The story so far:
"NEW PROJECT!! Penny Dreadful" -> "Southern Gothic: Romance Chapter One" -> "Southern Gothic: Romance Chapter Two" -> "Southern Gothic: Romance Chapter Three"
Southern Gothic: Romance Chapter Four
by Ace
Upon waking from the nightmare, Leigh turned on every single working light on the main floor of the house, changed into the rattiest clothes that she owned and set to cleaning. The dream had shaken her badly, and she was ashamed to admit it, even to herself. So instead she put every bit of her nervous energy to work. For six hours straight she waged war against the grime and dust, starting in the lounge. She worked meticulously clearing cobwebs, evicting spiders, gently but thoroughly washing the walls—she kept moving, hoping constant motion would deter unwanted thoughts. But some thoughts refused to be ignored. Again and again Andrew’s face rose in her mind, and she flushed with pleasure at the memory of his voice and gentle hands. And since he seemed to be a safe enough topic, she continued to work with a smile on her face.
The house however, did not seem to share Leigh’s improving mood. By contrast, the more Leigh’s spirits raised as the night went on, the more it seemed to rebel. An angry, high pitched wail was the soundtrack to her cleaning—apparently emanating from a long unused vent of some kind on the roof. Around 4 o’clock in the morning, as yet another storm blew in off the ocean, every shutter on the downstairs level came loose in the wind simultaneously and slammed against the windows. Leigh hurried from room to room to inspect the damage, but aside from one or two cracks, the thick elderly glass was miraculously intact. Ducking out into the rain, she tried to re-anchor the shutters to the house in their open position, but they had bitten into the swollen weathered wood around the windows and refused to budge. Soaked and frustrated, she returned inside and stripped off her dripping t-shirt. She changed quickly, returned to the lounge room and picked up her broom.
Then she heard it. Above the sound of the wind and the keening wail of the cursed vent, there was another sound. The grinding, splintering sound of wood being dragged over wood.
The trunk.
Leigh felt the blood drain from her face. She grabbed as many of her supplies as her arms could hold and fled to the kitchen. She halted, trembling in the doorway and listened. Nothing. She dropped everything she was holding, and sank to the floor, her breath coming in short shuddering sobs. She thought of calling Andrew, but the ancient house didn’t have a phone and she was perhaps one of only five people on the planet that didn’t own a cell phone. Not that it mattered; she didn’t know his number anyway, nor even what part of the city he lived in.
From far down the hall, she heard it again, the muffled sound of the giant box being dragged over the attic joists…
Her mind shut down.
She grabbed a rag in one hand, a bottle of cleaner from the floor with the other, opened her mouth and sang as loudly as she could.
Drown it out, drown it out…I can’t hear it…it’s not happening…
She sang as she cleaned—every song she could think of from the radio, every show tune her mother had loved. She pulled out every piece of music in her memory—old gospel hymns, snatches of unintelligible arias, even jingles from TV commercials. After an hour of singing, her voice started to become hoarse, but she didn’t stop. College fight songs, lullabies, Irish drinking ditties…
After three hours, she had almost no voice at all and had nearly run out of songs she knew. For fifteen minutes she had been singing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” increasingly off key. She was wiping off the counters for the third time in a mindless robotic way when she heard knocking at the door.
In a flash she was at the entranceway, yanking the door open so hard she thought the knob must come off in her hand. Andrew stood on the crooked porch, but his relaxed smile slipped from his face when he saw her. He dropped the two full mesh bags he was holding, grabbed her arm and led her firmly but gently back into the kitchen. He seized a rickety chair from against the wall and sat her down on it.
“What’s wrong? Did something happen?” He supported her, gripping her arms to keep her steady, while his eyes scanned her body for signs of trauma. Throat constricted and dry, Leigh nodded, then shook her head. She didn’t know what to say. She trembled from head to foot so violently that the uneven chair rattled.
Andrew knelt next to the chair, put his arms around her, drawing her head down to rest on his chest. She shivered against his damp warm body, listening to the calming sound of his heartbeat and deep even breathing. By degrees, she felt her panic subsiding—within a minute she felt relatively calm again.
