I’m pretty sure my stepfather died the day we moved into the house.
Maybe even before.
Look, I know it’s crazy, and I have never been one to believe in the supernatural.
But how else could you explain what happened after we moved in? What other possible explanation could there be besides me going insane?
No, I am positive that my stepfather has been dead for a long time, and I’m only telling you this now because I don’t know what to do.
My mother refuses to talk about it, and I can’t blame her, but it is so lonely holding everything in and I can’t do it anymore.
My stepfather is, was, a kind but boring man named Brice.
Mom divorced my father when I was two, and in my 22 years alive, I could count on one hand how many times I’ve seen him.
He doesn’t matter though, I have never lacked love. My mom is my best friend, we do everything together.
When she stated dating Brice, I was happy for her and relieved that she was finally with somebody who treated her well.
I was even happy when Brice invited mom and me to live with him. He had recently inherited his mother’s estate after she died. After years of dating, he and mom thought this would be the next step in the relationship.
The house was in the country side on a huge, lonely plot of land. On the ride there, my mom babbled happily. I was in my own world, so I only caught snatches oh it.
“He’s been working on it every day for months. Oh, it’s going to be great, Samara. It’s huge and there’s so much we can do. The only downside he says is there are quite a lot of bugs, but an exterminator will be out soon to deal with it. He has it under control for now. Isn’t this just great?”
I nodded and looked at the right places, but I wasn’t truly hearing what she was saying.
Now, I wish I had listened.
My first time seeing the house was the day we moved in. And if I could describe it in one word, it would be rundown.
It was a shambling, three story house that looked as though it was held together by spit and prayer and would topple over in a gust of strong wind.
The yard was overgrown with weeds and choked with relics of the past. A rusty tricycle, an old tire swing, baby dolls bleached by the sun. When I kicked one, its face cracked open, and a stream of bugs scuttled out. Ugh.
As cliche as it is, it was a house straight out of a horror movie, complete with peeling window panes and a large black front door.
My mom crowed over it and called it charming, and I mirrored her, but inside I thought nothing about this exuded charm.
I was being bratty, and I reminded myself that this was only temporary. I had just graduated from college, and looking for a job was exhausting and demoralizing. Hopefully, I would find something soon. Hopefully.
Brice greeted us at the door. He had always been pale, a stark difference to me and mom’s dark brown skin. As he stood in the black doorway, he looked like a ghost.
I guess I should tell you now that I didn’t like Brice much.
He was always kind to me and my mother, and had never done anything particularly offensive.
He was strange and pretty boring, but there was something unsettling about him.
His eyes were a pale ice blue devoid of any emotion, and when he smiled, there was no warmth in it. It was cold and predatory, a shark’s grin.
The interior wasn’t as bad as the outside. It actually looked decent, even though it was half finished. Mom was right, this place was huge, a stark difference to the small apartment me and mom had lived in and my college dorm rooms.
My room was on the second floor, and it was just as big. Unlike the rest of the house, my room was completed. It looked fantastic. There obviously had been a level of care while renovating it, and that touched me.
There was a fresh coat of paint, sage green, my favorite color. The wooden flooring gleamed, and a large canopy bed was placed in the center of the room, surrounded by moving boxes.
“I thought you’d want to put your things exactly where you wanted.” A voice, Brice’s, said behind me.
I turned around and he was smiling at me, that smile that never quite reached his eyes.
“Isn’t it great, Samara?” Mom said, she was beaming at him.
“Brice wanted to renovate your room first. Didn’t he do a great job?”
I had to admit he did. It was a phenomenal job.
“Yeah,” I said, smiling at Brice. “Thank you, Brice. It’s amazing.”
He didn’t say anything, he just kept smiling, his teeth were white and very sharp.
❧
I had a weird dream that night.
I dreamt I was walking around the house, the waning sun golden and casting long, contorting shadows on the walls. There was a light at the end of the hallway, a glowing dark red that pulsed to the beat of my heart.
thump thump thump thump THUMP
The colors washed over me like a crimson wave, and I felt something wet and hot drip out of my ear. When I touched it, my fingers came away slick with blood, and with disbelieving eyes I watched as the blood hardened and shimmered on my skin before floating into the air, blinking like fire flies.
They drifted down the hallway, disappearing into the dark, and I followed, my legs moving on their own.
With each step, the walls around me throbbed red, and the shadows danced wildly. They bent into impossible shapes and quivered violently. I reached out to touch one and immediately drew away as my finger tips sizzled and burned.
My heart was beating louder with each step, and when I reached the end of the hallway, it drummed a staccato in my chest.
Brice was standing in front of me, his skin was clammy and gray, and his arms hung limply at his sides. He reminded me of a marionette whose strings had been cut.
His eyes were closed, but as I neared, they snapped open and I gasped. His eyes were milky white, and his mouth lolled open with a low rattling croak. His tongue flexed back and forth, around and around.
