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ROSE MANOR
 

Kitt negotiated another hairpin turn up the long winding mountain road.  Tall redwood trees soared above them on either side, forming a perpetual canopy of shade over the narrow road, that at some points seemed to be non existent.
They had left the small town of Edgewood three hours ago.
"Yes Michael," Kitt sighed, "for the forth time in the past hour, this is the right way."
"Devon said it was off the beaten path, but this is ridiculous.  We must be forty miles from civilization. Who in their right mind would live this far out?"
"Forty two point six from the last main road to be exact.  But we will be there in approximately seven minutes."
"Good. I'm hungry and I'm tired..."
"And hung over..." Kitt added with a hint of a snicker.
"Look Pal, I was on assignment. I couldn't very well check out all those bars in town without ordering a beer. I would of looked suspicious."
"One sip from each glass would have been sufficient, Michael.  You didn't need to drink half of every glass."
"Look, I'm not in the best of moods here Kitt, so lay off."
"Very well.  But if you don't mind me saying..."
"I do mind, now, just let me get a few minutes..."
"Michael, I'm trying to tell you that we have arrived."
As they rounded the last hairpin turn Michael saw a rambling two-story cabin nestled in the trees. It must have, at one time, been a sight to see.  But time and weather had eaten away at its beauty. Six finely honed log steps led to a wide porch that wrapped around the sides of the house. An intricately carved wooden door with two glass panels on either side spoke of finer days. The top floor had three large picture windows that looked out on the woods beyond. A smaller building to the left appeared to house the generator and an old barn served as a garage with an old jeep parked inside.

They pulled up to the house and the door opened hesitantly. A woman stepped onto the porch. She was tall, 5'10 at least, her long brown hair was braided and fell across her shoulder.  She wore a pair of well- worn blue jeans and a plaid shirt. Michael guessed she was in her mid thirties.

"Rose Markham?"  Michael asked as he slowly uncurled himself from the car.
"Yea.  What do you want?"  She slid her hand inside the door and pulled out a rifle.  "Just so we don't start out on the wrong foot.  I know how to use this.  State your business."

"My name is Michael Knight.  I work for FLAG.  You contacted Devon Miles asking for help."
"How do I know you are who you say you are?"
Michael slowly reached back for his wallet and the woman cocked the rifle.
"I'm just getting my I.D.," he said. "You called Devon four days ago.  Said you were having some sort of disturbance out here."
"Someone could have tapped my line..."
Michael threw his wallet up on the porch and watched her squat down to pick it up, never taking her eyes off him.
"Your grandfather was a friend of Wilton Knights', that's why you called the Foundation.  Devon Miles promised to send someone.  So," he opened his arms wide, "here I am."
"I thought he'd send more than one person.  You're not going to be much help alone with what's been going on around here."
"You'd be surprised.  Ah... do you mind lowering that thing?  Guns make me nervous."
She lowered it to her side but didn't put it down.  "Come night time you'll be glad to have it.  That's quite a car you got there.  The Foundation must pay pretty good to have something like that."
"Actually it's a prototype. I'm just driving it, trying to iron out all the bugs."  Michael flinched, as Kitt sent a little shock through his comlink.
"Well, get your stuff and come on in.  Your lucky tonight, I made stew, and there's enough to feed a small army."
"Good, cause I'm starved."  Michael leaned into the car to pull out his travel bag and Kitt whispered, "Ironing out the bugs?"  Kitt would be seething over that one for weeks to come.

As Michael walked into the house he found himself in a huge, one-story room with an exposed Cathedral ceiling soaring above him.
"They called this the Great Room." Rose said as she closed the door behind them.  "At least that's what the architecture plans called it."  A one-man, wrought iron elevator stood in the right corner, connecting the ground floor to a balcony above, lined with floor to ceiling windows looking out on the forest. "This place was built in the early nineteen hundreds.  When the owners got too old to walk outside they had the elevator installed." Rose explained, noticing Michael's reaction to the room. Throw your bag over there," she nodded toward an old wooden wheel barrel that was refinished as a small table. "and I'll give you the grand tour."
Michael followed her through a massive wood beamed archway that led to a full kitchen.  A large round Redwood table with four high backed chairs dominated the room. A wagon wheel light fixture hung above it.  "There are six hurricane lamps there, three run off the generator and three use lamp oil when the power goes out.  It's come in handy a few times."  He followed her through to the back screened in porch that looked out on the woods not fifty feet away.   "Until just recently I used to sit out here at night and just listen."
"It's beautiful, but isn't it a little isolated for a woman alone?"
"I can take care of myself. Under normal circumstances," she added.  "look, we can talk about this later, you said you were starved.  There are eight rooms upstairs, pick anyone except the master suite, that's mine.  Freshen up, there are towels in the hall bath.  Remember, everything runs on a very old generator here, so use the hot water sparingly.  I've got a new one coming in three weeks, I just hope to God this one will last that long."

Michael nodded and made his way back to the Great room to grab his bag. To the right of the room, just past the elevator, a wooden staircase curved upward over a hallway that led to several rooms.  The upstairs hallway was long and narrow and would have been oppressively dark if not for the three skylights in the ceiling.  He opened the first door on his right and peeked in.  A single bed, a dresser and an overstuffed chair filled the room to capacity.  A large window overlooked the woods beyond the house.  He noticed there were no curtains or drapes on any of the windows in the house. Probably didn't need them out here in the middle of nowhere.

"Kitt, anything?"  Michael asked as he changed his shirt and washed his face.
"Exactly what am I supposed to be looking for?"  Kitt asked.
"Damned if I know.  Just keep your scanners peeled."
"As always Michael."

Fifteen minutes later he returned to the kitchen to find two heaping plates of stew sitting on the table.
"Come on, don't stand on ceremony, dig in.  And if this doesn't fill you up, there's plenty more, just holler."
"I think," Michael grinned at the huge plate of food, "that this will be plenty."
Rose poured two beers and sat down opposite him.
Michael took a bite. "This is good," he grinned, "this is really good."
"It's kinda nice to have company for dinner."
"Tell me, what brought you all the way out here?  It doesn't seem like a place for a woman, or anyone for that matter, to be alone."
"It wasn't always like this.  When I first bought the place three months ago, it had two full time caretakers and a handy man.  They were all scared away by the end of the first month."
"By what?"
Rose set her fork down and looked toward the window over the sink.  "I can't really explain it." She said.  "If I told Devon Miles what was going on around here he would have sent out the white suits. But," she added ominously, "you'll see tonight. Are you done?"
He nodded, shoving his empty dish away.  "Best meal I've had in ages.  Kudos to the cook."
"To tell you the truth, I made enough for an army because I thought Devon Miles would send an entire battalion up here."
"Does a battalion of one count?"
Rose turned on him, her face drained of color. "You have no idea what you are up against out here Mr. Knight."
"Michael," he corrected.  "Why don't you tell me?" He sipped at his beer watching her clear the table.
"I told you, you have to see it to believe it."
"All right. Here, let me help." He grabbed the dishtowel. "You wash and I'll dry."
Rose nodded.  He noticed her hands shaking. "Hey," he said softly, "it's going to be alright.  I'll be here tonight... all night.  And we'll get to the bottom of this, what ever it is, I promise."
She nodded, not convinced. "You don't know what it's like."  She said, her voice trembling for the first time.  He saw a confused, frightened side of her and it troubled him.  What could be going on that would make her that scared?  "At first it was just once in awhile, then every weekend - that's when I lost my staff - now it's every night.  I pray that the sun will never set, but it does."
Michael took the dinner plate from her hand and placed it carefully in the sink before turning to take a gentle hold of her shoulders.  "I'm here to help.  You have to trust me.  I have a lot of people backing me up here.  OK?  Can I see a smile?"
A smile spread across her face despite herself.
"There, that's better.  Let's get these dishes done and take a walk before dark.  I want to check the area out."
"Then we'd better hurry."  She looked over at the clock on the fireplace mantel.  "It's six-thirty.  It starts getting dark at seven.  By seven thirty it's pitch black and all hell breaks loose."
"Then," he said, grabbing her hand, "let's leave these until later.  I know for a fact that they just won't jump up and wash themselves."
She laughed.  Something she had not done in a very long time.

Rose closed the door as they stepped out onto the porch.  Time had eroded the planks, eaten away at the posts that held the second floor balcony.  Two long chains hung near the corner, remains of an old porch swing. It must have been a magnificent place in its day. The trees surrounding the house, like guardians against the outside world, began to take on a dark hue as the sun sank behind them. Rose led Michael to the barn first. Inside an old tractor sat in the center of the dirt floor, part of its engine lying in pieces on the floor. Michael noticed what little equipment lined the wall behind the workbench was outdated by thirty years.  "Cal, the handyman," she said, "was rehauling the engine, when... when he packed it in and went back to town."  Rose threaded her arm through Michael's and led him toward the back exit.  "He was so excited about it at first."
"Where's your car?" Michael asked, suddenly realizing he had not seen any running vehicles.
"Doris and Hank left in a panic one night and took my SUV.  They promised to return it, but I haven't seen them since."
Michael stopped, looking down at her, "You mean you've been stuck up here alone for two months?"
"Not exactly.  Randy, the grocer's son, brings me supplies and takes me into town once a week."
"Why do you stay here?  I mean... if things are as bad as you say, why not just leave?"
"It hasn't always been that bad.  At first it was just a nuances, then it became a little frightening.  But Michael, you have to understand, everything I own is here in this house. I have nothing to go back to, nowhere to go.  For want of a better cliché, I burned all my bridges behind me.  This is my home now, and I will not let it go without a fight."
Michael nodded.  He could understand that.
They exited the barn and walked behind the house, passing the back part of the wrap around porch and the kitchen window on their way to the small shack that housed the generator. Two hundred yards from the house the stand of thick trees grew darker as the sun continued to set. Rose pried the squeaky door open and Michael whistle. "It looks like it's seen better days."
"Just as long as it keeps chugging along until the new one comes."  Rose closed the door saying a silent prayer.
"You still never told me what brought you out here?" Michael asked as they slowly made their way back to the house.
"I was fed up. Like a lot of people. I played all the games, followed all the rules.  I climbed up the corporate ladder, but I wasn't happy. At first the accolades were enough, the first woman to do this, the first woman to do that... But in my heart I was miserable.  I found that the man I was passionately in love with for three years had a wife and two kids on the side. The position I wanted in the company, the one I had worked so hard for, was on the other side of the preverbal glass ceiling.  So I left, with a hefty severance check. They paid good money to get me out of there.  But it gave me the freedom to think about what I really wanted. And in the end, it was this."  She swung her arms wide.  "This is what I really wanted. I went to an Estate Sale with a friend, and this house was up for auction.  It was like an epiphany, I knew the moment I saw it, that it was the house I wanted."
"Here, in the middle of nowhere?"
She nodded.  "I don't know how many times I heard the same thing from friends, clients, co-workers...  They just wanted a place where they could go to forget the rat race of everyday life.  A sanctuary.  No phones, no TV's, no beepers...Nothing, just nature. I hopped a plane the next day to the nearest airport then rented a car for the two hundred and thirty two mile drive here and fell madly in love.  I signed the papers the next week. This is my dream, Michael. To turn this place into a retreat.  There are plenty of rooms.  I got the permits from the county and the state to run a Bed and Breakfast. I even commissioned the sign ROSE MANOR BED AND BREADFAST, everything was falling into place, then..."
"Hey, that's what I'm here for, right?  To make some sense of this.  Just don't give up on those dreams.  Promise?"
She nodded.  "But let's see how you feel after one night here."  She looked up at the crimson sky, "It'll be dark soon.  We can talk inside."  She took his arm and he could feel her start to tremble.  They walked back to the house in silence.

