Lady Silence
By Celeste Hall
Lady Silence
By Celeste Hall
Copyright 2011 Celeste Hall
Cover photo and design by Celeste Hall
Smashwords Edition
All Rights Reserved
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For my husband, who somehow sneaks part of his personality into each of my heroes, and inspires my BEST romance scenes!
Chapter One
The Old House stood, bleak and dilapidated, overgrown by a choking web of ivy.
From an earlier scouting of the area, Stefanie Torovic knew that the building was more deserving of a name like Alcatraz, then ‘The Old House’. But it had stood for at least a hundred years as it was now – and an unknown time before that.
There were claims that the ground beneath it was an Indian burial ground before the American continent was settled, and that a coven of witches had first founded the town – escaping from the torches of Salem.
That the town had grown up around the coven’s church, which was later torn down to build the Old House, now haunted by the spirits of those long dead witches and their demon spawn.
Always the skeptic, Stefie believed that most of the stories had been crafted by the teenagers that used it as a prop for scary dates. It was too easy to stretch a tale into unbelievable lengths when there was nobody left who actually knew the truth.
From what she was able to dig up out of the town’s archives, censuses, and logs; the original structure was built even before the country had claimed its independence from Britain, but that it had been added to over the years to create the monstrosity that it was now.
A historical gem, although none of the previous owners had been fool enough to attempt restoring it. And the building’s current owner – her own uncle – wanted little to do with at all.
Older then recorded time and rotted beyond safety. She could not help but feel a thrill as she approached it.
This was no ordinary house. The immense building stood up like a fortress in the night. Black and monstrous, with solid iron bars fitted tightly over windows that had already been securely boarded up.
The town safety inspector sincerely wanted to keep the curious out of there - which, of course, only made Stefanie more determined to succeed.
She had to drive her rust-bucket of a pickup truck off the road, and over a botanical nightmare of brush and shrubbery, in order to hide it behind the manor’s hulking body.
The night was already pitch dark and threatening to rain. It was a terrible time for the casual observer to be out and about, but the perfect time for someone that didn’t want to be noticed.
Pulling as close as she could to the prisonlike gates securing what was once a garden entrance to the black hulk above her, she pulled out the heavy duty tow chain that she’d brought along for just this purpose.
The damned thing took her almost an hour to fasten around the gates and then catch to the axle of her truck, but she was encouraged to see that the bricks holding the gate to the wall were quite thoroughly rotted out. It should pull away fairly easily.
Yes, what she was doing technically qualified as breaking and entering…
But the photographs alone were going to be Pulitzer quality!
Besides, it wasn’t as if every teenager in town hadn’t done this exact same thing at least once in their lives.
She’d been in a group of just such teens only a few years ago, although they hadn’t made it nearly as deep into the belly of the beast as Stefie planned to go tonight. They’d all pretty much chickened out in the first room. The place was truly terrifying.
People had died within those walls - lots of people – in terrible ways.
Nobody would talk about it anymore, as if just talking about it would bring the curse of the house against them.
They relentlessly boarded up the windows whenever they were broken, and then went the extra mile to assure that every single window was barred as well. As if afraid of some tangible evil escaping, rather than teenagers getting hurt in a stupid game of dare.
Pop ...smack!
The gate snapped right open the moment she hit the gas pedal - and cracked into the tailgate of her truck.
She rolled her eyes in a moment of self ridicule as she realized she should have allowed for more space between the two.
But she was in! There was nothing blocking her path now that couldn’t be pried off with a simple crow bar.
Within seconds she was stepping over the threshold and into a room so inky black that even the sudden illumination of her flashlight did little to cut through the darkness.
She stood there, her back facing safety and security, and felt an uncomfortable shiver ripple through her.
The last time she’d been here, it was in the company of a dozen other students from her high school. They had gained a sort of false courage from being together in a group - a courage which was sorely lacking in her now, despite the years that had passed since.
Stefie liked to think of herself as a strong and independent woman. The sort of girl that might face down a charging mountain lion for that once-in-a-lifetime photo opportunity. But there was something about the darkness that confronted her now which made her feel threatened in a way that she couldn’t even describe.
