The Haunting of Ironwood Page 9

  Katie went so pale with terror that the next scream couldn't even escape through her tightened windpipe as anything more than a squeak. She threw her hands over her face and turned away from the window as the sounds of the man's screams and his body being hacked apart filled the warm night.

  When it was over and the screams were snuffed out, there was silence.

  Katie pulled her hands away from her face and inched up to the window, perching an eyeball above the bottom of the frame and glancing out.

  Earl stood over the bodies, holding the dripping axe in his hands and looking down at what he'd done. Then his neck craned and his eyes fell on hers.

  The Axeman Cometh

  Earl's eyes burned in the night. They were the one defining feature on his face that she could make out in the darkness. The only other thing piercing through her shellshocked conscious mind to her subconscious was the axe held in his hands with the slow drip of blood off the corner onto the grass below.

  When Katie finally found her motor functions again she pulled herself away from the window. She barely made it to the bed before collapsing on it and vomiting.

  He had done it. He had actually done it. No longer was Earl just some deranged loner willing to kidnap for his own twisted pleasure; he was a cold-blooded murderer, willing to do anything to keep her from escaping. And if he could hack two people apart without thinking, what else had he done?

  Katie's head spun. She wanted to throw up again, but it didn't come this time. She wiped the bile off her lips with a shaking hand and pushed herself up on the bed.

  The sound of something being dragged drifted in the room through the open window.

  She stood up and forced herself to the window to look.

  One set of legs was dragged out of view around the back of the house. Katie squeezed her face between the iron bars, trying to see. Earl came back around the corner, holding his axe again.

  Hide! her mind screamed.

  She pulled herself away from the iron bars and hurtled through the bedroom door to the hallway. She knew Earl would be coming for her to do the same thing that he did to those two poor souls.

  The house was dark. She didn't know where to go.

  Up! her mind said.

  So in the darkness she stumbled, though her legs were weak. She prayed that it was too dark for the camera at the end of the hall to see her. Katie slipped into another bedroom on the left and stowed herself away into the deep dark.

  She found the closet and buried herself behind a rack full of clothing into the corner like a subterranean bug.

  The seconds ticked away and already she couldn't breathe. But she listened over her tiny gasps for air to any sound that would tell her he had arrived with his instrument of death and that her time had come.

  Enough time went by that it started to feel like her body was being pulled into a black hole and she was being torn apart from the inside out by its crushing pressure.

  A door opened somewhere and then closed. Katie listened as footsteps followed, then some muffled thumps. She couldn't tell where in the house he was, but it didn't sound like the front door.

  Now Earl was ascending, coming closer to her. For a moment it sounded like he was right on top of her, like the axe would plunge through the wall at any moment and cut the back of her head open. Katie's heart hammered and she curled into the tightest ball she could. She would have wet herself if she had any urine to spare.

  Then he passed her to some other place in the house. His stride was calm and measured—peaceful, even. As if nothing had happened at all, they faded away completely and there was silence.

  Katie listened to the smothering sound of it for so long that she thought she would go insane. And then sometime after that, she fell asleep.

  When she awoke she was covered in sweat. She slid open the closet door and crawled into the bedroom. There was no breeze, but her skin immediately felt cooler, like she was plunging into a cold pool. She gasped for air and slowly got back to her feet. As she did she noticed there was light coming through the window. It was daytime.

  Stepping into the hallway, her brain quickly recalled the events of the night before and pieced together everything that led her into that closet. She glanced around in a paranoid manner then made her way back to the bedroom she'd slept in since first coming to the house.

  Static squawked over a speaker right behind her.

  Katie jumped and spun around.

  "Breakfast is on the table for you downstairs, Elizabeth," Earl's voice echoed. "Do eat it before it gets cold."

  After some consternation, Katie made her way to the stairs and descended. Just like he'd said, breakfast waited for her on the dining room table. A plate of eggs and sausage. A small plate with two pieces of toast and a glob of strawberry jam sitting on top next to it. Utensils sat next to that.

  Just the thought of eating made her stomach turn and she went back to the stairs on shaky legs. She had expected him to come out of the shadows, from around the corner maybe, and finish her off just like he had to the two drunks. But on the surface everything seemed like it was back to normal—at least as normal as normal could be called in a place like this.

  She pulled herself up the staircase to the second floor. It took all the strength in her left arm holding the banister to help herself along the way. Her legs were about to give out. Her mind had gone off the subject of food, but she felt like vomiting anyway.

  "You killed them," she muttered aloud without necessarily intending the words for him to hear. "You did it. You just went and did it."

  Katie's vision started to blur, but she made it onto the landing of the second floor and then there was a lapse in her memory and the next thing she knew she was lying on her bed in the same room where she had watched the two grisly murders. The vomit from the night before had been cleaned and the sheets changed.

  Some more time passed as she lay on the bed, as still as a dead doe. Her legs and arms were extended straight out like a doe struck by a car and lying to the side of the road. Her eyes were glossy and staring into the void. Her breathing was slow and shallow. Thoughts came through her mind as they pleased; she had no control over them.

