The house sat dark and silent for many years. If you pulled up in your car on any given day and got out to look at the place, you would be greeted by a profoundly unsettling sight. A cold shiver would pass through your body; blood turning to ice in your veins. The skin on your arms would immediately prickle with gooseflesh. Your windpipe shrinks to the size of a pinhole. The desire to jump back in your Toyota or Dodge and drive as far away from here as possible becomes overpowering, but you would not be able to move from your spot on this tree-lined sidewalk. Your feet are cemented to the ground, and you are unable to tear your gaze away from the ugly, hulking mass.
This place is bad. You can feel it in your bones. It is the apotheosis of all haunted houses. A rambling, three story Victorian mansion set far back from the other modest homes on this block like some diseased leper. Over the last decade the elements have worn away any kind of Italianate splendor that the house might once have possessed. Most of the shingles blew off during a recent Nor’easter. There are several broken windows that look, from your vantage point on the apparent safety of the sidewalk, like black holes. A balcony on the third floor is covered in verdigris. Ivy clings to the side of the house like tenacious green fingers. The cracked flagstone path, barely visible beneath overgrown weeds, winds up to the sagging, wraparound porch with its splintered railing. A white placard nailed on the graffiti scrawled front door reads KEEP OUT BY ORDER OF POLICE DEPARTMENT. There is a chorus of crickets singing in the wilted rhododendron bushes. A gothic metal fence, speckled with rust, circles the property. The air is tinged with the musty, earthy aroma of decaying wood.
The house has witnessed many things in its long life. All of it bad. You can sense its dark history standing out here and that makes you clutch the car keys in your pocket like some sort of protective talisman. Terrible events have happened in that house.
“I’m not going in there.”
Alice Chamberlain had made this declaration for the third time tonight. Not that it was doing any good. She didn’t know why she always let herself get talked into these types of situations.
Don’t play dumb. You know why. It’s Nick. It’s always been because of Nick.
That was probably true. Nick had a kind of power over everyone. She had been aware of it since the sixth grade. A memory suddenly came back to her. Nick convincing all the kids in Social Studies to keep quiet as he put a mysterious brown paper bag in the bottom drawer of Mrs. Walsh’s desk when she had left the room to quickly run off a few Xeroxes in the office. The paper bag had contained a fresh dog turd. That classroom reeked when she found it the next morning! And she was pissed! The most amazing thing was not a single kid ratted on him. No one. Not even when Walsh had threatened the entire grade with a Saturday detention. Everyone had an unexplained loyalty to Nick…even me.
But this was different. Totally different.
This was not a stupid kid’s prank. What he had in mind tonight could get them all killed.
Nick turned his gaze away from the intimidating sight of the house. He was smiling mischievously. Nick McKee was fifteen, athletic, with blue eyes and a head of tousled brown curls. Alice liked him a lot and sometimes, like right now, she hated that she did. Why couldn’t he think of something normal and less dangerous to do tonight, like playing Nintendo or watching The Facts of Life.
“Are you scared, Alice?”
She crossed her arms. Her mouth was a thin line. “Yeah. I am. Totally freaked.”
Nick regarded her for a moment. He seemed to be considering her unease for the first time in their entire friendship.
A large belch broke the silence. “Oh, nothing’s in there. It’s only old furniture and junk. Don’t get your panties all in a twist.”
Tubby tossed the empty root beer bottle in the weeds and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Sometimes she could be absolutely revolted by the sheer size of Tommy “Tubby” Mitchell. He was easily three hundred pounds and was the object of daily ridicule at school, but Nick was his best friend for reasons that Alice never could understand. His neck was the size of an inner tube. He stood next to Nick, taking a quick shot from his trusty inhaler. Tssst. Tssst.
Even years later, that familiar hiss-like sound would startle Alice out of a deep sleep.
Nick held a flashlight in his hand like some weird, modern-day knight. “We’re just going to go in and look around. That’s all. We won’t be in there long.”
The white glow from the streetlamps turned Alice’s features a sick, cottage cheese color. She regarded the massive house on its neglected plot of land with unease etched clearly on her face. “Guys, that place really gives me the creeps. Honestly. Every time I walk by it, I get the chills. It’s like hitting a really cold spot in a swimming pool.”
This house is a life sucker, she thought.
