by C. K. Walker
I heard the bones break underneath me when I landed but adrenaline kept the pain from crippling me entirely. I ran as best I could across the clearing toward the tree line. As I ran the fog thinned and I saw the third stick man waiting for me in the trees.
I quickly tried to change course and fell on my broken ankles. When I looked up to see if it was coming toward me, I saw that it wasn't actually a stick man at all, it was something almost worse. It was Melanie.
She was hanging by the neck from a tree branch, facing the cabin and, consequently, me. I was on my feet and running toward her in under a second. When I got to her I could tell immediately that I was far too late to be of any help to her and far too short to get her down. All I could do was watch her dead body swing in the wind and cry. I wondered where the rope had come from.
I looked back at the house then, to see if the stick men were close, but it wasn't them that I noticed. It was what Melanie had seen out at the graves, the thing that had made her run.
Ash was on the roof, lying there, splayed out for us all to see. His head was untouched and his mouth has fallen open into a long O. His hands and shoes were pristine, too. But the rest of his body; from his neck, to his wrists, to his ankles were picked clean of flesh. He was simply a brittle skeleton with a face.
So, they had done this. They had done this to Ash and they had done this to Mel, gave her the tools she needed to die. And soon she would look just like Ash did. I couldn’t bear the thought.
I tried everything I could think of to get her down from the high branch until the physical pain ebbed in and, just as it did, I saw the shape of a stick man walking toward me through the fog. I told Melanie’s body I was sorry and then I ran, falling only once as I sprinted away from the horrors of the mountain.
The Stick Man never caught me because it didn't want to. After hours of walking, when I thought the agony of my broken bones and soul was going to kill me, I could still see them in the wood. And Ash was right, there were three. They would appear as a silhouette and then disappear as they turned to walk and reappear...well, anywhere. But they would always turn up closer to me than they were before.
And then, long after night had fallen, I tripped on a dirt road and didn't get back up. I stared up at an empty, starless sky and waited for a passerby or a Stick Man to claim me. It was a young mother and her son, in the end.
No one ever believed me about the Stick Men.
They told me all of our phones were found in our rooms. They said there was nothing wrong with the cars. That may be true now, but it wasn't then. I know they'll never believe me about what really happened out in the woods, but I'll always know. The Stick Men stripped our souls away. And then the Stick Men ate what was left.
DOLLHOUSE
I grew up in Keeling, Missouri. No, you wouldn't have heard of it. It was a small, rural, lower-middle class community where everyone owned an acre or two. My father was a writer and my mother wanted to keep horses so Keeling was the perfect little “one stoplight town” for them to settle in and raise children.
We lived there until suddenly, in 1984, the government claimed eminent domain on all of Keeling and we were bought out. My dad decided to move us to sunny California.
I'm a writer, too, though I'm not as well-known as my father. I write informational pieces for online magazines and blogs. And of course that means I'm barely getting by. So when one of my editors asked me to write an article on eminent domain for a popular political website, I jumped at the chance. She told me she chosen me because I had first-hand experience with eminent domain and the buyer wanted an Op-Ed piece that included photos.
I packed my bags for the following week, excited for the project. I'd always been curious about what became of my hometown, anyway. Before he died, my dad told me he thought Keeling had been turned into a small airport.
First: research. I was disappointed to find the internet all but mute on the old town - citing my sources was going to be difficult. I knew Keeling had been near Poplar Bluff, Missouri so I pulled up Google Earth and followed the 67 north to the turn off for Keeling.
Odd. The entire town was...blank. Not blank like there weren't any buildings, blank like there was a gaping black hole where Keeling was - an omission in the satellite data. It could only mean one thing. I slammed my laptop shut and threw the mouse against the wall. It was private - and likely classified - government land now.
I hemmed and hawed about it a few days before deciding to go anyway. This particular buyer had allotted me a per diem (funds) for travel and I thought I might as well use them. Maybe there was still a story here.
Two days later I was driving through Poplar Bluff in a rented Ford Focus. I stopped at a gas station for some water and granola bars, deciding to check into the hotel after I got back from Keeling. I was looking forward to seeing it again.
I took the exit for North 67 and drove until I realized I'd missed the turn off. I circled back, looking for anything familiar. I had to drive back and forth a few times before I found it. Barely there, covered in plant life and completely unrecognizable, was a road. I'd seen this street a million times, but never unpaved which is why I'd missed it. Someone had pulled up the asphalt and the road was completely overgrown. Bizarre.
I drove the six miles into Keeling wishing I had rented something with bigger tires and a higher clearance. On the last mile the pavement returned and I rolled into the abandoned business district of Keeling. It was small: a post office, a gas station and a bar. All the buildings were derelict and rotting, their decay far more consistent with something left sitting for 100 years - not 30.
I drove through the eerily quiet town with the burned out stoplight and continued down route 51 toward my old house.
As I passed the other houses on the street, I noticed they were in the same state of advanced decay as the buildings in town. It was unsettling, pulling up to the house I'd lived in only 30 years before to find it crumbling and consumed by time.
