The Countess by Catherine Coulter

I had felt something cold and malignant in the Black Chamber, known that

something had drawn Amelia into that other empty room, and had fallen down

stairs?oh, dear, even I was too tired to recite the rest of it in my mind. But

everything had ended well, all except what had happened to Amelia, and everyone’s

refusal to deal with it.

I would go to that small empty room tomorrow and stand there awhile and see if

anything happened to me. My flesh crawled at the thought, but then I decided

that it was better to face the unknown than cower and deny it all like the rest

of them were doing.

I fell asleep with George’s nose on the back of my knee, a touch of wet through

my light muslin nightgown.

I don’t know why I awoke, for there was no sound, no shifting of light, no hint

of a whisper. But one moment I was asleep, dreaming of riding over the Yorkshire

moors, and in the very next instant I was wide awake, my eyes staring, adjusting

to the moonlit room.

And then I saw it. I started shaking my head, not wanting to believe it, but the

thing didn’t fade away, didn’t move. It just stood there, stiff and silent like

a frozen statue from Hell itself, dead and still not more than two feet from the

foot of my bed.

I remember hearing George’s snore even as I felt everything freeze and curdle

inside me. Slowly, ever so slowly, I eased my arms out from under the covers.

More slowly yet, I began pushing myself upright. George stirred but slept on.

That dead still figure began to move slowly around the end of the bed, toward me.

In that moment when it crossed in front of the moonlit window, I saw it clearly.

It was an old woman, terribly misformed, older than death itself. Tangled white

hair hung about her hideous distorted face. I wanted to scream my head off, but

to my consternation, when I opened my mouth, only a pathetic moan came out. I

felt literally locked in place, nailed down, so scared I simply couldn’t move.

In a cracked voice I heard myself say, “Who are you? What do you want with me?”

That old woman, who surely could not be real, said in a thin, papery voice, “You

are an abomination. You are the evil that revisits this house. You are vile, and

what you came from is even more vile. You will pay for all of it.”

I was gasping I was so afraid. I felt George moving about now, and for the first

time since I had jerked awake to see that thing at the end of the bed, I knew

fear for something other than just myself.

I jerked back the covers, grabbed George, and rolled toward the far side of the

bed, away from that ghastly apparition.

But I didn’t move fast enough or that old grotesque creature moved more quickly

than someone alive would have moved, but she was coming quickly now, leaning

toward me across the bed, and in her twisted fingers she held a knife, not

silver, but gold, the blade curved at the end, like one of those blades from the

Arabian Nights. She held it high above her head, ready to bring it down.

I rolled off the far side of the bed, George barking wildly, trying to pull free

of me to attack that creature. I yelled, “Who are you? What do you want from me?”

Stupid questions, I knew, but they just poured out of my mouth. Suddenly that

creature was coming around the side of the bed, to cut me off, to trap me.

I didn’t even think about taking my chances here with her. Even as she moved

toward me, that strange golden knife was held high again, and I could see it

coming down toward my chest. I grabbed up a pillow in my free hand and hurled it

at her. It hit that knife and made her pause a moment, and in that same moment,

with George barking his head off, I ran as fast as I could to the bedchamber

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