Ignoring the canned sights and sounds, the boy searched for the next exit sign—and found it half hidden by a flock of rubber bats bouncing up and down on cords, their red eyes twinkling on and off.
Because the first two floors failed to produce anything really scary, he started upstairs to level three not really expecting much.
The door to the third floor was closed but unlocked. The knob turned easily, and he pushed his way through. The moment he was inside, the door whooshed shut behind him, and he heard a familiar click. Testing the inner doorknob, he found the door had, indeed, locked itself and wasn’t about to budge. He swore loudly, then decided there was nothing to worry about, really: There were surveillance cameras everywhere—and there had to be emergency exits, too. Otherwise, wouldn’t Chimera House be breaking the law big time? But then, the police had more important things to do than check on stuff like this, he reasoned. They would probably respond only if there was a big fire and people got trapped.
He glanced around. This looked like more of the first floor: a scattering of display cases, dry fish tanks, and cages that seemed to be made of mesh like the kind on screen doors. Mildly curious, he peered into the nearest glass case—then jumped back with a cry when a big, hairy spider leapt from under a pile of dried leaves on the cage bottom and flattened itself on the glass an inch from his face. Cautiously, he checked out other cages and discovered an assortment of spiders, beetles, snakes, lizards, and so on. On one side, an ugly-looking insect nearly a foot long made a clacking sound with its pincers; across the aisle, giant cockroaches hissed at him. On top of one case full of what looked—and buzzed—like wasps was what appeared to be a huge, stuff ed iguana bathed in the warm glow of a metal-shaded bulb. Curious to feel the scaly skin, Little D gave the lifelike creature a poke. To his horror, the thing writhed. It had only been sleeping, basking in the warmth on top of the wasp cage.
Hastily backing away, the boy almost upset the cage with the hissing giant cockroaches. The iguana, probably sluggish from the heat, stretched a claw lazily in the boy’s direction, opened its jaws to reveal sharp teeth, then settled back into place, Little D seemingly forgotten.
The boy felt a tickle on his arm. “Gross!” he shouted, batting away the small, spindly-legged spider he discovered there. He began looking around and quickly realized that there were many creatures outside as well as inside the displays. Spiders and oversized ants and all kinds of bugs crawled across the floor and along the outsides of cages. Overhead, huge moths and black butterflies and other winged things both small and large hovered in clouds over the lit displays.
When a long, green snake glided out from under a table only inches from his foot, Little D knew it was time to make a break for it. The door he’d entered by was locked, so he looked around frantically for another exit and located one across the exhibit floor.
Moving in the direction of the green-lit sign, he followed as direct a path as the jumbled displays would allow. He avoided bumping any of them, even though it sometimes meant moving sideways down particularly narrow aisles, since there seemed to be more and more insects and spiders moving over the glass and mesh surfaces. His progress was slow, because he kept watching his feet to avoid things that slithered or scuttled or crawled through the aisles. He was also busy swatting airborne creatures eager to bite or sting him. Getting angry now, he stomped on several oversize beetles. That made him feel better.
And then, edging around a tall cage filled with bright red lizards clinging to a lattice of dead twigs, he reached the exit—another closed door.
“Don’t let this one be locked,” he prayed. But it opened easily enough, the bottom sweeping aside a welter of bugs.
Like the doors earlier, this one closed and latched itself almost instantly. Again, there was nowhere to go but up more cement stairs to the floor above. He realized he was shaking. It ticked him off that a bunch of bugs and lizards and little (surely nonpoisonous) snakes could rattle him this much. Little D was going to be very happy when he collected his money back. Leaving creepy crawlies on the loose was a cheap shot—clearly the owners of Chimera House would pull any trick to turn people back and keep their twenty-five-buck admission fee. Of course, the self-locking doors didn’t make much sense, since they didn’t allow anyone to go back.
