A Halloween repost from the archives.
Darren stood for a moment and looked around the old house,
certainly older than the others in the street. It was built in 1887; Victorian
Second Empire apparently. Steeped in history he was told, a true fixer upper
they said. Still he was grateful for his uncle who left it to him in his will.
But as Darren looked at the photo from who knows when, even then its wooden
frame, its dark aged slatted walls, sighed with the years.
It had sat unoccupied for a good five years before the will
was read, due to Darren's uncle going missing. The investigation to find him
had been thorough, but he was never found and the house had suffered from
serious neglect in the meantime.
Darren decided that he would simply renovate the house and
sell it; he had no interest in the family history. He started to move an old
chest--one of the few remaining items in the house--and a photograph, paled and
aged, dropped to the floor. He picked it up; it appeared to be a group of
football players in a locker room. They were all holding up their fists proudly
showing their championship rings. Darren remembered his uncle talking about the
time the football team won the college tournament. He ran a finger across the
faces, and smiled as he spotted his uncle; he hadn't seen him for almost twenty
years now. He propped the photo on the chest and stood back wondering what
cards fate had dealt his uncle.
The restoration was tough; he'd worked through the house
room by room and was only half way done. He had only started working on the
ground floor box room in the morning. It was a peculiar room with no windows
and appeared to have no purpose. The wallpaper was dark and mottled with a
pattern that seemed to shift if you stared at it too long.
As Darren stripped the wallpaper he quickly realised that it
was concealing strange scrawls daubed on the walls. The markings appeared to
interlock with each other; none of it made any sense to him. He continued
ripping the paper from the walls and soon discovered a hollow space. He pulled
at the boards and revealed a very large fireplace.
Suddenly, without warning the lights went out; not just in
the box room but the whole house.
Darren scrambled around the floor to find his toolbox, and
grabbed a torch. He flicked the switch. Nothing; shaking the torch didn't help
either. He let out a sigh and felt his way around the room, knowing he'd have
to go to the basement to check the fuses. In the hall an eerie orange light
bathed the inside of the house, it was almost dusk outside.
In the kitchen Darren searched the cupboards for the candle
he'd seen. Darren had no idea where it had come from but its squat body
suggested it was old and well used; blobs of wax traced their way down its
edges. Once lit, its warm yellow flame danced in the drafts of the old house.
The steps down to the basement were crooked and uneven.
Darren's hand touched the walls: damp, rough bricks. The candle flickered,
caught in a draft, and he held up a hand to protect the flame and stumbled down
the last couple of steps. Darren fell to his knees and cursed as he dropped the
candle; it went out as it rolled away. He fumbled around the floor in complete
darkness and found the candle--flick, flick; the lighter finally lit and he
touched it to the candles wick. The glow slowly illuminated the basement, and
an eerie face with eyes like fire loomed up in front of him. He gasped and
scuttled backwards; a sound, a crack from behind him and the lights came on
again. He gasped and sighed, it was his own reflection staring back from a mirror
propped up against a wall. Darren checked the fuses. They all appeared to be
fine. "Crazy wiring" he mumbled under his breath.
As Darren slowly walked up the stairs of the basement he
touched the walls; they were bone dry and smooth. He took a deep breath and
shook his head.
He returned to the kitchen again and checked the torch. It
still didn't work, but he remembered there was a small lantern in the trunk of
the car. Outside, dusk was approaching and Darren wondered why he'd not been
bugged by kids trick or treating; the large bowl of treats left by the porch
remained untouched.
From the back of the car, Darren rummaged through the
contents of the trunk and found the lantern. It flickered for a moment then
shined bright; satisfied he turned it off again and walked back to the house.
Tall fences erected by the neighbours cast deep shadows as the sun got low in
the sky of the October evening. The path was long and narrow, and the once
elegant trees were gnarled and dying. He glanced at the pumpkins: He'd only put
them outside in the morning with some smiley faces carved into them, but their
bright orange skins had aged. The fruit had sagged; browned and the cheery
smiles transformed into grotesque sneers.
Darren turned on hearing a sound--a single child dressed in
a cowboy costume. "Your pumpkins are evil," the cowboy said. Darren
picked up the bowl of sweets and offered them to the child, but he saw a
movement of shadows out of the corner of his eye and turned to see nothing. His
gaze returned to the boy, who has been quickly joined by his mother. She
glanced at Darren, fear in her eyes. She grabbed the arm of the child, and
dragged him backwards. She said something into his ear, and his face screwed up
and tears streamed from his eyes. A little shocked, Darren returned the sweets
to the porch with a sigh.
The house seemed to groan as he opened the door and walked
in. There was a weight in his step as he made his way back to the box room.
Inside the box room, he was grateful that the lights were
still working as he glanced at the gaping throat of the fireplace. Darkness
appeared to spill into the room from the opening as he went to investigate the
discovery.
Cautiously he ran his hand around its interior; the outer
surface appeared to be a heavy cast iron and was unusually large but the back
appeared to be some other material. He used a claw hammer to tap around the
surface and the back just crumbled. Using the claw of the hammer he pulled at
the small hole he'd created.
