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INSOMNIA. WHAT A BIT....
I rolled over in the musty four-poster bed for the sixth time... or was it the seventh? Honestly, I’d lost count. Just like I’d lost count of those stupid sheep that’re supposed to help me fall asleep. I gave up on them somewhere after three hundred, and that was after I’d already ‘emptied my mind’ and practiced some deep breathing exercises. Those fluffy, baaing, white sheep were a last resort. And they weren’t helping. Not tonight.
No doubt this had something to do with the incessant ticking coming from somewhere within the depths of this enormous place. I arrived around mid-day and expected to spend maybe a few hours looking around. Boy, was I wrong. The house left to me by inheritance was not a house by any definition of the word I knew. It was a beast.
High in the hills, it sat back miles from civilization. The house had over 15 bedrooms, two kitchens, five sitting rooms, three dining rooms, a sprawling veranda out the back, and that was just the main house. There was a second house a short walk away and supposedly two more scattered across the endless grounds of the estate. It wasn’t going to take me a few hours to check out what my relative had left me. It was going to take weeks. And I didn’t want to be here.
Tick.
Again, I turned over, flinging my arms over the edge of the bed to swat away the noise.
Tick.
My eyes snapped open and latched onto the sliver of moonlight pouring in through the window. The old glass warped the beam until it cracked and fractured across the wooden floor, creating a pattern that my hyper-alert brain was all too keen to piece together like some puzzle. When the unmoving light shards morphed into nymphs dancing to the beat of the ticking, however, I got up.
The bed groaned underneath me. The cool night air whispered against my skin as the sheets slipped away, leaving me exposed to the chill that had been creeping up my spine since the driver left me alone. I knew I was being silly. This was just an old house. Sure, in disrepair and creepy as all get out, especially given its age, but it was still an inanimate object with no more capability of attacking me than a tree. Not that you’d know it from the way my family spoke of the place.
I didn’t know much about the estate or about my long-dead relative. My family hadn’t talked about her, despite her having left us this giant chunk of land. The only way to glean any information was to offer copious amounts of alcohol in exchange. But then it’d been impossible to tell how much of the family legend was true and how much of it was just extravagant exaggerations brewed up to embroider the family history.
Rumor was the native peoples kidnapped her. Another said she’d gone mad and drowned herself in the river, her body washed out to sea. And the more romantic ones said she fled in the night with a lover, but no one really knew. No one could truly say what had happened to my great-great-great-grandmother. All we knew was that, after her death, no one set foot in her estate. It sat empty for generations, untouched and uncared for until it fell into such disrepair the city officials wanted it condemned, but they needed family permission. And I was the only surviving relative.
Tick.
Ugh. I tipped my head down and dug my fingers into my unruly, greasy hair. I clawed at the strands and tried to tear them from my scalp like that might cease the sound. Pain spiked at my roots like needles jabbing into my skull.
Tick.
Sitting there in that drafty, creaking, decrepit house, I wondered why I hadn’t just signed it over when I met the city officials in town that afternoon. From the outside, the roof looked ready to cave in. The stairs were most definitely a death-trap, one I hadn’t tempted yet and may never tempt given I didn’t have a death wish. The glass on the windows was so old I couldn’t see a thing out of them, even after I attempted cleaning one. The layers of dust and grime were enough to give a healthy person asthma. I had cringed merely at the thought of having to sleep in that bed, but I didn’t have a choice. The rest of the house was too bloody cold and, despite the numerous hearths, I couldn’t find a single log of wood to build a fire.
No. This place had nothing going for it. I wouldn’t even say it had character because it didn’t. It was just a crumbling heap of antique furniture, mold, and bad ghost stories held up by sagging, rotting support beams. If anything, it was what carnivals modeled haunted houses after.
Tick.
Complete with its own blasted sound effects!
“Agh!” I ripped my hands from my head, dragging a few strands of hair with them. The hairs fell away one by one as my hands shook from a mixture of aggravation and lack of sleep.
If my great-great-great-grandmother had to listen to this damned ticking all the time, I wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised she killed herself. It’d be enough to make anyone want a little peace and quiet—by any means necessary—but where the hell was it coming from?
Climbing from the bed, my bare feet smearing the thick layers of grime coating the worn wooden floor, I managed to light the candle sitting on the nightstand. The tiny flame flickered to life, but it offered less light than the slashes of moonlight decorating the floor. Still, it was all I had in a house with no electricity and no plumbing. Boy, was I going to be happy to return to civilization in the morning. No way was I spending another night there, not with the ticking, not without a toilet, and certainly not without a hot shower after freezing all night.