She felt as though she were being watched. But it was more than that. The darkness seemed to pulse and writhe about her body, warm and stale from being locked inside for so long.
The fetid breath of a predator waiting for its prey to step just a little closer, before it fell upon her body and ripped her to shreds.
Damn it! She shoved the mental image away and forced herself to step forward, trying to stay near the center line of the room. Where she was less likely to trip over pieces of debris, or walk into the fibrous cancer of cobwebs attached to every surface of the room. Vaporous sinews that stretched out to form the visceral flesh of the house, gluing all the pieces together despite the affects of age.
The visual proof of spiders had her clutching her jacket tighter to keep anything from crawling inside with her.
This was a bad idea - a very bad idea - but she couldn’t just turn around after she’d come so far. She couldn’t afford to look like a fool to her boss. Particularly because he was also her uncle, so she would never hear the end of it.
Even more pressing were the stories that had recently started leaking in from the newest generation of teenagers, which still visited the place to scare each other.
The gullible girls who might be convinced to reward their brave dates with more than just a goodnight kiss, and just as easily part their lips to discuss it with a total stranger over lunch the next day.
It was their stories that had lured her here alone, without even a camera man for company.
Stefie made her way deeper into the darkness.
The pale ghost of light, still available from the doorway, was quickly being swallowed up behind her. And as it faded, her eyes began to play tricks on her.
Was that blood covering the walls and floors… or black mold eating away at rotted boards?
The pale beam of her flashlight was scarcely enough to offer a path free from debris, much less a clear view through the intense darkness that pressed in around her.
There was no electricity here, no wires in the walls.
The house was so old that the previous owners must have used lamps and candles to keep it lit.
Yes, definitely candles. She caught a glimpse of ancient wax frozen in an eternal attempt to drip from off the mantle. Now they were pale roots for spiders to fasten their delicate threads against.
For a moment she was halted by the faint stench of something old and indescribable bad.
Please don’t let it be something dead.
She didn’t think she could stand to find a body – no matter the state of it. Bones would be just as bad as something still trapped in the process of decomposing.
Her mind again flashed to the dark stains on the walls, and instantly recalled the stories she had been told in her youth, as well as those more recently acquired.
What kind of person could do the things that were done in this house to another person?
For at least the hundredth time she wished that she’d brought a gun with her. But she really didn’t know how to use one, and better judgment had warned taking a gun into a creaky old house might put her into a psychologically compromised situation.
If someone else happened into the house while she was there it might frighten her into using the weapon before she realized they were just teens looking for a good scare.
That would be bad for the newspaper.
Worse for her.
So here she was with only a folding knife in her purse, and a heavy metal flashlight that might double as a club if she needed it.
God, she hoped she didn’t need it.
The creak of old wood, and the scurry of something she didn’t want to think about moving in the walls, had her moving at a snail’s pace. Her imagination was far too eager to supply her with images from the horror films she’d thrived upon during her teens.
Dread washed and ebbed through her body. It crept up her spine as spider’s legs, to nestle between her shoulder blades and settle into that tender sensitive flesh at the back of her neck. It caused the hair to prickle and stiffen in anticipation of something much worse.
It was such a bad idea to come here alone, she thought again. But she knew that she’d never have been allowed entrance if she’d told anyone what her plans were.
Not even her camera man would have agreed to this level of suicidal recklessness.
Dark hallways and doors created dust clogged arteries leading deeper into the building. Each offering potential death by collapsing walls or floors, yet luring her onward with hinted promises of the story she was looking for.
Somewhere beneath the ruin of this massive wooden body, there was a tomb of information waiting for her. Every whispered tale she had dragged from unwilling tongues swore of a dungeon where helpless victims were kept until their eventual demise.
Those were the pictures she wanted. That was the story she wanted to prove.
Were the rumors true?
A sudden draft of cold air struck her ankles and she froze as if any motion might summon the demons that had stirred it. Every horror show promised as much.
The darkness and silence was suffocating, making it so much easier for her damned imagination to feed her potential endings to this story.
