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Elspeth had said so too. Try again.
But try what again?
The Ouija board?
I got up and reached under my bed, where I’d hidden it. I sat on the floor and set the board up in a patch of bright orange light.
“Tashi?” I whispered. “Can you hear me? I’m sorry you died. I need your help.…I don’t understand what it was that you wanted me to try.”
No response.
“Elspeth?” I whispered. Then, helplessly, “Anyone?”
The pointer gave a quick jerk, startling me. I pulled my hands off and watched it move. It seemed to swing, more than wobble—great sweeping motions, full of purpose, like a pendulum.
I-A-M-H-E-R-E
“Elspeth?” I asked.
But I knew it wasn’t Elspeth.
Slowly, I reached down, intending to upturn the board, breaking the co
But as my hands got closer, the planchette stood perfectly still.
Was he gone?
I slooooowly lowered my fingers toward the pointer.
Just before I touched it, it bubbled up with inky black goo.
I tried to grab my hand away, but I was too late—
In a fraction of a second, it exploded into a sheet of black that stretched to cover my whole body like a cocoon. I opened my mouth to scream, and it poured in through my lips, silencing me. It was as sticky and impenetrable as a giant spiderweb. I tried to pound against it with my fists, but with every move I made, it squeezed and constricted me more. As it thickened over my eyes and my ears, I lost my balance and fell sideways onto the carpet.
Within a minute, my whole world was contained in a shrinking womb of black webbing. I could breathe, but I couldn’t hear my own breath. I couldn’t see or move.
I lost track of how long I lay there, driven into a frenzy of fear but bound as tightly as a straitjacketed mental patient. I knew I was sobbing, and I could feel the vibrations of moaning in my throat, but all sound was silenced by the impassible shroud.
There was no such thing as time, or light, or movement.
Only darkness as endless as death.
Finally, mercifully, I lost consciousness.
I awoke—how much later?—on the floor. My whole body shook as the memory pounced on me. Had I dreamed it? The Ouija board was on the carpet by the window. My fingernails had dug bright red half-moons in my palms. The wounds stung in the open air.
And I was thirsty. God, I’d never been so thirsty.
There was a cup of water on my nightstand. I downed it in one long swig. That did nothing to soothe my parched throat, so I went to the kitchen and filled and emptied the cup twice more.
I was unsteady on my feet, like I’d had too much cold medicine. I had to lean against the counter to keep my balance.
Then I went to the bathroom and washed my hands, noting how filthy my fingernails were. I found the nailbrush under the sink and scrubbed until the tips of my fingers were pink and almost raw. At first, dark red liquid—my own blood, from my torn-up palms—ran from them. But then the water ran clear, and there were still black crescents under my nails. They wouldn’t come clean.
I flipped on the light and studied myself. Aside from my palms and my fingernails, there was no evidence that I’d just been attacked.
I leaned toward the mirror and opened my mouth.
The sight made me stagger backward into the wall behind me.
The whole inside of my mouth was charcoal black, as dark as the inside of the cocoon. My teeth, my tongue, my gums…as far down my throat as I could see—black.
Collecting myself, I leaned in closer and noticed a gray overlay covering the whites and irises of my eyes, as thin as a pair of sheer black panty hose. I blinked a few times, but couldn’t feel it—thank God.
I wasn’t in pain. Actually, considering everything I’d just been through, I felt pretty okay.
I turned off the bathroom light and went back to the kitchen, filling my cup again. I left it on the counter so I could come back and get it. The energy seemed to be draining out of me. The thought of climbing back into my bed filled me with a sense of almost giddy anticipation.
To stretch out and feel the smooth, soft sheets against my arms, the coolness of the pillowcase against my face—to sink into a sweet, sumptuous sleep—
But not yet. There would be time for that later.
First, I had to kill my sleeping family.
I PULLED A CARVING KNIFE out of the block and grabbed the hand towel from the refrigerator door. I thought with regret that the bloodstains would probably ruin the little white towel.
I’ll buy a new one, I thought. With my own money.
Aralt’s approval coursed through me like a cool breeze.
Parents first. My dizziness intensified as I made my way down the hall. I knocked into the wall on one side, then wobbled too far in the other direction and hit the other side, too.
But I made it. I put my hand on my parents’ doorknob and turned it so slowly, so quietly.
Kasey had tried to kill our mother this way last year, but only got as far as the hallway.
Amateur.
My parents were snuggled together in the center of the bed. The light from the window fell across them in a triangle of blue. They looked so peaceful, so content. It was nice that they’d been able to pull together when the family needed it most. Some couples would fall apart, but they just got stronger. It had really made things easier for me and Kasey.
Dad slept closer to the door. Better to start with him. Then Mom would be trapped.
Kasey I’d save for last, because let’s face it—she wasn’t going to be a problem.
As I looked for an angle that would let me make a quick, deadly impact into my father’s throat, I thought, I hope Kasey appreciates everything they’ve done for us.
I lifted the knife in the air and hesitated.
Where was the towel? I must have dropped it in the hallway.
Without it, I wouldn’t be able to wipe the knife clean when I was through. I would have to carry a bloody, dripping knife to Kasey’s room and then all the way back to the kitchen, ruining the carpet in the bedrooms and maybe even the grout between the tiles in the hall.
I found the towel on the ground just under the family portrait.
As I went to stand up, I felt a tiny point of pressure on my back.
“Don’t move,” Kasey whispered.
I stayed bent over.
“Drop the knife,” she said.
“Excuse me, I’m using it,” I said.
She swallowed hard. “For what?”
“Mom and Dad. You.”
The pressure on my back increased. “Drop it, Alexis.”
Drop it? Like I was a bad dog ru
“How long will this take?” I asked, setting the knife on the floor. “I’m in the middle of something.”
“Get in the bathroom,” she said.
The faster I indulged her, the faster it would be over with. So I walked into the bathroom. She followed, kicking the knife toward the end of the hallway and flipping on the bathroom light.
“What’s this all about, Kasey?” I asked, turning around. At the sight of my face, she gasped, and the point of the fireplace poker she was holding wavered in her hands. I realized a second too late that I’d missed a chance to grab it and smash it into the side of her head.
“What’s happening to you?” she whispered.
I glanced in the mirror. The darkness had begun to spread from my mouth and eyes. It leached out inky puddles with thin tendrils of black snaking out in delicate feathery patterns.
What’s happening to me? What was she talking about?
“So you have a pointy stick,” I said. “Big deal. Get out of my way.”
She shook her head.
The poker had a sharp point at the very tip and another piece of hooked metal that curled out to the side and ended in another point.