The Guest House Hauntings Boxset by Hazel Holmes (novel books to read txt) 📕

Iris turned to the witch, forcing herself closer until it felt as though the skin was melting off of her face, but she pushed forward until she was only inches away from the witch’s face and the protection of fire that had engulfed her.

The witch dropped to her knees, arms thrust out above her, and the screams were so high-pitched that Iris couldn’t even hear them anymore. Iris pushed the cross a little farther, but then felt it bump against an invisible wall just before the fire. She pushed again but received the same result.

The witch looked up, her eyes on fire with rage. The beauty had faded, and weathered skin, like a snake’s skin, covered her body. Her supple breasts faded and transformed into rocky lumps. The blue in her eyes morphed into a greenish yellow, and her pupils elongated to the eyes of a reptile.

Fangs protruded from her mouth, and she flicked a forked tongue as she lunged for Iris, snatching the old woman’s wrists with her claws that extended from her hands in the forms of her nails.

Iris tried to move but found that her feet and her body were frozen in place. The witch’s snarl worsened as she pulled herself toward closer to Iris. The heat was unbearable now, and Iris screamed as though she had caught fire.

“You will burn for this, woman,” the witch said, her voice dropping an octave and ending each word with a dreadful hiss that lingered in Iris’s ears long after she stopped speaking. “Your sacrifice will mean nothing. It will do nothing. And your family will still burn with the rest of the world.”

The pain grew so intense that it faded and Iris felt as though she were numb to everything. She lowered her face and saw the witch’s wicked smile. From there, she looked back to Kegan, who had finally removed himself from the bed, his expressions fighting between that stoic and apathetic stare to expressions of fear and sympathy.

“You must help her, Kegan,” Iris said, her voice calm, but thick with grief. Tears squeezed from her eyes though she wasn’t even sure how water could survive in an environment so hot. But she felt them run down her face as she continued to look at her grandson, who was fighting for his life. “You must fight the evil that you inherited.” She smiled, and her grip on the cross weakened. “You must destroy what I could not.”

And then, the pain from the flames returned, followed quickly by the stench of burning flesh, and Iris screamed as her skin melted, and her muscles were burned and charred into black pieces of rock and ash. Every fiber that was burned, every square inch of her body that was set aflame was felt. It was her final penance for the lives that she had taken. And as the last of her flesh and bone dissolved into ash, the only thing that remained when she was dead was the cross amongst the ash.

It was like a bad dream. The images returned to Kegan in flashes, most of them foggy and clouded. It was like walking around in a haze so thick he could barely see his own hands in front of his face. But while he struggled with sight, he didn’t have any trouble hearing what was happening outside the world.

The screams penetrated through the fog as if his grandmother was standing right next to him. And anytime he tried calling back, his tongue would turn to lead in his mouth, remaining immovable no matter how hard he tried to speak.

With his vision and his ability to speak stolen, Kegan stumbled through the haze like a drunken mute, groping for anything to hold onto. He did his best to follow the screams, but every time he thought he was close, there was nothing.

The longer Kegan wandered the hazy fields of his mind the more he wanted to scream, and the more his madness grew. He had control over nothing, and a sickness consumed his thoughts, the venom of some creature that had bit him.

And just when he was about to pull his hair out, he stopped, frozen. The fog parted in front of him and Iris stood, glimmering in light and dressed in a perfectly white gown. She was still old and frail, but there was a beauty to her even with the frailty and her advanced age.

“Kegan,” Iris said. “You are the last Bell.” Her voice echoed and projected like she was in a cave, but the grandmother that Kegan had always known had shouted and screamed and was so stern and emotionless. “I will help you as much as I can, but you will have to be my hands.”

“I can’t,” Kegan said, and then jumped in surprise when he heard his own voice. He quickly started to speak, afraid that it would suddenly disappear again before he even had a chance to finish. “Whatever it is you want me to do, I can’t. I’m lost.” His voice caught in his throat. “I’m nothing. Just like my father.”

Iris floated closer to Kegan and then lifted his chin. The tip of her hand was so warm, and it helped ease that sickness flooding through his veins, giving him a brief moment of clarity and courage.

“You are not your father,” Iris said, her voice boasting with confidence. “You have the strength and conviction of your mother. You just have to reach out and grab it.” Her voice faded into a whisper, and then suddenly she was floating away.

Kegan tried to follow, sprinting through the fog and haze, but the faster he ran, the quicker her ghost disappeared, until finally there was nothing but clouds.

Kegan skidded to a stop, his heart pounding, suddenly covered with a slick sheen of sweat. He spun around, trying to scream his grandmother’s name, but found that his tongue had transformed back to lead,