Something snuffled behind her and she whirled around, the beam of her flashlight bouncing off from black smeared walls and cobweb shrouded furniture.
More whispery sounds of movement
…okay, rats - just rats….oh god, she hated rats!
Turning on legs that seemed to be begging her to run the other direction, she headed deeper, and found herself in what must have been an old ballroom. But this one belonged in a scene from a movie about walking dead, or disease ravaged post apocalyptic worlds.
Furniture had been overthrown and smashed into kindling. The remnants covered in a thick blanket of dust, rat droppings, and cobwebs.
The beam of her flashlight caught a glimpse of something lighter than the scarlet and black mud of ancient velvet wallpaper. She circled around the rooms many pitfalls until she could get a better look.
Oh god, were those knife marks, or…claws?
No. No, this was real life. Freddy Krueger wasn’t part of this particular nightmare.
Shit! Why had her mind dredged up that particular horror movie?
Those four deeply engraved slash marks looked far too perfectly linear to be made by individual slices from a knife. In fact, they looked exactly like what Freddy’s razor-bladed glove might have left behind.
No! She had to stop thinking about deranged psychopaths with clawed hands. Bloodthirsty killers weren’t the only possibility here.
Wolverine!
Yes! Wolverine had claws.
She tried to imagine a sexy, naked Hugh Jackson emerging from a tank full of viscous fluids, with muscles rippling. Now that scene was a wet dream for red blooded women everywhere.
Red blooded…blood…everywhere. Blood covering the walls all around her…
Her skin felt like it was trying to crawl right off from her bones.
Pull it together, girl! She growled silently, raising the camera tethered around her neck, and snapping a photo of the wall.
The sudden flash of the camera was so bright it blinded her, but in that moment she’d seen something that her flashlight had missed.
Directly below the slash marks there’d been a gap between the wall and the floor. Barely noticeable in the beam of her flashlight, but made visible by the harsh illumination of the camera’s heavy duty bulb.
Keeping a good distance - as visions of rats, and larger creatures, lurking down there made her hesitate - she crouched and picked up what was left of an old chair leg. She used it to test the wall.
It held firm, but she was sure there had been a gap there.
The reporter in her demanded that she investigate, even as the sane part of her brain screamed for her to stop being an idiot and get the hell out of there.
Taking a moment to circle the flashlight around the room once more – she really did not want anyone, or anything, sneaking up on her – she took a step closer to the wall, and pulled the little folding knife out of her pocket.
Stefie stared at the gap for a long moment. She really didn’t want to do it, but she forced herself to press the little blade between the wall and floor.
The point of the knife sliced through empty air.
Worse. With her hand down this close she could feel a cold draft coming up from the dark slit, suggesting there was another room beyond.
Withdrawing her hand, she crouched there, torn by fear and anticipation.
She had come here hoping to find the secrets locked inside these walls, so why did the possibility of a secret passage scare the living hell out of her?
Wasn’t this was she wanted? Wasn’t this what she was looking for?
She held the camera at an angle that might best illuminate the gap and snapped another picture, closing her eyes this time so as to keep her night vision.
Please, don’t let there be a monster on the other side of this wall…or a body.
Slipping the knife back into her pocket, she rubbed nervous fingers against her palm for a moment, and then held her breath as she reached out to push against the grime covered surface.
It didn’t even budge.
With a fingernail she tried catching at one peeling edge of wallpaper and pulled it back, creating a storm of choking dust and an echoing cacophony of sounds from the rest of the room.
The harsh ripping noise had apparently angered hundreds of unseen residents, which were now jumping and scurrying away to their hiding places in rotten chair cushions or innumerous holes.
Stefie barely managed to choke back a scream as her wildly careening flashlight captured glimpses of vanishing nasty things she hadn’t even realized were so close.
The haze of a hundred years in undisturbed dust and filth kept her from discerning exactly what they were, but she was certain that some of them had looked far too large to be any ordinary rats!
She should leave, right now! She should get out of here and come back when she could convince her camera man – or any man – to come with her.
At this point she would have accepted the company of Billy, the crazy eyed pervert that lived down the street from her, just so she wasn’t alone anymore.
