Haunt Me (Mary Hades Book 4) Page 14

  “What’s…?” I mutter.

  My thoughts are a jumble. I’m caught between wanting to run into his arms and wanting to run away. One name cuts through the mess. Bram.

  Bram.

  I say it. “Bram.”

  He staggers back with his mouth agape. He has kept his name from me all this time but I know it now. I know who he is and what he wants from me. As Bram figures all of this out, his face first scrunches with confusion, then smooths out to a flat, expressionless mask. My mouth goes dry. Why didn’t I see it before? His fists clench at his sides. He takes a step towards me, but then he shakes his head as though dizzy. He lifts his hand to the back of his head and then examines his hand. It’s covered in blood.

  “The bitch,” he murmurs. “She did this to me. Can you believe it?” He laughs.

  But I’m backing away from him. Now I see him for who he really is and my stomach is churning with the nausea. I daren’t even blink, because when I do, his skin changes. It turns grey. And the blood is smeared across his face. His hands are dirty, as though he’s been digging in the dirt. There are worms falling from his mouth. Then I blink and they’re gone.

  “No,” I say. My legs are wobbly as I move away from him. “I can’t.”

  “I’ll be honest.” His voice is congenial to the point of creepiness. He sounds so friendly, yet his eyes are dark and brooding. “I didn’t think she had it in her. Bravo, don’t you think? She showed some balls doing what she did. It’s a shame it all worked out the way it did because I would have liked to play with her a little more. She was a beauty back then. More beautiful than you, Mary.” He grins. “You’re a little average if I’m being honest. But I do like that scrawny, teenage boy physique. It does turn me on.”

  The bright, orange sun is fading. The grass is cold beneath my feet and scratchy between my toes. The swing is rusting before my eyes. I watch in horror as my garden—my safe haven—rots and darkens. It was never a place where I could escape ghosts. It was a place for ghosts to haunt me. The worst thing is that I let them. I encouraged them. I let even more ghosts into my life when I tried to block them out.

  And now Bram is coming for me, prowling like a cat ready to pounce. I’m nauseated and my heart is beating fast. His head is bent so that his hair falls over his eyes. I need to get away from him, as far away as I can.

  I need to wake up.

  Where is that tug on my hand? Where is the voice that whispered my name? I need to wake up now and get away from this monster. But I can’t wake up.

  I can only run.

  *

  LACEY

  Would it be wrong to kiss Willa until Mary comes back from fighting Bram? She’s there facing up to this evil apparition, and all I want to do is touch and kiss this beautiful girl in front of me. But I’m not going to. I need to keep my strength for an attack. Besides, Willa isn’t handling this whole Bram thing very well. She’s agitated for once, and keeps pacing the room.

  It’s dark. Willa has a thing about electricity—probably from growing up on the compound—she only puts her lamp on at night, never the overhead light. It means that she’s in shadow most of the time. Her head is down, but I know she’s frowning. Her hair whispers over her neck. Sometimes she stops and looks at me with eyes filled with tears. I usually end up filling the silence with assurances—everything is going to be okay, Mary knows what she’s doing—until she frowns and continues with her pacing.

  Finally, she speaks. “I always knew he would come after me, but all those girls… I can’t…” She smothers a sob with her hand. “I didn’t know for sure until we saw Mary. Then I felt like my world was going to fall apart.”

  “It’s not your fault. It was Bram who murdered the girls, not you,” I say. And as far as I’m concerned, he did murder them. I shudder at the thought of him talking them into their deaths. “Look, you should sit down. You need to conserve your energy. Mary’s going to need your help.”

  Willa stares down at the Athamé in her hand. “I won’t let her down.” She lifts the knife and carves a symbol.

