The Borderland (Black Acres Book 2) Page 5

  As usual, Julian was urging calm. But as the sky began to grow dim and his pace quickened, the fear in him became all too apparent. He didn't want to be lost in the woods at night anymore than she did. Stopping to appraise their surroundings he pointed out certain trees or moss growths that he thought looked familiar. It was futile, of course. It was like being lost in a maze.

  They walked quickly, agreeing that if they simply kept going, they'd eventually exit the woods. “It could go on for miles,” he said, grunting. “But we'll get out eventually. These woods don't go on forever.”

  And thankfully, they didn't.

  Tired, annoyed and not a little disoriented, they came upon a break in the woods. Bursting out into a field of grass, they looked about them for a familiar sight, finding nothing but open space. Still, this was an improvement. Picking a direction at random, Julian led Kim onward, hoping that they might stumble upon a road. If only they could find out where they were, then perhaps they'd be able to make it back before dark. Time was of the essence, however. The sun was fading fast, dipping into the horizon and leaving the sky painted a deep purple.

  As they hurried through the open field, tall grass whipping against their pant legs, Kim stumbled over something. It stubbed her toe despite her shoes, and she uttered a curse. “What the hell was that?” she asked, scanning the ground. “I stepped on something.” Parting the grass with both hands, she back-tracked and bent down, searching for the thing that'd tripped her up. She needed to look for only a moment, and when she found it, a little cry left her lips.

  A toppled wooden cross made from broken twigs sat upon the ground where she'd just stepped. And nested in a dense clump of grass, she found a smooth, square stone.

  It looked like a makeshift grave.

  Taking a step back, she appraised it in the dusk, the dying sunlight and new moonlight elucidating it in equal parts. The stone was weather-beaten, smooth, and most certainly looked like a grave marker. There was no writing on it, making it impossible to know who was buried there. But, recalling the journal, the photo she'd seen in it, Kim had some guesses. “H-hey,” she said, grabbing Julian's sleeve and pushing him towards the grave. “This looks... this looks like a grave. Do you think... do you think someone's buried here?”

  Julian stood before it, hands on hips, and examined the stone. Bending down, he picked up the cross and toyed with it before casting it back into the grass. “Might be,” he said, his eyes darting back to the nearby treeline and a subtle shiver running down his spine. He turned and began walking away from the grave, guiding her along by the arm as he went. “Never mind that. We need to hurry home before it gets too dark.”

  Kim resisted a little, looked back at the parted grass, at the grave marker that was now awash in the light and glowing like some hallowed artifact. Who was buried there? Had the Reeds been buried there? Or, maybe, had their baby been buried there? She felt an intense desire to know and almost charged back towards it when Julian let go of her, but eventually she yielded to his urging and joined him in looking for a road. If they didn't make it back home, and fast, they'd be stuck out there in the night. In the pitch blackness. There were no other buildings around for miles. Save for starlight, they'd be navigating blind. And if it ended up a cloudy night, they'd be in real trouble.

  Breaking away from the woods, their view of the distance improved and they spotted the familiar back-side of the house with tremendous relief. They hadn't been so far from it after all, had simply come up to the property from the side. The bay windows, the general shape of the wide lower story and the boxy upper perched atop it. A sight for sore eyes. They'd made it back, somehow.

  But their joy eroded quickly.

  They'd begun jogging towards the house when Julian pointed out something queer. Something that made them stop dead in their tracks and nearly retreat back into the black woods. Pausing in the field, nodding at the house, he narrowed his gaze. The lights were on, each of the windows twinkling like tiny candles in the distance. “Did you... did you leave the lights on in there?” he asked.

  Kim shook her head. “No, of course not. The lights weren't even on when we left. It was daylight out.”

  He pursed his lips, then pressed on slowly. “That's what I thought.”

  They crept through the grass, skirting the edge of the property, and found that the back door was sitting wide open. Light poured out from it, clashing with the newly-laid night. Julian thrust out an arm and blocked Kim's way. He gulped as he appraised the house, his breathing growing ragged as he stood still and searched for signs of an intruder.

