It had rained late that afternoon, leaving the town in solitude with only the echoes of raindrops bouncing throughout the chasms of perpetual silence. Our speeding cruiser cut through the air like a violin bow sharpening across its strings. The old engine could barely mangle basic tunes, it was raw, dirty, and off-pitched. The whispers of the wind were cold and callous. By now the rain had turned into freezing rain, and tiny shards of ice tapped the windshield like a cautious drummer.
“You know, my Father told me this would turn into a butterfly one day,” Whimsey said while holding up a bright, metallic cocoon with gold coatings.
Within the darkness, it was like a star in the night sky. Its yellowish glow gleamed off the reflection of passing street lights. It was quite beautiful, but it was also a piss-poor way to strike up a conversation. Mentally, I silently snickered, but I decided to be nice, and humor him.
“Is it real gold?
“Sure is, story goes one of my ancestors back during the gold rush struck rich and had the first small nugget he found chiseled into the shape of a cocoon.”
“Why a cocoon?”
Whimsey shrugged and stared at me awkwardly.
He’d gotten in the habit of that. Always trying to maintain a chatting balance whilst juggling ideas. When one would fall to the floor, he’d try and pick it up, and in the process lose balance and the rest would hit the floor with a loud thump. A few moments of silence passed before I struck up a more formal conversation.
“Alright Whimsey, let’s go over the codes again.”
He rolled his eyes and began fidgeting with the cocoon again.
“10-56?”
No response.
“Whimsey,” I said, nudging his shoulder.
“10-56, what is it?”
“Intoxicated Pedestrian.”
“10-96?”
“Mental Subject”
“10-16?”
“Domestic Problem”
“10-1?”
He paused for a moment, breaking the rhythm of his answers.
“Out of service?”
I frowned, “No, no, weak signal”
Whimsey’s sharp chin turned in my direction, his high cheeks and well-contoured nose lowered as he grimaced, “Seriously?”
“The little things Whimsey, the little things.”
He rolled his eyes and growled, “So where are we going anyways?
“IIlusie Street, possible trespassers in an old abandoned house.”
Underneath a sigh, words seeped through Whimsey’s disappointment, “Illusie Street? You mean where all those snobby upper-class soccer moms driving Suburban Chevrolets doing 15 in a 25 texting their beta male, balding husbands about how the world’s ending because their cappuccino was flat this morning live?”
“Yes, and the goal is to be subtle. No lights. We don’t want them scurrying off.”
Whimsey chuckled, “If subtly was the goal, we wouldn’t have a giant red and blue popsicle strapped to the top of our car blaring an obnoxiously loud siren!”
“That’s why we’re keeping the lights off,” I said through gritted teeth.
The impromptu orchestra ended abruptly as we came to a paralyzing halt at the cold-a-sac, the old cruiser let out an ear-splitting screech before fizzling out behind the curtains.
“You know, It’s probably not a good idea to sound like a 3rd-grade chorus class when we pull up to the scene right? Subtleties the goal remember?” Whimsey said chuckling.
I ignored his sarcasm and began assessing the scene. It was nearly 11:00 p.m, the one-story house stood atop a touring slope, featuring a large, maroonish chimney, with a sprawling pathway, ascending upwards towards the clouds. The sparkling snow-white paint gave the appearance of a second moon in the dark sky. Winter had eroded the surrounding soil, and snow and slush had replaced the previous blanket of grass.
“Any footprints?”
“Negative”
“What about the back?” Whimsey asked.
“The slope continues uphill. If there is a break-in, they’d have to come in Eastwards from Illusie street, not Westwards on route 12.”
Whimsey nodded, “That’s right, it wouldn’t make sense for someone to carry large sums of items uphill.”
“Not unless you were the burglar.”
“Ha. Ha,” Whimsey said monotonously.
A wide roof overhang made it difficult to see inside the large window wall. As we approached the house, we could make out a figure standing in the living room window. It remained perfectly still, carefully maintaining a dark shroud that concealed it from us. Yet within the haystack of darkness, I made out the needle hiding within it. A small, yet vibrant hint of orange taunted us from beyond the veil. That was no accident. Whoever was standing there, did so with a purpose. Like they wanted us to notice it.
I pulled out my radio, “10-31, the suspect is wearing orange clothing. Requesting a checkpoint on route 12.”
The dispatcher’s voice crackled, “Copy.”
Whimsey chimed in, “Didn’t you just say they wouldn’t have come from uphill?
“If” I corrected. “If, they weren’t interrupted. If- they panic and make a run for it into the woods, we’ll be right there.”
Whimsey nodded, and we slowly made our way up the gravel path to the door of the house.