Regretfully, she pulled away and sat up. She felt tears cooling on her face—until that moment she hadn’t even realized she was crying. She tried to wipe them away, and succeeded only in turning the dust on her face into mud. Andrew waited for her to compose herself, while he in turn was satisfied that whatever was or had been wrong at least was not the result of physical harm.
“Andrew.” Leigh tried to speak, but what came out was a thready whisper. She tried to clear her throat, to speak up, but it made little difference. “Andrew, I’m so sorry. I…”
He held up his hand.
“Sorry, can’t understand a word. You sound terrible. I tell you what—unless something devastating is happening this very second… is it? No? -- then you take a minute, have a bath, shower, whatever will make you feel better. Then get dressed and I’ll hopefully have some breakfast ready for you. Maybe by then you’ll have found your voice again, yes?” He tapped her nose fondly, got to his feet and helped her out of her chair. “Go. I can handle myself in a kitchen.”
She gratefully took his advice. After retrieving a clean set of clothes, she retired to the bathroom. She filled the tub, stripped off her clothes and caught a glimpse of her face in the old mildew-covered mirror. The dirt of her nocturnal cleaning had settled unevenly over her skin, with smooth streaks where she had tried to wipe away her tears. A fine light coloured dust had settled into her hair like icing sugar—probably that had come off the plaster ceiling. Together with her dark skin, it gave her the appearance of a deranged marble statue. The shock of it seemed to jar the last bit of anxiety from her system and she gave a low raspy laugh, climbed into the tub and relaxed into the heat.
******
Cleaner, happier and infinitely more comfortable, Leigh returned to the kitchen. Andrew was slicing up a honeydew melon, but stopped when he saw her. He held up his hand.
“Two things—this is very important.” He pointed to the hulking gas stove. “I don’t want you so much as touching that again while you are here. Though,” he added dryly, “judging by the number of take out boxes in the garbage, that hasn’t been a problem so far.” Leigh blushed.
Andrew gestured vaguely at the stovetop. “When I turned it on, it refused to light, no matter what I did. But by the sound and smell of it, it was putting out a lot of gas. If you didn’t light it immediately before that gas built up it could be extraordinarily dangerous.”
He gestured again, this time to a small electric griddle sizzling merrily on the far countertop.
“Luckily, I came prepared. Last time I was here I saw the condition this place was in and didn’t want to have to start a fire in the center of your kitchen to cook you breakfast. But that brings us to problem number two.” He tapped the wall above the griddle. “Half of the electric outlets that I tried in the kitchen don’t work. You really need to get an electrician in to look at those, if you haven’t considered that already. God only knows how old that wiring is. If anything has gone bad in the walls, this whole place could go up at any time.”
Leigh nodded wearily. Her sleepless night was beginning to catch up to her. Andrew’s stern look melted. “Why don’t you sit down? Here, pour yourself some orange juice and rest until breakfast is ready. I would have been done by now if I hadn’t stopped to check what you are hiding in your cupboards.” He winked.
Leigh smiled. There was absolutely nothing in the cupboards. Anything of value had been carted away by her aunts after the funeral, and what had been left was a collection of crockery so chipped and discoloured that even university students would have turned their noses up at it. The entire mess had gone straight into a garbage bag, and had made a very satisfying crunch when she threw it out into the rain.
Leigh sat down at the bar. Her body felt loose after the bath—she took a deep calm breath and felt her body relax in response. Next to her, Andrew bustled about, finishing breakfast. A bowl of fruit salad appeared almost magically beside her. She hadn’t even heard him approach. She propped her head up on her elbow, gazing at the bright coloured berries and slices of melon. She still hadn’t told Andrew why she’d been so upset this morning—he hadn’t pressed the issue, but she’d have to do it soon, croaky voice or no croaky voice. The strawberries glistened in the bowl. Andrew was flipping pancakes on the griddle, pausing only to give her a brief worried glance. The melon glimmered wetly. Her brain seemed to hum with fatigue but she didn’t dare close her eyes. The juice in the bowl showed a warbled reflection of the ancient chandelier above her head. It sparkled.
