Part 38: Ruin-union

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Previously in the Vines Inquiry— Lillian and Thomas Voorhees, Harlow’s parents, smashed their car through the front of Vines Manor; (momentarily) saving Frank & Blevin from the cougars. Jumping into action, Thomas armed Blevin with a lead pipe while Lillian tasked Frank within using the house to find Harlow.

Frank demanded an answer—losing some blood that the house drank in the process. With that sacrifice, Lillian (somehow able to command the house) could feel where Harlow was and did what she could to help her daughter.

Upstairs, Harlow heard something sprint past the outside of her door.

Oh, god. Are we there, LoLo?

Was it her door? Stuck her for eternity, or however long she had left before the beasts managed to claw through.

The banging stopped.

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A siphoning anti-crescendo as the roars and yelps were flushed down the hall. Harlow’s door slammed open the wrong way, snapping from its brass hinges and the doorframe. The thick wood swung out into the hall and dented the aging plaster. Harlow fell on her back. 

From where she lay with the wind knocked out her, she could see a vicious, lapping tongue trying to sand her cheek from behind the door. The cougar pinned there panted, its hind legs kicking both ways as it tried to squeeze itself out of the door’s vice. The rotted smell dripping from the creature’s mottled gums brought her back. She coughed, sitting up and catching her air. 

“LoLo!” The voice came to her ears, clear as if Lillian was down the hall in the kitchen, holding a casserole dish in both hands, needing her daughter to open the oven. 

“Momma?” she said back. It was fake again. Like the pool. Had to be. 

“We’re here!”

Harlow didn’t need to be told twice. She got up, using the wainscoting to claw herself to one leg. Down the hall, a swinging door—held fast as if the hinges had rusted closed—vibrated from scratching claws. The other way, the direction of her mother’s voice, was wide open. She took a few tentative steps, her foot whining no matter how slow she went down the path that had been made for her. 

Harlow held out her free hand as she crossed the first open threshold, wary of the door slamming back. She stumbled through as her foot twinged and she fell forward, catching on the swinging door. It stayed where it was, frozen open. Harlow tested the weight of it, leaning more. It did not move. The whole house was holding its breath. Or someone was choking it. 

“I’m coming!” called Harlow, moving as fast as she could. When she reached the corner, a hiccup of doubt came bubbling, but quickly popped away. The path of open doorways continued in front of her. Harlow picked up speed, wincing and limping, but unable to stem the excitement. As she got closer, more sounds came to her. Subdued purring. Her father talking to Blevin about how to fight while wounded. Frank struggling with something, but not dead. 

They’d made it. They’d all made it. And now the cavalry was here.

She rushed forward. Another corner. Another. Each time, she feared a dead end, but no. This was it. The flowers here were fresher. The light fixtures dusted. Another turn. The final turn. 

It was a straight shot down the hall. She was on the second floor, eye level with the chandelier that hung over the foyer. Harlow remembered it that way, figured it that way. If she’d been any higher, she’d be looking at the chain, or heavy iron rods that held the forty-foot-long curtains. 

My god, these people. 

She stumbled down the hall, almost dragging her bad foot now as she scratched along the wall. Okay, she used her nails more than necessary on the ancestral (and ancestrally-delicate) wallpaper, but who could blame her?

Harlow’s heart raced with excitement over panic as the noises from below became clear. She was finally done with time out and coming downstairs for the Christmas party. 

“Frank, the door,” said Lillian. He asked for a pipe. More grunting. 

“I’m coming,” said Harlow, weakly. Out of breath. “I’m almost there.” It was as much to herself as her family. She’d made it. Harlow ran the last few yards, her limp so exhausted she lost control. Her arms sprang out to either side, trying to grab something, but all they found was empty air. “Momma!” 

Lillian looked up just in time for them to lock eyes. “Harlow, no!”

The fear in Lillian’s voice harmonized with that of parents everywhere. The screech as they saw their kid chasing a ball into the street.