She shifted in the darkness. Christina sat upright on her neatly arranged bed, the blankets draped over her shoulders and pulled close in front of her. It was dark in the room save for the cold blue flicker of the large black television set. Sleepy shadows and strung-out silhouettes darted across her pale walls, spurred on by the fast paced and well edited electric scenes. Her long brown hair was still damp from the shower and hung down a little straighter, and a little closer than it would of, had it been dry. She absentmindedly tossed about a chunk of her hair, playfully twirling it around and sticking the ends of it in her mouth. She could still smell the lingering scent of lavender and vanilla from her favorite shampoo as she held the silken strands up to her face and pushed them against her soft cheek.
The volume of climactic scene grew softer as the actors whispered their dramatic lines in breathy sighs. The ever-present and low grumbling hum of the air conditioner forced her to reach out a suspenseful hand and take possession of the remote that sat about a foot and a half away on the bed beside her. Against the wall on a shelf nearby, rested several rows of stuffed animals varying in size, shape, and color, all lined up and placed in a very specific, organized fashion. They seemed to be watching too, the bunny’s face shadowed and illuminated with the delicately flashing light, the little turtle hiding behind the purple giraffe because it just couldn’t look any more, the droopy hound with his big, sad, puppy-dog eyes, watching on in eager anticipation. The air conditioner, which was turned up all the way, made a light thud and a soft growl as it continued to fill the room with its chemical coolness. The rain tapped against the smudged window and outer portion of the AC as it fell from darkening sky through the thick and heavy air outside.
Thus far it had been a very hot summer, and today was no exception. Though the clouds obscured the sinking sun and the raindrops came down strong, a sweet and sticky humidity ensnared the warm breeze that hung softly in the atmosphere. She leaned way out forward and the large bag of Cheetos crunched as she picked it up and pulled it a little nearer. The silver necklace around her delicate neck slipped from beneath the covers and hung down straight as she bent over; the blankets pushed slightly apart and held less closely to her body, revealed her low-cut, pink sleep-shirt made of some smooth nylon blend that was pleasantly cool to the touch. The strappy top wore somewhat snugly across her chest, its thin white trim running around the garments edge where the smooth fabric rested against her skin, and where it cut off, just barely below her waist. As she sat back upright, she crossed her arms in front of her, gripping the mass of blankets tightly in each of her hands, pulling them snugly around her once again.
Her eyes stared off into the screen, never breaking contact for more than just the quickest of moments. She breathed shallow and slow, almost as if she was, herself, in the picture, wrapped up amongst the characters, being as careful as possible so not to be heard. On the nightstand beside her, sat an artfully framed photograph of a much younger Christina, smiling, carefree, in the loving embrace of her mother. The square glass, set at just the right angle across from where the television projected its images of suspended life, shone as brilliant as a gem against its dark surroundings. A quick chill ran down Christina’s spine as she sank down deeper into her blanket oasis. With the door shut for the duration of the movie to keep out unwanted noise, the room was fairly cold despite the unbearable heat outside.
The house phone rang. Christina jumped. It rang for a second time. She quickly picked it up.
“Hello?”
“Alright, so you’ll never guess what Shawn just told me, he just called me a few minutes ago, he just got off the phone with Eric Case and it turns out- Do you remember that house around the block from mine, the one that when we were younger- Cause you know how Eric lives- ”
“Soph! Slow the hell down
“Ok, sorry… Eric called him a little bit ago and if you remember, he lives kinda down the street from me. He said that just before it started raining heavy he saw some ambulances pull up on the street behind his, and at first he didn’t think much of it, but then he noticed which house they stopped at, and, he notice they were taking their time and- Anyways he saw them take out a body in a bag and-”
Cristina was sitting up more and more as she listened, her head shook back and forth in mild bewilderment.
“Sophie! Why are you telling me this? What makes you think I want to know any of this? I-”
“Christina. It was the old lady from that super creepy house we used to be afraid of when we were kids.”
“No way, Mrs. King, that scary old witch lady. She must have been like two-hundred years old.”
