Alone, Rollie drove up the hill.  A strange, almost unnatural calm had fallen over him.  He knew that what he was about to do could result in his death, but that was not the thought that was foremost in his mind.  It was Angie.  If he died today, he would never see her again, and she would be alone.  He didn’t want to die.  For the first time that he could remember, he finally had almost everything he wanted in life.  He had a successful career, friends who loved him, and the love of the woman he had wanted more than anything else in the world.  In his future lay the prospect of a family, children of his own.  The only thing that would have made it perfect is if he could finally have had the relationship with his father that he wanted so deeply.

Blinking back the tears that had sprung unexpectedly into his eyes, Rollie pulled up in front of the house and got out.  But, instead of going to the house, he walked to the garden.  As he went into it, he sensed consciously what he had felt only on a subconscious level before.  He closed his eyes and nodded, knowing that what he suspected was right.

Rollie turned around and looked at the house.  Taking a deep, steadying breath, he left the garden and walked up to the door.  Slowly, he entered.  As always the sensations of pain, fear, and anger came upon him.  Almost savagely, he pushed them aside and walked to the center of the foyer.

“I’m here!” he called out.  “There’s no one else but me.  Tell me what you want.”  Only silence answered him.  “Damn it, tell me!”

The silence stretched on with no sign that he had been heard by anything.  His hands clenching into fists, Rollie walked into the living room.  The farther he went in, the stronger the sensations got.  Through a sheer act of will, he fought them aside, his eyes on a single spot on the floor.  At last, he reached it.

With a final step, Rollie placed his feet in the spot where he’d awakened two nights ago, the place where Robert Powell had stood after murdering his family.  The sensations of fear and pain faded into the background as a black anger flowed into him.  Rage and madness, wild and all-consuming, darkened his mind.  With a cry that was half-scream, half-roar, Rollie fell headlong into the roiling darkness.

Angie sighed in frustration upon reaching another dead end.  Every lead she’d followed had resulted in a bunch of useless information.  She couldn’t find what she was looking for.  But then, she really didn’t know what she was looking for.  She simply had to believe that she’d know it when she found it.

Sighing again, she clicked on another link to yet another site.  She scanned down the page quickly.  Near the bottom, something caught her eye.  She clicked on the listed link and waited for the page to load.  Then, leaning forward, she began to read.

 Sacred Places and Accursed Lands: Fairy Tales or an Even Deeper Mystery?

 From one end of the earth to the other, from ancient Celtic legends to Native American tribal stories, the belief that some places have been cursed while others are thought to be blessed is an ever-present tenet.  But how much truth is there in this?  Are there places on Earth that have, through the actions of beings mortal or immortal, become places of good or of evil?  How can a chunk of soil or a piece of rock have any kind of supernatural or paranormal powers?  They are inanimate, nonliving.  Yet the legends and beliefs persist.  Even today, in our age of “enlightenment” and technology, when many people only believe in what they can confirm the existence of with their senses, there are places where things seem not quite right, places that affect those who tread upon them either physically or emotionally, with no clear-cut reason behind it.

 If curses are merely superstition and blessings have no real power, if a piece of land can hold no power in of itself, then where do we look for the explanation?

 The scientist may point out that it is a documented fact that human beings can be affected by certain sounds, smells, even colors.  Sounds we cannot hear can make us sick.  Certain smells can make us feel happy and calm.  Some colors can dramatically alter our moods for better or worse.  It could be reasoned that some property of the so-called blessed or cursed place is the cause of what goes on there.

 But what if there is another explanation?  What if these places are actually the abodes of ancient, powerful beings who exist unseen by humankind, whose very existence affect our fragile minds and bodies?  And what if these beings were never meant to be found?

 If such beings do exist what could we do about it?  How could we fight a force so alien, so unnameable?  The answer may be that there is nothing we could do, and maybe we shouldn’t even try.  The old adage says, “Let sleeping dogs lie.”  As long as such beings remained somnolent, affecting no one but those who “trespass” on their land, perhaps it would be best to simply walk away and leave them be.

 But what if they woke up?  What if, for some reason, they came out to walk among us?  Let us hope they never do.