Michael followed her through the Great Room into the kitchen, "I'll help you finish those dishes, then we can..." He stopped, a chill running down his spine.  The kitchen was spotless.  Their dinner dishes were washed and put back in the cabinets. The table was cleared. A vase with one red rose, limp and withered, sat as a centerpiece on the polished wooden table.  Rose stepped back, bumping into Michael.  "No..." she moaned.
Michael suddenly felt very angry.  Anger was an easier emotion to control than the uneasy feeling gnawing at the back of his mind.
Michael grabbed her shoulders, swinging her around to look at him.
"Ok, the jokes gone far enough.  Whoever else is here, tell them the party's over."
"It's no joke Michael." She slowly turned around, the kitchen was spotless, everything in it's place. "It's always been outside... Now, it's coming in."
Michael saw the fear in her eyes.  If she was acting, then she was one hell of a good actress.
He raised his comlink to his mouth not caring that Rose saw him.  "Kitt, who the hell was in the kitchen while we were gone?"
"Michael?  You sound rather agitated.  And your vital signs are..."
"Forget the damn vital signs, who the hell was in here?"
"No one." Kitt answered.  "The only two people for a sixty mile radius are you and Miss Markham."
"Then you better check your scanners, because someone came in here while we were outside."
"Michael, I will do a self diagnostic, but I'm sure I'm right.  There was no one in the house while you were gone."
"Look, you keep your scanners peeled, even if a twig breaks you let me know."
"Of course Michel."
Michael looked back at Rose who was watching him in fascination as he had a conversation with his watch.
"The car is computerized." He said. "It has a direct link to my partner at the Foundation.  The car itself is equipped with sensors and monitors.  Nothing will happen here that won't be seen back there."
"They won't see a thing. All your high tech sensors and monitors won't help around here."
"Kitt...?"
"Yes Michael?"
"Just keep an eye on us, OK?"
"Of course.  Take care Michael."
While they stood there Michael didn't notice that it was quickly becoming darker in the house.  The unmistakable sound of the old generator starting up made him jump.  Rose turned on the wagon wheel light over the table and began closing windows and locking doors.  "It will be pitch black soon." Michael could see the fear mounting. "Here, in case you need it."  She handed him a flashlight.  "Keep it with you at all times.  It helps, believe me."
Michael felt another chill run down his spine.  Kitt's scanners should have picked up someone...

Suddenly, something hit the outside wall of the kitchen with a tremendous blow, rattling the glasses and dishes in the cabinets. Michael jumped.
"And so it begins."  Rose said fatalistically.
"Kitt... what the hell just hit the house?"
"I don't know Michael.  I heard the sound through your comlink but I didn't pick up any movement out here."
Again, something hit the house.  The wagon wheel light swayed above them, sending strange shadows across the walls.
"Is it an earthquake?"
"No Michael, I'm not picking up any seismic disturbances.  It appears to be only happening within the house."
"That's impossible."
"Of course it is, but I have no explanation as of yet."
"Patrol the grounds, there has to be something out there."
"You won't find anything." Rose said.  "It always starts out this way."
"You mean it gets worse?"
Rose nodded.  "Much worse."
Something tapped at the kitchen window and jiggled the doorknob.
"Oh my God," Rose breathed, "It's trying to get in!  It's never done this before.  It's angry because you're here."
"Who is angry?" Michael stared at the back door.
"I don't know.  I..."
The house shook again from a tremendous blow. Enough to nearly knock Michael off his feet.
"Kitt, anything?"
"No Michael.  I don't understand.  There is nothing, not another living creature other than you and Miss Markham, within five hundred feet of the house.  Not even an insect."
"Call Devon, tell him to get a team together and meet us in town tomorrow morning.  We're getting the hell out of here tonight."
"No," Rose grabbed his arm. "You don't understand.  You can't leave.  It won't let you.  I'm sorry I got you into this, I didn't know what else to do.  I needed help.  I thought if you came you would scare it away.  But it's just gotten meaner."
"Listen to me, what ever it is we'll figure it out.  Just let's not panic.  How long does this usually last?"
"Until just after midnight."
"Ok," he looked at his watch, "that's four hours. We stay here until after midnight then we make a run for my car.  Once we're inside it nothing can touch us."
Something slammed against the back door, rattling the glass.
"Damn it!  The front door is unlocked!"  Michael grabbed Rose and ran into the Great Room.  The lights hadn't been turned on yet.  "Hit the light switch." He yelled.  Rose rushed for the panel of switches on the wall and flipped them on.  The room was suddenly bathed in warm comforting light.  The front door was still closed.  Michael locked it and dragged the wheelbarrow table over to the door blocking it.  As he turned back to Rose his blood ran cold.  The elevator that had been on the ground floor when he saw it this afternoon, was now at the top of the balcony.
"It's gotten inside." Rose stammered.  "It's in here."
The sound of a motor suddenly engaged.  They looked up at the elevator and saw it begin its slow decent toward the bottom floor.
"Oh my God...!"
The generator coughed outside and died.  The lights flickered out.  Michael grabbed Rose and held her tightly against him. The room was pitch black.  He switched the flashlight on shinning it on the descending elevator. "What's powering it? Shit, we don't have time to wait." He grabbed Rose, "we're getting out now.  Kitt, meet us at the front door."
"Right away Michael."
"When I say go I want you to run like hell.  You'll be safe in the car."
"What about you?"
Michael snorted. "Don't worry, I'll be right behind you."
He pulled the wheelbarrow table aside and put his hand on the door lock.
They could hear the elevator making its slow descent.
"Ready?"
"Ready."
"Kitt... you ready?"
"I'm right outside the door Michael."
"Now!"  Michael flipped the lock and swung the door open.  The cool night breeze hit him in the face.  Kitt's headlights played across the porch and past them back into the house.  The car doors opened automatically and they stepped out onto the porch.
Something massive struck Michael in the chest hurling him back into the house.  He hit the floor hard, sliding on the polished surface toward the kitchen. He heard Rose scream in sheer terror.  He tried to sit up but something heavy pressed against his chest, holding him down, pushing the air out of his lungs.  He smelled a foul stench in the air.  It grabbed his hair and began pulling him across the floor.  He tried to beat at it with his hands but he felt only empty air.  He was picked up and hurled across the room slamming into the iron frame of the elevator.  He felt the bone in his left arm snap in excruciating pain. He slid down to the floor in a heap, his arm dangling at an awkward angle. He was picked up again, his broken arm whipped against the iron bars. He screamed in agony and disbelief.  The stench filled his nostrils, making his stomach heave.  He heard the front door slam closed. They were trapped inside. He tried to lift his head but the pain in his arm was overwhelming.  He thought he heard Rose somewhere close to him, crying hysterically.  He had to get to her. He couldn't leave her alone in here. The elevator behind him slowly came to a stop. He lifted his head but was overcome by shock and pain slumping against the elevator, unconsciousness.

Michael heard a soft whimpering sound from somewhere close to him.  His left arm was a mass of pain, pulsing with every breath.  He heard the whimpering sound moving closer and something touched his left hand.  He gasped in pain and heard Rose scream in terror.
"It's alright," he breathed through clenched teeth.  "It's alright."
He opened his eyes, not knowing what to expect.  He wasn't even sure he had actually gone through what was playing around in his mind.
Rose was kneeling next to him, her eyes red and swollen from crying.  A nasty red welt covered the right side of her face as if someone had slapped her.
"Are you alright?" he croaked.
She nodded.  "It ended at midnight. I thought the morning would never come."
Michael looked down at his blood soaked left arm. Through his torn sleeve, he could see the jagged piece of bone that punctured through the skin on his forearm. "Damn..."
"I'm sorry I got you into this." She said, her voice still raspy from crying. She had sat by his side throughout the night, in the darkness, waiting for sunrise, listening to every moan and groan of the old house. "I never thought it would get violent."
He laid his head back against the iron elevator cage. "It's not your fault.  I just wish I knew what the hell we were fighting here.  Look, you're going to have to set this," he looked back down at the compounded fracture. The sight made his stomach churn.
She nodded.  "The medical supplies are in the bathroom."
He watched her disappear down the hall beneath the staircase.
He looked around the Great Room, nothing seemed to have changed physically, but now, the room held a feeling foreboding.  The air smelled foul, hinting at the stench that had filled his nostrils the night before.
Slowly he raised his right hand up to him mouth.  "Kitt?  Are you there?"
"Michael?  Thank Heavens. I have been trying to raise you for hours."
"Hey Buddy, it's good to hear your voice."
"Yours too.  But Michael, you sound terrible."  Kitt quickly scanned him, alarmed at the condition of his left arm and overall trauma.
"What happened?"
"I was hopping you could tell me."
"I'm at a loss Michael. I have never encountered such a phenomenon before. The house appeared to be trying to destroy itself from the inside. I was unable to reach you.  All my electrical systems are down."
"I don't know what's going on here either Pal, but I as sure as hell don't plan to stick around to find out.  As soon as I get this arm stabilized we're out of here."
"I'm afraid that my be harder than you think."
"Now what?"
"I really can't explain it, you will have to see for yourself."
Michael stared at the front door.  What?
Rose returned with her arms laden with bandages surgical tape and bottles of antiseptic.
"This is going to hurt like hell," she said.  "Are you ready?"
Michael nodded, watching her cut away his shirtsleeve.
"It's never been this bad." She said as she worked. "I wouldn't look if I were you."
Michael closed his eyes and waited for what he knew was going to be the most excruciating pain of his life.
Rose planted her right knee against his chest and her left foot against one of the elevator's iron bars for leverage then grabbed his wrist firmly and, with one strong yank, pulled the bone back in place.  Michael screamed and collapsed.  She quickly cleaned the wound with antiseptic, packed it with compresses, then set two splints in place wrapping them tightly with gauze.
 "You are doing a fine job Rose, thank you."
Rose jumped back, startled by the voice emanating from Michael's wristwatch.
"Please don't be frightened.  My name is Kitt.  I am Michael's partner."
"The one back at the Foundation?"
"Not exactly.  Michael didn't tell you the entire truth yesterday.  I am a prototype car, but there is no link to the Foundation.  I am an Artificial Intelligence housed inside the Trans Am."
"You mean, I'm talking to a computer?"
"Yes.  And I'm very concerned about Michael.  The trauma to his arm is extensive, he needs medical care, immediately."
"Well, for now I'll have to do."
"And I thank you for all you have done. May I suggest that you immobilize his arm to his side?"
"Good idea. So tell me - Kit is it?"
"Yes."
"What is happening to my house?"
"I wish I could give you an answer.  There is nothing in my data banks that explains what I witnessed last night. And I'm afraid we have an even bigger problem."
"What?"
"If you will look out the door you will see for yourself."
She slowly approached the front door. Nothing had ever happened during the day, but nothing as violent as last night had happened either. S
She no longer knew what to expect.  She opened the door and looked out past the parked black Tans Am. "Oh my God..."