My fingers wrapped around the tarnished candle-holder. I carried the dim light with me as I headed for the door on the other side of the enormous room, the floorboards groaning and wailing underneath my bare feet. The door wasn’t much better. It protested with a bone-chilling creak as I eased it open and peered into the complete and utter blackness that was the hallway. Just the sight of it set my heart into a flurry.
It wasn’t the darkness, per se, that scared me. Rather what could be lingering in the abyss, and I don’t mean ghosts. Ghosts were for children and people who were spiritual. No, I worried about the real dangers: people. After all, that house had been abandoned for decades, if not a century by now. Who knew what gangs, druggies, or other dangerous people could have found their way inside and decided to stay?
I swallowed. My eyes flicked back and forth like I might catch a glimpse of whatever lurked in the shadows and slam the door in its face, but nothing came. I was being silly. There was no one in this house but me. There was no one within 20 miles of this place at least, and I wasn’t afraid of the dark.
Curling my fingers into a fist and forcing away the shudder of my spine, I urged myself into the hall. The darkness swallowed my candle. It gobbled it up like it was nothing more than an unwanted firefly buzzing inside the house and, even though the flame flickered a few inches above my hand, it was as useful as a flashlight without batteries. Still, I clung to it. It did nothing, but it seemed foolish to leave it behind.
My free hand found the wall to my left. I let my fingers trail along the cracked paint despite the jagged edges and dirt skimming along underneath them. It was the only way to really know where I was going.
Tick. The wall pulsed.
I yanked my hand away. My blood ran cold. My eyes widened like I had night vision and could activate it, but I didn’t. I couldn’t see any better in a panic than I could angry, but I didn’t move.
Tick.
I jumped, expecting something to lunge out at me. To grab me.
Tick.
I held my breath, trying to quiet my fear. Walls don’t pulse.
Tick.
My whole body twitched at the sound, but nothing else happened. I was alone. The wall hadn’t moved. I imagined it. Yeah. Brains do things like that when they lose a sense.
Tick.
I ground my teeth together. Stupid brain. I chastised myself, but every muscle in my body coiled. I couldn’t help it. I was tired, anxious, on edge, but I extended my hand once more. With all the caution of a frightened deer during hunting season, I brushed the wall.
Tick.
Nothing happened. I forced my shoulders to settle. I shook my head, admonishing myself for being so foolish and jumpy, and continued my search for the cause of my rattled nerves. The wall and that infuriating ticking, which hadn’t stopped since night fell, acted as my guide.
I followed them back into the main foyer where moonlight greeted me once more. It rained down on me through the large glass panes that nestled along the backside of the staircase landing. Though filthy, the marble floor mirrored the light until the entire room glistened in a pale silver glow. Somehow, that didn’t make me feel any better. Neither did the way the ticking echoed like the whole house was infected, liked the ticking was a plague that had consumed every last inch. And I was next. It was soft and quiet, but it rattled within me like my chest was just an empty cavity offering it room and board whether I wanted it to take up residence or not. To evict it, I’d have to make it stop. After all, it was probably just a door or a window or some old contraption I didn’t even have a name for and, if I couldn’t figure out how to make it stop, I would destroy it. Anything to cease that ticking.
Even if that meant climbing that rickety, crumbling staircase because the ticking definitely emanated from above.
Inhaling deep enough to fill my lungs, I exhaled and set my free hand against the railing. It, too, was filthy. Dust swept into the air as my hand slid along the smooth wood. My feet eased onto each step, testing its strength before settling my weight onto it. Every step greeted my body with a moan of protest like it would throw me back down to the main floor if only it had the strength left after all these years.
But the next step sounded different. It met me with splintering cracks before wood gave way beneath me. My body plummeted. The sudden jerk launched the candle through the air. My other hand squeezed the railing, abruptly halting my descent with a snap of pain that shuddered down my arm and into my back. Yet, it held. At least until my other hand found a baluster and I started clawing my way out of the gaping hole that was a staircase just moments ago.
I swung my legs up, my feet scrabbling for a hold. They bashed against splintered wood. Jagged edges dug into the soft bottoms of my feet like sharpened claws, tearing through flesh. Slick blood trickled from the gashes. My feet slipped. I dropped back onto my arms. I bit my cheek against the agonized screams of my muscles and hauled myself up again. This time my feet cleared the hole, but sparks of pain shot through my soles like I stood on glass, causing me to lean forward.
