Annie's Room (15 page)

“Who?” I shout, as rain continues to fall. “Who are you talking about?”

“Annie Shaw,” she replies. “The first Annie. She was there in the background all along, hiding. She's the one who turned
my
Annie into a monster. Now she's going to do the same thing to you.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask. “You're -”

“There!” she shouts, pointing toward the forest. “She's here!”

Turning, I see to my horror that there's a figure just about visible in the darkness, emerging from between the trees. I watch for a moment as the figure limps slowly forward, making its way directly toward us.

“Who's that?” I whisper, feeling a growing sense of shock creeping through my chest. After a moment, I turn to the woman. “Who is it?” I shout. “Please, you have to tell me what's happening!”

“She's the first Annie,” she replies. “She's the one who lived here even before any of us, the one who drowned in the lake. Ever since then...” She turns to me. “All she wants is a father. Someone she can love, and who'll love her in return. She never had a childhood, but they never found her body in the lake so her soul remained and she wants to experience the love of a family. She tried to use my daughter, but it all went wrong. Now she's going to try again with you.”

I watch as the distant figure comes closer. As it limps into a patch of moonlight, I see to my horror that it's a girl, only nine or ten years old, her entire body rotten and putrid. Scraps of torn fabric hang from her skeletal frame, and her dead face has been stripped of almost all its flesh, leaving a stunted nose and two dark, hollow eyes.

“I'm sorry,” the dead woman whispers. “I tried to warn you.”

“No,” I whisper, turning to see that my mother is still unconscious. “We have to get out of here,” I tell her, grabbing her by the shoulder. “Mom, wake up! We have to find Dad and Scott and leave!”

Turning, I see that the dead girl is standing over us now, staring directly at me.

“My daughter tried to give her what she wanted,” Annie Garrett's mother says calmly, “but she ended up as a bitter, twisted monster.” She turns to me. “If you fight back, she'll do the same thing to you. Maybe it's better this way. Just give the little girl what she wants. Let her feel the love of a family through you. Don't fight it.”

As the rotting girl reaches down toward me through the rain, all I can do is scream.

Twenty

Seventy-one years ago

“Rebecca Garrett,” the warden says solemnly as he stands before me, “before the judgment of the court is carried out, is there anything you wish to say?”

Strapped into the chair, with thick restraints around my legs, wrists and neck, I stare at the imbecile. He's just like all the others. They managed to hold a full trial without ever realizing the truth; they think Annie Garrett is dead and buried somewhere, and they think I'm Mother. Father and I never told them the truth, of course. Father has barely spoken a word since the day the police turned up at the house, while I refuse to explain the situation. I would rather die like this, than cheapen the truth by whispering it into the ears of idiots.

“I'll take your silence as a refusal to speak,” the warden continues. “It will be noted in the records that you waived your opportunity to make a statement.”

As he turns and walks away, he doesn't see the little girl standing in the middle of the room. Dripping wet and rotten, she stares at me with dark eyes. I've seen her every day since Father and I were dragged from our home; the girl seems to be watching over me, as if she wants to witness my fate. I have no doubt that she is the first Annie, Annie Shaw, the little girl who once lived in our house and who drowned in the lake beyond the forest. Sometimes, when the world is quiet or when I'm close to sleep, I feel as if I can hear her voice whispering in my thoughts. In fact, looking back over the events of the past few years, I'm sure she must have been meddling, manipulating the situation and perhaps even changing the way we all behaved.

Did Father sense her too? Is that why he seemed so thoughtful all the time? Out there working so often, he must surely have realized that he was being watched by this little girl who wanted a family again.

On the far side of the room, the warden and his assistants are making ready to throw the switch and end my life. One of them has taken a black hood from a box, and now he's coming over to me.

“I'm sorry I couldn't give you what you wanted,” I whisper, staring at the dead girl. “Perhaps we can be together again at the house. Perhaps someone else will move in, and she can give you a family?”

