by Matt Cole
“Come over here.” Arlene was standing at the door to the basement. “Smell it now?” There was urgency in her voice.
Deena pointed her nose upwards and sniffed around in several directions.
“I realize at first it smells, but after a while you get used to it. It is nothing to worry about.”
“Oh, my goodness,” Arlene exclaimed. “It’s awful, isn’t it?”
“Horrible.” Deena sniffed again. “It’s only over here. You can’t smell it over the candles and incense.”
“What can I do but live with it?” Deena said as she shrugged but offered no answer to her own question.
“Smells like a something died,” Arlene went on. “You think he’s all right down there?”
“I’m sure he’s fine, Arlene,” Deena answered. She walked over to the sink and gave the spigots a full twist. The water drained freely. Next she went to the little bathroom off the kitchen and flushed the toilet. There was no back-up. Deena walked slowly back to Arlene.
“Well, it’s not the pipes of the septic tank, thank the lord.”
She was staring down at the floor, pawing it with her feet. “You’re right; it is coming from the basement.”
“What?”
“Right under my house.”
The two women looked down at the wide bare planks of the kitchen floor. They were a varnished, wormy chestnut, nailed down with studs and set in with wide spaces between them. It wasn’t the original floor, as that had been replaced along with the majority of the house after the fire, yet it was extremely handsome. Just below it, of course, was the basement.
“Oh, it’s perhaps he hasn’t had a chance to take the trash out lately,” Arlene said.
“Like what, never?” Deena shot back. “Quit being a real estate agent for a moment.”
“I can’t help it, sorry,” said Arlene sheepishly.
“No, this isn’t trash, cats, or even shit,” Deena said. “I know this smell. This is different—it’s horrendous,” she went on. “Isn’t it?”
By then she’d put the whole thing together in her mind, she knew exactly what the source of the odor was, but Deena was determined to minimize it to Arlene.
“But I’ve learned to live with it,” Deena said calmly. “It’s really not that bad.”
“Not that bad?” There was a look of disbelief on Arlene’s face. “It’s absolutely vile. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever smelled. And it’s coming from the basement of the house I rented out to you.”
“And?”
Suddenly a look of alarm crossed Arlene’s face. “You think Mr. Marsden’s all right?”
“I’m sure he’s fine. I heard him go out last night,” Deena responded.
“Well, I suppose I could send him a letter of complaint,” Arlene offered.
“A letter? I suppose that would be okay, for now,” Deena admitted.
“We must do something about this,” Arlene said. “It’s so terrible I don’t honestly know how you are putting up with it. I must apologize. The smell was not here before I showed you the house.”
“Are you saying I’m responsible for this odor?” Deena said incredulously.
“Oh, heaven’s no. I’m only saying that I would have never even shown this house if I’d known about the smell beforehand.”
“Let’s get out of here,” Deena said, yanking Arlene by the hand. “We’ll go out for breakfast this morning.”
Chapter 6
Bang!
Mike Leopold’s eyes flew open.
Although, he thought, they had never been closed.
He blinked and he tried to clear his mind when the sound of the bark, like the clap of nearby thunder, ricocheted through his brain.
Snow was falling around him and he was standing in the yard that used to be his family’s, in boots, his flannel pajamas, and a long robe flapping around his legs, his skin ice cold. His former dog, Buster, was nearby, ever vigilant, ever loyal. With intelligent eyes and a brown coat that belied his wolf lineage, Buster waited impatiently.
As he always did.
Even when Mike suffered one of his spells.
“Fucking monster,” Mike whispered, shivering, his fingers and toes nearly numb, his breath a cloud.
Images from his dream slid through his mind. Visceral. Raw. Real. Like shards of glass that cut through his brain.
He caught a flash, a quick, horrifying glimpse of a woman in a gooey mess, her body racked with pain and a stalker—the evil one tracking her down.
Mike’s heart rate accelerated as the image changed to a vision of that same woman joined with more women and being forced to do unspeakable things and being hauled down into a dark, dank hole by a large man with evil intent.
Hastily the scene changed and the female victim was now melting away, a pool of ooze, her features disappearing, liquefying, her blue eyes still round with fear; she is melting away…
With heart-stopping certainty Mike Leopold knew that the monster had found this woman. Attacked her and others—was slowly killing them—if it hadn’t already.
This was not the first time he’d had a vision of the monster; once before, a few years ago, he’d caught a glimpse of the monster’s innate and relentless evil purpose.
He’d thought he had stopped it. He’d thought he had won—triumphed over evil. He’d been horribly wrong.
At that time, only a few years before, Mike had tried to warn his family, had told them of the monster’s imminent danger, but they dismissed him.
And it cost them their lives.
So now the visions were more graphic. Closer. He looked up at the dark sky, felt the film of icy flakes melt his skin. His teeth chattered. How long had he been out here? How far had he trudged like a sleepwalker along this winding, lonely road?
“Hello, Buster,” he said, wrapping his arms around the dog’s waist as the wind keened through the houses. “I’m home.”
The big dog, nearly a hundred pounds, started trotting briskly along the fresh tracks that were beginning to fill with snow, his own footsteps; the wolf dog’s paw prints, leading back the way which they’d come, the way he couldn’t remember having traveled.
