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Her momma could hear the screams from outside. “Eveline, under the table,” she said. Her daddy had taught her how to use a gun. Not very well, she thought, but well enough. The rifle was off the mantle and loaded before her brother had emerged from his room, and Eveline yanked him under the table too.

“In the house, come on son,” she’d heard her father say, and at the sound of his voice any fear that may have been inside her was gone. She ran to the door and yanked it open, not realizing that Caroline still aimed at its center.

She stepped aside with a churning stomach as Emmett held up Matthew. His legs trailed behind, one twisted around at the ankle, his leg soaked in blood up to his shin. Hosea unhitched her brother’s horse and led it to the barn, hardly tying it down before running himself to the shack that held his bed. He never looked in the direction of the house until he was inside, and when he turned to shut the door Eveline saw the panic etched along his face.

“Caroline! Help me!”

Her mother dropped the rifle and pushed her aside. She ran out the door and leaned under Matthew’s other arm, lifting him up and moving them along faster.

“What happened?” she asked, frantic. There was a quivering in her voice that Eveline had never heard before. Not that time she’d been swept up by the river while trying to swim across, or even when Matthew had been trampled by that horse at the state fair before the war started.

“I don’t know.”

“What happened to your hand?”

Emmett set his boy down on the rugged floor. He motioned for Eveline to shut the door, and she did, locking it, but feeling it wasn’t enough.

“Boy goddamn bit it,” he said, cutting into Matthew’s pant leg. He paused. “Sorry, Almighty.”

“Daddy?” Eveline asked. “What’s going on?”

“It’s all right, honey. Take Lee and go into your room. Go right along now, and don’t come out until I say so.”

“Daddy—”

“Eveline, go now. Shut the door.”

She took her brother by the hand once again and dragged him out from underneath the table. She could hear her father cursing under his breath as she escorted Lee to the bedroom, and shut the door.

“What are they doing?” Lee whimpered.

She shushed him, putting her ear to the wood and squinting into the bullet hole Matthew had left weeks prior. The light was narrow but she could see, and the sound muffled but she could hear.

“Tell me what happened,” her mother asked.

“We were attacked.”

“By soldiers?”

“No, some woman. Like the story Eveline told you. Hosea was barking orders at me like he had a right, and Matthew was out of his mind.”

“Did you get a good look at her? Where did she go?”

“It’s not someone we can catch, Caroline. I told you, it’s like what Eveline said. This thing wasn’t real. It was, but it wasn’t. I shot it twice, both times I watched it fall and both times I watched it get back up again. You see Matthew? He took a bullet to the foot and he’s lying here asleep. This thing got right back up and kept coming at us. It ran like a dog, on all fours. Its head twisted and it got low and it charged after us.”

“How did Matthew get hit?”

“He put his foot in front of my pistol.”

Eveline heard pots crashing and caught a glimpse of her mother holding a pan, swinging it toward Emmett.

“Caroline! Stop! I didn’t shoot him!”

“You just said you did!”

“He put his goddamn foot in front of my gun! He was trying to protect the bitch!”

“Then why’d you shoot?”

They landed in front of the peephole, and Eveline caught sight of Emmett holding Caroline from behind. He had the pan in one hand, and the other wrapped around his wife, holding her steady as she fought to get free.

“He was in a state,” her father hissed. “I don’t know, he was just trying to get to her. Broke his leg trying I think. The kid wasn’t himself.”

“Neither are you. Neither is Eveline or Lee or Hosea or—”

“Hosea?” Emmett released his wife, leaving a hand on her shoulder. He turned her around to face him. “Who gives a shit about Hosea?”

“You do,” she said. “You grew up with him. As much as Eveline is growing up with Zella. And right now he’s saying something is wrong.”

“Well no shit something is wrong. I just shot a woman who rose from the dead!”

“So what do we do?”

Emmett looked toward the bedroom and Eveline backed away from the door. She could feel his eyes on her.

“I’m going to stay up tonight. Give me that rifle.” Caroline walked over to the wall where she’d left the gun while Emmett went about setting Matthew’s leg, bringing the weapon back to her husband. “Thank you. You go to bed with the children. All in one room.”

“You’re staying out here?”

“Just to watch the door. I’ll wake you if something happens, and sleep in the morning. Tomorrow we’ll figure something out.”

Caroline turned to the bedroom and Eveline pushed her way to the bed, she took Lee in her arms and wrapped him tight. The house fell silent but for her mother’s heavy footsteps, and the mice scratching at the walls. The door opened gently, and Caroline waved them out.

“We’re all going to sleep in my room tonight,” she said. “Come here.”

“What about supper?” Lee asked.

“Not tonight,” Emmett responded.

Eveline walked toward the bedroom, avoiding the mantle where the cursed object still hung, and the dark spot in the floor. Her day in the woods had taught her more than she’d let on to her father, and her dreams had turned to nightmares because of it.

She crawled into bed beside her brother, wrapping herself in the blanket that lay on top. Despite the wool, she shivered. The cold had seeped into the house, finally making its way from the trees.

