He was a handsome man. Mike got his looks from him. There wasn’t a day that she didn’t see more and more of his dad in Mike. She looked around, puzzled. Wasn’t Mike here a moment ago?
Mike and Murphy moved stealthily along the airing porch. They were going to investigate the cellar. Burt wanted to do it live, but Mike remembered, all too well, his own insistence on investigating Murphy’s cellar live had resulted in him falling into an icy well. The house gave Mike a queasy stomach, or was it the copious amounts of whiskey he had drunk last night? Ted’s revelation and Burt’s drunken remembrances were weighing on the investigator’s mind. Mia whom he’d initially thought was a selfish little bitch was anything but. The more time he spent with her, the more he admired the courage she had. Here she was, changing at an alarming rate, but still, she was insecure and fought for a marriage that he felt was doomed from the start. Mia moved too quickly into the arms of a man-child, a man who lost his virginity to her. Ted must wonder what other women were like. No wonder he was swayed by Beth’s attention. He too must have pondered the what ifs in his life.
Mike sympathized with Murphy, although he’d never tell him that. How could he be with Mia day and night and not touch her? Not want to pull her hair or kiss those full lips of hers? Mike shook the feelings away, lit a light disc, and concentrated on quietly exploring the cellar.
Murphy studied the rusted tins against the wall. It wasn’t unusual for people to have cookie and cracker tins, but so many? Maybe they were gifts, or mementos, or the lady of the house had a severe hoarding problem. He turned and looked deeper into the cellar, saw all the bits of broken furniture hung from the ceiling, and thought that the gentleman of the house, too, had a problem with throwing anything away.
He watched Mike move through the bits and bobs. Mike picked up a broken mop handle and tossed it in the corner.
“There is a lot of crap down here,” Mike said.
Murphy tapped his axe in commiseration.
Mike saw the raised wellhead. It and the cover were made of cast iron. “This, Murphy old man, is a very expensive installation.” He unlocked the lid, hefted it upwards and looked inside. “Water level is pretty high here. Must be that pond over yonder.”
There was a creak of floorboards overhead. Mike walked over to investigate.
Murphy felt an odd pull. It reminded him of something, but what, he couldn’t put his finger on. He followed the pull and turned the corner to see a vortex of some kind. This had to be the entrance or exit of the demon spur that he and Orion had theorized. To have a vortex in the cellar of a house was most extraordinary. What came first, the spur or the house?
“Help me!” a child’s voice screamed.
Murphy turned around to see what looked to be the eldest child being carried by an unseen force. He moved quickly to intercede but was slowed by the pull of the vortex. He broke free of the pull and rushed to see the child tossed into the well. Murphy knew the toll, just being near, the ironized water would take, but he could not stand by and watch the boy perish. He ran over and looked down. The boy was just out of reach, floundering in the water. Murphy bent over, but still, he couldn’t reach him. He gripped the base of the blade of his axe and extended the handle deep into the water.
He didn’t hear the feet of the other boy, nor realize that the boy wasn’t actually in the well at all until he felt himself being tipped into the deadly water and heard the well cap come crashing down.
Mike heard the well cap and walked over to investigate. “Murphy, is that you?”
Silence.
“Come on, Murphy, this is no time for games,” he complained. Still there was no response. He, however, did hear a rustling behind him. “If that’s you, I’m so going to salt you,” he threatened.
He followed the sound. He had to crawl under the low-hanging furniture. He lit an extra light disc to illuminate the corner he had found himself in. It seemed to be a hidey-hole of some kind or a fort built by the boys of the house. He’d had one in the attic. It was a great place to play with his friends on rainy afternoons. He looked at the accumulation of old shoes and leather belts and puzzled at how an apparently poor household had so much castoff junk?
Mike didn’t see the belt that was stretched across the floor until it had wound in and out of his legs and pulled him off his feet. He came crashing down, hitting his head on an old steamer trunk. He sat up and fought to release his ankles when another belt encircled his right hand and yanked it upwards. Mike felt a tear in his shoulder, and he fought the unseen force with his free hand.
“Murphy, help me!” he called. A chair was pulled off its hook and hit him hard on the back of his head. He fought the blackness as long as he could, but a second hit from the chair stilled his protest. Mike felt his other wrist being pulled tight by the belt, and before he could call out again, a smelly rag was stuffed into his mouth. Mike had lost the fight and, with it, his ability to stay awake. He sunk quickly into oblivion.
~
Mia and Orion walked back towards the house. “When you look at it now, what do you see?” Orion asked.
“A parasite, which we’ve been feeding our energy to.”
“Do you believe Wyatt?”
