Page 79 of Conjure

Entering the kitchen farther down the hall, I tear open a kitchen drawer and root through its contents. All I can find is a blunt knife, so I lift it out before slamming the door shut and spinning around.

Flies buzz around the dirty pots stacked high in the sink, and the light outside barely penetrates the cloudy windows. A bouquet of wilted wildflowers sits on the kitchen table. The inside of the clear vase is murky with dried, green algae.

When I slowly cross the room, the floorboards creak beneath my weight. I tighten my grip on the knife’s handle and pause in the doorway.

A trail of blood leads the way to the staircase.

Trust the fucker to hide upstairs.

I enter the hallway with measured steps. My neck prickles as I pass a row of framed, faded photographs. Beady eyes follow me, suspended in time, and I suppress a shiver. One or two picture frames must have fallen to the floor, because shards of glass break underfoot.

“I’m coming for you, you fucker,” I call out as I ascend the worn stairs, keeping my back to the wall. The wallpaper has peeled in places as if torn away. A loud creak accompanies every step. I pause, wincing.

The house is eerily quiet.

I break out in a cold sweat as I reach the top and peer around the corner.

It’s even darker up here.

Streaks of sunshine filter through the moth-eaten lace curtains, highlighting the dust motes that swirl in an eternal dance. Across the hall, cobwebs cling to an antique, cracked mirror. I look away from my distorted reflection and step onto the landing with the knife clutched tightly in my hand.

“Come out and face me, you dirty old man.” I place one step in front of the other, my heart pounding almost painfully.

A sound to my right makes me pause, and I crane my neck to peer into the dark room. “I didn’t take you for a coward.”

“Dominic,” a female voice whispers from inside.

I come to a halt, my heart ceasing to beat as fresh terror rears up inside me. I inch closer, the weapon white knuckled in my hand.

“I’ve waited for you, Dominic.” The female voice slides over my senses like a sensuous threat.

I stare at the gaping doorway with my heart in my throat. The darkness inside bleeds from the room like tendrils of dark ink, a sea of black.

Silence. Suffocating silence.

“Dominic!”

I stumble back, my spine crashing against the wall behind me.

Pictures fall to the floor, but I’m caught in all that black, unable to look away as it comes for me, seeping from the room like a river of dread.

Feminine laughter echoes from inside, and then I see her.

Her skirts drift on an imaginary breeze as the darkness reveals her long dress and regal, pale features. “I’ve waited for you, Dominic.”

Pulled forward, my feet become unglued.

The woman’s eyes darken, and her lips slowly spread into a victorious smile. She inches back, disappearing into the shadows.

I’m at the threshold, my shoulder brushing up against the doorframe, when a sharp blow to my head knocks me to my knees.

Blood trickles down my nape as I raise a hand to my neck, swaying on the spot. Peering down at my crimson fingers, I release a surprised chuckle.

Beside me, Wilfred crouches down and places another toothpick between his yellow teeth. “Sleep tight, princess.” He stands back up and whacks me with the gun’s handle. I tip forward, my vision blackening.

His tight grip on my hair is the last thing I’m aware of before my cheek meets the floor.

Blackness descends, and with it, sweet oblivion.