Michael cracked one eye open.  A strange face wavered above him.
"It's about time you woke up." It said.
Confused, he closed his eye and waited.  Strings of foggy memories started forming.  Things that made no sense.
"Are you going to wake up or what?" the voice asked.
Michael concentrated and cracked both eyes open.  Rose was leaning over him wiping his face with a cool damp rag.
"You had me worried.  You've been asleep for hours."
Throbbing pain registered in his left arm, making him nauseated. "Lay still," she warned. "I've got you trussed up like a turkey at Thanksgiving."
He carefully lifted his head just enough to see his left arm set in splints held in place with a sling. Rose had wrapped a bandage around the sling and his stomach immobilizing his arm. He dropped his head back against the elevator.  "Damn," he muttered. "Now what?"
"Don't blame me, it was Kitt's idea."
"Kitt?" He looked at her incredulously. "You talked to Kitt?"
"You've been out for..." she lifted his right wrist checking his watch, "six hours.  I would have gone insane without him."
"I know the feeling.  What time is it?"
"Two in the afternoon."
"We have to get out of here before..." He tried to sit and nearly passed out.
"Lay still, just a little longer.  Here, take these."  She handed him two pills and held a glass of water for him to sip, "it'll take the edge off.  When you feel strong enough there's something outside I want to show you."
Michael downed the pain pills and waited for them to take effect.
He slowly raised his comlink to his mouth, his arm shaking with the effort.  He couldn't believe how weak he felt. "Kitt?"
"Yes Michael?" Kitt couldn't conceal his concern.  Michael's voice sounded weak and ragged.
"As soon as I can make it outside were out of here.  Have you contacted Devon and Bonnie?"
"I'm sorry Michael, I am unable to establish a connection.  There appears to be some kind of interference here.  I have tried everything."
"What about the local authorities?" He could feel the first effects of the painkillers kicking in.  They were too strong. His head began to spin and his speech slurred. They had to get out of there.
"Nothing. I even tried the landline from Rose's phone.  We are cut off."
"All the more reason..." He fought to keep his eyes open, "to get the hell out of... " His voice trailed off as he drifted into a drugged sleep.

Rose threw a light cover over his legs.
"Michael?" Kitt's voice asked hesitantly over the comlink.
"It's all right Kitt."  Rose sat down beside Michael to wait for him to wake up again.  "I had to give him a large does of pain medication.  He was in a great deal of pain.  The medication will also help keep the swelling down. After this I can give him one pill at a time and keep the pain under control but still keep him alert."
"I understand.  Thank you for taking care of him."
"I owe him, Kitt.  He wouldn't be here, in this mess if I hadn't called the Foundation for help.  I should have just left.  Called it a lost cause and never looked back."
"I have a feeling that you are just as stubborn as Michael." He said gently, "he would never have walked away either."

Two hours later Michael finally awoke.  The pain was manageable now. Rose helped him to his feet and he swayed.
"Take it slow and easy at first," she warned. "Those pills would put an elephant under."
"Let's just get the hell out of here."  The house looked no different than it did when he first walked in yesterday, but now, there was a feeling of uneasiness, foreboding.  He might have just been overacting from his throbbing arm and the pills, but there was a feeling of... death all around. He leaned on Rose as they walked across the room to the front door.
Rose opened the door slowly watching his reaction. He stared in disbelief at the forest that circled the house.  Somehow, overnight, the trees had bent and interlocked, weaving into a thick impenetrable wall. Even the road leading from the house was blocked by the intricate wall of trees.
Rose helped him down the porch stairs.
"Kitt?"
The driver's door automatically opened and Michael struggled to sit down in the deep bucket seats.
"How are you Michael?"
"I'll live." He said, trying to pull himself together. "What the hell is going on around here Pal?  Am I losing my mind, or is this really happening?"
"I'm afraid it is really happening.  As for the cause I...  Michael, there is no logical explanation for what has been happening here."
"Well, we better find a way out.  I don't want to spend another night in that house.  Can you make your way through those trees?"
"I'm afraid not, they're too dense."
"Alright then.  Tonight we stay here.  Devon and Bonnie are gonna start worrying about us when we don't report in.  If I know Devon he'll have someone out here by tomorrow."
"I agree.  But how will they get through?"
Michael looked up through the glass T-Tops, "By air if they have to."
 

Back in the house Rose had reheated the leftover stew and had it waiting on the kitchen table. Her hands shook as she sat down opposite him at the table.
"I'm not hungry." He said pushing the plate away.
"Doesn't matter," she said sliding it back. "You have to eat to keep your strength up."
He took a couple mouthfuls and pushed the plate away.
"I can't believe we came back into this house."  She looked through the archway into the Great Room at the ornate wooden front door.  She had never noticed how ugly the patterns were in the intricately carved wood.
"We needed supplies.  You, yourself said that nothing happens until after dark.  It maybe awhile before Devon realizes something is wrong and sends help."
"I just want to get as far away from here as fast as we can."
"Me too." He grinned.  "Now, you better take your own advise and eat something."

Time seemed to slip by. It was already six o'clock and they were just about ready to take refuge in Kitt for the night.  Rose collected medical supplies for Michael's arm along with bottles of water and non-perishable food.  Flashlights and blankets rounded out the provisions.  With his arm out of commission, Michael left the loading to Rose while he took a last look around the inside of the house while it was still light. The worst effects of the pain pills had lessened and he could navigate on his own. He gave the elevator a wide birth as he headed upstairs making sure that all the bedroom windows were locked.  He walked back downstairs and double-checked the back door and window.  The house appeared to be secure.  It was six-thirty.  The sun was already beginning to disappear behind the stand of woven trees that surrounded the house.
Rose returned, a nervous look on her face. She hated the nights. For the last two months she had watched the sun set knowing that the calmness of the night would be shattered. She hoped to God that they would be safe in Kitt.
"Ok, let's not take any chances."  Michael closed and locked the front door behind them and they climbed into Kitt.  Instantly he felt safer.  Kitt had always been his protector as well as his companion.
"Ok Buddy, it's almost show time.  Let's make sure we are buttoned up in here nice and tight."
"Right away Michael."
He heard the locks fall into place.  They would be safe.  Nothing could break through Kitt's molecular bonded shell.
Rose settled into the passenger seat, not taking her eyes off the house. How could something she loved so much turn so foul? Slowly the shadows of dusk crept over them, followed by the blackness of night.
Michael searched for a comfortable position; one that didn't make his throbbing arm hurt more.

He looked up through the T-Tops at the sprinkling of stars above.  It was at that time of night when not all the stars were visible and the moon had not risen over above horizon.
Silence filled the cabin, Michael and Rose each contemplating what might happen next.

It was ten after eight when something huge crashed against the house.  Michael and Rose jumped up in their seats.
"Kitt...?"
"I heard it too Michael, but there is nothing out there."
Michael peered through the darkness, Kitt was right, there was nothing.
Again and again something struck the house.  It was shaken to its foundation by the violent assault. What ever it was, it was furious.  Rose reached across and grabbed Michael's hand.  The ground beneath them began to shake.
"It knows where we are!"  Rose screamed.
"Quiet!" Michael hissed. "Kitt... anything?"
"Michael, I'm sorry, there is no explanation..."
The ground beneath them bulged up tipping the front end of the car into the air.
"Jesus Christ!  Kitt move!"
"I can't Michael! I have no power. All my electrical systems are down."
The ground began to undulate beneath them.  With each new surge the car rolled closer and closer to the house.  Something heavy hit the passenger door rocking the car.  Rose screamed and cowered into a tight ball.
"Kitt!  What the hell is it?"
"I don't know.  I have no control."
Something tremendously heavy landed on the hood driving the front end of the car into the ground.  Michael saw a dent appear on the hood.  Impossible, he thought, the MBS could withstand a rocket blast...
It hit the T-Tops and the glass cracked.
"Michael!!!"
The doors began to shake. The car rocked back and forth violently, smashing Michael's injured arm against the door panel. He heard the sound of metal being ripped apart.
"Michael," Kitt's voice sounded dumbfounded, "it's... tearing me apart!  I can't protect you."
The front door to the house slowly opened.
"It wants us in the house." Rose screamed in terror. "My God... No!  We can't go back in there!"
The back hatch window splintered, the cold night air flooding into the cabin.  The same stench he smelled in the house reeked in the car.
"The barn!"  Michael saw it explode from within, kindling falling out of the sky like snow.  The tractor was hurled into the air and came crashing down inches from the house.
Rose began to whimper.
"It wants us back in the house." Michael whispered.  "It'll destroy Kitt just like it took out the barn.  We have no choice."
"No....!"  She looked at him, her eyes wide with terror. "Please, no.  I can't go back in there."
"We don't have a choice."
The driver's door was suddenly ripped open. Michael felt something grab him around the neck and yank him out onto the ground. He laid in the dirt, stunned, gasping for air, his broken arm on fire. The car continued to rock. A high-pitched whine of confusion filled the air as Kitt was rocked so violently that his back tires exploded.  Terrified, Rose scrambled out of the car and crawled over to Michael, grabbing his right arm and dragging him to his feet.  Something caught her shirt, pulling her toward the house, breaking her grip on Michael's arm.  She screamed, flailing her arms in the air, trying to break loose from the unseen force. The house roared like an invisible freight train, shaking the ground. Her ankles hit the steps and she was dragged onto the porch and flung backwards against the wall next to the door. She helplessly slid down the wall to the decking, sobbing in terror.  Michael spun around to see Kitt lifted eight feet off the ground and let go.  He hit the ground with a tremendous crash.  Something grabbed Michael's right wrist and squeezed. He was yanked off his feet and dragged across the dirt, up the stairs past Rose, through the open door.  The door slammed shut and there was dead silence.

It had happened so fast Rose couldn't think. She climbed to her feet and fell down the porch stairs.  Kitt sat motionless in the darkness, his doors hanging open at odd angles, his windshields and T-Tops shattered.  The red scanner in his front bumper tracked at an odd, uneven rhythm.  She crawled across the yard until she could pull herself into the driver's seat.
"He's gone..." She stammered.  "The house...  the house has him now." Stunned by the physical and mental abuse Kitt could not answer.  He had seen it all, felt it all, but there was nothing in his data banks that prepared him for this.