As soon as he reaches me, the man places the black hood over my head. I suppose these fools don't want to see my face as I die, but now I'm in darkness I feel quite certain that the little girl is still there, still watching from beyond the grave. I never realized it back at the house, but when I felt I was being watched from the trees, I must have been sensing her presence. I rather feel that she drove me to kill Mother, that without the little girl's interference I would never have reached this point. Still, I cannot blame her, even though I should. She has twisted my mind to such a degree that I can now only see the world from her point of view.

“When you're ready,” the warden calls out from the far side of the room.

I hear footsteps walking to the far wall.

Closing my eyes, I prepare for death. If there is any life beyond this one, I feel certain that after the brief pain I experience while dying, I shall find myself back at the house. I also believe that Father, who they tell me was executed last week, will be there too.

Suddenly I feel something touching my left hand. Little fingers link with mine and squeeze my hand tight. It's Annie, the first Annie, and as soon as her flesh touches mine I feel an overwhelming sense of love bursting through my soul. She's neither cruel nor vindictive, and she's certainly not evil. She just wants a family.

The last thing I hear is the sound of the lever being pulled, and the last thing I feel is a massive surge of power that bursts through my body and escapes from my lips as a dying gasp. And then comes the vast dark emptiness of death.

Epilogue

I hear the car before I see it. There's an engine somewhere beyond the trees, and sure enough a red sports car comes into view a moment later. By the time it pulls up in the driveway, I can already see who's inside.

“Well hello there!” Harriet Roland coos as she gets out of the car, waving at me and grinning. “How are you doing there, neighbor? Do I spy a young lady who's finally out of those horrendous plaster casts?”

Having spent the morning sitting on the porch steps, patiently transplanting spinach seeds into their new pots, I'm somewhat taken aback by the sudden arrivals. Still, I wipe my hands on the sides of my jeans and get to my feet, while forcing a smile. I know it's important to present a calm face to the world, to show good character, and I figure it should be pretty easy to make Harriet and her daughter think that everything is okay.

“Oh my God!” Harriet continues. “Look at you, Annie! Up and about, and out of those wretched plaster casts already.” She turns to Tabitha, who's a little slower getting out of the car. “Look, darling! Annie's all better!”

Tabitha smiles at me, but there's a hint of concern in her eyes. If I didn't know better, I'd be worried.

“I'm sorry we haven't been out sooner,” Harriet continues, shaking my hand enthusiastically, “but we were away for the summer, visiting our house by the beach. You know how it is, you go out there intending to spend a week or two, and then before you know it the summer is almost over and you wonder where all the time went!”

“Sure,” I reply, smiling cautiously as Tabitha comes over to join us.

“Do they hurt?” Harriet asks.

“I'm sorry?”

“Your legs. Do they still hurt?”

“Oh...” I pause, before looking down at my legs. There are a couple of scars still, but considering how badly they were damaged, I figure that's not too bad. “No. No, my legs are fine now. A little stiff still, but that'll pass.”

“How wonderful,” she continues. “When we came before, I felt so sorry for you, stuck up there in that little bedroom. The summer was so glorious, it was such rotten luck for you that you had to miss most of it. Why, you must be -”

Stopping suddenly, she seems to have spotted something nearby. Turning, I realize what's wrong. Scott is on the far side of the porch, slumped over slightly in his wheelchair. For someone who doesn't know what happened, he's probably an alarming sight.

“Is...” Harriet pauses, with obvious concern in her voice. “Is that your darling little brother?”

“It is,” I reply, smiling as I watch Scott for a moment, before ridding my face of the smile and turning back to Harriet. “I'm afraid he had an accident. He's fine physically, but mentally... We don't know if he'll ever talk again. All he does is sit in that chair and stare into space. The doctors say a blow to the back of the head like that can cause lasting damage, but at least he's not in pain, not as far as we can tell.”

“How awful,” Harriet replies, with tears in her eyes. “Do you mind if I ask what happened?”

