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  After a couple of minutes, I feel something pushing against my foot. Looking up, I see that the guy is standing over me, gently kicking me as if he's trying to get me to move. I want to lash out at him, to hurt him, but at the same time I'm terrified that he might use that cattle-prod on me again. I'd rather die than feel that kind of pain again.

  "I -" I start to say, but the left side of my face still seems to be in spasm following the shock, and I can't talk properly. Getting slowly to my feet, I lean against a bookshelf for a moment, still trying to catch my breath. I feel as if all the energy has been drained from my body.

  Seconds later, the guy uses the tip of the cattle-prod to nudge my shoulder. He doesn't shock me this time, but I still pull away instinctively. It's clear that he wants me to get moving, so I hobble on my aching legs, making my way slowly toward the door. My entire body feels tender, as if my bones have turned to jelly, and I barely reach the door before I have to steady myself again. I honestly don't know if I could survive another jolt from that cattle-prod right now; I feel as if I'd just end up collapsing, and I'm scared my heart would stop beating. Already, my mind feels washed out and empty, as if I'm struggling to string together a coherent thought.

  Slowly, I make my way to the foot of the stairs, and then I look back to see that the guy is right behind me. Figuring that he wants me to keep going, I start carefully heading up to the next level. It's tempting to turn and try to kick the guy in the face, but I know he'd just use the cattle-prod on me again. I'm still determined to find a way out of this situation, but right now my greatest fear is pain. The first time he used the cattle-prod, it felt as if my entire body was being ripped apart; the second time, it was like a million tiny knives were tearing through my veins; I'm terrified of what it might be like if it happens again. I need to lull him into a false sense of security and make him think he can trust me, and then I can think about striking out at him. Damn it, I should have been more patient.

  "Now where?" I ask as I get to the top of the stairs, and suddenly the guy reaches the cattle-prod past me and indicates one of the doors a little further along. As I start walking, I realize I can hear a dripping sound, and when I reach the door I look inside and see an old ceramic bath in the middle of the room, filled with water and blocks of ice. I instantly tense up, as I think back to what Elizabeth and Natalie told me about the things this guy likes doing to people. I saw the state Natalie was in when she came back down to the basement, and I saw the cut on her leg.

  "I can't go in there," I say, turning to face the guy. He's hanging back a little, and it's still hard to make out his features in the low light. "Please," I continue, with a sense of mounting panic, "I think my heart is bad. If you make me go in there, I might get really sick. I swear to God, I've got a heart condition. I might -"

  Suddenly he comes closer, holding the cattle-prod out toward me.

  Instinctively, I step back into the room.

  He keeps coming.

  I step back again.

  "You can't make me do this," I say, my voice trembling. "I'll do anything else, but please don't make me get in there. I'll do anything you want. Please, just -"

  He pushes the cattle-prod closer.

  "Why do you want me to go in there?" I ask, glancing back at the bath and seeing the chunks of ice. Water is still dripping over the edge, and the floor is wet. I'm pretty sure I know exactly why he wants me to go in there, of course, but I need to stall a little. I need time to come up with some kind of plan. "Please," I continue, still staring at the ice as it floats gently in the bath, "whatever you want to do to me, please don't do it."

  Hearing the cattle-prod start to charge up again, I look back over at the guy and see that he's staring impassively at me. The light in this room is low, but for a moment I realize I can actually make out the faintest impression of the guys face, and his small, puffy eyes staring back at me.

  "Please," I say, looking at the blue end of the cattle-prod. "I think it might kill me if you make me do this."

  No response.

  "Please!" I shout. "Why me? Why did you take me?"

  Suddenly he steps forward and swings the cattle-prod at me. In my panic to avoid another shock, I take another step back, but this time I bump into the edge of the bath. I try to steady myself, but the cattle-prod is coming closer and although I try to pull away, I'm unable to keep my balance.