  I nod. “See! Any ghosts come at us and you’ll carve them up like bacon.” Willa flashes me a glare. “Sorry, not a good time for humour.” I lift my hands to placate her. “Seriously, try not to worry. We’ve done this before. It’s never been in a dream but we’ve coped with worse ghosts than Bram. I mean, you should have seen the one that possessed Susan Hades. That shit, was nasty. I got trapped in a wall. The whole house was full of all these leftover spirits from years ago—”

  My rambling is interrupted by a spirit flying through the wall of Willa’s bedroom. Before I even have time to react, the bloodied face of the ghost comes crashing into me, knocking me through the floor of Willa’s bedroom and into the living room below. The ghost—one of the girls from the quarry, I think—scratches at my face but I duck, and dematerialise away from her, appearing back in Willa’s bedroom. She’s cornered by the other girls, with the Athamé shaking in her hand.

  I barrel into them, knocking them flying. A girl with bloodied wrists smacks me around the face, smearing her blood on me. I shudder as the slick, cool liquid runs down my cheek. It’s not like ghosts can just take a shower.

  “Get your manky hands of me, bitch,” I cry, shoving her straight through the wall of the house. “Willa, I’ll grab one, you perform the cere—”

  But I don’t have time to finish the sentence. It’s me who’s grabbed, by three other ghosts.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  MARY

  “You can’t run away from me.” Bram’s voice is deep and menacing. He shouts from behind me, not as far away as I’d like. “You’re in my world now. I’ll find you.”

  I shiver from underneath one of the picnic tables. The garden is dark. After all my hours of dreaming, I’ve never seen this place in the dark. There’s no comfort in it anymore, it’s a cold place. It’s a true nightmare, with monsters hiding in the shadows. Bram is coming for me and I’m afraid. And it’s only in this moment that I realise I’ve been afraid for a long time but not able to see it. All the hallucinations, the flashes of visions going back to the ghosts who have haunted me, they’re all because of fear. Jack is right, I do have PTSD. But I couldn’t admit it. I hid in this dreamworld until I blocked it all out.

  That means I’m mad. I’m going crazy. My mind is broken. What am I going to do? How am I going to fight Bram when I’m this weak?

  There it is again, that little tug on my hand. It’s Jack. He’s reminding me that he’s next to me. I’m at their house, curled up on the bed with Jack holding my hand. A little warmth spreads into my limbs. I have friends who care about me, who have been trying to make me get help. I have my parents and Emmaline. That’s more than Bram has. I steel myself, preparing to leave my hiding place, when a hand reaches down and drags me out by the hair. Red hot pain spreads over my scalp and I scream, kicking my legs out with tears running down my face.

  “What is it with girls hiding from me?” Bram says with amusement. “Shh. Shh. Don’t be afraid. What’s the matter?” He runs a finger down my cheek. “Why are you crying? Silly girl.” He imitates me with a high-pitched voice. “Poor me, poor, poor me, with all my friends and the big house daddy bought for me. Fucking bitch.”

  He tosses me to the ground and my face slams into the dirt. Then he’s on his knees and leaning over me with his face pressed up against mine. That comforting scent of pine is gone. He’s rancid. His skin is loose and slimy. I scream in horror as his bloodshot eyes come closer to mine, his cracked lips inch towards me. The weight of his body presses down on me, pinning me to the floor, but I swing my arm across and hit him on the cheek. The force pushes him back, and he rubs his jaw. While he’s distracted, I kick him hard between the knees and clamber to my feet. As I run away, my heart pounds in my ears.

  Where am I going to go? There’s nowhere to hide in this garden. I need a place to hide, even for a few minutes while I figure out what I’m going to do. When I look up, I see the forest before me
, dark and dense. Do not go into the woods. He told me that. But I can’t trust him anymore. I’m going in.

  I glance behind me. There’s a dark shape getting to its feet. Bram. Soon he’ll be chasing me. The woods are my only choice. I sprint towards them and slip in between the trees.

  As soon as I’m in the woods, my body temperature plummets. I’m shivering despite the run that got my heart rate up. I rub my arms, wishing that I’d dreamt myself in something warmer than a sun dress. And wishing for a pair of shoes. The ground is soft, but the leaves underneath my feet are damp and slippery. My hands are trembling badly as I grasp hold of trees to keep me upright. Some of the trees feel strange, softer than tree bark, and some of them are wet, too. I try not to think about it, I carry on, heading deeper into the wood. But then, one of the tree trunks moves as I grab it, as though it’s suspended in air. I stop and look at what I’m holding. It’s not a tree at all.

