The Whispering Room

Most of the furniture had long since been destroyed or stolen, but the classroom at the back of the house looked just as it must have all those years ago when Mary Alice had homeschooled her children. The chalkboard was wiped clean and an eraser and fresh chalk rested in the tray.

The books were stored neatly in the shelves, but underneath the lemon oil, Evangeline could smell the invasive scent of mildew and rot.

Retracing her steps, she ended up back in the front hall, her gaze lighting on the latched door beneath the stairwell.

The whispering room.

I stayed in there for a long time with the baby. Until all the screaming finally stopped.

That’s where Daddy used to make us wait for him. That’s why we were never allowed to talk above a whisper. He didn’t want anyone to hear us.

Those little-girl whispers seemed to echo through the empty house as Evangeline reached for the latch. Taking a deep breath, she threw open the door to the light.

Something rushed out at her and she screamed as she jumped back. Losing her footing, she fell with a hard thud against the wood floor.

The flashlight flew out of her pocket, but somehow Evangeline managed to cling to her gun, and now she swung the .38 from side to side, her heart pounding inside her chest.

Something dark circled the room, and as it swooped toward her, Evangeline ducked her head under her arms and squealed. When she looked up, the bat had flown into the screen door and clung like blight to the torn mesh.

Struggling to her feet, she brushed off the seat of her jeans and retrieved the heavy Maglite that had rolled away. She switched it on, relieved to find that the bulb still burned steadily, and walked back over to the door. As the beam prowled the close space, Evangeline’s mind once again conjured an image of two little girls huddled inside, whispering words of comfort as they clung to one another in the dark.

She could still hear those whispers, and as the hair lifted at the back of her neck, she glanced over her shoulder.

No one was there.

The whispers were all in her head.

An oppression she couldn’t explain settled over her as she closed and latched the door, then moved to the stairs. The house had a very dark history and the weight of those memories pressed down on her with each step that she climbed. The whispers in her head turned to screams as she reached the top of the stairs.

This was where it had happened. Up here, in one of these rooms.

Evangeline paused, her legs suddenly leaden. She didn’t want to go on.

Then just leave. What did you think you would accomplish by coming here anyway?

She had been hoping to find Rebecca Lemay. The woman had invaded her home, threatened her son, and Evangeline needed to know why. She needed to make sure that it never happened again.

Taking a deep breath, she continued her search. As she entered the largest bedroom, she kept her weapon at the ready, both hands sweaty on the grip. She moved quickly to the closet, threw back the door and glanced inside.

Satisfied that neither bat nor human would jump out at her, she walked over to the window and stared out at the water. A lone heron circled above the swamp grass, its wings gilded by the late afternoon light. Through the broken window, Evangeline could hear the matinee song of the cicadas and bull-frogs drifting up from the bayou, and the metallic tinkle of an old wind chime.

She started to turn away, then froze.

Someone stood beside her car.

He remained so still that Evangeline had to stare for a long moment to assure herself he was real and not a shadow. Then his head tilted and she knew that he’d spotted her in the window.

Even from a distance, she could feel the impact of his eyes, the shock of his unwavering scrutiny.

He was tall, thin and very pale. His black hair gleamed like a raven’s wing in the light, and as their gazes clung, Evangeline felt the thrill of familiarity charge through her veins.

He was the man from the cemetery.

She couldn’t see the scarred side of his face, but she knew he was the same man.

But what would he being doing way out here?

Unless he’d followed her.

Maybe he’d followed her to Mount Olive that day, too.

Whirling away from the window, Evangeline sprinted across the room and rushed down the stairs. Weapon still clutched in both hands, she lunged across the front hall to the screen door, paused to glance out, then bolted onto the porch, the gun sweeping from side to side.

He was gone.

She checked both sides of the porch to make sure he wasn’t lying in wait for her. And as she turned back to the yard, she spotted him again, this time at the edge of the woods.