  What happens next, seems to happen in slow motion. I reach out to stop my fall, but it's too late and I feel my back start to hit the ice; my mind is racing, with thoughts rushing past faster than I've ever known, and there's nothing I can do as my entire body is plunged beneath the surface of the ice bath. The ice gives way as I smash through, and freezing water floods through my clothes and bites at my skin. Finally, my whole torso is submerged in the freezing water, and my body seems to be seizing up in reaction to the cold. Eventually, my head goes under the surface as well, and I sink deep beneath the ice. I try to struggle, but the cold seems to be already freezing my skin and bones, and all I can do is stare straight up at the water and ice, and at the distorted image of the guy standing by the side of the bath and staring down at me.

  Ben Lawler

  Today

  "You found her?"

  "I found her, and -"

  "Wait," Detective Regan says firmly. "Let me get this straight. There's no hurry, Mr. Lawler. We've got all day if necessary. So you found her, naked in an ice bath -"

  "She wasn't naked," I reply.

  He stares at me.

  "She was freezing," I continue, trying not to panic. "I had to get her out of her clothes. I wrapped her in a blanket and carried her out."

  "So you removed her clothes?"

  "They were soaked!" I say, immediately realizing that I shouldn't have raised my voice.

  We sit in silence for a moment.

  "It's true," I say eventually. "You can ask her for yourself."

  "When she wakes up," he replies.

  "If she wakes up," the other detective adds.

  We're sitting in an interview room at the local police station. I've spent the past two hours here, being grilled by these two assholes. I understand that they have to investigate when a girl is almost killed, but I swear they're not listening to me. It's as if they made up their minds before they even walked into the room, and now they're refusing to hear a word I say. They've obviously decided that I'm some kind of maniac who took Samantha out to the house on Willow Road in order to do something awful to her. No matter what I say, they manage to twist it around so that it fits their narrative. I can't shake the feeling that I'm being set up, and that they're obsessed with the idea that I'm some kind of pervert.

  "She'll tell you what happened," I continue. "Just wait for her to wake up."

  "I'm not going to lie to you," Detective Regan replies. "She's in a bad way. She has hypothermia, and she lost a lot of blood. She's in an induced coma right now, and her family are by her bedside, but it's touch and go. There's still a chance that this could become a murder investigation."

  Sighing, I look down at my hands for a moment. "You have to go out to the house -"

  "We'll be doing that," Detective Regan says, interrupting me, "but right now, we don't need you to tell us how to do our job. We need you to be honest with us about what happened last night. You've got no reason to be scared, Mr. Lawler. Just tell us the truth."

  "I was worried about Samantha," I continue with a sigh. "She'd been talking about the house, and I know what she's like. She's a bright student. There were things she said that made me worry that she'd go out there, and after the things that have been happening lately -"

  "What things would that be?"

  "Brenda Baynes, for one," I reply.

  The two detectives glance at one another.

  "The girl who was found out near there," I continue. "She was freezing cold, and she'd been -"

  "We know about Brenda Baynes," Detective Regan says, "and I'll admit there are some similarities between what happe
ned to her and what happened to Samantha Briggs." He pauses for a moment, before looking down at some papers. "Did you know Brenda Baynes, Mr. Lawler?" he asks eventually.

  "No," I say, "but I know she was found outside the house, frozen, with a wound that was consistent with the things that used to happen at that house years ago."

  "And how do you know that?" he continues. "How do you know details that weren't even released to the media?"

  "I have a source," I reply, realizing that once again I've been backed into a corner.

  "Huh," he says dourly. "A source. Care to name that source?"

  "I can't," I say. "The point is, something's going on out at that house. There's the Jolene Lucas case as well. Something's still in that place, and it's..." I pause, as I try to work out a way to explain all of this without sounding like I'm insane. "I think the house on Willow Road needs to be knocked down," I say eventually. "I think that whatever was in that place, it's still there in some form, and I think it's reaching out and taking girls again. It took Jolene Lucas and Brenda Baynes, and it nearly took Samantha Briggs."

  "How long have you been obsessed with that house?" Detective Regan asks.

