Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

Sybil heard the ladies chattering in the kitchen early the next morning as she headed for the cellar door. It was six o’clock, and she was starting a bit late. Her alarm hadn’t gone off at five. She questioned if she’d set it, but when she looked on her phone she realized hadn’t turned it off. What else was new around here? Weirdness ruled the days.

She reached the cellar door. It stood open exactly as they’d left it last night after they’d gone upstairs to Letisha’s room.

The lights.

She flipped the switch. Still not working. Heaving a sigh, she halted. She turned on the flashlight on her phone. Headed downstairs. Carefully. Step by step. When she reached the bottom, she caught something out of the corner of her eye. She jerked. Swept the light across the area.

Nothing. Those ridiculous lizard-like tracks were gone. Obviously, one of her crew had cleaned them up without mentioning it.

She moved forward again.

What are you doing?

She’d wanted to look at that box again in the back of the cellar. No. Now wasn’t the time.

She needed to call Clarice about getting an electrician out here. That was more important than staring at a box.

She headed upstairs more quickly than she’d come down, closed the door and locked it.

The door knocker banged.

Another moment, she heard the door opening and voices.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Letisha’s voice echoed all the way into the Great Hall.

A second later, another voice, this one far deeper. “Hey there Letisha. Haven’t seen you in forever.”

Sybil identified the deep voice with the twang. The good ole boy tone. The don’t worry your head about it little lady inflection she’d ignored to her peril.

Taggert.

Raw annoyance and apprehension hit her.

“Shit,” she whispered.

She came to a dead stop before anyone in the octagon room could see her.

“What are you doing here?” Letisha said again.

“Is Sybil here?” The man’s voice held that charm that had worked on Sybil at the beginning of their relationship.

“No,” Letisha said.

“Oh, come on.”

“How did you even know we were here?”

“I’ve got my ways.”

“This is private property.”

“So, what are you doing on it?” His Texas charm disappeared, replaced with a hardness that sliced to the bone.

Letisha didn’t have time to answer, because Sybil stepped into the Octagon and met eyes with Taggert.

“Hello, Taggert,” Sybil said. “I’ve got this, Letisha.”

Letisha backed away from the door, and that’s when Sybil noticed the swirl of snow in the wind. The promised winter storm had arrived.

“Hey,” he said with renewed cheerfulness as he stepped inside the front door. “Girl, if you aren’t a sight for sore eyes.”

He’d always owned an old-fashioned way of speaking, especially for a young man, and she almost pulled a face.

“Taggert. We didn’t invite you in. It’s time for you to leave,” Sybil said.

The sound of another car pulling into the driveway made him look around.

She glanced over his shoulder and glimpsed Doug’s truck. Surprise and profound relief washed through her.

Taggert turned to look at Sybil again. “Who is that?”

Sybil swallowed hard, more than one emotion rising inside her. Apprehension. Desire to escape. Taggert’s expression had turned from smarmy charm to tight and angry.

“A friend of the woman who owns this house. We have work to do, Taggert. Time for you to leave,” Sybil said.

Doug’s truck door slammed, and she spied Doug coming toward the front door. He came up behind Taggert, and Taggert turned around to face Doug. Looking at them both, she couldn’t help but do an immediate comparison. Taggert stood maybe an inch taller than Doug. Six foot four, if she remembered right. He had way too much muscle. He’d always worked out, but even with his winter coat, she could tell he’d bulked up more. A black cowboy hat covered his bald head, while a handlebar mustache decorated his upper lip. She wondered if he’d added another tattoo to his flesh because he had so many of them. Under that coat and shirt she’d find an American flag emblazoned on his chest and on both biceps the word freedom. She hadn’t seen the tattoos because she’d been intimate with him, but because she had seen him swimming at a pool party. He had spent an excessive amount of time pontificating about freedom, liberty, and patriotism when he only meant liberty for people who thought just like him.

Relief flooded her as Doug walked their way.

“Doug,” she said. “Glad you’re here.”

Doug’s expression held caution. “Hey there.” Without missing a beat, he held his hand out to Taggert. “Douglas MacKenzie.”