I went through every room in my house for the nostalgia, but found nothing of interest. We had packed well - there was nothing left here but a sheet-covered mannequin my mom's sewing room and rotting moving boxes on the floor.
I left my old house and continued down the road, which by now had turned back to dirt. Just why had the government bought this place? Why spend all that money, buy up all this land and then abandon it? My stomach knotted as I started to realize there may be a very big story here. I was not going to return to LA empty handed.
I counted house after house knowing I was reaching the end of the street. All were in varied states of decomposition, some had even collapsed in on themselves.
The house at the end of the drive began coming in to view. I slowed down to take it in as it filled my windshield. I never remembered this particular house being enormous, but then, memories of children were often distorted one way or another.
While every other building in Keeling was disintegrating this house stood proud and palatial, untouched by the decades. It was almost as if the house at the end of the drive was stealing the energy, life even, of every other building in town. And maybe even more than that.
An expansive, very clear and defined area of dead grass encircled the house. Two dead trees stood skeletized within its radius. Toxic ground water, perhaps? The windows were all barred, save a small, circular port window on the third story. If the government had claimed this town for any particular reason, could it be this house? Was this what they were hiding? Was this my story? I couldn’t remember anyone ever living here and the house was so different from the others. I had to know why.
Smelling a story at last, I parked in the pristine white driveway and climbed out of my car, hauling my camera and laptop cases over my shoulder. I walked up the four steps to the door and was delighted to find it unlocked.
The foyer was large and made almost entirely of marble, save a large mirror. The house had a delightful Baroque theme to it, and all the beautiful, ornate fixtures shined as if they’
d just been polished. A staircase to the second floor was set right in front of me, a floor to ceiling mirror on the wall to my left and a closed door and hallway beyond it on my right. I set my stuff down and took my phone out - no signal. Fantastic. Looks like I wouldn't be calling the hotel about my late arrival.
I toured the house, snapping a few pictures with my cell as I walked. The first floor had a library, a living room, a kitchen and a dining room. All the furniture had been left behind, even the dining room table was set. Everything was orderly and oddly dust free. Was someone still living here?
The second floor had 4 bedrooms and another narrow staircase that led up to the attic. I tried the attic door first, but it was locked. The first room I entered was the master bedroom. It was simple and cozy unlike the rest of the house and it had an adjoining bathroom. I eyed the bed with interest, a sudden idea coming to me. I may not have to leave Keeling tonight after all.
The next room over from the master stood with door ajar. This room was bare except for nine mannequins, all covered in musty, yellowed sheets like the one at my house. I snapped a quick picture and left, closing the door to the room.
The next door in the hallway was closed. I opened it and cringed: this room had a child's bed and was filled wall to wall with dolls.
I circled the room, curiously picking up a few. Baby Alive dolls, Cabbage patch dolls, and tons of creepy, little, yellowing porcelain dolls. They had all been positioned to be looking at the bed. I snapped two pictures in this room vowing to come back with my Canon.
I closed this door too and entered the last room on the second floor. It was a simple office - green carpet and green wallpaper. It had a plain desk and tan typewriter with a new white - not yellowed - piece of paper loaded into it. Interesting.
I left this room and descended the stairs. It was time to bring out the big guns. I bent down to unsheathe my Canon when movement caught my eye to my right. I turned and looked into the mirror. I'd known it was there subconsciously so what had caught my attention? I reached for my camera again and realized what was wrong.
The mirror, more specifically my movements in it, were almost imperceptibly out of sync. When I moved my arm, my reflection did so about a quarter second later. When I blinked, my eyes were still closed in the mirror when I opened them again. It was completely unsettling and I could feel my skin crawl.
I continued to watch my delayed reflection when I suddenly heard a noise like the creaking of wood, perhaps a stair. But it didn't come from the staircase on the right, it came from directly behind me, behind the basement door. Someone was coming up the stairs of the basement. So there was someone here! I dubiously gripped the basement door and tried to open it but - like the attic - it was locked. I knocked on the door but heard only silence below. An animal perhaps?
Still determined to find my story I opened the front door to unload my car and almost fell over. What the.... My car, which I had definitely parked at the top of the driveway, was now parked at the bottom of the driveway, almost in the street. I had parked it at the top of the driveway, hadn't I? I'd just been so excited...I couldn't remember. Had I not put the parking brake on? Had it rolled backwards?
I unloaded the car and brought my stuff up to the master bedroom. As I walked by the sewing room I noticed the door stood open again - but I knew I had closed it. I peered in and this time I counted 14 sheeted mannequins in it. There had been only 9 just a few minutes ago. Right? Something was definitely going on. I mused that perhaps it was all in my head. Maybe the air was toxic, poisonous and that's why the government pushed everyone out of Keeling. Was I losing it? I took another photo.
By the time I had deposited everything in the master bedroom, I was winded. I felt so weak and so exhausted that I had to rest on the bed for just a moment. I laid worrying that many the weakness and hallucinations were a sign to get the hell out of Keeling.
I must have fallen asleep because the next I know I was awoken by a high, small voice. "Say bye-bye!"