  "I'm not obsessed," I reply.

  "So you're not one of those freaks?" he continues. "If we go look in your house right now, we won't find pictures of the so-called witches from back then? I mean, let's face it, there are plenty of weird people out there who are obsessed with the case. The thing is, it's fine to be obsessed. That's not against the law. What is against the law, however, is recreating some of those old crimes. Hurting people. Cutting people. Submerging girls in ice baths, Mr. Lawler. Kidnapping. These are things that are against the law."

  We sit in silence for a moment.

  "There's another possibility," the other detective says eventually. "What if Mr. Lawler thinks he just sat in his car, but actually he was up and about, doing all sorts of crazy stuff in the night? What if he genuinely has no idea that he's been doing these things?"

  "I'm not crazy," I reply firmly. "I'm telling the truth, but I've changed my mind about one thing. I think I should have a lawyer present if we're going to continue with this discussion. I came here voluntarily to help you with your investigation, but now I think I want a lawyer."

  Detective Regan stares at me, as if he's studying me and trying to decide what to make of me.

  "No," he says eventually, smiling for the first time since we met. "You don't need a lawyer. You're free to go. Ordinarily, I'd want to hold you while we investigate further, but we pulled the surveillance tapes from the gas station you claimed to have visited. Fortunately for you, it clearly shows that you were in there this morning, and it also happens to capture the moment that Samantha Briggs cycled past. So we know that at least part of your story holds up." He pauses again. "Still, we're gonna want to talk to you again, and I'm gonna give you some advice that you really need to listen to. Stay away from that house. Do not go anywhere near it. I'm gonna have someone watching it twenty-four-seven, and you will be arrested if you go within a hundred meters of the place. Do you understand?"

  I nod reluctantly.

  "And don't try to contact Samantha Briggs or her family."

  "Fine," I say.

  "And try to get some of these crazy ideas out of your head. A house is just a house, Mr. Lawler. The guy who did all those things, all those years ago, is dead. All that's left is an old house that's waiting to get torn down. Just leave it be. It's nothing to do with you. I know it's easy to get caught up in all the things that happened there, so just step back, cool off, and let us handle it."

  I want to argue with him, but I doubt it'd do much good. He's obviously convinced that I'm some kind of weird, obsessed guy like all the others who come snooping around, so I guess the best thing would be to just keep off his radar as much as possible.

  "Sure," I say eventually, even though it's a lie. "I'll keep well away."

  Holly Carter

  15 years ago

  After what seems like an eternity under the ice, I feel a pair of hands reach beneath the surface, grab my shoulders, and haul me up. As my face emerges from under the water, I try to breathe, but my body seems to be frozen rigid. I try again, but it's as if my chest is frozen and unable to move. After a moment, however, I manage to take a gasp of air, and then another, and finally I'm able to fill my ice-cold lungs.

  Leaving my head to rest on some pieces of ice, the guy moves away from the bath for a moment. I want to reach out and grab him, to slam his head against the side of the bath and make my getaway, but I can barely even move. All I can do is keep gasping for air as I stare up at the ceiling. My body is starting to shake uncontrollably, and I can feel my bones shivering as my skin gets colder and colder. All around me, chunks of ice clink against one another like tiny icebergs. I just want to get out of here, but I'm helpless. The worst part is that I can feel my heart struggling to beat, its irregular thumps signaling that my body temperature is plummeting. I don't think I can survive being in this ice bath for much longer.

  "Help," I whisper, but the words are too quiet and they barely leave my lips. I doubt he can even hear me, and I'm certain he wouldn't care. I try to speak again, but I just make a quiet, mumbling sound.

