“No!” Lance yelled, and pulled with all his remaining strength.
Mary slid off the knife and clutched at the windowsill. A dark stain rapidly ate at the cotton of her shirt. Lance slid behind her, shielding her body with his own the best he could. His free hand found the ghost’s scarred face and shoved. Erwin’s head merely rocked back, and he slashed at Lance, the cutting edge missing his cheek by a breath. Lance brought a foot up and kicked out at the sagging stomach of the ghost. His shoe sunk into the softness there, but he felt the spindly body skid away. Erwin righted himself and stepped closer again. Lance knew then what he had to do.
With a shout, he released his tenuous hold on the sill and launched himself at the dead thing below him. He felt his good hand lock around the ghost’s throat, and then they were both falling toward the open doorway and the steep plunge beyond.
Erwin dropped both knives and reached outward, grasping the doorjamb before it could pass, halting his descent. Lance landed on top of him, his hand still fastened to the cold flesh of the ghost’s neck. He leaned his full weight into the thing below him as he tried to shove them both through the doorway, but Erwin held strong. Lance’s face rested just inches from Erwin’s, and when the ghost spoke, he could smell the stench of the thing’s corporeal decay.
“There’s no getting away, boy. I’m forever. No matter where you go, I’ll be there when you close your eyes.”
Lance’s earlier thoughts flitted through his mind and he knew he had made the right decision. There was no escaping the thing that gnashed its teeth beside his neck and struggled against him. It would follow him to the ends of the earth and beyond, it appeared. The only solace he felt came from the chance that Mary might escape and live past this afternoon. All other thoughts were lost as Erwin braced his gnarled feet against the floor and let go of the doorjamb.
Lance prepared himself for the fall, and nearly all the death scenes he had ever written raced through his mind. He wondered in that split second if it would be like anything he’d imagined, or if it would be wholly new and horrible in its own right. To die, to end all thought and function. As he surrendered to the idea, he couldn’t deny the spark of relief he felt, waiting only for the moment of promise, of release.
They did not fall.
The ghost reached up with both hands and wrapped its crooked fingers around Lance’s throat and squeezed.
“No more running away. It’s finally time,” the ghost rasped.
Lance saw its blue-flinted eyes bleed to black, and it drew back one hand, which returned holding another knife from the belt around its waist. Lance saw its muscles flex in a stabbing motion and stop short, the point of the knife hovering like an enraged hornet a few inches away. The ghost’s ebony eyes moved down to its arm in disbelief, and Lance followed its gaze.
A transparent hand composed entirely of lake water grasped Erwin’s thin bicep in a death grip. As Lance watched, the hand solidified until it was opaque gray, ripe with splotches of rot.
“I can’t hold on much longer!” Mary cried from above him.
Lance struggled against Erwin’s other hand until its vise-like grip broke and he fell to the side of the doorway, gasping for air. The ghost strained against the newly formed aggressor until it was forced to turn around completely.