Michael remained motionless, sprawled on the hardwood floor, the darkness pressing in on him. The house was absolutely still, as if it were holding its breath, waiting. Whatever it was that attacked them seemed satisfied for the moment. Realization sent a cold shiver down his spine: It was satisfied, he was trapped inside. What did it want with him?  Why had it turned so violent?

The throbbing pain in his left arm felt like it was being squeezed in a giant vice. He struggled to sit up, his arm protesting, and slid across the hardwood floor to brace his back against the wall.  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly looking around the Great Room.  Moonlight streamed in from the windows above the balcony casting deep shadows in the corners, forming strange patterns on the high ceiling. He listened for a sound. The silence was absolute, as if the world had stopped within the walls of the house. He appeared to be alone. Nothing moved. He felt for the flashlight he had stuffed in his belt, but it was gone, lying outside somewhere in the dirt. He remembered the oil lamps in the wagon wheel lamp hanging above the kitchen table. Painfully he climbed to his knees, his bandaged arm throwing him off balance, then stood up, swaying. Staggering into the kitchen he rummaged through the drawers, feeling for matches. Damnit, where would she keep the matches? He ran his hand along the countertop knocking over bottles and a canister full of kitchen utensils. They clattered to the floor echoing through the silent house. Fear broiled up in him.  If he couldn't find matches then he would be left in the dark. He thought he heard a sound behind him, the squeak of a floorboard from the Great Room. He searched faster, panic welling up inside him. He yanked each drawer open, scooping its contents out onto the floor. At last, near the sink he found them. His hand shook almost too much for him to grab a matchstick out of the box. He struck it against his thigh, holding it up, pushing away the darkness, just a little. He spotted the hurricane lamp in the feeble light, and awkwardly with his good hand, removed the chimneys and lit all three wicks. He leaned back against the sink and took a deep breath. The lamplight flickering in the room was warm and comforting, chasing away the dark shadows, quieting the panic for the moment. He stuffed a handful of matches in his pocket. Light was his only weapon at the moment. He sat down on one of the high-backed chairs and tried to collect his thoughts. What the hell was going on?  He had seen the impossible.  Kitt lifted into the air like a toy car. Was he still alive? He lifted his comlink to his mouth and whispered "...Kitt...?"  Nothing. No static... just dead air.  He was alone.  He thought about Rose. She would be of no use, she was too traumatized. He had seen the look on her face as he was dragged past her into the house.  Why did the house want him?  It had bided its time, played with Rose until now. He laid his head back against the seatback.  If only he had told Devon to forget this assignment.

Slowly Kitt's systems began to power up.  First his major functions and then peripherals.  He immediately did a damage report.  To coin a phrase from Michael, he was a mess.  Somehow whatever had attacked him had nearly dismantled him.  His back tires were blown and the wheels were sunk two inches into the ground.  All the specially treated glass was either smashed or cracked.  His hood was dented, his hatchback missing.  All in all, he was a mere shell of himself.  As more sensors came on line he was surprised to find Rose huddled in a tiny ball in the driver's seat, whimpering softly.
"Rose...?" he asked gently.
She jumped at the sudden voice, covering her head with her arms, digging herself deeper into the bucket seat.
"Its alright Rose, it's me, Kitt.  We appear to be safe for the time being."
She raised her head and looked around, her eyes as big as saucers. "Kitt...?"
"Yes.  I appear to have regained most of my functions.  Mobility, however, is not one of them.  Are you injured?"
"No..." she stammered, "just scared.  Michael! I saw him dragged into the house."
"I know.  I saw him, and I could not help..." The pain in Kitt's voice caught Rose by surprise.  Kitt was just a computer.  Highly advanced, able to communicate verbally, but still a computer.  But there was real angst in that voice.
"Do you think he's alright?"
Kitt hadn't thought to check the comlink, assuming it would be non-functioning.  But to his great surprise when he called out he got Michael's voice.
 

Kitt's voice startled Michael as he stood in the kitchen looking into the Great Room.  "Kitt...  Jesus, Buddy, I thought you were destroyed."
"So did I, for awhile.  Some of my functions appear to be working nominally."
"Are you mobile?"
"No. My power source is down and my back tires are destroyed.  I'm sorry Michael."
"Hey, it isn't your fault.  What about Rose?"
"She is here with me.  What do you think this is all about Michael?"
"Your guess is as good as mine.  But I plan to find out.  I have a feeling that whatever is here wants to communicate."
"Communicate?" Rose stared at the house, "are you crazy?  It tried to kill us.  It nearly destroyed Kitt."
"Michael may have a point Rose.  What ever it is has great power.  It could have easily killed you both and destroyed me.  But for some reason it didn't."
Michael stared at the silhouette of the elevator sitting silently in the dark corner and couldn't help but think there was a connection there. "Kitt, can you do a historical search on this property?"
"Negative.  I'm still unable to transmit or receive."
"Alright then.  You and Rose put your heads together out there.  Rose, you must have done some research before buying this place.  There was a Title Search right?"
"Yes..." Rose said hesitantly, but she had just skimmed the documents. She had been too excited to study the paperwork, she just wanted to sign the papers before someone else tried to snatch the house away. "You two put your heads together.  Something's got to pop up. Rose, are there anymore candles, flashlights in here?"
"Two flashlights in the cupboard next to the fridge and candles throughout the house.  The matches..."
Michael looked back at the warm glow from the lamp above the table.  "I found the matches."
He opened the cupboard and grabbed the flashlights, stuffing one in his belt.
"Michael, do you have a plan?" Kitt asked.
Michael slowly made his way across the Great Room sweeping the flashlight into every dark corner.  He aimed the beam on the heavy wooden front door, it's ornate carvings taking on strange crude shapes.  He closed his eyes. He wouldn't allow himself to head down that path.  Slowly he reached out and grabbed the handle.  He yelped, whipping his hand back. Something had gouged at his hand, leaving two deep ruts that began to bleed.
"Michael!  What's wrong?"
"For now," he said, looking back down at the doorknob, "I think I stay here."
Kitt understood. "Be careful in there.  Try not to antagonize anything..."
"Don't worry.  I don't have any plans of doing anything stupid."
"That would be a first..."
Michael stared down at his comlink and a smile spread across his face.  "Wise guy."

Despite her fear, Rose couldn't help but feel the warmth that passed between Michael and Kitt.  They were true friends, they knew and trusted each other.  Never would she have thought that a computer could have emotions, yet Kitt's were genuine.

The Great Room seemed enormous in the darkness.  Michael played the beam of light over the walls and across the balcony above. Everything seemed deathly quiet.  He took a couple of steps, the old floorboards groaning beneath his weight. He stopped and waited. He checked his watch/comlink, it was already eleven fifteen. More time had passed than he thought.  He directed the flashlight beam on the old elevator.  There was something about it that drew his attention.  It was nothing he could put his finger on, just a feeling of uneasiness.  He took a step toward it and suddenly the temperature in the room dipped thirty degrees. He was instantly overcome by a feeling of deep foreboding.  The stench he had smelled this morning, the smell of decayed death, permeated the room. A cold, invisible hand pressed against his chest, burning his skin, pushing him back.
"OK," he yelled. "I'll keep my distance."
The coldness evaporated and the foul smell faded.  He stood there for a long time just breathing, in and out. With a shaking hand he ripped open his shirt. By the light of the flashlight he could see a red blister welting up in the shape of a hand across his chest.

For the moment, the elevator was off limits.  Whatever force was at play in this house was willing to do anything to protect it. Then why was he here?  Why did it just toy with Rose until he arrived?  What was it about him that was the catalyst? He pointed the flashlight beam up the stairway.  He wished he had some of Rose's pain killers.  His arm was a throbbing mess, and his chest burned as if it he had been branded.  What the hell was going on?

He hugged the opposite wall to the elevator and walked through the archway beneath the stairs leading to the downstairs bathroom, laundry room and housekeepers quarters. He slowly opened the first door.  It led into a small bathroom. He played the flashlight beam across the light gray walls, and white marble floor. An old-fashioned tub complete with clawed feet stood next to the washbasin, with an ornate mirror above framed in the same claw foot pattern. He found a candle sitting on a shelf to the right of the sink with guest towels, a drinking cup and soap set out.  He lit the candle and the small room was immediately bathed in its warm flickering light.
He looked into the mirror, startled by the contrast between his dark curly hair and ashen white completion.  A three-day stubble added to his haggard look.  He was surprised Rose wasn't sacred to death of him. He studied his arm cradled in the makeshift sling. Blood had already started seeping through the bandages that held the splints in place.  He needed some of Rose's pain pills. Behind the mirror he found a fully stocked medicine cabinet, and a bottle of the pain pills.  He quickly downed one with a glass of water.  Hopefully one pill would not make him too groggy. But as it was now, the pain was undermining everything he tried to do. He closed the mirrored medicine cabinet and leaned over the basin, splashing cool water over his parched face.
He felt something brush his arm and the door closed slowly behind him followed by the unmistakable click of the lock dropping into place.  He froze, panic surging up inside him. He blindly reached out for the towel on the shelf next to him. He felt a presence. Someone, something was watching him.
He didn't see the set of coal black eyes staring out at him from the mirror.  They watched his every movement. Cold, hungry eyes. His fingers found the towel and he quickly dried his face.  The eyes faded away as he looked back into the mirror. A shiver went down his spine: He couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't alone. He turned back to the door, afraid that he would find it locked, that he was trapped here in this small room.  He turned the handle and the lock clicked open.  What ever IT had in store for him, it wasn't the right time. He flipped the flashlight back on and blew out the candle.  A whiff of smoke curled up past the mirror, highlighting the two black eyes watching him close the door behind him.

He played the light up the stairs toward the bedrooms. To his right the ever-present elevator stood.  He shivered involuntarily.  The manifestation, what ever it was, seemed to be centered there. Starting up the stairs he expected to be shoved back down any second.  But nothing happened.  He reached the second floor and ran his light down the hallway.  The room with his gear in it still remained closed.  Rose's master suite door was ajar and to his surprise the third door on his left slowly opened.
"Kitt," he whispered in the comlink, "ask Rose what is in the third door on the left."

Rose looked through Kitt's cracked windshield at the darkened house. She had seen the beam of light from Michael's flashlight move about the Great Room, but had no idea he had made it all the way upstairs.  "It's my study Kitt." She said.  "It's where I keep all my paper work, including the papers for the house."
"Did you hear that Michael?"  Kitt asked.

Michael stared at the door.  Was it an invitation he should accept?  The door slowly swung open wider as if the house could read his indecision.
"Michael...?"
"I heard Kitt.  Look, have you and Rose gotten anywhere?"
"It is difficult Michael.  She has been deeply traumatized.  We are doing our best."
"I know you are Pal." Michael said gently. "I know you are." He knew whatever turmoil he was going through in here, Kitt was also experiencing his own version of hell, rendered helpless by whatever controlled this house.

