Kaitlyn found the path by breaking through waist-high brush. It was badly maintained, sharp stones breaking through the surface. In the fast-approaching dark this would be a real ankle breaker.
From where Kaitlyn stood on a ridge, she saw above the withered oaks an ornate weatherboard cupola. As she followed the trail, the dome disappeared below the tree line. On either side of her brambles snagged long stems across the path as if trying to keep trespassers away.
She had never been here before. In fact her only memory of old uncle Ellison had been Aunt Beatrice's burial. Kaitlyn had been only eight or nine at the time and Ellison had stood near the back, his face shrouded by a scarf and with his hat pulled down. Innocent, young Kaitlyn approached her uncle, wanting to see the man whom her family rarely mentioned. Before she could reach Ellison through the crush of mourners, her Dad had pulled her back with an offer of some candy. By the time Kaitlyn escaped from her father's clutches, Ellison had vanished and apart from hushed whispers, that was the last she'd heard of him.
Until now. A local realtor had called her father long distance and said that the old house was falling to bits and as the next of kin, was her father interested in selling? Kaitlyn's Dad, now well into his seventies, called Kaitlyn and asked her to check on the old man. Neither had heard uncle Ellison had died, but as they had completely lost contact that wasn't surprising.
"Why me?" Kaitlyn asked her father.
"You're a cop."
"Only a volunteer Deputy." But she'd still driven out.
Up close, the house was as run-down as its grounds. Paint peeled off the weatherboarding, several screens had fallen off and holes gaped in the roof. Watching her footing, Kaitlyn stepped onto the porch and knocked. There was no reply; not that she was expecting one. If Ellison was still alive, he must be nearly one hundred.
Kaitlyn knocked again before giving up. She jumped down and circled the house until she came to an unscreened window. Using a credit card, she opened the lock, pushed up the sash and climbed in. The empty room smelled musty and malodorous. Kaitlyn gagged. She'd come across dead bodies before and this sickly smell reminded her of a rotting corpse. The old man must have passed away, Kaitlyn thought as she crossed the room, tugged open the door and crossed a cluttered hallway. Sadly it wouldn't be the first time she'd come across the body of a forgotten, neglected elderly person.
However, a light shone from around a door opposite. Not expecting any response, Kaitlyn rapped on the worm-eaten wood and pushed her way in. This room was in darkness except for a lantern's glow. The far wall was lined with old-fashioned books and two brown armchairs were drawn up before the bookcase.
Dreading what she was about to come across, Kaitlyn walked slowly to the armchairs. One was occupied and she saw a skeletal arm, no more than skin and bone, lying on a heavy volume. Taking out her cell, about to call the ambulance and the local cops, Kaitlyn nearly screamed as the arm moved and turned a page. Then the head turned; a fleshless skull with dusty, dead eyes. The mouth opened and a dry worm-like tongue fell through the wasted lips.
"You've come at last," Ellison's voice grated, the sound like earth rattling on a coffin-lid. "Nearly left it too late. Help me up and we'll get started."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm at the end of this body, you fool. Did you bring the sacrifice?"
"Sacrifice?"
"The sacrifice I sent you for," the old man growled, as if explaining to a simpleton. "That will regenerate my body."
Kaitlyn realized that Ellison had mistaken her for someone else. The living corpse gripped a silver-handled walking stick and raised itself to its feet. The blanket fell away and the stench of rot and decay filled Kaitlyn's nostrils. The book fell open. In the circle of light, Kaitlyn saw a woodcut surrounded by black-letter text. The picture disgusted her; an emaciated figure ripping the still beating heart out of its living victim. But what were worse were the stains on the page as if the book had seen much use.
"You're not...?" the inhuman figure said, realising that Kaitlyn wasn't his helper. His... its hand reached out touching Kaitlyn's cheek. Its touch was loathsome; like twigs covered by rotting flesh. Acting on instinct Kaitlyn snatched up the lantern and swung it at the figure. It staggered back with a shriek that set Kaitlyn's teeth on edge. The skeletal figure collapsed onto the floor. Kaitlyn kicked out, her boot crashing into the figure's ribs. The skeleton howled, a thin high shriek that cut through Kaitlyn's soul, opening it to terrors not to be comprehended by mortals.
The horror hauled itself to its feet. Kaitlyn heard screaming without realising the sound came from her own throat. She stamped down, snapping the skeletal arm like a twig. Ellison collapsed onto the floor. Spotting the walking stick nearby, taking a two handed grip, Kaitlyn smashed the silver-handle down onto the fleshless skull. Bone crunched and Ellison's head shattered. There was one last chilling shriek and then the figure lay still. But Kaitlyn didn't stop hammering the stick down again and again until the foul object was completely destroyed. Only when she was out of breath did she stop.
A long time later, after Kaitlyn came to her senses, she knew she had to call the cops. Resigned to her fate, she waited for justice to take its course.
While the sheriff was taking Kaitlyn's initial statement in the kitchen, the white suited forensic pathologist knocked and entered. "Excuse me," she said. "This isn't a murder enquiry. That body in the next room – it's been dead at least two months."