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The floorboards creak, fresh and uncertain. I hear fabric dragging against the floor, and I know I’m not alone.
“Beatrix,” I say again. My voice is barely above a whisper.
“Beatrix, I’m sorry.” I scramble around on the floor, trying to find the lightbulb and the bolt that kept it screwed into the light. My hand brushes the glass. It’s still hot to the touch. I jerk my hand back, which causes the bulb to roll across the floor and drop out onto the landing below.
“Fuck!” I scoot across the floor, at least hoping to be farther from the entrance, and my foot kicks the ladder, which falls back onto the ground below with a thud.
It’s dark.
It’s cold.
I’m trapped.
“You don’t know what it means to be sorry,” the voice whispers, her breath ice-cold against my cheek. I smell Beatrix’s rotten scent and gag.
“Beatrix, yes, I do!” I try to reason with her, but it’s no use—her icy claw hooks around the back of my neck. My heart is pounding. I can hear my heartbeat in my ears, but Beatrix’s croaking voice cuts through.
“You don’t know what it’s like to repent. You know no shame. You slept with a man out of wedlock.”
I can’t see her, but I can feel her. I can hear the steady drip of seawater and the slurp of her skirts lurching across the attic. I reach out, and she grabs my hand. We’re so close our foreheads are touching.
“So did you,” I retort.
That was the wrong thing to say.
In an instant, Beatrix’s hands are wrapped around my throat. She digs her index finger into my jugular and squeezes. I claw at her, kicking my foot out. My foot hits something bony and hard, her chest, maybe? A puff of acrid breath wafts as my foot connects with her sternum. It’s no use. Beatrix only clutches my throat harder. I pant as I grope around in the dark. I yank a handful of her greasy hair. Beatrix yanks a handful of mine.
I push forward. My bulging stomach connects with her bony frame.
“They’re not your babies!” Beatrix screeches. “They’re mine!” Her voice transforms into a desperate howl as she grabs my throat and wrenches my neck to the left. My head whips over. Pain surges up my neck.
Finally, I hear another thud as the ladder is hefted upright.
“Eleanor?” It’s Joseph’s voice. Momentarily, relief floods my body until I remember what happened when he got trapped in the attic.
Still, something instinctually tells me to trust him.
“I’m up here!” I call.
Joseph thuds up the ladder, and I recognize his pine-scented cologne. I reach for him, and he’s gloriously warm. His skin is soft. I can feel the muscles rippling along his arms. I run my hand along the stubble grazing his chin.
“Joseph,” I choke out. Before I know it, I’m crying. Tears are streaming down my face.
“Ele-Eleanor? What’s wrong? Are you okay? Fuck, why is it so dark in here? Where’s the lightbulb?” Joseph fishes his phone out of his pocket. The small beam of light barely penetrates the darkness as he scrounges around on the floor for the lightbulb, before screwing it back into the socket. As light floods the room, I’m able to fully take in the alarm that sparks his blue eyes.
“Eleanor, what happened?” He comes over to me and sits down, pulling me onto his lap. I allow myself to be held. Only then do I fully break down. I’m sobbing so hard I’m shaking.
“B-Beatrix,” I sob.
“What about Beatrix?” Joseph asks.
“Sh-sh-she was here. She’s back.”
“What do you mean she’s back?”
“I-I-I saw her. She fucking clawed at me and choked me. She wants me. Joseph, she wants the babies. I don’t know what to do. I-I read that book tonight, and it s-s-said something about talking to spirits, so I tried to talk to her, and she came for my throat.”
“Oh, God, you do have some nasty cuts. Let’s get you downstairs and get you cleaned up.” Joseph goes down the ladder first and holds it steady as I climb.
