Whisper: The untold stories Read online

  She saw blood soaking into the earth into a chamber filled with a gelatinous mass, a pulsing thing feeding on the offerings.

  She saw people tossed into great underground pits and left to their fate.

  She also saw the house, its walls dripping with blood as the wind howled around it. She tried to pull free of Vanessa’s grip, dropping the Bible on the bed in the process.

  “His word means nothing to me. This vessel is mine. You won’t take it from me.”

  Pam pulled herself free, stumbling back away from the bed and gripping the end of it. She saw the Bible on the bed and reached out for it just as Vanessa projectile vomited on it, the foul smell making Pam gag. It was all she could take. She ran from the room, sobbing and slamming the door behind her to shut out the laughter of her daughter. She stumbled downstairs, legs almost buckling as she returned to the kitchen and sat opposite Bill.

  He watched as she lit a cigarette with shaking hands, wondering how long the utter emptiness he was feeling would last. “So what now?” he said quietly.

  Pam exhaled a plume of blue smoke and looked at him. “She has to die. That thing….it’s taken over.”

  Bill went cold. He knew his wife had become erratic and irrational, but he never expected her to go to such lengths. “What did you just say?”

  “You heard me. She’s not who she once was. That thing inside her is in control. We can’t stop it. Even the word of God can’t stop it.”

  “So you want to kill her? Do you have any idea how that sounds?”

  “Of course I do,” she said, taking a deep drag on her cigarette. “But we have no other choice.”

  “Yes, we do. We can get her to a hospital. This could be something perfectly rational. You can’t sit there and say she should be killed.”

  “No, it’s not rational, Bill. And I don’t want to kill our daughter, of course, I don’t. That thing up there isn’t her anymore, though. It’s something else. Look at my wrist.” She held it out to him, showing the purple bruises. “That’s where it grabbed me. It was so strong. It showed me things, pictures from the past, visions of the evil that exists here.”

  “Can you hear yourself, Pam? Visions of evil, killing our daughter. You’re clearly not thinking straight. You haven’t been sleeping, neither of us has, but you must realise how crazy this is.”

  “You saw her; you know what she’s become.”

  “She’s still our daughter.”

  “She’s a monster!” Pam screamed, slamming her fist against the table. “I’m scared of her, Bill. Surely you can feel it, the way this house is, that sense of unease? Don’t tell me you can’t, because I don’t believe you.”

  Bill sighed and stared at his hands. “I sense it, but it’s not what you think it is.”

  “Then what is it? You explain it to me if you’re so sure you know everything.”

  “This house has a history. It’s in the forefront of our minds that’s all; it’s forcing us not to see things clearly.”

  Pam sneered, blowing smoke and setting the half smoked cigarette in the ashtray. “I see clearly. I see well enough for all of us. It’s you that is in denial. You won’t accept that there are things out there that you can’t explain. You can’t handle that you brought us here to this place, and now our daughter is lost. Gone forever.”

  “She’s not gone, Pam. She’s upstairs. She needs our help.”

  “Help,” she said, snorting at him. “You can’t help her. You can’t help anyone. You’ve always been weak, Bill. Weak willed, weak minded. You’re pathetic. Marrying you was the worst mistake I ever made. My mother warned me about you, said you were no good for me. She asked me what I could possibly want with a fat loser slob like you. Now I sit here and can’t think of an answer. You’re pathetic.”

  Bill took it, every word cutting him. He stood up, knuckles leaning on the table top. “Maybe there is a monster in this house. But it’s not our daughter.”

  “Where are you going?” she said as he left the kitchen.

  “Upstairs. No more Bible, no more talk of ghosts and demons. I’m going to get my little girl back.”

  ***

  The bedroom door was still open, the pungent smell from inside seeping into the hall. Unlike his last visit, there was no hesitation. Anger drove him, and along with the desire to disprove his wife’s seething words made fear a distant second to finding a resolution. He walked into the room, preparing for the mental battle and anguish of seeing his daughter enduring whatever was happening to her. He stood at the foot of the bed, staring at her. She was dozing, skin pale, arms tied to the bed frame, her wrists rubbed raw. An overwhelming sadness filled him, an aching helplessness in the knowledge that although he would do anything to help her, he was utterly powerless. Vanessa opened her eyes, and Bill braced himself for the tirade to come.