Probably some fool forgot to set ’em so they wouldn’t lock when folks were passin’ through, he told himself. This flight of steps climbed up and up and up. By the time he reached the open doorway to level four, he felt winded.
When he caught his breath, he entered a narrow hallway. The white-painted walls reached up to just below the ceiling, leaving about a foot-and-a-half space between. A short way ahead, the hall became a T, with narrow halls going right and left, quickly becoming Ts themselves. There was no sign or arrow to indicate which way to go. On a hunch, he turned right, then turned left, holding the vague idea that he was moving away from the stairwell, toward the exit that must lie somewhere ahead. The corridor T’ed again. He took a chance and went left. A short hall, then another T. For no particular reason, he turned right. Two halls opened off either side of this stretch, before he came to another T. Left this time. Two side passages to the left, one to the right. Then another T, again left.
He thought he was moving in a generally forward direction, but he wasn’t sure anymore. Every passage, every doorway was identical. He understood he was in a maze, the kind those rats ran through in cartoons. But this wasn’t funny, since he was the rat, trying to find the exit, instead of a hunk of cheese.
Another juncture of three passages. The way ahead was blocked with a one-way gate. Looking right and left, he saw that the other passages were similarly gated.
Sweating, he realized that if he went through a gate, he’d be unable to go back. Somehow, the idea of being forced in any direction worried him. Of course, it was a game, like in a fun house, he assured himself. Nothing could really happen. Still, Little D was uncomfortable. But he didn’t want to start shouting for rescue, since that would make him seem weak, and he would not accept that he was weak. If he could cope with the mean streets of the ’hood, he could handle this foolishness, he decided.
Go back and try a different way, he advised himself. But the return seemed far more confusing than pressing forward. He got lost when he couldn’t remember if a left turn out was a right turn in. Around and around he went, and finally found himself facing gated ways ahead, right, and left. Or was it the same spot where he’d been before? He was totally lost.
I want out, he admitted, and he pushed through the center gate. Before leaving it behind, he nudged it to assure himself that it was, indeed, a one-way deal. No going back now.
More of the same beyond the gate—almost. These passageways were narrower. Little D didn’t like tight spaces. But each turn led him into a corridor a fraction narrower than the one he’d left. He remembered his teacher showing the class a creepy film about a bug-eating plant that lured a fly or another insect to become its dinner. It first attracted the bug to its “flower” with a smell like sweet syrup or rotting meat. Inside, the fly or whatever would move down a narrowing, funnel-like passage with hairlike spikes that let the insect crawl in deeper but wouldn’t allow it to go back. The bug would soon get trapped in the sticky “stomach” of the plant, where it would eventually become the plant’s meal.
His imagination was getting the better of him. It’s a game, it’s for fun, it’s a twenty-five-buck bad joke, he repeated to himself.
Calmer, he moved ahead.
In the next section, there were even shorter passages and even more doorways. He no longer had a clue whether he was making forward progress; but, since he hadn’t circled back to the one-way gates, he assumed he was moving more or less ahead.
A new trio of one-way gates faced him. Through their sidewise bars, the halls beyond looked narrower still. But he no longer had a choice: it was either keep moving or start screaming until help came. He wasn’t about to give in to a lousy trick. Past the center g
ate, the halls were barely wider than his shoulder span. Not liking the feeling of confinement, Little D kept his nervousness in check by moving steadily onward. The maze must end soon, he thought; soon he’d find the next exit.
But what he reached was yet another threefold gate. Not stopping to think, he pushed through the middle one. To his horror, he found the waiting passage was so tight that he could only move sideways. Desperately, he kept inching ahead.
He made one last forced turn and found himself up against a blank white wall—a dead end. He had run out of options. He was trapped. Little D managed to turn almost face-forward and run his hand over the wall, half expecting a doorknob or latch to reveal itself. But there was only smooth wall. Still, to his exploring hand, the wall felt flimsy.