“It's a little sensitive, actually,” I tell her. “For his sake, we prefer not to talk about it too much. We don't really know whether he can hear us, and we don't want to upset him. Would you like to come inside, by the way? I can make some tea or coffee for you.”

“That would be lovely,” Harriet replies, as she and Tabitha follow me to the steps. “Is your mother not in?”

“No, not really,” I reply, glancing at the basement door as I step into the kitchen. “Sorry, she's away for a while. I don't know if... I mean, I don't know when she'll be back.”

“I hope no-one else is sick,” Harriet says, with obvious concern. “It seems your family has had such terrible luck lately.”

“My aunt's not well, actually.” I fill the water-boiler and flick a switch on the side, before turning to her. “She's -”

I pause for a moment as I see that while Harriet and Tabitha are smiling at me as if nothing's wrong, there's another figure standing nearby. It's little Annie, the first Annie, the rotten little girl who, according to my research, lived in this house more than one hundred and fifty years ago and drowned in the lake. When I thought Annie Garrett was haunting this house, I was wrong; the ghosts were Annie Garrett's mother, who trying to warn me, and little Annie Shaw, the first Annie. Even now, drips of water are running down Annie Shaw's rotten legs and falling onto the floor. She's the one who started this whole thing, the one who has been waiting ever since for a chance to experience the childhood she missed, the one who wanted nothing more than the love of a father. She haunted Annie Garrett, trying to experience life through her, but Annie Garrett became a twisted monster. Annie Shaw is finally happy now, though; she gets to feel everything I feel, she gets to experience real love through me, and it's all she's ever wanted.

Sometimes I hear a whisper in my head, guiding me, but I don't mind. I can barely remember what it was like before we came to this house.

“My mother has gone to look after my aunt,” I continue, regathering my composure and turning back to Harriet. “She really might be quite some time. Again, it's a difficult situation.”

“Oh, that's too bad,” Harriet replies, “but at least you're here to hold the fort.”

I nod, unable to keep from grinning with pure pride.

Next to Harriet, Tabitha is staring at me with a hint of concern. It's tempting to believe that she suspects something, but of course that would be impossible. She's just some dumb kid, there's no way she could ever come close to guessing the truth about everything that has happened in this house. Maybe she senses that I'm a little different, but it's not exactly a crime to change over the course of a long, hot summer.

“I'm sure your mother is very proud of you for taking on all these responsibilities,” Harriet continues. “I know it's a lot for a girl your age, but this whole house looks absolutely spotless. I'm almost tempted to say that it seems better than the first time we came over, but of course back then you were still unpacking. Still, your parents must be so proud of you, the way you've stepped up to the plate and taken over.”

“Yes,” I reply, as the water-boiler starts to whistle, “they
are
proud.” I pause for a moment. “Especially Dad.”

“And of course Tabitha and I can chip in,” she adds. “We'll come over and -”

“No,” I say firmly.

“We -” She frowns, as if she thinks maybe she misheard. “I'm sorry?”

“It's very kind of you to offer,” I continue, realizing that I need to stand my ground, “but I can't possibly accept. We're fine, and we don't need your help.”

“But -”

“Please don't come here again,” I add. “I'd hate to have to report you for trespassing.”

***

Once Harriet and Tabitha have left, I spend a little while tidying the kitchen before setting dinner on to cook. I'm using a new recipe, one that's very complex, so I put the whole thing on a low heat, figuring that the flavors will be stronger that way. Besides, there's no need to hurry.

The dead Annie watches, of course. She can feel everything I feel, but she still likes to be in the room with me, and I don't mind her presence at all. It's good to have a little company, even if she never says anything. She just stands, dripping, staring at me with her rotten face, feeling every emotion that I feel. In a strange way, her presence is almost calming, but I think maybe that's something she does on purpose. She guides me constantly.

“Here you go,” I say to Scott as I head out onto the porch. Crouching in front of him, I dip a spoon into the bowl of porridge and then slip a mouthful between his lips. He doesn't really respond much, but when I push the spoon further back his gag reflex kicks in.