  “Dad?” Vanessa said, speaking in her regular voice. He couldn’t remember the last time he heard it.

  “Vanessa?” Bill replied, moving closer but not quite willing to get within grabbing distance. “I’m here. It’s okay.”

  “Why am I tied to the bed?” she said, tears streaming down her cheeks as she looked at the restraints.

  “It’s for your own good. We didn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

  “It was her idea, wasn’t it?”

  Bill looked at the floor.

  “She wants to get rid of me. I know she does. She’s out of control, Dad. Please don’t let her hurt me.”

  Bill couldn’t speak. He had come into the room expecting to deal with the deep voiced monster, and instead was having a regular conversation with his little girl. He couldn’t recall the last time that had happened.

  “How do you feel?” he asked.

  “Sacred, and tired. I went to that place in the woods, that clearing and then…something was in my head.”

  “We can fix you, sweetie. We can get the best doctors, find out what’s happening-”

  “I’m fine now,” she interrupted.

  “What do you mean?” Bill asked, sitting on the bed next to her.

  “I tried to fight it, but I just couldn’t. It was too strong, it took over my head, and it made me do things….” Her lip trembled. “I’m so sorry for the things it made me do.”

  “This thing in your head, are you saying it’s gone?”

  She nodded. “I don’t feel it in there anymore.”

  “Where, where did it go?”

  “That’s enough talk,” Pam said from the entrance to the room. Bill stared at her, his eyes drawn to the carving knife in her right hand. He looked at her wrist where she had been grabbed, then back at Vanessa, who looked afraid and was squirming against her restraints.

  “She’s going to kill me, Dad. It told me it wanted me dead. They don’t like children. They want to sacrifice me. It grabbed her and jumped. It jumped into her.”

  It was then that everything clicked into place for Bill. He stood, putting a barrier between daughter and mother. “Leave her alone.”

  Pam sneered at him, stepping into the room and closing the door. “You know what needs to happen. You know it has to be done.”

  “Knife over Bible. You won’t touch her,” Bill said, his eyes fixated on the blade. “You leave my daughter alone, I’m warning you.”

  “She’s mine too. You don’t have the guts to do what needs to be done.”

  “If you come any closer I’ll-”

  “You’ll what? You’ll do nothing, just like always. Stupid, pathetic little Bill with his grand ideas and lack of ambition. What a waste you are.”

  “Pam, this isn’t you. You need to fight this,” Bill said, taking a cautious step towards her.

  “There’s nothing to fight. The decision has been made. Death is the only way out for her.”

  “Dad, please, don’t let her get me,” Vanessa whispered from behind him. He wanted to look at her, reassure her, but he didn’t dare take his eyes off Pam.

  “It’s okay,” he said, trying his best to remain calm. �
�I won’t let her hurt you.”

  “You can’t stop it,” Pan snapped. “We both know how this will go down. You’ll talk about how you’re making a stand, then I’ll walk over there and do what I need to do and you won’t stop me because you’re a coward and you know I’m right.”

  “Don’t test me, Pam. Not with this. Listen to yourself, this isn’t you speaking. You’re not you.”

  “This is me speaking; this is what I’ve always wanted to say to you. I fucking hate you, Bill. Both you and that ungrateful little bitch daughter of yours.”

  “Ours. She’s ours,” Bill said, inching closer again, half wanting to lunge and grab the knife but unwilling to commit. “Listen to yourself. Think about what you’re trying to do.”

  “Step aside. Let me do his work,” Pam said, adjusting her grip on the knife.

  “No. I won’t let you hurt her.”

  She grinned at him, an expression that looked particularly horrific under the circumstances. “There’s nothing you can do to stop me.” She walked towards him, and he willed himself to react, but the years spent as her doormat, taking her mental abuse, of her being the dominant partner in the relationship had taken its toll. She nudged past him, glaring as she made her way to the side of the bed.

