Chapter Seven

That night Miss Elizabeth read one of the last few chapters of the book she was reading to Michael. It didn't help him settle for bed, though, because he could tell that she was still bothered by something. He could also tell she didn't want to tell him about it.

He remembered what she'd said about Mallory, about not trusting her. He didn't know what had happened to make her feel that way in the short amount of time she'd been at his gramma's that day, but something obviously had because she'd never mentioned not trusting Mallory before.

Once Michael was sure she was done reading, after she'd marked her place and closed the book, Michael placed a hand over her wrist and wrapped his fingers around it so she would know he didn't want her to leave just yet.

She looked surprised. This was the first time he'd really initiated any physical contact between them. He hadn't felt safe enough to do it before, but after last night, after she'd just held him, he felt he could trust her.

"Are you okay? Your eyes have been different since you came back from gramma's."

Elizabeth shook her head. "What do you mean?"

"They were angry, your eyes, and a little scared. And you said you don't trust Mallory."

"I don't know if I trust her," Elizabeth admitted.

"Are you angry at her and scared of her?" Michael let go of her wrist now that he knew she wasn't going to go anywhere. "Or did she say something to make you scared of me?"

"I am not scared of you. I have never been scared of you." Miss Elizabeth took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Mallory and I had a . . . difference of opinion about something and that is why I don't know if I can trust her with you."

"She wants to hurt me."

Miss Elizabeth stiffened and Michael knew it was true. Mallory, someone he didn't even know, wanted him hurt. He didn't know why, and he didn't really care. He would just do what Miss Elizabeth had asked him to and not go over there without her. If Mallory tried to hurt him, he would fight back, and bad things would happen – something bad that might make Miss Elizabeth make him leave like Gramma had.

"Yes and no. You remind her of someone and that's who she really wants to hurt. You're here and people are good at placing blame where blame doesn't lie. You just need to be careful."

"Okay."

She smiled warmly at him, some of the anger and fear out of her eyes now. Michael felt an unfamiliar warmth fill his chest when he realized that he'd done that. He'd helped her feel better. She'd done so much for him just in the short amount of time he'd been living with her, it was nice that he'd been able to do even that.


That was the first night Elizabeth began hearing things going on in the house that she couldn't explain away. She had another dream about the dark figure standing in her doorway only to wake up and have the door be closed, only this time she heard footsteps outside her door. She recognized the creaks of the floorboards as the footsteps went across the hall.

At first, she thought it was Michael – either having trouble sleeping or getting up for water or something – but it kept going, pacing back and forth. What was he doing? Maybe he was sleepwalking.

She looked at her door, specifically the small gap between the door and the floor, and when she saw the shadow of feet there she called out to Michael and the shadow stopped there at her door. He'd obviously heard her.

"Michael, go back to bed."

There was a small tap at her door – three small knocks – and when she didn't answer the sound repeated, three knocks again.

Why wasn't he saying anything, asking to come in if that was what he wanted?

"Michael, I think you're sleepwalking. Go back to bed."

Another three knocks, this time louder, more insistent.

She groaned and looked at her alarm clock. It was a little after three in the morning. She really should get him back to bed – or at least try – so she could go back to sleep herself.

"I'm coming, I'm coming."

She stood up, glad that she had a carpet on her floor so she never had the shock of cold she would have if it weren't there. She began walking to her closed door. Almost as soon as she reached the door the shadow disappeared and she heard footsteps going down the hall towards Michael's room.

"Nice timing," she muttered. She waited for the closing of Michael's door, but it never came. Maybe he really was asleep and just couldn't have been bothered to close it back. It didn't really matter.

She went back to bed and was almost asleep when the footsteps started again – up and down the hallway, pausing at her door, over and over, until they finally stopped and the knocking began again.

Even though Michael was the only other person in the house, Elizabeth got a very strong feeling that the shadow outside her door now didn't belong to him. He wouldn't play with her like this. Or he never had before, anyway. Still she called out to him when the knocking sounded again.

She wanted to test what had happened earlier, so she got up again and began walking to the door. The footsteps again faded towards Michael's room. Someone was in the house, she was sure of it, and whoever it was had a sick sense of humor.

Elizabeth didn't know what took over her mind then, but like a mother fearing for a child's life she threw her door open and rushed to Michael's room. His door was closed but not locked, and she was able to get in easily.

