The House on Mayberry Road

by Troy McCombs

  "Sandra. What's yours?" She did not look up from the drawing.

  "I'm Jennifer. It's nice to meet you, Sandra."

  Sandra looked up at her and grinned with all her teeth. "Did you come to save us?"

  Jennifer didn't know how to respond to that question.

  "We've been here a loooooong time."

  "How did you get here, Sandra? Why are you here?"

  "Me and my daddy and my mommy are stuck. We can't leave this house, or we'll be punished. He loved us so much—daddy did—that he couldn't live without us. So he—"

  "He what?"

  "I shouldn't say. It might hear us."

  "It's okay, Sandra, you can tell me. I won't let anything happen to you."

  The little girl colored faster, harsher. "Only pure life can destroy true death. I'm already dead, so I can't do anything to get out of this. We will never leave. We have no choice. It doesn't want us to leave. It wants to feed on us."

  "It?"

  "I don't want to say his name. I don't like saying it. He comes when I say it."

  Jennifer let out a deep breath. She couldn't believe she was talking to someone from the other side, who looked as tangible as herself.

  "Sweetie, you can go into the light anytime..."

  "No! Light is bad. It gets us punished. Every time I get close to it, I get hurt. So does mommy and daddy. And the other lady."

  "Punished? How? Who punishes you?"

  The girl looked into Jennifer's eyes and put a finger against her own lips. "Shhhh. I think I hear him. Coming."

  Jennifer looked around. Saw nobody. "It's okay. Trust me."

  "No. Nothing's ever okay..."

  Jennifer glanced down at the picture she was drawing on an ancient, yellow piece of paper. It was an image of a small, silver pyramid suspended in thin air and wrapped around weird mathematical equations.

  "What is this? What are you drawing?"

  "The key. But the portal is—"

  The sound that followed was so loud and sudden, Jennifer lost her breath. She turned her head. Her eyes locked in on the attic door. It had slammed shut...by itself.

  "Sandra, what—"

  But when Jennifer turned to look at the little girl, she was gone. The piece of paper still lay on the floor, the crayon colors of the drawing bright under the intense sunlight. She picked it up and stood.

  "Hear—me—go—out—th—" the little girl's faint, broken, indecipherable voice beckoned from some other world, both near and far. Jennifer looked around the room, searching for a presence. None was to be found.

  Then she heard Sandra's voice again, loud and clear: "Ruuuuun!"

  ***

  John shined the ultraviolet light around the basement, tracking the vines along the rafters toward the main source. As he went, he noticed changes in the color and shape of the ivy, until it didn't even look plantlike anymore. Curious, he plucked a bud from the whole connection, about to examine it. No sooner did his hand come away that he realized three things, one psychically.

  First, the vine he'd plucked the bud from began to bleed. Secondly, a pained, monstrous groan arose from the rear corner of the basement wall. Lastly, he saw Jennifer's face in his mind's eye, and knew that both, she was somewhere in the house and she was in tremendous danger.

  Ignoring the green blood and the soft wail, John turned and took off up the stairs. But he did not get to the top, not even close. A soft, rubbery mass wrapped itself around his leg and yanked him back to the bottom. The UV light flew out of his hand. His face cracked off the cement basement floor.

  Lying dazed on his stomach but still aware, he lifted his head. His eyes grew big. The light, resting now on a small workbench, lit the source of the soft rubbery mass towering in the corner. It belonged to an immense semi-mobile vegetation constructed of innumerable tendrils, leaves, and wooden branches all nestled together in a cocoon. Its very long, tentacle-like limbs, scarred with insect-sized holes, moved sluggishly and jerkily. The massive thing was thinner in the middle than it was at the top and bottom, the base not connected to the ground. Small buds, positioned in a variety of places, popped open, revealing small, brightly-colored bulbs. These moved around like giant fly eyes. Every one of them sensed John. The stench of garlic increased exponentially, which, he figured, was the natural odor of this bizarre herb he hoped was not carnivorous.

  He lay still, quiet, his breaths forcibly slow. His eyes didn't sway from the monstrosity. You don't see me. You don't see me. You don't see me, he said loudly inside his head.