There was really no decision to be made.  If the house, or whatever it was, wanted him in that room, then that was where he would end up, one way or the other.
He played the flashlight beam down the hallway, past the beckoning door.  It looked much different at night than it did yesterday in the light of day.  The skylight allowed the moonlight to filter through but it only added to the dark oppressive feeling.

He walked toward the door and felt a dark malevolence behind him, creeping up the stairs blocking his retreat.  But as he neared the open door he couldn't help but feel the exact opposite.  The darkness, the malignancy that he felt behind him was replaced by a feeling of lightness.  He stepped into the room and instantly felt safe.

He played his flashlight around the room.  He found a hurricane lamp on the desk and several sconces on the wall.  He dug out the matches he had used to light the lamp downstairs and lit the hurricane.  He found extra candles lying on top of the desk and placed them in the wall sconces adding more light to the room. Now the room was bathed in warm flickering light. Slowly the door behind him closed with a faint click as the lock dropped into place.

A massive white oak desk and plush swivel chair dominated the room.  A filling cabinet stood against one wall.  Lithographs of the house in it's many stages throughout he years hung on the walls.  He slumped into the chair, glad to get off his feet. He found architectural designs and paint swatches in the desk drawers.  Books on how to start up a Bed and Breakfast, and a stash of Snickers bars.  He grabbed one of the bars and devoured it.  He wasn't particularly hungry, but he needed the sugar rush.  Nothing seemed out of the ordinary until he hit the last drawer on the right. It was locked.
"Kitt... Ask Rose what's in the bottom left hand drawer. It's locked."

Rose looked up at her office window.  She could see the flickering shadows from the candlelight.
"I don't understand. I don't have a key to that desk.  It was there when I bought the house.  The bottom left drawer has all the papers to the house... Including the Deed. But it has never been locked."
"Did you hear that Michael?"
"Yea.  Do you think you could work your magic on..."
There was a soft clicking and the drawer glided open.
"Thanks Pal."
"Michael, I didn't do anything."
"Then who...?"  Michael watched the bottom drawer silently open revealing a stack of papers.
He reached into the drawer, his hand shaking. Rummaging through loose receipts and form letters, he found a thick manila envelope with the words, My House, scrawled across the front.  As he struggled to open the clasp with his one good hand he felt a light tingle beneath his fingers and the clasp opened.
A smile played across his lips.  Someone, or something, wanted him to have this information. He shook the contents onto the desk.  In the flickering light he saw several legal documents: Deed of Trust, escrow papers and the Title Search.
"OK Kitt," he whispered into the comlink, "I think we're in business."  He read down the line of former owners.  "It looks like the house was originally built in 1917 by Justin and Lydia Powell. Roland and Martha Chambers bought it in 1948."

Suddenly a heartbreaking sob filled the room. He switched the flashlight on and shined it into all the dark corners, nothing.  He was still alone.  The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.  Never had he heard such a heart-wrenching cry.  He suddenly felt terribly sad.

"Martha...?" He called softly into the room.  "Is that you?"
He felt a light tingle on his hand and the room filled with a soft, sweet scent.  It was the exact opposite of the foul stench of death he had smelled downstairs near the elevator.

"Kitt...?"
"I'm listening Michael.  I heard it too.  It is quite extraordinary."
"I think she's asking for our help."  Michael shuffled through more of the papers and found a cloth bound book with the words 'The History of our House' written across the front in gilded paint.  He opened to the first page and found an old black and white photo, now yellowed and cracked from age, of a man and a woman standing on the front porch of the house. The man wore overalls and a long sleeved white shirt, and the woman wore an ankle length skirt with a white blouse and a delicate Cameo hanging from a chain around her neck. They held a bottle of wine and a sign that read 'Welcome one and all.'
"Justin and Lydia Powell I presume."

Michael flipped the page and the candles flickered.  The warm sweet scent was replaced by a feeling of fear so tangible that he could taste it.  In the upper right hand corner of the page a small black and white photo showed another couple standing on the porch.  The man was tall and thin, in his mid fifties.  His jet black hair, streaked with gray, was combed severely away from his face and instead of a happy smile, his face seemed to be stuck in a perpetual frown. The woman, her long blond haired tied loosely over her shoulder, looked happy and full of life.
"Martha..." Michael whispered.

Suddenly, something massive hit the closed door, rattling the window, shaking the walls.  The candles flickered and nearly went out.  Michael was overcome by a fear so strong he could hardly breathe, but it wasn't his fear. It was Martha's.  He took deep breaths, willing his mind to stay focused.  The floor beneath him shook like an earthquake as the door bulged inward, rammed again and again by the angry presence. The room filled with the cold stench from downstairs.  He grabbed the book. It held all the answers. The door burst open.  Strong, unseen hands pulled him out of the chair and shoved him against the wall, his broken arm flaring in pain. A vile smell filled his nostrils. The book was snatched from his hand and it flew across the room hitting the window with a deafening crash. The glass exploded into a million pieces.  Cold night air poured in playing with the flickering candles. But as suddenly as it started it ended. The door slowly closed, leaving the   room eerily quiet; the only sound was the light breeze coming in through the broken window, and his own jagged breaths.  He watched the candles fight against the wind currents then flutter out leaving a trail of smoke that disappeared into the darkness.

Michael jumped at the sound of Kitt's hesitant voice.  "Michael...?"
"Yea." Michael answered, his voice trembling, "I'm still here." Slowly he approached the broken window. He looked out into the darkness.  He couldn't take much more of this. He was exhausted, both mentally and physically. Every movement he made brought new pain to his damaged arm.  He needed rest but he didn't dare close his eyes until the sun rose again in the morning. He looked down at the ground, highlighted by the moonlight. Two stories. He would never survive a jump like that.  Not in his condition.
"Your vital signs are very erratic Michael, you need rest."
"I know Pal, but not now.  You notice me drifting off you zap me good and hard.  Understood?"
"Understood."
The door behind him opened and the sweet perfume returned.
"Martha...?" He asked.

The scent was hypnotizing. He felt a soft hand on his right elbow and he allowed it to lead him toward the open door. Warning bells went off in his mind, telling him that this was not right, but the scent was overpowering, suspending all his fears. He was led down the darkened hallway and another door silently opened.  A candle flickered on a nightstand next to the single bed. The covers were folded back, awaiting him. He allowed himself to be led to the bed and sat down. Exhausted, the mattress felt soft and inviting. A delicate hand pushed him down onto the pillow. As he closed his eyes and he felt a soft kiss touch his forehead. He didn't feel his shirt gently pulled open or hear the creak of the mattress as it sagged next to him beneath an unseen weight.

Kitt watched in horror as Michael's vital signs evened out.  He was falling sleep. He tried to call him, to warn him.  There was no response.  He couldn't allow Michael to fall asleep, not during the night.  He tired to send a jolt of electricity through the comlink but there was nothing. His vital signs slowed until he was barely breathing.  Kitt watched helplessly as Michael's pulse and respirations nearly flat lined.

Michael didn't realize he had fallen asleep until he felt the warm sun shining in his face. He snapped his eyes open.  He found himself lying in bed.  Vaguely he remembered being led down the hallway.  Damn it!  He had fallen asleep. He pushed the covers back and a rush of fear poured over him like a pail of cold water.  His shirt was pulled open and his pants were undone.  Rose, Rose must have overcome her fear and came in to tend to him.
 "Rose...?" He called out hesitantly.  There was no answer.  Why would she come in and then leave?
He sat up awquadrly, his broken arm throbbing.  He raised his comlink to his face, "Kitt...?  You there Buddy?  Answer me."  He suddenly felt very vulnerable.  "Kitt, please..."
"Michael!  You're all right?  I was worried sick.  You have been asleep for hours.  I tried to wake you but..."
"It's OK Pal, it's OK.  Where's Rose?"
"Here with me."
Sudden fear and repulsion filled him. "All night...?"
"Yes Michael, why?"
Michael's stomach heaved.  What had happened last night?  He refused to let his mind wander in the direction that would drive him insane.  "Michael...?  Are you all right?  Your vital signs are..."
"I'm fine Kitt," He snapped.  "I'm getting out of this hellhole tonight, even if it kills me."

He made his way down the staircase angry with himself. It would never happen again.  Tonight would be his last night here.  No mater what. He walked toward the kitchen avoiding the elevator sitting in the corner.  Even at a distance he could feel the cold malevolence surrounding it.  He headed for the kitchen to find something to eat.  The last thing he felt like doing was eating, he could still taste the bile in his throat, but he knew he had to keep up his strength.  He found bread and the rest of the semi-cold stew in the fridge. He washed another pain pill down with a couple sips of milk, and sat back in the chair staring at the back door.  Would he ever get out of this damn house?  He was a prisoner, but why?
"Kitt...?"
"I'm here Michael."
"What happened last night?  I told you not to let me fall asleep."
"Michael, I'm sorry.  I tried to wake you, but you wouldn't respond."
"This is it Kitt.  Not another night here.  I'm getting the hell out of here one way or the other, before... Damn't it Kitt...  I had no control last night. Martha...  Shit, I don't know..." He ran his hand through his hair, to tired to think.  He had slept the night through but he still felt exhausted.
He pushed the stew away, uneaten.  "Anything new?"
"No. We appear to be at a stand still for the moment."
"Rose didn't come up with anything?"
"She's so traumatized she can barely speak."
"Ok Buddy, I guess it's just us like always."
"An unstoppable duo."
Michael looked down at his comlink.  Unstoppable...until now.
"Perhaps if we go over the facts as we know them now," Kitt suggested, "we may find a reason for all this."
Michael scooted another chair closer and propped his long legs on it. "Ok, what have we got so far?"
"Well, if you believe in ghosts, disembodied spirits, phantoms, wraiths, specters, apparitions..."
"I get the idea Kitt..."
"If, you believe in any of the above then the next logical assumption is that the house is haunted, by a very disturbed spirit."
Michael nodded. "But I think it is two spirits.  Kitt, the presence I felt in the office last night, the one..." He couldn't finish the sentence grimacing at the repugnant thought of Martha being so close to him... She must be terribly lonely here.  Trapped in this place with Roland. As angry and disgusted as he felt, there was still a part of him that wanted to reach out and help her. "Martha is not the violent one, Roland is the one who is trying to destroy the house.  But I don't know why."

Michael jumped when the sugar bowl sitting on the table suddenly tipped over spilling sugar all over the table.  He watched in fascination as letters started to appear in the sugar. '...BE CAREFUL...'
Michael swallowed hard.  It was Martha.
"Martha?  I can help you.  We can help you."
The sweet scent of her perfume filled the kitchen. The sugar swished across the table obliterating the first message.  'NO ONE CAN'
"That's not true.  Trust me. Let me help."
'YOU CAN'T'
"Let us try."
'TOO STRONG'
"Not if we work together."
'AFRAID'
Michael slowly reached over and smoothed out the writing in the sugar and added his own message. Me Too
He felt something lightly kiss his forehead and the sweet perfume vanished.

