The Death of Addie Gray

  Copyright 2016 Amy Cross

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events, entities and places are either products of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual people, businesses, entities or events is entirely coincidental.

  Kindle edition

  Dark Season Books

  First published: April 2016

  This edition: August 2016

  This book's front cover incorporates elements licensed from the Bigstock photo site.

  For the past nine months, Erica Gray's daughter has been in a coma. But just when hope seems to be running out, Addie suddenly wakes up.

  Or at least, someone wakes up in her body.

  At first, Erica ignores the warnings signs. Determined to enjoy her daughter's miraculous recovery, she sets about making their lives perfect again. Slowly, however, she's forced to face the possibility that someone or something else has taken control of Addie. But how could another person be in her daughter's body? And what is the connection to a horrific series of murders that took place more than forty years earlier?

  The Death of Addie Gray is a horror novel about a woman who has to face the terrifying creature that has taken roost in her daughter's body.

  Table of Contents

  Part One

  Densberg, Michigan – Today

  Part Two

  Densberg, Michigan – Today

  Part Three

  Densberg, Michigan – Today

  Part Four

  Hedderburgh, Ohio – January 3rd 1975

  Part Five

  Densberg, Michigan – Today

  Epilogue

  The Death of

  Addie Gray

  PART ONE

  DENSBERG, MICHIGAN

  TODAY

  Erica

  I let my eyes close for a moment, and I immediately hear it again.

  A scratching sound.

  Brittle fingernails splitting as they drag against bone.

  And then I see my little girl, laughing as she sits at the garden table. We have food and drinks laid out, and bright summer sun is streaming down. Addie almost knocks over a glass of juice as she reaches for her favorite doll. I steady the glass and tell her to be careful. She giggles and kisses me on the cheek, and then she laughs at something, I don't even know what, but I don't hear the laugh.

  All I hear is the sound of those fingernails scratching against bone.

  Seconds later I flash awake, sitting up with a gasp. The time was 8.52am last time I checked, but now when I glance at my phone I see that it's 8.55am.

  Three minutes.

  I must have dozed for three whole minutes.

  Getting up from the kitchen table, I rub the back of my neck as I take my phone and wander to the window. Outside, the world is gray and a shadow of oncoming rain has fallen across the yard. Our plastic yard furniture – which we once kept neatly positioned and always clean – is now strewn all over the patio. One of the chairs is even on its side, and dead, soggy leaves are stuck to the table legs.

  I stand completely still for a moment, dazed, and then I realize I can just about make out my reflection in the glass. I try to smile, but I quickly feel dried tears tugging at my cheeks.

  After a few seconds, I catch myself once again absent-mindedly scratching the back of my neck. Feeling as if I have to get out of this airless house for a moment, I fumble with the handle and then slide the patio door open. A cold wind is blowing as I head over to the white plastic chair and set it the right way up, and then I grab the other chairs and position them around the table. There are dark, wet leaves smeared over everything, and I have to pick a few away before I'm able to see the name that was scratched, about a year ago, into the table's side.

  Addie.

  Rob gave her hell for that. He got really mad.

  “Addie,” I whisper, reaching down and running a fingertip against the letters. I can feel tears welling again.

  “Erica?” a voice shouts from behind me, from inside the house. “Are you up?”

  I flinch as I hear Rob's footsteps hurrying through from the bedroom. He'll pretend nothing is wrong. He'll try to initiate small-talk, to prove to himself and to me that everything's fine. That's what he always does, especially after we've had one of our regular 'discussions' about Addie. Especially when one of those discussions ends with us yelling at each other and spending the night in separate rooms. It's like he thinks that if he nags me enough, eventually I'll agree to kill our daughter.

  Hurrying back inside, I slide the door back shut, sealing us once again inside the airless house.

  “So I'll try not to work late tonight,” he mutters, as I hear him pulling the coffee pot out of the machine, “but I can't promise anything. You know what Sam's like. Still, I'll really try to make it to the hospital this time. I know it's important to you.”

  “It's important to Addie,” I snap. Why doesn't he understand.

  “Sure. To Addie.”

  I hear the sound of the pot being put back in place, then a spoon clinking against the side of the mug.

  “Sam's been on the warpath lately,” he continues. “I swear, that man runs on -”

  “I meant what I said last night,” I continue, interrupting him as I turn and see him at the sink. “I don't care what the doctors say. We're not switching her machine off.”

  I see a flicker of irritation on the side of his face as he avoids looking at me. Pretending to focus on stirring his cup of coffee, he seems irritated that I've even brought the subject up again, and his momentary silent means he's just trying to decide how best to change my mind. Wear me down until I'm too tired to have hope.

  “We'll talk about it some more tonight,” he mutters finally. “If you want.”

  “I'm not turning her machines off,” I say again.

  “I heard you the first time.”

  “The doctors were wrong about her brain activity before, they could be wrong this time.”