“Police!” We shouted in unison.
For a few moments, silence eroded the authority in our voices, and made way for dread to descend upon us. After no reply, we slowly irked the redwood door open. Whimsey hesitated in surprise before taking a few steps forward into the house. I gently caroused my fingers near the doorframe and inspected the latch, and twisted the door nob a few times.
“No marks around the strike plate or the key hold. The latch isn’t bent or warped. Anything on the other side Whimsey?”
“Look at you, Bruce Wayne! And no, nothing,” Whimsey said sarcastically.
A slow tune reared throughout the house and escaped through the doorway.
I go out walkin’ after midnight
Out in the moonlight, just like we used to do
I’m always walkin’ after midnight
Searchin’ for you
I walk for miles along the highway
Well, that’s just my way of sayin’ I love you
“The hell is that Shakespearean garbage?”
“Patsy Cline, you don’t know her?”
Whimsey snorted, “You’re really showing your age here old man!”
In the house, there were also no signs of forced entry. No shattered glass scattered belongings, or slushy footprints. The aesthetic of the house withheld the ancient principles of graciousness, vintage 50s informality, and family privacy. A classic American wallpaper filled with planets, galaxies, and stars stretched across the house. Lit only by ardent candles, I could make out what appeared to be a woman coming down the stairs. She wore a black and orange dress, with the predominantly orange part covering her torso up to her neck, before fizzling out into black long sleeves. Tiny white polka dots populated her dark stockings. Her luscious brown hair reached down to her back and was practically glowing. Against the whiteness of her skin, her rosy cheeks looked like the sun on the Japanese flag. But, something was off with her. She stood perfectly still.
“Police, you’re trespassing!”
The woman maintained her unwavering posture and stonewall expression, I could make out a small frigid smile plastered across her marble-white face.
Slowly, Whimsey crept up closer to the woman, “Is… th-that a mannequin?”
“A what?”
“Look, come over here, this is a freaking mannequin!” Whimsey whispered.
Whimsey and I just stared at the thing like we just stumbled across the Holy Grail. Its left foot was slightly raised and its glossy hand rested upon the wooden railing. Like it was ready to take another step before we interrupted it or something. After the hypnosis of dumbfoundedness finally lifted, relieving us to finally function again. Whimsey gave the mannequin one last sideways look before beginning his ascent. I stayed on the first floor and headed for the living room. A giant brick fireplace with traditional colonial-style molding stood against the wall, producing a mature and zealous flame. Maple furniture, two couches, a cyan blue recliner chair, and a redwood coffee table decorated the 50s design of the room.
I go out walkin’ after midnight
Out in the moonlight, just like we used to do
I’m always walkin’ after midnight
Searchin’ for you
I walk for miles along the highway
Well, that’s just my way of sayin’-
Without warning, the slow tune that provided sound for the deaf canvas of the house was extinguished. It was like the arteries of the house had stopped pumping blood. Simultaneously, the flame went out and engulfed the room in darkness. I froze for a few mind-numbingly long seconds before drawing my gun. I exited the living room and back into the hallway. The heavy thumps of Whimsey’s boots trickled down the steps in quick succession but eroded halfway before drowning out entirely.
“Ok… Drew. I know I’m a bit of a smartass sometimes, but tell me what’s missing here.”
Forget about finding answers, I was still trying to piece together questions. I stared at him for a long hard second, trying to decipher the portrait he’d just painted. But then memory slapped me straight across the face. Whimsey was standing right where the mannequin was. Only now, the mannequin wasn’t there.
“It-it was right here on the stairs right?” He whimpered.
Whimsey looked like he was about to say something else before his eyes rapidly darted toward the front door. I turned around and nearly jumped out of my skin. My arms felt like they’d evaporated into jelly. Droplets of sweat began rolling down my forehead, paving the way for sheer terror to wash across my face. The mannequin towered in front of the now-sealed door. Like a fortress, it stood firm, and even though our guns were drawn, an unwavering expression was etched into its burnished face. Its petite arm outstretched forward, pointing at us… no, behind us! A few steps above Whimsey stood another mannequin. Its brutish bulky arms were both outstretched forward, one hand holding a beaming flashlight. Whimsey in a panic fired his weapon, the gunshot rang throughout the house as if a bolt of lightning had electrified the home. In a flash, the bullet’s velocity meet head-on with the mannequin and hit it square in the nose, but the bullet didn’t penetrate the metallic coating. It hadn’t even dented it. The bullet fell limp and skidded across the floor like a rock being thrown across a body of water. A metallic clamp rang behind me. I paused for a second before instinct whipped me around, and an encompassing blinding light stung my retinas like a horde of bees. I stammered backward trying to shield my eyes. The light in front of me rapidly moved counterclockwise, I tried to follow it, but in my disoriented state, I fell to the ground, my grip on my gun loosened, and it clanked onto the floor. I tried to lift myself and crawl towards it, but a hand clamped down on my ankle. I turned my head just in time to catch a glimpse of something dense and shadowy barreling toward my face before everything went black.