Taggert didn’t hesitate to take Doug’s hand and shake it. His smile turned brittle. “Taggert Hemming. Sybil’s boyfriend.”

Everything inside Sybil froze. Several things happened at once. She caught Doug’s expression. He gave away nothing, except maybe for the slightest glimmer of something in his eyes. Not anger. Not curiosity.

Before she could respond to Taggert’s lie about her being his boyfriend, Doug said, “Great to meet you. “Sybil, I talked with Clarice on the phone this morning, and she asked me to come by and check out something on the security system. She said she isn’t hooked in on her phone. It’s not working on her end. Is there any way I can use the computer in the office to make sure the settings are correct?”

“Absolutely,” she said. “Please come in.”

Taggert and Sybil moved away from the doorway and Doug headed into the mansion and made a sharp left toward the office. She heard Letisha’s voice and then Doug’s and their voices moved away. For a split second, she wondered if Doug would ask Letisha about Taggert.

Taggert stared at Sybil, all the charm in his expression gone. Nothing about this bald, tattooed, cowboy wannabe man had changed. That “lay-it-on-thick” bullshit he’d started when he walked in the door didn’t fool her now.

Before she could tell him to leave, he walked into the Great Hall.

Angry, she followed him. “Taggert, you’re not welcome here. This is a private home I’m working in. No one else is allowed in here.”

As he looked around, he said with certainty, “Well, Douglas is allowed in here, isn’t he?”

“He works for my client.”

Doug stood in the middle of the Great Hall and tilted his head back and looked at the ceiling. He placed his hands on his hips and drew in a deep breath. He looked everywhere else, like a thief assessing the value of everything he wanted to steal.

“Taggert—”

“I was hoping I’d catch you alone.”

She hadn’t expected that. Hadn’t been ready for any of this today. He stepped forward, and her throat tightened. Her stomach muscles clenched, her breath quickened. He stopped in front of her. Not intimately close, but near enough to make everything inside her clench with memories. Bad, bad memories both ancient and new.

“First of all,” she managed to say around the tension in her throat, “you are not my boyfriend. And how did you know I was here?”

“Simple. See, I put a little something on your car a long time ago. Before you left Denver. One day when you weren’t looking.”

The tightening in her muscles grew worse. She slipped her hand into her pocket and clenched her hand around the solid heft of her phone. The only comfort she had was that Doug, Letisha, and the other ladies were within screaming distance.

She went into the old mode. The one that had kept her alive. “Why are you tracking me?”

“Why do you think?” he asked, thick annoyance layered in his slow Killeen drawl.

He’d done nothing violent, but she’d always felt something simmering in the background. As if she might say the wrong thing, look the wrong way, dress the wrong way and there would be consequences to pay.

He took his hat off.

“Don’t take off your hat.” She walked closer to the door. “You not staying.”

“Who is this Doug guy?”

“I told you. A friend of the owner. He helped set up a security system here. Now tell me how to take off the device you put on my car.”

He snorted and placed the hat back on his head. “No. But I’ll go. For now.”

With a dark, pissed off look, he turned and headed for the door. Anyone else, she’d be concerned about them driving in the snow. She didn’t care where Taggert found himself. Probably back in Estes Park, or maybe all the way to Denver if she was lucky. Even better, back to Texas and out of her life forever.

He opened the door and allowed a blast of cold and snow to swirl inside.

“I promise I’ll see you later, Sybil.” He left and slammed the door.

She fastened the locks on the door. Then she leaned back against it. Thank all the gods and goddesses he was gone. At least for now.

Before she could move, Doug came into the Octagon, his expression concerned, his eyes holding the hardness and speculation she expected from a man who’d been a soldier and a cop.

He came up to her, close but not too close. “Hey, you okay?”

She nodded and tried for half a smile. “Yeah. I’m fine. He’s not my boyfriend. He’s my ex-boyfriend.”

The concern didn’t leave his eyes. Letisha came into the room right at that moment. Before anyone could speak, the cell phone in Doug’s hand went off.