  Eventually I feel my leg being lifted up. I force myself to look down, and I see that the guy has taken a seat next to the bath. As he holds my leg up with one hand, he's shifting my trouser leg out the way with the other, and finally I watch as he places the blade of a small knife against my skin. I try to call out to him, to tell him to stop, but all I can do is open my mouth and make a gasping sound. Slowly, the blade slices into my numb, freezing skin, and I watch as an incision is made. A trickle of blood runs out, but I'm pretty sure the freezing temperature is minimizing the blood loss as he uses the blade's serrated edge to carve through my flesh and muscle. It hurts, of course, but the pain seems abstract, almost as if it's happening to someone else.

  I try again to speak as I watch the guy swap the knife for what looks like a small razor blade. With all my strength, I try to force some words from my mouth, but nothing comes. I feel completely helpless as he slips the blade into the wound he's made. I can just about feel movement inside my leg, although the temperature is numbing most of my body. After a moment, I feel something scraping against my bone, accompanied by a faint scraping sound, like someone running their fingernails down a chalkboard. A few seconds later, I watch as the guy removes a thin sliver of bone and sets it on a nearby table.

  Although I try once again to pull myself up and out of the bath, I still can't make my arms and legs move. All I can do is watch as the guy picks up some kind of hand-held device and presses it against the wound on my leg. As he presses the handle a series of times, I realize that he's using metal staples to close the injury, and after a couple of minutes he seems to be done. He lets my leg slip back down into the ice bath, and then he disappears from view, leaving me with nothing to do but stare straight ahead and wonder if he's ever coming back. There's no way I can get myself out of here, so I'm completely dependent on him. Did Natalie manage to get out by herself? Is this some kind of test? If so, I know I won't pass. I'll just die here, frozen and bleeding.

  After a moment, I realize I can hear voices. It's my parents, arguing about me. At first I'm pleased to hear them, and I try to call out to them, but I quickly realize that they're talking about my disappearance. My mother is screaming, demanding that someone has to go and find me, while my father is saying that I'm probably just at a friend's house. I want to call out to them, to tell them that I'm alive, but I can't speak; besides, it's all just an illusion. I miss them, though, and I'd do anything to be able to see them again. I just hope that there's some kind of clue they can follow, and that eventually the police will find this place and break the door down. This bastard has to have made a mistake at some point.

  "Mom," I finally manage to utter, but the effort is too much and I feel myself starting to lose consciousness.

  Realizing t
hat I'm going to die if I stay in here much longer, I try to summon up every last ounce of energy in my body. Trying once again to sit up, I manage to move a little better than before. I tilt my head and look over at the door, focusing on the hope that maybe I can somehow get moving. Just as I'm starting to think that I have a chance, however, I see something flash past the door. Whatever it was, it moved fast, but it definitely wasn't the guy who's been doing this to me. Elizabeth and Natalie told me that he lives alone, but I swear I just saw someone else. Either that, or I'm losing my mind thanks to the combination of ice and pain.

  Suddenly I feel a pair of hands reach under my arms from behind, and with no warning I'm hauled out of the ice bath. Chunks of ice fall off my body and hit the wooden floor as the guy drags me clear and pulls me roughly across the room, eventually setting me down over by the window. I can barely move, and in a way the sensation of cold is worse than before as my body struggles to deal with the extreme shock I've experienced. A moment later, I feel the guy start to strip my clothes away, and finally he places a blanket over me. It's not much, but at least I'm no longer covered in ice-cold water. After a few minutes, my completely numb body starts to shiver more violently, and I realize I'm slowly getting some sensation back. My breathing is becoming a little more normal, and I eventually manage to roll onto my side and let out a gasp.

  And that's when the pain hits: a deep burning sensation in my leg, where the knife went in and the piece of bone was removed. I want to scream, but I can't quite get the sound out of my mouth; instead, I try to ignore the pulsing agony that's starting to throb around the wound. It's as if I can feel the damage to my bone, almost as if my body has taken the feeling of pain that I should have felt a moment ago, and is giving it to me with a slight delay. Finally, as the pain becomes too much to bear, I try once again to scream, and this time a high-pitched gurgle comes from my mouth. It's not much, but it's a start, and I feel as if I'm slowly regaining control over my body. Maybe I won't die today after all.