Charon's Crossing

Is he going to come to her?

After what happened today, she knows she should be frightened at the possibility. But she is not, even though she remembers everything of their encounter, his rage and his hard, crushing strength.

What she fears is something else, something she senses in the oppressive atmosphere of this attic.

The whispers fuse into sounds with more substance. Kathryn's hand flies to her throat. She can feel the swift race of her pulse under her fingers.

"Matthew? " she says again. "Please, if that's you, come out and show yourself."

There is no answer, but she hears the scuttle of tiny feet behind her. She swi

ngs around, heart clamoring, and sees something small dart into a corner. A spider? A mouse? She cannot tell but she has the feeling it is nothing so simple as a frightened fellow creature.

What is she doing here? Everything about this place unnerves her. The cobwebs. The sounds. The smells...

Kathryn shudders and suddenly, the moonlight is gone. She stands in total darkness.

The sound of her pulse drums in her ears. She takes a step back, feeling for the door she knows must be close by.

Something races across her bare toes. She cries out in horror and shudders. The feel of the thing was awful, it was feathery and altogether alien. She could hear it, too, making a high-pitched, chittering sound.

The smell in the air is stronger now. It is sweet, hideously so, and it makes her belly knot.

Kathryn starts to tremble. She can see nothing but she senses evil. Evil...

Something is here, moving in the blackness. Something terrible. And it is coming for her.

"No," Kathryn sobs, "please, no!"

She flings herself towards what must be the door but it isn't there. Her arms flail wildly, she runs her hands across a wall she cannot see...

There it is. She feels it. The door.

Her fingers close on the knob. She twists and twists...

It will not turn. The door is locked, and she is trapped.

Kathryn screams. She beats her fists against the wood.

"Matthew," she sobs, "Matthew, help me!"

"Catherine," a voice whispers, from behind her.

It is not Matthew's voice. It is a voice she has never heard before, and it strikes terror into her heart.

She bites down on her bottom lip. The coppery taste of blood fills her mouth.

"I'm dreaming," she babbles, "I'm dreaming, dreaming, dreaming..."

"Catherine."

She whirls around. The voice reminds her of leathery wings, flapping in dark caves. Of the papery whisper of thousands of insect feet sweeping across the dusty bones in a graveyard.

An eerie light is pooling in the far corner of the attic and, within the light, something is taking shape.

A moan bursts from Kathryn's throat.

It is a man, but it is not Matthew.