Tubby stuffed the inhaler back in his pocket. “It’s not haunted, Chamberlain. No ghosts, no monsters. I’ll hold your hand if that will make things better for you.”
Alice’s face twisted in disgust. “I’m not holding the hand you beat off with, Tubby. Gross.”
Nick laughed. Alice could be pretty awesome sometimes.
She went back to staring at the moss-covered balcony that extended from the third floor like an extra limb, and her tone was one of genuine unease. “This place is rotten. I’ve always known that. It’s like you can smell the badness. It’s like spoiled meat in the fridge.”
Every kid in town knew the sordid history of this house. Suicides. Murders. Talk of strange noises and white lights coming from the windows. Whispered murmurings of satanic rituals. If there were genuine haunted houses in America, and Alice suspected that there were probably thousands, then this place might be the worst of them all, if you believed the stories that had been passed down in town over the years. It made that one over in Amityville, Long Island seem like Disneyland in comparison; even Geraldo Rivera had actually come here and did a news segment on the house last summer. Alice’s mother got a picture taken with him. She had it framed and now it sat on a place of honor in their living room, beside the current issue of T.V. Guide, Mom’s glass starfish-shaped candy dish, and the remote control on a wicker end table. All three items were within easy reach for Estelle Chamberlain.
Nick came up to her. Alice could smell the tang of Juicy Fruit on his breath.
“Listen, if you really don’t want to do it, then we don’t have to go inside. It’s no problem. The arcade is still open until ten-thirty. I’m ready to kick your butt at Pac-Man anytime.”
Alice felt the wild urge to kiss him.
Yes! He’s come to his senses. Thank God!
Nick smiled at her. Alice returned the smile. A sort of electrical surge seemed to pass between them.
They were on some strange wavelength.
Tubby was nonplussed. “Are you fucking kidding me?! I thought we were in on this, Nick? Now you’re backing down because Ms. Tiny Tits is scared?”
“That’s enough, man,” said Nick. “It’s not a big deal.”
Tubby kicked a rock with the toe of his dirty Keds. “It is a fucking big deal. We agreed to do this days ago. You were so pumped about doing it. Now here you go, backing down because Chamberlain is nothing but a pussy!”
The cool wind swayed the burnt orange leaves in the high trees above them. No one said anything. The night air was crisp and hinted at the bitterness of approaching winter. This outburst had caused Tubby to take another hit off his inhaler. Alice and Nick listened to the pneumatic hiss. Tssst. Tssst.
That was it. Something had welled up inside of Alice. She felt all her unease begin to recede like the tide before a giant tsunami. Her fear was ebbing. She couldn’t explain the change even to herself. Tubby, still taking quick gasps from his inhaler, watched as she approached him on this empty sidewalk. Alice’s eyes seemed to go wide and feral. Despite her short stature and rather slim build, she felt that she was suddenly bigger than any boy in school.
Tubby was uneasy and took a tentative step back from her. She had morphed into something rather intimidating.
The tense beat seemed to last a century.
Alice gave him a smirk. “Fuck Pac-Man. Let’s go.”
-–
Alice felt like the three of them had wandered onto the set of one of those horror moves like Dracula or The Shining. It was pitch dark in here, visibility almost nonexistent despite the reassuring yellow orb coming from Nick’s flashlight, and she could taste the smell of wet plaster in the back of her throat. Her skin prickled.
Nick stood between his two friends in the foyer. He traced the pale beam from his flashlight from ceiling to floor. The biggest cobwebs that Alice had ever seen in her entire life festooned the rafters. Floral wallpaper had peeled away like snake skin. The floor was littered with broken glass, trash, and what smelled like animal shit. A curved staircase led up to the darkened second and third floors. Alice could still hear the eerie tinkling of wind chimes from outside on the porch.
It’s a mausoleum, her mind whispered. She rubbed her arms at the image.
Tubby took another large gulp from his inhaler. Tssst. Tssst. “This fucking place is going to be hell on my lungs.”
“Did you remember your flashlight?” Nick asked him.
Something skittered in the walls. Maybe it was mice. Or not. Alice drew closer to Nick, her hand brushing his own. He took it without hesitation.
Tubby pulled out the Duracell flashlight from his baggy sweatshirt. He thumbed the switch and a powerful white light shone on his pudgy face. “Right here, Chief.”
