house-of-unknown-horrors

[house-of-unknown-horrors]

The Poor Dear Boy

As I step out of my car, I hear it again. It’s just a whisper, but I swear I can hear it.

            “Oh, the poor boy.” I can’t quite pin down where it’s coming from. Perhaps farther in the woods? But it can’t be too far, can it? After all, it’s only a whisper.

            But there’s no one else here. Perhaps my mind is playing tricks on me? It has been a long day. I’ve been driving for hours now, and the sun disappeared hours ago.

            I hear it again. “The poor, dear boy.” It sounds sad, but not quite mournful. I made up my mind. Whoever it is, they’re probably in need of help, so I set off to find them. “The poor, poor boy!” But it’s hard to pin down the direction of the whispery cry. I grab the flashlight from the glovebox of my car, and the first aid kit from the trunk, just in case. “Oh, the poor boy. The poor, dear boy!” Left, maybe, I think. So, I set off.

            After a while of wandering, I find myself deeper in the woods. There’s still no sign of anyone, and I can hardly see the moon through the trees overhead. I hear it again.

            “The poor, beloved boy.” Closer, I think, but still not there. At this point, I think it might just be the trees in the wind. Though it’s weird they should make that sound. I stumble a bit over a tree root, but regain my footing. I thought I saw something in the beam of the light, but it’s gone now. A deer, out for a nighttime stroll, probably. “Oh, the poor, sweet boy!” I keep walking, though I’m starting to wonder why.

            I check my watch. Midnight. I’ve been up for nearly 18 hours, and I still haven’t found anything, though I still hear the sad cries. “The poor, misfortunate boy!” I look around, trying to remember which way the road was, but I strayed from the footpath a while ago, and all the trees look the same. I pick a direction and start heading towards what I hope is my car. The beam of my light shines through branches, making movement where there is none.  I’m starting to get a bit jumpy, but then again, I’m tired.

            I keep walking, even on the uneven terrain. Hoping my car isn’t too far. As the ground starts to decline, I slip on a rock and fall. My flashlight flies out of my hand and hits the ground with a resounding thump. It’s a good thing it’s a rugged one, I think as I get up and brush myself off. I examine myself for injuries. Scraped elbows and a bruised shin, but otherwise fine. I grab the first aid kit from the ground and open it up to start cleaning the scrapes, but then I see something in the fallen light.

            She stares at me, droopy eyes and sunken skin. Sallow and pale. Long hair a tangled mess, but swept out of her face. Tattered dress blowing in the faint breeze. “Won’t you help the poor boy? The poor dear boy?” She asks, but her mouth doesn’t move. Everything feels off.

            I run.

            She doesn’t move.

            I stumble over the uneven ground, tripping in the darkness, fear gnawing at my back. I keep running until the gnawing fear stops, then look around. It’s pitch black, and I’m hopelessly lost without my flashlight. As I turn around, I hear her again. “Oh, please won’t you help the poor, dear boy!” I start running again, aimlessly. I think I see a cave in the distance. I might be able to hide there. Making a split-second decision, I run inside and hide behind a stalagmite. I try to slow my panicked breathing. Perhaps I should sleep here and wait until morning, if the thing doesn’t find me first. I hear something at the cave entrance. Dripping water, maybe? But I’m not so sure. I peek around my hiding space to the front of the cave. Nothing. I turn back around, back to the rock, and freeze. “I’ll take you to the poor boy. The poor, dear boy. Will you help the poor, beloved boy? The poor, unfortunate boy?”

---===+++===---

            There’s a knock on her front door. She gets up, wraps a robe around her and puts on her slippers. It’s been 3 years now. She sighs and opens the door. It’s the police. There’s a grim look on the man’s face. She knew it was foolish to hold on to that hope for this long, but still, maybe it’s not all bad. Maybe she’s still… the officer at the door speaks.

            “Ma’am, sorry to disturb you so early, but it’s your daughter. We think we found her, but… Would you mind coming with us?” She nods, grabbing her coat from the hook next to the door, barely holding back her tears. As she gets in the car, she hopes this time, for once, it’s not her. Please, don’t let it be her. They get to the morgue and the officer leads her inside. The mortician leads them to a table in a room and pulls back the sheets.

            Somewhere, deep in the forest, there’s a sad, un-mournful whisper. “Oh, the poor girl. The poor, dear girl.”

