Behind her, Jane said, “I hate you!”
Carol whirled.
The girl swung the ax.
Carol brought the poker up without any time to spare, and it rang against the gleaming, viciously sharp blade, deflecting the blow.
The impact rang back the length of the poker, into Carol’s hands, numbing them. She couldn’t maintain her grip on the iron rod; it fell from her tingling hands.
The impact did not ring back along the wooden handle of the ax, and Jane still held that weapon with firm determination.
Carol backed up onto the wide hearth of the stone fireplace. She could feel the heat against her legs.
She had nowhere else to run.
“Now,” Jane said. “Now. At last.”
She lifted the ax high, and Carol cried out in anticipation of the pain, and the front door was flung open. It crashed against the wall. Paul was there. And Grace.
The girl glanced at them but was not going to be distracted; she brought the ax down toward Carol’s face.
Carol collapsed onto the hearth.
The ax struck the stone mantel over her head; sparks flew.
Paul rushed at the girl, but she sensed him coming. She turned toward him, slashed with the ax, and drove him back.
Then turned on Carol again.
“Cornered rat,” she said, grinning.
The ax came up.
This time it won’t miss, Carol thought.
Someone said, “Spiders!”
The girl froze.
The ax was suspended in midair.
“Spiders!” It was Grace. “There are spiders on your back, Laura. Oh God, they’re all over your back. Spiders! Laura, look out for the spiders!”
Carol watched, bewildered, as a look of stark terror took possession of the girl’s face.
“Spiders!” Grace shouted again. “Big, black, hairy spiders, Laura. Get them off! Get them off your back. Quick!”
The girl screamed and dropped the ax, which clattered against the stone hearth. She brushed frantically at her back, twisting her arms up behind her. She was snuffling and squealing like a very small child. “Help me!”
“Spiders,” Grace said again, as Paul picked up the ax and put it out of the way.
The girl tried to tear off her blouse. She dropped to her knees, then fell onto her side, gibbering in terror. She writhed on the floor, brushing imaginary spiders off her body. Within a minute she seemed to be in a state of shock; she lay shuddering, weeping.
“She was always afraid of spiders,” Grace said. “That was why she hated the cellar.”
"The cellar?” Carol asked.
“Where she died,” Grace said.
Carol didn’t understand. But at the moment she didn’t care. She watched the girl writhing on the floor, and she suddenly felt overwhelming pity for her. She knelt beside Jane, lifted her up, hugged her.
“You okay?” Paul asked her.
She nodded.
“Spiders,” the girl said, quivering uncontrollably.
“No, honey,” Carol said. “No spiders. There aren’t any spiders on you. Not now. Not any more.” And she looked at Grace, wondering.