She didn’t dare close her eyes.
The berries glistened.
She didn’t dare close her eyes.
There was a sensation of drifting. Of falling.
She didn’t dare close her…
*******
She was in the attic.
She knew she was in the attic, because there was the chest. But it was all she could see. The rest of the room was shrouded in a smothering gray mist or haze. Or…
She hasn’t been aware of the buzzing, but she became keenly aware when it stopped. In its place, quietly at first, was another sound. Leigh stood stock still, straining her sense. A snapping, cracking. The sound of wood being torn apart and utterly destroyed. As she listened, the sounds grew in volume and violence. And above it all, with a terrified thrill, she heard Andrew’s voice screaming her name like an angel crying out over the din of Armageddon.
She tried to move, but couldn’t. She wanted to run to him, but her legs felt bolted to the floor. In front of her, the trunk began to glow. As the murk deepened around her, it became clearer, more distinct. The latch rattled, then suddenly blew off, as though shot away with a gun. The lid of the trunk flew back, striking the wall with the sound of a bone breaking. The inside of the trunk blazed with light like a hidden sun. Leigh stepped forward, her legs freed from their invisible bonds. With the sound of chaos around her, she reached into the trunk and pulled out a length of cool silky cloth. It gleamed in the dream-light of the trunk as richly as a pearl. She smiled, delighted. She had found…
“Leigh!”
The scene before her spasmed, then smeared across her eyes. The glow from the trunk blurred, moved, and resolved itself into two shining orbs—Andrew’s eyes.
She blinked – her eyes felt dry and grainy.
“Leigh.” Andrew’s voice was cracking with relief. His arm was tight across her shoulders, supporting her weight. She blinked again and more of the room came into focus.
She was lying in his arms on the kitchen floor next to the bar. The stool she’d been sitting on had been knocked over, and her bowl of fruit upended an arms length away from her in a spreading pool of juice.
She shifted, uncomfortable, and Andrew carefully pulled her into a sitting position, cradling her head against his body as he leaned against the bar.
“I don’t mind telling you that you scared the pants off me,” he said, brushing a lock of curls away from her face. “I thought you were having some sort of seizure. Your eyes were open…” his grip tightened slightly. “Your eyes were open, but you couldn’t see me. You didn’t hear me. Then you started twitching and you would have fallen right off your seat if I hadn’t been right there trying to snap you out of it.” He ran his hand over her hair again, but didn’t seem sure of which of them he was trying to comfort. His face became grim. “What is going on? Do you need to see your doctor?”
Leigh smiled faintly. “I thought that’s what you are,” she whispered.
His mouth twisted as he tried not to smile. “Leigh, this is serious. You need to take a break and get yourself looked at properly. Maybe have some tests done. An EEG might not be a bad idea…”
He sputtered off as she put her fingers over his lips.
“It was just a dream. I just fell asleep.”
His eyes narrowed skeptically. Behind her fingers, his voice came out flat.
“Just a dream.”
She nodded, biting back a smile.
“In that case, I suggest you have a quick bite to eat and go lay down. If you are falling asleep at the table, then you need rest. However,” he added, his eyes serious, “I strongly recommend that you call your family doctor as soon as you wake up and get a proper check up. Do you hear me?”
Leigh wanted to nod, she really did. She wanted him to know that she was taking him seriously. But a strange reckless euphoria was filling her—whether from lack of sleep, the closeness of his body, she didn’t know. Her hand seemed to move of its own accord, her fingers lacing themselves through his sunny hair. He stiffened. She closed her eyes as her lips met his and felt the tension leave his body. In a smooth movement he shifted her around so she was seated on his thigh, their faces at an even height. His hand caressed her throat, his lips drinking in the taste of her. Her skin tingled, flushed. Her hands ran down his shoulders…
BANG.
