I want to tell him no way am I standing out in the hallway while they face whatever’s in there but also don’t want him to forcibly lock me out either. So, I say nothing as we reach the threshold.
The room is a thing of nightmares. A reconstructed depiction of pure madness. Of a person detached from reality. What had once been a well-maintained display of a fairly average bedroom has been reduced to crudely painted symbols smeared with feces. Lines drawn with markers and blood across the floor. There are holes in the wood, shredded wallpaper clawed to wilted strips by a wild animal. Sheer curtains hang torn from the window, the rod thrown across the room to lie amongst a mountain of tattered sheets, clumps of foam and feathers torn from the mattress. The bed is destroyed. Jagged stumps stand where there had once been four posts. The drapes are dark puddles of fabric kicked into a corner. Deep, ugly claw marks gouge into the headboard.
Then there is the smell. The putrid odor of death and decay. The sickly-sweet perfume of rotting flesh that seems to stop at the door. Like the room is marinating in its own filth.
But despite all that, despite all that horror and destruction, my gaze sweeps the carnage, searching for my boys.
I spot them before I spot the hunched figure rocking on all fours in the middle of the room. A spindly creature with knobby limbs and ashen skin. Straggly strands of white-gray shield its face and fall to bony shoulders pulled high around its ears.
It could be human, but there’s a gangliness to its arms and legs that make them appear too long. Like there should be an extra bend where there isn’t. And the fingers twitching against the hardwood, scratching deep lines into the grain with bloody nails extend past the usual three knuckles.
It crouches on its knees in the center of a ring of candles. Thick, waxy red ones that flick and jump with every breath the creature takes. Each one sits in even increments along a perfect, red circle. Inside, with her, are other symbols drawn with the artistic abilities of a child learning to finger paint.
But it’s the bronze bowl next to the bloody knife that captures my attention and churns my stomach. It’s the two shiny orbs placed carefully inside.
I quickly look away and find Lukan several feet away. He’s pushing to his knees, face a tight mask of fury.
Not far from him lies Roan. Body slightly curled in. I can’t see his face, but he’s not moving.
My chest tightens as I watch him, stare with all my focus, waiting for a glimpse of life. A shift. A twitch. Anything to assure me he’s okay. But the shadows are jumping and moving all around the room and I can’t see if he’s breathing.
“You bitch,” Lukan hisses, shoving up to his feet. “Give me the book.”
I hadn’t noticed it until he mentioned it. The thick, black tome tucked beneath the creature’s belly like a dog protecting a bone.
It’s definitely a woman, judging from the filthy nightgown that may have once been white. The straps have fallen down bony shoulders, exposing breasts pulled down by age, but she doesn’t seem to care as she guards her book.
Her head cocks up a notch. Enough to fix us with empty, bloody sockets.
I scream.
It’s unintentional. The sound rips out of me and earns the slowest twist of the creature’s festering lips.
“Little niece...” Her voice is the foulest sound. Like the hissing of snakes in a pit. Even from a distance, I feel it slither across my skin. “What a little whore you’ve become.” Cracked and bloody teeth flash in the sick light. “Does your mother know what a filthy gash she has for a daughter?”
I clap trembling fingers over my mouth, but I think I’m still screaming. Maybe not out loud, but in my head, because I can’t hear anything, except her scraping those nails inside the walls of my skull.
“Stay away from her.” Kellen steps in front of me. “She is protected. You touch her and there won’t be a place you can hide that he won’t find you.”
Aunt Laura’s cackle scratches across the walls and drips from the ceiling. It’s a nauseating rasp that makes me feel like I will never be clean.
“He doesn’t scare me.” Long, blackened nails tap restlessly against the wood. “He’s weak. Trapped in his little hole. Has to send you to fetch his whore because he can’t get her himself. Isn’t that right? You’re just overgrown dogs to a useless God.”
I don’t understand a word she’s saying, but the boys practically hum with a fury that has me edging away from Kellen. Not out of fear, but to give him room if he needs it. Plus, with her distracted with them, it gives me a chance to edge in the direction of Roan’s prone body. Tiny inches. Careful not to draw attention. Careful not to make a sound.
“You will give us that book,” Kellen says, voice final. “It does not belong here, and you can no longer use it.”
Her emaciated frame twitches backwards. Arms and legs bend and snap as she contorts and pushes to her toes. The upper half of her body slumps forward. Limp like a doll held up by strings. But her head jerks to one side.
“Or you can come here, and I’ll let you taste a real pussy.” Gnarled fingers fist into the filthy hem of her nightgown, and she lifts it up her hairy thighs. I look away at the first glimpse of thick, dark curls. “Still creamy.”
I don’t know what’s so important about this book or why it’s necessary to take it away from her, but they seem to know what they’re doing. My only concern is Roan.
“We can help you cross,” Kellen says, still trying to reason with her. “You don’t need to stay here.”
Aunt Laura snickers. “Why would I want to leave?” I’m almost there. Another couple of feet and... “When I have my pretty, little niece exactly where I want her.”
My head jerks up right as Kellen and Lukan spin to face me. I catch a glimpse of their horrified expressions a split second before the floor vanishes beneath me and I plummet into darkness.