It wasn't long before a hole large enough to crawl through
had appeared. He switched on the lantern and held it up to the opening. He
squinted into the receding darkness. It looked like another small room behind
the fireplace.
He passed the lantern into the room and squeezed through the
fireplace. The inside felt tight and oppressive, like a heavy weight bearing
down on him. The light from the lamp dimmed and struggled to light any of the
rooms corners.
He moved the lantern, tracing its interior; the walls where
daubed with the same strange symbols. There was a black stain across one of the
walls, and the light from the lantern reflected off its shiny surface. In the
gloom Darren reached out and touched the stain. It was warm and sticky. As he
pulled his finger away it clung and stretched out into long sinews, almost
unwilling to release its grasp. Finally, it relinquished its grip and snapped
back; it bubbled a little as it returned to the wall.
He moved the lantern around the small space and jumped when
he discovered a skeleton jammed into one of the corners. It was brown, almost
charred; its surface ruptured with blemishes.
With more confidence he moved the lantern closer, inspecting
it--with a gulp he recognised a championship ring on one of its fingers;
Darren's memory snapped back to the picture, his uncle had one just the same as
that.
Edging from the shadows, Darren noticed the black stain had
moved, it was now hanging over the skeleton. The black substance blistered and
dropped onto the skeleton's shoulder, more of it oozed over the bones and down
the arm to the hand.
Darren jumped as the ooze-covered bones jerked. His eyes
where fixed as it gained momentum and formed a tight bond to the bones. This
time the whole arm shot out making a grab at Darren. Its grip was firm around
Darren's wrist, but he pulled free and scrambled backwards through the opening
in the wall, only pausing to glance back. The ooze had covered what was left of
the skeleton completely, and it was moving in Darren's direction.
Outside, the light above Darren's head struggled to remain
alight; it flashed spasmodically giving only snapshots of what was going on,
like an old movie. He watched the fireplace intently as the creature emerged;
its movements where awkward and unnatural, limbs bending in directions they
shouldn't.
It stood, rolling its shoulders, gruesome cracks and snaps
echoed around the room as it rose to its full height. It rocked its head, and
ripples of crimson matted across its surface, it was changing its form. Darren
blinked; it was his uncle, but something was wrong. It was the image of his
uncle but from twenty years ago, the last time he'd seen him. He frowned: this
couldn't be him, but he recognised the ring that glinted in the light.
It edged forward, and cautiously Darren took a step back.
"It's me boy," it said in a controlled voice.
"There is nothing to be afraid of."
Darren glanced at the tools on the floor and snatched for a
screwdriver.
It held up its hands. "Trust me son, I wouldn't hurt
you," it smiled, its grin crammed with an unnatural number of teeth.
Without warning it made a lunge at Darren, but he protected himself with the
screwdriver, and it caught the creatures face. Scrambling backwards Darren
watched the tear in its cheek; below was the same dark shiny substance from the
smaller room.
The creature’s eyes narrowed as it pulled at the loose flap
of skin. "Stupid, and pointless," it sneered. "This form,"
it gestured at its body, "is just temporary. It's you I want as a
permanent vessel."
Darren gasped and he took a step back, his eyes darted
around the room and spotted the open toolbox on the floor. He raised the
screwdriver, "I'm not FUCKING scared of you!" He edged towards the
creature, and a grin peeled across its face. He made a lunge at it and pushed
hard; surprised the creature stumbled backwards and tripped over the toolbox.
Darren turned and ran. He glanced left and right, and saw
the front door ajar, and stormed towards it. Just out of reach, it slammed
shut--he tried the handle but it was jammed and refused to budge. Behind him
the creature, let out a deep throaty resonance of a growl.
The lights flickered again, and he bolted for the stairs.
The creature grasped at Darren from the doorway but he side-stepped past, and
as he raced up the stairs two at a time an angry roar echoed around the house.
Darren's eyes whipped between each of the doors, and he
dived into the master bedroom, for it had a small balcony that sat above the
garage: a possible escape.
Darren carefully closed the door, breathing heavily, gulping
for air. He slid his head against the door but all he could hear was the rush
of blood in his ears--then silence. Moments later he heard the front door open
with a creak and then slam shut. Darren frowned as he concentrated on the
sounds; a squeal and a thud, then silence again.
There was a shout from the stairs, "Darren?"
He gasped. It was his mother. "Mom?" He clapped
his hand over his mouth.
"Darren where are you? I'm
scared," she replied
He gulped, and listened. "Darren, I'm really scared. I
think there is something in the house."
There was a scream, and something fell to the ground.
"Mom?"
A quiet groan drifted up the stairs. "Darren, h-help
me."
Darren bit his lip and edged towards the door. "Mom,
where are you?" He whispered, there was silence apart from a gentle sob.
Darren looked over the banisters to the hall below, he saw
what looked like his mom slumped against the wall. He quietly called her and
she looked up with tears in her eyes. He cautiously edged down the stairs, but
the tears of his mother were so strong he disregarded his own safety and helped
her to her feet. She appeared shaken and bruised holding on to him tightly.
