Shelby stood just outside the house, gripping the bars of the wrought iron fence and looking out over the town of Serenity. His chest felt tight and there was a strange buzzing in his head.
He was not a big believer in the paranormal. Throughout his career, he had always focused on natural explanations for everything. There was nothing supernatural about a fist clobbering you on the jaw in the boxing ring or, in later years, a dead body during the course of an investigation. Even his belief in God had been shaky—even though that had been shifting as he got older and had less reason to fight against it.
But this was something else altogether.
A force—an unseen force, as crazy as that sounded—was inside that house. And whatever it was, it didn’t want him there.
The idea both disturbed and angered him. He didn’t like being bossed around by things he could see, and even less by things he couldn’t. It was the same as with giant government agencies—being forced into things by some invisible paper pusher he could neither argue with nor, preferably, fight.
Actually, he thought, this was worse. At least to the government he was just a number; they didn’t care about him on an individual level. This, however, felt very personal indeed. The house didn’t just hate in general … it hated him specifically.
He turned back to look at it and saw Mack walking toward him. His friend had a look on his face that mirrored how Shelby felt.
“Well,” Mack said as he drew near. “That was something else.”
“Yeah.”
“Thoughts?”
“Yeah,” Shelby repeated. “First of all, no matter how tough you appear on screen, that doesn’t necessarily translate to reality. Matthews was about as easy to subdue as a baby.”
“How many babies have you been subduing lately?”
“Not that many. Mostly their moms.”
Mack barked a short laugh. “And you in a serious relationship. I’m telling Katherine.”
“I’d ask you not to do that. My dick is already one mistake away from being separated from my body.”
Mack’s grin widened. “That woman. You know, if you ever get tired of—”
“Don’t even start. She’s too good for you.”
“Well, yeah, but she’s already proven she has no standards.”
“I just got lucky.”
“Stop bragging.”
“Shut up.”
The two men stood there, basking in the glow of that absurd tradition that men have of bonding over insults. And then Shelby’s smile faded.
“Do you feel it?”
“Feel what?”
“The house.”
“Well, it’s creepy as shit, if that’s what you mean.”
Shelby nodded. “Definitely that. But also something else. It’s not just a creepy house. There’s … something else. Something evil.”
A deep crease appeared between Mack’s eyes. Here he goes again, he thought.
“What are you saying, Shel? You going into demon territory? Evil spirits?”
Shelby was silent for a long moment.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Just a matter of hours ago, I would have laughed in my own face if I even considered such a thing.”
“How exactly would someone laugh in their own face?”
Shelby ignored the joke, his lips set in a firm line. “But something is definitely off here. And I can’t seem to shake it.”
“I suppose you could look in a mirror, or maybe record yourself laughing—”
“MACK!”
“Sorry.” Mack cleared his throat. “Listen … I want to be supportive here, and I agree the situation is whacked. But do you think—and hear me out—there is any chance that these … feelings you’re having are at all psychological?”
“You mean, am I mental?”
“No, not at all. But Shel, you’ve been through a lot lately. And the mind is a powerful thing. I’m not saying you’re making anything up, by the way. Not at all. I just want to make sure we’re operating on the facts that we know.”
Shelby felt his temper flaring, and he tried to tamp it down. But that wasn’t something he was used to doing, not to mention the fact that he and Mack had a policy to always be honest with each other.
“I … am … not ... imagining things here. And in terms of ‘the facts that we know,’” and here Shelby again used air quotes, “there aren’t that many. But, what the hell, let’s just review.
“We’ve got a guy playing the part of a lunatic murder from long ago, who just happens to be doing a great job of method acting in real life. We’ve got crazy things happening on the movie sets, including things that match up with events in Parré’s past. An artilleryman? Are you kidding me? The graffiti matching the estate gates? Mack, this is all insane—perhaps literally—but all these things put together with the very real sense of, well, evil that I feel inside this house … we can’t just ignore it. And believe me, I’d love to. I want to be wrong about this. But I can’t quite convince myself that I am.”