  Slowly, its vine released his foot and slid away, the thorns attached to it trembling and squealing silently. It was almost back in the corner, out of harm's way, when John noticed a large ax resting against the wall seven feet to his left. Should he make a move for it? Use it to fend off the tentacle/tendril hybrid? Then make a run upstairs? Or make a run without going for the weapon?

  I don't know how fast this thing is, or what it's capable of, but I do know it's strong.

  Blood oozed from the psychic's forehead and into a small puddle on the floor. He didn't know he was bleeding at all. There was no feeling of pain. His psychic senses were working, though. He saw Jennifer watching the gaps around the closed attic door meld together by some unknown heat source. Some of the floorboards blackened, but there was no sound or smoke. Soon, it was sealed. She backed against the window, a piece of paper in her hand, scared. Trembling. She was being caged in like an animal, without anywhere to go. What had trapped her was the singular, familiar entity John wanted to banish forever—D'kourikai. A second later, It made its presence known to her.

  I gotta get up and do something.

  He did. John jumped to his feet, his right foot almost slipping in his own blood, and went for the ax. He only managed to take one step before the shrub recognized movement. Its leaves opened up to reveal thermal suckers underneath, the same ones George saw days ago.

  The longest tendril/tentacle flew across the room. John took another step, reaching for the wooden ax handle. He could see the tip of the plant's advancing appendage out of the corner of his eye. It was halfway toward him already. Another one followed closely behind.

  He took three more steps and lunged for the ax. His outstretched fingers touched, then knocked over, his only weapon. The tendril/tentacle passed right over his back, coiling. It just missed wrapping around his neck. The second oncoming tendril/tentacle changed trajectory, hitting and breaking the UV light, darkening the entire basement. John could see nothing. He now had to rely on instinct, sound, feel, and a little luck.

  Just great!

  The thing across the room had an unfair advantage. Its bulbed eyes could see heat through the darkness. It had more limbs. It could reach far. It was faster.

  But John chose not to rely on his physical senses. They could confuse and fool him. They weren't nearly as exceptional as his psychic awareness was, or could be when he was focused enough. So he closed his eyes and pretended he could not hear.

  The cancellation of one sense strengthens another. The cancellation of all bodily senses greatly enhances the spiritual ones.

  He lay still on the ground, his own blood filling the corners of his closed eyes, his aura telling him the tendrils/tentacles were close, but were looking too linear and high, not angular and down. He could feel the air from them moving around his face, could feel its bristles brushing against the hairs on his cheek. Its suckers were fully opened, shaking, scanning the basement. It could see the suspended pyramid, the walls, the stairs, the benches and tables...and heat.

  It sloshed over to the bottom of the staircase and examined the small, flat puddle of blood that was losing heat fast. The creature was confused. It had never seen heat dissipate like this before. The red substance wasn't even alive.

  Playing dead, John started to hear a faint whining sound in his left ear. It grew louder, and louder still, like a bug buzzing in his eardrum. It was unequalized, unbalanced, loud only in the corner to his left side. Annoyed, he reached over
and felt around. Maybe something ELSE is down here with me besides the failed botany experiment.

  Excitement lit up John's face when his fingers touched the rough, hard piece of steel attached to the long wooden shaft.

  The ax!

  He thought it had gotten knocked back behind the workbench rather than on the side closest to him. Sometimes it's good to be wrong.

  As quietly as he could, he grabbed the weapon, slipped the base of the handle across his body, a mere millimeter or two beneath the vibrating tendril/tentacle, and put it in position to strike with utmost power.

  Sensing movement from below, a smaller part of the conscious ivy unwrapped itself from the larger part and poked at the soft, warm, pliable skin of the missing life-form. Both tendrils/tentacles jerked back with deadly force. John opened his eyes and ears. A tiny shaft of light shining through the only window in the room lit up the head, whose silvery, thorned teeth John could now see.

