The Dead House - Dawn Kurtagich Page 0,64

can think is

Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God

And

then

The walls were bleeding. Not just bleeding, Dee. They were raining blood. I could smell that copper scent like old pennies, and I could feel the warm, sticky, squishiness of it in between my toes.

As the blood rose in the Dead Rooms, I grew more and more panicked, sure I would drown in whatever the blood concealed. Dee, I did; I drowned in my sleep tonight, and when I woke, I found blood and stitches and skin caught in my teeth, and my arms had been ripped open anew.

73

29 days until the incident

Naida Camera Footage

Tuesday, 4 January 2005, 7:45 AM

Basement

Naida enters the basement with a tote bag slung over her shoulder as the motion camera is clicked on. Kaitlyn sits huddled in the shadows and doesn’t stir.

“Up, up, up,” Naida sings, dropping a bag by the foot of the mattress. “I’ve got something for you, but you’ve got to be awake to get it.”

The shadow that is Kaitlyn still doesn’t move, and even with the night vision on the camera, it is difficult to see what Kaitlyn is doing under the blanket draped across her.

“Don’t make me shine a flashlight in your face,” Naida warns, bending over to pull one out of the bag. “I was courteous enough not to flip on the overhead light, but I’ve got limits. Three seconds. Two. One! You leave me no choice, Johnson.”

She clicks on the flashlight and shines it on Kaitlyn. We get a brief image of Kaitlyn hunched over her arms, legs curled tightly to her and blood pooled on the mattress before Naida drops the flashlight and the room is flooded with black once more. The camera takes a moment to adjust to the darkness again.

“Kaitie,” Naida breathes, “what happened?”

“The Dead House tried to drown me in blood.” Kaitlyn’s voice shakes and jumps as though she is very cold. “Or the thing in the Dead House—I’m not sure.”

Naida runs over to the light and flips the switch. The bulb illuminates very little of the room, but it is enough to see that Kaitlyn has been bleeding profusely. She is a chalky gray color, and her eyes are drooping.

“Why didn’t you call me?” Naida demands, tearing off her shirt and clambering onto the mattress. “That’s what I gave you the laptop for!” She presses the material to Kaitlyn’s arms, shaking her head.

“M-mustn’t b-be s-seen.” Kaitlyn shudders.

“I have to call an ambulance—”

“No!” Kaitlyn wrenches backwards, tearing her arms away from Naida.

“Kaitlyn, you’ll bleed to death!”

“Then h-help me. S-sew it up ag-gain.”

“I can’t do that. You’ll get some kind of infection—Kaitlyn, I have to go now!”

Kaitlyn attempts to grip Naida’s arms as she tries to get up, but her hands are weak.

“Th-they’ll lock m-me away forever—and Carly—N-Naida, please. Please h-help me. Help me—” Her head shakes, dipping lower and lower, but her eyes never leave Naida’s face. They are hollow, piercing like the gaze of disease. “P-promise me. P-please, promise me!”

“I… Okay. Okay, Kaitie.”

Kaitlyn nods once and slumps against the wall. Her eyelids flutter closed.

“Gorro, help me,” Naida mutters, then crawls off the mattress and dashes from the room.

It is more than ten minutes before she returns, by which time the motion-activated camera has clicked off. When it comes back on, registering the time difference, Kaitlyn—who had been slumped against the wall—is now standing against the perpendicular side, her forehead pressed to the concrete. It is unclear how she got there without the camera picking up the movement.

Naida sees her standing like a mannequin, hesitates a moment, and then rushes over.

Kaitlyn is lackluster and pliable in her hands.

“Sit down,” Naida says, leading Kaitlyn back to the mattress. She slumps, leaning against the wall.

Naida unscrews the cap from what looks like a bottle of clear alcohol and wets a white cloth with it. She cleans out the wound, and Kaitlyn hisses through her teeth.

“You have to be strong if you want me to do this,” Naida warns. She is the picture of calm focus; only her shaking hands give her away. She ties a bandage around Kaitlyn’s left arm and secures it in place, then removes a needle and thread from what looks like a little sewing bag.

“God help me,” she mutters, and then begins the long process of sewing up Kaitlyn’s arm.

Kaitlyn tries not to scream, but eventually it becomes too difficult. Naida has to wad up another bandage and put it into Kaitlyn’s mouth. When the right arm is done, it is a