The bedroom door began to open slowly. The process hindered with the friction caused by the light beige carpet rubbing up against the bottom of the heavily decorated door. A small boy of about ten years old, still a little damp from the rain, came into the frigid room and Christina lifted her ear from the receiver.
“Look, Chrisie, I got a cool tattoo, it’s not real though. It’s just fake. Dad wouldn’t let me got a real one… Wanna see? It’s a shark. I put it on my hand, and I put this tiger on my arm too, wanna see? You want one? If you wanted I could share with you. Do you want this butterfly. ”
“Sammy get out of here, I’m on the phone.”
“Sammy.” Called a strong voice from down stairs, “Come take off your shoes, they’re all wet.”
“But I like my new shoes” Sammy whined as he pouted out of the room and down the hall.
As Christina motioned to put her head back to the phone she realized that Sophie was still going on about something, apparently unaware that she had been talking to herself for the last minute or so.
“So any ways, Eric and Shawn want check the place out and the plan is we all sneak out at a certain time and meet at that park over by Eric’s house and we break in and-”
“Whoa, what?”
“Come on, it’ll be fun, one last adventure before we have to go back to school.”
“Ok, back up. You need to say that again, my brother just came in.”
“It was Eric’s idea and Shawn really got into it, and they want to get a small group together to go check it out, it’ll be like it was when we were kids and we’d all go trickertreating together.”
“Break into the house…”
“Well, yeah, there’s that. I’m a little worried about that too, but we’re all just so curious about what it’s actually like in there after all these years of wondering and being afraid.”
“How is this possibly going to work, won’t someone catch us.”
“He wants to wait a few days before we do anything, to let things settle down and scope the place out, see what the situation is, you know? It’s not like the old witch had any family or anyone that would come visit. Eric says before the months out, they’ll probably just bulldoze the whole place to the ground anyway. ”
“Ok…”
“So, you in?”
“I guess so. One last adventure couldn’t hurt.”
-------------------------------------------
In a few days, as planned, Christina crept silently down the stairs with her shoes held firmly in her hands, moving slowly and cautiously, being very careful not to wake her farther. It was two a.m., “go time”. She had done this all before; she was not unaccustomed to the art of sneaking out. In fact, she considered herself quite good. She tip-toed to the front door, quietly placed her shoes on the floor and painstakingly undid the bolt. She leant down to put on her sneakers and heard a soft little thump and turned around reflexively. She peered into the darkness, for about a minute, breathing softly, standing very still. She was about to turn around to leave but then decided to double check once more. She heard nothing further and slipped out the door without a sound.
She was glad she had worn her white tank-top and shorts. She almost decided to wear jeans, expecting the night to bring cooler air, but at the last minute, she opened her window and felt the dusky heat roll in. Once outside, she wasted no time getting to the park. The night was hot and heavy just as it had been all week and the stars had a hazy, glazed over look to them. After a few minutes of her quick-footed, early morning stroll, she arrived. She was the last one there as her house was the furthest, and as soon as she came around the corner, Sophie called out her name and ran to her. She pulled her long and straight, dirty blonde hair into a smooth ponytail on the left side of her head, sliding on a bright red scrunchy as she started off. Shawn and Eric trotted behind her.
“Alright, let’s go guys.” Shawn said as he passed the girls, retaining his hurried pace.
“Whoa, what’s the rush?” Christina called after him.
“Let’s just go, ok?” He yelled back, pulling up on the shoulders of his indigo Aerosmith shirt and shaking out the fabric to cool down.
The girls gave him a look but soon jogged of after him anyway. Eric was by his side, saying something that made him that made him laugh and look back,
“Hurry up!” he called.
“Alright, alright!”
They sped up a little, closed the gap, and joined the energetic boys. Eric turned, saw them, and ran his hand across the top of his tightly cropped head. Little copper bristles scratched against his tan palm as he wiped the sweat away; he wore pale kaki cargo-pants despite the unpleasant warmth. They kept up their exited tempo, half running along the side of the road until they came to the house.