As suddenly as they had appeared, the hideous stampede of vermin ended, and the silence was back… more deafening than before.
Stefie stood like a trembling statue, as she flashed her pitiful beam of light around the room. Searching every corner, every dark shadow – for… what?
She didn’t want to think of what she might do if something actually came towards her, or refused to run away the moment her light passed over it.
It was several long minutes before her ragged heartbeat slowed, and she was able to collect herself enough to turn her back to the darkness and face the wall once more.
Standing at eye level with the deeply scarred wood, now freshly stripped of its papery skin, she realized something she hadn’t really considered before.
The slash marks started high and ended lower, becoming shallower towards the bottom.
Her eyes continued an invisible line drawn by their progress, and saw what she had missed, even beneath the harsh light of the camera.
There was a groove there, hidden by the swirls in ancient wallpaper. Built into the wall in such a way that it would be nearly impossible to notice, if one wasn’t sure of what they were looking for.
She flicked her light across it, looking for creepy crawlies that might bite or sting if she were to slip her fingers inside.
As gingerly as possible, she tested the groove, pushing and then pulling at the cleverly angled slice of wood.
Click!
A crack appeared in the wall, and widened as she pressed against its surface.
Darkness - and the stench of rotted wood and damp earth - flooded up from below.
It was a stairwell, built of stones, some of which were stained with the same ominous color that marked the walls and floors of the house above.
If there were anywhere in the house that might be full of corpses or old bones, Stefie was certain that she was looking at the entrance to it.
The answers to what might have happened here had to be down there. And yet, every fiber of her body warned against going down those stairs.
A shiver traveled through her, but she was inexplicably drawn forward.
Down into the dungeons she had hoped to find, and towards the blood bath she instinctively feared.
Her flashlight was almost useless against the concentrated darkness of the stair well as it spiraled her downward, down to the heart of evil, and the source of so many secrets.
Down and down, until she was confronted by the ruins of a massive wooden door.
The pungent stench of rotted wood must have come from this heap of molding timbers, some still clinging to the heavy iron hinges and bolts that had once kept it securely fastened to the wall.
Now it lay in a treacherous mound of decay, threatening broken limbs to anyone foolish enough to attempt passage.
But she was driven now. She was so close. She had come further than anyone had ever seen before.
Stefie had to find out what lay on the other side, even if it cost her life.
Nobody knew where she was, and it would be days before anyone went looking for her.
Her truck was hidden far away from the road, and covered in brush and leaves to prevent notice from anyone who might pass by.
But those were quickly passing fears as she focused upon the challenge before her.
The beam of her flashlight ricocheted off blood stained walls and grime covered floors, as she was forced to use both hands to climb the rotted wood pile that blocked her path.
She was grateful she had chosen to wear thick hiking boots to trudge through the wildly overgrown landscape outside the manor, now they provided her at least some protection from the wicked looking daggers of wood that spiked up all around her, covered in a century of unknown fungus and rodent droppings.
The floor on the other side of the ruined barricade was made of the same stone as the stairwell. Thick blocks pressed together without any form of mortar, leaving dark crevices for insects to creep within and molds to thrive.
But it was not insects she was worried about now, it was the sudden sound of movement from the darkness ahead.
Had it been too loud to be a rat?
Her mind flashed through images of creatures from her nightmares, and she thrust the light out before her as weapon against whatever evil she might be facing.
Yet there was nothing but a dark corridor ahead, made of stone, and lined with iron candelabras.
Pulling out her camera, Stefie closed her eyes before snapping a photo of the path ahead. It was a sight she was certain had been unviewed by human eyes in over a century.
The corridor was as silent as a grave. As if no rats or other creatures dared to lurk here, where there were so few hiding places from predators.
She moved forwards again, more quickly now that her path was unhindered by shattered furniture or debris.
The answers would be here, she could feel them - and an almost tangible need to rush forward and reach her destination.
She didn’t realize that she was running until the corridor suddenly opened up into a massive circular room.
Candle wax formed a complete ring around the edge of the round dome. And within that circle was a square drawn in something ominously dark and similar to the blood smeared walls above her.
