But still Douglas managed to feel compassion for them. Surely they were as frightened as he was, even if they did their best to hide it. It might be one of them in this room a week from now. And Douglas wouldn’t wish that on anyone. Not after seeing his father dead from spending a night here.

He thought of his father then. Where exactly in this room had he died? Where had he struggled? And with whom? Who had tied that bag to his head? Or was he compelled to do it to himself? Douglas would never know. He felt a rush of sadness and love and indeed compassion for his father then. A good man. One of the best. He hadn’t been afraid to die, and so Douglas would not be either.

He felt compassion for all of those who had died in this room. Three generations of Douglas Youngs had died here on this dusty concrete floor. His father, grandfather, and great-grandfather. His Uncle Martin had died here, and poor Jeanette had almost died here. He felt a surge of compassion for the woman sitting motionless and voiceless at the asylum.

And lastly he felt compassion for the spirits that controlled this room. Whether Beatrice was still here or not, she had died here, horribly, her heart punctured by the sharp tine of a pitchfork. And Clem…he forced his mind to summon compassion for him, too. A simple man. Brokenhearted. Desperate. He had committed a horrible act in the heat of passion. Surely he had been a good man before that…

There was a sound. Almost like the growl of a dog.

Chelsea, panicked, attempted to break the circle by letting go, but Douglas wouldn’t let her. He clamped down, causing her to emit a little cry.

“What is it?” she asked pitifully as the growling only got louder.

“Hear us as we hear you,” Diana called. “We mean you no harm, even after all this time and all that has transpired here in this room. We forgive the pain you have caused because we know the pain that you feel. The enduring pain and grief that keeps you trapped between this world and the next. You want to be free. You want to move on and leave the pain behind you. We can help you do that! We can help you be free!”

But in reply the growling only increased. It was as if a lion were somewhere in the room, hiding in the shadows, waiting to leap out at them.

“Do not break the circle!” Carolyn called out. “We are safe so long as you don’t break the circle!”

“Listen to me,” Diana continued, trying to reason with the angry spirit. “We implore you to stop the endless cycle of death! Let us help you move on!”

The growling grew so loud that it now seemed like one long scream. A guttural sound, a frustrated, furious, and yet terrified sound, like an animal with its leg caught in a trap.

“We can help you get free,” Diana said, as if she sensed the same image. “We can unchain you from what keeps you here and free you to go-”

But her words were cut short by the door to the room suddenly swinging open, followed by a burst of cold wind. But what came afterward was far more terrible.

Clem was in the doorway with his pitchfork. His eyes were red and wild.

“He’s come back for me!” Ryan shrieked, breaking the circle and running to the far side of the room.

“Fool!” Diana called. “Get him! Bring him back into the circle!”

Douglas bolted, reluctantly releasing Carolyn’s hand and grabbing his cousin by the shoulders. Ryan was trying to hide behind the couch. Chelsea was screaming. Even Huldah was making sounds of terror.

“Douglas, watch out!” Carolyn shouted.

Clem had moved forward into the room, his face a mask of rage. He raised the pitchfork over his head and intended to bring it down on both Douglas and Ryan.

“He can’t hurt you!” Diana called over to them. “It is nothing but impotent rage!”

Douglas held Clem’s glare. The seconds seemed an eternity as the apparition stared back at him. The eyes were red, blazing. Douglas refused to look away while Ryan sobbed into his hands. Then, as if he had never been there, Clem was gone.

Diana let out a long breath. “You can break the circle. Its power was lost the moment the boy left it.”

Ryan remained slumped on the floor, shaking all over.

“Oh, for God’s sake, get up,” his father said derisively, standing over him.

Uncle Howie was as shaken as Ryan. Carolyn helped him to a seat on the couch.

“To see him again,” the old man kept babbling. “To actually see him…and the rage in his eyes…”

“What happened to him in life?” Carolyn asked. “Please, Mr. Young, you must tell us. What happened to Clem?”

“We searched everywhere for him,” Uncle Howie said, but his words came out too quickly, as if by rote, an oft-repeated explanation. “My father and brothers and I searched the grounds, but he was nowhere to be found.”

“If that were the case,” Carolyn said, “why would he still be haunting this place?”

“Guilt,” Douglas suggested. “For killing Beatrice.”

“Yes!” Uncle Howie said. “That is it! It is his guilt!” He shook a frail fist in the air, looking up as if to seek the vanished spirit. “No matter how much you terrify me, I will always make sure your guilt is known!”

“Are you certain that Clem killed Beatrice?” Carolyn asked.

“Who else was there?” he asked, his old rheumy eyes wide.

“There was someone else,” Diana said quietly from the couch.

All eyes turned to look at her.

“There was someone else involved that night,” she said, “and there was someone else in this room today. Clem’s spirit, while it is terrifying and dangerous, is not the one we must fear. The force that controls this room, the one that has killed so many over so many years, controls Clem. And it is far, far worse than any dumb brute with a pitchfork.”

Nothing more was said for now. Douglas sensed that every one of them just wanted to get out of the room as quickly as possible. The bloody words on the wall had disappeared, but who knew what might happen next.

Gently Douglas bent down and lifted Diana into his arms. Then they returned one by one upstairs.

Chapter Twenty

As a girl, Paula had felt delight and excitement entering this house, not so different from the enthusiasm Zac and Callie were displaying now, as they ran through the marble foyer, calling out to each other in order to hear their echoes. But now, walking through that front door she felt as if she were entering a mausoleum. The place was cold and dead. The somber portraits on the walls represented a gallery of the dead: her great-grandfather Desmond, her grandfather Samuel, Aunt Margaret, Uncle Ernest, Uncle David. Grim faces all, and most of them murdered in that room downstairs.

Dean and Linda were embracing young Douglas. When it came her turn, Paula couldn’t help but get emotional. “You look so much like your father,” she said thickly, wrapping her arms around him. He hugged her tightly in return.

She remembered his face ten years ago, when he was just a boy, upon learning of his father’s death. Now she pulled back and took his cheeks in her hands, staring into his blue eyes. “You know now?” she asked tenderly. “Uncle Howard has told you about the lottery?”

Douglas nodded.

Paula frowned. Innocence lasted such a short time in this family.

She looked over at Zac and Callie. Douglas seemed to be reading her mind.

“Maybe this year we can end it,” he said. “Maybe they’ll never have to know.”

Paula couldn’t reply.

“Maybe,” Douglas said, “you and Karen will be able to have a child and never have to worry about the room downstairs.”

“Karen left me,” Paula said softly.

Douglas gripped her arm in support, just as Uncle Philip strode into the foyer.

“Well, we’ve been waiting for you all to arrive,” he said with some impatience. “You said you’d be here by five, so we scheduled dinner for six. And here it is six-thirty. The food is on the table.”