Nick let out a breath. He was their leader. “Okay, guys. Stay together.”
Tubby knew that Alice wasn’t his biggest fan. In fact, he was very much aware that she hated his guts most of the time and tolerated him for the simple fact that Nick was his friend. Scratch that. Nick was his only friend.
Still, did she have to be a total bitch?
Tubby stepped hard on his anger. Bits of plaster and grit broke under his heavy tread. The floorboards moaned. He and Nick had planned this whole expedition for the last week. The idea had seemed awesome in its embryonic stages. Sneak in. Smoke a few Camel cigarettes that Nick had pilfered from his stepfather’s nightstand. Maybe crack open a couple cans of Narragansett Beer. It might be sort of fun to get shitfaced in that old house. Tubby knew that his older brother, Glen, and several of his roommates had done it a couple of times when they were down here on spring break from Amherst.
However, the plan seemed cursed right from the get-go tonight. It had all started with the beer. Tubby wasn’t able to swipe anything. Pop had put away a whole case – not uncommon for Brian Mitchell – during the football game. Then there was Mom. She had looked up from her spot at the dining room table where she had been making out the checks for the electric and phone bills at the exact moment Tubby passed by. She had asked him where he was going. No use denying it. He said he was heading over to Nick’s for a bit. He would be back later. She didn’t object, it was a Saturday night, but wanted him home by eleven at the latest. She told him that she would leave the porch light on for him. If he wasn’t home by the appointed time, she would go and collect him herself and he would spend the rest of the weekend cleaning out the garage.
Did he understand her?
Yes, ma’am.
Mom always treated him like one of those dumb kids who rode the short bus to school every day. Did it even register to her that he was fifteen?
That had been strike two. The third one had come in the form of Alice and that was when the whole plan had turned to absolute shit. He had never taken to her in the way Nick had done. She was intense, serious. Her face was always buried in some thick-ass book and she practically lived in the town library, even during summer vacation. He didn’t get it. Tubby knew that a lot of kids thought of him as a fat ass, but he would rather be a fat ass than some sort of weirdo bookworm like Alice Chamberlain. Fuck that.
Now he stayed a little behind the two of them in this shadowy and dilapidated house. In the glow from the Duracell flashlight, Tubby could see that their hands were tightly linked.
Nick hadn’t mentioned that she was tagging along with them for this thing.
Lately, Alice and Nick were inseparable. They sat together in the cafeteria at lunch and went down to the arcade most afternoons. Nick even said that they had gone to see Child’s Play – that new horror flick about the killer doll – the previous night. Nick laughed as he told him that Alice had hid behind her bag of popcorn and kept her eyes shut most of the time.
Tubby felt more and more like he and Nick had been cast adrift in the vast blueness of the Atlantic Ocean for a long time. Only now had Nick begun to swim away from him.
At some point, he would be gone forever. Nick would just keep swimming further and further away, fading into the distance.
Tubby tried hard not to think of losing his only friend to some brainy girl with hardly any titties. He pushed the thought out of his mind and traced the circle of light over the faded pastel wallpaper and the bay windows haphazardly boarded shut. He had wandered into the living room. It was like stepping into the last century. The furniture – straight back Victorian chairs and a faded green velvet sofa – was moth eaten and covered in a thick layer of dust. A glass chandelier hung crooked on its chain from the cathedral ceiling. He moved the light over the thread-bare carpet, over a filthy and stained mattress. By the looks of it, some drunk had probably been sleeping here for months.
Tubby focused the light on the fireplace. Ornate. Edwardian scrollwork on the sides. Cast iron grate. Shreds of newspaper and thick shards of glass glistened in the ash covered hearth.
On the mantel there were several pictures. The frames were covered in soot. Tubby got closer. Faces from the past stared back at him. The one sepia-toned photograph that held Tubby’s attention for the longest time was of a beautiful woman.
She looked like one of those flapper girls from the 1920s. Dark eyes. Full lips. Blonde hair with sculpted curls. She wore some sort of veil with diamonds and clutched a bouquet of Irises in her thin hands. The photographer had caught her in mid-laugh.
