadows clustered there and be less of a threat for the vengeful spirit.

The top of the stairs was in sight when she threw her final match away, so Adrienne dropped the box. She stumbled on the last step but regained her feet and staggered down the hallway towards the dark attic stairwell.

Moonlight came through two open doors. It let her see her path but also illuminated the paintings. They were no longer static, but the subjects moved, twisting and struggling as teeth and knives and claw-like fingernails tore their limbs from them and poured their blood across the floor. The images repeated, playing in an appalling loop, a visceral memory of the Ashburns’ bloody demise. Only Edith’s paintings stayed static.

As she passed the gilt-frame mirror she’d hung at the hallway’s midpoint, Adrienne caught a glimpse of dark motion. Edith’s ghost ran alongside her, invisible save for the spectre in the mirror. She made eye contact with Adrienne as they passed and gave a small nod.

The encouragement warmed Adrienne and carried her to the end of the hallway. She collapsed against the end wall, drawing in ragged, painful breaths and scrunching her face up against the ache that radiated out of her leg.

Don’t stop. Don’t let her catch you.

She fumbled up the stairs, using her hands as much as her legs. The attic door glided open with a low creak as she neared it, and Adrienne brushed her fingers over the words cut into its stained wood.

LIGHT THE CANDLE

YOUR FAMILY

IS STILL

DEAD

Eleanor is still dead
.
At least, she was when this message was written. That was its purpose. A reminder for why the candle had to be lit: so that her sister would not rise again.

Adrienne crossed to the nearest crate. She shoved its lid off and tore one of the candles out then hobbled to the table at the centre of the room.

How much time do I have? Eleanor’s fast. Once she starts moving, she could reach here in just a few seconds. But how long will she stay afraid of the matches’ light?

The black-and-white photo waited in the table’s centre, and the nymph-like child stared at her in curious wonder. Adrienne tried not to meet the eyes that now seemed eerily aware; she reached for the box of matches Edith had left beside the photo. She counted the seconds in the back of her mind as she shook one out. Edith’s letter had said her sister had grown cautious. But she wouldn’t wait in the darkness for long, Adrienne knew. She wanted to have Ashburn for herself and would not suffer opposition.

The match-head flared. She touched it to the wick and held it there until it caught. Then she shook the match to extinguish it, unzipped her jacket, and held one lapel around the flame as she crept back to the room’s entrance.

She slipped behind the attic’s half-open door to make herself invisible to anyone climbing the stairwell. Her jacket blocked most of the candle’s glow, and she twisted to keep the light from shining over the ceiling. If Eleanor suspected her plan, the corpse wouldn’t enter the attic—and Adrienne would remain trapped there until she collapsed from exhaustion.

Being careful to keep the candle hidden as well as she could, Adrienne tugged the bottle of lighter fluid out of her jacket’s pocket and used her teeth to unscrew the lid. Then she pressed close to the wall, forced her breathing to be shallow and quiet, and waited.

It took a moment, but the quiet clicking reached her. As she’d expected, Eleanor was being careful; her movements were slow and patient, and the clicking paused repeatedly before resuming. Adrienne readjusted the jacket shield, hoping there wasn’t enough light to give her away, and held her breath as the clicking drew closer.

It’s strange; it doesn’t sound like it’s coming up the stairs. Are the acoustics playing tricks?

She’d half closed the door to make the gap too narrow for a person to fit through. Even in the near-darkness, it would be impossible for Eleanor to enter without making the door shift.

The clicking was growing nearer. It was close enough to be inside the room, but the door remained still. Hot wax trickled down the candle and seared Adrienne’s thumb, but she clenched her jaw against it and kept her position. She was certain her thundering heart was loud enough to be audible to the corpse. Her lungs burnt with the held breath, and the candle’s flame licked at the jacket’s fabric. She couldn’t keep still much longer.

The sound was so close that she felt as though she could reach out and touch the corpse. But the stairwell remained undisturbed—

Something fell together in her mind. Earlier that afternoon, she’d come into the attic to see why the smoke was falling and had unlocked and opened a window to lean through.

I closed the pane when I was done… but I don’t remember locking it.

She turned just in time for the knife to skim her cheek and hit the wall. Eleanor’s face, contorted with hatred, stopped just inches away from her own. She could smell the rotting flesh as the corpse exhaled and hear the wet smacking of its shredded cheek flapping open.

The knife had cut Adrienne just below her eye, and hot blood poured down the side of her face. It hurt, but not enough to incapacitate her. She twisted to one side to avoid Eleanor’s grasping, bony hand but was a fraction of a second too late to stop it from fastening around her throat.

Eleanor’s jaw stretched open, exposing gums that had sunk away from the yellowed teeth, and leaned forward to bite into her victim’s neck.

Adrienne moved on instinct. She thrust the candle towards Eleanor, shoving the flaming tip into the dead woman’s chest, and threw the bottle of oil after it.

Eleanor’s one remaining eye bulged as the candle came into view. She leapt out of reach but not before the flame grazed her wrinkled skin. The flesh turned an ugly sooty black, but the contact hadn’t been enough for it to catch.

