Erwin’s eyes flashed and then faded again to black. “I’ve never been there, but I’ve heard it’s nice.”
Lance raised the knife in his mutilated right hand, clenching the handle as best he could between his thumb and shortened fingers. He brought it down hard, driving the pointed tip into the soft area just above Erwin’s clavicle.
The knife’s length disappeared into the pale skin and Lance felt it stop, hindered only by the hilt. He let go and gathered his legs between him and the ghost, and kicked out, sending Erwin across the room. Erwin stepped back awkwardly, but kept his balance without falling. He turned his head to gaze upon the jutting handle that protruded from the base of his neck. Gradually, the ghost’s head drooped until its sharp chin rested on its breastbone.
Lance held his breath, waiting for black fluid to erupt from the wound, but nothing happened. He looked over at Mary, who didn’t return his gaze. She was dumbstruck by the scene before her. Lance heard a sharp creaking sound, like a rusted screen door being drawn open, and looked back to see Erwin raising his head, a new smile strung across his face.
“I forged these knives myself, boy. Did you really believe that they could harm me? I don’t fear them; they’re one with my flesh and bone. They are part of me.” Erwin reached up and drew the knife from the wound. Nothing issued from the small gash, and as Lance watched, the wound vanished, the skin knitting together seamlessly.
The house shivered. Vibrations ran beneath their feet and all around them, as the entire structure shifted in the direction of the lake. It was only an inch or so, but Lance noticed it and risked another look out of the curved glass of the alcove.
The lake had advanced even more since the last time he checked. The water lapped around the sides of the gazebo, which tilted at an odd angle. As Lance watched, a wave reached up and pulled several boards from the side of the small structure. The approaching water looked dark beneath its rolling surface. It had a depth that belied its perceived measure. That’s really deep—how can it be so deep? Lance thought as he looked back toward Erwin, who now held both weapons in his bloodless grip.
“Mary, run!” Lance yelled again, and watched out of the corner of his eye as she backed a few extra steps away but didn’t leave entirely. The dead thing that once had been a man walked forward, both knives held at its sides, ready to deliver the killing blow.
This is what I’ve amounted to, Lance thought. I’ll die here in this house, killed by something not of this world. He saw Mary’s white face floating off to his left, and despair nearly swallowed him entirely. The urge to just sit down came and went. He knew if he chose that path, Mary would be condemned to the same fate. The ghost now blocked her exit, a knife twitching menacingly in her direction. They needed time.
“Run, Mary! Upstairs! Go!”
His words finally registered and she blinked at him, dropping the pieces of stool to the floor. She spun on her heel and bolted up the stairs two at a time. Erwin’s head turned to follow her progress, and that was all the time Lance needed.