He looked at the screen. “It’s Clarice calling back.”

He went into the Great Hall, his voice echoing as he answered the phone.

Letisha’s eyes narrowed. “Everything okay?”

“I’m not sure. No. Probably not.” She explained what Taggert had said about the tracking device.

Letisha’s mouth dropped open. “That piece of shit.”

“Yeah. I’m hoping Doug knows what to do about the tracking device.”

“Did Taggert say where he was going?”

“No. Let’s go see if Clarice can connect to the security system now.”

A shiver of cold passed over Sybil as they walked out of the octagon room. No doubt the winter weather outside made a difference inside the mansion. They’d started up the old heating system yesterday, and it worked well enough. Or perhaps the iciness she felt had more to do with Taggert.

* * *

“Everything works now for Clarice, so we’re good to go,” Doug said as he stood in the office with Letisha and Sybil.

Letisha waved at them. “I’d better get some work done. I’m planning on sorting some stuff in the basement. Clarice emailed us a list this morning of things she wants to clear out.”

“Oh, good.” Sybil smiled, glad things were moving along. “She’d said there were some things she didn’t know what to do with, too. But aren’t the lights still a problem?”

“We’ve got that solved until she can hire an electrician. I have three battery-operated lamps.”

Sybil smiled. “Good. I’ll be down there shortly and help you.”

Letisha returned her grin. “Take your time. Pauline said she’d help. Later.”

Letisha exited.

Doug closed the laptop sitting on the office desk. Awkwardness she didn’t expect arose inside her, and her brain did one of those freeze responses where she couldn’t articulate what she wanted to say.

Doug turned to her. “Sorry I didn’t call earlier and tell you I was coming. Clarice called me at o’dark thirty this morning, which surprised me. I tried calling your cell and there was no answer. I texted and called the house phone.”

She frowned and looked at her cell. “No messages or missed calls here. Weird.” She drew in a breath and forced the next question out. “I have a favor to ask you, but if you don’t want to do it, I’ll understand.”

“Sure. What is it?” he asked.

“Taggert told me he put a tracking device on my car.”

Now he looked worried. “What?”

“Yeah.”

“Son-of-a-bitch.”

“He’s that and more. As a former cop, I thought you’d know how to remove it.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Of course I’ll help. I was going to ask you what was up with this guy. But I didn’t want to intrude.” He sighed. “Who am I kidding? I want to intrude, but the last thing you need is one guy acting all territorial when there’s another asshole already doing that.”

“You’re right. But you don’t seem to be the asshole type. I...” Did she say it out loud? “I trust you. Taggert is a whole different animal. I need some coffee. Do you have some time to talk about this now?”

“Yeah, I do.”

Sybil and Doug sat in the parlor on the weathered brown leather couch. They clutched coffee mugs, the kind with lids to keep the java hot. They’d nuked some pastries because neither of them had eaten breakfast. The chandelier in the middle of the room threw enough light to banish the shadows. Outside, the snowstorm kept it gloomy. She felt, for a moment, like Jack Torrance in the Stephen King novel The Shining.

Doug took a sip of his coffee. “Thanks for this. I ran out of the house without my plasma.”

“Can’t have that,” she said with a grin. She grabbed her pastry and took a bite. “I rarely eat this stuff in the morning, if at all. Don’t like sugar early in the morning.”

“Hey, it works when you’re desperate. Besides, you have to mix it up sometimes, right?”

She grinned. “Yep. And I don’t know where to start with this whole Taggert thing.”

“Tell me whatever you’re comfortable telling me.”

“It’s a long story, so I’ll give you the biggest parts, and I can always tell you the rest later.”

He took a sip of his coffee. “Sounds good.”

She made a face. “I’ve got a lot of baggage. Are you sure you want to hear this?”

Oh, Sybil. There you go again.

Her father’s voice? Her mother’s? Her own?

He placed his coffee on the table and turned toward her a little more. “Of course. It’s the only way I can help. I understand who Taggert is. He’s a misogynist. A narcissist. Am I right?”

She uttered a half laugh. “You got it.”