He sat back and tried to clear his mind.  What was happening was beyond belief.  But it was happening.  Martha and Roland Chambers were somehow condemned to stay here in this house.  But why?  What had happened?  He sat up, realization dawning on him.  All the answers were in the book that Roland threw out the window.
"Kitt, we need that book.  Everything, all the answers are in it."
 

Rose stared at the house, nearly catatonic.  How could something so terrible happen to something she loved so much?
"Rose?"  Kitt spoke softly, not wanting to frighten her.
She mumbled yes but didn't turn away.
"Rose, you must listen to me.  We have a way to help Michael."
She turned slowly to stare at the voice box, "...How...?"
"The book that was thrown out the window, Michael wants us to retrieve it."
Rose reared back in her seat... "You want me to get out of the car?"
"It's the only way.  The answers to all that is going on here could be in that book.  Martha led Michael to it, she wanted him to read it."
"What if... it... comes after me?"
"Rose, I can't guarantee you're safety, but if we are to ever get out of here..."
"Why did I ever buy this damn place?" She looked back at the house. She would never forget the feel of that cold malignant hand wrapped around hers pulling her up the steps toward the door.  She would have died if she had been pulled back in there.
"I can't..." she cried.
"Rose, please, it may be Michael's only chance."
She shook her head.  She couldn't do it.  If it caught her, dragged her back...
"Michael is in there because you called for help." Kitt said coldly, "That would have been you in there.  You can't turn your back on him."
"I'm scared."
"I know.  Everyone is.  But Michael needs you now."
"What if it sees me?"
"It's daylight. Nothing has ever happened during the day, right?
She nodded.
"Then I think, for some reason it is only strong enough to appear at night."
"Please, Kitt.  Don't make me do this."
"Its the only way Rose."

Rose slowly extended her foot out of the car, waiting for something to rise up and drag her screaming into the house.  But noting happened.
"That's it," Kitt urged her, "it isn't far."
She slid her body around until both feet were one the ground.  The book was only thirty feet away, but it might as well have been thirty miles.  She took a deep breath and stood up, still keeping her hand on Kitt's roof.
"You're doing fine. All the answers we need may be in that book."
She pushed herself away from the car and started to walk, her heart beating so hard in her chest she could feel it pounding in her forehead.  One step at a time, she whispered to herself.  One step at a time.  She passed by the door.  It remained closed, with Michael held captive inside.  Cold, clammy fear poured over her as she remembered the hand pulling her up the stairs and the look on Michael's face as he was dragged passed her into the house.  She reached the book, partially covered by dirt.  Shards of glass sparkled in the sand from the broken window above.  She reached down and lifted the book, waiting for the hand she knew was going to exploded out of the ground to drag her, screaming, back into the house.  But again, nothing happened.  She wrapped her arms around it and headed back to the car never taking her eyes off the house.

With five steps to go she broke into a run and flung herself into the car.  She felt a moment of triumph; she had beaten the house, for now.

She brushed the layer of dirt off the cover to reveal the gilded lettering on the front cover.  Martha Chambers had put a lot of love and care into designing this book.  It was the dream of her life. What had happened in that house that turned it so evil?

The first page showed her standing next to her husband Roland Chambers.  She looked young and happy.  Roland didn't appear to share her enthusiasm. The second page had several pictures, all in black and white of the house with little captions about the changes they were planning to make.  And, at the bottom of the page, the first of an on going diary.

Michael sat at the kitchen table. It was up to Rose and Kitt now.  All the answers, he was sure, were contained in that book.
"Michael...?"  Kitts voice filtered through the comlink.
"Hey Pal, it's good to hear a friendly voice."  He looked around the empty room, "It's good to hear a voice period."
"Sorry.  We were busy.  Rose recovered the book."
Michael smiled.  He knew how hard that must have been for her.
"Good work Rose."
"It looks like it may have been worth it." She said.  "Listen to this... "
Michael closed his eyes letting the images Rose described fill his mind.
"This is what Martha wrote the first day:  'This is the most beautiful house I have ever laid eyes on.  It is everything we have ever wanted.  Roland loves it too, even if he won't admit it.  He poo poos my enthusiasm, but I know it is just his way.'

Rose turned to the next page. Several pictures showed the improvements on the house in progress.  A new roof, a larger porch and a barn/garage.  'There have been so many improvements, it is hardly the same house we purchased two months ago.  Even though we are so far from town and everyone, the neighbors have made a point to come visit us and invite us to their houses for dinner.  I would so much like to go.  I am beginning to feel lonely out here.  But Roland is a loner.  He says if he wanted people crawling all over him like ants he would move back to the city.'
Rose turned another page. A picture of Martha standing next to the completed porch was vastly different than the first picture.  She had lost weight. "Michael..." Rose looked up at the house, knowing Michael was in there, listening to her every word.  "I am looking at a picture of a very unhappy woman.  She has lost weight, and... and there is no life in her eyes anymore.  Listen to what she says now...
'A letter came from Mother today.  She wants me to come home for a visit, just a few days vacation.  How I would love to see her again.  To see anyone.  But Roland has forbidden it.  He says I am his wife now, I am no longer my mother's daughter.  What has come over him since we moved here?  He becomes more and more frightening each day.  I almost believe my Father's warning two years ago; Watch out my child, he is only interested in your money, not you.  Mark my words, some day his true colors will emerge. I am so afraid Father was right.  There is only one working car and Roland keeps the keys all day and at night he puts them in a safe that requires a code that he keeps hidden in his mind.'"

Michael felt a chill run down his spine.  Roland seemed like a bastard when he was alive...

Rose turned the page and her heart cried out at the next picture she saw. Rose was skin and bones.  Her hair, always carefully brushed in prior pictures was now knotted and tangled, hanging wildly over her shoulders.  Her dress, that same dress she wore in the last photo, was torn and stained.  Roland stood next to her, looking just as he did in the first photo.

"Michael..." Michael heard the sadness in Rose's voice.  "She was a virtual prisoner here.  She was cut of from all her friends, her family.  Here is what she says: 'I must accept my fate as it is.  I chose this life.  Everyone tried to warn me but I was too much in love.  I would give anything for a smiling face or a kind word.  Roland has gone for the week, despite being in the middle of nowhere I feel much safer when he is not around.  I think my days are numbered here and I don't know what to do.  Maybe I will try walking the forty miles to the main road.  Perhaps a stranger will be kind enough to give me a ride into town. It couldn't be any worse than this."

Rose stared down at the book, her hands trembling.  There was so much anguish in those words.

"Rose is there more?"
Rose shuffled through the pages.  "Only three more entries."
"Read them"
"There is no picture accompanying this next note: "Roland sent a telegram.  Workmen are to arrive here tomorrow morning to build a balcony in the Great room with picture windows looking out on the trees. I never thought he liked the trees.  But it does mean that there will be people around, if only for a short time.  I must prepare for them.'
The next page has a picture of a large crate sitting in front of the house.  Roland is standing beside it.  He is actually smiling.  Michael, it must be the new elevator."
Rose carefully turned the page.  She caught her breath; the next picture showed a portion of the flooring in the Great Room pulled up and a deep hole dug into the ground and the elevator sitting next to it, ready to go in.
"It was the elevator.  The workmen have dug the hole for the motor and gears."
"I thought you said it was put in because the owner was too old to make it upstairs."
"That is what I was told Michael."
Rose turned to the last page.  "Michael..." Her voice shook.  "The last page is a police report.  According to Roland, Rose had become distraught and wandered into the forest.  Her body was never found.  The police classified it an accidental death."
"Accident, my ass." Michael hissed.  "Alright, Kitt, go over everything Bonnie downloaded before we got here.  Maybe there's something we over looked."
"Right away Michael.  And Michael... be careful please.  Roland is a madman."
"I will.  I promise.  Now get going on that, we've got," he checked his watch, "three hours 'till nightfall, I want to have something to take to the table tonight."

Three hours, Michael thought.  Not much time, and yet it seemed an eternity.  What ever happened tonight, he wanted it over.  He looked down at his throbbing arm.  Infection had set in.  His fingers, peeking out from beneath the splints were swollen and discolored.  His fever had spiked.  Maybe this was all a manifestation of the fever.  A terrible nightmare that he would wake up from, safe and warm in his own bed.  Wishful thinking. He sighed deeply and walked back into the Great Room.  The elevator stood in its corner, old and rusted, exuding evil. What secret was it hiding?  There was nothing unusual in its design.  He looked up at the balcony above. Why the discrepancies.  The book said the elevator went in before Rose disappeared, the official history of the house had it going in long after her death when Roland was too old and feeble to walk outside.
"Kitt..." Michael raised his comlink to his face, not taking his eyes off the balcony.  "How many years did Roland live after Martha's disappearance?"
"According to my records, twenty-two years."
"Twenty-two years." Michael took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  "How did he die?"
"No one knows for sure," Rose said over the comlink, "according to the press releases that came with the history of the house he was found huddled next to...  God Michael, I had forgotten...  They found his body huddled next to the elevator.  He had been dead at least three months when they found him."
"No one knew he was dead?"
"Evidently he had turned into a recluse.  No one ever saw him.  Food was brought to the house and left on the front porch. All his bills, including the food bill, were paid by his lawyer, Andrew Duggan, who he hired to take care of Martha's estate after her death. Roland had received a hefty amount of money when she died. There was never any sign of him ever spending it though.  Except for the bills."
"Everything revolves around that damn elevator."
"I must agree Michael.  It does seem to be the focus of the disturbance."
"Well, we better figure out something soon.  It'll be dark in another ninety minutes."
"We're trying Michael."
He smiled at the comlink, "I know you are Pal, I know your are."

For the next ninety minutes Michael prepared for the coming night.  He lit three candles in each room, upstairs bedrooms included, and placed spare candles within close reach, with extra matches by their side.  He lit the wagon wheel lamp above the table, double checking to see if there was enough oil in them, and replaced the old candles with new ones in the wall sconces in the Great Room, making sure he gave a wide berth to the elevator.  He washed down another of Rose's pain pills with a glass of milk.  The infection in his arm had spread in a very short time, he could feel the heat rising up through his shoulder. He was wracked with fever chills, but he couldn't stop.  Somehow, someway it had to come to an end tonight.  He couldn't stay here any longer.

Dusk had come and gone and the encroaching darkness settled over the house.  He went into the Great Room and sat on the sofa opposite the elevator and waited.  If it began here, then it was going to end here.  The flickering candlelight played strange shadows across the walls and ceilings.  He forced himself not to let his mind wander, conjuring up ghostly images that weren't there.  He jumped when he head a sound behind him from the kitchen.  He waited, if, who ever it was, wanted to talk to him they would have to come to him.  A moment later he felt a breeze pass by his cheek and the smell of Martha's perfume.
"Good evening Martha," he said tersely.
As much as he despised what she may have done the night before, he couldn't dismiss what her existence must be like here, in this house with Roland.  If there truly was a Heaven and a Hell, then for Martha, this was Hell. The candle in one of the sconces flickered and nearly blew out.  His blood ran cold when the door to the elevator slowly creaked open.
Michael shook his head, "No..." He felt something brush his shoulder then a strong hand gripped his wrist pulling him up off the couch.  "No...!"