  It’s a corpse.

  Like fruit, it hangs from the tree branch, swinging from the rope around its neck. The wetness came from cold blood soaking its clothes. The face is grinning at me, and the eyes are bulging from its skull. I back away, scurrying like an insect, only to bump into another dead body swinging from the trees. Its arms hang limply against its sides. A woman this time, with blood dripping from her fingers, and her head bent low.

  There’s a rustling in the trees. Bram is coming for me. I spin around and run, pushing the dead body out of my way. But there are more, dozens of them hanging from the trees. It’s like some sick person has arranged them as ornaments. But no one has arranged them because this is my dream. This is my mind. I’ve thought these things. I think that’s what is truly disturbing, and that what makes my stomach churn. This is all from my head.

  Why do I keep seeing these things? What does it mean?

  That I’m mad?

  Maybe I really do belong back in the psych ward.

  “Mary.”

  My name is whispered through the forest. It comes to me after swirling around the dead bodies and snaking up my limbs. It’s that same pine vapour. But Bram can’t intoxicate me with his charm anymore. I don’t know what his power is, but I see through it. I just need some kind of weapon so I can fight him.

  I search for a stone or a sharp branch of some kind. Emmaline told me that I had to stand up against Bram in my dream. This is where he’s most powerful. This is where I’m weakest. I need to change that. And then I need to wake up. I have no idea how to wake myself up in the middle of a nightmare but I can’t think about that right now.

  This dreamworld is new. I don’t know the extent of what can happen here. Can he hurt me physically? Kill me? I’m not sure—who in all of history has ever been haunted by a ghost in their dreams?—so I need something to defend myself in case. I pick up a heavy rock a little bigger than the palm of my hand. I see with disdain that it’s already coated in blood from the bloated corpse hanging above it. There’s no time to be disgusted now. I have a ghost to challenge. I have Bram to deal with.

  He comes through the trees, even taller and wider than I remember. His shoulders are high and squared, his head is bent low. His fists are clenched by his sides. As he emerges from the shadows of the trees, he’s like every monster in ever horror film. The sight of him makes my stomach flip and my mouth dry. I have to force myself not to scream or run. I force myself to stand there and face him.

  “You don’t scare me,” I say.

  He grins. “I can see your throbbing pulse through your skin. I see how your chest rises up and down so fast. You’re clutching that shitty little rock so hard your knuckles are white. Oh, you’re afraid of me. You’re very afraid. Can I hurt you? That’s what’s going through your mind right now. Will you ever wake up from this nightmare? I can’t answer that. All I know is what I’m going to do to you right now. That’ll hurt whether you’re asleep or awake.” His grin widens. “I had hoped you’d join me. Your powers would make you an interesting spirit. Strong, I think. But to be honest, I’m not too disappointed. Because what I’m about to do will more than make up for it. Don’t wake up, now.”

  In a flash, that gurning, grinning, foul face comes towards me. I lift my arm ready to bring the rock down on his head but he grabs my wrist and twists it until I scream out in pain. Spittle flies from his mouth as he grunts through gritted teeth, pushing me down onto the bed of leaves. He’s stronger, bigger, meaner than I am. Utter panic floods through my veins, bringing adrenaline along with it. I have to stop this. I can’t let him do this to me.

  Ignoring the rottenness of his flesh, I plunge forward and sink my teeth into his neck. With my teeth ripping through his flesh, I gag on the sick taste of dead, sour blood. He roars, thrashing around, sending us both flying onto the ground. As soon as I hit the leaves I roll across the ground. Then I’m on my feet.

  “Wake up!” I pinch the skin on the back of my hand. Hard.

  Bram is up, clutching his bleeding neck. He bends down and picks up a stick. “Why would you do that? We’re just getting started.”

  “WAKE UP!”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  LACEY

  The suicide bitches dig their bony fingers into my arms. They get their oozing blood on my skin. I focus all my strength on pushing them away, but even my strength can be overwhelmed by the sheer volume of ghosts.

  “Lace!”

