The Burning (12 page)

He did not slow down. He followed the glowing sword. Glowing like a torch now. Glowing with the heat of his vengeance.

“Simon—stop!”

Angelica sounded so far away.

I will find her. I will find the maid—

There she stood!

A bright blurred figure walking toward him, beyond the blinding glow of the sword blade.

Yes! He had found her!

Yes!

The maid. The Goode. A Goode walking in his very own hallway.

“Simon—
stop!”
Angelica called.

But Simon could not stop.

He lowered the gleaming sword.

The girl shrieked and threw her hands up in terror.

He had her. He had her now.

The sword glowed so brightly, so brightly he could see only its light.

“Simon—
stop! Stop!”
Angelica screamed.

But Simon plunged the sword deep into the maid's chest.

T
he light shimmered around Simon, blinding white light.

As he thrust the sword into Lucy Goode and she uttered a choking gasp of pain, the light grew even brighter.

A small round dark spot formed in the center of the light. The spot grew, spreading its darkness.

It took Simon a while to realize that the spot was blood, blood staining the front of the girl's dress.

Darker, darker. The spot expanded until it blocked out the light.

And as the darkness grew and the shimmering light faded, Simon's vision was restored. He could see clearly once again.

Still holding the long ebony handle of the sword,
staring at the blood as it stained the dress, Simon could see. Could see that he hadn't stabbed Lucy Goode.

He had thrust the sword deep into his own daughter's chest.

“Simon! Simon!” Angelica's shrill cries repeated in his ears, shutting out all other sounds, shutting out his own horrified thoughts. “Simon! Simon! Simon!”

Then Hannah fell forward and slumped into her father's arms, as his sword clanged heavily to the floor.

Warm blood poured over Simon's evening shirt. Hannah's blood.

She uttered a soft moan. Her lips continued to move after all sound had died.

All sound except Angelica's shrill chant: “Simon! Simon! Simon!”

Hannah died in Simon's arms, her head lying heavily against his shoulder, her soft blond hair brushing his cheek, falling over his shoulder.

Hannah dead. Julia dead.

Angelica shrieked, her eyes shut tight, pulling frantically at her long black hair.

Robert held his brothers, turning them away from the hideous scene before them.

Mrs. MacKenzie sobbed against the wall, burying her face in her apron.

“I—I thought it was Lucy Goode,” Simon sputtered.

“Lucy Goode resigned this afternoon,” Mrs.
MacKenzie replied through her sobs. “She could not bear Miss Hannah's accusations. She packed her bag and departed.”

With a quiet shudder Simon held his lifeless daughter. As he struggled to keep her on her feet, they appeared to be dancing, a strange, sad, awkward last dance.

Hannah is gone, he realized. Julia is gone. The wonderful part of my life is over.

“Simon! Simon! Simon!” Angelica chanted.

“I tried to hide from it, Angelica,” Simon sobbed. “I tried to pretend it no longer existed. But the curse that follows the Fear family has found us all today.”

“Simon! Simon! Simon!” Angelica shrieked behind him. “Simon! Simon! Simon!”

Simon Fear knew that her cries would haunt him for the rest of his life.

O
n a gloomy fall day a young man stepped off the westbound train onto the narrow concrete platform of the Shadyside train station. He was a good-looking boy of eighteen, with slicked-down brown hair, lively brown eyes, and a friendly, open face.

He quickly glanced down the main street of the small town. Shadyside appeared to be prosperous and pleasant with low brick buildings behind shady trees. Then he hailed a carriage with a cheerful cry. “Cabbie! Cabbie!”

The driver, a shriveled old man with white whiskers and long white sideburns beneath a worn blue cap, stopped the horses and hopped down to help the young man with his suitcase.

“I can handle it, driver,” the young man said,
offering his friendly smile. “I have but one bag, as you can see.”

“And where do you come from?” the cabbie asked, eyeing the boy suspiciously.

“Boston” was the reply. “My name is Daniel. Daniel Fear. And I have come to visit my grandparents.”

The old driver's eyes narrowed in surprise. “Daniel Fear, did you say? And you have come to visit Simon Fear and his wife?”

“They are my grandparents. I have never met them,” Daniel admitted. He hoisted his bag onto the luggage compartment at the back of the carriage. One of the two horses whinnied. The carriage rocked back and forth.

