Fade: Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve1

The front door was wide open, it was as if the house itself was welcoming me inside. I took a deep breath and pushed onward.  I walked up the stairs and through the open door.2

I wandered around for a bit, trying not to make too much noise. I fumbled around in the dim rooms until I found the dust-covered kitchen. The kitchen door was still open, and the stench of death had perverted the room with it’s nauseating smell. 3

I left the kitchen and stood in front of the stairway. The light I had lit on my last ‘visit’ was off now, and something was laying on the end table next to it. A small pad and pen were lying next to each other, as if someone had written something down.4

I turned the light back on, and looked over the pad. I squinted for a moment, noticing that whoever had taken a note on the pad had pressed rather hard–making an unintentional ‘copy’ of the note on the next sheet under.5

Front door open. Searched premises, downstairs and outside patio. There was a butchered dog in the sandbox, a toy bucket was shoved in its chest and its eyes were pierced with its own ribs. Upon closer inspection, the dog turned out to be the Thatcher’s.  I remember seeing it along with Detective Jefferys when we came here eight years ago.6

Who would do such a thing? I didn’t touch any evidence, although I did search the dog’s box and the sandbox for evidence of any kind.7

A search of the upper rooms is necessary in order to pinpoint Detective Jefferys whereabouts.8

I paused. Detective Jefferys? Eight years ago? None of it made any sense, but I took the entire note pad and slid it into my back pocket.9

I rounded the table and turned off the lamp. I began the climb up the stairs. Each step was like getting a shot of vaccine–a quick pinch as the step screeched with unwanted noise, followed by the burning in my body, wondering if something heard me.10

I got to the top of the stairs I turned to my right and faced the door nearest to the landing. I had arrived.11

Up passed ‘the hill’. 12

The two photographs in front of me hadn’t changed. They were macabre, grainy, poorly lighted clips of a crash site. A crash site that mirrored the one I had just escaped from. Perhaps that’s why it felt so familiar.13

Maggie said she was passed the hill, and now it made sense, I was sure that Nathan or Maggie was behind the old wood door in front of me. Behind the pictures–passed the hill.14

My hand reached for the doorknob, I was nervous with sweat, and my hands were clammy, but I managed to tightly grasp around the rusty-metal knob. Then suddenly, I jerked my hand back as a voice spoke to me at a whisper’s distance.15

I backed up, far enough back so that my feet were on the stairway’s landing. My blood ran cold and my eyes grew weary, the person standing in front of me—couldn’t possibly be real.16

And yet, she was. 17

“Calm down!” Deborah whispered in a slight southern accent that seemed far too familiar. “...There are...things in this house. I...They can sense your fear . . . and they will hear you if you scream.” The dark-haired lady was Deborah Yates. ‘Detective’ Deborah Yates. And yet–she wasn’t. At least . . . not the one I had met, the grisly one now in a heap of ashes.18

“Y-you.” I stuttered, confused beyond belief.19

“Calm down!” Deborah whispered again. “I know this must all be frightening for you, but please just . . . stay calm. Please.”20

I nodded. “Are you . . . human?” I asked bluntly, as if a creature like the one I had seen would reply ‘no’.21

Deborah raised an eyebrow. “Yes.” She said calmly. “But there are things here . . . that are not. You saw them did you not. That . . . dog . . . and that bedroom. There are . . . forces in this house.” Deborah paused. “That’s the reason you came to the station, wasn’t it? Because . . . when you passed out on the road . . . you ended up here . . . ”22

I nodded. “Yes, but how did you know–23

“Jefferys told me. I–Nathan told me. Then he said he got a tip and was heading here–I tried to get a hold of him without any response. So I came here, to Silkwood Road. Just as he did. Just as you did.”24

“Then you are . . . Detective Deborah Yates.” I said, fishing out two cards in my pocket.25

Deborah looked down at my hand and raised an eyebrow. “What is that?” She asked.26

“It’s your ID cards.” I said plainly.27

Deborah looked at me and shook her head. “I’m sorry . . . Uhh..Ms. Harvey . . . but . . . that is not mine.”28

I looked down at my own hand, puzzled by what I saw. Now, instead of Deborah’s ID cards, I was holding two small photographs.29

One was of a little girl with black hair. It looked . . . like me I guess. One the back it said:30

Melissa Thatcher Age 931

I shook my head and looked at the other. A picture of a woman that I didn’t recognize. She looked a little like me somehow, but her eyes seemed sad. On the back there was a date with some disturbing words.32

March, 199733

Before you died.34

Miss you.35

Come back.36

Love you.37

I looked up at Deborah and shrugged. “I–I...I’m sorry.”38

“It’s alright . . . but I’d keep those pictures, even if we can’t use them right now. They maybe helpful as evidence.” Deborah said.39

“Evidence for what?” I asked.40

Deborah took a deep breath. “I–I’m not . . . sure.” She looked me in the eyes, she spoke with a gentle kindness that was almost calming. “Just stay near me . . . we’ll either find a key for that door–or I’ll knock it down myself. You’ll help me . . . right? You have a friend trapped here too right?”41

I nodded. “...Yes.”42

“Alright. I think that this room is the master bedroom. There were three other bedrooms and a bathroom up here, and I’ve checked each one. The only place I haven’t check for anything–including a key–is the basement. Judging from the kitchen and bathroom–I’d say most of the space down there is taken up by a water heater.”43

I nodded. “Ok . . . So we check down there?”44

“It’s the only place left . . . but if we can’t find it. I’ll have to knock down the door–no matter who I startle.” Deborah held her gun holster as she took the lead down the steps. I followed close behind, both relieved that I had found someone to help–and frightened that the person looked identical to the woman who had attacked me in the car.45