Hilltop House

Maeve, Eighteen

When Brian found her, Maeve had almost given up hope. Her wrists were red and raw from trying to pull out of the zip ties, and her voice was hoarse. He'd been too anxious about Cora, he said, and had come to check on her, but he'd thought he'd heard faint shouting from Dottie's and, well, had broken in and found Maeve.

Brian quickly cut her free, and though he tried to get some sort of explanation from her, Maeve didn't have the time or desire to tell him anything. She said only that they needed to get to Cora, and Brian was happy to oblige. She hastened out of Dottie's dark cluttered museum-of-a-house and back toward her own, speaking only to tell Brian to call the police, but just as they reached the bottom of the hilltop, a figure emerged from the gloom as if from nowhere. Maeve almost ran at it, thinking it was Paul, but then Niecey of all people hobbled through the fog, which had sunk and collected low on the ground. Her head of ragged white hair caught in the moonlight, her eyes and mouth dark as holes, the old woman looked like something out of an old zombie film, and as desperate as Maeve was, the apparition gave her pause.

"My God, Eunice--"

"You won't find her."

Brian stood as if stone behind Maeve, unsure what to do, but Maeve herself shook her head at Niecey and began to ascend the hill.

"It's taken her, just as it took my nephew!" Niecey croaked.

Maeve couldn't help but be disturbed by more than just the words. She went up the steps of the porch, placed a hand on the low wall, turned her head to look down at the old woman. "It's my--Cora's father--he's--"

"It's not him you need to worry about. It's that thing." Niecey had brought her walker up the sidewalk, narrowed her small eyes into slits. She was dressed inappropriately for the cold and Maeve got a fleeting image of the old lady lying dead in her yard like Mr. George, surrounded by Dottie's feral cats.

"Let's go," Brian said to Maeve, stepping up the porch behind her. "I'll help you find Cora."

Trying to dispel Niecey from her thoughts, Maeve glanced at the boy, whose concern reassured her, and then she reached for the door.

"Find the baby, or you won't find your daughter!"

The house was as quiet as a graveyard, as dark, too. But something kept Maeve from trying the lights right away--perhaps she didn't want to startle anyone or anything inside, or maybe she didn't want to see what might be in any of the rooms. Paul had surely come into the house. He'd gone after Cora, and Cora had been here . . . unless he'd taken her!

Panic set in, and Maeve's former hesitation dissipated. She cried out her daughter's name, stumbled into each room and lit it up--the kitchen, the bedrooms, the basement . . . but there was no sign of either Cora or Paul. Returning to the living room, Maeve stood and ran her hands through her hair, cried out in frustration. Her breathing was irregular; she cast about for something--anything--to place her hope in, but the house seemed to be spinning around her.

"Hey! Hold on!" Brian hurried to Maeve and caught her just as she was about to fall. She was small enough of a woman that he easily helped her to the sofa. "What's happened? What is it?"

Maeve hung her head, began to cry. "He took her. I know he took her."

"Who took Cora? Her father? Is that what you said out there? How long were you in Dottie's?"

Maeve felt as if she was melting into a puddle. Her shoulders drooped; her head was too heavy on her shoulders.

"How long were you tied up in there? Listen to me!"

Brian took hold of Maeve and shook her. She swallowed her tears. "What?"

Some fire brewed behind the boy's eyes. "I've been watching this street for the past hour," he insisted. "No one would've come or gone without me seeing them. Maeve threatened to begin whimpering again. "Damnit, listen! Cora is somewhere in this house, all right? I don't know about her father, but I know this house is messed up, and it had something going on with her. Do you hear me? She is in here somewhere."

"But Paul--"

"If anyone tried to hurt Cora, the house wouldn't let them."

Maeve nodded as if a light had been turned on in her mind. "Y-you're right. The house, it--it likes her."

"Yes. It likes her too much. So we have to find her and get her out."

Opening her mouth to say something hopeful, Maeve instead gasped. Her eyes had moved past Brian toward the hallway.

The boy shook his head in confusion. "What? We--"

"Look!" Maeve stood up, causing him to step back. "Th-the ants? Don't you see them?"

Brian tried to care about ants, even went to the hall where the bathroom light shone in a yellow triangle on the floorboards, but grew quickly frustrated. "There aren't any ants."

"But you're in them!" Maeve cried. "Th-they're everywhere! And . . . she was right!"

Frantic, exasperated, Brian threw up his hands. "What are you talking about? We have to find Cora!"

Maeve nodded in agreement, entranced, staring blankly at all of the tiny black specks moving in streams down her hallway, toward her bedroom. "I am going to find her. I understand it now. I'll find her."

Brian didn't know what to make of the woman and left her, began searching the house again. Maeve paid him no attention. She hadn't seen the ants anywhere but in her nightmares for some while, yet here they were, again, only this time, she welcomed them. They were a sign, and she knew where they were going--had always known it, really, but she'd gotten it wrong! She'd thought they'd been mocking her, reminding her of her own past, her own shame, but it hadn't been the baby in the forest, had it? It'd always been the other baby . . . and all she had to do was find it!

On hands and knees, Maeve entered her room, careful not to crush the rippling black ribbons of insects streaming toward the corner, disappearing in droves down under the floorboards. There--right where that small piece was missing, just like in the visions she'd had. As the last of the ants scurried under the board, Maeve put her finger to it, but she couldn't get any sort of grip to pull it up. It wouldn't work this way. She needed something . . .

Getting up, Maeve hurried into the kitchen, ignoring a shout from Brian. Her brain couldn't overcome the compulsion to do this one thing. Without any hesitation, the woman began to pull out drawers, looking for whatever she might be able to use to get that board up. The cabinet to the left of the sink suddenly let go of all its shelves again, but she felt only a mild amusement about it. As objects clattered to the floor, Maeve scoured the piles for something useful . . . and there, in the junk drawer, she found it.

The cherub-faced bedposts wailed their silent chants at her as she knelt and attempted to pry the board up, but she quickly realized the most expedient way to go about it was to just start hammering, so she went for it. The board splintered after a few hard whacks, but she just kept going. There was no point in using her hands, and a sort of freneticism had taken over her, anyway, so that Maeve couldn't have stopped herself even if she'd been in a more stable state of mind. Again and again she slammed the hammer into the floor, showering herself with splinters, and within a couple of minutes, she'd produced a large enough hole to jam the hammerhead into it and yank back any remaining large chunks.

What she found tucked about a half-foot down between the joists did not surprise her at all. She picked it up in her arms and, holding it intact as best she could, got up to find Niecey.