“Something is seriously wrong with him. Normal guys don’t put tracking devices on their former girlfriend’s vehicles.”

“You’ve got him down to the last inch.” She kept her hands cupped around the big coffee mug and taking comfort in its warmth. “I met Taggert early last year. We cleaned his mother’s house in Colorado. She’s a widow and moved from Texas to Denver to be closer to Taggert. He’s an only child. He grew up in Killeen but moved to Denver after he graduated from Texas A & M for a job opportunity. He’s a civil engineer. At first, he was super charming. My intuition was so off with him. Actually, that’s not true. I always felt like he might be a bit controlling. But I had no proof of that at first, so I just blew off my intuition.”

Doug said, “Yeah, that never works out well, does it?”

“Nope. About a month into our dating, he went from Mr. Nice Guy to nightmare fuel. He started being overbearing. He wanted…” Did she say this part? “He pressured me one night…started pawing me, but I realized early on we didn’t have that chemistry or personal connection and told him I wasn’t ready for that. I told myself maybe that would grow in time, but I said no to sex. He stormed out of my apartment. I was relieved. I should’ve called him up the next day and told him I didn’t want to see him anymore, but he called me first and apologized profusely.” She shrugged. “He agreed no pressure for sex.”

Doug put his mug down on the table, his expression colored by anger. “My guess is there is more.”

“Yes. He would call me ten times a day and wanted to talk on the phone for a really long time while I was working. He started telling me what I should wear and when I should wear it. That was it for me. I called him up one day and broke it off.”

“What did he do then?”

“He tried to talk me out of it again, and when I refused to take the bait, he started insulting me.”

“Jesus.”

“He said I was a na?ve woman who needed a firm hand to guide me. Said that he would’ve turned me into a real woman.” The heat of remembered anger filled her face, but all she saw in Doug’s expression was concern and anger. “He said that I was frigid, and that was the reason I didn’t want sex with him.”

Doug made a sound of disgust. “What a lot of bullshit.”

“Exactly.” She sighed. “I hung up on him. That’s where it stayed until he called a few days ago. I’d forgotten to block his number. I didn’t answer the call.”

“So he takes his time between the breakup until now and then goes stalker on you.”

“Yes. So, as a former cop, you’d suggest a restraining order, right?”

“It’s a good idea. I know a guy in the sheriff’s department. He used to work for the Denver PD like I did. I’ll call him and see what he advises.” His expression softened. “But only with your permission. I’m not trying to take over.”

She drew in a slow, deep breath. “This is unique.”

“What is?”

“I’m not used to a man that cares about my opinion and wants to honor it.” The thought made her eyes water, but as she always did, she shoved back the urge to let tears fall. “Thanks for that.”

His brow furrowed a little, making him look older. “Really? I mean...” He swallowed hard. “Your father?”

She shook her head. “Sometimes. And my mother. I’ll tell you more about them another time.”

“Okay.” He turned to look out the window. “It’s getting bad out there.”

Darker clouds had lowered on the area, and the flurries had a steady wind behind them.

“Thanks for the advice, by the way,” she said.

“You’re welcome.” He placed his coffee on the table and leaned forward, hands clasped between his knees and his expression serious. “I’ll call Clinton, too. He may have some ideas. Well, I’d better leave before the weather is worse.”

At the front door, he paused and turned to her. Bundled up for the weather, he looked strong. His eyes sparked with warmth, and he leaned forward a little, bringing himself closer into her space.

“If the weather permits, you still want that spaghetti dinner soon?” he asked.

“Of course. When?”

“Tomorrow night? I could pick you up.”

Pleasure slid through her. “Sounds good.”

“I’ll check your car right now.”

“Let me grab my coat.”

A short time later, he located a small device under her front bumper and held it up. “Here it is.”

When he handed it to her, anger made her want to rage at Taggert. “That pig.”

Doug straightened. “That’s too nice of a word for him.”

An icy wind danced around them, and yet the weather didn’t chill her half so much thinking about Taggert’s possible intentions.

She pocketed the tracker. “I’ll keep it safe for the police.”

