Chapter Two:

The feeling of unease from last night's dream had not left Marcy, neither had the thought of that flickering light. Danny wasold, needed her rest and always, like clockwork, went to bed at the same time. Plus, that farthest away room was the oneGrandmother didn't ever go to. Notever.
The smellsof breakfast reminded Marcy of her duty, she was scrambling eggs and makingtoast. Grandmother Dunbar had alwaysbeen a bit, odd as Marcy's parents had put it politely. Danny often mumbled to herself, or saidthings that other people did not say in public. Grandmother was never touchy-feely, and often set herself apartfrom the others. It was just Marcy'sluck to be dropped off for the summer while her brother went to camp and herparents to Paris. The ever-constantsound of classical music ran through the house. Another of Danny's odd quirks, she always played music; evenafter she went to sleep she left the CD player running. Right now, the beat of the Brahms was intime with her knife. She dropped theeggs into the butter, and went to cut up a tomato, something both Danny andMarcy liked on their eggs.
The tomato'sred juice and seeds squirted and oozed as the dull edge of the knife bit intoit...
The housewas crying, it was crying blood. Vickywas the last to go, and the house wept for its youngest child. The floors were covered in tears, andscorched with fire.
The knifeclattered to the ground, the tomato forgotten, with effort Marcy picked it upand threw it away. She dropped theknife into the sink and went back to the eggs, not needing the dreams at night,much less during the day. Mother hadused to mention odd things about living with Danny. Marcy's mother often said that she felt watched, andtrapped. The bright red walls seemed tohave eyes.
Marcy'smother had run away from home at the age of sixteen, she never said why, butMarcy suspected it had something to do with Grandmother Dunbar's house; orperhaps Grandmother Dunbar herself.

"Danny,who takes care of this house?" Thequestion flew out of her mouth before she could stop it. After all, they were the only two in thehouse, and yet it seemed to always be clean. With a little mental laugh she wondered if the house was 'immortallyclean', like the undead, only it was the un-dirty. Grandmother Dunbar gave her a single look, one that said this wasfar deeper then she ever wanted to know before answering in her whisperybarely-there voice.
"Thechildren of course..." the last part of 'course' was held out, giving a terrible image of a dead-eyed person whowas ailing. Marcy opened her mouth, andthen closed it, a feeling of dread overcoming her.
"Thechildren, Danny? There are no childrenhere," Again, the grandmother gave
her a look that should bring about intense fear. Those old wrinkled lips parted once, andthen closed, as if Danny was deep in thought.
"Ah,yes you're right...Vicky was the last to leave and she left a while ago... Poor thing...." Danny trailed off, but continued to mumble to her about thechildren. A puff of air, called toMarcy, like a child's laugh and cheerful whisper. The urn...the urn....
"Danny?" She asked, to get her grandmother's attention, andthen continued, "What is in that urn?" She pointed a graceful finger at the said piece of pottery. A smooth cool earth tones glaze covered thewhole thing, and some sort of Spanish was written on it. The urn itself was atop a fireplace, afireplace with no grate.
" 'Yosoy Muerte y he venido por usted,' " Danny cried suddenly, reading off theurn, before she fell silent. Marcytranslated in her head. Shock fell overher.
"I amDeath and I have come for you!?"