They jerked apart. Leigh lost her balance and sprawled awkwardly on the floor. Andrew climbed immediately to his feet. “What the HELL was THAT?”
BANG!
He reached down and pulled Leigh to her feet. He started walking down the hallway, but she clutched his arm and held fast.
“It’s coming from down the hall! What the hell is it?” He looked back and saw her eyes wide with terror. “What is it? Do you know what it is?”
BANG!
BANG!
The whole ceiling shook. Dusty plaster sprinkled down around them like snow. Andrew gripped her tightly. “I’m going to find out. By the sound of it, it could shake this entire house down. You can stay here.” He gently removed her grip from his sleeve, and strode away. Leigh took one more terrified look around the kitchen and hurried after him.
Behind them in the walls, the buzzing started. The vibrations of the pounding from upstairs jarred the mouse chewed electrical wires. The ones that lead down to the outlet into which the griddle was plugged showed bare metal through gaps in their insulation. As the destruction continued in the attic, dust and plaster settled into the bare wiring. The buzzing intensified. There was one spark, then another. A large piece of plaster dislodged from the story above, fell lazily down onto the wire. A flash—the plaster lit. With supernatural quickness, the tiny flame spread along the dusty beams in the wall, ate through the wall and began to consume the aging wallpaper…
Leigh followed Andrew into the lounge. Chunks of plaster from the ceiling littered her clean floor.
BANG!
They covered their eyes as more particles floated down.
“It’s in the attic, whatever it is.” Andrew set his jaw, and started for the stairs. Leigh kept close behind him, but stopped dead at the bottom of the stairs.
“Andrew,” she croaked urgently. “Do you smell…”
But he had already sensed it as well. Without a word he dashed back past her to the kitchen. The whole far wall was already in flames. He was beside her in two strides, practically dragged her to the front door. He turned the knob….and it came off in his hand. He threw his weight against the door, but against all expectations the ancient wood held fast.
Cursing, he led her back down the hallway, and for the first time noticed the shutters. He paused only a second before seizing a heavy lamp from the sitting room. He held it like a baseball bat, swinging the base through the center of the glass pane. There was a dull crunching sound. Glass fell around the window, but the shutters held as though they were made of steel. Andrew’s mouth dropped open, but he recovered quickly. The smoke was already filling the hallway above their heads in a thick blanket, swirling down toward them and there was no time to waste.
“Quick, up the stairs. We’ll find another way out.” He pushed her up the steps ahead of him, looking back only once to see the orange glow advancing after them. The smoke followed up the stairs like a deadly shepherd.
The house however, did not seem to share Leigh’s improving mood. By contrast, the more Leigh’s spirits raised as the night went on, the more it seemed to rebel. An angry, high pitched wail was the soundtrack to her cleaning—apparently emanating from a long unused vent of some kind on the roof. Around 4 o’clock in the morning, as yet another storm blew in off the ocean, every shutter on the downstairs level came loose in the wind simultaneously and slammed against the windows. Leigh hurried from room to room to inspect the damage, but aside from one or two cracks, the thick elderly glass was miraculously intact. Ducking out into the rain, she tried to re-anchor the shutters to the house in their open position, but they had bitten into the swollen weathered wood around the windows and refused to budge. Soaked and frustrated, she returned inside and stripped off her dripping t-shirt. She changed quickly, returned to the lounge room and picked up her broom.
Then she heard it. Above the sound of the wind and the keening wail of the cursed vent, there was another sound. The grinding, splintering sound of wood being dragged over wood.
The trunk.
Leigh felt the blood drain from her face. She grabbed as many of her supplies as her arms could hold and fled to the kitchen. She halted, trembling in the doorway and listened. Nothing. She dropped everything she was holding, and sank to the floor, her breath coming in short shuddering sobs. She thought of calling Andrew, but the ancient house didn’t have a phone and she was perhaps one of only five people on the planet that didn’t own a cell phone. Not that it mattered; she didn’t know his number anyway, nor even what part of the city he lived in.
From far down the hall, she heard it again, the muffled sound of the giant box being dragged over the attic joists…
Her mind shut down.