They paused a moment just outside the property on the cracked and upheavan cement. Gnarled roots that seeped from the yard thrust the crumbling concrete upwards, creating coarse mountains and thick crevasses throughout the discolored sidewalk. Deep chasms ran down the edge of the dimly lit road. The few flickering street lamps and telephone poles bent outwards, away from the house. Tangled up in the sagging lines were old, ratty sneakers with the laces tied together, thrown up there, hanging down from the thick black wires, little filthy sacrifices offered to the horizon.
Eric, who stole the lead from Shawn and guided the group to the house, turned around, looked up and said,
“Well, we’re here.”
The tall fence was smeared and grey. Thin, dark vines seemed to slither across its rotting surface like poisonous arteries carrying some venom deep into the wood, some planks, missing, and others cracked in two, the entire plane collapsing inwards to the left. The loosely swinging gate bore the same neglected and ominous charm; it was practically open, inviting them in. Since as long as any of them could remember, it never quite shut right. Eric looked to the slightly hesitant girls, took a low bow and with a polite motion of his arm, silently gestured for them to enter. Shawn, who stood opposite from him, smiled. Christina and Sophie, without a word, made eye contact and agreed, then forcefully shoved the two boys through the gate and into the yard.
Shawn spoke as he stumbled,
“I remember when we were kids, everybody used to say that if you wandered in here alone, you’d never get out again, or come back alive, or something like that; it even counted for just the yard or the front porch. I remember we would dare each other to see who could go past the gate the furthest.”
“Oh yeah, I remember this kid, Billy, who even got to the door bell, and rang it,” Eric returned.
“Yeah, whatever happened to Billy?” Shawn asked in false wonder.
“Oh, don’t do that!” cried Sophie, “you’re making me nervous”
“Oh come on, your actually still afraid of this place?” Shawn mocked.
“Well, I didn’t think I was, but now that we’re really doing this, and we’re here and it’s dark, I can’t help but get a little creeped out.”
“I know what you mean,” Christina consoled, “It’s like we’re back in time and we’re just little helpless kids, afraid to walk past this house on Halloween.”
“Oh, grow up guys, it just a house. Now, we’re gunna go in and see what it’s like once and for all before they tear the damn thing down.” Eric snapped.
Two lanky, malnourished evergreen trees with mahogany tinged needles stood on either side of the short pathway to the house. Christina heard a fly buzz by, close to her ear, and swatted wildly in the air.
They made their way through the yard. The center of the yard was dusty and dry; it was all bare patches and short tufts of dead grass. Closer to the outer edges, all matter of vegetation grew unchecked. Thick tangled weeds clumped together by the tall, shadowy hedges. Old tires, broken bottles, tin cans, broken toys, and abandoned balls, littered the lawn. Centipedes and other slimy things wriggled beneath their shoes as they shuffled along. Scruffy patches of tall, drooping sunflowers were scattered around the area closest to the porch. The shriveled sentinels hung down low, the presumably once golden petals that would normally be full of sun-soaked nectar were crumpled up, dried, and turned to sickly greenish brown. To the right they saw an aged and decaying dog house with a collapsed roof.
“I totally forgot about that,” Shawn said with a recalling look on his clean-shaven face, “I remember now. None of us ever actually saw a dog. We used to say that that’s where she piled the bones of the kids when she was done picking the last bits of tender meat from their bones.”
“Oh my god it’s a dead skeleton!” cried Sophie, tripping over a rawhide bone.
“It’s just a dog bone,” sighed Eric, “I think…” he added to tease her.
“But he said…”
“Oh, obviously, at one point there was a dog!”
They came up to the deserted house that was covered in an intricate lattice of ivy and vines. The woven net of leafy snakes worked their way around the structure, the hairy ropes strangling the last drops of hominess from the disrepaired, burnt mustard shingles. By the front porch, just off to the side, they came across what looked to be the dead mangled body of bird. The light from the streetlamps grew soft and useless as they reached the two small stone steps that led to the shadowed platform. The front door was a weird purple with greenish blue trim. It seemed almost out of place in its grim surroundings. Shawn gripped the heavy handle made of brassy lead and pushed. Nothing happened. He pulled. No luck. He put his foot to the door and pulled harder. He became frustrated and shook the handle back and forth violently; thin flakes of paint peeled off and sprinkled onto to the indistinguishable doormat.