“Lee, help me lift Matthew into bed,” Caroline said.

“No!” The word escaped Eveline. She hadn’t meant to protest, hadn’t even thought to, it just burst from her.

“Why not?” Caroline asked.

“There… won’t be enough room for daddy.”

“Your father won’t be joining us,” Caroline said, hoisting Matthew by his shoulders. They laid him on the edge of the bed, next to Lee, and Eveline moved herself to the far side. The cotton slip shifted underneath even as straw poked at her sliding body.

“Do you hear that?” Lee asked.

“Hear what?” Eveline responded, turning onto her side and sinking into the bed.

“The mouse is back.”

“The mice have been here for weeks, Lee. They’re always here.”

“No, I can hear them.”

Eveline quieted, straining to listen for scratching. Her mother positioned Matthew’s legs underneath the blankets as he groaned. Eveline thought he looked worse than she did when the woman took hold of her head.

She could still feel her, somewhere deep inside. In the recesses of her mind, there was an iron vice on her. She could sense when the woman was close through the hollowness of her belly. She could tell when it was angry because of the strain on her heart or the tension in her muscles. She even knew that her daddy had shot it, because she felt the pain and had cried out in the garden. Only Zella had heard her.

And she knew that her older brother had been influenced. Was still influenced, maybe, but enough for Eveline to eye him carefully. She wanted distance from him, as much as she could get.

Scritch—scritch.

“There!” Lee shouted. Caroline jumped. “Did you hear that?”

“Yes, Lee, it’s common enough,” their mother said.

“No! Where’s it coming from?”

Scritch—scritch.

“Over there!” he shouted, pointing to the open doorway.

Caroline stood, pulling the dresser from the wall and peering behind it. She opened the drawers and sifted through the clothing. “Nothing,” she said finally.

Scritch—scritch.

Eveline watched as her brother looked around wildly, expecting another scratch. She understood his confusion, the dark spot was farther from his bedroom than hers, but he must have heard the mice before. They were active every night, just under the mantle and through the underside of the house. Since midwinter at least.

Scritch—scritch.

“Again! Where is it?” “Lee, honey, you have to go to bed, even with the mouse,” Caroline said. “It’s normal in old houses.”

Scritch—scritch.

Lee shot out of bed and ran out the door. He searched the corners, putting his ear to the wall and tracking around the house. He pushed furniture out of the way and lifted up the rug, while Emmett watched from the seat he’d chosen.

Scritch—scritch.

“For Christ's sake, Lee, it's under the dark spot in the wood!” Eveline shouted.

“Where?” Lee called back.

She tore the blanket off herself and walked out to the common room. She planted her feet where the wood had turned black and pointed straight down. “Right here.”

“Where?”

“Here!” She looked down, but the wood had returned to its normal shade. “What the hell?”

“What’s going on?” Emmett asked.

“Eveline is seeing things,” Lee said.

“No. No, this wood was dark a minute ago. And the scratching was coming from beneath the house. The mice, right Lee?”

“Honey there’s nothing under there,” Emmett said.

“What about the cellar?”

“The cellar is under the kitchen and the far bedroom,” Emmett said. He pointed to the other side of the house. “It stops right about where I’m sitting. Now go to bed, the both of you.”

“No, I heard something right here. There was a black spot in the wood, like it was rotting.”

“Eveline, the house isn’t rotting.”

“No, but—” A thud came from beneath her feet, and she jumped. Emmett shot out of his chair and Lee scrambled against the wall. Caroline came rushing out of the bedroom.

“What was that?” she asked.

The thud came again, and Eveline flew into her mother’s arms. She pressed against the warmth, and watched as a third thud came, pushing up against the wooden floor.

“Lee, bring me my axe,” Emmett stood and held out his good hand. Lee hesitated. “Now.”

The boy ran into the bedroom, and came back out looking over his shoulder. He handed his father the axe and shrank under the kitchen table.

Emmett motioned for his wife and daughter to take a step back, and brought the axe down against his floor. He grimaced as his wrapped hand shook, and waited.

“See? All better. Nothing living down there.”

Scritch—scritch.

THUD.

The wood splintered as it was forced upward once again, and Emmett instinctively brought his weapon down. It embedded itself into the floor, and cracked as it came back up. Emmett brought it down harder, and harder, wailing against his house until a hole was big enough to fit his youngest. On his last swing the axe twisted in his hand and hit a small stone, taking a chip out of the corner.

He reached down, brushing away dirt and debris before jerking back. His grip on the axe tightened as he looked at Caroline.

“What is it?” she asked. Her hands covered Eveline’s ears and pulled her in close, but not well enough. Her father rubbed his head with his free hand.

“It’s Sheryl Fletcher,” he said, half mumbling.

Pounding erupted from the front door. Emmett tossed his axe and picked up his rifle, smashing the lock and letting the door fly open. Eveline screamed—feeling the air tear at her throat—as Emmett walked into the open, looking left and right out his front stoop and finding nothing. He entered the house again, closing the door, and picked up his axe.