  It shrieked, its voice like metal against metal, its leaves expanding from its main appendage, about to bite. John jerked upright and swung the ax. The blade swiped the tendril/tentacle across the opening of its mouth, knocking off a couple of leaves and knocking out a couple thorns. It pulled away from all available light, thin green liquid spurting from its sudden wound. This gave John enough time to stand and gain his balance. He swung the weapon sideways on instinct, unable to see if what he was swinging at was even in target range. Immediately he thought he'd made a gross mistake, until he felt the ax head catch, drag, and sever the smaller tendril/tentacle against the sturdy brick wall. Garlic-smelling liquid hit him in his face. A sharp, agonized squeal pervaded the entire basement. The tendrils/tentacles swung around in the darkness, back toward its main body. The psychic turned and ran. This time he had no trouble darting up the stairs, through the kitchen and living room, and up the second flight of stairs, to where he felt Jennifer was in trouble. He could hear voices mumbling from the attic above, a room he didn't know existed in this house. He could also see where the door had been welded shut.

  Now how do I get in there?

  He barely finished the thought when the hatch door exploded in a flurry of splinters. A staircase dropped out, along with a dark voice that said, "Enter now."

  D'kourikai.

  John's heart beat faster. The hairs on the back of his neck stood for the ceiling.

  The sooner you do this, the sooner you will get this over with.

  Taking a deep breath, and acknowledging what he was about to face, he hiked up the thin wooden steps and entered the attic. Once he was inside, there was a loud thud. A new door took the place of the old one. It, too, was sealed tightly shut. He was going nowhere.

  "Rooooollings..." The entities voice was more grotesque than Balam's, an insult to any ear.

  John looked across the room. D'kourikai was hanging downside-up from the ceiling, holding Jennifer's quivering body by her hair with its three webbed fingers. She cried quietly, unable to move, her face blank with horror. The crayon drawing was still gripped firmly in her right hand.

  "So, we meet again, intuitive one." Orange slime oozed from its twisted form and onto the floorboards, onto the woman's shoulders, and against the walls, traveling in impossible directions at once. "Or should I say both intuitive ones?" D'kourikai looked down at its female prey and sniffed her. As he did, two tears flowing down her cheeks were sucked into his flesh. "Ahh! The taste of emotion. Fear is your races most primitive one. You have yet not learned how to conquer it...or merely deal with it. It's a waste of space.

  "This unmale specimen is like you, Rollings. She has a far-seeing eye, like you. I can tell you secrets about her she doesn't want you to know. She fears pain. Love. Flying?? Your race can fly? Well, how did your kind figure that one out?"

  John glanced around at its many eyes. They had no pupils, no identifiable emotion, nothing but nothing. They saw differently than retinas and iris’ and corneas and scleras. They saw deeper, farther, better. Distortedly.

  "Let her go," John demanded.

  D'kourikai held her out. She whimpered.

  "You want this weakling? Why should I give her to you? I like learning from her. I can absorb information by touch, y'know, just like you absorb information by reading—"

  John took a step forward. D'kourikai held her farther out. The floorboards beneath her dangling feet rumbled, cracked and snapped apart noisily. The floor itself split open, wide, wider, and wider. Steam effused from the breach. She looked down as the wood fell away, under itself, into an appearing abyss of black fire thousands of feet below. Jennifer felt like a piñata dangling over a volcano.

  "Shall I drop her, John? Do you want to know what happens to physical bodies in these particular flames?"

  John stepped back. Held up his hands. "Okay, okay. Just please, don't hurt her. If you want to take anyone, take me."

  "That's been my plan all along. When the time is right, I shall. You don't know it yet, but your race is already doomed. You were doomed to fail before you began."

  John swallowed. "What do you want from her? From me?"

  The entity laughed. Its entire form twitched in slow motion, normal motion, and then fast motion, as if unbound by speed. The falling slime followed in suit. Jennifer tried to keep from looking down, where the unbelievable colorless flames were burning dark.

  "You already know what I want, John. This fallible waste—" D'kourikai shook Jennifer, "—tricked me into losing my connection to you. I want the barricade gone, or else I will drop her. Remove the object from your body and I will release her."

  "And how will I know you'll live up to the bargain?"

  "My dependable word, of course." It laughed viciously. It almost fouled up and dropped the woman into some alternate hell.