“I think it’s locked” stated Sophie.
“I know it’s locked!” hollered Shawn.
“Ssshhhhhh…” sounded Christina, “we should probably be quiet now.”
“Oh, let’s just go around back.” Eric said, turning around.
A narrow passage led the front yard to the back, between the right side of house, and prickly, over grown hedge. Grains of shattered glass on ground crushed as they advanced. They passed a long and narrow basement window boarded up with cardboard. A few crushed cinderblocks lined the way. Some unrepaired shutters that had fallen from the face of the house sat rotting, leant up against the grey foundation. As they came closer to the back, the moon slowly revealed itself, previously hidden behind the tall rooftop.
The back of the house was illuminated by pale droplets of silver that swam in the gravelly lit air. Most notable, a bulky and knotted tree stood in the center of the neglected backyard. Thirty or forty wind-chimes clanged together in the large, withered limbs like dangling spidery legs, poisonous apples sitting there, rotting, rusting, calling out their mysterious song as if trying to attract a misguided prey. They sang like sirens, glimmered in the moonlight like a false beacon, hundreds of tiny, murderous lighthouses set apron a jagged and rocky reef, shining their deadly, deceitful signals out into the violent ocean storm. They looked around, old glass jars filled with muddy water, filled with dirt, shattered clay pots spilled out their twisted contents onto the ground. Half buried and overturned miniature statues could be seen here and there, some broken and chipped. Over in the corner, the skeleton of an old bench was laid to rest, collapsed down the middle, the grey wood rotted out, the wrought iron sides tilted towards each other, creating a strange pyramidal sign. The black coating flaked off the metal, exposing the inevitable rust. A bird bath, or a sundial, or something was sitting in a patch of particularly strong moonlight, almost perfectly set in the grassy scene. A ragged clothesline shot across the left quarter of the yard. A few putrid articles of clothing were still draped over it, fastened with sooty pine pins spiked across the clumsily tied chord.
Shawn stopped by the worn, white aluminum of the stormdoor. He swung around the dirty canvas rucksack which had worn on his back. He opened it before they entered. He had brought three flashlights, which he dispersed through the group with premeditated action.
“The batteries in this big one are running kinda low so it’s not as bright, I’ll just keep this one because I brought some extra batteries in case it dies.” “Sophie, you won’t need one because you’ll probly just stay with me.”
“Gimme the brightest one” Christina made sure she announced.
“Ok, little miss paranoid, here you go.” said Shawn as he handed her a light, “And here’s this one,” he said giving a small flashlight to Eric, “Sorry it kinda sucks.”
He tugged at the thin black handle and it opened right away. They went in.
A dank and foul odor permeated through the cluttered kitchen. The cast iron sink was still full of grey, unhealthy water. It gurgled lightly as it slowly drained in short intervals. Strange dried herbs hung up in the bay window. Burnt and tarnished pots and pans were hooked on the far wall. The small round table was covered in trash and filth.
“Flip the switch right behind you” Eric motioned to Shawn.
“Power’s turned off”
“I thought so, but it was worth a try anyway”
There were chicken bones and bottle caps strung up together and slung over the opposite doorframe.
“Jezus what the hell kind of place is this, this isn’t too far off from what I imagined it to be” Christina gasped.
“I’m not sure I even want to do this anymore” said Sophie.
Shawn walked around the corner and peered into a small cramped bathroom. Two differently sized pairs of grimy ballet shoes were shriveled up and hung over the dark curtain rod above the dingy metal tub. Sophie came up behind him and sneered,
“That’s disgusting.”
“Watch out a bit” he said, gently guiding her forward and out as he tried to exit the tight space.
They walked out and were about to join the others two in the kitchen when they came out and met them halfway. They merged together in the narrow hall and pushed out into the dining room. Their flash lights waved around as they took in the perplexing scene.
