Page 50 of Mortdale

Her nose touched mine, and I breathed in the sickening scent of cooked flesh as she trailing her bony fingers over my face. “Witch,” the spectre whispered, pulling back until her ghostly back hit the wall, sending the entire corridor shaking. “Witch!” she bellowed so loudly vases shattered and the windows cracked. “Leave. Run!” she shrieked, and I flinched back.

What was it with all these women asking me to leave? Where did they even want me to go?

“Please be more precise,” I sighed, tapping my hands on the ground to locate my candle. “Where does everyone even expect me to go?”

She loomed over me, putting her skeletal hand over mine. “Go. Leave.” But the tone was strange. It was weak and sorrowful. Almost pleading.

Reluctantly, I backed away, watching her brace herself against a shadowy wall, sobbing as she dipped her head under her arm and hid.

I skidded to a halt when she appeared before me again, pointing a bony, dreadful finger in the direction of the stairs. Her voice was filled with anguish now when she repeated, “Witch.”

My attention snapped over the balustrade, down the dark entry hall.

My eyes jumped from shadow to shadow, not recognising a few.

Carefully leaning on the handrail, I leaned over it, catching a fraction of someone’s face. An unfamiliar one.

Piper.

Ditching the slippers, I sprinted down the corridors barefooted, watching the spectre’s reflection on all shiny surfaces still chasing behind me.

Her bedroom door was wide open and her bed was empty.

I tried Logan’s, but it was locked.

Before panicking, I went back to mine. Only to find her tucked into my sheets, under my bed, holding Thomas—whose nose was sniffing the air.

“They want to eat the girl,” he whispered.

“No one is eating anyone,” I murmured, pulling her from under the bed.

She groaned when I pulled her up. “Boo?”

I put a finger to my lips, wrapping her tiny arms around my neck and hiking her against my hip as I dug through my wardrobe for the jar of salt I’d stolen from the kitchen and spread it in a circle around me, sealing the trace of magic. “Sleep so tender, dreams of surrender,” I muttered against her ear, putting her in a deep sleep spell.

I took a peek out at the gardens from her window.

More shadows stirred.

Logan, where are you?

With a sigh, I pressed my forehead to the door, considering my options. Which were very few and all revolved around my non-existent running abilities. When was the last time I’d ran? Let alone from something. Even walking sometimes was too much. I was all soft in all the wrong places, mainly my legs and arms.

And the child…damn she was heavy for someone obviously still in the toddler spectrum.

The dark spectre from the painting still stood at a close distance, floating on a dark corner while it watched us.

“Where do I go?” I whispered, hugging Piper close to me.

The spectre started backing away down the corridor, and I followed as she led us turn after turn until we reached a small flight of stairs—service stairs.

I glanced back at the spectre when I reached the last step, bowing my head at her.

Wind blew from all sides, sending the curtains flying up in the air and the shadows fluttering all around the narrow service corridor.

Christof’s bedroom was empty.

All of the other rooms were in the same state.