He clasped her shoulders gently. “Keep the doors locked, okay? Let me know if there’s anything you need.”

“Will do.”

He climbed into the truck. He started the vehicle, and she waited in the snow as he drove away. She looked at the trees around the property. She wanted to walk in the quiet beauty of the storm. Was drawn to the cold, the white landscape. Yet fear lingered. She couldn’t go out there without walking deeper. Far into the forest and the trees, where they could eat her alive.

She heard them calling to her in her head.

Come here. Touch us. Listen to us. We have secrets for you. So many secrets.

She gasped and shook her head.

She hurried into the house.

Sybil stowed her winter gear in the large coat and boot room downstairs. She exited the room and noted the light down in the cellar. She also heard female voices nearby. Letisha and Maria’s.

“We shouldn’t move any of this until we run it by Sybil,” Letisha said.

“I agree,” Maria said, her voice a little petulant.

Letisha came around the far corner of the cellar just as Sybil reached the bottom of the steps. Sybil’s friend didn’t look too pleased.

“Hey, glad you’re here,” Letisha said. “There isn’t that much on the list that Clarice gave us that she wants to get rid of.” She handed Sybil the list. “I put aside a few of the things and the ladies were going to carry it upstairs, but I wanted to check with you first.”

The other women came around the corner looking dust-smudged and maybe not too pleased.

Sybil gave the list a quick look. “You’re right. This isn’t as much as I expected either.”

“Wonder if she’s reconsidering moving out? You’d think she’d want all of it sold or donated…hell, maybe some of these things are antiques,” Maria said.

Pauline wrinkled her nose. “She hasn’t lived here in a long time. She’s really moved out already.”

Maria pulled a face. “Yeah, I get that. I mean permanently. She’s old. My great-aunt couldn’t decide about moving out of her house in Pueblo for months. She kept changing her mind.”

“I dunno.” Sybil shook her head. “Clarice seems pretty decisive to me.” She heaved a sigh. “Let’s just put things aside in one corner where we can access it easily. I’ll double check with Clarice.”

“In the meantime, we can keep dusting.” Letisha lifted a duster and waved it around. “If Clarice changes her mind, we’ll be able to get to it fast and then put it back where we found it.”

Sybil called Clarice. To her surprise, the woman said, “Well, you’re right. I’m wondering if I need to reconsider moving out. What do you think of that list for the cellar?”

Sybil almost didn’t answer, caught up in surprise that maybe Clarice wouldn’t sell the big house after all, even though Sybil suspected the woman might’ve changed her mind.

“You can change your mind. It’s your house.”

Clarice chuckled. “And the list?”

“We’ll just clean up down there. Dust everything off. Put everything on your list in one area and that way, you know what you planned to have hauled out.”

“Thanks so much. If I decide to do a big move everything will be in order.”

Sybil smiled to herself. “Depending how long you wait, you can hire us to clean things again.”

Clarice laughed. “My dear, if I wait much longer, I’ll be dead. I’m sorry. My father used to say that I was scatter brained. Of course, he was a bit of an ass.” Clarice grunted. “Oh, sorry, my dear. I’ve got another call coming in that I must take. If that’s all for now...”

“Of course.”

They signed off, and Sybil rubbed her forehead. This entire day had already gone in too many directions.

“Shit.” She’d forgotten to ask Clarice about an electrician to work on the cellar lights. She texted her and hoped Clarice would reply soon.

* * *

“He what?” Pauline said as they sat around the large kitchen table and ate salad for dinner.

“Taggert put a tracking device on the van,” Sybil said for the second time.

Maria pulled an angry face. “That asshole.”

Sybil hurried to explain and ended with, “We’ll see if Doug’s cop friend and Clinton have ideas of what to do about the guy.”

Letisha’s fork clinked as she stabbed at her salad. “I think you should call the sheriff’s department again and tell them what Taggert did with your car.”

Sybil frowned. “I want to see what Doug finds out.”

Pauline took a swig of her soft drink. “Well, don’t fall into an old pattern.”

