Gianfranco Mancini’s Reviews > Haunted > Status Update

On one scarlet-dressed female, a hand was missing and David noticed with some uneasiness that the stump was covered with a reddish substance similar to that on the doll of the headless Captain Wilder. On another doll, a small red hole defaced the center of the forehead. Several others had red lines drawn across their necks that were chillingly reminiscent of slashes on throats.

The doctor left, and David rather reluctantly opened the folder. The simple clinical descriptions of the atrocities were bad enough, but the photos were the stuff of nightmares. David flipped through them quickly, just so he could say he'd seen them, then returned to studying the descriptions which, he decided, were all he really needed.

"I thought we were going to do that together. It's not safe-" "I needed to go alone so I could figure out what's going on. It's safe." David held his tongue, knowing that what Eric said was true. Besides, he didn't really want to see that headless monstrosity again; he'd only said it out of prudence. "What happened?" "The captain told me he wants his head."

"Okay," Eric whispered. Despite the horrifying appearance of the ghost, he didn't feel it meant him any harm. He inched toward the ghost, trying not to flinch as its cold hands took his upper arms and drew him to itself. The roaring in his ears increased and his mind was lost in the dark lake of a strange consciousness as he felt the tall, bloody body, cool and solid, against his own.

"Look!" Amber pointed at the lighthouse. David Masters was already back outside and as Eric watched, his uncle raced out, gun drawn. Both men turned to stare at the structure. Something moved into the doorway, blocking the beams of light that had shone through, and for Amber's sake, Eric was glad they were too distant to see any details.

Early in the morning, the lighthouse keeper had descended the stairs and discovered Ezra Wilder's headless body just inside the lighthouse. The head, never found, was assumed by police to have been thrown into the ocean, but the condition of the neck had confounded police: the severing had not been done with a blade, but gave the appearance of being torn off by a huge wild animal.

"What is it?" David whispered. "It's the other." "Christabel?" "Don't say her name," Eric whispered urgently. "Don't ever say her name." As they watched, the handle began to depress. "Why not?" David realized his body had begun backing toward the other side of the room without mentioning it to his brain. Eric stood his ground and he forced himself to rejoin him. "Just don't say it."

But that didn't matter at the moment. Right now, he had a hunch about the doll, Lizzie's accident and Christabel's involvement. "Eric," he began, "What part of your legs hurt when you're in that room?" "Here." Eric touched one of his legs halfway between the knee and the ankle, then the other closer to the ankle. "And here." Goosebumps prickled on David's neck. "Lift the doll's skirt," he said softly. Voodoo.

Eric looked up. "They hurt, David. They just hurt. Did Amber find this in her room?" "Yes, she did." "In the wardrobe?" Barely controlling his excitement, David nodded. "In a hidden compartment. Did you know it was there?” "No, David." "Did you find any other dolls when you were working on the house?" "No, but . . ." "But what, Eric?" "Well, I guess this is why that wardrobe felt nice. Miss Lizzie was in it."

As far as he knew, no one had ever found one of Christabel's dolls before. There were all sorts of theories on the whereabouts of the collection, the most popular being that they were secreted in hidden compartments throughout the house or in the infamously unfindable cellar below. It seemed to him now that the secret compartments theory might at least be partially correct.