Fear Her Wrath III: It Runs on Blood

Chapter 20

I awoke in a dark place. I could hear the lapping of water, and feel cold, uneven stones and pebbles beneath my back. I tried to move, but my body was so sore that I instantly regretted it. Actually, "sore" probably doesn't do it justice. It felt like just about everything was broken. I could taste blood. It reminded me of the time I'd barged into the Midnight Rider and been repaid by being tortured within an inch of my life. Only this was worse. It had been maybe a forty-foot drop from the rooftop, and I'd bounced off the fire escape and a huge metal pipe before I banged my head on something I couldn't see and blacked out. The force of Izzy's nail-studded baseball bat had definitely broken multiple ribs.

My attempt to mentally take stock of my injuries was interrupted by a strange noise in the dark.

"W-what's that?" I whispered.

Someone was... crying. Like, sobbing in the most pitiful way I'd ever heard. I slowly turned my head and saw a woman dressed all in black, with a lace veil covering her face. She was cradling her face in her hands, and positively retching with grief. She was thin, and deathly pale.

"Who weeps for them?" I heard her sob. "Who weeps for the children of Marbrose? Lost and abandoned. Without anyone to... remember."

"The Mourner," I said to myself. "Then who..."

A sound to my left made me turn my head again, and I saw the hulking figure of the Shambler lurking in the darkness. His luminescent eyes were fixed on me, and I realized that this must be one of his hideaways along the Marbrose River. Glancing down at myself, I saw that he'd placed some of the weird turquoise flowers from Rothko Island on my chest.

"God," I whispered. "I'm at my own funeral."

I should explain that the Mourner was another of the Lost Souls of Marbrose. According to the stories, she was the only survivor among the children that Leo Etlinger—one of Sefton Polytechnic's less distinguished alums—poisoned during the Strychnine Summer of 1976. Whenever children died in the Fen through violence or mishap, it was said that she would be there to weep for them. Rumor also had it that she would visit those who had wronged them, and exact grisly vengeance. I guess she was here because she believed my wounds were fatal. She was probably right.

Though it had probably been going on for a while, I suddenly noticed the frantic voice in my ear.

"Maggs? Maggs, are you there?"

"Yeah," I said, barely able to talk. "Yeah, I'm... I'm here."

"Oh my god," said Ellie. "We thought you were dead. Ben and Hazel are on their way. Where are you?"

"I... I dunno," I said. "In a... cave, I think. Somewhere near the water. I think Mr. Rothko found me, and..."

"Oh, that explains—be right back, I need to call Ben. Just hang on."

For about a minute, the only sounds I heard were the lapping of water and the continued sobs of the Mourner. The pain in my chest and limbs and the feeling of having lost way too much blood kept me from focusing on anything. My clothes and hair were soaked, but I couldn't even feel the cold. That was a bad sign.

"I... I think I'm dying, Ellie," I said blearily. "The Mourner's here too. She's..."

"They're on their way, Maggs. They're so close. Just hold on. No dying yet."

"No dying yet." Great advice. I tried to move my left arm and found that I just didn't have the strength. Time seemed to slow. The lapping of the waves and the pitiful whimpering of the Mourner grew louder, and louder, until they drowned out all my other senses.

"Maggs, stay with me," said Ellie. "I promise they're close. If you can just, like, hold out for a few more minutes."

"Tell... tell my dad I'm sorry," I said. Delirium was setting in, and Ellie's voice was getting distant and muddy. I thought I could see someone... standing over me. It looked like the old woman who I'd been too late to save from Deadstream. She was talking to me, but I couldn't understand her. Her wrinkled lips moved, but the words just floated away before I could grasp them. Then, although I didn't register the change, it was someone else—a Jewish girl in a stylish coat and short polka-dot dress, like I'd seen in the pictures of Sefton Polytechnic's first graduating class.