  For a split second I think it’s Mary, but it’s not, it’s Willa, charging through the fray to slice the back of one of the ghosts. The dead girl spins to face Willa, leaving me with only two ghouls to deal with. After wrenching free, one gets a swift punch to the nose—something I learned when alive; mum’s drug dealer friends were rarely honourable—the other is kicked in the stomach. Then I grab the arms of the girl fighting Willa, and she carves the first symbol.

  “Hurry,” I prompt, managing to kick a ghost to my right, the girl sporting a bloodied nose from my fist—not that she wasn’t already pretty bloodied from being dead and all. She rights herself and comes back for me. She’s relentless, I’ll give her that.

  Willa carves the second symbol as the ghost in my arms tries to squirm away from me. The ghost with the bloody nose charges at me once more, managing to scratch my cheek before I can kick her away. This time they aren’t so easily scared. They’ve had training. They know what to expect.

  “Third one done,” Willa says triumphantly.

  I let go of the ghost and shift away from her, giving Willa room to perform the last symbol, and me an opportunity to deliver two sharp punches to bloodied-nose-ghost. But as soon as she’s dealt with, another leaps onto my back, almost knocking me through the floor. I spin around as fast as I can, knocking her from my shoulders.

  “Now what?” Willa shouts as she draws the last symbol.

  “Stab her through the heart,” I say.

  The room suddenly goes still. The attacking ghosts turn and stare at their ghost friend, who is now trapped by the magical wiccan symbols carved by the Athamé. She’s changed again, transformed to the girl she was before she died.

  “Don’t trust him,” the girl says. “He’s never going to deliver what he promised. He’s just trying to hurt other people. I don’t understand why I didn’t see it until now, but I do.”

  “Because you’ve been under some sort of glamour,” Willa says. “He’s manipulated you.”

  I look across at the other ghosts. They’re still monstrous, with their faces badly damaged. They’re watching their companion with interest, but I’m not sure they’re taking in her words.

  “Are you ready?” Willa asks.

  The girl nods. “Do it.”

  They always want to go in the end. That’s something I can never understand. Every ghost Mary has trapped in her circle of symbols has wanted to move on. Why don’t I ever feel like that?

  Willa hesitates before she stabs the girl, she turns to me and I nod to her to do it. Then she lunges forward and the knife slips through the ghost with ease. A bright light explodes through the ro
om and the girl—beautiful in this light—disappears into wherever the ghosts go when they move on. It’s magic, as it always is, and it makes me wonder what other magic there is out there. Am I preventing myself from finding it?

  “Help!”

  My head snaps up. Jack is calling for our help in the next room.

  The cry is followed by a scream that chills my dead blood.

  “We need to help him,” I say.

  We cross the room while the other ghosts are distracted. I hurry through the door without opening it. Willa is a few seconds behind. When we enter Jack’s room, he’s leaning over Mary, shaking her while she screams bloody murder. Her body is rigid, and her neck is stretched up and tense, so that I can see the tendons through her skin. Her face is flushed bright red. Her fingers are curled into balls and pushed deep into the bedspread.

  “I can’t wake her up,” Jack says in a panic. “I think he’s killing her and I can’t wake her up.”

  Mary bucks against the bed. She turns her head and foamy spit falls from her mouth. My jaw drops open in horror at the sight of her. She’s a gaunt, frail version of herself. My mind flashes back to the day she walked into my room in Magdelena, nervous and mouse-like, but someone who carried herself upright, whose soulful eyes took everything in and analysed it.

  “Help her!” I say with desperation.

  “I don’t know how,” Jack says.

  The suicide girls step through the wall and into the room. They’ve regrouped. I see them all, the three remaining quarry jumpers—after Willa sent one back to the spiritworld—the girl who died in the bath, and the girl who started it all, who jumped from the bridge.

  “Didn’t you hear your mate?” I say, trying to smile with confidence. “You can’t trust the shithead who made you kill yourselves. He’s a murderer and a lying dickhead.”

  But whatever spell they’re under seems to be working. They float towards us, with their hands outstretched and their eyes wide and dark.