  He balled his fists. “I think...” he managed after a time. “I think there's someone in the house.”

  Chapter 8

  Taking up the axe he'd been using for chopping wood, Julian led them across the yard and to the edge of the back door. He glanced at her, told her to stay back, and then crossed into the house. He took a single, nervous step, his boot landing on the kitchen floor and then wavering a little as though he'd just stepped in something unpleasant. Sucking in a deep breath, he bellowed into the house. “Is anyone there?” He glanced again to Kim, looking down at her pocket and adding in a hushed whisper, “Call the cops.”

  Kim dug around in her pocket, pulling out her phone. It wouldn't turn off, however. Shit, she thought. She'd let it go dead the night previous while listening to music. It would be of no help to them. Shaking her head, she gave Julian an anxious look and returned the phone to her pocket.

  “If there's anyone in here... I'm coming inside and I've got an axe!” It seemed like such a stupid thing to say. Telegraphing their movements in this way probably wouldn't help them, and Kim felt fairly certain it wouldn't intimidate the trespasser.

  She wasn't sure who to expect, whether the intruder was a flesh-and-blood person or whether this was simply something they would come to write off as “unnatural” or “coincidental”. The kitchen floor groaned beneath them as they advanced through the kitchen. Kim closed the back door behind them, locking it and keeping three or four steps behind Julian. She glanced nervously about the kitchen, looking for signs of an intruder. Nothing looked out of place on first glance. She hoped beyond hope that this would prove some sort of strange misunderstanding. Surely they'd just absentmindedly left the door open and all of the lights on, right?

  No. She knew they hadn't. Her optimism shriveled away, dying almost at once like the trees in the forest outside.

  Leveling the axe at his side, Julian moved swiftly into the living room in the hopes of surprising any lurking attackers. The room was empty, though, the lamps all on and a faint draft giving the curtains the slightest sway. He canvassed the room, paced around the sofa and was ready to swing at anything. He continued on in this fashion as he went from room to room, his brow covered densely with sweat and his hands growing red for their tight grip on the weapon. Finally, when he'd concluded his search of each bedroom, bathroom, the attic and, finally, the cellar and garage, he dropped the axe onto the kitchen floor with a thud and sighed, shaking his head and collapsing into a chair. He pawed at his forehead and shuddered, sucking on his lips pensively. He was shaken, perplexed.

  There was no one in the house but the two of them.

  Kim cradled herself, looked around the kitchen as though she were privy to some other presence. It didn't seem right; surely someone had been there just moments before they'd arrived. A quick search of their belongings found nothing of value missing; Julian's wallet, for example, was still in its usual spot, beside the refrigerator. Their car was undisturbed. The utter normalcy of the scene made Kim doubt her own memory.

  “One of us,” said Julian, looking up at Kim with a somewhat antagonistic narrowing of the eyes, left the lights on. And the door open. Wind must've blown it open because it wasn't locked all the way.”

  Kim sucked her teeth, giving her head a weak shake. “No, I doubt it. I'm good about remembering these things and so are you. And... anyhow the two of us were outside all day. I dunno about you,
but I hardly remember much of a breeze out there. At least, there was nothing strong enough to blow open a door. And the lights... I was asleep before we left. I wouldn't have even had a chance to switch them all on if I'd wanted to.”

  Julian scratched at his ear, sniffing the air. “Could've been that I left some on, I guess. Or we had a power surge of some kind. Old house, old wiring.” He was playing that game of his again, attempting to justify everything that'd happened with a rational explanation. The way he grit his teeth and fidgeted in his seat proved to her that it wasn't working this time. He was shaken up, badly.

  “Maybe,” she uttered, trying to make him feel a little better.

  The two of them jumped when a loud sound as of the rushing of water issued from the upstairs.