She didn't see anyone other than Michael, who was sleeping outside of the covers. It was awfully warm in his room, maybe she needed to check the air vent in the room because it wasn't that warm anywhere else in the house. The warmth was familiar, though. It was the same smothery feeling she'd felt when she'd gone into The Murder House.

God, what if they'd brought something back with them? What was she supposed to do with that if they had? From everything she'd ever read on the subject of hauntings she knew the first thing you were supposed to do was make sure the spirit knew that it wasn't welcome, especially if it started manifesting itself in unpleasant ways. You had to have confidence when doing it; the spirit had to know you meant business.

She wasn't feeling very confident at the moment because she didn't know exactly what was in her house. She knew it wasn't another person, though, she was certain of that now. Something was in that room with her, she could almost feel it breathing down her neck. She was starting to sweat like she had in that house. It would soon make her feel sick if she stayed there.

"This is my house," she said. "You don't get to take over my house. If you're going to cause problems, you're not welcome here."

She felt good as she said it because she meant it. This was her house; whatever was there did not get to take away the security that brought her. She wouldn't let it.

"If you don't leave on your own, I will find a way to make you leave."

A sudden heat filled her, a painful one, right in her gut, and she felt as if she were going to vomit. But she couldn't back down, couldn't show weakness. That would be the worst thing she could do just then. This was the first confrontation and she couldn't let it win. Things would just get worse if she did that.

The lights in the room began to flicker on and off – just very fast spurts of electricity that faded almost as soon as they came. She knew it was a show of power from whatever this thing was. It was enough to have Michael jerking awake in bed.

He rubbed his eyes quickly and took in the state of the lights before his gaze set on her.

"Miss Elizabeth?"

Most of the pain stopped then, a lingering ache was all that was left. It felt as if she'd done too many sit-ups and she felt weak all of a sudden as she fell to her knees. Her arms instinctively pulled in close to her middle protectively.

Michael was there in seconds. He was on his knees, too, and his hands had landed on her back. He was rubbing her back sloppily, trying to imitate how she'd comforted him the night before.

"What happened? The lights –" They were no longer flickering. "Are you okay? What are you doing in my room?"

She gasped for air before answering. "Something was here."

"Something . . ."

She didn't feel like explaining everything just then, and she no longer felt whatever that presence had been. It was gone for now.

"I'll explain everything tomorrow. Okay? I'm really tired."

"I'm – okay." Michael helped her stand. "Are you – it hurt you."

"It tried."

Elizabeth was able to walk on her own, but Michael followed her to her room anyway, and stayed in the doorway until she was back in bed. She noticed he looked a little nervous, much as he had earlier when he'd made sure she wasn't scared of him.

"Are you sure it wasn't me? That I . . . didn't do it."

"I'm very sure this wasn't you."

"Then something from the house. I brought it with me."

Elizabeth hated that he was so sure that this was his fault even though she did think that whatever it was had latched onto him even if it was focusing on her.

Mallory's words echoed in her head about how the darkness would present itself in some way if she became a threat to it. It had presented itself that night – and maybe even the night before in her dream.

"We'll talk about it in the morning, Michael. I need to sleep. But . . . it's not your fault. You didn't know, and neither did I. Okay?"

He nodded his head but didn't speak, so she didn't know exactly how he was feeling about what she'd just said. He closed her door and she heard him go back to his room and close his too. It didn't take long for her to sleep, she was that exhausted.

There were no more disturbances that night.


Michael didn't sleep well the rest of the night. He dozed off and on, but he really was worried for Miss Elizabeth. Something had been hurting her. Something evil. He couldn't feel it anymore, but the air had been so oppressive when he'd woken up to find her there in his room.

He still didn't know how she'd come to be there. Had she heard something in his room? What had brought her there? Was whatever it was that had been hurting Miss Elizabeth really there for him? Had she come in to protect him? And was that why she'd been hurt? If that was the case then it really was his fault. He'd been the one to want to go to The Murder House, and if she got hurt because he'd brought something back from there . . .

He couldn't let that happen. Whatever it was couldn't have her.


As was to be excepted, neither Michael nor Miss Elizabeth was that rested when they woke up to face the day. They had cereal and toast for breakfast and neither one of them really talked while they ate. They didn't have the energy.