She was in these other pictures, too. There was also a man with her. A husband by the looks of it. He seemed considerably older than her in their wedding photo. Eyes the color of oil. Thin mustache. Black tuxedo with ducktails. The woman looked like a princess in the white gown. Tubby saw that they were standing outside on the porch. The house was still years away from descending into its current state of decay. These appeared to be happier times.
Tubby came to the final photograph.
He picked it up and brushed the dirt from the glass. It was the same woman, and yet she was different here. Gone was the sense of life and vivacity. She was older, more matronly in appearance. Drained. Sickly. There were drawn lines on her face. She looked kind of creepy.
Tubby broke free from the woman’s hypnotic stare and put the picture back on the grimy mantel. His hand instinctively went to the inhaler in his pocket. “Hey, guys. Come look at these pictures. They’re pretty wild.”
Silence was the only response, save for the faint plink, plink sound of water dripping from some exposed pipes in the ceiling. Alice and Nick were gone.
They had left him behind. Unbelievable. It’s not like he had been looking at these dead people for a long time. So much for staying together, Nicky. She’s got you whipped, man.
Fuck them! He could have fallen through a piece of rotten floor or could be getting hacked up by some vagabond lunatic at this very moment. They wouldn’t give a shit. That was becoming more and more obvious to him. Well, here’s a special announcement for both of them: SUCK MY HAIRY BALLS, ASSHOLES!
He would go it alone. Tubby crossed the room. The mellow glow from the flashlight swept the floor and walls in wide, searching arcs. The smell in here was terrible. Mold and decay and animal shit.
Tubby passed underneath a ceiling arch with intricate scrollwork. Cobwebs had practically consumed it. He stifled a cough in the crook of his elbow. There must be at least fifty years of dust in this place. He eventually found the kitchen. The brilliant glare from a distant streetlamp shining through a smashed window made the flashlight rather unnecessary, but Tubby wouldn’t dare turn it off.
Hell no!
Things were pretty well preserved in here, compared to the condition of the rest of the house. The floor was green title and cracked in several places. Tubby saw a sink about the size of a bathtub mounted to the wall. The cabinets were barren, unless you counted the billons of mouse droppings. A heavy butcher’s block table sat in the middle of the room. There was also a Frigidaire and a gas-range stove.
Tubby moved the light over everything, tracing the rubbish on the floor, the vintage wall scones, a torn calendar that still hung in the corner. He could make out the date: MAY 1933.
He was about to continue down the hall when he spotted the door. It seemed to blend into the wall. Tubby probably wouldn’t have even noticed it had the light not fallen at exactly the right spot. It was practically hidden from sight.
A secret passage? Torture chamber?
Though he couldn’t articulate the strange feelings to himself, Tubby felt drawn to that door. He began to move as if he were powerless to stop his feet. He needed to know what was in there.
He placed a shaking hand on that tarnished silver knob. Blood pounded in his skull. The door opened without any trouble, barely a protest from the rusted hinges. Tubby’s heart seemed like it was in a vice grip. Sweat popped out on his forehead. He felt his testicles shrink to the size of raisins.
Darkness tumbled down the stairs and landed on the concrete floor. There was a strong, nasty smell coming from down there. It was a stink of wet earth after a heavy rain…and something else that Tubby couldn’t place. Something foul and pungent.
Taking a deep breath, Tubby started down the rickety steps. He felt as if he were outside himself, seeing everything as if it were all some sort of movie on television.
It’s not a movie. This is real fucking life.
That dank, putrid smell was worse down here. Intensifying. Tubby stood, the reassuring beam from the flashlight felt like a shield. It traveled quickly over strange shapes. Here was the usual hodgepodge of crap that you would find in most New England basements. There was the large boiler propped up on crumbling cement stones. Old chairs with busted legs. Cans of paint. Kerosene lamps. A couple large steamer trunks. There was an ancient phonograph beside the coal shoot. Tubby’s light played over the rouged faces of several porcelain dolls that sat like a silent audience on a loveseat. Those dolls caused him to shiver.
The smell was now cloying. He felt like he could taste it.
What the hell is that?
“I actually don’t want to know,” Tubby said to the darkness that surrounded him on all sides. His voice sounded ragged, scared.