The corpse clutched at her scorched flesh and released a violent bellow. The sound shook the building, rattling the wooden slats and windows as though they were props. Adrienne dropped the candle and clasped her hands over her ears to block out the noise. Her own scream was almost inaudible compared to Eleanor’s fury.

Cold, bony fingers grasped her wrists. Adrienne had no time to realise what was happening; Eleanor threw her to the ground, and she skidded across the dusty floor until she hit the candleholder. The impact fractured the metal holder’s wax crust, and the stand tumbled over with a low thud.

She couldn’t breathe. Her light was gone, her ears rang from the after-effects of Eleanor’s scream, and her whole being hurt. But she could feel something cold and waxy under her fingers, and she fastened her grip on it reflexively. 

Eleanor was scrambling towards her, reckless in her anger, and Adrienne heaved the candle stand at the corpse. It was heavier than she’d expected and missed the target, cracking against the floor instead. In the pale-blue moonlight, Adrienne saw that the thousands of coats of dried wax had split and were shedding free from the long metal pole.

She didn’t hesitate but brought her weapon around and thrust it forward. It connected with Eleanor’s skull as the monster scuttled close to land a killing bite. The stand’s metal spike—designed to keep the candles in place—pierced through Eleanor’s remaining good eye, digging deep into her cranium and shattering her skull. Eleanor bucked away, her jaw flexing open to release another bellow as she fought to free herself from the barb.

A small, pale shape rolled towards Adrienne. Panic and adrenaline clouded her mind so badly that she didn’t see it until it wobbled to a standstill beside her hand. It was her candle, its wax still warm from the short-lived flame. As Adrienne stared at it, the wick caught, flaring back into life as though it had never been extinguished in the first place.

“Edith…” Adrienne whispered. She picked up the candle and held it close with shaking hands.

The metal stand hit the floor with a loud clunk. Eleanor stood before her, swaying, her bony fingers twitching. Her second eye was gone, leaving her blind, but her nostrils flared as she hunted for her prey’s scent. The skeletal head turned to face Adrienne, and her blackened tongue dipped out to moisten her lips as she scuttled forward.

Instead of backing away from the contorted, twitching monstrosity, Adrienne threw herself forward, candle extended, and forced it into the corpse’s already-blackened chest.

Eleanor seemed to feel the flame’s heat a second before it touched her, and she sucked in a rattling breath but was too late to twitch away from it. The fire caught, first as just a small smoulder at the base of her ribs but rising and growing into licking flames as it spread across her breasts, shoulders, and neck.

The screams were unlike anything Adrienne had heard before—high, filled with wrath and pure hatred, and with bellowing undertones that cracked and failed as her lungs were consumed. Eleanor twisted and writhed as she tried to escape the flames, but they continued to spread, drawing down over her hips, thighs, and calves and finally coating her feet. For several long minutes, the woman was nothing but a pillar of fire spewing toxic black smoke as the flame consumed congealed blood, crumbling bones, and dead organs.

Then the flames shortened, dimmed, and eventually went out as their fuel disappeared.

Dense smoke swirled about the room, clouding the moonlight and sticking in Adrienne’s throat. She leaned against the wall, coughing and clutching a hand to her bruised ribs as embers floated over her. The black cloud gradually thinned, eventually clearing enough for her to see the clump of soot, quietly smouldering, that was all that remained of Miss Eleanor Ashburn.

— § —

It took Adrienne a long time to go downstairs, but eventually, the bitter-tasting smoke became repulsive enough to override her exhaustion. She took the attic’s stairs carefully, wincing with every jarring step, and entered the second-floor hallway.

The portraits had returned to their original, complacent poses. She still felt their eyes follow her as she passed them, but this time, the secretive little smiles held no malice.

She was dreading the climb down to ground floor, but just as she reached the top of the stairs, a faint whining buzzed through the house, and the downstairs lights turned on.

The light was both welcoming and comforting and made the climb easier. As she turned the staircase’s corner, she caught sight of the woman standing in the hallway.

Marion was turning in slow circles, her gaze switching from the smashed lamp to the open basement door to the broken front window. She startled and turned as Adrienne’s footfalls drew close.

“Oh, there you are, Addy.” An uncertain, frightened smile twitched at her mouth. “Um, is your cat okay? He looks like he ate something rotten…”

“Wolf!” Adrienne staggered forward. Wolfgang waited in front of the lounge-room door, his back straight and proud and his face coated in the disgusting congealed blood he’d bitten out of Eleanor. Adrienne tried to kneel to hug him, but pain shot through her leg and ribs, so she settled for scratching behind his ears. He shook his frame, looking pleased with himself, and sauntered towards the kitchen with his tail held up like a flag.

Thank goodness he’s okay. I owe him every tin of tuna that convenience store will sell me.

“Um, Addy?” Marion hovered behind her, hands twisting together, as confusion and fear threatened to submerge the tight smile. “I… I don’t know what’s happening. Or, um, how I got here. A-Are you okay? You’re bleeding…”

Adrienne felt a rush of pity. Marion seemed to have no memory of the evening. The damaged front door, the blood running down Adrienne’s cheek, and the bump on her own head had to be equal measures of frightening and confusing.

“Everything’s okay now.” Adrienne managed a smile as she patted Marion’s shoulder. “But I’m going to need a lift to the hospital, okay?”