  Reclaiming the axe, Julian stomped up the stairs and shoved open the door of their newly-renovated bathroom. The tap in the bath was on, full-force, and was spewing water into the basin like a fire hose. Taking a quick scan of the room, Julian reached in and shut it off, his face growing redder and his hand shaking so badly he nearly dropped the axe. When he exited, he jumped a little in finding Kim outside in the hall. Clearing his throat, he motioned to the bathroom door. “Pipes are old,” he said, mainly for his own benefit. “Change in water pressure made it spew like that, I think.”

  Though she was happy that the strange occurrences around the house were getting to him, Kim didn't like to see her husband scared. Up to this point he'd been the steady one among them, the one she could rely on for normalcy and indifference. Now he was a little spooked. Had they not just spent the day traversing the hideous woods outside and stumbling upon graves and weird light fixtures, then perhaps he'd have been more ambivalent towards all that was happening.

  They returned downstairs, milling about the kitchen in silence until Kim chanced to speak. “So, it's like I've been telling you. I think something's weird... off, about this house, Julian.”

  He shook his head, throwing out a single finger and wagging it with an exaggerated gesture. “Nah, nah. Let's not even go there. You want me to believe that the previous owners are really coming back for the house or something like that?” He slicked his sweat-ridden mane back and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. “I'm going to have a home inspector come by and check out the wiring, the pipes. It passed inspection before we bought it, but that doesn't mean they don't need replaced, you know? It'll probably cost an arm and a leg to get people out here to do the work, but I could always call Bill back in the city. He's good with that kind of thing, has friends who can get him discounts and such. We'd save a bundle if we did the work ourselves.”

  He wasn't listening, wasn't even remotely interested in exploring this occurrence further. It'd happened just moments ago and he was already working hard to put it out of his mind, to pretend it'd never happened. There was just no way she was going to make him see. There was something wrong with the house, something strange surrounding the property. Maybe this strangeness had been responsible for the disappearance of the previous owners, or maybe it'd been set into motion by them. Whatever the case, Kim realized this would be her battle and hers alone. She couldn't rely on Julian for anything but the most superficial support in these matters. He simply didn't want to hear any of it. Unless Dakota Reed herself sprang from the shadows and tried to attack him there was nothing for it. He wouldn't believe anything she had to say on these matters. The reality was too uncomfortable for him.

  Tired from their hike and thoroughly shaken, Kim drank some water and paced about the kitchen before deciding she needed to sleep. Too much had happened that day already; she wasn't looking to stay awake and see what the night held in store. She'd get some sleep, hopefully, and wake up more refreshed in the morning. Leaving Julian in the kitchen, she rose up the stairs, her legs aching for the exertion, and threw off her sweaty clothes. She hopped into bed and burrowed beneath the covers, seeking security in the perfect darkness of the bedroom.

  Julian wasn't far behind, none too fond of staying alone in the downstairs, apparently. When he'd checked and re-checked the locks, he ran up the stairs and slipped into bed beside her. She could hear his ragged breathing, could feel the way he shuddered against the mattress and sought to get comfortable.

  In the morning he'd pretend everything was all right, that he'd worked himself up over nothing.

  But, for now, Julian was scared.

  Chapter 9

  Sleep had done little to exorcise the soreness in her bones and even less to calm her mind. Preparing a late breakfast, Kim busied herself in the kitchen, slicing up a large bell pepper. Julian was back to his normal self, walking confidently about the house and seemingly willing to leave the night's events behind him as though they were merely a bad dream. To her, this most recent incident was but the latest in a long chain of things she couldn't put out of her head. She was far past the point of denial. The sound of the skillet sizzling startled her from her thoughts and she turned it down to medium.

  Julian was sitting at the kitchen table, flipping through a magazine and humming to himself. Now and then she'd catch him looking out the kitchen window at the woods, searchingly. But, finding them empty, barren, undisturbed, he'd give a little nod and return to his reading, affirmed. Kim sliced through an onion and began to mince it. There were so many questions, so many incidents, all of them tugging her towards some inevitable conclusion. But what was it? What did this property wish to tell her? What was she going to discover if she pressed on? She bit her lip, recalling Dakota's journal. She'd stashed it away after Julian's fit, placing it in a nearby drawer beneath a mass of dish towels. Knowing it was there she felt an immense pull to read it. She was cooking, preparing a meal for the two of them, however hunger didn't even register. Kim peered over at the drawer in question longingly, Julian's humming and the click-click of her knife against the cutting board being drowned out by the weight of her thoughts.