Fury came to his rescue. Messin’ with my mind, he thought. They’re playin’ me, but I’m not buyin’. He raised his fist and slammed it into the wall. His hand punched through so unexpectedly he tumbled past the balsa-wood and construction-paper barrier, sprawling on the floor with an impact that knocked the wind out of him.
After a minute, he stood up and looked around. He was perched on a ledge overlooking a three-floor drop-off. He remembered his climb up the seemingly endless flight of steps. The unlit space below was a pool of blackness. A thin tongue of metal extended across to a second ledge, below a now-familiar green-lit exit sign. The bridge was so narrow that a person could just stand on it with his two feet together. Crossing it would be little better than walking a tightrope at a circus. He realized this part of the path to successfully beating Chimera House was so openly dangerous that only a fool would risk life and limb trying to get across. This was clearly the point at which most visitors—those not already frightened off by snakes or worse—would bag it all and yell for help.
I’ve come too far to quit now, Little D decided. He knelt and put his palms on the metal surface, testing to see if it would shake or bounce. It seemed rock-solid.
Taking a deep breath to calm himself, the boy began to crawl along the foot-wide bridge. Don’t look down, he warned himself. Keep your eyes on the prize—the exit sign. Hand over hand, shuffling on his knees, he inched along the catwalk. He resisted all temptation to glance down, keeping his eyes fixed on the promise of exit.
Once, in spite of his caution, his right knee almost slipped off the walk. He froze for a moment, feeling the least movement would tumble him off into the hungry darkness below. Vaguely he wondered how Chimera House got away with such dangerous setups. He could see why the owners kept it pretty much a secret.
When he stopped trembling from his near mishap, Little D crept forward. Assuring himself the worst was over, he made his careful way to the ledge—that was his goal. Only when he was sitting with his back to the stairwell door did he really begin breathing again. He felt like he had been holding his breath most of the way across.
The door to the last flight of stairs swung inward noiselessly. The sound of it locking behind him was no surprise. He found himself at the bottom of a flight of steps of normal height that he quickly ascended. At the entrance to level five he hesitated. What, he wondered, is the make-it-or-break-it secret that makes the end of this adventure too scary to complete?
Only one way to find out.
Little D pushed open the final door.
Beyond was a huge space, dimly illuminated by lights recessed in the ceiling and scattered wall fixtures that glowed at the lowest power. The area had the vacant feel of an abandoned warehouse. Something about the emptiness made Little D more uneasy than he’d felt at any point so far.
He looked around for the expected exit sign, but couldn’t locate it on the walls where the low-watt bulbs flickered a bit, as though the power on this floor was a sometime thing.
After a few hesitant steps forward, he stopped. A sound like a chuckle had emerged from the center of the space, where the lighting was at its worst and shadows seemed to thicken and curdle into curious shapes. Another laugh that sounded somehow faintly familiar to him reached his ears. Dead center of the vast room, the shadows shifted, re-forming themselves into a single new shape.
Frozen in place, the boy gaped. He could just make out the back of a massive, tall chair, as fancy as a throne. It looked like it was carved from ebony, and he saw a hint of blue velvet upholstery at the sides.
Someone was sitting in the chair. An arm appeared, and a hand motioned Little D forward. There were heavy gold rings on all four fingers and the thumb. When Little D remained where he was, the gesturing hand became more insistent.
Still he wouldn’t budge.
With a sigh of disgust, the figure hauled itself out of the chair and turned to face Little D.
Toussaint’s gold teeth flashed in the shadows; light gleamed on the strands of gold chain around his neck and danced off his rings.
“Hello, my young friend,” Toussaint said, coming all the way around the chair to stand facing the boy, who was rigid with fear. The words were harmless. The man was smiling, but there was no warmth, no laughter, in the eyes that seemed to the boy as dark and dead as a shark’s.
“What’s the matter, boy?” Toussaint said. “Didn’t expect to see me here? Didn’t expect to see me ever, right?”
Little D was too frightened to move or make a sound.