The article went on to talk about different legends and places around the world that were thought to be cursed or blessed, but Angie only skimmed through those, looking to see if the location of the Powell house was listed.  When she realized it wasn’t, she left the site.

Sitting back, Angie thought about what she’d read.  The site had given no proof for what it was claiming might be true, yet the words made Angie feel uneasy.  Could they be right?  Could there be some kind of powerful, unseen force beneath the earth in places across the globe?  Could the land the Powell house sat on be one of them?

A sudden chill passed through Angie.  Feeling a need, all of a sudden, to check up on Rollie, she went to their room.  She was shocked to find the bed empty, no sign of the Aussie.  She noticed a note on the night stand and went to it.  As she read the words, her heart plummeted into her stomach.

“No,” she whispered.

The note fell from her hands, drifting to the floor as she dashed to the phone.  With a shaking finger, she dialed the Parkers’ number.

“Hello?” Fred answered.

“Fred!  This is Angie.  I need your help!  Rollie’s in trouble.”

“Whoa, Angie.  Slow down.  What’s going on?”

“He went to the house by himself.  Fred, you don’t know what’s been happening to him there.  He is in terrible danger!  I need to get up there now!”

“Okay, Angie.  I’m on my way.  Just hang on.”

The minutes it took Fred to arrive seemed like centuries to Angie.  She spent them pacing back and forth outside, her fear for Rollie mounting steadily.  What if she got there too late?  What if he was already dead?  No!  That can’t be!  She couldn’t lose him.

The instant Angie saw Fred’s car pull into the parking lot, she ran to it.  Yanking open the door, she was in the seat and yelling at Fred to drive before she’d even closed the door fully.  They took off for the house, blowing away the speed limit.

Just before they got to the house, Angie turned to the man behind the wheel.  “Fred, I need you to go find Neil Sinclair.  He was going to the book store and the library.”

“Won’t you need me at the house?”

“No, there’s nothing you could do.  But Neil might be able to help somehow.  Please, you have to find him.”

“All right, Angie.  I’ll do whatever I can.”

They slid to a halt in front of the house.  Angie quickly got out and ran up the steps, not even hearing Fred leave.  She burst through the door.

“Rollie!” she cried.  Thinking that the Aussie might have gone to the second floor, she headed for the staircase, but a small sound from the living room stopped her.  Turning, Angie saw a dark form crouched on the floor at the center of the room.

“R-Rollie?”  Angie took a step toward him.  When there was no response, she took another step.  She was about six feet away when Rollie’s head slowly lifted.  She gasped sharply at the sight before her.  Blood was trickling down the Aussie’s face from a gash in his head.  More blood was dripping from his clenched left hand.  And then she saw his eyes, and her body froze as a feeling like ice water rushed through her.  Rollie’s eyes were blazing, almost aglow with utter madness and fury.

“You shouldn’t have come back, Hannah,” he snarled.  “You should have stayed gone.  Now, I’m going to have to make you go away again.”

With those words, the Aussie rose off the floor.  Angie’s fear turned to panic as she saw what was in his right hand.  It was a poker.

“Rollie, no,” Angie said, her voice quavering as she began backing up.  “I’m not Hannah.  You’re not Robert.  You’re name is Rollie, Rollie Tyler.”

Either not hearing her or not paying any attention, Rollie slowly advanced on her.  Angie continued talking to him to no avail as she back away.  In desperation, she reached into her pocket for the pocketknife, thinking that she could stab him in the arm, disable him.  But her pocket was empty.  In dismay, she realized that she’d left the knife on the table in their room.

Knowing that she had to get out of the house and get Rollie out of their too, Angie turned to flee, but before she’d taken a single step, he was upon her.  He grabbed her arm in a bruising grip.  The poker lifted.

“No!” she screamed, raising her free arm over her head.

The blow did not fall.  Above her, the hand holding the poker began to tremble, then shake violently.  Angie looked up into Rollie’s face.  It was twisted into an expression of torment, his eyes black and staring.

“Nnnnoooo!” came a stuttering, anguished cry from his lips as a battle between two personalities raged inside him for dominance.  “Nnnnnoooooo!”