  “Dad, please, you promised you wouldn’t let her hurt me,” Vanessa was screaming now, cheeks wet with tears as she thrashed against her restraints.

  “Don’t worry; we’re going to fix this,” Pam said, staring at Vanessa. “We’re going to end this whole thing right now. It’s better if you relax, and let me do it quickly. I’ve prayed for you.”

  She raised the knife, the light glittering off the blade. It was then that Bill reacted. He grabbed Pam’s wrist. She flicked her head towards him, eyes filled with absolute hatred.

  “Get off me, don’t you interrupt his work.” She pulled her arm free and slashed at his face, the blade missing by inches. He shoved her back, again putting himself between Pam and Vanessa.

  She lunged again, aiming for his stomach. He tried to avoid it, but his feet caught the bed and he stumbled back, almost losing his balance. Pam turned back to the bed, teeth gritted as she lunged for her daughter. Bill half stumbled towards Pam and shoved her back, her elbow smashing the window and letting in the howling wind. Bill wasn’t a violent man, he had never been, but this was an extreme situation. He balled his fist and hit her, letting out a grunt of anger and sorrow. Pam’s head snapped back and the knife clattered to the floor. She slid down the wall, coming to rest sitting in the broken glass from the window. Bill stood there staring at her, knowing that things could never be repaired, that they would never be the same again.

  “Dad, please,” Vanessa said, still struggling against her restraints.

  Bill hurried to the bed and untied the restraints. Vanessa hugged him, and he held her back, ignoring the smell.

  “What happened to her?” she asked against his shoulder.

  “The same thing that happened to you. Go on, go downstairs, take the keys and wait in the car. I’ll be down in a second.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “What I should have done from the start. I’m getting you to a hospital to be checked over. This has-”

  Vanessa screamed as Pam lurched at Bill, a shard of glass in her hand. She stabbed him in the shoulder, over and over until the glass broke. Bill fell to the ground, the pain like fire. Pam was in a frenzy, snarling as she leapt on top of him, scratching at his throat, her weight pushing the glass deeper into his back. He fought her off as best he could, trying to bat her hands away from his face. He could smell cigarette smoke on her breath. He rolled onto his side, throwing her off and getting a slight reprieve and a chance to catch his breath.

  “She has to die, don’t you see? She has to die,” Pam screamed it over and over.

  Bill wasn’t listening. Everything hurt, the pain in his back radiating out from his shoulder all the way across his back and to his chest. He couldn’t breathe or think, all he could hear were Pam’s shrieks and the wind howling around the room. He saw the knife she had dropped and rolled away from her to reach it, every second he couldn’t see her feeling like an eternity. His fingers brushed the handle of the knife, half spinning it towards him, but the few seconds reprieve was over and Pam was now clawing at his eyes from behind, digging her nails into his face.

  “Death is the only way, death is how it has to end,” she screamed at him. His fingers brushed the handle of the knife, and for a sickening second he thought he was going to lose it, but then he managed to grip it. Without thinking he thrust it behind him, overcome with absolute rage. She stopped fighting, but still, he attacked, stabbing her over and over again until he had no strength left. He sat beside her, listening to the wet rasps of her breathing and starting to come to terms with what he had done. He looked at her and no longer saw the cruel woman he had grown to hate. He saw a frail thing of flesh and bone surrounded in blood, mouth moving as she tried to speak. He leaned close, struggling to hear her over the wind, the words she said enough to finally break him.

  It never left her.

  He knew he would never forget those words, no matter what happened from then on. He stood, watching her final shallow breaths until they stopped.

  “Dad?”

  He looked to the door and saw Vanessa standing there. She looked so small, so weak, and it occurred to him how he must look to her, covered in blood, not all of it his own. “It’s okay; everything’s going to be okay,” he said from some faraway place.

  “Is she dead?”

  He didn’t want to lie, not after everything they had been through, but he couldn’t bring himself to actually say the words for the fear that they would shatter the last remaining shred of sanity he had left. Instead, he nodded, glancing down at Pam.

  “What will happen now?”

  “I need to contact the police. Tell them what I’ve done,” he said, still numb and unable to take it all in.

  “What about me?”