Sybil stopped with her fork halfway to her mouth, surprised by one of those left hook statements that triggered primitive emotions inside Sybil.

Tell her off. Tell her off. Go ahead and let it hang out. Don’t be a coward.

Sybil threw a disgusted look at Pauline. “What are you talking about?”

Pauline stabbed a tomato. “It appears like you’re falling right into a relationship with Doug where he’s helping you with all the things. You could get dependent on a guy like that.”

Self-recrimination mixed with anger, and a surge of emotion flooded Sybil. She took one deep breath. Two deep breaths.

Keep it together.

Sybil kept her tone even as she forced herself to catch Pauline’s gaze and hold it. “I appreciate your concern. But I didn’t ask for your opinion about my personal life. Let’s just stick with work from now on, okay?”

Pauline’s mouth flopped open. She looked a little stunned, then her gaze dropped to her salad bowl. When Pauline looked up a moment later, her glare held ice. “Wow. You don’t need to come at it like that. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

The anger lifted a notch inside Sybil.

“People always say that when they mean something by it,” Sybil said. “Always.”

Sybil didn’t look at anyone else to gage their approval or disapproval. Just continued to stare at Pauline, hoping her glare was boring a hole in the woman.

A moment later, a creaking sound above them caused them all to look up.

The elaborate light fixture swayed. Enough to see, but only a whisper.

“What the…?” Letisha said.

Alarm bells chimed inside Sybil. Oh Sybil. Sybil. You’ve done it again, haven’t you? Spoke your mind.

“Earthquake?” Maria asked.

Sybil rolled her shoulders and eased the tension. She put down her fork as the light stopped moving. “No. I don’t think so.” Despite that, Sybil pulled up an official earthquake app on her phone. “Nothing showing on the earthquake tracker.”

Letisha looked at the ceiling again, then back at Sybil. Her mouth was tight. “Maybe we should have someone come in and look at the integrity of the house. There could be weird stuff going on Clarice isn’t privy to.”

Sybil nodded, forcing a smile to her lips. “I’ll text Clarice about it.”

Sybil sent off the text right away.

“So...” Letisha said casually as they waited to see if Clarice would respond. “Let’s make a game plan for how to tackle the rest of the cellar and the remaining cleanup we have. That way, it’ll go faster tomorrow.”

“Good idea.” Sybil dug into her meal, glad for the diversion.

Seconds later, the text came back from Clarice.

Oh my. Now that’s worrying. Let me do research and see if I can find anyone who can come out and look at the house.

Sybil fired off a thank you.

Later that night, while Sybil sat in bed reading a book, her cell phone dinged with a text. She snagged her phone off the bedside table and saw it was Doug.

Hey there. I talked to the deputy. He said you should report this Taggert guy to the police. They can get the prints off that tracking device and do some other work to prove it’s him. Maybe get a warrant to access his computer.

She answered. Okay, thanks. I appreciate it. I’ll contact the sheriff’s department again tomorrow morning. Clinton have any advice?

Doug said in the text: Yeah. Quite a few things. Sometimes he’s got too much advice. Want me to see if he’s free for spaghetti dinner, too?

The primitive female part of her wanted more alone time with Thor.

Instead she said, If he’s free, that’ll be great. If not, you can tell me his plans. She added a smile emoji.

She explained about the swaying light fixture in the dining room, and he said he’d never experienced anything similar at his cabin. He was glad Clarice planned to look into it.

They left it at that, but as she put her book away and turned off the light, she stared at the ceiling into the dark of the room for a considerable time and ruminated for far too long.

* * *

Sybil opened her eyes. She stood in the near darkness. She blinked.

Where the hell...?

A niggling of panic quickened her breath. Her pulse throbbed in her neck, her heartbeat quickening. She reached for her phone and found her belt bag missing. She wore the same clothes she’d worn earlier in the day, so where...?

Not in my pajamas. What the hell?

She reached into the right pocket of her cargo pants and found her phone there. She switched on the light. Found herself standing at the bottom of the staircase in the Great Hall.

Fear tried to creep in.

