Rancor: Unrestrained, Book 2 (Haunted)

NINE

Ethel walked through the front door and onto the porch. It was dark. No moon, no stars, not even a light in the building. Even the beam of the flashlight seemed dim as it tried to penetrate the blackness.

She did not want to walk off the porch and into the air absent of light. But having no other good choices—other than getting into the car and driving away—she shined the muted shaft of light down to light her path. Then she heard the sound of something moving in the darkness not far from her. She stopped and listened, but the sound would stop as well. She was afraid to shine the light toward whatever seemed to be following her; she was afraid of what she might see.

She began walking again, and so did the thing following her, watching her. She stopped again and so did the footsteps. It was too quiet, not even the lapping waves of Lake Michigan seemed to be able to penetrate the thick air.

When Ethel reached the shed, she slid open the shed door, it screeched as it rolled along rusty runners. Before she walked inside, she looked past the bluff, toward the horizon, only the slightest of sunlight penetrated through the inky fog enveloping the property. The air felt heavy, as dark, undulating waves moved through the still, dark air.

She turned her attention back to the shed. She shined the light inside and saw several gardening tools, a shovel, and rake. Deeper in the shed she saw a toolbox and a limb saw, rope, a wheelbarrow, and an old snow blower.

"Come on, Mr. Zimmerman, you have to have a hammer around here someplace," she said, walking further inside. She did not want to go too far inside, fearing someone may come up behind her, slide the door shut and lock her inside.

Something scurried across the dirty concrete floor, as Ethel shined the light from corner to corner. Then she saw a sledgehammer and an ax. She went to pick up the large, heavy hammer that Mr. Zimmerman used to drive in fence posts, but she could barely lift it. She sat the flashlight on the floor and tugged on the long fiberglass handle of the ten-pound hammer. She yanked it out from behind a rake and hoe, both fell to the floor. She held the handle with two hands and began dragging the sledgehammer toward the shed door before deciding there would be no way she would be able to lift it and pound through a wall.

She dropped it and picked up the flashlight. She shined the light at the ax. Already out of breath, she grabbed its smooth wooden handle with one hand and dragged it to the door. It was heavy, but not as heavy as the sledgehammer. This should get through the wall, she thought as she walked out of the outbuilding, dragging the sharp blade behind her. Then she picked it up with both hands, even with the flashlight in one hand. Then she walked down the gravel path and across the damp grass toward the dark building.

She was breathing heavy by the time she reached the front steps. She stopped when she noticed a single raven perched on the far railing, watching her. She shined her light back and forth along the porch, looking for more of the stocky black birds, or the thing that was following her.

"Shoo, get out of here," she said. Her words were so muted it seemed as if she was going deaf. Then the bird flapped its wings and left, with barely a sound. Crazy. It was as if she was in a fluid vacuum of sinuous waves.

She climbed the steps and walked through the front entrance, setting the ax down to unlock the vestibule door. Her age was getting the best of her. Instead of carrying the ax, she decided to drag it with one hand, while using the flashlight to light her path with the other. It scraped along the hardwood floors, but she did not care if it left a scratch or not. The place was going to be closing and probably torn down at some point.

When she got to the top of the basement steps, she shouted, "Claudia, I have what we need to break through that wall. It's going to make a racket as I drag it down the steps." And indeed it did, each drop of the sharp metal blade was loud.