Suddenly, he released her, stumbling backwards.  The poker fell from his hand to clatter on the wood floor.  His hands covered his face.

“Rollie?  Is it you?” Angie asked tremulously.

The Aussie lifted his face from his hands and looked at her with eyes that were his own.  “An . . . An . . . An--”  Rollie’s voice abruptly choked off with a ragged, gasping breath.  His eyes filled with anguish so strong it was like a physical blow to her senses.  They were no longer looking at her, but at something only he could see.

“Nooo!” he screamed.  “Nooooo!”

With another wailing cry, Rollie ran past her and up the stairs.

“Rollie!” Angie ran after him.  She reached the top of the stairs just in time to see him disappear through the door of the master bedroom and slam it behind him.  She ran to it only to find it locked.  “Rollie!  Open the door!” she yelled as she banged on the door.  “Rollie!”

Inside, Rollie lay on the floor, grief, anguish, and self-hatred pummeling him, crushing him.  He screamed his throat raw.  All he saw was blood and death.  At his hands.  The blood was on his hands.

Deep, racking sobs welling out of him, Rollie got to his feet and stumbled to the dresser.  He tore a drawer out, searching for something.  It wasn’t there!  The sobs growing in strength, becoming hysterical, he yanking out all the other drawers only to find them empty as well.  With an angry roar, he pushed the dresser over.  It crashed to the floor.  Wild eyes cast about the room.  Where could it be?!  He had to find it!  Then a memory surfaced.

The Aussie ran to the closet.  In the shadows of the far corner of the top shelf, he spied what he was looking for.  In triumph, he grabbed the box and pulled it down.  The grief was going to be over.  It was going to end.

Angie could here Rollie screaming in the room.  Her pleas to him were useless.  She had to get in there!

Running down the stairs, Angie got the poker Rollie had dropped.  She returned to the master bedroom and started hitting the door over and over again with the hooked end of the poker.  The metal bit deeply into the wood, chunks flying.  At last, she broke through.  She stuck her hand through the opening, ignoring the pain as she gashed her flesh on the jagged wood, and turned the lock on the doorknob.

Swinging the door open, Angie stepped inside.  At the sight before her, her heart stuttered to a halt then began beating frantically.  “Oh my God.”

Rollie was sitting on the floor near the vanity.  In his hand was a gun.  He was staring down at it, weeping uncontrollably.

“What have I done?” he said in a tiny, grief-filled voice.  “They’re all dead.  I killed them.  Oh, God, I killed them.”

“R-R-Rollie?” Angie said, her voice shaking so badly it came out as a stutter.  “Rollie, listen to me.  You didn’t kill them.  You didn’t kill anyone.”

The Aussie’s eyes lifted to hers.  “Hannah?  Hannah, I’m so sorry.  I didn’t mean to kill you.  And the children.  Oh my God, the children.  I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.  I can’t live knowing what I did.”  He cocked the gun and lifted it to his head.

“No!  Oh, God, Rollie, please don’t!” Angie cried.  She ran forward and went to her knees a few feet in front of him.  “Rollie, listen to me.  You’re not him.  You’re not Robert Powell.  Your name is Rollie Tyler, and you didn’t kill anyone.  These memories you have aren’t yours!”

Rollie shook his head.  “No, it’s a trick.  You’re trying to trick me.  I killed them.  I killed them all.  Rebecca and Nicholas, James and little Mary.  My babies.  I killed all my babies.  And I killed you!”  His finger tightened on the trigger.

“Rollie, no!  Look at me!  I’m not dead.  I’m not Hannah.  I’m Angie, the woman you love, the woman who’s going to marry you.” Angie began to cry.  “Please remember, Rollie,” she pleaded.  “Remember us.  The garden, remember what happened in the garden.  We made love for the first time there.  It was so beautiful and wonderful, the most wonderful moment of our lives.  Remember the grass beneath us, the trees, the sounds of the birds as we found each other, as I told you that I love you.  You have to remember that, Rollie.  I know you can.”

The barrel of the gun wavered slightly from its position against Rollie’s temple.  Confusion filled the Aussie’s eyes.  “I’m . . . I’m . . . I’m R-Rollie T-Tyler.”  He shook his head.  “No!  I’m Robert Powell!  I killed Hannah and the kids!”  The gun steadied, Rollie’s finger again firmly on the trigger.

