Hosts and Ghosts

No peripheral vision. Ena could only see what lay directly beyond the keyhole. A diorama slice of the room beyond: the opposite wall, one quarter of the the fireplace, and the tall back of a leather upholstered chair angled away from her facing the fire. The rest of the room melded into dancing shadows.

Ena wasn't supposed to be here. She didn't even want to be here. But something had possessed her, had brought her out of bed to sleepwalk into the mansion from the servants quarters to this room adjacent to the study. She had awoken on her feet, shivering in the dark. The only light, a flat line of dim firelight under the door, and a sliver of light through the keyhole.

Look, the voices had whispered from cold air around her. Like a murmur in an air vent. Listen.

Ena's lip trembled. Her knees shook. But she obeyed. She was a good girl; she wanted to be good.

She knelt and peeked through the keyhole.

As her eyes adjusted, Ena saw an arm draped over the arm of the chair in the room beyond, a whiskey glass held delicately in a white hand. Presently, that hand lifted the glass to a face Ena couldn't see. She heard an ice cube clink against crystal, then that strong, white hand fell back into place.

"Please, sir." It was her mother's voice. She was somewhere in that room, somewhere to her right, out of sight. "Please. She's just a girl. She never did anything wrong—"

"Shut up," said the man in the chair. "Our hosts have taken a liking to her. You know what has to be done."

Did he say hosts or ghosts? Ena thought, holding her breath to hear better.

"Please," her mother sobbed.

"Lock her in the cellar. We can't let her interfere."

A scuffle. Ena's mother shouted, then her cries were muffled.

"Ena!" she screamed through something jammed into her mouth.

A door shut, and the sound of her mother being dragged away, kicking, receded down a distant hall. Ena cried. Tears and snot cascaded over her hands as she held her own mouth shut.

The man in the chair sighed heavily. "Get the girl. Bring her here. Let's get this over with."

"Yes, sir."

Whoever the man spoke to left the room, and Ena had the distinct sense that the man in the chair was alone now. He downed the rest of his drink in one gulp, and stood. He was tall and lean, dressed in formal attire. He leaned wearily on the mantle over the fireplace. Then, in a fit of rage, he threw his glass into the fireplace to shatter. The fire flared.

It was only then that Ena recognized him. Mr. Lloyd. Master of the House. Ena could count the number of times she'd seen Mr. Lloyd in person on one hand. She didn't see much of the house nor its occupants from the scullery where she worked. Besides, Mr. Lloyd was a recluse. He almost never left his rooms upstairs.

He's going to kill you, said the cold air around her. And your mother, too.

"Why?" Ena whispered back.

He's afraid.

"Of me? Why would anyone be scared of me?"

They should be terrified.

The door swung open. Mr. Lloyd stood stark, a dark outline framed in firelight. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm sorry, sir!" Ena pleaded. "I was sleepwalking!"

We can help. You just have to make a promise...

"Please," Ena pleaded to both the spirits and Mr. Lloyd. "Please don't hurt us. I'll do whatever you want."

Mr. Lloyd looked upon Ena with what may have been pity and remorse. Then his lips thinned into a hard line and the muscles in his jaw clenched. "You can't fool me, girl. I know, deep down, you are an evil thing. We know how to deal with your kind in my family."

Mr. Lloyd grabbed Ena by the wrist and yanked her hard into the room.

We can help. You just have to promise...

Mr. Lloyd threw Ena to the ground in front of the fireplace. There were odd symbols carved into the floorboards in a circle around her.

Promise us...

Mr. Lloyd opened a heavy tome and chanted words aloud. The symbols carved in the wood around Ena illuminated themselves with occult power.

Promise you'll destroy this house.

Pain erupted in the skin of her wrists and ankles. The symbols carved in the floorboards were burning themselves into her skin as though invisible branding rods were being pressed to her flesh. "I promise I'll destroy this house!"

Mr. Lloyd's eyes widened and he stopped chanting the mysterious language. "Who are you talking to?"

The pain stopped. The hot room chilled to freezing in an instant. The fire in the fireplace coughed out at once as though muffled by an giant unseen hand, casting them into thick darkness.

"No," Mr. Lloyd said in the dark. "What have you done? What have you—"

The rest of his words choked away. Ena heard a heavy book hit the floor. Whispers, angry whispers, swelled. Then she heard deep, heavy pops of cracking cartilage and bone sockets.

The voices dissipated. The temperature in the room rose. The fire came back to life. And Mr. Lloyd lay dead, his head twisted all the way around to face the wrong direction.

#

The mansion burned behind them as Ena and her mother shuffled down the road, carrying what few belongings they owned with them.

"I don't understand," Ena said. "Why did the voices want the house gone? Isn't that where they live?"

Her mother put and arm around her. "I don't know, sweetheart. Maybe sometimes you just need to start over."

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