The ornate and decorated table was set for tea. Five delicate cups were cradled in their saucers, carefully placed all around the dirty mauve tablecloth in front of each of the antique chairs. Two full cups were set on each long side, the one at head of table was empty save the last sip. Eric reached out and pressed his fore and middle finger to the side of the classically adorned china,
“It’s still warm.”
“Of course it’s warm, it like 90 degrees in here” Shawn said.
“It’s like she knew we were coming,” whispered Christina lowly.
“I wanna go home” muttered Sophie.
“You can go home after we explore.” Shawn spoke softly yet firmly.
She curled up over herself a little. She was the first to become genuinely afraid.
“I feel sick to my stomach…”Sophie moaned.
“Its probly just psychosomatic,” Shawn explained.
“Please don’t call me that… ugh… ”, she held her stomach.
Shawn moved towards the doubled over Sophie and tried to make sure she was alright. While he was dealing with her and Eric watched them silently, Christina zoned out and started to move around the thick archway. She stepped around the corner and out of sight. She walked slowly and aimlessly around the stairwell and into another room.
The room was full of various chairs and small tables, heavily carpeted with a tired and shaggy oriental rug. The deep burgundy curtains were drawn tightly over the hidden widows. They looked to be made of some heavy plush fabric such as a thick velvet. She spun around slowly, holding up her little light limply, not paying particular attention to any of the things she saw. She could hear the conversation in the other room,
“I’m scared, I feel nauseous.”
“It’s just your nerves.”
But paid them no attention. She was pivoting playfully on her left foot when she froze abruptly and screamed.
A dark shadowy figure, only partially lit by the battery-powered beam, jumped from the far corner. Startled, she let her loose fingers slip from the plastic handle and dropped the light. It went out as soon as it hit the ground and made a soft, padded, rolling away sound. The room was completely plunged into darkness in one of those instances where a brief instant seems a frenzied eternity. She fell to the ground as she jumped back and fumbled desperately for the light, groping around in the black mantle that engulfed her, retreating as she crawled. She felt a mysterious, sharp contact against her cheek as she swung her face around, trying to escape.
The others burst into the room, responding to her frantic cry. The room now moderately relit, showed no signs of immediate danger that was obvious to the new arrivals. Curled up on the ground and hiding her scrunched up face in her arms, she pointed a shivering finger around her huddled up body and into the rough direction of the dark corner. The light rose to meet the conjoining walls and revealed a substantially sized, elliptical stand-up mirror tucked away there. Everyone just stood and stared at Christina.
She slowly peaked up her head and looked around. They were about to laugh until they noticed the thin stream of rosy blood that began to trickle from the side of her face.
“How’d you cut your cheek?” Eric asked.
“I don’t know it was dark, I must have brushed up against something sharp by accident.”
“Does it hurt, are you ok?” asked Sophie, concerned.
They heard a subtle pattering and a far-away groan of floorboards from the next room.
“What was that?” stammered Sophie.
“It’s nothing,” Shawn said, “it just an old, creaky house, maybe rats.”
“Rats!”
“Relax!”
“Soph, help me up,” interrupted Cristina, still on the floor.
They heard more faint noise around the corner and then creeks that seemed to be coming from up the stairs. Eric left for a second, peered up the steep, wooden stairs, dismissed the sounds and went back into the living room.
They heard a couple hollow, reckless thumps, shapeless thuds from above.
The sounds were just soft enough to be rationalized away. “It’s the creaking of old wood.” “It’s an old house.” “Just an old, creaky house,” someone would say after a distant unexplained sound.
“Shall we continue our tour of the grand estate?” jokingly asked Shawn, “you’re ok, right Christina?”
“Yeah I’m fine.”
Shawn motioned as if to turn.
“Can we please go home? I really just want to forget it and go home now. I changed my mind about this whole thing.” Sophie moaned.
“Come on, let’s do what we came for.”’
He walked away as he spoke and started up the stairs, with Eric trailing right behind.