He began to shake, his body violently trembling. watched in horror as his head jerked to the side with a loud crack and a stream of large brown bugs streamed out of his mouth. There were hundreds, no thousands, all of them using his body as a host.
My feet were glued to the ground, and when they converged towards me, I began to scream. They crawled into my mouth, their furry legs tickling my throat, and I couldn’t breathe. I was choking. I
I woke up gasping and clutching my throat.
I could still feel the bugs inside of me, and I ran to the bathroom to vomit until I felt empty, and then brushed my teeth until I felt clean.
I peered into the mirror, blearily. I hadn’t put my glasses on but there was a mark on my neck. It itched. A rash was forming.
Great, a bug bite?
My fingers ached and they were swollen. Blisters were forming and I could see yellow pus moving underneath the skin.
I cleaned my fingers as best as I could and took a couple of ibuprofen to stave off the pain.
Walking back to my room, I tried my hardest to not look down the dark tunnel of a hallway, but of course I couldn’t help but look.
Nothing, there was nothing, but as I closed my door, I saw a flash of red at the corner of my eye drifting lazily towards me.
❧
Breakfast the next day was awkward, to say the least. Mom chirped happily about what she planned to do in the house, and me and Brice were silent, both playing with our bowls of oatmeal.
This was unusual for Brice, as he was a self-proclaimed morning bird and would talk nonstop at breakfast, between bites of food. Today, though, his silence was pronounced. His skin was clammy and gray, and his brow was beaded with sweat.
There was an angry red bruise on his neck, which he scratched at sporadically. His face was contorted in pain, and he looked very tired.
Mom noticed as well.
“Honey, are you okay? You look kind of sick.”
She placed a hand against his forehead and frowned.
“You’re cold,” she said. “I think you should rest today.”
Brice nodded, still staring at his untouched food.
“I think that would be a good idea. I feel worn down today. I think something must have bit me. It itches.” He caught the worried expression on mom’s face and smiled wanly.
“Don’t worry, it’s fine. Probably just a mosquito, they breed like crazy here.” He pushed himself from the table and gave mom a kiss. “Sorry, love, we can start the repairs tomorrow if that’s okay.”
“Of course, it’s okay. Get up to bed and try to sleep. I’ll be there soon with some medicine.”
After Brice had left the room, mom turned her gaze on me. She looked concerned.
“How do you feel?” She asked, and I shrugged.
“I feel fine.”
“Would you mind helping me unpack and put some stuff away later?”
I nodded. “Sure, no problem.”
After breakfast, mom went upstairs to check on Brice, and I walked around the house. Unable to shake my dream, I wound up on the third floor.
If I thought the rest of the house was run down, the third floor had nothing on it.
It was huge. It reminded me of a ballroom, that’s how big it was. There were numerous doors on either side, and the hallway was so long and so black. It reminded me of a tunnel.
There were pieces of furniture, white sheets draped over them like misshapen ghosts, and thick layers of dust everywhere that sent me into a sneezing fit.
My stomach gurgled with my half eaten breakfast as I realized this was the hallway from my nightmare. And if what I gleamed from the dream rang true, then I did not want to see what lurked in its darkness.
The sun was intense today and filled the room with rich golden light. On the walls, I saw shadows forming shape and reaching with long, crooked fingers.
“Samara!” Mom’s voice made me jump, and for the first time in my life, I was grateful that she had never learned the meaning of an indoor voice.
I ran down the stairs as fast as possible. I only slowed my hair when I reached the second floor where our bedrooms were.
Mom and Brice’s bedroom door was open, and before I could stop myself, I peeked in. Brice lay on the bed, flat on his back sleeping. Even from here, I could hear his loud snoring.
I gripped the door knob to close it shut, and then stopped and watched in horror as a large brown bug crawled out of his mouth and buried itself into his left nostril.
I slammed the door shut and fled down the stairs.
I helped mom unpack and clean the rest of the day. I didn’t tell her about the third floor or about Brice.
I told you I didn’t believe in the supernatural, and one bad dream, and creepy tricks of the light, wasn’t going to change that so easily. I was unsettled though, because this was some weird shit, and I felt something was wrong.
It didn’t take long for my beliefs to shift drastically, but by then it was too late, and now everything and everyone I have ever known and loved are gone.
❧
Brice didn’t feel better the next day or the day after that. When the weekend came and when he remained immobile in bed, mom was beyond worried.
“Why not take him to the hospital?” I asked her one night as we washed the dishes. She shook her head.
“He refuses to go,” she sighed. “He says he feels fine, just the stress of the move and work.”
But I know she didn’t believe that, and neither did I.
“Momma,” I started, but she cut me off.
“He won’t go, Sammy. He doesn’t like hospitals. Look, if it gets worse, I’ll make him go. For now, let’s just look after him.” She smiled at me, her eyes tired and sad. “We’re so happy you’re here. You’re such a great help.”
Mom couldn’t be home 24/7, and with Brice sick from work and me still jobless, she needed every hour she could get.