Mack shifted uncomfortably. “You keep talking about feelings. Which is strange for me, because that’s not been what one might call a guiding star in your methods to this point. Logic and strength and common sense. That’s been the Shelby that I have known for years. So, you have to understand that this is all throwing me a bit.”
Shelby nodded and forced himself to keep listening. These were valid points, and he had to remind himself that Mack was seeing this from a different perspective and wasn’t simply trying to invalidate what Shelby was experiencing.
Mack continued, “And also, you keep saying ‘we’ in the context of the feelings. But Shel … I’m not having those same feelings. Yes, it’s a creepy house. And yes, I feel freaked out by some of the stuff you’re telling me, but I don’t feel the same direct feeling of oppression that you’re describing.”
Shelby snapped his fingers. “Oppression! Yes—that’s exactly what it feels like. When I go inside that house, I feel as if a giant hand is pressing on me from above, like it’s trying to subdue my spirit. Or smother me.”
Mack observed his friend, his own face a mask of concern. “Well … I don’t totally get it, but I believe what you’re saying. The question now is, what do you want to do about it?”
“That’s the question of the hour, isn’t it? And the answer is something I never thought I’d say. But I think we need to go to church.”
Shelby turned to walk toward the front of the house where the vehicle waited, but suddenly stopped cold. The halt was so abrupt that Mack bumped into him.
“What’s wrong?” Mack asked. “Shel?”
“Oh my fucking god,” Shelby said.
“Shel? Talk to me right fucking now or I’m calling the hospital.”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Shelby said, his face a shade paler.
“Try me,” Mack said. “I’m not playing with you, Shel!”
Shelby stood stock still, looking up at a window high on the house. He lifted one arm and pointed upward.
“There. In the window. I think I saw it.”
“Saw what?”
“It.”
“Shel,” Mack said, his voice holding the tone of a man who’d just seen his own funeral. “You’re scaring the shit out of me.”
“And that may be a good thing.” Shelby began walking briskly once more. “And right now I need to get the hell out of here.”
Serenity, Michigan
December, 1879
After hearing Michael’s footsteps fade away, Mrs. Chance closed up the box and slowly walked with it to the window. She pulled back the white, translucent curtain and gazed out, past the wrought iron fence and over the town of Serenity as it lay below, appearing dirty and grimy in the low light of winter. The box felt oddly warm in her hand.
Then, near the fence, she saw something moving—two figures. At first, she thought they were boarders, new ones that Michael had forgotten to mention. But then she noticed something strange. The figures did not appear to be solid, but rather were translucent, much like the curtains she held back with her weathered hands. She could see the fence and trees through their bodies as they walked—and their clothes were unusual, not quite like anything she’d see people wear before. The box seemed warmer now.
As she watched, one of the men stopped and looked upward toward the window where Mrs. Chance stood watching. He was a big man, with broad shoulders and a strong jaw, and his eyes were sharp and discerning. Something twisted deep inside Mrs. Chance, and she felt that very something work its way up her body until it reached her face—and twisted that as well. She shrank back from the window, but it was too late. She felt certain that she had been seen, and the knowledge inexplicably frightened her. There was something about the man that she immediately both hated and feared. A judgment … shame … a challenge … a repudiation.
The box was practically burning her hands now.
She backed across the room until she reached the bed, where she set the ornately carved keepsake on the floor and used the back of her heel to gently nudge it under the bed. Then she pulled open the door and bolted into the hallway. Down the hall she stumbled, until she reached the stairs. Gripping the ornately carved, wooden handrail, she descended the stairs as quickly as her aging knees would allow, until she reached the foyer. She spotted Michael standing in the front room by the fireplace.
“Mrs. Chance?” he called out.
But she kept moving. Across the foyer to the front door, which she flung open. She stared out into the grey light of winter, searching the grounds with a sweep of her eyes, looking for the two men.
But they were gone.
A hand on her shoulder caused her to start.
Michael.
And for a moment, she leaned back into him, willing her heart to calm its frantic pounding.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Michael said, his voice unusually gentle.
Mrs. Chance heaved a deep breath, still leaning against the man behind her.