“Cat got your tongue? Man, you look like you seen a ghost.” Then he chuckled without humor. “But that’s the truth, Little D, little friend, little Judas goat!”
Little D managed a small shake of his head, denying the truth.
“Oh, I got me a witness,” said the other, stepping closer to the boy. “The deceased. Me!”
“I nev—” was all that Little D got out before Toussaint held up his hand for silence.
“This house don’t like liars,” Toussaint said. “It’s an old honest place. Makes you face what you’ve done straight up. That’s why it’s such a scary place. We all got secrets we don’t want to own up to. But this place don’t allow for none. People who built this place had power. I only found it through friends who have their own power. When you’re dead, you don’t have many ways to influence folks. But you can whisper things, put ideas in their heads, sometimes mess with their dreams. That’s how I got Demond to decide he had to come here and he had to bring you. See, there ain’t a lot of places where the dead can get their own back. But here I am and here you are and it’s payback time.”
Little D turned to run, but Toussaint’s arms suddenly grew long and ropelike. They enfolded the boy in a smothering embrace.
Little D screamed, but the sound was drowned out by Toussaint’s roaring laugh, as all the lights went out. Held fast, the boy was tumbled into bottomless darkness.
On the first floor, Demond and the other three counted out their refunded money. The woman, now alone at the ticket desk, had handed the cash back to them with a smile.
“Just not scary enough?” she asked.
Antoine said, “Cardboard ghosts, skeletons on strings—nothin’ much scary there.”
“I sure didn’t like those spiders and stuff,” said Rachelle. “That was the worst.”
“Except for nearly steppin’ on some giant beetle, it was all pretty tame,” said Lorelle.
“Well, not everyone comes away disappointed,” said the woman, her smile deepening.
“Say, where’s Little D?” Demond asked.
“He left before you came down,” the woman said. “Said something on one of the top floors really scared him. He told me he didn’t want to stay inside and he’d be out by the car.” She riffled through some papers, signaling them it was time to be on their way. “Since you’re our last guests of the day, we’ll be closing up after you.”
The others took the hint and left.
All but a handful of lights went out at the front of Chimera House.
Theirs was the only car in the lot. It sat in a pool of light, still locked up. There was no sign of Demond’s brother.
They called his name but got no answer. The parking lot lights b
egan to go out, row by row.
“Little D must still be in that place,” his brother cried. He went back and began pounding on the firmly locked door of Chimera House.
The woman’s voice answered from the little intercom by the door: “What is it?”
“My brother is still inside.”
“He left. I told you. Security has motion sensors on every floor. There is no one here. Maybe he walked to the road and hitchhiked back. Boys do things like that. And they eventually turn up.”
“But—”
“Good night!” There was a loud click. Then silence.
Muttering, Demond rejoined the others and explained what had happened.
They decided to go back to Detroit and see if, just maybe, Little D had fled home—though none of them could imagine anything frightening enough to scare him all the way back.
Eventually the police were involved, but no trace of Little D was found initially. An investigation of Chimera House likewise failed to reveal any clue.
But the woman was right about one thing.
Little D did turn up.
His body was found in the alley where, days before, the body of Jean Marcelle Toussaint had been discovered.
To date, there are no suspects in either case.
Webs
It was the grossest thing Danny Parker had ever read. Of course, since the book was all about true and false gross-out factoids, he really wasn’t surprised. His friend Marc had assured Danny that everyone swallowed about eight spiders a year while they were asleep—and accidentally ate many more in foods like rice, vegetables, pepper, and so on. Marc was forever teasing Danny about his hatred of spiders, but his stupid tickles or plastic spiders didn’t bother Danny that much. The idea that he might routinely be swallowing spiders at night really made his skin crawl. What the book reported wasn’t good news; in some ways, it was worse than Marc said. He wished his friend had kept his mouth shut about the need for keeping your mouth shut at night.
Haunted Houses Page 2