[house-of-unknown-horrors]

A Loving Husband Always Gives part 1

I put the small knick-knack on the bookshelf. Finally, we could officially call ourselves moved in. After a solid week of unpacking, it was finished, and I could set down to do what I originally wanted us to move here for. It had been ages since I’d had enough peace and quite to write, what with Stacy always coming and going with her friends, and my boss always breathing down my neck. The moment Barbara and I set eyes on the House, we knew it would be perfect. County Drive was seated in a quiet neighborhood, and the school was just down the street so Stacy could walk to school every day without much of a hassle. Of course, we couldn’t beat the price either, so we signed the paperwork as soon as we could.

Barbara walked in, distracting me from my thoughts. “All finished?”

“Yup. Just got the last of it. By the way, what’s for dinner tonight?”

“Not much. Just some beans and rice. I haven’t had much of a chance to go to the store yet.” She glanced at the writing desk. “Any ideas for your stories yet?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. Hopefully we’ll be able to find a publisher.” I smiled at her, confident that everything was going to turn out our way.

That night, I dreamed. I was in a forest, surrounded by birch trees. There was a small stream flowing nearby, so I followed it. As I neared the base of a waterfall, I spotted a cave and decided to explore. Inside the cave was shriveled old woman who beckoned me closer, but as I neared her, vines grabbed at my feet, dragging me down and away from the old crone. As I hit the ground, mud and leaves filled my mouth, causing me to gag and choke. I tried to pull away the vines, and as they wrapped around my hand

*BEEP* *BEEP* *BEEP*

I shut the alarm off and rolled over, trying to ignore the taste of mud and leaves in my mouth.

[house-of-unknown-horrors]

A Strange House, A Strange Tour.

It really was an unassuming house. Yellow siding slightly faded, rose bushes unkempt from lack of upkeeping, white garage door slightly mangled near the bottom. The only thing immediately odd about the place was the fact that the curb didn’t dip in front of the driveway like they tend to do. Around the back, the deck was slightly rotten, and the swamp cooler on top of the house leaked with a slight drip. But there was a small pond and a few trees. Overall, it seemed like a good house in a good neighborhood. Never mind that the road to get there was massive and maze-like, not helped by the fact that every turn in the immediate area was labeled “County Drive”. But there was an elementary school, a golf course, a country club, and no HOA, so the $2,100/month asking price for the small 4 bedroom home seemed like a good deal.

You walk up to the front door as the realtor greets you. His thin frame is tense, and he looks nervous. You brush it off. After all, everyone in this town has been kind of weird about this place, though you can’t begin to fathom why. The house looks just like any other, even if it is a little hard to tell when the place was made. The man in front of you unlocked the door, motioning for you to enter, following in behind you. He nervously clears his throat and speaks.

“Well, here we are. This place has a semi-open floor plan. As you can see, this is the living room, kitchen, and dining area…” He trailed off as he notices you looking around the room. There’s a sliding door in the dining area, clear glass indicating it leads outside. Popcorn ceiling and a slightly torn carpet in the living room. There’s a vent in the ceiling, probably for the swamp cooler. You notice the popcorn texturing around it drooping off, probably from water damage. The realtor notices your staring. “Pay no mind to that. According to the previous owners, it was there when they moved in, too. Anyway, down that hall we have the bathroom and three bedrooms. If you’ll follow me…” He walks over to the short hallway. You follow into one of the bedrooms. It’s kind of small. White painted walls and a small window bench. Not much else to look at. You follow the realtor into the next room. It’s like the first, mirrored. You fold the closet door open, revealing a heating pipe going straight through the floor and up through the roof.

“Why’s this here?” You ask the realtor, bewildered. Usually heating vents are stuffed in the corner of rooms, or even better, through the walls.

“Oh, that. The place was originally built with an unfinished basement. Best guess from us is that it was put there when one of the previous owners did some remodeling.” If you had to guess, from that answer, it seemed he didn’t really know either. “Moving on, then…” The realtor led you out of the room and into the third bedroom. It was slightly larger than the other two. The opposite wall had a sliding glass door leading to the back deck and what appears to be a support beam on the outermost edge of the ceiling. The realtor opens his mouth to speak. “Before the basement was finished, this was intended to be the Master suite.” You look around some more, and notice one of the closet doors is missing. Shelves line the wall from top to bottom. There’s marks on the wall where a clothes rail used to be, but it was taken out. The realtor finishes his spiel on office space, and leads you into the bathroom.