My vision was like static on a TV, but my retina’s reception eventually came through and I slowly regained my bearings. I was outside, right in front of the window wall. The previously maroonish chimney was blanched of its color, with a hint of transparency. In the drought of quietude, the freshwater of a faint melody filled the empty glass of silence.
I go out walkin’ after midnight
Out in the moonlight, just like we used to do
I’m always walkin’ after midnight
Searchin’ for you
I walk for miles along the highway
Well, that’s just my way of sayin’ I love you
I took a deep breath, the air exited my nose and splattered across the glass panel. Like a brush, it painted a scene onto the canvas. As the sketch cleared, the window eked open slightly, and the past slowly inched its way out. It wasted no time entering my eyes, the window to the soul. Cautiously, I reared my head upwards and peered through the window wall. I saw myself, or at least a younger version of myself. My youthful skin radiated like a newborn star, and I was wearing an ocean blue hoodie and dark sweatpants covering a well-defined, but lacking bone mass, frame. The question of where materialized almost immediately after the jealousy of my youth faded. I was sitting against a colorless light brown wall, the maroon beneath it bleeding from the aging inner arteries of my old elementary school. As I sat there, I saw movement in front of where I was sitting. They were like shadows, but with no traceable shape or size. They were there but weren’t at the same time.
Every so often, one of these shadows would stop, and I’d hear laughter and giggling. I’d look up, smile, and reach my hand out robotically, like a machine contacting water, my movements were jagged and unrhythmic. No hand ever met mine and with it, the smile on my face would vanish unnaturally quickly and I’d resume my regular, static posture. Then, the backdrop distorted and then morphed into my childhood apartment. That familiar scratched-up and heavily damaged walls soared my eyes. I could make out two distinct shadows, and muffled sounds of arguments, thumps, and thuds escaped through the long barrel of the past. No…no this is not right. Why? Why am I seeing this? I don’t know what I was feeling, but like a snake, it slithered its way through my veins, burrowing deep into the crust of my heart. I wailed at the bite. Out of desperation I tried blowing at the window, trying to change what I saw, when the air cleared I still saw the same damned image. I screamed and hit the window with full force. I punched the window with as much power as I could muster. Again, and again I hit the window, and when that didn’t work I threw myself at it. Why won’t it break? I slammed my head against the wall, and tears scattered out of my eyes like bees in a beehive. As they rolled down my cheek, they stung my skin with agony. I was still sitting there, alone, with that fixed look on my face before suddenly perking up and locking eyes… with me. And right on cue, I descended back into the deep channels of unconsciousness.
My lungs jerked upwards and clawed at the air. Too much wind retreated into my body, and I breathed rapidly whilst trying to siphon the oxygen out of it. My eyes fluttered, and I could partially see my surroundings, but my peripheral vision was lagging behind. A piercing migraine danced through my head, and a throbbing pain resided in my ankle.
I was effectively looking through binoculars as I began poking around with my hand, “Whimsey?”
Dread began creeping up my fingers as I couldn’t feel anything but the cold surface of the walls.
“Whimsey!” I shouted in a panic.
No response.
“Whimsey-“
Like a cut phone line, an agonizingly blinding light punctured my call. From beyond it, the same dense shadow reached for me. Its five alloyed fingers outstretched, but it remained motionless. I was shattered like broken glass, but I staggered upwards and collected the scattered pieces of my strength. I tilted my head slightly out of the light, and more of the metalized arm came into view. Soon, I could see a full marble white exoskeleton hunched over, reaching toward me. It was a marble white color with dark sinking voids for eyes. Unlike the previous mannequin, it wore no clothing, nor had any distinct features. However, there on its chest, was an engraved spotlight, the source of the almost blinding light. I peered into its eyes and saw darkness. As I gazed upon it longer, I swore I could hear a faint pulse. It was wobbly and off-balance, but it was there. I don’t know why, but this profuse urge to feel the mannequin overcame me. It was the same feeling a soldier would feel when one of their own was wounded, or a parent when their child fell ill. I was expecting the mannequins to move, or wince when my hand met its body, but it remained perfectly still. Instead of a cold and desolate feeling, the mannequin was warm, and although it wasn’t moving even in the slightest, I could feel it taking breaths in and out like it was alive. I reached down and felt the bulb emanating the light. Then, something dawned on me. I placed my hand on the mannequin’s empty head and turned far enough to where I couldn’t see it anymore. After a moment, I could feel the mannequin’s head begin to turn and I immediately relocked my eyes onto it. Its head had moved slightly to the left, almost making eye contact with me, and its hand was now clenched into a fist.
