The Face in the House

33

Sometime in the night, the trembling house came to rest, and so did its tenants. They slept on their life rafts, afraid of the spiders and whatever else could be lurking below; Poole, Malcolm, and Owen on the couch, Teddy on her island of a table. Though hers was likely the least comfortable place for sleeping, she slept the deepest of them all. With the spiders banished back to the shadows, and the malevolent force quieting too, the supernatural darkness felt less like a void and more like a warm, black blanket, covering her with its loving weight.

The next morning, she woke first. Sunlight burst through a gap in the heavy curtains, burning her eyes and revealing the destruction leftover from the night's events. Picture frames were titled, or had fallen entirely to the ground, their glass faces broken. Chairs had keeled over, knick-knacks were scattered. The front door was barricaded by thick weaves of web that sparkled in the morning light. Her friends were huddled on one sofa, sleeping stiffly with expressions of discomfort and leftover anxiety on their faces. The scene was proof that last night had happened, exactly as she remembered it. It wasn't another ultra-vivid dream.

She thought about the spiders, how they seemed to disperse the moment she willed them to. She wondered how she'd done it, or if she'd really done anything at all. Somehow she knew she had though—it was as illogical as everything that happened in this house.

Thornewood House was governed by the unnatural. Its laws were nonsensical, yet firm as the laws of physics. Here, up was down, dark was light . . . but also, dark was a void and a warm blanket at the exact same time. The house was small, but it contained an entire world within its walls. There was a force that seemed to want them out, Teddy observed, yet, there was another, equally strong, that wanted the very opposite. The law of this land was that there were no rules.

Soon, the others woke. She watched them take in the scene around them, watched their faces as they each recalled the events that occurred the night before. Malcolm grunted and stretched, Poole promptly stood up from his small share of the couch, Owen blinked, then steeled his face.

"What the heck happened last night?" Malcolm groaned.

Teddy shrugged and climbed down from the table. Owen shook his head.

"This being, whatever it is, has gained an incredible amount of power . . ." Poole said. "I wonder what feeds it, and what triggered this . . . intense discharge of power."

"Whatever it is, it definitely isn't happy we're here," Malcolm said.

Owen looked grave.

"If it wants us out, then why . . ." Owen gestured to the silk-covered door. "If that doesn't send a clear-as-hell message, I don't know what does."

"Yes, you're right," Poole said, furrowing his brow and pacing the room. "There are forces at work, dark forces, I think we can agree . . . but it's as if they're at odds with one another, somehow."

"Poole, have you ever seen the spiders act like that?" Teddy asked. As the others talked, she was stuck inside her own mind, and this question was itching to get out.

"Never to this extent. I . . . I didn't even know there were quite so many of them here," Poole admitted.

Malcolm perked up in his seat. "So, are you saying the spiders are separate from the--whatever the other thing is?"

"It would seem so, yes," Poole said. "They acted quite defiantly against it. I have seen them work as a kind of hive-mind before, but never at such a volume. It is clear they were working toward the common goal of, well, keeping anyone from leaving through that door."

They sat in silence, pondering the thought for several moments. Teddy couldn't help but notice the stark contrast the new brought compared to last night—sunlight, silence, and calm contemplation. It was incredible how a house as haunted as Thornewood could be, quite often, so warm and comforting. Apparently, not everyone in the room felt the same.