“Nicely decorated.” You say, upon seeing it. There’s two mirrors, one above the sink, and a larger wall mirror across from that. The tilework on the walls is intricately done. So far, it’s the only room without a coat of white paint, instead opting for a pale blue above dark brown tile. The realtor continues, leading you into the garage. It’s dingy, smells of gasoline and pond water, and you notice another door leading to the back yard. You briefly question why, and continue looking around. There’s a decently sturdy work bench, some chemicals left behind on top, and a similarly burdened simple plywood and 2-by-four shelf. You duck back inside, and the realtor leads you downstairs, fumbling with the light switch before heading down. The switch he turned on did not illuminate the staircase. “Um, isn’t there supposed to be a switch for that light?” You ask him, pointing.

“I guess, but it’s not up here.” He gets to the bottom, noticing another switch plate, and fumbling with those. None of them work, turning on and off different lights in the room. He gives up, and then notices another single switch on the opposite side of the wall, flipping it on, and at last illuminating the stairs. “Must have hired an amateur…” he guesses, before continuing. “Well, this is the den. There’s a storage space under the stairs as well as one over here with access to utilities. And THIS,” he indicates to another door, “is the Master suite.” He opens it and leads you in, pointing out water access. You notice the light switch is halfway across the room, next to another door. He turns it on. The lights are dim and yellow. The others were much brighter than these ones. You feel a little uneasy at the strange shadows cast on the wall from the triple light fixture. The realtor opens the other door. “And here’s the Master bath… I know there’s two more doors in here, but we’ll get to those in a second. This bathroom was built as a kind of his and hers set up, as indicated by the two sinks…” The realtor rambles on as your eyes wander the room. White with pink accents, one toilet, one bathtub with shower, two sinks, and a very large wall mirror. Next to the counter is one of the doors. “So, is there two walk ins?” You ask, pointing to the doors. It wouldn’t be entirely strange, after all.

“Ah, no. There’s not.” The realtor open the door next to the sink. “This is the utility room. When they finished the basement, they had to add this door in to get to the other side of the furnace.” He opens the other door. “THIS is the walk-in closet.” It’s not terribly big, but it is deep. You notice another door inside the closet.

“Where does that lead?” You ask. The realtor nervously rubs his hands together and opens it. Bewilderment spreads across your face. A pantry. In the master closet, through the master bathroom. You notice a window. It’s cloudy and the outside is covered in dust, but if you squint just right, you can see faint lines of light. Must be under the porch, you think, as you turn from the small entryway into the larger section of the pantry. You notice a hanging light and pull the string. The light blinks on, and you look around. The realtor, behind you now, lets out a small shriek of surprise and disgust. There, chained to the floor and half rotted, it lay crumpled. You turn to the other man, ashen faced. “Was this here when your guys did their walkthrough?” The realtor stammers out his response.

“N-no sir. It wasn’t here earlier today either.” He holds his hands out in front of him defensively. “Pro-Probably just some local kids…. You know how teenagers are, right? Anyway, let’s move on, shall we?” He hurries out of the room, and you go to follow. You turn around for one last look, and the corpse, along with its chains, is gone. You walked back upstairs to the waiting realtor, and smile.

“Thank you for time, sir, but I think I’ve seen enough. Rotting deck, dripping swamp cooler on a popcorn ceiling, confusing electrical, and a strange layout all sound like a bigger headache than the asking price is worth. Not to mention, if your local teenagers break in to pull pranks like that, I’d rather find somewhere else.” The realtor looks at you, disappointment on his face, but understanding in his eyes. He looks almost relieved.

“Sorry the place wasn’t quite up to your standards. We have other homes available if your still interested in looking.” You brush the man off, bid him farewell, and get in your car, leaving the strange house on County Drive behind you, at least, for now.

[house-of-unknown-horrors]

Creeping, Sneaking,

Creeping, creeping,

Through your unlocked door.

Sneaking, sneaking,

You can’t see him, he’s sure.

Creeping, crawling,

Over your living room.

Sneaking, snaking,

Behind you he looms.

Crawling, creeping

Through house’s walls.

Snaking, sneaking,

In attic, he crawls.

Creeping, sneaking,

He’s eating your food.

Crawling, snaking,

Your eye’s he’ll elude.

Sneaking, crawling,

You’ve found him at last!

Creeping, snaking,

He wasn’t that fast.

Snaking, sneaking,

He can’t get away.

Crawling, creeping,

They’ve caught him today.

Creeping, crawling,

Don’t envy his fate.

Sneaking, snaking,

He couldn’t have wait.

Creeping, creeping,

Through your unlocked door.

Sneaking, sneaking,

You can’t see me, I’m sure.