“That’s up to you.” She kissed his cheek, and a flood of pleasant feelings passed through him. “You can leave now if you want. The doors are open.”

“Kristen,” he said.

He reached for her.

And she was gone.

TWENTY-ONE

Stormy

There was no earthquake this time, only a silent temporary blurring of wall and floor and ceiling as the Houses came together.

He’d been standing in that previously unknown room—

Butchery

—facing the oncoming Donielle, and she had suddenly stopped in place, eyes widening. She fell to the floor, flailing about, then stiffened and was still. He’d turned around, and the other Donielle was lying on the floor, too. He remained there for a moment, unmoving, then walked toward her to make sure she was dead.

She was.

They both were.

He felt for a pulse, looked for any indication that there was life within the still bodies, and was gratified to learn that there were none. He was still in one of those black rooms, still staring at the girl’s body, but when the change occurred, when the Houses again came together, he was in the sitting room, and the girl’s body was nowhere in sight.

Once more, the House felt different. He didn’t know why, didn’t know how, but the aura of dread that had been in the background, like white noise, since he’d first stepped through the door of the House, was gone, replaced with a surprisingly benign sense of calm.

The windows of the sitting room were fogged with condensation, but there was light outside and shapes behind the obscuring blur of the glass.

He had the feeling that the real world was once again within reach.

Laurie walked in from the dining room, followed by Mark. Norton emerged from the entryway.

The four of them stood staring at each other for a long moment.

It was Mark who broke the silence. “Daniel’s dead,” he said. “She killed him. Or had him killed.”

He explained what had happened, how he had confronted her in his sister’s bedroom, how he had killed her and Daniel had helped.

The rest of them remained silent through his story, not interrupting, and even after he had finished none of them had any questions.

Stormy sighed tiredly. “I guess it’s my turn.”

They each described what had happened in their absence. As before, while the details were different, the stories were remarkably similar. Also, as before, Norton’s was the most horrific.

Stormy was shocked by the old man’s confession, and he found that he was disgusted, horrified, and slightly afraid of the teacher. He’d been surprised to see Norton alive, and happy about it at first, but as the other man related the events that had befallen him, Stormy recalled that bloody transparent figure he’d seen in the black room, and he understood what had happened there.