Had he walked a couple of a hundred miles or one mile? The landscape at night, frozen and white, looked all the same. And his mind, usually clearer than ever after waking from his visions, couldn’t discern any landmarks other than his former home. But the tracks were fresh and he didn’t think he was suffering from frostbite.
But he had to be close to it.
He half ran to keep up with the dog.
He could sense the monster.
He hated the visions, for that’s what they were, and wished they would stop, but they wouldn’t. Not until he died, or it died, he presumed. He thought morosely as he held his coat tight around him, the coat he didn’t remember donning, and his boots crunched in the soft snow.
The visions had started when he had moved back to his familiy’s home, at the time before the fire—the fire that had taken the lives of his parents and two siblings. It had been a winter night much like this one. He and his younger brother, William, had been arguing over something trivial when he first felt its presence—the pulsating, rhythmic beating that enveloped him.
Remorse set in and he’d rushed into the burning house to save his family.
Twenty days later, Mike awoke in a hospital to learn that the rest of his family was gone. Dead. He’d survived the fire, to live, though he’d been nearly overcome with smoke inhalation, his body inching dangerously close to the flames. He’d come out of the ordeal with only a few bruises, some damage to his lungs and a concussion to indicate he’d been in the house fire. They called him lucky. When he was asked if he knew how the fire had started, he’d simply answered, “No.”
They were all gone. All of them: Dad, Mom, and his brother and sister.
Of course, the hospital staff were sure he was going to be okay; the cops on the other hand, as well as the fire chief, suspected he’d been involved in setting
the fire—though they could not prove it.
If only they knew, he thought now as the dog rounded a corner and he saw his old, family house, flanked by snowdrifts and dark as sin, sitting on a small hillock just off the road. Only it was a new house. Rubbing his arms, Mike picked up his pace and told himself that even if he told someone about the evil that lurked in the house; he’d be disregarded, perhaps even sneered at.
Before the fire, as a child, he’d sometimes been lost in daydreams. He had been left on the playground or in the backyard more than once, never hearing the school bell or his mother calling him, then to snap out of his daydreams only to hear the hoots and laughter of the other children, including his siblings.
Now he made his way up the path to the door and found it cold. He was afraid. Not all of the townspeople thought he was crazy. A few actually like the whole idea of having a local monster to joke about.
“What should I do?” he asked the dog, and in that moment Mike heard his family’s voices, clear as a bell. “Don’t be a fool, Mike,” they advised him gruffly. “Keep your mouth shut and get away while you still can.”
“I can save people,” he argued, feeling the warmth return to his toes.
“Like you did us?” his family asked in unison.
“I tried,” he cried. “You know that I tried, but no one would listen to me!”
Straightening, he picked at a spot on the porch on the site of his own home. Staring down at the porch pulled at his heartstrings. But he quickly pushed aside any maudlin sense of nostalgia or self-pity.
Images of his family’s burned and charred bodies appeared in his head, and Mike drew in a deep, steadying breath. It was only a matter of time before the monster would start killing again. He knew he was going to have to buck up and face the ridicule that was sure to be a part of confiding in the police or anyone who would listen.
“You know,” he said to the now sleeping dog, “sometimes doing what is right is the hardest thing.”
* * * *
Later on Deena went outside to the basement’s second entrance. The stench was overpowering. Deena had to cover her nose with a handkerchief and grope at the door. It was ajar. It was also fairly obvious that Mr. Marsden was using part of the basement as a latrine. Now that she had sealed up the door inside the house to the basement, whatever air had ventilated through it was cut off. The stench had magnified, building to the point where it was an evil, choking vapor that had swelled and backed out of the basement until it filled the air around it and the garage.
Deena immediately feared that the house would be next despite her best efforts to keep the odor out of it.
She nearly vomited before turning and walking away from the door. She could not stomach the stench. She vowed to fight a good fight in order to prevent the smell from ruining her house.
She got in her car and headed into town.
She bought a dehumidifier at a local home improvement store, and upon returning home, installed it in the kitchen. When she was done turning it on and it had been running for a few moments, she dragged it over in front of the basement door in the kitchen when suddenly a voiced boomed out at her from behind her. “Did you want something?”
Deena nearly toppled backwards with fright. It was Mr. Marsden, of course, her landlord, but she’d assumed he wouldn’t come into the house unannounced. When she regained her composure, she tried to speak.
“Mr. Marsden?”
“Yes—”
Gaping at the man speechlessly, Deena could sense him staring out at her with the same confused look.
“I didn’t know you were there. You gave me such a shock.”
“Why did you come outside earlier to my door? What do you want out there?” The tone of his voice was nasty. He seemed to be snarling at her. “Are you spying on me?”
“Spying?” Deena nearly choked on the word. “Spying?”
“What’s that machine for?” he demanded.
“This thing?”
“That machine.”
She looked at the dehumidifier, which was purring away.
“It’s a dehumidifier,” Deena blustered. “You know, Arlene Balleza and I—”
“What’s it for?”