“Wait, stop, don’t leave us!” Sophie called as she chased after them.
Christina followed a little slower, still a little shaken up from before, the lost flashlight completely escaping her mind.
Upstairs was a long dingy corridor lined with several simple wooden doors, all shut tightly upon arrival. Some doors were locked, needing a small skeleton key to open. They tried to get in each door as the crept down the hall. Eventually they found a door that was unlocked and went inside.
It was a small bedroom; it could even have been that of a child. The low bed was adorned with stained linen sheets, frills and white lace ran around the outer edge of the blankets and on the not dissimilar curtains, all turned grey and brown from the earthy passing of time. A delicate, feminine lamp sat gracefully of the small chestnut dresser. A dark jewelry box trimmed with gold was set down beside. The one small, square window let in just a little bit of the moonlight, the once very elegant curtains, parted slightly, and tied back with a short length of silky rope. This could have once been a very nice room, many years ago. Now moth-eaten and heavily layered with dust, it reflected in the petite rectangular mirror that hung softly on the papered wall beside the bed like an aged photograph from a distant time. It shone dimly in the moonlight like a ghost memory from a story about long ago, sepia toned, unfiltered, and just a little bit blurred.
The noises they had heard up to now were indeterminate and intermittent enough to teeter on the cusp of the possibility that they were the resultant effects of fearful imagination in an old, creaky house, “Just old house noises…” But suddenly a loud and distinct crash struck the ceiling above them. The sound was solid, definite, real. It could not be ignored or dispelled, conveniently explained away by a hopeful excuse. The echoed reverberation of the booming strike seemed to linger in the air as no one dared speak or move for what seemed to be an eternity. It was Shawn who first broke the silence,
“Alright. So, unless the entire roof is about to collapse and crush us all to death anyway in about ten seconds… that was defiantly not the house.”
Sophie whimpered,
“I told you this was gunna be a bad idea, Shawn…”
“When did you say that!”
“I said that as soon as you told me!”
“You were the one who called and told Christina about it!” “Christina, when she called you, did she act like she thought it was a bad idea? Did she say anything like she thought it was a bad idea? No! She was exited! She was-”
“Shush guys! Shut up!” Christina scolded in a hushed temper, “Be quiet, I hear something.”
Sure enough, a couple soft thuds followed, much like the sounds they heard earlier, but now they were very real. They could tell, with certainty, exactly where they were coming from, and after that last bang, there was very little doubt amongst any of them as to the fact that they were not alone.
“Should we check it out?” Eric spoke his words into the small room a little louder than he intended, “I mean,” He said now more quietly, “should we go up stairs?”
“Upstairs is the attic!” murmured Sophie, in a small panic.
“What? Are you afraid?”
“Yes I’m afraid, Eric, you idiot! Haven’t you gathered that by now? Aren’t you?”
“Me? No way!” again speaking louder than he meant to, “no way…” he repeated, lowering his voice and ducking down slightly, turning his head to take a look around.
Shawn slowly walked around the girls and took a cautious peak around the wall. The bedroom door, they had left open to make them feel less trapped in the cramped space. The others watched him closely and wondered what he was doing but didn’t dare interrupt the renewed silence. He looked back at his friends for a moment, and again out into the hall way.
“Well,” he said, “if we do want to investigate, the attic stairs must be right down the hall. There’s only one more door going this way that we haven’t tried, that must be it.”
“Oh, I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you. Shawn, I swear, if I get out of this house alive, I’m going to kill you. While you sleep. With a butcher knife. In yourrrr head-” Sophie whispered harshly.
“Alright, alright, will you relax.” Shawn gestured, “Jezus, I don’t know whether I should be more afraid of some old witch lady’s ghost creepin’ around this place, or you right in front of me. You psycho little blonde girl.”
“Oh, shut up. You love me.”