She grabbed a rag in one hand, a bottle of cleaner from the floor with the other, opened her mouth and sang as loudly as she could.
Drown it out, drown it out…I can’t hear it…it’s not happening…
She sang as she cleaned—every song she could think of from the radio, every show tune her mother had loved. She pulled out every piece of music in her memory—old gospel hymns, snatches of unintelligible arias, even jingles from TV commercials. After an hour of singing, her voice started to become hoarse, but she didn’t stop. College fight songs, lullabies, Irish drinking ditties…
After three hours, she had almost no voice at all and had nearly run out of songs she knew. For fifteen minutes she had been singing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” increasingly off key. She was wiping off the counters for the third time in a mindless robotic way when she heard knocking at the door.
In a flash she was at the entranceway, yanking the door open so hard she thought the knob must come off in her hand. Andrew stood on the crooked porch, but his relaxed smile slipped from his face when he saw her. He dropped the two full mesh bags he was holding, grabbed her arm and led her firmly but gently back into the kitchen. He seized a rickety chair from against the wall and sat her down on it.
“What’s wrong? Did something happen?” He supported her, gripping her arms to keep her steady, while his eyes scanned her body for signs of trauma. Throat constricted and dry, Leigh nodded, then shook her head. She didn’t know what to say. She trembled from head to foot so violently that the uneven chair rattled.
Andrew knelt next to the chair, put his arms around her, drawing her head down to rest on his chest. She shivered against his damp warm body, listening to the calming sound of his heartbeat and deep even breathing. By degrees, she felt her panic subsiding—within a minute she felt relatively calm again.
Regretfully, she pulled away and sat up. She felt tears cooling on her face—until that moment she hadn’t even realized she was crying. She tried to wipe them away, and succeeded only in turning the dust on her face into mud. Andrew waited for her to compose herself, while he in turn was satisfied that whatever was or had been wrong at least was not the result of physical harm.
“Andrew.” Leigh tried to speak, but what came out was a thready whisper. She tried to clear her throat, to speak up, but it made little difference. “Andrew, I’m so sorry. I…”
He held up his hand.
“Sorry, can’t understand a word. You sound terrible. I tell you what—unless something devastating is happening this very second… is it? No? -- then you take a minute, have a bath, shower, whatever will make you feel better. Then get dressed and I’ll hopefully have some breakfast ready for you. Maybe by then you’ll have found your voice again, yes?” He tapped her nose fondly, got to his feet and helped her out of her chair. “Go. I can handle myself in a kitchen.”
She gratefully took his advice. After retrieving a clean set of clothes, she retired to the bathroom. She filled the tub, stripped off her clothes and caught a glimpse of her face in the old mildew-covered mirror. The dirt of her nocturnal cleaning had settled unevenly over her skin, with smooth streaks where she had tried to wipe away her tears. A fine light coloured dust had settled into her hair like icing sugar—probably that had come off the plaster ceiling. Together with her dark skin, it gave her the appearance of a deranged marble statue. The shock of it seemed to jar the last bit of anxiety from her system and she gave a low raspy laugh, climbed into the tub and relaxed into the heat.
******
Cleaner, happier and infinitely more comfortable, Leigh returned to the kitchen. Andrew was slicing up a honeydew melon, but stopped when he saw her. He held up his hand.
“Two things—this is very important.” He pointed to the hulking gas stove. “I don’t want you so much as touching that again while you are here. Though,” he added dryly, “judging by the number of take out boxes in the garbage, that hasn’t been a problem so far.” Leigh blushed.
Andrew gestured vaguely at the stovetop. “When I turned it on, it refused to light, no matter what I did. But by the sound and smell of it, it was putting out a lot of gas. If you didn’t light it immediately before that gas built up it could be extraordinarily dangerous.”
He gestured again, this time to a small electric griddle sizzling merrily on the far countertop.