His eyes stare back at me. Sometimes I wonder how much he remembers about that night.

“It's better this way,” I tell him with a smile. “Annie attracted us to this house for a reason. She had it all planned out, she reached out and found another Annie to live here. Sometimes I even think she caused my accident, so she could get what she wanted. You'll see, we can be happy here. Truly happy, but...”

I pause for a moment, spotting a figure on the lawn. Annie Garrett's mother is still around, but I manage to ignore her and she stays well away from the house. She seems so lost, and sometimes I think I should try to find her body so she can be set free. Maybe then she can go and join her husband and daughter, wherever they ended up after they were executed. One thing's certain: Annie Garrett's ghost was never here. Just the other Annie. Little Annie.

“We just can't let the outside world know,” I continue, turning back to Scott. “They'd see how close we are to Dad, and they'd think awful, dark things. They wouldn't understand that it's pure, that it's just a spiritual connection. There's nothing physical going on, that would be wrong, it would go against everything that the first Annie wants. She just needs to feel loved and happy, and through us... well, mainly through me, she gets that.”

I wait for a reply, but of course none comes. Sometimes I think I see a hint of resentment in his eyes, but I'm probably imagining that. Besides, every time I start to doubt myself, or I start to wonder if maybe this whole situation is wrong, I feel that whisper in my head again, setting me back on course. It's as if the first Annie knows exactly how to calm all my fears.

“Dad loves you, you know,” I continue, hoping for a flicker of recognition on Scott's face. “We have the perfect life here, there's no need to think about anything else. You'll see.”

It takes a few more minutes to feed him, and all the while he simply stares at me, his eyes filled with a kind of blank horror.

“That's good,” I tell him finally, getting to my feet. “You're doing so well these days. I know you saw a lot that night, and I know some of it might still not make a whole lot of sense, but...” I pause for a moment, watching the faint twitch in his eyes. The truth is, Scott hasn't been the same since the night when the first Annie came back, and personally I think his mind is pretty much shot to pieces. Maybe professional help would be able to fix him, but it's not like we can afford to have the authorities looking into things. Besides, it's not a huge problem; whenever I feel myself worrying about him, the first Annie reaches into my mind and makes everything feels okay again.

I leave Scott on the porch as I head inside. I should probably take some food down to Mom too, but lately I've been feeling less keen on her. Again, I guess that's the first Annie's influence. Maybe I'll start feeding Mom every
other
day, rather than every day. I'm sure she'll be fine. At the same time, sometimes I wonder...

Turning, I see that the dead little girl has come a little closer.

My thoughts about my mother instantly start fading.

She'll be fine down there.

Realizing that I have more important matters to deal with, I head through to the hallway and then I start making my way upstairs. The other Annie follows, as always; she likes to keep close, so she can share every moment of my experience. After all, it took so long for everything in this house to be perfect, and I don't blame her for wanting to enjoy herself. Stopping at the door near the top of the stairs, I look down at the words 'Annie's room' carved into the wood, and I can't help but smile. I remember when I felt trapped in the room, and there were times when I felt I'd never get out.

Now I can't wait to get back up here each day, to experience pure and total joy, and to know that this joy is shared by others. Father is sleeping in his own room, which is how things should be. I'll wake him for dinner later.

Trembling with anticipation, I turn the handle and open the door to my room, and then I step inside. Dinner is cooking slowly and I have time to rest for a few minutes, so I sit on the edge of my bed and start removing my shoes. The house is calm and quiet, and I'm ahead with all my chores for the day. We have the perfect family, and Dad's so proud of me, sometimes I just want to burst with happiness. Other people probably wouldn't understand the way we live, they'd probably come up with filthy assumptions, but they'd be so utterly wrong, it's laughable. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and savor the moment. A few seconds later, I realize I can hear faint drips falling onto the floorboards, and I smile.

Behind me, the door swings shut.