It wouldn't relent. It continued to pull him closer to the elevator.  He could feel the malevolence surrounding the iron cage.  The door opened wider protesting against the rusty hinges.  Cold fear poured over him as he was pulled inside. The door slammed closed and he heard the sound of the motor engage.  How?  The generator was blown?  Slowly it started to rise.  The hand still held his hand firmly in its grasp.  He watched the floor slowly disappear in the darkness below. He was trapped.  "Kitt...?" He yelled. He could hear the fear in his own voice.  This was the heart of all the evil in this house, and he was trapped inside it.  What would he find at the top?
"Michael?  Your vital signs are erratic, what's happening?"
"I'm inside the elevator."
"For God's sake!" Rose cried, "what are you doing in there?"
"It's not my idea, believe me."  The unseen hand still gripped his.  It seemed like an eternity before the elevator finally came to a shaking halt and the iron door opened onto the balcony.  Now that he was in the elevator he didn't want to step out, but he was pulled onto the plush carpeting of the balcony, the only carpeting in the entire house.  It felt strange to be up so high, overlooking the Great Room.  It let go of his hand and the elevator slammed shut.
"Why have you brought me here?" He asked.  He was pushed forward and if not for the railing he would have fallen straight to the bottom.  Below he could see the frame in the flooring where the elevator's motor and pulley system was housed.  One board was slightly higher as if it had not been nailed down properly.
"Kitt, can you scan this elevator and the floor beneath it?"

Rose huddled in the car, listening to Michael's voice.  Kitt's left monitor popped on.
"I don't understand Michael.  I have been unable to penetrate the house's inside structure until now.  I have only been able to scan you."
"That's because you weren't supposed to.  Now you are.  What do you see Pal?"

Kitt the scanned the elevator, besides being old and in need of general maintenance, it seemed perfectly normal.  As he scanned down to the floor and through the floorboards that covered the motor he stopped, stunned.  Rose gasped.

"Michael..." There was a quality to Kitt's voice that Michael had never heard before. Pure fear.
"Yea?  What do you see Buddy?"
Rose reached out and touched the screen, as if somehow, she could make it all go away. "He couldn't have..." She gasped, "Dear God in Heaven, he couldn't..."
Kitt's scan revealed the remains of a human skeleton, it's right hand still caught in one of the floorboards of it's makeshift coffin.
"Michael... She was buried alive."
"What?" Michael took a step back from the edge and he felt Martha beside him.
"She was still alive when he buried her, while they were still installing the elevator.  No one would have thought to look there."
"He murdered her?"
Michael heard a long mournful cry next to his ear.
"Martha... I'm sorry."

Michael stared down at the bottom of the elevator.  "No... Jesus Christ...No..."

Like an earthquake rising from the bowels of the earth, the ground began to shake.

The house shuddered, as if it couldn't stand the truth be known. The candles in the Great Room below flickered and almost went out.  The windows behind him on the balcony began to rattle. A cry of rage rumbled up through the house shaking it to its very foundation.

Michael looked over the railing to the floor below.  He was trapped up there.  The only way down was to ride the elevator. What other atrocities did the house keep secret? Deep shadows hid in the corners. Fear poured over him as the foul stench filled the room below floating up toward him.  The balcony suddenly lurched and he was nearly toppled over the railing.  He grabbed the handrail with his good arm.  The balcony started to undulate. He heard the floorboards creak and split beneath the carpeting.  The windows bowed inward exploding one after the other spraying him with sharp glass fragments. He dropped to his knees covering his face with his arm as shards of glass bit into his back and legs.  The far end of the balcony ripped away from the wall, swinging in midair. The elevator door slowly opened, beckoning him to safety. He had no other choice.  He scrambled into the wrought iron cage. The door swung closed with a loud clang and all was silent.  Deadly silent.

The only sound Michael heard was his own heartbeat.  Below him a fine white mist billowed up from beneath the elevator floor.  It spread across the Great Room floor like dense fog, plunging the temperature in the house.  He could see his own breath form little puffs of vapor as he breathed in and out, slowly, trying to fight back the fear that was gripping his very soul.  He watched as tendrils of fog below reached out, searching.  He froze.  Was it Martha or Roland?

Outside in the car Rose screamed when the house shuddered. Then all was quiet.  Now strange shadows played against the windows. Everything was deathly quiet, as if the earth had stopped breathing for a moment.  She reached over and grabbed Kitt's steering wheel.  A decision was forming in her mind that she could not reject...  The only decision she could make.
The mist moved up the far wall opposite the elevator and stopped, as if it were searching for Michael.  It receded back down to the floor and began to slowly swirl.  It appeared to take shape from within itself.  First the legs then a torso, long spindly waifs of fog formed the arms with long claw like fingers.

Michael moved back, deeper into the cage that was the elevator.

A neck formed, then a head, then a featureless face. It floated toward the tall ceiling, toward the elevator.  Michael smelled sweet perfume.  It was Martha.

Confused, Michael watched the wraith float closer to him. It reached out for him, it's willowy claw-like fingers brushing his check.  The smell of the perfume was different.  It stung his nostrils, gagged in his throat.  He felt cold as if the touch of the apparition was draining all the heat from his body.
"No!"  The deep baritone voice shook the house.
Martha whirled around. Her misty form began to take solid shape.  Michael watched in fascination and horror as her face began to appear.
He saw a blur of movement to his right and Roland Chambers walked down the stairs.
"This is enough!" He commanded, his voice resonating throughout the house.  The walls shook.
Martha turned toward him, still hovering beside the elevator.  Her face took shape.  Her eyes were as like as black coal; evil and insane.
"No..." Michael whispered.
"It's over!"  Roland growled.

Kitt desperately tried to get through to Michael.  It wasn't at all like they had thought.

"It's not over." Martha smiled.
Michael cringed back.
"I finally have a real man.  I've waited years for him."

Roland stepped off the last stair and Martha whirled on him.  "You destroyed my life while I was living, you will not do it again."  She touched the elevator and the motor engaged.

Michael grabbed the iron bar as the elevator sank toward the floor.  Martha hovered above, watching.  It reached the Great Room floor and continued to descend.  He kicked at the door but it was useless, it was already below the edge of the floor.  He was trapped.  He looked up.  The top was open, but he had no way of climbing out with only one arm.

It continued to descend.  The floor was at chest level now.  Roland screamed and the house shuddered.  The elevator stopped. "This is the end!"  His words reverberated through the house. "Twenty-two years is long enough!"
"It will never be enough!"  She turned toward Roland.  "Why?" She screamed.  "Why did you do it?"
"It was an accident." He roared, sentenced to this hell for so many years,  "No one knew you had fallen into the pit."
"No!  You wanted me dead."
"You are wrong."  Roland took a step closer, his solid form wavering.  "You were distraught.  I sent for your parents.  They were on their way."
"No...!"
"I have been a prisoner in this house long enough. We finish it. Tonight!"
"Let him go.  This is between us, as it has been for twenty-two years."

Martha grinned insanely, reaching a hand into the cage.  Michael felt a coldness seep into his body as she gently caressed his chest.  Bile rose in his throat with the realization that she wanted him.  A cold tendril wrapped itself around his chest and he couldn't breath.  She floated down into the cage, surrounding him. The foul order he had smelled before reeked from her mouth.  His shirt was stripped open.  He couldn't move, he couldn't fight.  It was as if he were paralyzed, yet he could feel every foul touch.

"He has to know!" Rose screamed.
"No!"  Kitt yelled as Rose darted out of the car and ran for the house.  She scrambled up the porch and hit the door. It was still locked.  She pounded her fists on it screaming; "Michael, it's Martha!  It's Martha!"

Michael couldn't hear Rose.  He was slowly dying beneath Martha's touch.  His heartbeat slowed, his breathing stopped.  He felt himself being lifted toward her, her ugly face grinning in triumph inches away from his.

Roland screamed and every window in the house exploded. Rose dived into the house through the porch window next to the door.  She looked up, still crouched on her hands and knees, at Martha hovering over Michael inside the elevator.

"No!" she screamed.

Martha whirled around, rearing up, seeing Rose as a threat.

Roland took advantage of the moment and dissolved into vapor. He would fight her on his own terms.  With help.

Michael gasped for air. He couldn't move.  Martha had drained him of every ounce of strength he had left.  He saw Rose huddled near the door.  "Run..." he breathed.  "Run... get out of here."

Kitt felt his rear tiers rising.  He scanned the area, but detected nothing.  Finding himself on solid ground he hit the ignition and the engine roared to life.

Rose scrambled towards Michael in the elevator on her hands and knees.  Martha soared through the air toward her, her face frozen in absolute hatred.  Rose stood between her and a lifetime with Michael here in this house.

Roland appeared between them.  Martha screamed in fury.  The house shook, splitting the ceiling open.  A large section of roof fell to the floor in the Great Room.  Rose scrambled behind Roland and reached the elevator.  She looked down inside.  Michael was slumped against the corner of the cage.  She reached her hand down; first he cringed away until he realized who she was.  He raised a feeble hand toward her.  She stretched over the edge until her fingertips met his.  Her fingers walked down his hand to his wrist then grabbed hold.  She tried to pull him up, but she didn't have the strength.

Martha screamed in rage when she saw Rose leaning over the elevator.
"He's mine!" She ranted, flinging Rose across the room. She spun around to look down at Michael.  The elevator jerked and starred to descend again.

The stench was overpowering, as Michael was taken deeper into the hole. He grabbed the iron bar of the cage trying to pull himself up, but his strength was gone. His flesh crawled with the feeling of death all around him.

Roland reared up, his human form dissolving before Rose's eyes and turned into a swirling gray cloud.  The house shook.  Michael heard a crash from the kitchen and saw the flickering light from a fire; the wagon wheel must have crashed.  The house was old, fire would devour it like a hungry animal.

Another part of the roof collapsed hurtling down toward Michael.  If not for the iron cage of the elevator he would have been crushed.

The gray cloud that was Roland rose up toward the open ceiling, then hovered.  The elevator continued its slow decent.  Michael was now eye level with the floor.  He felt something touch his ankles.  He looked down. A mass of gray-brown slime, like crude oil, oozed up, spilling into the elevator.  Horrified, he screamed with fear and pain as it seeped into his skin, gnawing at his bones.

Rose scrambled to her feet.  Martha jumped in front of her, slamming her back against the wall again.  Rose could see through the Martha's ghostly form, wavering before her, at Michael still descending.  She had to get to him.