Bent over the railing, I stared down at the marble floor below. My fingers clung to the sturdy wood beneath me. My chest heaved as adrenaline ravaged my veins like a wildfire, and my toes just barely touched the staircase, afraid they might vanish into darkness once more. But the ticking continued.
And I had to, as well.
I either sat in the foyer all night, awake, frozen, and unable to sleep because of the ticking, or I found the blasted ticking and smashed it into a billion pieces to make this death-defying stunt worth it. As much as I wanted to go back down, I didn’t. If I didn’t sleep, I’d be beyond irritable in the morning. And curiosity was my biggest weakness. That was what really drove me up into the belly of this beast of a house.
Once more, I ascended. This time on aching, bloody feet and without the candle. The candle had fallen back to the main floor, clattering against marble with a horrid metallic clang. Thankfully, its flight through the air must’ve put it out because the house wasn’t on fire, and now I had two hands with which to clutch the railing.
At the landing, I slipped across the open space to the giant windows, my feet barely leaving the ground like that might appease the floor and keep it from betraying me again. Maybe it worked because nothing happened. I looked out through the windows, the glass not nearly as foggy or warped as some of the other rooms. I could even make out the veranda. I could see where flower patches used to be, now overgrown and spotted with death. A couple statues poked out from under the ivy reclaiming them. A pond was no longer blue, but green and mossy from where algae had swept across it like a plague. Yet, I couldn’t stop thinking about how gorgeous this place could be if only someone had taken care of it.
Too bad I was not that person.
Ascending the last flight of stairs, I made it to the second floor and knew I headed in the right direction. The ticking had grown louder. It stretched my nerves until they were tight as piano strings. Each tick plunked the hammer down upon them, threatening to snap them with the bang of a gunshot. I had to remove the hammer before I went off.
No longer deterred by my lack of candlelight, not that it did much to begin with, I stormed down the hall on feet slick with blood. The last twinkle of moonlight faded, allowing darkness to engulf me once more. But I didn’t care. The tick was all the guidance I needed.
It drew me down one hallway after the next until it berated my ears like the bass drum at a rock concert. It deafened me to even the stomps of my own feet and the pounding of my own heart. It thumped in my chest, setting up furniture and painting the walls like it owned the damned place, but I was gonna show it who the landlord was.
The door at the end of the hall drew nearer. I could just make it out because moonlight crept out from underneath like a white, toxic ooze. My hand extended. I latched onto the knob, twisted it, and threw the door open. It banged against the inner wall, announcing my entrance as I tore into the room like a windstorm.
And I stopped short.
My feet skidded to a halt. My eyes widened. My breath caught, and I could do nothing more than stare.
This room was much brighter than the others I’d investigated. The window was smashed. Moonlight flooded the small space, illuminating every corner like it was the middle of the day. It gave light to the upturned writing desk, the broken chairs, the remnants of what was possibly a dress at one point. It also gave light to her.
Across the room, a woman hunched on a stool. Her back was rounded like she’d sat there her whole life. A cloak was pulled tight around her shoulders and the hood draping over her head hid her face. Tufts of gray hair poked out from beneath the heavy fabric. Her fingers, gnarled and wrinkled, pulled on wool, thinning it out before allowing the spinning wheel to take it from her and spin it into yarn. Each time the wheel spun, it ticked.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
I was so confused that I wasn’t sure what to do. At first, I just stared at her. Watched as her foot tapped up and down, making the wheel spin round and round. She never once looked up. She never even acknowledged my presence or the bang of the door or any of it. It was like... I wasn’t there. Or maybe she wasn’t.
No. I don’t believe in ghosts.
But then what was she doing there in that house so far from nowhere?
Inching forward, the floorboards creaked beneath me. Despite the loudness of the ticking earlier, it was quiet here and the startling sound of the floor halted me. My fists clenched, ready to defend myself, but the woman didn’t move. Even if she had reacted, it wouldn’t have mattered. From what I could see, she looked ancient. She wouldn’t put up much of a fight, but then how had she made it all the way out there? No one said anything about a caretaker, and no one lived in this house. No one lived for miles around.
Who was she?
I pooled my courage. Well... my curiosity pooled my courage. It drew me closer to the woman, but no matter how much the floor creaked or groaned, she didn’t react. She just kept spinning.
“Hello?” I finally ventured.
Nothing.
Perhaps she was deaf. That would explain why the ticking wheel didn’t drive her up the bloody wall, but it didn’t explain why she was spinning yarn in the middle of the night. It didn’t explain what she was doing in this abandoned house.
Another step closer and light glinted off metal. Metal wrapped around her ankles. From her ankle, the metal snaked out across the floor to twist around the spinning wheel, attaching human to object. She’s chained here?! Who the Hell would do such a thing?!
