All Chapters of Whispers of the Devil: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

BaileyI’ve been distracted all night, and it’s no wonder. It was actually Helen who told me about the fire. I hadn’t heard from Tanner all day, and suddenly Helen was dragging me into her living room where a video of Tanner bursting out of a burning building carrying an unconscious little girl was playing on a loop. When I called him, he sounded distracted. I get it, of course. It takes a certain kind of person to run into danger and save a life. But still…. He sounded off, withdrawn, and so I’ve felt a little off kilter all night. It’s 4:00 A.M., and I’m sitting in the cramped office downstairs preparing my notes for Helen to take to Robert’s doctor appointment later today. It’s been a quiet night. Robert hasn’t woken up a single time, and I’ve honestly just been twiddling my thumbs and trying to find something to do. He starts physical therapy this week, and once he’s back up on his feet enough to move around with the help of a walker, Helen wants me to switch to a day shift for

BaileyHahnville is in the rearview mirror, literally.I blow out a sigh of relief as the last exit sign for the town fades into the distance behind us. The bustle and lights of NOLA beckon, and I let myself relax more with every mile we cover. A shadow has plagued us the last few weeks. I can’t deny that any longer, just as I can’t deny that I can feel its noxious grip on me loosen as we put more distance between us and the marsh.“I can’t wait to show you the club,” I gush. “The DJ tonight is supposed to be great. I plan on dancing the night away!”My enthusiasm is contagious, and Tanner stands no chance against it. “Oh?” he asks, smirking playfully. “What kind of dancing can I expect tonight? Grinding? Twerking?” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively and I giggle.“The funky chicken,” I reply in the driest tone I can muster.Tanner lets out a booming laugh, and I quickly join him. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I realize that I haven’t heard him let loose like that in quite some

BaileySomething sinister is watching me from across the swamp.I stand in the window of Robert’s bedroom, squinting out into the oppressive darkness, but there’s nothing much for me to see. The emergent structure of the nearly finished house juts out over the tops of the cypress trees like the horns of some monstrous beast. Beyond, the swamp lies swathed in humid shadow, as still and silent as the graves that sink ever deeper into the putrid muck.Whatever waits for me in the marsh, it doesn’t show itself. Not tonight, at least.I shiver and draw the blinds, blotting out the night beyond the window.Beside me, Robert doesn’t stir. He’s been asleep for about half an hour now after receiving another dose of pain medication. Hopefully, he’ll slumber through the night. I’ve already cleaned and bandaged his wound, so there’s not much for me to do now other than check in on him periodically. I decide to head downstairs to the kitchen and make a cup of coffee to help keep me awake throughou

Bailey“Holy shit!” I whisper.I’m sitting at one of the computers in the Hahnville Public Library, which doubles as the town’s historical records center. After arguing with Tanner this morning, I’m now determined to find something, anything, to explain the things we’ve been experiencing. With the article that’s currently on the screen in front of me, I think I may have just hit the jackpot.Twenty-seven murders have been connected to the property in the better part of the last century.I’m no expert in homicide statistics, but I’d bet good money that that number is way higher than the average.As I skim the cramped text of the article, which is published on a sleek-looking true crime website, a pattern starts to emerge. Most of the victims were men from out of town. The vast majority of suspects were women, and all but six of the alleged murderers ended up in psychiatric facilities. The others had committed suicide before the police could catch up with them. All of the people involve

BaileyThis can’t be real.My heart thuds against my ribs as my eyes dart around the familiar space. Everything is the same as it was before the fire. The wallpaper, lovingly restored by Dalton, is fresh and vibrant. The surface of the dining room table gleams as though it’s just been polished. Warm yellow light spills down from the chandelier, the crystal beads clinking delicately amidst a backdrop of suffocating silence.It’s Miss Penny’s dining room at the old Gregory place.Logically, I know I can’t really be here. Here doesn’t even exist anymore. I watched the flames consume the house, tearing at the old wooden frame with a thousand grasping fingers. The heat was unbearable, and I coughed for weeks afterward from breathing in so much smoke.So how am I here?The last thing I remember is going to sleep after coming home from my night shift. So this must be a dream. There’s nothing else it can be. And yet…I stare at the table, which should be burned to a crisp along with the rest