  "And how do I know your word is dependable?" John wasn't about to take its word as the gospel truth.

  "Do it now! I give you my word I will let go, if you do not."

  John looked into Jennifer's lost eyes. The skin around them was red from crying. Tears rolled down her cheeks. To his surprise, she shook her head and mouthed the word, no.

  Don't take the Wolf’s bane out of your pocket.

  He mouthed the word sorry, reached into his side pocket, and felt for the leaf. D'kourikai watched him with two smiles engraved on its wretched face. Jennifer fought futilely to protest. John's nervous fingers delved deep into the jean cavity. He felt lent, the Wolf’s bane, a piece of paper, and—a pill bottle?

  With the orange juice.

  There was now a small crack in the bottom of the plastic container. Some of the O.J. had spilled out onto the pockets' other contents. He could already smell the sweet stink of liquefied oranges.

  "That's iiiiit!" D'kourikai was growing impatient. Its voice only got worse every time it spoke.

  John removed the purple leaf from his pocket and held it up, his hand now sticky. He couldn't help but look at Jennifer, who tried to speak but was unable to (the entity was putting pressure on a nerve in her throat that prevented her from any vocal communication).

  "You'll let her go now."

  "Release the safeguard first. Cast it four feet from your perimeter. I'll make it come to me. Then you will have your female friend."

  Rollings did just that. He tossed the Wolf’s bane forward. It froze in midair, glided slowly across the room, below a central rafter, over the blazing moat, and right into the beast's hand. Upon physical contact with the sacred Wolfs bane, D’kourikai reacted violently.

  The entity whined sharply, recoiled, and immediately dropped the Wolfs bane as if it were poison. Smoke effused from its suddenly-burnt hand. John looked at Jennifer, who looked bewildered. She could not believe such a small, mediocre petal could do such harm to such a threatening opposition. John, however, knew the Wolf's bane had nothing to do with it.

  Orange juice to the rescue!

  The monster examined its wound, every one of its twenty-two eyes widening in unison. While it reacted to the pain of its first-ever inju
ry, John shoved his hand into his pocket and yanked out the pill bottle. Using his index and thumb, he unfastened the cap, popped it off, and flung the entire container—along with its contents—at the monster.

  I hope this works.

  Jennifer watched as the improvised weapon flew in her direction, wondering just what John had concealed inside it. Holy Water? Saltwater? Acid? It made it over the separation in the middle of the floor, twirling, some of the liquid spilling out. John's arm was still extended as the object advanced speedily...then slowly. D'kourikai looked up from its wounded hand to see it closing in. With one crazed look, he made the bottle stop in mid-air, only one foot away from his twisted face. “You bastard of earth. Try to hurt meeeee!"

  Jennifer could smell the oranges. Giving the creature a crazed look of her own, she bravely reached out and knocked the juice all over its head.

  Its screech was so loud; everyone out in the clearing heard it loud and clear. John cringed. Jennifer momentarily went deaf. The monster let go of her hair and grabbed its steaming, melting face, in agony. She fell downward, between the cracks in the floor, flailing her arms. John ran forward and dove, reaching out. His body slid across the sawdusty floor. He watched her disappear from view and into the chasm of certifiable death. Black light billowed out. A female human scream sounded, but it was not nearly as loud as the one from D'kourikai.

  With his arm fully extended, and his whole frame going a little too fast, John plunged his hand into the trench, stretching to grab onto Jennifer. He felt nothing...nothing...and then something. His fingers coiled around a soft mass of skin and bone. He had grasped hold of her wrist.

  Her body weight pulled him forward—his head, his shoulders, his chest—over the cliff's edge. He could see down into the pit of destruction, could see boiling black lava bubbling and releasing pillows of red gas. Things swam in the heat, things too far away to be distinguishable by human eyes. The scene looked like a color-inverted Catholic version of Hell.

  "I got you!"

  "Don't let go! Pull me up, John!"

  His arm trembling, he pulled. The veins protruding from his forehead looked like they were going to rupture. Sweat puddled off his face and onto hers. She held on for dear life.