The dark presence hovered above its worktable, watching the small boy who had intruded. He wasn't the one it would have chosen as its second victim, but they were all doomed anyway, so it supposed that the order in which they met their demises didn't matter. It already knew what it would do with this room, and now all that remained was to put that plan into action.
It looked about. He could try to escape through the air vent, but was probably too large. Thus, the presence could leave for a little while, set in motion certain other traps, and not worry about the boy escaping.
First, it slipped into the room it had flooded. No trace of the girl. She must have escaped into the air vent. Ah, well. It would also flood. The presence added more energy to the water. If it had a face, it would have smirked, but it had no face, so the smirk was only in its mind. The child was as good as dead. Perhaps she would even depart before the presence got around to the boy in the workroom.
It checked in on the living room, noting that one had collapsed on the couch. Perfect. The other was smoking a cigarette. The presence had never understood smoking, so decided to give the boy a warning.
Emory yelped as his cigarette flared up, a tiny flame appearing on the end. He threw it on the floor, luckily uncarpeted, and stepped on it. "That was messed up," he muttered.
The presence "smirked" again. Silly mortal fool.
The adults still argued. Did they never cease? It sensed cracks appearing in their defenses. That was a good sign.
It continued upstairs, passing the teenagers, dark thoughts crossing its mind. The one who reeked of alcohol had to go in a...special fashion. And the boy it had attacked earlier would also be destroyed easily.
It hovered for a few minutes near the two adults. It had thought that the woman was a goner, but this man had appeared, his mind unshakable. The presence had a terrible feeling that it could not hope to drive this one insane. Then again, anyone else would do. It had only to bend them to its will. He obviously felt something for the woman, and she had already cracked far enough for the presence to enter. Yes...that one would be a powerful tool.
The man it had killed still lay in the burning wreckage of the car. No, that wouldn't do at all. It took human form - that of a girl - and dragged the corpse into the bushes.
Now for the car.
Naturally, it hadn't run out of gas on its own. The presence had helped it along quite a bit. It had done its research, and was determined that all of them should be here.
Slipping into the driver's seat, the form of the girl pondered. She hadn't learned to drive, and anyway, she doubted the car would run without gas. Then again, she hardly needed gas.
She turned the wheel as far to the right as it would go, got out, and vaporized herself. It was easier to use its powers in this form. It caught a breeze over the lake and drew it closer.
The blast of wind hit the car with a ridiculous amount of force, pushing it. The presence took human form, clambered in, and yanked the steering wheel back, then let the wind go and squealed as she attempted to steer.
On a hill overlooking the front gate, she set the trap up. She shifted into park, which she assumed would hold it, and let the wind go. Now all that remained was to choose her timing.
But first...
* * *
Randy was quite shocked when a girl appeared in front of the desk, arms crossed, a smirk on her face. Her long, dark hair fell straight down her back, halfway to her waist. A long, white dress enveloped her skinny form. He had to be hallucinating. That was it - hallucinating.
She gave him a little wave. "Hi."
"Uh...hi."
She tilted her head to the side, the very picture of innocence. "Tell me, what do you think of foreigners?"
He felt oddly compelled to tell the truth. "I think they have as much right to live as anybody else, but I think they should just leave us alone. I mean, you notice that most of the diseases come from other places? SARS started in China. Monkeypox came from African critters. That new UTLDS thing came from France. We wouldn't need so much health insurance if people would stick to their own countries, and then the economy would get better. I have nothing personal against foreigners, it's just...I much prefer to be among Americans."
The girl cocked an eyebrow. "I see. Any particular resentment against Armenians?"
"Never heard of 'em."
"They built this place. And they will soon be responsible for your death."
Randy looked around, half-expecting some foreign person to leap out at him with a warhead. "Do they have weapons of mass destruction?"
"Not yet. But they have something worse."
The girl stepped to the side, revealing the nails, all of which were trembling and spinning. "These are magnetized, on their points to be specific. In a moment, I will direct an electromagnetic pulse into your body. It has been specially calculated not to harm you, but the nails that will instantly be drawn to you...well, they're a different story. Or perhaps...not instantly."
"Okay...whatever." Randy was now convinced that the girl was crazy as well as an illusion.
She waved. "Ta-ta."
She disappeared.
The nails swung around, pointing at him.
His eyes widened. "Oh..."
The first nail shot off of the table. Randy ducked, and it hit the wall, then spun and went for him again. Another nail rocketed toward him. He ran to the door, rattled the knob. Still locked. He couldn't find his voice to cry for help.
A nail found its target and slammed into his arm. He tried to scream, still couldn't get his voice to work. Jumping over the other loose nail, he wrenched the nail from his arm, watched in horror as blood dripped from it. He let go, and it attacked again, drawing blood from his hand.
The other nail buried itself in his leg and he managed a hoarse yell. Three other nails flew toward him. He looked around wildly, keeping in constant motion despite the pain.