Deena felt herself quaking, but she was determined to say what was on her mind. “Well, quite frankly, Mr. Marsden, there’s this god awful smell. I’ve smelled it coming from down there since I moved in and it’s getting worse. Arlene and I…”
There was a full pause while she groped for more words. It was horribly embarrassing. But then he spoke—this time, less defiantly.
“I haven’t been able to get the cleaning and the plumbing situated down like as well as it should. I apologize—”
“I fully understand, but still there are simple rules of sanitation. What you’re doing is extremely dangerous—not only to you, but to me as well. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t use the facilities up here, in the house. After all, it is your house.”
“I don’t like to bother anyone.”
* * * *
“What do you mean, he was acting weird?” Arlene asked.
“I mean the dude is a total freak,” Deena replied.
“I would say a little odd, but weird is a tad harsh, don’t you think?”
“No, I think that is the least offensive way of saying it,” Deena continued. “I’m thinking that I should move out.”
“Move out?”
“That’s right.” Deena couldn’t look at Arlene; she kept her eyes on her hand in her lap. They were at the local coffee shop in Strafford, one of those historic looking places that Benjamin Franklin may have drank in all those years ago, if it hadn’t been established in 2002.
“Because your landlord is a freak, you are considering moving out?” Arlene persisted.
“Yes...” Deena’s voice was barely a whisper. Arlene sat stiffly on the bench opposite of her, staring into space.
“And what do you think that would solve?” Arlene sounded exasperated. “Do you think he really has something truly horrible down in the basement? What he does down there is his business. The smell we can take care of, I promise. What are you worried that he may be creeping up the stairs at night coming into the house?”
“Stop that,” Deena said and gasped.
“I’m sorry. But you must realize how crazy this all sounds.”
“I know exactly how it sounds,” Deena said tightly. “But you weren’t there. You didn’t hear him. Mr. Marsden was weird and he’s hiding something. I swear every inch of my skin crawled when he looked at me. The dude’s crazy.”
“Okay…okay…” Arlene raised her hands, palms out in a gesture of surrender. “There’s something down in the basement creating that horrible odor. I’ll admit that. Sounds like the man just has poor hygiene and likes to live in filth.”
Deena clenched her hands tightly in her lap. “I can’t live there with that smell anymore. Nothing is taking it away completely. And I swear the house is vibrating now.”
“What? So let’s work on a solution to get rid of the smell,” Arlene said tonelessly.
“Get rid of the smell?”
“Yes,” Arlene said, very firmly.
Arlene sat in the big soft vinyl booth across from Deena, leaned her forearms on her thighs, and clasped her arms between her knees. “My Dee…do you honestly expect me to believe that Mr. Marsden is hiding something evil in the basement?”
“I don’t expect you to just take my word,” Deena replied a little confused. “But we…I…have to do something.”
“Okay, don’t get upset,” Arlene said gently.
“I’m okay,” said Deena. “But this is important to me. It’s my house…my basement…”
“Your smell.” Arlene grinned at her.
“That doesn’t sound good.” Deena spoke with all the dignity she could muster. “He really did freak me out.”
“And that makes him a jerk for doing so,” Arlene said. “What do you mean, he was acting weird?” Arlene asked.
<
br /> “I mean the dude is a total freak,” Deena replied.
“I would say a little odd but weird is a tad harsh, don’t you think?”
“No, I think that is the least offensive way of saying it,” Deena continued. “I’m thinking that I should move out.”
“Move out?”
“That’s right.” Deena couldn’t look at Arlene; she kept her eyes on her hand in her lap. They were at the local coffee shop in Strafford, one of those historic looking places that Benjamin Franklin may have drank in all those years ago, if it hadn’t been established in 2002.
“Because your landlord is a freak, you are considering moving out?” Arlene persisted.
“Yes...” Deena’s voice was barely a whisper. Arlene sat stiffly on the bench opposite of her, staring into space.
“And what do you think that would solve?” Arlene sounded exasperated. “Do you think he really has something truly horrible down in the basement? What he does down there is his business. The smell we can take care of, I promise. What, are you worried that he may be creeping up the stairs at night coming into the house?”
“Stop that,” Deena said gasped.
“I’m sorry. But you must realize how crazy this all sounds.”
“I know exactly how it sounds,” Deena said tightly. “But you weren’t there. You didn’t hear him. Mr. Marsden was weird and he’s hiding something. I swear every inch of my skin crawled when he looked at me. The dude’s crazy.”
“Okay…okay…” Arlene raised her hands, palms out in a gesture of surrender. “There’s something down in the basement creating that horrible odor, I’ll admit that. Sounds like the man just has poor hygiene and likes to live in filth.”
Deena clenched her hands tightly in her lap. “I can’t live there with that smell anymore. Nothing is taking it away completely. And I swear the house is vibrating now.”
“What? So let’s work on a solution to get rid of the smell,” Arlene said tonelessly.
“Get rid of the smell?”
“Yes,” Arlene said, very firmly.
Arlene sat in the big softly vinyl booth across from Deena, leaned her forearms on her thighs, and clasped her hands between her knees. “My Dee…do you honestly expect me to believe that Mr. Marsden is hiding something evil in the basement?”