  Then, there was pain.

  Stinging, white-hot.

  Kim looked down at the cutting board, at the stream of red that streaked the onion and bell pepper, at the knife in her hand. She dropped it, and it clanged against the wooden board, its edge blurred in blood.

  “Oh... oh, shit,” she muttered, taking a step back. One of her fingertips on her left hand, the pointer finger, was partially missing. Without even realizing it, she'd lopped about half of the fingertip off, carving straight through the fingernail, with its lovely blue polish. The cutting board was grown slick with her blood now. It fell in fat drops, splashing as he held the damaged digit in the air and tried not to panic. She looked over at Julian, eyes wide, and gasped. “H-honey, I... I...”

  Julian's gaze narrowed and he threw down his magazine. “Whoa, damn,” he said, rushing over and taking her forearm in his hands. He looked at the new wound and grimaced. “What'd you do, babe?”

  She was shaking now, her gaze traveling glassily between the damaged fingertip and her husband. Feeling as though she might lose her balance at any moment, she leaned against the counter and bumped the cutting board, sending the knife onto the counter with a metallic thud. Her head was spinning, her face feeling suddenly sweaty and her body cold. Blood dripped from the opening and also ran down the length of her finger, over the back of her hand, towards her wrist. Her vision was getting spotty as she looked to Julian with tears in her eyes. She'd never been very good about seeing her own blood.

  And, for that matter, she'd never spilled quite this much of it at once.

  He guided her slowly to the table, leaving a trail of blood in their wake as they went. Situating her in a chair, she shuddered and flopped, looking for something solid to hold onto with her uninjured hand. The room was spinning and she felt sure she'd pass out. Julian had disappeared into the upstairs in search of their first aid kit. When he finally returned with the blue zip pouch some time later, Kim felt like an eternity had passed. She leaned against the back of the chair, drew in a shaky breath, and closed her eyes. Julian took hold of her arm. Sh
e could hear the ripping of plastic packaging, the opening of a bottle.

  “OK,” he said, pouring a bit of rubbing alcohol into a bowl. “Stick it in there.”

  She hesitated, but Julian swiftly guided the injured digit into the solution. The liquid in the bowl turned a light shade of red and pain coursed through every nerve in her arm. She wanted to pull away, and tried to, but Julian held her firm, telling her that she needed to sterilize it before they could dress it. His words seeped into her ears stubbornly. She felt like she'd gone swimming and gotten water into her ears; sound was muffled and echoes resounded through her skull. The stinging continued, albeit to a lesser degree, as Julian drew her hand out of the bowl and appraised the cut afresh. It was still bleeding, but it had stopped somewhat. Kim chanced to look at the wound, leaning forward. Not a moment later, she wished she hadn't. Her stomach quaked and she began to dry heave.

  “Come on now,” he said, “It's not all that bad. Let me wrap it up and when it starts to heal we'll throw some antibiotic ointment on it. It should be fine. It'll probably grow back, even.”

  She'd done quite a number on it. That finger would probably never be the same, and she wasn't sure if she'd require stitches for it. His calm attitude clashed with the horror that rose up in her chest, stealing her breath away. Julian began to wrap it tightly with gauze, immobilizing the finger and going through multiple small rolls. The first few layers had been saturated in no time, but as the wrapping continued, the digit seemed to bleed less and less. Finally, placing a long piece of paper tape around the whole thing, he squatted down on his heels and looked it over.

  “OK,” he said. “I think that'll do it.”

  She steadied herself against the table, looking at her bandaged finger stupidly. “D-do I need to go to the hospital?” she asked. “C-can they r-reattach it? Or give me stitches?”