  “They could be.”

  “She's strong,” I continue, even though I know I sound desperate. “She's a fighter.” God, that was worse.

  He sighs as he takes a sip of clearly-still-too-hot coffee.

  “I'll go see her after lunch,” I tell him. “I'll sit with her all afternoon and read to her. I was looking some stuff up online during the night, and people who've woken from comas sometimes say they were aware of the people in the room with them. If she hears our voices, it might encourage her to keep fighting. It might make all the difference.”

  “Did you sleep last night?” he asks.

  “Yeah, actually I...” I take a deep breath. “I managed a couple of hours.”

  “Liar.”

  “At least an hour,” I continue. “I promise.”

  Wandering over to join me by the window, he stops and looks into my eyes. I wait for him to say something, but instead he just seems to be studying me.

  “What?” I ask finally.

  “Just...” He pauses. “It's gonna be okay, Erica. One way or another, we're gonna get through this.”

  “I know we are,” I reply. “Addie's going to wake up, and then we'll be a family again.”

  I glance outside and see that the patio furniture is still filthy.

  “I should clean that,” I mutter, before turning back to him.

  He forces an entirely unconvincing smile. He knows better than to argue with me, so instead he leans closer and kisses my forehead, as if to seal the conversation until it blows up again later. He usually only really forces the issue when he's had a few drinks in the evening. Sometimes, I think he pities me.

  “Try to get some sleep,” he continues. “I mean it, Erica.
You're no use to Addie or anyone else if you're walking around like a zombie. If she really can hear you when you're reading stories next to her bed, she'll be able to tell if you're barely awake. Don't you think she wants to hear that you've got a little energy? If she knew that she was doing this to you, she'd -”

  “She's not doing anything to me!” I snap.

  “Okay,” he replies, putting his hands on my shoulders. “I'm sorry I said that.”

  “Are you trying to say I'm not doing my best for her?” I ask, feeling a flicker of alarm in my chest.

  “You're doing great for her. More than great. You're doing more than... Well, more than most people would do.”

  “I'm going to read all her favorite stories this afternoon,” I continue, struggling to hold back tears. “I thought about which ones she likes the most, and I'm going to read them one after another. Like a medley.”

  “That's great, honey.”

  “And she can hear me. I know she can, and the doctors said it's possible.”

  “They said that six months ago.”

  “It's still true now!”

  He opens his mouth to say something, probably to remind me that the doctors say Addie has deteriorated since then, but thankfully he holds back at the last moment. I can see the doubt in his eyes, but I guess we're both too tired to argue right now.

  “I'll definitely make it tonight,” he says finally, kissing my forehead again. “I won't work late. I'll see you at the hospital.”

  “I think she'd really like to hear your voice,” I tell him. “It might help. Visiting time ends at eight.”

  “I'll be there. I promise.”

  “She'll wake up soon,” I continue, looking over at the chair where Addie used to sit during summer breakfasts on the patio. “I can feel it. I don't know how I know, I just do. She's coming back to us.”

  After a moment, I realize I'm scratching the back of my neck again.

  Erica

  “And then the baker went to put all the pies on the shelf, because this time he was certain the crow had learned its lesson. As soon as he went back to the kitchen, however, he heard a loud clattering sound. Bang bang bang! And he went running back through with his rolling pin raised, yelling at the crow, but guess what? He was too late! The crow had already -”

  I stop for a moment as the letters on the page seem to blur into one another. Little black worms wriggle around before settling again.

  “Um...”

  I pause, trying to remember where I was.

  “When the baker...”

  I take a deep breath. This happens a couple of times a day. I have to reset my head.

  “The baker went running back through with his rolling pin raised,” I continue finally, “yelling at the crow, but guess what?”

  I glance at Addie's calm, sleeping face. There's a thick tube running out from her left nostril, and an even thicker tube taped into her mouth. Various wires are running from her chest, connecting her to a bank of machines by the far wall.

  Forcing a smile, I look at her ear and try to imagine my words being funneled in there to her sleeping mind.

  “Can you guess, sweetie?” I ask, giving her cold little hand an extra squeeze. “Do you remember what happens next? What has the crow gone to the pies? We've read this story so many times before.”

  I wait, giving her time to answer, but after a moment I spot the lights flashing on her machines. There are so many tubes and wires running in and out of my little girl's body, sometimes I just want to rip them all out, pick her up and take her home. It's almost as if the doctors are causing her condition, rather than trying to help her. These thoughts run through my head at least once a day, but I always manage to push them away eventually.

  Some days, though, it's harder than others.

  “Do you remember?” I ask again.

  No reply.

  “Speak to me, Addie.”

  The only sound in the room is the constant beeping from one of the machines.

