The Face in the House

44

Bright orange light washed over the room as the incessant screaming grew louder, angrier, and more desperate than ever before. The flames whooshed up from the grave, a storm of fire accelerated by whatever chemical had spilled there just moments before. The fire spread fast, and Malcolm could feel the heat of it licking at the tip of his nose even from his position near the stone wall. He covered his face, protecting his skin from the flames, as well as  shielding his eyes from witnessing whatever fate would befall Arabella White.

Abruptly, the screaming stopped.

The quiet that replaced it was eerie, and interrupted only by the crackling and whooshing of a quickly spreading fire. Though he knew his life was still in desperate danger, Malcolm felt an overwhelming sense of relief. Arabella was gone, he knew,  and she had taken all of her rage and terror with her.

When he uncovered his eyes, he saw no sign of Arabella. Owen stood in front of him, his arms still outstretched like a shield. Malcolm scanned the room. Teddy still stood beside the grave, much too close to the raging flames, though they didn't touch her.  Malcolm watched her with unease. Moments before, he had seen a flicker of the real Teddy, and she had destroyed the bones, seemingly against some force that had taken control of her mind. Looking at her now, he wasn't sure who he was looking at. In the new harsh light, Malcolm could see the full effect of Teddy's unnatural form. Spiders clung to her like a cloak, and the sight of it reminded him of one of Poole's letters. It detailed a time when Arabella had called on him to dispose of a spider in her bedchamber.

. . . my foot failed to obliterate the bug, and instead released hundreds of infant spiders, which, unbeknownst to me, had been clustered on the mother's back!

The thought of it made him shudder, and its association with Poole put a stab of pain through his chest. Poole was gone. A soul older than any natural law would've allowed, was gone. Arabella White had gotten her revenge, revenge for whatever betrayal Poole had committed that left her dead and buried beneath her own house. She had wanted to live forever, and Poole had failed.

They had planned to stay together at Thornewood House, forever. They had been . . . friends. At least, Arabella believed them to be. From Poole's perspective, Malcolm recalled from the letters, Arabella had been nothing more than an annoyance to him. Had that changed? Or had Poole been using Arabella to test his hypothesis? The spiraling thought filled Malcolm with a heavy feeling of sadness and exhaustion. These were questions without answers.

"Teddy . . ." Owen said beside him, his voice a desperate plea. It brought Malcolm back to the dire reality of their situation.

She whipped her head to their direction, unnaturally, maybe painfully fast. Malcolm gasped, shocked by the change in her face. Her once green eyes were now a sinister inky black.

"Teddy, please," Owen pleaded, and his voice broke.  "We need to leave--"

A low growl, so unlike her usual voice, interrupted him. The spiders writhed where they perched on her shoulders and back, as if readying for battle.

"We'll -- we'll say," Owen sputtered through tears. "We'll all stay together."

Something indiscernible passed over Teddy's face. A momentary twitch of the brow or the lower lip. Malcolm took it as a sign that the real Teddy was still in there, fighting to come to the surface.

"We're not leaving you, Teddy," Owen said through a sob. "We'll never leave you."

The flames were spreading faster now, and the smoke was becoming too much to bear. Malcolm could feel it burning his throat and weighing on his chest.

Her brow furrowed and she clenched her teeth in a grimace, but she looked like their friend again. She blinked hard and tears spilled down her face. She gasped like she had before, right before she dropped the candlestick, as if coming up from too long underwater. The spiders on her shoulders wriggled and writhed violently.