Dead Ends: Stories from the Gothic South by J.T. Ellison

Author:J.T. Ellison [Ellison, J.T.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Two Tales Press
Published: 2017-09-28T05:00:00+00:00

I wish I had listened to that part of myself that told me we should leave that moment, and not even take our things, but just run out the front door. But I didn’t listen. The strange occurrence frightened me, but what had I really seen? Both girls had been overwrought, and Lilith was freakishly intimidating for a little girl. Theresa was exhausted, but uninjured.

I could almost hear Allan laughing. Demons don’t exist, my darling. You have such imagination.

Theresa and I would avoid Lilith, pack our things properly, and leave the next morning. I was owed a week’s wages, and though Mary Trewlove had obviously been too ill to come downstairs for the party, paying me would only take a few moments, and wouldn’t be much of a strain. The next day wasn’t so far off. If Jerome refused to drive us to the station, we would drag our trunks to the end of the long drive, walk the three miles into Carystown, and hire a car to pick up the luggage.

Having some semblance of a plan calmed me. I prepared a lunch tray for both Theresa and myself, and took it up to my bedroom. I had no concerns about Lilith’s comfort. Molly would have to take care of her.

Theresa lay blanketed in sunlight on the long couch beneath the window overlooking the drive. “I shouldn’t have made her angry. I’m so sorry, Mama.” Tears gathered in her eyes. She looked so much like Allan. Sometimes I wished she didn’t, because it hurt too much.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” I lied. I didn’t really believe everything was going to be fine, but I didn’t want her to be more worried than she already was. “We’ll leave here tomorrow morning. I promise.”

She nodded and gave me a faint smile through her tears.

“Now. Let me see your hands.”

There was no sign that they had been any different for even a moment.

“They don’t hurt anymore.”

“I’m glad.” I took her hands in mine, and was much more gentle than Mary Trewlove had been with me.

After lunch, I read to Theresa from Understood Betsy as she snuggled against me. It was the last time we would ever truly be together.

When she fell asleep, I lay down and tried to nap as well, but I was too restless. What about the lost woman in the woods? Theresa and I could leave, but I was convinced that she must also somehow be a victim of the strange Trewloves. How could I go, knowing she might be out there, injured or dying?

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