At the center of the interior square was a ring of prison bars, barely large enough for a man to lie down inside.
But the most shocking object in the entire room was the male figure standing in the very center of the cage.
A pagan god made of wax…or something worse?
It looked far too much like real human skin stretched over perfectly carved stone.
The creators had so carefully constructed their idol; they’d made it more detailed than any golden calf she’d ever imagined.
This construct was perfect formed, as if that were actual living muscle beneath the hard stretch of darkened skin.
Too real. Disturbingly real.
A patch of thick black curls could not begin to conceal the god like proportions they had given their idol, even as it lay at rest. Nor the terrifyingly real appearance of it.
She could easily imagine black robed figures staring at that perfectly formed phallus with more than worship on their minds.
Her flashlight traveled upwards over the perfectly carved outline of muscles and sinews. Over sculpted hips, waist and then chest - feeling a little guilty as her own body responded to the pure male perfection before her.
Step aside Wolverine, the pagan idol before her would have made women drop to their knees and beg to be savaged by him.
Yet no matter how perfect she found the body, she was unable to draw the flashlight up towards the shadowy face. She feared what gruesome visage might be given to a creature worshiped by those that practiced the art of blood sacrifice, and the slaughter of innocent lives.
Drawing up her camera, she closed her eyes to snap a photo.
“No.”
The word was low and guttural, but terrifyingly real.
Dropping the camera against her chest, Stefie jerked the flashlight back to the figure still standing within the center of those iron bars.
The shadows created from her light making it look as though the body were shimmering in and out of existence… or breathing.
This time her light went straight up to the statue’s face.
She saw dark lashes rise, as black eyes opened to look back at her.
Chapter Two
Vel wanted to rip and to tear - to feel the hot rush of blood washing over his hands.
He wanted to hear the dying scream of those he hated as their bodies bucked and kicked beneath him, thrashing and fighting with the sheer terror of prey suffering the last terrible throws of death.
Alone in darkness the anger had turned to hatred, and the hatred had turned to a violent need for bloodshed.
His sanity splintering away, rotting and collapsing like the walls that had held him captive for so long. Enslaved in darkness, unable to discern how many days, months…years, were passing by.
His only companions were the rats, and other creatures of the night. Which fed upon the death of old buildings as worms might devour decaying flesh.
Here in the darkness he would listen to them. He could hear their skittery sounds and the whispers of their passing.
He would call to them, snatching fragile bodies within the bone crushing grasp of his palms. Feeling the heat of their blood against his lips as he fed, and dreamed of the day it would be the blood of his mistress and those that had followed her.
They had left him here, alone.
Trapped.
Damned.
Death was too kind for them.
Death was too quick.
He wanted to make them suffer as he had suffered. To make them bleed and scream, even as he had screamed – screamed until his voice was ragged and raw.
Yet there had never been any sound but the empty rasp of his own haunted breath, his own beating heart, his own desperate rage…and the rats.
Until now.
Now there was something new.
Silence for so long, but now it was broken by the soft whisper of human footfalls.
A woman’s footsteps, he was certain of it by the slightness of them.
Cautious steps, perhaps even fearful.
As she bloody hell should be!
How dare she wait so long to free him?
How dare she leave him like this!
Ephonae Gower. Beautiful and deadly, she was an opulent viper hidden behind a veil of sexual allure. She was a woman that men both feared and desired.
A treacherous bitch!
He would rip her heart from her chest for this betrayal.
The savage rage made his body tremble, but he silenced it so he could listen to her approach.
Yet when the tiny figure at last appeared it was not the woman that Vel had expected.
This was not the cold hearted cunt that had locked him in his prison, trapping and damning him for eternity.
Still, he watched the girl hungrily, tracking her slightest movements with the predatory gaze of a starving beast.
This woman was very different, almost a child in comparison.
She lacked the confidence and aura of a Believer.
This was merely a hapless infant who had stumbled into secrets far too deep for her to understand.
The girl’s thick brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail that accented her high cheekbones and faintly slanted green eyes. Cat’s eyes.