  “Well,” I continue, looking down at the book and turning to the next page, where the baker can be seen chasing after a crow that has a pie in its mouth. I open my mouth to read the next section, but for a moment I think back to Addie's giggling voice when she used to laugh at that particular picture. Taking a deep breath, I try to get ready to read, but I need to take a moment or she'll hear the tears in my voice. I can't let her know that I'm upset. I need to sound happy.

  Hearing a faint knock at the door, I turn and see Doctor Andrews gesturing for me to join him in the corridor.

  ***

  “There really isn't any improvement since the last time we talked,” he says calmly, keeping his voice low as we stand near the nurses' station. “All her numbers are more or less stable, with the exception of one or two that have declined very slightly.”

  “Okay,” I reply, feeling as if he's wasting my time, “so I guess we don't have anything to talk about. I should get back in there and -”

  “Did you think any more about what I suggested last time? Did you and your husband have a chance to discuss the options?”

  I nod. I can feel the tears swelling, but so far I'm managing to hold them back.

  “Addie has fought incredibly bravely,” he continues, “for a long, long time, and her bravery has inspired everyone on the team to dig deeper and keep pushing. We've all been hugely impressed by Addie, and by the way her family has stood by her. You've done everything you can, but... Mrs. Gray, there comes a time when -”

  “She's going to get better,” I reply, interrupting him before he can say any more. “You said it yourself. She's strong, and none of your scans have really shown much brain damage, so there's no reason for her not to wake up.”

  “Mrs. Gray -”

  “You said that! You stood here and said those words to us!”

  “Six months ago,” he continues. “I said those things six months ago, and the situation has changed. In my experience, and in the experience of all my colleagues here, no child in Addie's condition has ever -”

  “You've already given us this speech,” I reply, interrupting him again, “but my daughter is still alive! She's still in there, she's still fighting, and I'm here to help her with that fight, not to make it all for nothing by letting you turn off those machines. She needs our support right now!”

  “The machines are the only thing keeping her -”

  “I'm not doing it!”

  He sighs.

  One of the nurses walks past, and I swear she glances at me with an expression of pity.

  “It doesn't matter how long it takes,” I continue breathlessly. “She'll wake up eventually, I know she will. And yes, I understand that she might be damaged, I understand she might not be completely her old self, but at least...” Sighing, I know that if this conversation lasts much longer, I'm going to end up crying, and I hate crying at the hospital. “You should talk to my husband,” I tell him finally, taking a step back. “He's more receptive to your suggestions, but don't forget that you need both of us to sign the forms authorizing the end of her treatment. And I am never going to do that.”

  He opens his mouth to reply, but I think maybe I've gotten through to him.

  “So now,” I continue, “if you'll excuse me, I have to go finish the story I was reading to my daughter. Unless you have anything else to tell me? Anything new? Anything that can actually help?”

  He pauses, before shaking his head.

  Hurrying back into the room, I sit next to Addie again and squeeze her hand. It takes a moment before I can put the doctor's words out of my mind, but somehow I manage to focus.

  I can't let myself sound upset now.

  Addie needs me.

  “Mommy's back,” I tell her, squeezing her hand again. “Mommy's going to read to you some more, okay? I've got a little stack of your favorite books here, and visiting doesn't stop until eight tonight, so we've got a few more hours left. Plus Daddy's going to try to stop by for an hour or two at the end, so you've got that
to look forward to. He promised he'll be here and... Well, I'm sure he'll really try this time.”

  I wait, before squeezing her hand yet again.

  And then I hold my breath for a moment, waiting in case she squeezes back, in case – for the first time since the accident nine months ago – she gives me some sign that she's still in there.

  “Come on,” I whisper. “I know you're in there. Come on, Addie.”

  No response.

  “Okay then,” I continue, forcing a smile as I grab the book again. “Where were we?” I take a moment to wipe my left cheek, just in case there are any tears I haven't noticed. “When the baker saw the crow with a pie in its mouth, he ran across the room and waved his rolling pin. The crow immediately flew away with the pie tucked tight into its beak, and this only -”

  I stop for a moment, before glancing at Addie's sleeping face.

  “Come back,” I whisper as a fresh tear finally rolls down my cheek. “Sweetheart, please, everything'll be okay but you have to come back to us.”

  ***

  A little after 8pm, I carry a box of take-out food away from Aladdin's Pizza in the mall. The place is almost deserted now, an the janitor is wandering around, getting ready to close up. As I stand on the escalator, heading down to the ground floor, I look around at the stores with their shutters down and I can't help remembering the times when I used to bring Addie here.

  “Mommy, can we go build a bear on the top floor?”

  Sometimes I agreed, sometimes not.

  Why did I ever deny her anything?

  “Mommy, can we get ice cream?”

  Stepping off the escalator at the bottom, I find myself right next to the ice cream store. Addie always used to have such trouble choosing a flavor, and she always begged me for an extra scoop. I remember her excited voice, and I remember the buzz of the mall.

  These days, I only come late in the evening, when most families have long since gone home.