Dead Woman Scorned: The Patience of a Dead Man Book Two by Michael Clark

Author:Michael Clark [Clark, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Michael Clark Books
Published: 2019-11-11T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 95

1971

Holly heard the girls wake early. They had the sunniest room in the house, and she wondered for a second if Tim had thought that one through. There were two other bedrooms at the back of the house right at the top of the stairs that were empty. Each girl could have her own room if they wanted, but it had been too late to move things around when it was time for bed the previous evening, and they were all tired. The rear bedrooms were plastered with construction dust anyway.

Holly heard Tim stir about a minute after the girls had not-so-quietly made their way downstairs. The nervous father is up, she thought. He probably didn’t sleep well, thinking he would not hear them get up. But he did hear them, and—still believing Holly to be asleep—got dressed and quietly followed the girls.

He didn’t go downstairs right away, Holly noticed. He’s probably in their bedroom watching from the window. She dozed off. Five minutes later, she heard the stairs creaking and surmised that the girls had left his field of vision, most likely the barn or the grove. Thirty seconds more, and she heard the porch door open and close, Tim was outside.

She dozed again and began a dream about being left alone in the house on Lancaster Hill Road. The doors were locked, the windows shut tight, and she couldn’t break the windows. In her dream, she held the hatchet and swung it at one of the windows in the living room. At the moment of impact, she woke, and her hand hurt. She realized she was sleeping on it.

Stressed from the dream, Holly pulled her arm out from underneath her body and let it hang to the floor. The blood from the rest of her body began to refill it. There was no way she was getting back to sleep. Any dream of being alone in that house was enough to—wait a second. She was alone in the house. Suddenly in the window, a housefly began to buzz and bounce.

That was enough for Holly. She sat bolt upright and got dressed with urgency. With a severe case of bed-head, she made her way downstairs, opened the front door (the closest one) and walked outside barefoot onto the lawn. She used to hate spiders the most, but Holly’s greatest household fear was now the common housefly. Mother of the maggot and harbinger of Mildred Wells—she now ran when she saw them.

She listened to the left and the right but heard nothing. Straight ahead were the pond and the meadow, two beautiful sights often ruined by the vision of the woman in the black farm dress. Now they were rid of her supposedly, but Holly’s memories were vivid, and what should have been serene was instead tense and threatening.

In need of human contact and noisy family distraction, she walked along the driveway to the corner of the house and peered around. Thankfully Tim was standing in front of the

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