The Haunted

James threw himself backward, landing hard on his butt, then jumped instantly to his feet and kicked the old man hard in the face. He felt the nose give way beneath his heel, and he expected to see blood, but there was none. Only a crooked nose above that crazy grin.

Blood was coming out of his own ears. Both of them. He could feel it trickling down. His hearing was muffled, although that didn’t matter much right now, and he wondered whether he’d been hit hard enough to do permanent damage.

His grandpa started to stand, and James kicked him again, then ran into the kitchen. As he’d expected, as he should have known, the back door was jammed, too, just like the front door. He didn’t have as much time to try to get it open, because his grandpa was coming after him, but he wiggled and pulled hard enough to know that even if he did have more time, it probably wouldn’t make much difference.

James ran into the dining room, aware that the house had become an enclosed box. He was trapped in here. There was no way for him to escape, and eventually his grandpa would probably catch him. If he could only break a window or use the phone … But the old man was right behind him, and all James had time to do was run.

The last thing he wanted was to go through the living room, but he had no choice, and he sped past the framed picture of the Old Maid, not looking at it but hearing beneath his slapping footsteps and ragged breathing the Old Maid’s cracked, high-pitched laugh. He was determined not to go upstairs—that would be a trap—so he ran back into the hallway, making a circle. Except the hallway was different. It had changed since he’d hurried through here only a few moments before. The walls were darker, as was the floor, and there was an extra door just before the one to his parents’ bedroom—which had been open but now was closed.

He was afraid to go anywhere that he hadn’t been already, so, like a little kid, he stayed on the same track—hallway, laundry room, kitchen, dining room, living room, hallway—although he checked behind him to make sure that his grandpa was still giving chase. He didn’t want to turn a corner and find that the old man had switched directions and was waiting for him. No, his grandpa was still back there, and James sped up, dashing through the laundry room into the kitchen.

He could see through the window that it was already starting to get light outside, which meant it was nearly morning. When his dad discovered that he was gone, he’d figure out where he was and come and rescue him.

All James had to do was stay alive until then.

His dad would save him.

He was still running, moving through the dining room again and toward the living room and the Old Maid. The basement door had a lock, he remembered suddenly. Whatever had taken over his grandpa might be able to pick locks or ignore them or even walk through doors, but there was a chance that it couldn’t, and if James could get over there and lock himself in, he might be safe. At least for a little while.

It was worth a shot.

He ran into the hallway again, as fast as he could, sliding around the corner, and this time the door that led to the laundry room was the only door. He sped through it, and instead of passing by the entrance to the basement, he stopped and tried the knob. It opened easily, and he turned on the light and stepped inside, quickly closing the door and fumblingly turning the latch until he heard the lock click.

Any hope James had had that he’d been able to slip into the basement unnoticed disappeared instantly when the doorknob rattled loudly behind him as he hurried down the stairs. He reached the bottom just as his grandpa—or whatever had taken over his grandpa—slammed into the door, trying to break it down. It was an old house, and the door was thick and solid, so James didn’t really think the old man’s body would be able to break in. But he remembered the steely hardness of the cold hand that had gripped his wrist, and he knew that while it wasn’t likely, it was still possible, and he looked around frantically until he found a box big enough to hide behind. He moved an overstuffed Hefty bag aside, got behind the box, moved the Hefty bag back and crouched down, waiting.

His dad would come. His dad would find him. His dad would save him.

He knew he would.

He knew he would.

Thirty-four

“Where is he?” Claire screamed at her mother.

“I don’t know!” the old woman sobbed.

Julian stepped between them. “I think we all know where he probably is.”

“I’m going over there!” A string of saliva flew out of Claire’s mouth as she spun hysterically around and ran toward the front door. “I’m going to get him! I—”