I bolted upright and looked around in a panic, eventually noticing one of the dolls from the little girl's room sitting on the bedside table. It was one of the shudder-inducing small, porcelain ones.
I rubbed my eyes and glanced around the room. I jumped when in the muted light of the setting sun I saw someone in the corner. Wait, not someone...something. It was one of those stupid sheet-covered mannequins. I blinked several times. That definitely wasn't there before.
I got out of bed and walked over to stare at it. Someone was fucking with me, I knew it. I started to raise the sheet to see underneath when I heard a loud bang from downstairs. I let the sheet drop and started toward the bedroom door when I suddenly felt very sick. I dashed into the bathroom and threw up in the toilet. It wasn’t safe here, I definitely needed to leave. I knew I didn’t have a lot of time left to investigate.
I got up from the toilet and splashed water on my face. This time when I looked into the bathroom mirror my reflection's movements were at least a half second behind mine. I waved my hands in front of the mirror horrified by my reflection's slow response. I watched the blood leave my face and gaped at my reflection in dismay. How was this even possible?
Of course, it wasn't. This didn’t feel like a hallucination. Maybe I wasn’t breathing in toxic air at all. Was all this supernatural? Possibly. I mean, what scientific explanations were there? I'd wanted a story and I'd gotten one. I could be the first journalist to prove the existence of...what? Ghosts? Demons? Poltergeists? I guess it didn't matter. It was my payday - and I was going to need evidence.
As I turned away from the mirror to find my camera, I could have sworn I saw my reflection wink at me. I grabbed the Canon off the floor and began photographing everything I saw. I went downstairs to re-shoot every room, starting with the library. I started pulling books out one by one and saw that that every single book in the library was a version of the Christian Bible. Different versions in different languages. I opened a few that were in English and found that the word 'God' was scratched out on every page, in every book.
It was getting dark and just as I thought about trying to flip the circuit breaker a lamp flicked on in the dining room pouring light out into the hallway. I tried to get ahold of myself and quiet my shaking hands.
I turned my camera to photograph the corridor when I suddenly heard heavy stomping. It was more than stomping, it was almost running - and the sound was coming down the hallway right towards me. I dropped the camera and stood frozen with fear.
Whatever it was entered the library and stomped right up in front of me. I couldn't see anything, but there was definitely something there - I could feel it blocking me from leaving. I slowly pulled my phone out of my pocket and took a picture of whatever was right in front of my face. The flash momentarily blinded me and when I recovered my vision, all the books in the library were on the floor, as if they had been ripped from the shelves in a rage, and in only that few seconds of silence. But I felt that whatever had been standing in front of me was gone.
I picked up the Canon, took a few more shaky pictures, and tiptoed my way out of the room. I realized that what I really needed was video. I pulled my cell phone out again and opened it up to video recording then walked down the hallway toward the lit dining room. I passed a painting in the hallway and caught sight of my smirking reflection. But I wasn't smiling.
As soon as I entered the dining room, I noticed something was different. A noose made of stained sheets was now tied to a beam above the table. It was swinging back and forth as if it were weighted, but nothing else in the room was moving. Even the beamed creaked as it swung, as if it, too, was straining from the weight of something. I filmed it for a minute and then raised the Canon for a picture. It suddenly stopped swinging as if someone had grabbed it midair. I heard giggling from upstairs.
I left the dining room and walked warily toward the staircase. Did I really want to go up there? The giggling was gone but I could hear the typewriter clicking away. I happened to glance to
ward the large foyer mirror again to see it was now out of sync a full second behind me. Then the giggling again and someone small running down the hallway and slamming a bedroom door. I threw the front door open, ready to flee.
The car was now 50 yards down the street. I was about to bolt for it anyway when I heard another stair creek behind me on the other side of the basement door. This time, it was closer, further up the stairs. Maybe only 5 steps below the main floor. I shook my head as if to shake it clear of fear. Every journalist dreams of a chance like this, of a story like this. I had to stay just long enough to get something on video.
I heard the typewriter start to click again and sprinted up the stairs, running full speed into the office. The typewriter was silent by the time I got there and I ran over to see what had been written. I sat down at the desk when I reached it, feeling suddenly tired and weak again.
jamie parsons is condemned. jamie parsons is condemned. jamie parsons is condemned.
Over and over again, all the way down the page. I took a photo with the Canon and swallowed deep breaths of air. Just then, I heard the giggling echo down the hallway again. I rose from the chair and left the office, stepping out into the darkening corridor.
The child's bedroom door was closed but I could hear scuffling and movement from behind it. I slowly opened it praying to find animals, but knowing I wouldn’t.
All of the dolls in the room were still in place, only now all their heads were turned toward the door. They were looking at me.
I heard another giggle on my right and noticed movement out of the corner of my eye. I slammed the door shut and fell back against the banister in terror. I couldn't do this. I slowly got up, tired and shaky. I needed to leave. I ran by the sewing room door, which was open again, and this time there were only 3 mannequins left in the room.
I didn't stop to wonder where the others had gone. I bolted down the stairs as I felt and heard something else run up them, stomping loudly the entire way.