Even after they ate and Michael remembered she said she'd tell him what had happened the night before – that morning really – he could only mutter that he was ready to talk. He was tired, and he knew she was tired. Her usually light mocha skin was a shade lighter, but she had dark rings around her eyes from her rest being interrupted. He wondered if he did as well.

She explained to the best of her ability about the footsteps and the banging on her bedroom door and how she'd thought it had been him at first, and about how the footsteps had began going to his room when she'd tried to open her own door.

Whatever it had been had definitely been playing with her.

"Michael, whatever it is, I think it does mean us harm. If it starts messing with you, you can't let it. Okay? It's not welcome here and you have to let it know that."

"I don't think it's after me, Miss Elizabeth. It came after you. If it wanted me, why would it get your attention first?"

It was true. Michael hadn't heard the footsteps, he hadn't heard any banging on his door. It had ended up in his room, yes, but it had drawn her there first.


Later that day Elizabeth received a call from her mom, mostly because Elizabeth hadn't gotten in touch with either of her parents in the last few weeks. Not that that was unusual. Her family was not the most communicative. Her mom and dad both thought the fact that they had taken care of her financially made up for everything they had failed to do while they'd been raising her.

Both her mother and her father had always put their work ahead of spending time with their children. They had never made them feel as if they were a burden or a mistake, but they didn't believe in quality time either. They mostly just threw cash at them and hoped for the best.

When Elizabeth had decided to move out that year, her parents had been all too happy to help her financially. If she'd been able, she would've brought her sister Tara with her, but she hadn't. That was probably a good thing, considering what was going on in her house at the moment.

"I'm just calling to see how you're settling in. You've been there long enough now."

"Um, yeah. Everything's been great."

That technically wasn't a lie. Things had been going great until . . . well, the last two nights.

"Do you have everything you need?"

"Right now, yeah."

It was true. From the money she made delivering groceries – Constance wasn't the only one she did that for – and the money her mom and dad sent her monthly – guilty conscious much? – she was doing all right. She appreciated the help even if she didn't like the reason she received it.

"I still don't know why you had to pick a house so far away. There were plenty for sale around here. I don't like the thought of you living alone there."

"Mom, it's only an hour away." She didn't mention that she wasn't alone. That would just open a doorway for a conversation she didn't want to have. "And you know me. I'm good on my own. I always have been."

"Yes. I know. You just have never been on your own quite so far away."

"I'll be okay, and I promise I'll call you more. I've just been busy the past couple weeks."

They talked for a few more minutes, but eventually her mom had to go – she was an on-call doctor. Her mom didn't even leave her with an "I love you."

"Nice talking to you too."

Michael, who had started out listening to her conversation but had lost interest midway through, was playing a video game now. She couldn't keep from grinning when she realized it was Mario Cart.

She sat down on the sofa beside him. Without pausing the game, he said, "Your mom doesn't sound very nice."

"Sometimes she isn't." Then Elizabeth shook her head. "That's not fair. She's nice the only way she knows how to be. She loves me the only way she knows how and that's by making sure I'm financially set. There are worse things."

Michael did pause the game then, and he seemed much older all of a sudden while still remaining open the way only a child can.

"You always see the good in things," he said. "I don't know how you do it."

Elizabeth didn't know what to say because she herself didn't know how she did it. It was just something she'd always done – tried to see the light through the darkness. The darkness had never really bothered her; without it the light couldn't shine.


That night they went to bed earlier than normal because of the lack of sleep the night before. Michael told her she didn't have to but Miss Elizabeth still read to him. He paid attention the best he could, but his mind wasn't really focused on the story like it normally was. He knew they were getting close to the end because Harry had just come up against the bad guy – Michael had been sure it was Snape, but instead it was Professor Quirrell.

"Miss Elizabeth?" His voice was quiet. He didn't really want to ask what he was about to ask, but he knew he had to. "What if that thing comes back?"

He watched as she bit her lip, watched as she thought about his question and how to best answer it. It took her a while.

"I'll do the only thing I can. I'll fight it until it goes away again."

"But what if it doesn't? What if you fight it and it hurts you like it tried to do last night?"

"I . . . I'm not going to lie to you, Michael. It could very well do that. I think I made it mad last night and that's why it tried to hurt me. I told it to go away, and I don't think it liked that very much."

"But it did go away. Right?"

"It did. I don't know how long it'll stay away, but, yeah, it went away."

"Good."