I surged forward. My hand rested on her shoulder, trying to get her attention without startling her. The instant I touched her, she halted. Everything stopped. Her foot, her fingers, the wheel, the ticking.
Her head snapped up. Her eyes, pale as the moonlight pouring in around her, locked onto me. They widened with shock, with surprise, like she hadn’t seen a person in longer than she could remember. How long has she been here?
“Ma’am,” I murmured, softening my expression by pulling my eyebrows together and offering her a gentle smile. “It’s going to be okay. I’m going to get you out of here.”
She didn’t smile back. Her expression didn’t even shift as I spoke, but it didn’t matter. She was probably just in shock. She was probably hungry and tired. How long had she been here? How had she survived?
I eased down, ready to crouch and remove the shackles when her hand thrust forward. Her fingers wrapped around my wrist in a death grip, stronger than a woman her age should be capable of.
My eyes widened. My heart picked up its tempo once more and my eyes returned to hers. “Wha....”
A vicious smile curled her cracked lips. Jagged, yellowed teeth peeked out from her mouth. Her eyes widened, but not with surprise. No. Now they widened with sick, twisted glee. “Finally,” she croaked, her voice hoarse like she hadn’t used it in years, or ever.
“Ma’am,” I gasped, too shocked to find any other words.
She shoved my hand down against the metal shackle encasing her ankle. The dull gray lightened in color until it glowed the same silver of the moon, but it burned my skin with the blazing heat of melted iron. It seared my flesh. I screamed. I tried to yank away, to throw off the old woman, but she was too strong. She kept me pinned while the metal blazed through my wrist. First the top layer of skin, then the layer under that. It sawed through nerves and tendons, bone and muscle until it felt as though my hand had been cleaved from my body.
My eyes pinched closed. Tears streamed down my cheeks. They dug red lines toward my chin until they dripped to the floor. My throat ached from my wailing. My lungs felt ready to burst with the need to expel more screams when it suddenly stopped.
There was no pain. No agony. No burn. The relief was so abrupt that my screams cut right off and my eyes opened. I was in the house, sitting on a wooden stool in a dark room splattered with moonlight, and a wicked chuckle filled the chilled air.
“Foolish girl.”
Next to me, but just out of reach, stood a woman. Her hair was sleek and black, but the moonlight painted it silver, the same color as her eyes. Her cheeks were pale, but full and healthy. Her chin came to a delicate point, and her lips pulled into the same vicious smile the old woman had given me. She bent at the waist and leaned forward. Her gaze bore into me like she could see into my soul. Maybe she could because I shuddered.
I tried to pull away from her, but I couldn’t. My wrist was caught. I tugged again. The clinking metal drew my attention to the shackle wrapped around it, trapping me to the spinning wheel. My heart stopped. I’m trapped?
“So,” the woman exhaled.
I lifted my head.
“This is what my bloodline has come to.” Her round eyes narrowed in scrutiny, and disdain curled her lips. “What a pity.”
“Who are you?!” I demanded, still yanking on the chain.
The woman righted herself, her posture impeccable and graceful. She drew a smirk across her face. “Why, dear,” she began, her tone condescending. “Don’t you recognize your own- Hmm... Would it be great-grandmother?”
I blinked, too shocked to respond. I’d seen her picture. Once. Right before I came here to check out this blasted place, but there was no denying it. This tall, elegant woman standing before me was my great-great-great-grandmother, but...“You disappeared.”
Another deep, malicious chuckle spilled from her dainty lips. “Yes, well, that tends to happen when you’re trapped in a curse.”
“A curse?”
With long, thin fingers, she gestured to the spinning wheel. “More of a punishment, I should say,” she clarified with the tiniest of shrugs. “But, oh well. No matter. I’m free now.” She practically trembled with excitement as she spun, her long skirts brushing against the floor as she headed for the door.
“Wait!” I jumped to the end of my chain, trying to stop her. “You can’t just leave me here!”
She looked at me over her shoulder, her silver eyes scathing up and down my body. Her top lip curled in disgust. “Actually, dear, I can, and well... I think I ought to.” Another dark smile tugged the sneer away, and she gave me a tiny flick of her fingers as she swept into the hall. “Have fun in eternity, dear!”
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Melanie Noell Bernard is a graduate student who explores the blueprint for life: genes. Her scientific background is the inspiration for many of her stories. When she’s not honing her writing craft or researching in the lab, she’s reviewing books and hosting literary discussions on her blog, MNBernard Books.