“Luckily, I came prepared. Last time I was here I saw the condition this place was in and didn’t want to have to start a fire in the center of your kitchen to cook you breakfast. But that brings us to problem number two.” He tapped the wall above the griddle. “Half of the electric outlets that I tried in the kitchen don’t work. You really need to get an electrician in to look at those, if you haven’t considered that already. God only knows how old that wiring is. If anything has gone bad in the walls, this whole place could go up at any time.”
Leigh nodded wearily. Her sleepless night was beginning to catch up to her. Andrew’s stern look melted. “Why don’t you sit down? Here, pour yourself some orange juice and rest until breakfast is ready. I would have been done by now if I hadn’t stopped to check what you are hiding in your cupboards.” He winked.
Leigh smiled. There was absolutely nothing in the cupboards. Anything of value had been carted away by her aunts after the funeral, and what had been left was a collection of crockery so chipped and discoloured that even university students would have turned their noses up at it. The entire mess had gone straight into a garbage bag, and had made a very satisfying crunch when she threw it out into the rain.
Leigh sat down at the bar. Her body felt loose after the bath—she took a deep calm breath and felt her body relax in response. Next to her, Andrew bustled about, finishing breakfast. A bowl of fruit salad appeared almost magically beside her. She hadn’t even heard him approach. She propped her head up on her elbow, gazing at the bright coloured berries and slices of melon. She still hadn’t told Andrew why she’d been so upset this morning—he hadn’t pressed the issue, but she’d have to do it soon, croaky voice or no croaky voice. The strawberries glistened in the bowl. Andrew was flipping pancakes on the griddle, pausing only to give her a brief worried glance. The melon glimmered wetly. Her brain seemed to hum with fatigue but she didn’t dare close her eyes. The juice in the bowl showed a warbled reflection of the ancient chandelier above her head. It sparkled.
She didn’t dare close her eyes.
The berries glistened.
She didn’t dare close her eyes.
There was a sensation of drifting. Of falling.
She didn’t dare close her…
*******
She was in the attic.
She knew she was in the attic, because there was the chest. But it was all she could see. The rest of the room was shrouded in a smothering gray mist or haze. Or…
She hasn’t been aware of the buzzing, but she became keenly aware when it stopped. In its place, quietly at first, was another sound. Leigh stood stock still, straining her sense. A snapping, cracking. The sound of wood being torn apart and utterly destroyed. As she listened, the sounds grew in volume and violence. And above it all, with a terrified thrill, she heard Andrew’s voice screaming her name like an angel crying out over the din of Armageddon.
She tried to move, but couldn’t. She wanted to run to him, but her legs felt bolted to the floor. In front of her, the trunk began to glow. As the murk deepened around her, it became clearer, more distinct. The latch rattled, then suddenly blew off, as though shot away with a gun. The lid of the trunk flew back, striking the wall with the sound of a bone breaking. The inside of the trunk blazed with light like a hidden sun. Leigh stepped forward, her legs freed from their invisible bonds. With the sound of chaos around her, she reached into the trunk and pulled out a length of cool silky cloth. It gleamed in the dream-light of the trunk as richly as a pearl. She smiled, delighted. She had found…
“Leigh!”
The scene before her spasmed, then smeared across her eyes. The glow from the trunk blurred, moved, and resolved itself into two shining orbs—Andrew’s eyes.
She blinked – her eyes felt dry and grainy.
“Leigh.” Andrew’s voice was cracking with relief. His arm was tight across her shoulders, supporting her weight. She blinked again and more of the room came into focus.
She was lying in his arms on the kitchen floor next to the bar. The stool she’d been sitting on had been knocked over, and her bowl of fruit upended an arms length away from her in a spreading pool of juice.
She shifted, uncomfortable, and Andrew carefully pulled her into a sitting position, cradling her head against his body as he leaned against the bar.
“I don’t mind telling you that you scared the pants off me,” he said, brushing a lock of curls away from her face. “I thought you were having some sort of seizure. Your eyes were open…” his grip tightened slightly. “Your eyes were open, but you couldn’t see me. You didn’t hear me. Then you started twitching and you would have fallen right off your seat if I hadn’t been right there trying to snap you out of it.” He ran his hand over her hair again, but didn’t seem sure of which of them he was trying to comfort. His face became grim. “What is going on? Do you need to see your doctor?”