"S-Something grabbed at me," he held up a finger
hushing her, and she continued in a low voice. "It was clawing at my arm
but I struggled free!" She pointed a shaky finger at the box room, where a
grey light bled from the room.
Darren knew it was foolhardy, but something tugged at him,
telling him to return to the box room. He edged towards the darkness, his
mother close behind him with a strong hand on his shoulder.
He slowly edged in; he felt the hand on his shoulder tighten
even further. Looking around, it appeared that the light above his head was
struggling as it flickered and dimmed only casting a small pool of light into
the middle of the room.
He flicked the light switch a couple of times and for a
moment, light flooded into the room; there was a figure crouched in the far
corner. "William?" Darren's mother called from over Darren's
shoulder.
It turned, its hand covered its cheek. "Yes, help me
please," it begged. Darren's mother tried to push past but he held her
back.
"Keep behind me," he said under his breath.
He watched carefully as it struggled to get to its feet; it
traced the strange figures and shapes painted on the walls with its finger,
"Trapped within these spells, trapped within these walls," it hissed,
"I need you to escape the..." The room appeared to twist and flex;
the symbols seemed to move on their own.
The creature made a lunge and Darren's arm instinctively
swung out pushing his mother to safety. He was shocked as his mother almost
flew out of the door, and he jumped as the door slammed behind him. The
creature appeared weakened as it stumbled and fell to its knees.
It was still in the guise of Darren's uncle and looked up
with a sneer of contempt on its face. "You will be mine," it croaked
as it sprang to its feet, grabbing his shoulder. Darren screamed as heat seared
through his body as it pushed its thumb into Darren's flesh. It blinked and it
tipped its head. "Mine," it smiled
He gasped, and groaned as the heat started to burn, deep
within the core of his body. Darren's eyes popped open, and he realised the
creature had released its grip and taken a couple of steps backwards, not
taking its eyes off him.
Darren screamed, deep within his very soul, and his whole
body went into spasm, and his muscles tightened, locking him to the spot.
Darren's vision blurred, and the light in the room took on an orange-like cast.
Beads of sweat poured down his face. Deep within Darren
something wanted to escape, and his shoulders pulled back and his chest looked
like it was going to explode. He let out an involuntary roar as something
pulled itself out of his body.
Hot blistering flames licked around the new figure; now
released, Darren brought his hands up to his face protecting himself from the
heat and stumbled backwards crumpling to the floor.
The flaming-figure turned and looked at Darren, and he saw
the same burning flames in its eyes as he did in his own reflection in the
basement.
The creature backed away from the heat, but the
flaming-figure only stepped closer.
The creature tried to escape past the flaming-figure, but it
raised a hand and a ball of fire mushroomed from its hand blocking the
creatures exit. Flinching from the heat, the creature darted the other way, and
the flaming-figure gestured again and another ball of fire blasted past the
creature; it was trapped with only the fireplace as sanctuary from the heat.
The creature slowly backed towards the gaping fireplace.
Crouching it crawled back into the space, and without warning the
flaming-figure pointed both hands at the creature and a thick stream of fire
blasted into the fireplace, pushing the creature deep within the hidden room.
The flaming-figure continued throwing fireballs at the cast
iron fireplace, which started to blister and bubble. It glowed red, then white,
and sagged, sealing the opening.
The flames around the room quickly extinguished; Darren's
eyes soon become used to the gloom again and he looked around expecting to see
the room burnt to a crisp, but the only visible damage was the molten,
misshapen fireplace.
The fierce heat from the figure quickly died. The figured
turned, and Darren blinked. It was his uncle.
He held out a hand, but Darren pulled back. "It's OK,
I'm the good guy honestly," he said. He took his hand, and pulled Darren
to his feet. "Sorry about hitching a ride with you in the basement, like
that creature," he nodded at the fireplace, "I was trapped in the
basement and needed a lift to get out of there."
"B-But I thought that was
you?" Darren stuttered
"Yeah, an old trick. It can't move around by itself, it
needs to use something physical like a wall, a floor," he sighed, "or
my skeleton."
With a gulp Darren reached out and touched his uncle, but
his fingers almost passed through him, "Yup," he says, "that was
me. The only way I could trap him in there was to use myself as bait."
"So what now?" Darren asked.
"The creature will be trapped in there for a while now,
but this house cannot fall into the wrong hands," he rested a hand on
Darren's chest. "You'll need to stay here and be the new guardian--my time
is nearly up."
"But how?"
"It's all in the basement, you'll know where to find
it."
Darren felt a warmth pass into his chest, "This will
help you, it was passed to me; the power to protect the world."
The warmth subsided and Darren looked up at his uncle.
"It's up to you now boy. Do the family proud," he
slowly faded, and vanished.
Darren jumped when his mother burst through the door, and
hugged him.
"Oh Darren--I was so
scared--the noises, the screams," she whispered
Darren held her close, as he considered the cards that fate
had dealt him.
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