The air vent! Of course!
He dragged a chair over, climbed on, got out of the way, and found himself staring at the girl. She laid on her stomach in the vent, chin propped on her hand, watching him and smiling. Smiling at his agony.
He stared, stupefied, and finally managed a full-fledged scream as the three nails hit his back.
* * *
Jenna, crawling through the vents, heard the scream reverberate on the walls. She changed her direction, moving toward the sound.
Suddenly a small boy wriggled out of a cross vent. In the darkness, Jenna didn't see much but a flash of white hair and the yelp when she crashed into him.
"Who's that?"
The answer: "It Zareh."
Jenna blinked. "Zareh. That's a weird name."
"So Jenna."
"I didn't tell you my name."
"Come. We go now."
She followed him, still unable to properly see him. Another scream reached her ears. "Who is that, Zareh?"
He thought about that, carefully pronounced the name. "Ran-uh-dy."
"Randy."
"Yes. Him. Ran-uh-dy."
Another scream.
* * *
Mike heard the kid's screams and realized, belatedly, that the boy had not followed him after all. He ran out of the room he was investigating and down the hall. The door to the workroom opened easily at his touch, and he entered, anything he might have said dying instantly.
Randy was huddled on the floor, seven nails buried in his skin - two in his arms, three in his back, one in either leg. His hands were pressed over his left eye, blood running in streams down his arms.
"Holy shit," Mike whispered, feeling ill. "What happened?"
Randy screamed again.
Mike forced himself to take action, kneeling by the boy and grasping his arms. "Let me see, kid, come on. It's all right now. We'll get an ambulance and..."
His voice died off as he gazed in horror upon the teen's ruined eye. The head of a nail poked out of the socket, and blood ran freely. Randy shuddered, his good eyes squeezed shut.
Mike bit his lip and tried to pry the nail out, drawing another scream from the injured boy. Best leave this to the professionals. "I'll get help."
"No! Don't leave!" Randy's voice was hoarse, laced with pain. He put a hand over his eye, the other opening wide, glittering with pain. "Don't leave me here alone!"
Mike stood. "I have to get help, or else you'll die. Okay? Do you want to die?"
In a rare burst of temper, the boy yelled, "Yes! Anything to end the torture!"
The girl in the vent smirked. Oh, so he was ready for the end. Too bad. Time to push the magnetism further...
There were tools on a shelf, most made of metal. As Mike left, he was startled by the sickening thud of a body hitting the wall. He turned, prepared for the worst. However, he had misinterpreted just how bad things could get.
Randy had his hands up, trying to ward off the hammer, screwdriver, and wrench that had him pressed against the wall. "Help me!" he cried.
Mike took a single step, then jumped back to avoid a hail of tiny screws that hit Randy in the stomach, puncturing his skin. "What the hell is going on here?"
"I'm magnetic!" Randy groaned, doubling over. A bruise already formed on his cheek where the hammer had struck him.
Magnetic?
Mike turned slowly at the scraping sound. The shelving system, made of tin, was moving across the floor. And above it, on the wall, a rusted saw shivered.
No...
The shelves fell over, effectively pinning Randy beneath. Mike cast a wary glance at the saw, then ran over and tugged on the shelves. "Push, kid," he cried.
Randy shuddered, blood dripping from his mouth. "It's stuck to me..."
Then, suddenly, everything let go. The shelves were lightweight, and Mike fell backwards, landing with a harsh grunt as the wind flew out of him and the shelves landed on him. The nails, screws, and assorted other metallic items clinked on the floor as they fell.
Randy pulled the nail from his eye, his good eye on the air vent. Mike looked; it was empty.
"The grand finale..." the boy whispered. "Please..."
The saw fell from the wall, spun about. Mike shut his eyes and brought his hands up to his ears, but was too slow to block out the thunking squish as it sliced into Randy's chest, was too slow to avoid the dying scream.
That cry was mimicked by a scream from the vent and a soft voice murmuring comfort. Mike opened his eyes, not looking at the body, and saw a white-haired little boy in the vent, apparently blocking the view of another.
Trying desperately not to think about the horror he had just witnessed, Mike pushed the shelves off, stumbled to the vent, and pulled the child down. Jenna was behind him, on her stomach, hands over her eyes.
"I'm going to throw up..." she moaned. "Oh, God. He's dead, isn't he? Randy, no...oh, God...oh..."
"Shh," Mike said awkwardly. Comforting grieving kids wasn't his specialty. He set the boy down and helped Jenna out. "How did you get in there?"
Hands still pressed to her eyes, she told him about the water and the light bulb, ending with, "You might want to do something about that."
"Right. But first, let's take care of you."
She stumbled as they left, steadfastly refusing to look. At the door, she turned. "Good-bye, Randy," she whispered.
Mike shut the door, mentally marking it so he could direct the medics to it as soon as he got them here. "Who's the kid?"