He could make out some wooden shelves. Blinking against the falling dust, Tubby crossed the cellar. Keds squelched in mucky puddles. He had to transfer the flashlight to his left hand because his right one was sweating so much. There were glass mason jars on these shelves. Things you would find in the pantry. He had to squint in order to read the faded labels. WHITE RICE. ROLLED OATS. SUGAR. SALT.
Tubby straightened back up after a minute. Whew. There was a little relief. These weren’t jars filled with severed hands or shrunken heads. No hearts in murky green water. No jars filled with tiny baby teeth. It was only typical, goddamn dry goods, the kind of stuff his grandma had in her cramped apartment in Providence. He wiped his sweaty brow with the back of his hand.
That was when he heard the breathing. It came out of the darkness. Low, steady, and unmistakable. There was something down here with him.
Tubby turned around.
And that’s when he screamed.
-–
Alice wasn’t exactly sure what she was seeing.
Bits of shattered bones. Grey tufts of fur. The ribcage of this animal had been torn open. Meaty entrails were drying on the floor. The thing was too mangled to identify, but a growing sickness was creeping up on her.
“I think it’s a dog,” she told Nick.
They had wandered into what must have been a lounge or a ballroom long ago. The floorboards were covered in dust that more closely resembled volcanic ash. It was barren in here. No furniture. Plywood boards nailed across the large windows. There was a large oil portrait of a rather intimidating older woman on the wall. She seemed to stare down at them, at these intruders who had wandered into her home.
Nick gave Alice the flashlight and crouched down to better inspect the grisly discovery. “It looks like a dog, alright. A small one. It’s been here a while. The blood has dried.”
Alice shuddered as if a sudden chill had come over her. She wanted to leave. Right now. This was enough for one night.
“Where’s Tubby?” she asked, panning the light around the room.
They had lost him. She had last seen Tubby while they were moving through the darkened living room. He was standing at the fireplace, absorbed in the pictures on the mantel. He had seemed entranced, under a kind of hypnotism. Come on, Tubby. Don’t lag behind.
Nick quickly got to his feet. Alice shone the flashlight through the doorway, trying to make out any sign of Tubby in the inky blackness.
No sign of him.
Suddenly, cries of agony pierced the terrible silence and echoed throughout the house. Alice had never heard anything like before.
It was Tubby’s voice.
Nick and Alice ran, following those terrible screams, the flashlight’s beam darting crazily on the walls. Alice wasn’t sure what exactly happened. Tubby must be hurt. Badly. That was the only explanation for those cries of agony. We’re coming. Please just be okay. Please.
They bounded down the unlit halls and came into a kitchen just as the screams were cut off. That was somehow worse than hearing Tubby’s initial cries, having him suddenly go quite like that. It was as simple as someone shutting off the radio in their car.
One more the house was silent.
-–
There was a door open in the kitchen that led down to the basement. Alice could see Tubby’s flashlight laying at the bottom of the stairs, casting a yellow square on the dirt floor. A terrible stench – akin to spoiled meat – was wafting up out of the darkness.
“He’s down there,” said Alice. “Come on. We have to helped him.”
Nick halted her. “Wait!”
He reached into the pocket of his jeans and took out a buck knife. He unfolded it. The blade threw back winks of light. “Okay,” said Nick, breathless. “We go together.”
They started down into that dark and foul-smelling basement. Alice’s heart was a runaway train in her chest. The silence was unnerving. The stench was unbearable. Wet earth. Rank meat. It was the strong, unmistakable aroma of death.
Nick called out into the blackness. “TUBBY! ARE YOU OKAY?”
No answer.
However, Alice was becoming aware of some kind of noise for the first time since those screams had stopped. It was hard to place down here. A sort of chewing sound.
That was the only way she could describe it. Not that this did any good for the fear and adrenaline coursing throughout her body. She held tight to the flashlight. The gleam traveled over the beams in the ceiling, the castaway items that had sat down here for decades gathering dust and mold.
Then they saw it.
Alice caught the thing in her bright light. Crouched low on its haunches, eyes shining bright and yellow, it was feeding on the remains of Tubby. The boy’s neck had been savagely mauled. Blood spewed from the femoral artery. His head had been nearly severed from the twitching body.
The creature glanced up from its feeding. Alice would remember this nightmare image for the rest of her life. Hydrocephalic head. A flickering, forked tongue like a snake. Giant talons used to rip and tear. The thing’s mouth was a bloody hole. The teeth were yellowed and razor sharp. That bad meat smell was coming off its hairless, hunchbacked body in waves.