  Now it was later in the day and she hadn't moved an inch. She wasn't aware if she slept at all; far as she could tell, her eyes had stayed open the whole time. But it felt later and she was a little more rested.

  The smell got to her, though. A stink came from her armpits that was sharp to her nose. Her hair felt greasy on the pillow. Her legs felt prickly when she moved them. She didn't care about the legs, but she thought she could use a shower.

  Katie pushed herself up and sat on the edge of the bed. She looked around the room and it all seemed like a daydream. She didn't know what time it was and she didn't bother to look at the bedside clock radio, but sunlight was coming in through her window, telling her it was sometime in the afternoon or evening. She saw the camera watching her from the closet. She didn't look, but she was aware of the others in the room seeing her from different angles.

  Just a shower. That couldn't hurt. She couldn't think of anything long-term, just one step at a time, and right now that would do her some good. For her peace of mind which was right on the edge of breaking.

  She gathered up a change of clothes from the closet and then she entered the hallway. The first thing her eyes went to was the camera at the far end perched up just behind the bathroom door. That red light next to the lens that told her it was on pierced straight through to the core of her being like a knight's lance rending her. She kept her eyes down on the carpet runner until she was in the bathroom, then she tightly shut the door behind her.

  Katie stripped off her clothes and folded them neatly on the bathmat below the sink, then she laid out her new clothes on the toilet seat cover. She was still self-conscious even though she knew the camera out in the hallway couldn't see her now, and she clutched her arms over her chest as she turned the water on and waited for it to get hot.

  When it w
as, she stepped inside and washed herself. She bent down and retrieved some soap sitting on a rack on the corner of the tub that Earl had provided. The very idea that she was using the toiletries he left for her was appalling, but she tried not to think about it.

  The suds ran down her back, and she turned to wash them off, facing away from the water now. Her eyes caught on something as they drifted across the tiled wall in front of her.

  The corner of one tile was chipped, showing the shadows lurking behind. In the shadows she saw something that looked curved. She leaned closer and peered at the object. It was round and a little reflective, like a lens.

  Despite the hot water washing over her, her body went cold.

  "You son of a bitch," she muttered, tears stinging her eyes.

  She didn't even turn the water off; she just tore the curtain open and stepped onto the bathmat, soaking it with a deluge of water that rolled off her body. She reached for the towel hanging on the rack and wrapped it around herself, backing away from the shower. She caught sight of her profile in the mirror and threw a glance at herself. She looked like a miserable, drowned dog. She didn't look attractive like she used to when she came out of the shower. There were dark rings under her eyes, ones she never remembered seeing before. Her eyes looked dead. Even her skin seemed twenty years older now.

  Katie cried as she struggled to dry herself off with the towel still wrapped around her. She reached for her clothes.

  Her roaming eyes caught something else: a camera fitted into the baseboard behind the black wastebasket, peering up through the wire mesh at her.

  Then another one, where one of the screws on the towel rack was missing—a tiny one, but it was an unmistakable lens.

  And now she noticed that the mirror wasn't as reflective as it should be; it almost looked translucent. She pulled it open to reveal the medicine cabinet behind... and the small camera sitting in the corner of the top shelf, peeking out from behind vials of medicine. It was a one-way mirror.

  He was watching her even in here; he was watching her everywhere, no matter what she was doing. He could see from every angle—in the shower, on the toilet, everywhere.

  Katie's tears were cut off like someone had twisted the tap on a faucet. Anger burned inside her like an unstoppable forest fire.

  She clutched her clothes to her body. "That's it!" she shrieked. "I'm not playing along with your sick game anymore! No more breakfasts, no more dinners, no more stupid dresses! You may as well just kill me!"

  Coming and Going

  Rage coursed through her. The blood flowed through her head so much that her temples pumped like a flat tire going over the road.

  "I did it for you," he said over a speaker in the hallway.

  This took Katie aback. "What?"

  "The men outside," he said. "I couldn't let them take you." Earl's voice was quiet and almost shy—a whole new shade from the domineering person that had taken Katie prisoner and threatened her life. "I did it for you." He mumbled this.

  Her mind in a flurry, Katie juggled the towel and slipped her clothes back on. Fully dressed, she still held the towel up to her as she listened to him speak. She opened the door to the bathroom and slipped into the hallway. Her eyes were fixed on the camera perched up in the corner and she slowly started to back away from it.

  "Say something," Earl said, almost pleading, like he was searching for approval.

  "You're sick," Katie replied. "You're so sick."

  "I'm not," he said quietly.

  Katie continued to back down the hallway toward her bedroom. "Yes you are." Her eyes broke from the camera and drifted left and right to the pictures of Elizabeth on the walls. "You don't even have a wife. You never did. She's just some random girl whose pictures you stole. Did you work in a photo lab or something? Or maybe an old crush you stalked? You're... you're just mentally ill."

  Katie stopped. She was afraid that she'd gone too far.

