“My father!” she cried. “My father!”

“What about your father?” Carolyn asked.

“He’s dead!” She looked up into Carolyn’s eyes. “Someone cut off his head!”

“Dear God,” Paula groaned. Linda clapped her hands over the children’s ears.

“It’s a slaughter,” Douglas said, closing the parlor doors securely again. “Just like when the lottery was breached in the past. Until the room had claimed someone, other members of the family were killed off. That’s what’s happening here.”

“But the lottery wasn’t breached,” Carolyn argued. “It was held as always. Someone was chosen, and someone went into the room.”

“But I survived,” Douglas said. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“We’ve got to find a way of pacifying the room,” Paula said, wincing as she headed over to the wall and took down the other rifle that was hanging there. “Give it what it wants, or we all will die.”

“No,” Carolyn objected. “There has to be another way.”

“The amulet,” Chelsea said, sitting down on the sofa and hugging herself. “I want that amulet that protects us.”

“Didn’t do the trick,” Douglas told her. “I was simply compelled to rip it off my neck.”

“We can’t rely on trinkets anymore,” Carolyn said.

“What do you suggest then?” Paula asked.

“We were able to send Clem away to rest in peace. We need to do the same to whatever force controls that room.”

“We don’t even know what it is!” Douglas said.

“No,” Carolyn admitted. “But Beatrice does.”

She glanced out the window.

“She’s out there somewhere. She’s the only reason we’re still alive. Her power isn’t as strong as the power in the room, but she can still manage to have an influence. I’m convinced that if not for Beatrice, David would have been able to burst through those doors and kill us all. But she can only hold him off for so long.” Carolyn took a deep breath. “We need to find out what force controls that room.”

“What are you suggesting then?” Paula asked, not a little impatient. “We all clasp hands for another séance?”

“Possibly,” Carolyn said. “But someone else has the information we need, too. Someone we can simply ask directly and this time demand he tell us.”

“Uncle Howie,” Douglas said.

Carolyn nodded. Paula, too, seemed to agree.

“If he’s still alive,” Douglas said.

“I think he is,” Carolyn said. “The force has allowed him to live for eighty years. Nine times he’s escaped being chosen in the lottery. For some reason, the force wants him alive. And it’s time we found out what that reason is.”

“But where is Uncle Howard?” Paula asked. “How can we get to him? If any one of us leaves this room, surely that madman will kill us.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Carolyn said. “He would kill any one of you. He will not kill me.”

She stepped forward and placed her hand on the doorknob.

“No!” Douglas shouted. “I won’t let you go out there alone!”

“I’m the only one not a family member,” she said. “As much as I wish it were different, Douglas, right now I’m glad I didn’t yet accept your offer of marriage.”

He looked at her with wide, terrified eyes.

Carolyn turned the doorknob. “The force in that room has no grievance with me. I’m the only one who can safely step outside this room.”

“The force may have no grievance with you,” Douglas said, “but David Cooke does.”

She steeled herself. “It’s time I finally confronted David Cooke.”

Chapter Thirty-one

Inside the linen closet Ryan slowly lowered his hands from his ears. The house had fallen eerily quiet. The screaming and crashing and the gunshots had stopped. When the commotion had begun, Ryan had looked over the banister into the foyer below and seen a scar-faced man on Douglas’s back raising a knife. Without even a moment’s hesitation Ryan had turned on his heel and run down the hall, scurrying into the nearest hiding space he could find. For the next hour-or had it been less than that?-he had kept as still in the closet as possible, his hands clamped over his ears to drown out the sounds of his family being murdered, one by one.

Is it possible they’re all dead? he wondered.

And if so, why was I spared?

Surely the killer was some demon from that room. Douglas had apparently survived the night, but something got him this morning instead. And from the screams and thuds that ensued, he wasn’t the only one to die.

How long before it comes to get me?

Ryan knew that for something that powerful, a simple linen closet was not going to provide protection for long. It would sense him. It would track him down. He shuddered, tears squeezing out from between his closed eyelids. He remembered the terror he’d felt when the man with the pitchfork had threatened him. He dreaded what might come.

“Please spare me,” he whispered-to whom, he had no idea.

He didn’t want to die. He had so much to live for. He was going to be the most successful member of his family ever. He’d even thought of running for elected office. Nothing lower than U.S. senator, of course. It wasn’t fair that he might die! The evil force of that room could have his cousin Douglas. Douglas was never going to amount to anything. But Ryan was going to be big. He was going to be Somebody!

He wondered if his father and Chelsea were dead.

Curiosity was beginning to gnaw away at his fear. What had happened out there? Were bodies strewn everywhere? How long should he wait in here?

A thought occurred to him. Maybe it’s over. Maybe I’ve really survived the slaughter.

After all, he reasoned, when the slaughters had happened before, not everyone in the family was killed. There were always survivors. The forces that controlled the room wouldn’t want everyone to die. They needed someone who would keep the line going, providing the next generation of victims. Ryan began to think that he really had lucked out. Maybe everyone was dead, but he had survived.

Slowly, stealthily, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the closet door and inching it open just enough to get a glimpse of the hallway.

Nothing. He saw nothing out of the ordinary.

I could make a dash for it, he thought. Out of the closet, down the hall, down the stairs, across the foyer, out the front door.

Of course, family members had been killed many miles away from Youngsport. Distance was no guarantee of safety. But if the slaughter was really over, Ryan could rest assured no one would be coming after him. He could forget all about the room.

At least for another ten years.

And if Douglas was dead, maybe the others were dead, too. Maybe even Uncle Howard. That would leave Ryan the sole heir to the family fortune. At that very moment, he might already be one of the richest men in the world.

That alone was enough to get him to stand up and ease his way out of the closet.

He listened. Not a sound. It had to be over.

He took a step down the corridor. The landing overlooking the foyer wasn’t far ahead. Stealthily, he approached the banister and looked over. Blood was smeared across the marble. The suit of armor had fallen on its face. But the place was empty and quiet.

He took a deep breath and practically threw himself down the stairs. He ran as fast as he could, taking two steps at a time. When he reached the bottom, however, he lost his footing, slipping in the pool of glossy blood on the floor. He went down on his butt, the blood splashing and staining his white shirt. Panicked, he stood and tried to regain traction, but had the sense he was running in place, like a cartoon character. Only with great effort did he push himself across the foyer to the front door.

But it was locked.

“No,” he whispered, spinning around, glancing around the room to make sure he was still alone.

He was. He breathed a sigh of relief.