“His time has come, and we need you to be strong. Stronger than ever you could imagine. This will not rest until he’s safe inside these walls,” she says, holding her arms wide. Abigail’s voice drifts off, floating through the ether as she slips from my dream and into the darkness of the catacombs.
I wake up with a start.
Moonlight floods in through my bedroom window. I stare at it, trying to understand why the shape of the window is somehow different than I remember. Slowly, the memory of all the destruction filters into my mind. My bedroom had been decimated by the malevolent spirit and like someone snapped their fingers, it’s been repaired.
Are there magical construction workers?
The thought creeps into my mind, and after everything that happened here less than forty-eight hours ago, I’m certain there has to be. How else can you explain such a turnaround?
On the other side of the moonlight, something moves in the darkness. Blood pulses in my ears and I clutch the blanket close, unable to move. My breath drops into shallow gulps of air as I struggle with myself. I should move—I need to move. Yet somehow, I’m paralyzed, unable to escape the confines of the bed.
The movement transforms into a shadowy figure and as it comes closer, it takes the shape of a man. My mouth opens to scream, but I snap it shut when I realize I know the man.
“Dad?” I whisper. The confines of fear fall away as if ropes binding me were suddenly cut loose. “What are you doing in here?”
He walks up, one side of his face lit by the moonlight. The other half is shielded in darkness. However, the smile on his face is evident as he looks down upon me.
My eyebrows tug in and I shift in an attempt to sit up. Behind me, Wade groans, and rolls over, wrapping his arm around my shoulder. He tugs me closer to him and I drop back into the bed.
I flitted my gaze back to Dad. His expression has switched from contentment to agitation as he stares at the place where Wade’s arm rests. As if fighting with himself, his head flicks back and forth quickly, switching between happiness and irritation. Without warning, he stops, facing the doorway to the resurrection chamber.
I bolt upright in bed, following his gaze. In the shadows beyond the foot of my bed, Abigail is hunched over, her hair partly obscuring her face. Her lips move quickly, as if muttering something just out of earshot.
“What’s going on?” I say in a frantic whisper, trying to remain calm as my body begins to tremble. “Why are you both in here?”
Wade shifts slightly, running his hand along my arm. “Lay back down, Autumn. You need your rest,” he says, sleepily.
I clutch his hand, leaning on him for emotional support. I don’t dare move a muscle, and I’m unable to take my eyes off of the way Abigail’s hunched form looks like it could attack us at any time.
“Dad, Abigail is—” the words catch in my throat as I turn back to him. No longer fighting with himself, the side of his face once highlighted by the moonlight looks as though the skin is rotting off. His eye is missing and a wide-open socket stares back at me.
The room fills with a high-pitched scream as I scramble backward. My back slams against the headboard and the movement pushes Wade clear to the other side of the bed. Within a fraction of a second, he’s out of the bed, searching for the lamp.
“Autumn, what is it? Why are you screaming?” He says, reaching for the chain on the lamp, but it refuses to turn on.
I shake my head, my wide eyes unable to divert from the horrors of my father’s face.
“This has to be a dream. I’m still dreaming… I have to be dreaming…” I swallow hard, fighting back tears, and squeak, “Please be a dream.”
“Autumn, what is it? Talk to me,” Wade says, jumping back on the bed, and kneeling right beside me. He pulls my face from my dad, forcing me to look at him.
“I…I…” I stutter, unable to form words.
My chin quivers, and I tear my gaze from Wade. Suddenly, my dad is inches from my face. A wave of intense cold seeps from his being as his breath hits my skin, making me shiver in terror.
As if no longer able to restrain himself, he gropes for my arms, tugging me in close. His frigid touch is worse than his breath. It seeps into me at soul level, making my body freeze and my heart ache.
“You must denounce it. You must denounce it all,” he says, his words coming out in slow, deliberate sentences.
I shake my head, afraid to move much else. “What are you talking about?”
“Promise me,” he yells, gripping me tighter. His frozen fingertips bite my skin and I cry out in pain.
“I promise. I promise,” I say, unsure what it is I’m even agreeing to.
“I was wrong. So, so wrong. You must denounce our legacy and leave this place. Leave Blackwood Manor and forget about all of this. You need to go now—” he says, his desperate words vibrating in the air as they begin to distort, echoing after each other.
My eyes widen and my fingertips fly to my mouth as a horrific knowing emerges. “No, no, no…” I say, shaking my head, unable to stop the tears from forming. “No…”
“They’re coming for you. They’re all coming for you…” he says, repeating the words from outside. The words from a vengeful creature hell-bent on hurting me. Or so I thought.
“We need to get out of here…” Wade says, gathering our clothing into his arms beside me. “Autumn, we need to go.”
“Yes, go—” Dad practically screams in my face. “Before fate forces you to join me in death.”
Chapter 17
To Whom This House Belongs
No matter what I do, I can’t stop