  There was a long pause and then Earl said, "You'll know her soon."

  "What do you mean?" she found the courage to ask.

  "You'll have her spirit soon enough... once you're ready."

  And then he was silent.

  Katie stood rooted in the hallway. Her brow creased up. What did he mean by that? Her gaze fell on the variety of pictures of Elizabeth hanging crookedly on the walls. The poor girl, whoever she was, smiling at her like she was still so full of life.

  You'll have her spirit soon enough. The words floated in her head like leaves on a lake. Just what the hell was he trying to do with her? It was obvious he wanted her to become this poor woman, but why? He really was deranged.

  There were noises in the house that she was too distracted to notice, and then she heard the closing of a car door outside followed by an engine rumbling to life.

  Katie snapped out of her trance and hurried down to the ground floor. She looked out the kitchen window and saw Earl's Volvo twist around and then roll out of sight along the driveway.

  Her brain went back to the noises she heard in the house. Somehow he was getting in and out, but not through the front door. Somewhere from within the house he was watching her. But not in one of the main rooms. He was hidden, somewhere where she couldn't see. He could see her but she couldn't see him. Sick bastard.

  The thought danced through her head like a graceful ballerina, dazzling her with its entrancing display; if she could figure out how he was coming and going, that might be her key to escape.

  Katie set off immediately, not having any idea how long he would be gone. She double-checked the front door, but there was no way it was budging and she knew he wasn't using it; it was all for show—just something to distract her and take her mind off the real exit. But she would find it. Her hands clenched into fists as a new determination arose in her.

  She moved around the kitchen, then the dining and living rooms, checking the windows, the walls, the floor, the ceiling. She stopped when she got to the hallway leading past the basement to the front door. She knew he wasn't going down to the basement; every time she heard him come in the house, he was ascending. Always ascending.

  Katie looked up to the second floor like she had just spotted a plane in the sky after being marooned on a desert island. She hurried up the stairs and gazed at the rooms surrounding her. A curious thought that she had considered before came back to her. There was something peculiar about the house that extended past the fact that it was all made out of ironwood or that there were bars covering all the windows: the rooms just didn't seem big enough for the size of the house. Some of them seemed stunted, like there were small areas of the house unaccounted for.

  Then it struck her. He was in the walls. Secret crawlspaces or tunnels or something like that—it must be!

  She gazed around carefully, trying not to make it look so obvious. She knew he was watching her from every angle at every moment, and she didn't want to arouse suspicion in case he looked over the videotape footage when he returned. She couldn't see anything obvious in the hallway; the hardwood floor stretched from the front of the house to the back, a worn, dusty carpet runner on top of it. The walls were solid planks of wood just like the floor but wider. The ceiling the same thing. There were no doors or hatches or anything of the sort.

  Katie entered the first room on her right, a spare bedroom. She walked around pretending she was bored, but her eyes flitted everywhere for any sign of an entryway to some hidden passage. She looked behind the furniture, in the closet, pulled up the corner of the rug with her big toe. She went from room to room along the second floor, searching for this hidden space that she knew was there, all the while observing how the rooms didn't fill out the house properly, confirming her hypothesis.

  But she finished with the second floor and found nothing. Her heart hammered a bit faster in her chest, a terrible anxiety rising. What if she was wrong? What if everything she was chasing after was a figment of her imagination and she was well and truly trapped?

  No. I'm not thinking about that. Just
get out of my head.

  She made her way up to the third floor, her hand trembling on the banister. She continued her search, looking from room to room. She went down the short secondary stretch of hallway toward the side of the house that led to Earl's bedroom. There was a large section of house across from his door that seemed to be missing, a long stretch of wall that went around the corner to the main hallway and led to the empty room overlooking the front of the property. There were no doors in this wall, no rooms. Just unaccounted for space.

  She pressed her ear to the wall and listened. Nothing. She pulled herself away from it and stared at the wall. She didn't know what she was expecting, but now she was more determined than ever.

  Katie turned and looked in Earl's room, checking every part of it for some kind of hidden door. The bed sat tightly pressed against the far wall, the sheets unused. She realized now that he never used the bedroom; every night he was always in the house, but always somewhere else. She could hear the groaning of wood somewhere above her as she lay in bed at night, but she knew he wasn't in here. She left the bedroom and stared at the blank length of wall again, knowing she was on to something.

  She hurried back to the main hallway, almost skipping before remembering herself and returning to a casual walk. Just as she was about to investigate her next room, she heard a noise outside. She turned and rushed to the empty bedroom at the front of the house and saw the Volvo creep out from behind the trees.

  Crap. He's back already. That didn't take long.

  She had to hide. But wait, no, that wasn't right. She was a prisoner in this house; there would be no reason for her to hide. So then act casual. Yes, that was it. Act like she wasn't up to anything at all while he was gone. But where should she be while acting casual?

  Panic gripped her as she became unsure of herself. For a moment she thought she should go downstairs and appear to be watching TV on the couch, or maybe flipping through a magazine.