beside a door I didn’t recognise.
Footsteps thundered through the house, and one by one, the rest of the family joined Genevieve—five thin women, three teenage boys, a greasy man, four frightened-looking children, an older, haggard man…
I walked past them, examining equally pale faces and equally dead-looking eyes. The oldest teenage boy’s face held a murderously angry look, and he was gripping his left hand. I glanced down and recoiled at what I saw—he was missing three fingers. While the first two stubs looked old and healed, the third stub was raw, red, and barely scabbed over. I reflexively glanced back at the stain the girl had been cleaning. Surely not…?
The clock finished chiming, and the gathered family stood stock-still, lined up in a queue. I counted twenty-one of them in all.
The tall man strode into the hallway, his eyes skimming over those gathered before him, apparently checking that they were all accounted for. Then he took a key out of his pocket and unlocked the door.
“May the Lord have mercy on you all,” he said as they filed into a stairwell.
I woke with a start. Pain burned across my skull, my limbs felt ice cold, and rocks and sticks dug into my back. I tried to rise into a sitting position, but something heavy was holding me down. I opened my eyes a fraction, groaning as the pain flared, and saw the mausoleum’s heavy plank was lying across my chest.
My body felt sluggish and reluctant to obey my commands. Sharp little pricks were touching all over my exposed skin. I thought they might be pins and needles, but then I realised they were huge, icy raindrops.
I groaned again then put my hands against the plank and began to worm my way out. Soon I was able to pull my feet out from under it and crawl to my hands and knees. Everything hurt, so I sat for a moment, waiting for my head to stop spinning and for the aching to recede. Lightning flashed over my head, and I squinted. For a second, it illuminated the roof of the house standing over me.
I climbed to my feet. I had no idea how long I’d been out, but the ground had become thoroughly soaked by the heavy rain. I stumbled one step at a time across the patchy grass, through the gardens that not even the rain could save, and up the four porch steps.
The house was still and cool. Shivering, I stood in the hallway, dripping rainwater and mud while I tried to get my mind to think through what I needed to do. All I wanted was to lie down on the comfy couch where my blanket and pillow still lay and ease the headache with sleep—but my soaked clothes would ruin the leather, and Mrs Gillespie would never forgive me for that.
Grumbling, I continued up the stairs and down the hall then let myself into the bathroom.
My clothes were already soaked, not to mention caked with dirt and little bits of nature, so I didn’t bother undressing before stepping into the hot shower. I let the flow of water wash the clothes clean, then peeled them off bit by bit and threw them into the sink to dry. I took my time showering. The hot water lessened the headache and eased the muscle pain a little, so I enjoyed it until I was too hot to stay any longer, then climbed out and wiped the steam off the mirror.
A red mark started not far above my right eye and extended to my hairline. That has to be where the wood hit me. I reached up and pressed at it, hissing as a flare of pain shot through my skull.
Farther down my body, another mark ran across my lower ribs, where the beam had landed after knocking me out. I didn’t think anything was broken, but I guessed it would bruise fantastically.
I wrapped a towel about my body, left the wet clothes in the sink, and shuffled to my room, where I changed into my nightclothes and dressing gown. By the time I got downstairs again, I was functional enough to pay attention to the terrifically fierce force of nature battering the house. The storm had whipped itself into a frenzy; I stopped by one of the windows
Footsteps thundered through the house, and one by one, the rest of the family joined Genevieve—five thin women, three teenage boys, a greasy man, four frightened-looking children, an older, haggard man…
I walked past them, examining equally pale faces and equally dead-looking eyes. The oldest teenage boy’s face held a murderously angry look, and he was gripping his left hand. I glanced down and recoiled at what I saw—he was missing three fingers. While the first two stubs looked old and healed, the third stub was raw, red, and barely scabbed over. I reflexively glanced back at the stain the girl had been cleaning. Surely not…?
The clock finished chiming, and the gathered family stood stock-still, lined up in a queue. I counted twenty-one of them in all.
The tall man strode into the hallway, his eyes skimming over those gathered before him, apparently checking that they were all accounted for. Then he took a key out of his pocket and unlocked the door.
“May the Lord have mercy on you all,” he said as they filed into a stairwell.
I woke with a start. Pain burned across my skull, my limbs felt ice cold, and rocks and sticks dug into my back. I tried to rise into a sitting position, but something heavy was holding me down. I opened my eyes a fraction, groaning as the pain flared, and saw the mausoleum’s heavy plank was lying across my chest.
My body felt sluggish and reluctant to obey my commands. Sharp little pricks were touching all over my exposed skin. I thought they might be pins and needles, but then I realised they were huge, icy raindrops.
I groaned again then put my hands against the plank and began to worm my way out. Soon I was able to pull my feet out from under it and crawl to my hands and knees. Everything hurt, so I sat for a moment, waiting for my head to stop spinning and for the aching to recede. Lightning flashed over my head, and I squinted. For a second, it illuminated the roof of the house standing over me.
I climbed to my feet. I had no idea how long I’d been out, but the ground had become thoroughly soaked by the heavy rain. I stumbled one step at a time across the patchy grass, through the gardens that not even the rain could save, and up the four porch steps.
The house was still and cool. Shivering, I stood in the hallway, dripping rainwater and mud while I tried to get my mind to think through what I needed to do. All I wanted was to lie down on the comfy couch where my blanket and pillow still lay and ease the headache with sleep—but my soaked clothes would ruin the leather, and Mrs Gillespie would never forgive me for that.
Grumbling, I continued up the stairs and down the hall then let myself into the bathroom.
My clothes were already soaked, not to mention caked with dirt and little bits of nature, so I didn’t bother undressing before stepping into the hot shower. I let the flow of water wash the clothes clean, then peeled them off bit by bit and threw them into the sink to dry. I took my time showering. The hot water lessened the headache and eased the muscle pain a little, so I enjoyed it until I was too hot to stay any longer, then climbed out and wiped the steam off the mirror.
A red mark started not far above my right eye and extended to my hairline. That has to be where the wood hit me. I reached up and pressed at it, hissing as a flare of pain shot through my skull.
Farther down my body, another mark ran across my lower ribs, where the beam had landed after knocking me out. I didn’t think anything was broken, but I guessed it would bruise fantastically.
I wrapped a towel about my body, left the wet clothes in the sink, and shuffled to my room, where I changed into my nightclothes and dressing gown. By the time I got downstairs again, I was functional enough to pay attention to the terrifically fierce force of nature battering the house. The storm had whipped itself into a frenzy; I stopped by one of the windows
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