They followed Shawn out into the hall, some more hesitant than others. Sophie clutched his arm tightly as Christina nudged up against hers. Eric was close behind, desperately clinging to the second flashlight, pausing now and again to peer over his shoulder and shine the muted light behind them. The floor boards moaned and cried as they made their way to the last untested door. Sophie was shivering uncontrollably in the dark heat. Shawn tried to act confidant and poised as he reached out to grasp the dull brass knob. Christina took in a nervous gulp of air,
“If this isn’t the stairs or turns out to be locked, we can go home now, right? ”
Sophie closed her eyes,
“Oh, please just be locked. Or be a closet. Or a bathroom. Or something… ”
The doorknob turned effortlessly and once turned, the door slowly creaked open of its own accord. As the warm, smooth metal slipped from Shawn’s uneasy fingers, he slid backwards gravely and nearly stepped on Sophie, who didn’t seem to notice.
“The house is probly just crooked, that’s all.” Shawn reassured, “Ya, probly just… crooked.”
“Crooked…” Eric seconded almost half unwittingly.
“I guess we should go in…” Shawn announced a little timidly, pointing his long black flashlight into the dark, sloping chamber.
They came up the shadowed stairs one by one, marching in slow unison, whispering breathlessly to each other in short, sharp, staggering syllables. The splintered steps groaned with each timid footfall and let out little creaking sylvan screams as each determined footstep carefully lifted off, returning the weathered grain to its anxious equilibrium. The inferior light being strangled by Shawn’s damp fingers seemed to grow dimmer and dimmer with every step. They ascended to the top, and in doing so, came to the door. Beaten and bruised, stripped from all but few sorry streaks and crumbling flakes of dried, leaden paint, the door stood faintly ajar on its weary, rusted hinges. They lingered there for a few moments, their adrenaline fueled curiosity suspended before them, swinging on some delicate thread like a dying pendulum. Hesitant to continue, the group stood motionless on the forgotten landing until an anonymous arm reached out, pulled forward as if compelled by some sinister will, and dealt on to brooding wood, a steady, deliberate push.
The door exhaled a troubling, high-pitched sigh from deep within the bowels of its ruddy hell-sent hinges. As if ensnared by some secret spell, Sophie, without even realizing it was her own trembling hand which had done the deed, stepped ahead through the somber frame, and entered the decrepit room. The others, drawn mindlessly foreword as if under the same magic spell, followed shortly behind their trancelike friend. Possessed by her transient bravery, Sophie took three or four solid steps into her cluttered surroundings, then, as if suddenly released from the malicious enchantress’ web, she froze, ice cold, a few frightened feet from the audibly closing door. Her neck muscles tightened and tensed, locked in place by her collapsing nerves. She was paralyzed where she stood. The others, all moving forward as one big, glued-together mass, walked right into her rigid body, jolting her ahead a few inches. Her feet slid across the ancient floor like stones as she tried to catch her balance.
Hazy clouds of sediment hung in the musty air that gently swirled around their huddled bodies and held them close. The stuffy vapor bore down upon heads, a dense pressure that pushed against their sweating brows. The hot stillness forced them together, an oppressive heat that blinded their dust-filled eyes, obscuring the dimly lit scene.
Silently shaking, Shawn spoke up,
“Hello…”
The decaying attic was filled with antique tables and chairs, hat-stands and boxes, they all seemed to be mocking them as they crept forward, trying to avoid the many hazardously set objects and threats the covered the ground, useless lanterns and lamps that teased them, suspended from the declining rooftop, a maze of pitiless obstacles lying in eager anticipation of a careless victim. Graying and tattered cotton veils draped over much of the far portions of the room; they appeared stiff in the dreamlike stillness. There was not even the slightest movement in the lifeless air, it too, seemed afraid to take in a breath.
But just then, the feeblest breeze rolled in reluctantly through the large round window that kept a wary, mistrustful eye on its four uninvited guests. The shattered iris stared cruelly at them with a vicious gaze that dug painfully into the backs of their necks. The greasy cobwebs, slung down low, floated drearily around as if tiredly signaling for them to continue. Eric turned around once more to look at the unsettling eye, the fractured glass penetrated by the long unhappy fingers of the heartless, strangely fruited tree that burst from the earth below. He shuddered and rejoined the others. They crept along slowly, beams of soft light swung around franticly as they advanced, desperate to illuminate the darkness that consumed them. The flailing arms that wielded their only weapons cast shadowy doppelgangers of every hideous object onto the grainy floor and sent them dancing across the room. The flickering shadow puppets put on a dreadful show as the snickering demons leapt gleefully from wall to wall.