"Zareh. He came out of nowhere."
The boy looked up. His eyes were a strange, pale shade of blue, the crimson pupils dilated, giving him a pure look. His white hair swept down to his shoulders, brushing against his milky skin. He wore simple clothing - brown pants, a dark green, long-sleeved shirt. He was barefoot and seemed to be about five or six. "I Zareh."
"Uh huh. And why are you here?"
The boy, his tiny hand lost in Mike's much larger one, didn't look away, the ring of truth in his words. "I live here."
* * *
Kit awoke, tears standing in her blue eyes. "Jay?"
"Right here, babe."
"Jenna's okay. One of her friends is dead."
Jay shook his head, pulling his ex-wife to her feet. "My beloved Kit. How do you know these things?"
She shrugged, using the back of her hand to mop up the tears. "I told you, I think it has something to do with Paul."
"Right. That kid you saw murdered."
Kit clapped a hand over his mouth, looking around wildly. "You shut up! You know that I wasn't supposed to tell anyone, and you're not supposed to talk about it! I mean, if they know I broke the oath..."
"Thought we Lutherans don't believe in swearing."
"Oh, whatever. The point is, be quiet. So I can sense these things - it's not like reading minds. And I'm not the only one. Didn't you notice that Mari was always able to tell when you were lying?"
"That was weird," he agreed. "And I didn't believe she was clairvoyant for awhile."
"Exactly. And the others - it's not so obvious, but something changed that day. For all of us. It's easy to understand why we split up, but why did our friendships with everyone else die?"
Jay slipped his arm around her waist, and she made no move to pull away. "My dear Kit, I've heard your theorizing a million times. That's part of the reason we broke up - because we both agree you're insane."
"I never said that."
He shrugged. "Well, I think it often enough for both of us."
They continued down the corridor. "Do you know where we're going?"
Jay glanced around. "I think I came up...that way."
They walked in silence for awhile. Finally, Jay confessed, "I have absolutely no idea where we are."
Kit peered out a window. "Third floor, east side of the house, about as far from the front as we could be, I think."
They turned and started retracing their steps. "Kit."
"Yeah."
"How did you end up here?"
She blinked. "I...don't know. I was in the basement. I split up from Alan and went into a room. There were a bunch of rats with bloody teeth milling about. I was grossed out. There was a...a kind of wailing noise. Like a car alarm that just went on and on and on, you know? I walked in, the rats scattered, and the floor disappeared, and I hit my head when I fell. Then I woke up...well, here."
It took Jay several minutes to work through all that, by which time they were back where they started. They chose a different passage. "So you fell and ended up three floors above where you were?"
"Somehow, yes."
Jay shuddered. "This house is damn creepy. You said someone died? How?"
Kit closed her eyes, trusting him to lead her correctly as she searched through the memories that weren't hers. "It's...impossible."
"Oh, really?"
"I'm getting an electromagnetic pulse. But...a supremely controlled one. And you can't control a pinch like that. Besides, an EMP should have knocked out all the lights - instead, it just provided a magnet."
"A magnet." Jay raised an eyebrow in disbelief.
"Right. But that's...I mean, it doesn't work like that. Usually, you hear about EMPs in association with hackers. Like in movies. To shut off all the power. Whoever set off that pinch has remarkable technology, if they can use an EMP to magnetize something.."
Jay punched her arm gently. "Or, your favorite - magic powers. Say abracadabra, wave a wand, and poof! Instant magnet!"
She laughed. "Don't be ridiculous."
* * *
Emory glanced up when Jenna and Zareh entered. "Oh, hi," he said, waving and simultaneously clicking his lighter.
"Hi, Emry," the little albino said, walking over. "Ran-uh-dy died."
"Was it her?"
"Uh-huh."
Jenna stared from one to the other. "You know each other?"
Emory shrugged. "Yeah. We were locked in a closet together for a little bit."
"A closet."
Kelly turned her head, caught sight of Jenna. "Is Randy really gone?"
Jenna nodded, blinking hard to clear the tears from her eyes. "Yeah."
Kelly returned her attention to the TV. "Poor dude."
"Neither of you seem overly...unhappy."
Emory pulled Zareh into his lap. "That's because we're afraid of our own deaths."
Kelly shrugged. "Actually, he's afraid of dying. I just fear for his sanity. You'd feel fairly emotionless if you were forced to deal with him, believe me, Jen."
Jenna perched on the arm of the chair. Emory flicked his thumb over his lighter over and over, a disturbing, hissing click that repeated itself every few seconds. "Would you quit that?" Jenna finally burst out.
"N'thanks. Makes me feel better about imminent death."
The presence hovered above them, plans still swirling about in its mind. Perhaps not so imminent after all, it thought. The longer it made them wait, the further into their minds it would be able to penetrate. Fear tended to break down defenses in a spectacular fashion, it had noticed.
And death was so much sweeter that way. For the presence, at least.