A/N: This chapter names the foreman who died. The name was taken from the book The Diary of Ellen Rimbauer. It was an interesting read, if nothing else. Lots of points differed from the movie Rose Red and also the movie version of The Diary of Ellen Rimbauer.
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Emery closed the door behind him, thoroughly glad to be away from the rest of the group. He knew that was a stupid thing to be grateful for, but their happy-go-lucky attitudes really started getting on his nerves. They didn't know what he knew, therefore they were still blissfully ignorant of how much the house wanted to harm them.
He'd been quite bored with most of the tour, already knowing much of what Joyce had imparted to them. However, the photo of the movie star, Deanna Petrie, had stunned him. He now had a name to go with the decaying corpse he'd seen multiple times over the last week. April was very easy to identify as everyone knew of her physical handicap, but Emery had suspected that the older woman she always appeared with was not Ellen. As they had never spoken to him when they had appeared to them, none of his inquiries had been answered. They'd merely stood there, taunting him with their unnerving silence.
Emery looked at his precognitive abilities as a curse rather than a blessing, but, as he'd lived with it for so long, he'd learned, very quickly, how to block these manifestations and even to banish them as needed. He'd kept his indifferent composure throughout most of the tour, even as every turn yielded another victim of the house for his eyes only. Everyone else had been hanging off of Joyce's every word. No one noticed his increasing distress, but he was also a master at hiding his unease. So far, all he had seen were silent manifestations with no overt desire from the dead and decaying to harm them.
Mr. Williamson, Rose Red's first victim, frantically pacing back and forth in the front yard as the group approached the front doors; the slight breeze of the day catching the ethereal wisps of his ghostly visage and rearranging them as they sought fit. He'd seen Emery and shaken his fist, full of brittle papers, at him, stomping towards him only to vanish when he was mere steps away from confronting the young man.
George Meader in the solarium. His rotting corpse had been reclining quite comfortably, drinking a most vile liquid from a stained and dirty glass. With flesh hanging off of his face in strips, he'd smiled the toothy smile of the dead and lifted the glass in a salute to Emery as he'd walked by, vanishing as the glass was returning to his lips.
Liza Albert, her skeletal frame bedecked in a prim house dress, a ragged and bloodstained white purse clutched in bony fingers. She had been walking along the hallway where Joyce had pointed their rooms out to them. She had paused for the barest of an instant to nod her head slightly in Emery's direction before she continued walking, vanishing through the solid wall at the end of the hallway.
By the time they had reached the billiard room for their pizza dinner and Joyce started talking about Douglas Posey, Emery had a feeling he knew what was coming. He barely batted an eye as the reenactment of the cowboy's death played out in front of his eyes. He was immaculately dressed in the western attire he was known for, carefully placing his feet on each successful rung of the ladder. Tossing his hat and a rose out of sight, he fit the noose snugly around his neck before he stepped calmly off of the ladder, the rope giving a harsh snap as it went taut. Emery had jumped slightly as the rope tightened and he watched as Posey's body rapidly decayed before his very eyes before it faded from view.
Emery silently pleaded for one peaceful night before confronting the demons of the house in full force on the morrow. He knew the plea was pointless, but he felt better for trying. Rebelling against the overbearing nature of his mother, he forsook his nightwear and crawled into bed as he was. Even as he tried to fall asleep, he could feel the subtle changes in the house as its ghastly occupants prepared to wage their war on the newcomers, claiming many into their own ranks.