Her slender figure and the delicate way which she glided through the darkness added to her exotic - almost feline - appearance. He could easily imagine her naked, her body gyrating sensually before him as she danced for his pleasure.
Only danced. They never did anything more, these fragile humans. They were too afraid of what he was capable of, too afraid of the monster they had created.
They came to him in groups, dancing and cavorting before him, but always aware of what he was. And what he might do to them if they were to let down their guard for only a moment.
But this child carried a subtle difference.
He could see the fear in her eyes, but he had also seen her lust. And there was something more, something he could not exactly place.
Innocence?
“Free me.”
It was spoken in a hoarse rasp. As though his normally deep voice were decayed from lack of use, the rumbling of ancient rocks formed into words. How long had it been since he’d last attempted to speak?
The girl startled, yet again he watched her struggle with her fear – and win.
“I…what…?”
Stefie could barely form an answer. Much less make it anything more than a hesitant squeak.
It felt as though her entire body had gone numb with shock. Her tongue was frozen against tightly clenched teeth. Teeth that had barely managed to clamp down on the scream that was still clawing at the back of her throat.
This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be happening.
There was no possible way that a human being could have survived in that prison cell for over a hundred years.
This…thing…wasn’t anything more than a statue. And his voice wasn’t anything more than a figment of her overactive imagination in a situation where even a very sane person might be afraid.
“Free me.”
The rumble came again - louder this time - and more commanding. She could even detect a strange accent to the voice now. It was something unfamiliar and unsettling, as if it carried the foundation of too many dialects.
“No.”
It was barely a whisper, and she wasn’t sure how she managed even that. But she was sure as hell grateful for those thick iron bars that separated her from whatever that was looking back at her with increasingly furious eyes.
Because, she was sure now that whatever it was, it wasn’t human. And someone had locked it in that cage for a reason.
Instead of moving towards the prison, she felt herself take a tentative step backwards.
“Free me!”
His voice was now a roar that reverberated straight through her body and into her bones. It locked her feet to the floor more firmly than if they had been nailed there.
She swallowed, bracing herself against the fear, and raised her chin to face him.
His thick black hair was raggedly shorn off at the shoulders. As if it had been torn away with a dulled blade, or clawed to shreds by a madman. Spikes of uneven length now fell loosely over strong brows and lean angular cheeks.
He had a powerful jaw, which was now clenched with anger.
And his mouth! What little she had seen of it in the shadows before had looked generous and sensual, but it was now drawn into a furious line that sent a shiver up her back.
She felt her gaze trying to skitter away. To look anywhere but at those cruel eyes that bored into her. Yet she fought back her fear and met him glare for glare.
“How do I know that you won’t just kill me once you’re free?” She asked bluntly. “Nobody has been inside this house for over a hundred years, and now I find some naked…man…”
She faltered at the word, but forced herself to continue before she lost courage.
“You’re locked up in a dungeon where the walls are literally painted in blood. Not to mention all the blood upstairs! Just how big a fool do you think I am? I’ve seen this movie, buddy, and the girl is generally hacked to pieces in the end. Thanks, but I’d rather keep all of my limbs just as they are.”
His jaw snapped shut with an audible click and he stared at her with an unreadable expression for several very long seconds.
Yet as she stared defiantly back, she suddenly felt a rush of warmth beginning to pool in her belly.
Abruptly his eyes seemed to melt into molten onyx, burning through her body and soul.
The dark room faded away, as the entire focus of her mind and body became the man before her. Nothing else existed but his eyes…deep…black…seductive...
Caught in some half waking dream, Stefie watched as the muscles of his chest flexed and rippled beneath the skin, and she was instantly aware of how naked he was.
Her mind filled with images of her body pressed against the powerful male before her. His strong hands caressing and stroking her skin as he lowered her to the floor.
She felt the heat of his flesh against hers, and the hunger in his touch as he embraced her - one powerful hand sliding between her legs to part them, demanding access to that most secret place.
Stefie moaned as a fresh blast of heat flooded through her, flames licking at that tender place where she felt the weight of him pressing, demanding that she open for him. Then she was giving in, welcoming him into her arms.