“Rollie, listen to me,” Angie pleaded.  “I love you.  If you die, I die too.”

Rollie stared at Angie.  Her face wavered before his eyes.  All at once, memories began flooding into him, memories of Angie and him together, the ecstasy and joy they found in the garden and all the rest of that day and night, earlier memories of their friendship, their happy and sad times together.  The overpowering tide of memories gradually narrowed down to a single one, brightest and most precious of all, of him lying upon Angie, his body within hers, gazing down into eyes full of love for him, and hearing the words that set his soul free.

“An . . . Angie?” he whispered, his voice cracking.  He looked down at the gun in his hand.  As he stared at it, the last of Robert Powell’s memories faded away.  He let the gun fall from his fingers and looked back up at the woman who was his life.

With a small cry, Angie went to him.  She grabbed the gun and hurled it across the room, then she pulled him into her arms.  “Rollie.  Oh, Rollie.  It’s okay.  I’ve got you.  You’re back with me now.”

Minutes passed with Rollie saying nothing, only clinging to her with almost painful force.  She drew away from him a little to look at his face.

“Why did you do it, Rollie?  You could have died.”

“I had to.  I had to try and stop it.  There’s something more here than we. . . .”  Rollie’s voice trailed off as his eyes widened.  He tore himself out of her arms.  Standing up, he backed away into the center of the room.  “Oh my God.  It’s coming,” he whispered, staring at something Angie could not see.

Angie opened her mouth to speak, but the words died on her tongue as she became aware that they were no longer alone.  Her mind shrunk away from the feeling, the presence of something dark, terrifying, and totally alien.  The room seemed to darken, the air growing thick, heavy, suffocating.

And then, from everywhere and nowhere, echoing deep inside her mind, there came a low murmuring, words in a language she did not understand, in a voice that was not human.

Primal terror took hold of Angie.  She tried to run, but she could not move.  Her body seemed caught, imprisoned like a fly in amber.  She turned desperate eyes on Rollie.  He was on his knees several feet away, his head clutched in his hands, his face twisted into an expression of agony.  She tried to call out to him, but the words came out as a strangled gasp.

Mute and helpless, Angie watched as the shadows around her appeared to shift and move, seeming to come to life.  They began advancing upon her, oozing across the floor like blood.

‘Rollie, help me!’ she screamed in her mind, struggling to break free from the power that held her captive.

Through the pain that blazed in Rollie’s mind, through the power that was attempting to overwhelm him, Rollie heard Angie’s scream for help.  His head snapped up.  Horrified, he saw the darkness reaching for her.

“No!” he yelled.

His fear for Angie giving him strength, Rollie struggled to his feet and ran to her.  Kneeling on the floor beside her, he covered her body with his, attempting to blanket her with his body and his presence.

The shadows moved over them, their touch biting into them like ice.  At Angie’s cry of pain and fear, Rollie wrapped himself more tightly about her until the shadows no longer touched her.  Sheltering her in his arms, he felt the darkness cover him completely, sucking the life out of him.  He closed his eyes and remained where he was, fighting with all his will to protect Angie and praying that, somehow, she would be spared.

Slowly, Angie felt the cold and pain disappear, as if her body was in a warm cocoon.  She realized that, somehow, Rollie was protecting her against the darkness.  An instant later, another realization hit her.  In protecting her, Rollie was killing himself, leaving himself without protection against the force that was rising up all around them.  Even as she realized this, the Aussie’s hold on her began to loosen, his heart beat slowing.

“No!  Rollie, no!” she cried against him, struggling to get out of his grasp.  But, no matter how hard she tried she could not get free.  Something more than his physical body was holding her to him.

Sobbing against him, Angie felt it as Rollie slowly died, as he sacrificed himself for her.  All the wonderful memories of them together, their friendship, their love and passion, filled her mind as she concentrated on them with her whole soul, trying, somehow, to give Rollie strength through them.

Then, past the sound of her sobs, she heard a faint whisper come from him, a final gasp before death claimed him.