Something tickled at the edge of her mind. It stroked. Played and caressed. She knew where she wanted to go because it asked her to. The itch compelled her until she began a walk toward the place she needed to go. Using her cellphone flashlight as her only guide, she headed toward the cellar. As she moved, the air thickened, the quality almost like molasses.

She’d encountered this sense of moving through thick air so many times all her life. She always associated the impression with a place being haunted. By something. It wasn’t a new feeling around here. Not at all. Yet she’d ignored it until now. It aspired to be known and seen. It demanded she obey.

The cellar door was wide open. Without reluctance, she stood at the top of the stairs. The cellphone flashlight only illuminated a few steps down.

“If you want me down there, let me see,” she whispered.

The light penetrated to the bottom of the stairs, and she smiled. Good. Then she remembered.

Protect yourself.

In her mind’s eye she tried to see a white light of protection coming down through her head and surrounding her entire body. She took a deep breath and proceeded.

She took the first step down. The next. The next. Lead weighted each foot until she’d reached the bottom. Her breath sluiced in and out of her lungs.

She turned the light toward the long stretch of darkness to her right, and it illuminated everything she expected to see.

There’s nothing down here that wasn’t here before. Nothing.

She took one step after another, passed a new set of strange reptilian-like footsteps. She stopped long enough to take some photos, doubtful they’d come out in this light. What is this thing? What?

What if the thing is hiding under the shelves right now, Sybil? What if there’s a hole you haven’t found, and it comes out now? Her hands shook. She sucked in a quick breath, and the air seemed thick. She hurried, as a sense of being stalked harassed her.

“Shit, shit, shit,” she said.

Where am I going?

When she reached the weird box, she started to reach for it.

Open it. Open it. It would open for you now. It would.

No.

She jerked her hand away.

It niggled her again. That need. That draw. It teased at the back of her mind. Not a voice precisely. A promise. A wish to show her something delightful. Sweet to the taste and forbidden.

Open it. Open it.

“No. No, damn it. I won’t. Whoever you are, leave me the hell alone.”

She shivered as a low-grade nausea crept up. She jerked away from the box and hurried to the steps. Rushed up them. Any moment a hand would reach up. Might snag her and jerk her down. Down into a darkness where horrible things roamed.

She reached the top.

The door was closed. She twisted the doorknob. It wouldn’t move.

“Fuck you,” she said, angry with whatever it was.

She turned her back to the cellar door and pointed the cell flashlight down the steps.

“Fuck you,” she said again.

She closed her eyes. Took one deep breath. She wanted to dare it, whatever it was, to show itself. She wanted to rage at it. Instead, she kept her eyes closed and waited.

“I feel you. I know you’re here. What do you want? Why do you want me?”

She drew in a ragged breath. The darkness crept nearer. Nearer yet. Almost touching. She could almost feel it. Almost upon her.

Her eyes snapped open.

She wasn’t in the cellar.

Her mattress was solid beneath her, the sheets and bedspread pulled up to her chin. The soft glow of the night light from across the room and the one in the bathroom illuminated the large bedchamber.

“Oh, God,” she whispered.

Tears fell, but she wiped them away. A sob formed on her lips, but she strangled it.

A dream. Ignore it.

She shuddered with a mix of fear and annoyance.

She reached for the lamp on her bed stand and welcomed the glow as she turned it on. She sat up and got out of bed. A dream. Yes, a dream. Turning on the main light, she headed into the bathroom and looked into the mirror. She knew now it must be a dream. For she’d had few defenses against the creeping terror in the cellar in the dream. She’d been in haunted places before and had felt nothing as intimidating and awful as what lived in the cellar.

She leaned on the antique pillar sink for a moment and stared into her eyes.

She saw fear there, and it made the tears come again.

She left the bathroom and noted the time on her phone. Three in the morning. Leaving the bedside table lamp on, she slipped into the bed again. She might not sleep the rest of the night. She sank lower beneath the covers and shoved the covers up around her ears. Leaving her face uncovered, she whispered into the night.

“I don’t want to hear you. Don’t want to feel you. Do you hear me?”