“My name is McGuire,” the cabbie said, touching his cap. “I have been driving this rig in Shadyside Village for a lot longer than you have been alive, son. And you are the first visitor I have ever taken to the Fear mansion.”

“Strange,” Daniel replied uncertainly.

“Strange indeed,” McGuire said, shaking his head. “That house has been dark and closed up ever since the two daughters died. That was some thirty-five years ago, I believe.”

“Simon's daughters?” Daniel asked, surprised. “You mean that I had aunts?”

The cabbie nodded. “Who might your father be, son?”

“Joseph Fear,” Daniel told him.

“Ah, yes, Joseph,” McGuire said, removing his cap to scratch his head. “I remember him well.
Good-looking boy. I remember they sent him away to school. A couple of years after the … uh … after the tragedy with the two girls. Joseph never returned home.”

“Yes. We live in Boston now,” Daniel said. “None of us has ever been back to Shadyside. My father is a very quiet man, a private man. He never told us much about our family. I did not even know I
had
grandparents here until word came about my grandfather's seventy-fifth birthday.”

“So Simon Fear is to be seventy-five,” McGuire muttered, rubbing his chin.

“Yes,” Daniel replied. “My grandfather wrote a letter and asked to see me. So … here I am.”

The old cabbie muttered something that Daniel couldn't hear. Then he turned and, with a loud groan, hoisted himself up to the driver's seat. Daniel watched McGuire take the reins, then climbed inside the small carriage, pulling the door closed beside him.

Staring out the dusty window, Daniel watched the small town roll by. The town center with its offices and shops gave way to rows of small cottages, then farm fields, then tangled woods. The overcast sky made everything appear dark and unwelcoming.

Suddenly Daniel heard McGuire shout for the horses to
whoa,
and the carriage bounced to an abrupt stop. Daniel peered out at a tall brass gate. The gate was tarnished.

“Here we are, son,” McGuire called down. “The Fear mansion.”

Daniel opened the carriage door and leaned out. “Can you not take me up the driveway?”

His question was greeted by a long silence. Finally the old man called down gruffly, “This is as far as I go. Few people would wish to come as near as this to Simon Fear's mansion.”

Daniel climbed down and removed his bag. He handed up two coins to the driver, who stared straight ahead, refusing to look at the mansion. Then with a curt “Good luck, son,” McGuire whipped the horses, and the carriage sped away.

Daniel pushed open the heavy gate and stepped onto the long dirt driveway that led up to the house. “Oh!” The sight of the enormous mansion looming against the charcoal gray sky made Daniel stop and cry out.

Tall weeds choked the lawn. Shrubs and hedges had grown wild. A fallen tree limb lay across a barren, neglected flowerbed.

The house, a ramshackle, dark fortress, stretched behind a thick veil of bent trees. All of the windows were shuttered. No welcoming light greeted Daniel as he trudged up the driveway. No light escaped from the house at all.

So
this
is where Father grew up! he thought in amazement. What a dreary, frightening old place. No
wonder
Father never talks about his childhood.

Dead, brown leaves rustled at Daniel's feet as he stepped up to the double front door and lifted the heavy brass knocker. He could hear the bang of the knocker echoing inside the house.

He waited, listening. He knocked again.

Finally the heavy door creaked open.

A stooped, white-haired old woman poked her head out and stared up at him suspiciously. She wore a stained white apron over a black dress. One of her eyes had glazed over. It was solid gray. The other eye squinted hard at him.

Frowning, she muttered something that Daniel couldn't hear.

“I beg your pardon?” he asked, leaning closer.

“Stay away!”
the old woman rasped.
“Stay away from here!”

S
tartled, Daniel stared back at the old woman. “I am Daniel Fear,” he said finally. “I believe my grandfather is expecting me.”

The old woman sighed but didn't reply. She squinted up at him for a long time with her one good eye. Then she beckoned him inside, gesturing with a bony, gnarled finger.

“I am Mrs. MacKenzie, the housekeeper,” she told him, leaning on a white cane as she led him through a long, dark hallway. “I am housekeeper, maid, valet, and butler,” she added with some bitterness. “The only servant who stayed.”

Daniel followed her in silence, carrying his bag. As they made their way through narrow, dark hallways, he tried to peer into the rooms they
passed. They all seemed to be dark and shuttered, the furniture covered with sheets.

“My father did not tell me the house was so large,” Daniel said, his voice echoing in the empty hall.

“Your father got away …” Mrs. MacKenzie answered mysteriously.