and forth over grass trying to move a leather bag full of air.
“Fuckin’ Leon!” her father suddenly shouted, pounding the coffee table with the bottom of his fist. “Do us all a favor and chicken-walk your ass back to Dallas, you lazy no-talent sham motherf—” He caught himself in the tirade, looked sheepishly to Cassie. “Er, sorry.”
She just smiled and took the plates back to the kitchen, washed and dried them by hand rather than using the newly installed dishwasher. Something was side-tracking her thoughts, and she knew exactly what it was.
She knew what she wanted to do.
“I’m going up to my room, Dad. Gonna listen to some music for a while.”
“Okay, honey. Thanks for cooking. You sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine. Enjoy your game.”
She edged out, started walking up the carpeted stairs. Brass flicker-bulb lamps lit the way up, throwing shadows on the various old statues and oil paintings.
Yes, she knew what she wanted to do.
On the second-floor landing, she glanced down the dark hall toward her room. Then she glanced up the next flight of stairs.
Her father’s muffled shouting echoed from the living room: “Don’t bother trying to tackle the guy, Leon—oh, no! We wouldn’t want you to actually break out into a sweat for your EIGHT MILLION A YEAR!”
Cassie looked at the cassette tape. She’d probably just picked it up somewhere, or found it. Or maybe Roy had given it to her. The name on the cover sounded sinister.
ALDINOCH.
No, Roy must’ve given it to me, and I don’t remember. I’m just having some weird drug flaskback from all that crap they pumped into me at the hospital.
Now she felt convinced.
There was no Via. There was no dead girl.
More hesitation. She could go back to her room and listen to the tape, or—
She started going up the next flight of stairs. Every few steps creaked. A chill crept beneath her skin; if the story was true, she was making the exact same trek that Fenton Blackwell had—with the babies.
Only a few lights glimmered on the third floor. The halls to either side were grainy with darkness.
Another glance upward. Deeper darkness.
The final flight of steps was carpetless and much more narrow. When she flicked on a wall switch, only the most meager light winked on up above.
She took one step up, stopped, then took another.
Oh, come on! Don’t be such a chicken! What? You think you’re going to go up there and find people there? Come on!
She ascended the rest of the way quickly. There was no door to the oculus room; the stairs merely emerged up into it.
There. See?
A single hanging bulb lit the room. There was no Via, no people waiting for her. Three bare mattresses lay on the dusty floor, and this bothered her a little when she thought about it. Cobwebs festooned the small room’s comers, and the walls appeared to never have been papered, just old wooden slats.
The oculus window stared back at her like an odd face.
Then something caught her attention. Against one rickety wall stood an old tea table, and sitting on top of it was a dusty boombox.
She fingered her cassette tape. She could plug it in now, listen to it here. But as she hit the button to pop the cassette lid, she saw that a tape was in there already.
Her guts were already beginning to sink when she pulled out the tape. ALDINOCH, it read.
It was identical to the tape she had.
Her heart rate jumped. “Don’t freak out,” she slowly demanded. “There’s an explanation. Just ... get a grip on yourself.”
She reclosed the lid and pushed the PLAY button. The sudden blare of volume shook her; she quickly turned it down.
Death Metal, just as she’d thought. Multiple layers of abrasive guitars and discordant synth-drums washed back and forth over corroded vocals:
“Inverting every cross toward Hell
This church is now the Goat’s!
Praise him, whores of holiness,
Before I slit your throats!”
Cassie’s lips pursed as if she’d tasted something sour. She liked
“Fuckin’ Leon!” her father suddenly shouted, pounding the coffee table with the bottom of his fist. “Do us all a favor and chicken-walk your ass back to Dallas, you lazy no-talent sham motherf—” He caught himself in the tirade, looked sheepishly to Cassie. “Er, sorry.”
She just smiled and took the plates back to the kitchen, washed and dried them by hand rather than using the newly installed dishwasher. Something was side-tracking her thoughts, and she knew exactly what it was.
She knew what she wanted to do.
“I’m going up to my room, Dad. Gonna listen to some music for a while.”
“Okay, honey. Thanks for cooking. You sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine. Enjoy your game.”
She edged out, started walking up the carpeted stairs. Brass flicker-bulb lamps lit the way up, throwing shadows on the various old statues and oil paintings.
Yes, she knew what she wanted to do.
On the second-floor landing, she glanced down the dark hall toward her room. Then she glanced up the next flight of stairs.
Her father’s muffled shouting echoed from the living room: “Don’t bother trying to tackle the guy, Leon—oh, no! We wouldn’t want you to actually break out into a sweat for your EIGHT MILLION A YEAR!”
Cassie looked at the cassette tape. She’d probably just picked it up somewhere, or found it. Or maybe Roy had given it to her. The name on the cover sounded sinister.
ALDINOCH.
No, Roy must’ve given it to me, and I don’t remember. I’m just having some weird drug flaskback from all that crap they pumped into me at the hospital.
Now she felt convinced.
There was no Via. There was no dead girl.
More hesitation. She could go back to her room and listen to the tape, or—
She started going up the next flight of stairs. Every few steps creaked. A chill crept beneath her skin; if the story was true, she was making the exact same trek that Fenton Blackwell had—with the babies.
Only a few lights glimmered on the third floor. The halls to either side were grainy with darkness.
Another glance upward. Deeper darkness.
The final flight of steps was carpetless and much more narrow. When she flicked on a wall switch, only the most meager light winked on up above.
She took one step up, stopped, then took another.
Oh, come on! Don’t be such a chicken! What? You think you’re going to go up there and find people there? Come on!
She ascended the rest of the way quickly. There was no door to the oculus room; the stairs merely emerged up into it.
There. See?
A single hanging bulb lit the room. There was no Via, no people waiting for her. Three bare mattresses lay on the dusty floor, and this bothered her a little when she thought about it. Cobwebs festooned the small room’s comers, and the walls appeared to never have been papered, just old wooden slats.
The oculus window stared back at her like an odd face.
Then something caught her attention. Against one rickety wall stood an old tea table, and sitting on top of it was a dusty boombox.
She fingered her cassette tape. She could plug it in now, listen to it here. But as she hit the button to pop the cassette lid, she saw that a tape was in there already.
Her guts were already beginning to sink when she pulled out the tape. ALDINOCH, it read.
It was identical to the tape she had.
Her heart rate jumped. “Don’t freak out,” she slowly demanded. “There’s an explanation. Just ... get a grip on yourself.”
She reclosed the lid and pushed the PLAY button. The sudden blare of volume shook her; she quickly turned it down.
Death Metal, just as she’d thought. Multiple layers of abrasive guitars and discordant synth-drums washed back and forth over corroded vocals:
“Inverting every cross toward Hell
This church is now the Goat’s!
Praise him, whores of holiness,
Before I slit your throats!”
Cassie’s lips pursed as if she’d tasted something sour. She liked
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