Glenda

Glenda screamed at the top of her lungs. She let out her last scream before the torture, not understanding anything, not solving the riddle, not knowing how to help herself and this woman, how to get out of the haunted house. Only one word, dear, that constantly came to her mind. The one word that started it all, she was now screaming.

— Father! Father!

Suddenly, something appeared in the center of the hall, either a portal, or just a movement, the lights in the house began to flicker randomly. This involuntarily distracted the monster’s attention, but still it grabbed the victim’s throat tightly to keep her silent.

Eventually, the lights in the entire house went out, and for a second there was complete darkness, which sent shivers through Glenda's body. Scary, but in a different way, a light, barely perceptible hope appeared.

Suddenly, lights began to light up outside the window, the city became noisy, and the house became very quiet. If silence were sound, then now it crushed with its volume in thousands of hertz.

A second or two later, the wild, primal scream of hundreds of dead souls came from the same place where she had heard something like this for the first time.

The monster's hand weakened. Glenda placed her hands on the floor, bent her knee and pushed her maniac away. Rushing to her purse, she grabbed the handle and was about to raise it above Katherine’s ear when she grabbed her wrists.

The mixer rattled, its metal beaters clattering on the wooden floor, playing the terrible melody of the once-favorite song “Little Mary has a great loss — her right shoe is missing…”

With one hand holding both of Glenda's hands, Catherine raised the ax over her victim's head.

And everything could have ended right now, the girl closed her eyes, facing inevitable death, when suddenly the sounds of sirens on the street gave new hope.

Two police officers kicked open the door and burst into the house.

The team of cops worked quickly, freeing the victim from the clutches of the criminal. In handcuffs, she looked the same distraught, but again human.

"What's happening? Am I sick or healthy?” — Glenda asked herself. “You’re dead.”

Chapter 9

Iver entered the house. It was as if he had read her thoughts, or maybe he had.

— You're dead.

— What are you saying? — Glenda asked in fear, but did not receive an answer.

The horror was that she felt the truth in his words. Something is wrong in this whole story, something she doesn’t know yet, but the veil of secrecy will lift and everything will fall into place.

— Who am I?

— Iver Larsen. — the girl said in bewilderment.

— Who am I? — the man continued to ask confidently and calmly, as if not hearing her answers.

— Criminology policeman from Copenhagen.

— Who am I?

— A passenger from a London-Copenhagen plane.

— Who am I?

— I don't know! — Glenda cried, crying from powerlessness.

— Who am I? — the man asked a little softer. Gray hair appeared at his temples, and his eyes became brown, like amber.

Unable to resist the obsessive image of her loved one any longer, the girl exhaled:

— Father.

Iver's entire appearance slipped away like a theatrical vestment. A gray-haired, brown-eyed man of about forty-five in a flannel shirt and frayed jeans stood in front of Glenda, smiling timidly, as if expecting that her daughter would now attack him with accusation or resentment.

— Dad, is that you?

— Yeah baby. — He timidly extended his arms for a hug. — Come to me, honey.

Sobbing loudly, tired, disheveled Glenda rushed to the man. How she sucked. How many years have passed since his death, how many times she cried into her pillow, wanting to talk to him, but could not. She yearned for his love, fatherly care, and now he is finally here. There is no limit to happiness. The smell of smoky clothes mixed with baked goods, as she remembered him from childhood, confirmed that it was him, the father.

After standing like this for four minutes, both relatives sat down on the sofa in tears to discuss and sort everything out.

— Am I in the kingdom of the dead?

— Something like that.

— But how… — the words got stuck in my throat.

— How did you get here? — the gray-haired man helped, and seeing his daughter’s nod, he began the story. — Do you remember when you were flying straight into the thunderclouds on the plane? — Glenda covered her mouth with her hand, and silent tears flowed down her cheeks. The horror of the realization took her by surprise. Mr. Miller continued. — The airliner took off from Heathrow Airport. The flight took place over the North Sea in adverse weather conditions. Thunderstorms and wind shear caused the autopilot to disengage. The captain and co-pilot made mistakes in piloting, and precipitation, combined with low air temperatures, caused icing and damage to the engines, which led to their failure…

— So we fell into the sea? — Glenda interrupted the story.

— Yeah baby. But before that, the plane caught fire and broke into pieces.