Cradled by the Night Read Online Free Page B

with tears. She found herself this way a lot lately—emotional, where she had never considered herself that type of person before.
    Is it postpartum depression or just being alone so much?
    “Miss you, too. Gotta run. I have an experiment to set up before I leave.”
    Amelia sat on the couch, listening to the click  as he hung up. Lottie cooed on the floor on her play mat.
    “It's just you and me baby...again.” She sighed, fighting back tears. “My medicine. Surely, that will help.” She sighed and went to take her first pill.
    * * * *
    At 10:30, Bard still wasn't home. The baby had gone to bed in her crib over two hours ago, and Amelia was tired of fighting exhaustion to wait up for him. She climbed into bed, wondering what her husband was doing.
    Working, silly. It's a new job. He's very busy.
    She refused to text him. It looked needy and sad, and she had sworn long ago she was done with being dependent on someone else for happiness, even the man she loved.
    I am needy and sad lately.
    She lay in bed, wide eyed, her body tired to the core. Every sound seemed magnified. Eventually, her eyelids grew leaden, and she must have drifted off.
    Some time later, she became aware of being awake again, but quite groggy. The baby was crying softly. No, that wasn't Lottie's soft wail.
    It's the other one.
    Amelia groaned. “Not this again. I am not crazy. I know I'm not. I am going to find out what's going on.” She pushed herself up in bed, fighting the haze of sleep.
    The baby continued to sob.
    Amelia stood, her legs shaking. Bile rose in her throat at the thought of seeing the woman again—her mouth, the terror of her expression.
    Those empty, dead eyes.
    “Stop it. It was a nightmare, or at least, it's not real, whatever it was,” she whispered. The sobbing continued. As usual, it seemed to come from all around her—a product of the very walls of Stormcliffe, embedded in the house's past and sad history.
    If it was sad. I don't know that. I just feel it.
    She shook her head and walked resolutely out of the bedroom and down the hall toward Lottie's room. As soon as she reached the threshold of the nursery, she knew something wasn't right. The door was closed. She never shut it all the way—just in case she couldn't hear Lottie in the night, or the baby monitor stopped working.
    Amelia clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms. “This isn't happening,” she whispered.
    But it was, and she could no longer deny what she was experiencing.
    The feel of her nails against her flesh was as real as anything. Amelia was wide awake now. She looked down at her watch. 11:35. This wasn't a dream. She was either psychotic, or there was something very strange going on at Stormcliffe.
    Heart in her throat, Amelia turned the knob, opening the nursery door slowly. “Lottie?” she whispered.
    T here she was—the woman she had seen, the one who haunted her days and nights. She stood by the crib as she had before in an old - fashioned black dress. The spectral figure turned to face Amelia.
    “Who are you? Why are you in my home?” Amelia whispered. She avoided gazing at the woman's face. She didn't want to see those blank eyes again.
    “Beware. Go away. It's not safe here for you or your child. You are weak.” Fury shook the figure's voice.
    Amelia dared to look into that face—that horrible, blanched face with holes where eyes and mouth should have been. “No. I'm not. I'm--”
    “Weak! You killed your own child. This child is not safe either.” The ghost—for that was what she was, Amelia was certain now, no matter what anyone else said—pointed down into the crib.
    She's talking about Lottie.
    Then, she advanced upon Amelia, floating toward her in an impossible movement, at least by the laws of physics.
    Amelia stumbled backward against the wall, jamming her heel painfully into the baseboard. “Please. How could you know? I didn't mean to--”
    “Leave, or your baby will perish.” The woman took another step