"NO!"  Roland roared.  The house lurched and came off its foundation.  The stairs buckled in on themselves.  The top floor, that was the bedroom, toppled into the kitchen, fueling and spreading the fire that had been confined to the kitchen into the Great Room.

Kitt pulled up to the house.  Frantically he tried to scan the inside.  He needed to know where they were.  If he slammed into a wall it could topple down on them, killing them.  He saw the house shudder and slide off it's foundation as if it were hit by a massive earthquake.  Fire and smoke poured out of the windows.  He had no choice.  He revved the engine and hit turbo boost.

Martha dissolved into a black mist, laughing hysterically.  The two whirling tornados taunted each other, darting in and out.  Martha's black mass was stronger than Roland.

Rose screamed as the door and part of the front wall collapsed around Kitt's black hood.  She scrambled over to him and jumped into the open passenger door.
"Michael's trapped in the elevator." She pointed at the elevator in desperation.  She could no longer see his head, he was below the floor.

The slime oozed up around Michael's chest.  He was loosing the fight to stay conscious.  His hand began to slide down the iron bar.  He heard a faint voice, somewhere above him, but he didn't have the strength to respond.  His right arm fell to his side sinking into the slime.

Kitt shuddered inside his CPU.  It would be next to impossible to free Michael. The boards from the ceiling lay scattered over the top of the elevator like toothpicks Rose could never move.  He released the grappling hook.  "Rose," he ordered, "tie the grappling line around the boards.  Rose jumped out of the car.  Smoke and fire filled the room.  She could barely breathe. Smoke burned her eyes and chocked her lungs. The wind churned up by Martha and Roland as they parried around each other blew her back against the car.
"Hurry!" Kitt yelled over the sound of the house being ripped apart.
Rose managed to secure the line around the boards and Kitt backed away pulling the boards off the elevator.  She fell to her stomach leaning over the top of the elevator.  Michael was submerged in slime up to his neck.  He looked up at her, an expression of disbelief and fear on his face.  He shook his head, "its no use," he said, "get out, before it's too late."
"No!" she cried, "I won't leave you."
"Go!  Now!"  The slime was up to his chin.  The stench gagged him.  "Kitt! That's an order.  Get her out of here, now!"
Kitt released the grappling hook again.  Rose grabbed it and wrapped it around her waist.  "Lower me down." She ordered.
Kitt obeyed. Michael was no longer capable of making life and death decisions. If there was still a chance of saving Michael he had to take it.
Rose eased herself headfirst down into the elevator.
The slime oozed up, covering Michael's chin then his mouth.  He gagged on the stench.  Rose reached into the slime, and screamed.  It felt like it was eating at her flesh, freezing her bones. She searched with her fingers until she felt his chest.  She found his right arm and dragged his shirtsleeve up out of the slime.
Michael couldn't breathe; it covered his nose, oozed up his nostrils, down his throat. Reflex made him gasp for air and he swallowed a mouth full of the vile liquid.  He felt Rose pulling his arm but she didn't have the strength to pull him out from the suction of the slim.

Kitt slowly backed up pulling the grappling line around Rose's waist, drawing them both up.  Rose's fingers started sliding down Michael's slippery hand.  She was loosing him. His head was completely submerged beneath the slime.  She felt his hand go limp.  He was dying.  Martha was winning.  Fear and rage enraged her and she lunged deeper into the slime grabbing Michael's belt. "Kitt, now!" she screamed, and she was hoisted up and over the elevator.  She dragged Michael's lifeless body onto the floor.  She pried his mouth open digging finger fulls of slim out of his mouth. She started CPR, despite the foul taste of the slime that still oozed from his mouth and nose.  Again and again she breathed into his mouth and pumped his chest.

Kitt watched helplessly.
The fire engulfed the house like a hungry animal. The entire back half was an inferno of heat and fire. Rose continued the CPR. She would not give up.  Suddenly Michael gagged, vomiting the vile slime out of his lungs.  Rose held him tight, "It's alright," she comforted, "I have you now."
Still stunned, he looked past her at what used to be the ceiling, black sky appeared through the billowing smoke.
"We have to get out of here." She yelled dragging him toward the car. Above them Martha and Roland struggled against each other.  Gray and black mists whirled around, intermingling then separating.  Roland was growing stronger. Martha had used far too much energy trying to make Michael hers.
Rose dragged Michael to his feet and shoved him into the driver's seat, the door still hanging awkwardly on one hinge.
"Michael!  I thought I'd never see you alive again."
"Me too Pal." Michael coughed, still gagging on the slime in his throat.
Rose dropped into the passenger seat, drenched in the slime that covered Michael.  It still surrounded them in the stench of death.
Martha and Roland continued their macabre dance, taking human form then dissolving into mist.
Kitt dropped the transmission into reverse.  Like the cry of a dying animal the balcony above finally ripped away from the wall crashing to the floor below blocking Kitt's exit.

The gray and black mist took shape again, Roland's sinewy arm reaching out for Martha. He grabbed her claw like hand and started drawing her toward the elevator pit.  The slime turned black.  Martha's hysterical screams seemed to fuel the fire as Roland dragged her ever closer to her grave.  For the past twenty-two years she had lived in limbo, between Heaven and Hell, reliving the moment she awoke inside the pit, clawing at the boards above, her cries too weak for the workers above to hear.  Caught in Purgatory, she took revenge on Roland, making him a virtual prisoner of his own house. She haunted him, day and night until he died.  Roland too, was lost in limbo. Trapped for eternity until Martha was appeased.  Then the house had sold.  It was Martha's house.  She would not give it up easily.  Until Michael arrived.  She had yearned for a man for so long, a good man, someone completely opposite from Roland.  She played her game, making Michael trust her.  Then Roland could take no more. Now he would put an end to it.
The ooze that nearly drowned Michael broiled over the top of the pit flowing across the floor.  Rose screamed as it inched its way closer to Kitt's tires.
"Let's get the hell out of here!"  Michael yelled, his voice only a whisper.
"I'm trying Michael, I'm trying."  Kitt slammed the gearshift into drive but the wall in front of them collapsed; fire and smoke consumed the Great Room.
"We're trapped!" Rose screamed.
Flames licked at Kitt's fenders.

A tendril of back ooze reached up and caught Martha's ankle, pulling her toward the pit. She screamed in terror. She was no longer the aggressor.  Roland had defeated her, was returning her to his Hell.

The house was engulfed in flames. Every wall was consumed by the raging inferno. There was no escape.  Flames licked at the open car doors.
Rose grabbed Michael's hand.  He held her tight, chocking on the thick smoke pouring into the car.
The ooze began to recede back into the pit pulling Martha with it. Her face was a hideous mask of fear and hate.  Her coal black eyes fell on Michael and she reached out for him, but the ooze was dragging her back down into the depths of Hell.
A hideous scream filled the house as Martha was dragged down into the pit. A roar surged up from the hole sucking everything into it.  Roland disappeared. Furniture engulfed in flames disappeared.  The smoke and fire were sucked into the vacuum.  Michael felt Kitt begin to slide toward the hole.
"No!" Rose screamed.  Burning lumber that once framed the house flew by them disappearing into the black hole. The screeching sound of metal assaulted their ears as the elevator collapsed in on itself and sank into the pit.

Then all was suddenly quiet.  The fire was gone, only tendrils of smoke from what was left of the house billowed up into the night sky.  It was over.  Martha and Roland were gone, along with the house.

"It's over..." Michael whispered.
Rose couldn't say a word. She just sat there, stunned.
 
 

Epilogue

There was no easy way to explain what had happened.  Kitt reestablished contact with the Foundation almost immediately after the house had imploded.  Emergency teams were sent out. Michael shivered uncontrollably, still covered in the slime. Rose was in a near catatonic state. They were transported to the nearest hospital where doctors were baffled by the slime.  Michael was bathed and covered in warming blankets.  When he was stronger his arm would be surgically repaired.

Bonnie personally jetted out to the nearest airport, then took a copter to the site.  She was stunned by Kitt's condition. Nothing could explain the damage she saw.  And no matter how she prodded, Kitt was not forth coming with the answers.  He would talk only when Michael and Rose were present. She respected his wishes and he was loaded into a transport truck for the long journey back to the Foundation.
Three days later Rose walked into Michael's hospital room.  They both had welts covering their bodies from the slime, still a mystery to the doctors.  His left arm was suspended in a sling above the bed.
"So," he asked, taking her hand, "what next?  What about that dream?"
She smiled ruefully, "What dream?"
"Come on... What about burning all your bridges behind you?"
She snorted, "Is this supposed to make me feel better?  All my savings were tied up in the house.  How the hell am I going to get an insurance agency to believe my house was destroyed by a couple of angry ghosts? They'd put me in the Looney bin."
"Perhaps, but not us."  Rose whirled around to see a man in his late sixties enter the room.  He extended his hand. "It is so good to finally meet you Miss Markham.  Michael and Kitt have spoken highly of you."
"You," she said shaking his hand, "must be Devon Miles."
"At your service.  While Michael and Kitt have not gone into great detail as to what occurred at your house, I am sure in time they will explain it all.  But they were very adamant that you never return there. That is why the Foundation would like to make you an offer."
"Exactly what kind of offer?" she asked skeptically, glancing over at Michael who wore a sheepish grin.
"The Foundation is willing to 'trade' properties."
"I'm not sure I understand."
"Michael squeezed her hand.  "You remember your dream to create a sanctuary?  This is it."
"Yes." Devon held out a legal document.  "Fifty acres in a remote part of the Shasta Mountains.  It is exactly what Michael has described as your dream."
"I don't understand... Why?"
Michael's face turned deadly serious.  "What we went through was beyond reality, but we both know it happened.  You risked your life to come back into that house to save me..."
"What Michael is trying so gallantly to say," Devon interrupted, "is that we owe you a debt of gratitude.  Consider this as our token of thanks."
"And," Michael said, leaning back into his pillows, "when I get out of here I will need a place to convalesce. Any suggestions?"
A wide smile spread across her face. "Consider yourself my first guest."
"Very good then," Devon said gently taking her arm, "Michael needs his rest and I am quite famished.  Would you care for a late dinner?  I know a very intimate restaurant a few miles from here..."
Michael winked as Rose graciously accepted the invitation.
 

He watched Rose and Devon leave his room.  Alone again.  Would he ever feel comfortable alone again?  His comlink beeped.  Kitt always had the best timing.
"Hey Buddy, how's it going?"
"I'm coming along nicely.  Bonnie is treating me with kid gloves.  And you Michael, how are you?"
Michael took a deep breath.  "I'm not sure Pal.  I keep on getting the feeling that Martha is still around.  I know we saw her sucked into the hole.  I guess it's just going to take time."
"As they say Michael, time heals all wounds."
"Yea, sure."
"It is late.  You should get some sleep."
"Right.  Night Pal."
"Good night Michael."
Michael closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep not noticing the scent of perfume rising up from beneath the bed.