  He considered the question, unsure how to answer. “You’ll be fine, I think,” he said eventually. He believed it, too. She was still young, she could adapt. She could recover.

  “You did the right thing. I’m glad she’s dead.”

  Bill looked at her, and for a moment was sure he had seen something, a flicker of a sneer, like the brief glimpse of something hiding inside her. “Don’t say that it’s your mother,” he said eventually, unable to shake the unease at the expression he’d seen.

  “Not really,” Vanessa said, and this time, there was no mistake. A smile, however faint, appeared on her lips, and then she turned and headed off down the hall. He listened to her descend the steps, then looked down at Pam’s body on the floor, staring at the finger shaped bruises on her wrists. For the first time, he wondered if he might have made a mistake. Either way, he knew there was no possible way they were staying another night in the house. He would drive to the village and contact the police from there and let them deal with what would happen next. Even with all that had happened, the thing that terrified him most wasn’t that he had murdered his wife, or that some kind of demonic force had taken over their lives and destroyed them in just a matter of weeks. It was that smile he had seen on Vanessa’s face, the smile that wasn’t like her usual one, but the smile of something wearing a Vanessa mask that had succeeded in manipulating a family to its own ends.

  No.

  After that, prison didn’t seem so bad. The bars would at least keep him safe.

  EPILOGUE

  My wrist hurts, but I’m glad I wrote it all down. I don’t know how therapeutic it was, a lot of the stuff I put down on paper I had deliberately forgotten until I started digging around in that particular pile of memories. Some of it was pieced together from my own experiences, other parts I picked up years later when I really developed an interest in that house, those lands. The actual bulk of my experience was a blur, a hazy half remembered vivid dream. I know it was real, though, I know it happened.
No matter what, I know I was one of the lucky ones who lived to tell the tale. With the Donovan murders and the stuff with Henry Marshall afterwards, I know that for whatever reason, fortune is on my side. I did consider reaching out to Melody Samson, the other survivor of that place, but I was too afraid. It was all so long ago now and I’m not sure what would be gained by bringing it all up again. Either way, the decision was taken out of my hands last year when she passed from cancer. She has a son, but I don’t want to trouble him with this. I’m sure he has ghosts of his own about that place.

  As for my father, he did as he promised. He called the police and turned himself in. I’ll never forget that conversation we had in my bedroom, the way he looked at me like I was some kind of animal. I knew things would never be the same. He pleaded guilty and was sentenced to thirty years in prison for murder. He seems to actually like it in there; I think the security of the walls helps him to get through.

  God, I just realised he’ll be sixty two this year. Where has all the time gone?

  I should visit him more often but it’s just too hard. The first few times were awkward and I got the feeling he was uncomfortable around me. He told me once that he thought I might still be carrying that thing from the house around with me, and maybe that’s it. It’s true that it’s something I considered, and sometimes even now when the wind blows I sometimes think I can hear voices on the edge of it, little whispered words begging me to listen closer. I don’t think so, though. I’ve read enough to understand that whatever evil exists, it’s in that house, those lands, that clearing. I don’t think it’s possible for it to leave. My father might not know that, though. Maybe to him, I’m still that kid spewing obscenities and writing on the walls in her own shit. The other explanation could be, that as I’ve grown older, I’ve started to get more of my mother’s features. Maybe that’s the thing he can’t handle. Looking at me reminds him of her and what he did. In the end, it was easier just to stop visiting him. I think that was the best solution for both of us.

  I don’t want to end this on a sour note, and I don’t want you to think this is all a big sob story. Trust me; I know how fortunate I am. I have a wonderful life, an amazing husband and children I adore. Even so, sometimes I still wake up in the night and think he’s there, that man with the paint, standing there and watching through the window. I suppose that’s just one of the scars I have to bear, and if that’s the case, then so be it. I can do that. When I started writing this, I considered throwing it away if it looked like the ramblings of a crazy woman. As I skim the pages, I see that it’s not. It reads like a semi unbelievable ghost story, but the difference is it was all true, it all happened. I know it and that’s all that matters. The therapist can have them and analyse them if she wants, she can knock herself out. I’ve dealt with this my own way and over time learned to exist.