What is that?! Her mind screamed. What the hell is that?!
The creature hissed. It sounded angry.
A spell had been immediately broken.
Alice and Nick instantly broke for the stairs, driven only by the primal instinct of survival.
The creature took after them at once, surging forward in a stinking aroma of decomposition and swift death. Tubby was only a torn and flayed mass on the hard floor with his eyes frozen in stark terror.
Alice was hurrying up the basement stairs, the glow from the flashlight darting all around the basement. Nick followed only a hair’s breadth behind her.
Halfway to the top, the safety of the kitchen within reach, Alice was driven forward by a tremendous force. Nick had slammed into her, and they fell in a heap.
She whipped her head back at once. Her eyes bulged in terror.
Nick was stabbing at the creature with his knife. The thing had one of its long claws around his ankle in a death grip. It was pulling hard, ripping, trying to drag the boy back into the darkness.
Nick screamed and slashed.
The creature screeched like some sort of bird.
Nick managed to meet her gaze. She could see his eyes were wild and frightened. Those were the eyes of a pathetic animal caught in a trap. “GO! GO! GET OUT OF HERE!”
Those would be the last words that Nick McKee would ever speak. In a flash, he was jerked down into the dark as if on some fast-moving conveyor belt. The creature continued to screech and howl. The sound had caused Alice to momentarily go deaf.
She staggered to her feet and ran, without looking back, the rest of the way up the stairs. She got to the top and slammed the door shut behind her.
Breathing heavily, tears staining her cheeks. Alice locked the door and stepped back. She felt like her heart was about to burst from her chest.
Heavy footsteps could be heard. A pounding rattled the door. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. The door bulged in its frame. That thing was going to burst through in a minute.
Alice took off. She had lost the flashlight at some point back in the basement, but she didn’t give a shit. It didn’t matter. She ran and didn’t look back.
She heard the basement door burst open. That nightmare cawing filled the house.
This is not happening. It’s only a dream. IT’S JUST A DREAM!
But it wasn’t.
Alice saw that the front door was in sight. She charged towards it. Hands clasped the knob.
Come on! Come on!
The doorknob wouldn’t budge. Stuck. It was fucking stuck!
She risked a look back. The outline of some giant shape was stalking down the halls. Closing the gap between it and her. Those terrible cries continued, and that savage stink seemed to fill the world.
COME ON! COME ON!
That nightmarish thing was getting closer. She could feel the hot, rank breath on the back of her neck. In a few moments, she would meet the same grisly end as Tubby and Nick
PLEASE! PLEASE!
Finally, the knob turned in her sweaty hands. The door had miraculously come unstuck.
Alice Chamberlain flew out into the rain night.
-–
The rain had started at midnight.
The old house was quiet and still. Whatever horrors had taken place in there had passed on into local myth long ago. The place had stood here for eight decades. Residents shuddered at its ominous, occultic-looking presence for several generations. It haunted the dreams of children and adults alike. The gray weather-beaten Victorian stood on its unkept plot of land on this dead-end street like some sort of monument to debauchery and violence. It was rumored that the house was a passageway to the fiery depths of Hell. That’s if you believed in all those silly stories.
The seasons would pass, like they always did in the New England hinterlands. Summers to winter. Winters to spring. The house would endure it all. There would occasionally be boisterous talk at a town council meeting about what to do about that monstrosity on Reservoir Circle, and one time even a notice of demolition would be drawn up by a group of developers from Manhattan, eager to cash in on the acres the infamous house was built on. They had a lot of money and supposedly big plans, condos or maybe a fancy bed and breakfast. However, nothing would ever come to pass with these endeavors. Plans fell through. Potential buyers always dropped out due to one thing or another.
The old house kept standing throughout the years. Unmovable. Watchful. Beckoning.
For some residents, mainly the few old-timers who were content to live out the rest of their simple lives in this little hamlet, it was accepted in way that verged on the mystical rather than the rational that house needed to be here. It fed off its terrifying lore, off the uneasiness and downright fear that its notorious history inspired in the people of the town. It remained because it wanted to remain here. That was the long and short of the story. The house did not want to be disturbed.
And so it was that the years passed…