Leigh smiled faintly. “I thought that’s what you are,” she whispered.
His mouth twisted as he tried not to smile. “Leigh, this is serious. You need to take a break and get yourself looked at properly. Maybe have some tests done. An EEG might not be a bad idea…”
He sputtered off as she put her fingers over his lips.
“It was just a dream. I just fell asleep.”
His eyes narrowed skeptically. Behind her fingers, his voice came out flat.
“Just a dream.”
She nodded, biting back a smile.
“In that case, I suggest you have a quick bite to eat and go lay down. If you are falling asleep at the table, then you need rest. However,” he added, his eyes serious, “I strongly recommend that you call your family doctor as soon as you wake up and get a proper check up. Do you hear me?”
Leigh wanted to nod, she really did. She wanted him to know that she was taking him seriously. But a strange reckless euphoria was filling her—whether from lack of sleep, the closeness of his body, she didn’t know. Her hand seemed to move of its own accord, her fingers lacing themselves through his sunny hair. He stiffened. She closed her eyes as her lips met his and felt the tension leave his body. In a smooth movement he shifted her around so she was seated on his thigh, their faces at an even height. His hand caressed her throat, his lips drinking in the taste of her. Her skin tingled, flushed. Her hands ran down his shoulders…
BANG.
They jerked apart. Leigh lost her balance and sprawled awkwardly on the floor. Andrew climbed immediately to his feet. “What the HELL was THAT?”
BANG!
He reached down and pulled Leigh to her feet. He started walking down the hallway, but she clutched his arm and held fast.
“It’s coming from down the hall! What the hell is it?” He looked back and saw her eyes wide with terror. “What is it? Do you know what it is?”
BANG!
BANG!
The whole ceiling shook. Dusty plaster sprinkled down around them like snow. Andrew gripped her tightly. “I’m going to find out. By the sound of it, it could shake this entire house down. You can stay here.” He gently removed her grip from his sleeve, and strode away. Leigh took one more terrified look around the kitchen and hurried after him.
Behind them in the walls, the buzzing started. The vibrations of the pounding from upstairs jarred the mouse chewed electrical wires. The ones that lead down to the outlet into which the griddle was plugged showed bare metal through gaps in their insulation. As the destruction continued in the attic, dust and plaster settled into the bare wiring. The buzzing intensified. There was one spark, then another. A large piece of plaster dislodged from the story above, fell lazily down onto the wire. A flash—the plaster lit. With supernatural quickness, the tiny flame spread along the dusty beams in the wall, ate through the wall and began to consume the aging wallpaper…
Leigh followed Andrew into the lounge. Chunks of plaster from the ceiling littered her clean floor.
BANG!
They covered their eyes as more particles floated down.
“It’s in the attic, whatever it is.” Andrew set his jaw, and started for the stairs. Leigh kept close behind him, but stopped dead at the bottom of the stairs.
“Andrew,” she croaked urgently. “Do you smell…”
But he had already sensed it as well. Without a word he dashed back past her to the kitchen. The whole far wall was already in flames. He was beside her in two strides, practically dragged her to the front door. He turned the knob….and it came off in his hand. He threw his weight against the door, but against all expectations the ancient wood held fast.
Cursing, he led her back down the hallway, and for the first time noticed the shutters. He paused only a second before seizing a heavy lamp from the sitting room. He held it like a baseball bat, swinging the base through the center of the glass pane. There was a dull crunching sound. Glass fell around the window, but the shutters held as though they were made of steel. Andrew’s mouth dropped open, but he recovered quickly. The smoke was already filling the hallway above their heads in a thick blanket, swirling down toward them and there was no time to waste.
“Quick, up the stairs. We’ll find another way out.” He pushed her up the steps ahead of him, looking back only once to see the orange glow advancing after them. The smoke followed up the stairs like a deadly shepherd.
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