He stepped to the hole in the floor, and chopped again. He brought his arms down against his own home over and over again, tearing up the wood and letting the cold air flow into the house. He brushed away the dirt, up and over the rim of his floor until he finally called Caroline over.

She edged her way, keeping Eveline tucked against her chest. The young girl shuffled her feet, torn between peering into the abyss and holding her face against her mother. Little slivers of light enticed her, and slowly she peeled her face away from her mother to look.

The husk beneath the floor was the same color as the dirt. Its teeth had fallen out, and there was no hair atop its skull. Bones poked their way through the skin as the abdomen sunk deep into the ground.

“Are you sure it’s her?” Caroline asked.

“Look at this,” Emmett replied. His hand sank into the hole and came back clutching another. Pieces of skin crumbled off of the body as he pulled a band off of its wrist. Golden lined with a small stone in the middle, he held it up. “This was Sheryl’s.”

“Put it back please,” Caroline whispered. Emmett did, softly, releasing Sheryl’s crumbling arm back into the hole it came from. “How did this body get in our house?”

“Beneath,” he corrected. “Beneath our house.”

“How did it get there Emmett?”

“I don’t know.”

Scritch—scritch.

It came from the door this time. Lee pulled himself out from under the table and hid behind his mother just before the pounding came, hard enough for the door to burst open. Emmett ran to it, axe raised above his head, and found nothing.

He closed the door again, latching it, only for the pounding to violently return. Harder and harder. Louder. The door burst open once more, the lock flying to the other side of the hall.

“Eveline! Get me a light!” Emmett called, posting himself in the doorway.

“You can’t go out there!” Caroline cried.

“I’m just going to search the property,” he said, grabbing his rifle and the pistol Matthew always carried. He handed the latter to Lee. “Stay in the house. Eveline, light.”

She rushed back into the bedroom and grabbed the first candle off of the nightstand. She grabbed her father’s flint and smashed it against steel—once, twice—sparks skittering uselessly into the dark. The char cloth stayed dead.

She tried again, and this time the fire caught. A faint red glow blooming in the black. She cupped it quickly, feeding shallow breaths and bent close. Careful exhales, soft, feeling her belly hollow out until the ember came alive.

She fed it a twist of dry scrap and for a moment it took—a thin flame licking up. She gripped the candle and brought the wick down. The flame guttered, extinguished with a hiss.

“Damn it—”

She struck again, faster this time. Sparks leapt and the flame took. Another glow, and her hands trembled as she coaxed it, breath warming it to life. The tinder flared a little brighter this time. Small and stubborn.

It caught—flickered—

Then a draft slipped through the room and snuffed it clean.

“Where’s my light?” Emmett called.

“Coming!” Eveline yelled back.

She struck hard, her arms tensing, and blew the flame alive one more time. She took the candle and lit it, cupping her hand around the wick. As she brought it close and placed it in a tray, she felt a sharp exhale against her hand. Cold, and deliberate, with a vile odor that nearly made her gag.

She froze. The flame bent sideways, stretching thin as if pulled. Another breath, closer this time, and the light trembled in the dish. A darkness leaned into her.

Eveline didn’t turn. She couldn’t. Her hand stayed fixed around the candle, knuckles pale, the heat licking at her skin.

“Matthew,” she whispered. “Don’t do that.”

The flame danced once—and steadied.

“Matthew…” she managed to roll her eyes far enough to peer at the bed, where her brother still lay flat and mangled.

Cold breath hit her once more, and she felt hair brush against her wrist in the darkness. Her eyes returned forward, and one was peering back at her. Pale blue, with streaks of red and green it glared. Yellow and red appeared beneath the scraggly hair in loose teeth, and a twisted smile formed. A pale hand reached out from beneath a black dress.

And Eveline found the courage to scream.

She jumped back, stumbling again when the straw from beneath the slip in the bed poked her. Caroline came rushing in just as the woman reached out for Eveline, and barreled into her. They both went to the floor in a tumble, and the woman in black jumped to her feet quickly.

She ran out of the room as Emmett screamed and fired. The bullet buried itself in the post and sent splinters flying. Eveline clambered to her feet and raced for the opening as the woman grabbed Lee by the head and yanked him toward the front door. He screamed and kicked at her, and she released him, holding a clump of his hair. She bounded out the door.

Emmett pulled his pistol from his youngest son’s grip and chased after her. Eveline screamed for him to stop, but it was too late. He was already off into the darkness. As Eveline stood watching from the entryway of the house, and her mother ushered her back inside, she caught glimpses of gravel flying, as if she ran on all fours. She saw her father, an old man, struggling to chase after her, raise a stick with a flame on the end. Something rushed past her face and she took off once more.

She shook, blinking, coming back into herself. Her mother was saying something—moving her mouth—but Eveline couldn’t hear it. She saw Lee grab their father’s axe and slowly close the door. Peering out into the darkness, she saw another bright flash, and across the field she watched a hunched black man drop to his knees in the open doorway of the slave quarters, praying.