5

I could have died tonight, Anne thought. The realization made her faint and wobbly. Right here, in this dark, abandoned crypt, full of terror and confusion. At the hands of a living dead man. Who knew what he would have done to her. How much it might have hurt. How long it would have lasted.

They pulled me to pieces! Bones and all...left me to rot...Had that been his plan? Pull her limb from limb until she died? Her stomach fluttered.

And then she'd be...here. With her murderer. For eternity. Trapped. Her knees gave out at the thought.

"Oh!" Catherine cried, staggering to support her weight. "Anne is fainting!"

"No," Anne said thinly, "No, I'm not..."

But her words sounded hollow and far away. The crypt was so dark that she couldn't tell, for a dizzying moment, if her eyes were open or closed. All she knew was that her legs had turned to jelly, and she kept on sinking.

Catherine kept her from falling too fast. She guided Anne down to sit on the floor, propped against the wall, then sat down beside her.

"Oh my goodness, Anne, are you all right?" Catherine asked. "Have you fainted? Can you talk?"

"I'm awake," Anne told her, grasping about in the dark for her sister's hand. She was grateful for Catherine's supporting arm, her warmth, the squeeze of her hand.

"Oh that's grand," said Catherine, her voice full of relief. "You just sit for a moment. We'll be fine."

"If we can find a way out," Lydia said darkly. Anne's heartbeat picked up at that, thudding painfully against her ribs.

"There must be some way," said Mary confidently. Anne could hear her footsteps as she explored the crypt in the darkness. There were crunches under her shoes that made Anne wince. "They got bodies down here somehow, right?"

"You're right," Liddie told her after a moment. "That's true. There must be an entrance...Here, let's feel along the walls, just here..."

Lydia's footsteps joined Mary's, pacing about the dirty, gritty stone floor. At any second Anne expected the bones to leap to life again, to renew their attack. How were her sisters so cool? So unafraid? Or were they just hiding it well? She tried to keep her ears perked for any sounds, to be alert for the return of that eerie green light. But nothing came. Only the murmurs of her sisters, the sound of Catherine's breathing.

Anne tried to take careful breaths, to calm her heartbeat and stop her shaking. But with every breath she smelled the rot from the dead man's oily bones. Her arms were tingling and throbbing and she knew she'd have terrible bruises from where he'd grabbed her. The back of her head stung where she was sure she had a few scrapes from being shoved against the wall. Every time she blinked she saw those deranged yellow eyes. So full of hate and rage, pressed up right against her own. Wanting her dead.

Only not her. It hadn't wanted her.

My mistake...I was going to kill you then...

The dead man had been after her mother. Had been waiting decades, listening and waiting and fuming. All while Anne and her sisters grew up, something had been hating them from deep under the ground. Hating Mother most of all. He'd almost had her once. Mother's happy ending, her very life, the fact of her breathing, had fueled his rage from beyond the grave.

After a moment Anne became aware that she was whimpering with every breath. Catherine held her closer, and Anne said in a trembling voice, low and fast, "He thought I was Mother. He thought I was Mother and he was going to kill me. He wants to kill Mother. He's going to come back, he's not going to stop until he gets her, until he gets all of us."

"Ssh! No, no, no!" Catherine soothed, wrapping her in another hug. She rocked her a little, as if she were a child. "He won't. We stopped him. It's all right now."

But Anne shook her head. "If he comes back...when he comes back, he'll come back. For Mother and Father, you didn't see his eyes..."

"He's not coming back," Lydia said confidently and loudly, making Anne jump. "It took him twenty years to put himself together again the first time. It'll take at least as long after what Catherine did to him."

"Thank you," Catherine said, delight and pride filling her voice.

"That...that was who I think it was, right?" came Mary's voice from the darkness. There was a short pause, as though each was waiting for another to say it.

"Oh yes," said Lydia reluctantly. "Yes. I'm rather sure it was."

There was another silence, longer this time. That thing had been Mother's first husband. Lord Barkis. Mother and Father had faced...that, and survived. Now the four of them had, too. Somehow that made Anne feel a tiny bit better. They'd all survived. He'd lost. Twice. Anne took a deep, slow breath.

"Let's not talk about him anymore, he doesn't deserve it," Catherine sniffed at last. Then, changing the subject, "Any luck on finding a door yet? It smells terrible down here."

"That's Liddie," Mary said mischievously. When Lydia made an outraged noise, she added, "It is! You smell awful, like dead fish. And sweat and dirt."

"Didn't you bring a change of clothes?" Catherine asked. If Anne had had the energy, she would have gestured toward the satchel that was still miraculously around her shoulder, but she just buried her face in her hands instead.

"Stop! Just...shut up," Lydia snapped. "I'm looking, we're looking. We'll find one. We have to." She took a deep breath that turned into a exclamation of pain.

"I'm fine," she said, before anyone could ask. "I just...my chest hurts. Hurts to breathe. But I'm fine."

"He kicked her," Anne whispered into her fingers, remembering the sound of the blow, the way Liddie had skidded. "In the stomach. Hard."

"Lydia, my goodness!" cried Catherine. "Kicked you? Are you...have you...are you vomiting blood?"

"Am I what?"

"Something might have ruptured! You could vomit blood!"

"For the love of...Catherine, if I start vomiting blood, you'll be the first one I tell. Promise."

"Forgive me for being concerned!"

"I'm glad you're concerned, it was just a stupid question!"

"You are such an ingrate!"

"And you're ridiculous!"

As their voices rose and echoed off of the stone walls, Anne drew up her knees and hugged them to her chest. She buried her face in her skirt, smelling mud and more rot. They were going to die down here. There was no way out. They'd all starve and suffocate, and Catherine and Lydia wouldn't stop arguing until they were dead. They'd probably keep going after they were dead. Miserable, frightened, Anne made herself small.

Suddenly a vicious metallic scraping that sounded like a rusty scream filled the air. Anne's heart jumped into her throat as she sprang to her feet, knocking Catherine sideways in the dark. She pressed her back against the wall, bracing for some new horror. Catherine stood up beside her, and Lydia was standing close by. It took Anne a moment to realize that she could see Liddie. Not well, it was dim and shadowy, but now there was the faintest bit of light, real light, coming into the crypt.

They all looked, and there was Mary, near the low tunnel they'd entered through. She stood near the remains of the rusty metal gate. There was a small recess there, and a short, narrow sliver of light behind her.

"I found the door," she told them sweetly. "Can we leave?"