“It can’t move if I keep it in view,” I thought.
Maintaining the mannequin within my peripheral vision, I scanned the room and realized I was in the attic. I noticed a large black blanket sitting in a pile towards the corner of the room and I got an idea. I tip-toed gradually towards the blanket and picked it up. Underneath it, were two thick wool-embedded belts. Perfect. I tip-toed back and wrapped it around the mannequin’s chest, covering the spotlight. If this thing can freeze me with its light, and I can freeze it by looking at it, I’m going to make sure I’m the colder of the two. I took the two belts and tied the mannequin’s ankles and wrists as securely shut as possible before tripping the mannequin onto the floor. I slowly backed away and inched my way out of the attic. I descended from the cold wooden ladder and looked around. I noticed a few things had strangely been altered. The entire 50s design was completely gone since I was knocked out. For starters, instead of planets, galaxies, and stars plastered all over wallpaper, the walls weren’t retro anymore. Instead, they had shifted into a more modern aesthetic. The furniture was similarly modern, along with the floors, and ceiling. Toward the end of the hallway and at the start of the staircase, I could make out the fluorescent blue light of a thermostat glowing in the darkness. I paused for a moment and the question of where Whimsey was, pulled me closer to the gravity of the situation. How do I get him? Pulled me even closer. I could go searching around for him in this place, but I put an asterisk next to that idea quickly. I checked my body and realized I didn’t have my gun.
“That would be suicide,” I thought.
God only knows how many of these things there are in this house. Not only would I be looking for Whimsey, but doing it defenseless. Even with a weapon, I’d still be a deer in headlights. I looked over at the thermostat again as if it could give me any answers. If I could just make it down the stairs and out of the house I could call for backup, get the handgun we have in the passenger side seat, and come back inside. I’d only be out for a few minutes at most. I inched my way toward the stairway and peered downstairs.
“Shit!” I muttered under my breath.
The two other mannequins I’d encountered earlier were both standing in the entrance hall. The female mannequin was pressed up against the right side of the door, and the other one looked like it was making its way into the living room, its light blasting into the hallway. Both of them were positioned in such a way that if I made it to the door, the one going into the living room would be obstructed from my vision. This was the one with the light on, and I cannot risk losing sight of it. I sculpted the scene and was able to carve out both figurines. On the wall across the living room, a desk with a mirror on top of it reflected into the living room, and more importantly, I could see the mannequin with its light on. If I could simultaneously maintain vision with the mirror and the mannequin by the door, I could get out. As I crept down the stairs, the house sounded like it had stretched out, it croaked and groaned. I paused for a second, but the silence of the house remained firm. I hurried my pace down the stairs and carefully maintained visuals on both mannequins. I steered my gaze towards the mirror, and temporality lost sight of the mannequin heading into the living room. Shit! Only a split second had passed before I could see the reflection, and the mannequin had already turned around, its blinding light shooting out like splinters from a tree. I swerved my vision away from the light and I was beginning to turn around and make a run for it. Just before I did, I stopped. Never before had the chilling aura of quietude felt so relieving. The brute mannequin wasn’t able to fully turn around. Its light was slightly off angle, enough to where I could see both mannequins. I backed up slowly, and my hand found the knob of the door.
Winds of solace drafted through the doorway and I almost lost my balance shuffling my way out of the house and shutting the door tight. I fumbled down the long winding pathway, the cool breeze felt like a consolation as I made my way down to the cruiser. I opened the car door and reached for the glove box on the passenger side seat. I pulled the handgun out and reached for my radio.
“10-31 we need backup on-”
My sentence stopped dead in its tracks, along with the static radio ambiance. I noticed Whimsey’s cocoon sat on the dashboard, but it had changed. I picked up the cocoon and upon a closer look, I realized what was different. Running down the center of the cocoon was a thin, but very distinguishable crack. I ran my fingers down it, the crevice was coarse and oddly warm. Before I could inspect it further, an unwinding noise crackled through the radio, unintelligible speech played in reverse before switching gears to a familiar grainy jingle:
I go out walkin’ after midnight
Out in the moonlight, just like we used to do
I’m always walkin’ after midnight
Searchin’ for you
I walk for miles along the highway
Well, that’s just my way of sayin’ I love you