“I’m not quite certain I haven’t,” she said, her voice sounding a hundred years old. “I just might have done.”
“Let’s get you a glass of water,” Michael said. He pulled back from her and, gripping her by the shoulders, steered her toward the kitchen. He poured her water from a pitcher on the sideboard, and handed her the glass, which she accepted with trembling hands.
Mrs. Chance took a deep drink of the water, some of the liquid running from the corner of her mouth and wetting her white lace collar. She felt certain that if her heart did not stop pounding, they’d be forced to fetch the doctor from town, and Michael would be furious to have a doctor in the house—a doctor other than himself, she corrected silently. Her Michael was as much a doctor as anyone, with or without the fancy piece of paper that said so.
“Better?” Michael asked.
Mrs. Chance nodded, although she wasn’t sure that was quite true.
“Good. Now, why don’t you explain what is happening. What did you see?”
“I … I don’t quite know. It’s so difficult to explain.”
“Try,” Michael said, his voice suggesting that he was running out of patience.
“It was … a man. But yet not a man. I saw him from the upstairs window. He was walking the grounds.”
“A trespasser?” Michael made a move toward the front of the house. “We can’t have trespassers on the property. I’ll go find—”
Mrs. Chance shook her head and gripped his arm to keep him from leaving. “No! He’s gone now. I know he is. I can feel it.”
“You can feel a man who isn’t there?”
“He … saw me. In the window. And our eyes—our spirits—clashed somehow.”
Michael stared at her, his expression a mix of doubt and wariness. “Who was this man?”
“I do not know.”
“Have you seen him before?”
Mrs. Chance shook her head. “No. Never. And yet I felt as if I knew him. And his arrival felt almost – normal, like my spirit had been expecting him. And at the same time, he startled me.”
“You’re talking nonsense,” Michael said.
“I … could … see through him.”
“Oh good lord,” Michael groaned. “We’re talking about spirits, Mrs. Chance? You are frightened by a ghost?”
She shook her head once more. “No! It was much more than that. I would not be frightened by a mere ghost. His presence, however, felt more like a fulfillment.”
A judgment … shame … a challenge … a repudiation, she thought.
Michael’s voice adopted a gentle tone, but this one was less genuine than it had been earlier. Now it had a condescending quality that rankled.
“I think we have been working too hard lately. Many trains have been coming into town. And there’s another tonight. Perhaps you should take the evening off and rest. Do some of that needlepoint you enjoy, and let me take care of everything this time.”
“No, I don’t think I—”
“I said you should rest.” Michael’s voice hardened. “And rest you shall.” His voice moderated. “I can’t have you collapsing from exhaustion, now can I? I simply couldn’t stand to lose you.” He pressed the flat of his hand between Mrs. Chance’s shoulder blades. “Go, now. To your room. And rest.”
The mournful wail of the train’s whistle sounded even lonelier than usual as the enormous steel monster pulled into the Serenity station. The December sun, weak as it was, had already succumbed to the ceaseless spinning of the globe and had dropped below the forest-shrouded horizon, casting a pall of darkness and winter mist over the entire town. The train’s giant wheels screeched, and steam hissed in clouds from beneath the behemoth’s belly.
Michael Parré leaned against a wooden column, one of several that held up the overhanging roof of the depot.
He was on the hunt. And he was hunting for someone special.
Mrs. Chance’s little episode of nerves earlier that day could not have come at a better time, and Parré’s lips turned up in a wicked smile as he thought about his plan.
Luring men was certainly safer and easier. They were more likely to be merely drifting, less likely to be meeting someone at the station, and less suspicious because they generally had less to lose and weren’t as vulnerable. But for some time, Parré had felt the need for a woman. To feel the delicate skin beneath his knife. To explore as he wished.
And he had not wanted to do this with Mrs. Chance about and involved. Whatever had frightened her had given Parré the chance to pursue his fantasy … and he was eager to fulfill it.
An alarm bell did sound in his mind, telling him to be extra careful, lest his desire override caution and cause him to perform some foolish action.
And then, as the passengers began filing from the train … he saw her.