“Please help us,” he pleaded, though she did not know to whom he spoke.

Angie’s sobs jerked to a halt as, deep inside her mind, she heard something answer him.  “I am here,” it said.

With those words, everything seemed to still, becoming utterly silent.  The darkness drew back, pulling away into the corners of the room.  The moment it was gone, Rollie slid off Angie, falling limply to the floor.  She looked down at him and into unseeing eyes, eyes reflecting something ancient, powerful, and inhuman.

Her mind reeling, Angie gaped at Rollie as words started issuing from his mouth in a voice that was not his, speaking the same strange language she’d heard before, only, this time, the words did not bring fear to her.

Then, as if from a great distance, Angie became aware of another sound, a low rumbling, almost on a subsonic level.  The rumbling grew in volume, and she realized that it was coming from beneath her.  Through the hands that were pressed against the floor, Angie felt a faint tremor.  The tremors quickly grew stronger.  All around them, the room started to shake, the walls groaning from stresses too great for them to withstand.  In terror, Angie watched as tiny cracks began snaking across the plaster in the walls and ceiling.

Angie reached for Rollie, who was laying absolutely still, eyes still staring sightlessly as he continued speaking in the alien tongue.

“Rollie!  We have to get out of here!”  She grasped hold of his shoulders and shook him, but got no reaction.  “Rollie, please!  You’ve got to get up!”

Realizing that it was no use, Angie grabbed onto the Aussie and tried to drag him toward the door, even though she knew that it was hopeless, that she’d never be able to get him downstairs.  Angie knew that she could escape without him, but she wasn’t going to leave him.  She would rather die here with him than live without him.

Refusing to give up without a fight, Angie kept trying to drag Rollie across the floor.  And then she heard a sound that sent relief flooding through her: voices from downstairs calling hers and Rollie’s names.

“Neil!  Fred!  Up here!” she yelled.  “Help us!”

Moments later, the men came rushing into the room.  They stopped dead at the sight of Rollie.

“Help me get him out of here!” she cried, snapping them out of their shock.

The two men grabbed the Aussie, carrying him out of the room, with Angie close behind.  All around them, the house was shaking, windows shattering, portions of the ceiling crashing down.  Staggering down the hallway, they made it to the stairs and started down.  They were halfway down when it lurched beneath them, almost knocking them from their feet.  Fighting to stay on their feet, they made it to the first floor.  They were barely off the steps when the entire staircase collapsed.

As they approached the front door, a deep groan shuddered through the house.  In horror, they saw the walls begin to list inward toward them.  Running the remaining steps to the door, Angie ripped it open and they ran outside.

“The garden!  Go to the garden!” she cried, heeding some instinct that she wasn’t about to question.

Neil slung Rollie’s now limp, silent body over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry and ran with the others to the garden.  They passed beyond the low stone wall and went to their knees.  Neil gently laid Rollie down on the ground and turned around with the others to stare at the house.  In awe, they watched as, with a final groan, the structure collapsed inward, as if swallowing itself up.

There was a moment of dead silence, as if every living thing was holding its breath.  Then something hit them, like a silent sonic boom that shook not only the earth but also their very molecules.  They threw their hands over their eyes as a huge explosion engulfed the house.  The blast wave struck them, knocking them to the ground.

Angie, Fred, and Neil struggled upright to witness the house burn to ash amidst heat so intense, it glowed white.  Above the roar of the flames, Angie heard something, a faint, wailing cry of rage and defeat.  And then, it was gone.

Angie tore her eyes from the spectacle and turned to Rollie.  With horror, she stared at his face.  It was utterly colorless, no visible signs of life in his body.  She dashed over to him, terrified that he was dead.  Her questing fingers found a faint pulse, beating fast and erratic.  She then saw the almost nonexistent movement of his respiration.  She looked up at the other two men.

“He needs help.  We have to get him to a hospital,” she told them in a fearful voice.  With fumbling fingers, she pulled out her cell phone and handed it to Fred, who quickly dialed for help.

“Hang on, Rollie,” Angie murmured, stroking the hair away from her partner’s face.  “Help is on the way.  It’s all over now.  You’re safe.”