She was a nurse at the local hospital and often worked doubles. When she did, I was to watch Brice and report back that her.
It didn’t involve much, just asking him if he wanted to eat or needed more water, to which he always replied no.
I don’t remember the last time he had eaten, I don’t remember the last time I had seen him. All of our communication was through that closed door, and I refused to open it. I don’t think I would like what I would see.
I was in my room searching for jobs on my laptop when I heard it. It was the sound of somebody dragging their feet as they walked,
“Brice?” I called out. “Brice, do you need something?”
No answer, just more shuffling, slow and deliberate.
It was 7 pm and mom was still at work. She had called to tell me that she would be at the hospital much later than she thought.
I was alone in this house with Brice, and it made my stomach turn.
“Brice?” I called again. “Brice, mom doesn’t think you should be out of bed.”
I crossed my room, and when I yanked open my door, I saw
Nothing. There was nothing.
Mom and Brice’s room was down the hall from me. Their door was closed, and just as I was about to grasp the knob, a hand wrapped around my wrist and I screamed.
Brice stood beside me, and he looked awful. His face was still that sickly shade of gray, but it was now tinged blue. His eyes were bloodshot crimson, and his touch made me recoil.
But all that was nothing compared to the rash on his neck. It was no longer red, it was an alarming shade of purple, so dark it looked black. It had spread to his face and down his arm, a swirl of macabre colors, the coloring of death.
He tried to smile at me, and the effect was ghastly, and I tried not to let my discomfort or fear show. He let go of my wrist. His hand was cold and slimy, and I fought the urge to wipe my hand on my pants.
“I wouldn’t go in there,” Brice croaked, his eyes fixed on mine. “It’s a mess, I’m sorry I scared you. I was just getting some water.”
He slowly shook the glass of water at me as though he needed to provide proof, and I smiled nervously at him, wanting nothing more than to run and lock myself into my room.
“Okay, well, I’ll let you rest. I hope you feel better.”
I started to walk away, but Brice called out to me.
“Samara?”
I turned and met his intense stare.
“I wouldn’t go up to the third floor anymore. It’s not safe.”
Then he opened the door and slipped inside, and I was left alone wondering how he knew and what exactly did he mean by that.
It’s not safe?
❧
The air was full of flies, fat and slow. The sound of their buzzing wings was so loud and insistent that I felt sick.
They were everywhere.
They coated the walls and crunched under my feet. They drifted lazily in front of my face, and I made sure to keep my mouth close. They didn’t have any interest in me, instead they focused on the walls and the ceiling.
The curtains drawn were now yanked away violently, unleashing the sun on the hallway and flooding it with golden light.
Most if not all of the flies fell to the floor dead, the ones that remained formed shadows, faces with screaming mouths and drooping eyes.
One by one, they peeled themselves off the wall and limped towards me, shuddering, their hands buzzing and reaching. I tried to run, but I couldn’t. I felt cold fingers trail over my braids.
I looked up at the ceiling and there was an old woman suspended in the air. Or what I thought was a woman. As she loomed closer, I saw that she had at least eight eyes and just as many legs and arms.
She hung upside down, but not floating in thin air as I initially thought.
No, the entire ceiling was covered in gold and silver silk woven into intricate netting.
A spider’s web.
There were several egg sacs quivering on the web. Most of them were very small, but there were also a few big ones. They looked like silk body bags.
The spider/woman stared me, her dark eyes glittering. I could hear loud crunches as she masticated slowly, and when she grinned at me, I saw her mouth full of flies. Some chewed to bits and pieces, the others buzzing with life.
One of the sacs quivered, and with a great ripping sound, it tore. a leg at first, limp and dangling, and then a face burst through the sac.
A face mottled blue, black and gray.
Brice.
Brice’s kind and boring face peered down at me, his eyes open but no longer seeing.
The few strands of web encasing him were slowly giving way.
He fell like a sack of potatoes and landed on his back with a loud meaty thud.
Brice was dead. Brice was very, very dead. His torso had burst open, exposing the inner workings of his body. His organs were furry and black, and I realized with numb horror that they were bugs. His body was full of thousands of trembling bugs that had eaten him from the inside out.
The rash on his neck had disappeared, and two pinpricks bloomed dark against his too white skin.
There was a deep croaking above me. The woman was still grinning, still watching me.
I haven’t forgotten you, have you forgotten me? Her gaze said.
She lowered herself to me, her hands grasping and pulling me to her. My feet dangled in the air, and my heart was pounding.
She touched me. She stroked my hair and my face gentle and loving. Even though she looked like every monster I have imagined combined, I didn’t feel afraid, instead I felt sad.
She stuck a finger between my lips and pried my mouth open. Before I even had time to think, she mashed her lips against mine. She breathed into me, and a flood of bugs danced on my tongue, and I hungrily swallowed them all.
They were sweet, and tickled as they glided down my throat. There was no end to them, and they crawled on my organs and glued themselves to my rib cage.
They hummed on each and every bone.