And then they stopped. The two lights merged onto a single spot in the room. Sophie shrieked and ran, cutting up her thin legs as she stumbled through the darkness, tripping over everything in her path as she frantically tried to escape. Shawn stood like a statue, one arm adhered to his side and the other, wavering delicately, as he reached out to direct the dying light.
As Christina gazed down at the disheveled ground, she could feel her heart, which had only seconds before, pounded furiously within her as if yearning to break free of if bodily tomb, suddenly slam shut and stop, forcing all of the endorphin ridden blood hastily through the fatigued veins that now protruded noticeably above her skin. She let out a gasping and coarse, teary-eyed shriek, a small, little butterfly scream; the scratchy whimper, stifled by the panicked swelling of her tightly closing throat. Her pitiful, parched cry was muffled by the quivering “Oh my God…” that filled the haze around her.
There on the ground laid the heavy girth of some sturdy old oak cabinet. It was long and tall, face down on the dirty floor, evidently housing a mirror and what must have once been several glass or crystal chalices of some kind. A derelict chair was thrown violently on its side only inches from where the messy wreck rest. Tragic beads of glass littered the dingy floor along with several larger shards of jagged mirror, each its own unique little daggerous blade.
Blood flowed forth from the spot and collected in little, dark pools nearby. The cabinet, not entirely flat on the ground, was propped up, if only slightly, by a small, unseen body and a few crushed boxes, contents unknown. A slender arm dangled limply from the hefty cupboard’s edge. Bloodied and bruised, it hung down just past the elbow, its tiny little fingers, motionless and still. A faded blue shark could be seen, just barely discernable, below the immobile wrist.
“He must have heard me leave…. followed me to the park … I… He… I left the door unlocked… He must have been right behind us and…” Christina’s words could scarcely be heard.
Eric ran down the stairs, taking his flashlight with him, calling out to the two remaining friends that he was going to go get help. He ran out into the street, passing Sophie who sat hunched up on the dirty sidewalk, shaking, her head between her knees. He still doesn’t remember exactly what happened shortly after, but somehow he managed to summon the police, yelling wildly into the night and frantically running back and forth, banging on doors, crying out for someone to please call 911.
When the ambulances and firetrucks arrived they rushed the kids away from the scene. Two burly firemen lifted the heavy mass off the young boy, and though it didn’t look hopeful, they brought up a stretcher and hurried him down the stairs and into the back of the open ambulance. The flashing lights pulled out of the side street with an ear-piercing squeal of rubber on road. Sammy was declared dead on arrival at the hospital. The police report was short and concise, a strait forward, open and shut retelling of what had occurred. He was probably standing on the chair, trying to reach something on the top of the shelf that caught his eye, you know how young boys are. Then the chair must have tipped, and, when grabbing at the shelf to prevent his fall, he pulled it over, sending it crashing down on top of him. All the details were taken down and accounted for, all aspects of the tragedy, broken down into the simplest terms and explained. All except for one.
When the coroner examined poor little Sammy’s body, he found one small mark, that for a second, he thought seemed a little strange. It was too insignificant to warrant being noted, and he almost wrote it down anyway just to be thorough, but then decided against it. It was probably just his tired eyes playing tricks on him after a long, weary day. On the badly injured body of the boy, one particular bruise just above his left ankle seemed almost like the mark of a slender hand tightly curled around his leg. But it couldn’t have been, the bruise was too dark, it could only have come from a great force such as a heavy oak cupboard tumbling down and crushing him against the various debris below. No human hand could have left such a mark. That would have been impossible. Besides, it was only the four others in the house with him, and surely they didn’t harm the boy. It was just an illusion. What else could it be?
