Rise or Burn

Chapter Six

"Who are you?" Andy asked, his voice echoing across the marble ballroom. A man, hidden in a grey cloak stood in front of the enormous white oak doors. He didn't reply. Instead he held out his arm and in his hand was the Foxton amulet. It was exactly the way Andy remembered it from the night Layla was taken. It was shimmering bronze, twice the size of a quarter, engraved with a twelve-pointed star and at each point there was a symbol.

"You know who I am," the man finally answered. His voice was cold like the touch of a blue blooded creature. It was unsettlingly familiar. He pulled down the hood of his cloak revealing limp ink black hair. His eyes were the color of rust, a burnt orange hue. His lips were thin and cracked, stained with what looked like dry blood. His skin, brittle looking, was pale in an unsavory way. He wasn't looking at Andy, thank god. Andy didn't want those eyes on him. His eyes were fixed on the amulet. "You have something of mine," he added.

Andy looked down at his hand. The back of it. Where the tattoo of half of the Foxton amulet was. "Vicktoh," Andy said uncertainly. "Vicktoh Foxton?"

"It's time you return what's mine," the man said.

"You can't be him," Andy said.

"What's mine," the man repeated. "Mine," the man yelled. "Mine. Mine. Mine!" the man screamed.

Andy startled awake. He gasped, clutching a hand to his thundering heart. He was breathing heavy. In and out. In and out. There wasn't enough air. Air. He needed air. He staggered to his feet. He didn't know what he was doing. He just knew he had to get away. Away from what?

He'd moved from the makeshift camp Arlin and he had made before he knew it. He was walking deeper into the woods. Where was he going? Somewhere. Someplace.

Dawn was breaking. Pale beams of yellow light streamed between the trees. The forest smelt of morning dew and wet earth. Birds chirped from their nests. The night had passed.

Andy walked for a time. He's breathing finally slowed and he could think more clearly. He thought of the dream he'd just had and wondered if it'd been that, just a dream. Or maybe something more. That man, he'd thought he was Vicktoh Foxton but now he wasn't sure. But who else could he be? He said the amulet belonged to him and Vicktoh Foxton was the one who created the amulet. But there was the matter that Vicktoh Foxton had been dead for a hundred years. Unless Andy was dreaming of ghosts he doubted it was him. This was if he was willing to consider that the dream was indeed something more. It probably wasn't.

He kept walking. He didn't know why. Arlin would wake soon and find him gone. What would he think? That Andy had abandoned him? For some reason that thought upset him. Maybe it was time to turn back. But as soon as he considered it he'd reached his destination.

He couldn't explain how he knew this was destination if he tried. He just did. It was a house. No, not a house. A mansion. He'd found a mansion. An old crumbling mansion hidden within the tall pine trees. It stood—barely—engrossed in wild vines, ivy and moss. It was morning now, the sun cast light across the forest, touching everything but the mansion. A shadow, long and ominous was cast over the solemn building. Andy stared at it entranced. He felt a tug at his wrist, as if someone was trying to pull him closer to the house. He took a step forward.

"Hey," Arlin said appearing next to Andy. He placed his hands on Andy's shoulders promptly stopping him. "Snap out of it."

Andy shook his head. "I have to go in there," he said, his eyes still fixed on the mansion.

Arlin looked at him as if he was insane. "Why?" he asked.

"I don't know," Andy said honestly. "I know this may sound crazy—"

"Crazy is my middle name," Arlin cut him off. "But wandering around in a creepy old mansion is asking for trouble."

"I thought you liked trouble."

"Not when that trouble is ghosts."

Andy laughed. "Arlin Kit, afraid of ghosts?"

Arlin frowned. "I'm not afraid," he said folding his arms over his chest. "I'm just not stupid enough to go looking for them."

"We're not looking for ghosts," Andy explained.

"Then what are we doing, Andy?"

"We..." his voice trailed. What did he want to do? He was looking for something. But what? He wasn't sure. He just knew he had to find it. It was important. "You can stay out here if you want," he told Arlin. "But I'm going in there."

With a reluctant, "Mm," Arlin turned to the mansion. "If I get mauled I'm coming back to haunt you," he said.

"Thank you," Andy said because despite his jests he was glad Arlin was coming with him. The mansion did freak him out.

Arlin frowned. "Let's get this over with."

Cobwebs. The mansion was filled with cobwebs. Hanging and dangling off the walls and ceiling.

"I hate cobwebs," Arlin grumbled.

"Me too," Andy whispered back.

The floors creaked, squeaked and whined, announcing their presence to the ghosts—if there were ghosts. There aren't any ghosts, Andy reassured himself. The walls stood firm but the window frames were damaged, the glass cracked or shattered on the floor. The floor was musty and dust coated; the doors and windows appeared as if they hadn't been opened in a century. But other than that the mansion was oddly preserved, all the furniture still in its place, as if the mansion had been waiting for a very long time for life to come. Life that had never come. Abandoned. Alone in the forest the mansion had been left behind.

Within the walls echoed a tragic history. Something bad had happened here. Andy couldn't explain it, he just knew. When he touched the walls he could feel as if they were crying, tears of the long forgotten. Maybe the house was haunted. He moved closer to Arlin.

"Where now?" Arlin asked. They stood at the base of a staircase.

"Up," Andy answered.

"Of course." Arlin huffed.

Portraits of rose cheeked infants, well-groomed women and poised men hung from the walls. Most of them where in ruins, torn or dust coated but some were perfectly preserved. Mixed with the pain, were soft smiles. Evidence that this place had once been something else. Something warm, something inviting.

Upstairs they stopped in front of a fading blue painted door, half off its hinges. "In here," Andy said.

The door made this unsettling screeching sound as Andy pushed it open. He half expected for a ghost to pop out, pale faced, dark dead eyes wide and threatening staring at him, whaling like a siren before lurching for him. It didn't happen. He heaved a loud breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

The room was much like most of the mansion. In shambles. It was an old bedroom. The four poster bed in the centre of the room was damaged, the bedsheets almost entirely eaten away by moths, the wood chewed out by termites. The other furnishings were in a similar state. Only one thing seemed untouched. A portrait.

Mounted onto the wall was a portrait of a young man, dark hair and bright eyes. He had a sly smile that reminded Andy a little of Anna's smile. But that wasn't the striking thing. That wasn't what had caught Andy's attention. No. What had drawn Andy to the portrait was the amulet hanging off the man's neck. The Foxton amulet.

"Do you know who that is?" Arlin asked stepping next to Andy.

Andy nodded numbly. "Yes I do," he said. "That's Tovel Echowood, my great-great grandfather."