by Amy Cross
Her voice trailed off.
The only answer came from the ticking house. The noise from the exposed section of wall was particularly loud, and Jenna couldn't help feeling a rush of hatred as she turned and saw the spike again.
“Screw you,” she sneered, grabbing a broken section of wood and then driving it into the exposed mechanism. Immediately, one of the pulleys began to grind and stutter, but Jenna quickly pushed another piece of wood into one of the gaps. She couldn't deny a sense of satisfaction as she stepped back and watched the intricate, carefully-designed system of pulleys and gears suddenly struggling to deal with the chunks of wood she'd introduced. While the rest of the house continued to tick along as before, this particular wall was now emitting a slow, constrained grinding sound as its constituent parts struggled to function.
Turning, Jenna saw the photo of Cesar Marchionne out in the hallway.
“Hear that?” she asked, her voice trembling with anger and fear. “That's the sound of your goddamn house dying. That's the sound of me destroying what you built, and soon you'll hear the sound of me getting the hell out of here.”
She turned back and looked at the gears, which were still struggling to turn despite the wood that remained wedged in the way. After a moment, however, one of the metal wires suddenly snapped, which caused one of the gears to briefly spin furiously and then fall from its mount, disappearing into a gap further down.
“It's all coming apart now,” Jenna said with a faint smile, enjoying the sight of the house's machinery being destroyed. Feeling as if the process was running too slowly, she stepped closer and jammed the broken baseball bat into another spot, causing one of the other motors to immediately start shuddering and vibrating as it struggled to complete the task it had been set more than a century earlier.
Grabbing a longer piece of wood, Jenna was about to slip it into another part of the machinery when she realized she was wasting time. As much as she wanted to strike back against the house and its malicious creator, she felt a flash of panic rushing through her chest.
“I have to get out of here,” she stammered, forcing all thoughts of revenge out of her head.
Turning, she made her way toward the door and then stopped, terrified in case she inadvertently triggered another trap. For a moment, she considered taking a risk, but finally she realized that her best bet was to break down each and every wall, and then disable all the machinery. That way, she'd be able to neuter the entire house and find her way out.
“Go to hell,” she told the photo of Marchionne. “I'm gonna wait 'til this house is destroyed, and then I'm personally gonna smash you off that wall. Your little game is over.”
With that, she turned and began to make her way back toward the door.
Suddenly she stopped as she heard a bumping sound from one of the other rooms. She froze for a moment as she realized that she could now hear the same bumping, crackling sound that had characterized the wax cylinders.
“If you are hearing this recording,” a familiar, old voice said after a moment, drifting through the holes in the wall, “then my house has detected damage. The primary phonograph has been disabled or destroyed, and at least one part of the internal mechanism of the house's system has been compromised.”
Slowly, Jenna turned and looked out across the dark hallway. A sense of dread was creeping up her back and over her shoulder as she realized that somehow, all those years ago, Cesar Marchionne had anticipated her every move.
“I will not stand for disobedience,” the voice continued. “Every possible variable has been calculated. Every possible move that you could make has been taken into consideration. Even now, my machines are observing the weight on the floor in every room. Within seconds, the house will know exactly where you are standing.”
Looking down, Jenna realized she could hear a series of faint, heavy clunking sounds from beneath the floorboards.
“You can't run,” the voice said firmly, before breaking into a series of coughs.
Slowly, Jenna took a step back.
“Wherever you go,” the voice added, “the house will find you.”
“No,” she whispered, as more bumps could be heard beneath her feet.
“And,” the voice continued, with a hint of satisfaction, “the house will punish you.”
“No!” she shouted, turning to hurry out of the room.
Before she could take another step, however, the floor gave way beneath her feet. She fell forward, but she couldn't reach out in time and instead her chin slammed against the edge of a large hatch, before she tumbled into the darkness below.
Chapter Fourteen
She screamed as she felt a thousand small cuts tearing through her skin. Landing in the heart of a vast bouquet of razor-wire, she felt herself sinking down through the blades before finally she came to a rest, suspended in a dark pit.
The only light came from above, where the hatch remained open several feet above her face.
She tried to reach up, but the pain was unbearable and she let out a cry. She tried again, only to feel more and more blades slicing through her body.
Not daring to move now, she stared up at the ceiling. She could just about see her right arm, caught in the razor-wire and with several deep cuts running through her flesh. Blood dribbled down to her shoulder, and she could feel more blood on her face and neck. When she tried again to climb up, she felt hundreds more sharp slices all over her body and she instantly froze. Letting out a gasp, she looked down and saw nothing but darkness below, although after a moment she realized she could just about make out more razor-wire in the depths.
“My house,” the voice continued from high above, “is now in the process of repairing itself. That will take time, but rest assured, no-one will ever be able to leave this place. My design is absolute, my work is perfect, and I will not be beaten. Who are you, to think that you can overcome the plans of a genius?”
Trying once again to climb out of the wire pit, Jenna gasped as she felt more tiny blades cutting into every inch of her flesh. She paused, before telling herself that she just had to accept the pain and get the hell out. After taking a deep breath, she tried again, and this time she felt as if she was almost swimming through the masses of overlapping wire, slowly rising toward the open hatch even though her own weight was pulling her down. Holding her breath, she tried to put the pain out of her mind as she reached up with her right hand, and she felt her fingertips brushing the hatch's edge before finally the agony became too much as she had to stop.
Letting out a cry of pain, she felt herself sinking again and then bouncing slightly in the curled mass of wire. Every time she moved, more razors cut into her flesh and she quickly realized she had to stay as still as possible.
She waited, trying to think of another way out, but every thought was quickly interrupted by another slice of pain. After a moment, however, she heard a slow grinding sound above, and she looked up just as the hatch began to slide shut.
“No!” she shouted, reaching up toward the light. “Stop! Please!”
“I have calculated for every possible move that you might make,” the voice continued. “I have anticipated your every idea and -”
Suddenly the voice stopped, as if something had interrupted the wax cylinder.
The hatch finally slid into place, cutting off the last of the light and leaving her suspended in darkness.
“Please!” she sobbed. “I'll do anything, just let me out of here! Whatever you want, just tell me! Whatever you want...”
Weeping now, she knew there was no point pleading with an old recording and a mechanical house, she knew there was no-one to hear her cries, but at the same she couldn't help herself.
“Help me,” she stammered. “Please help me. I don't care what you want, you can have anything, I swear, but please let me out of here.”
She waited, but all she heard was the constant ticking sound from above. Unable to see anything at all, she tried one more time to climb up through the razor wire, before screaming a
s she felt a thousand fresh tiny cuts slicing through her skin. She reached up, hoping against hope that she might feel the hatch, but she quickly realized that she had no hope at all. Still sobbing, she no longer dared move. Even breathing was painful, as she felt little blades tugging on her flesh. Some were already deeply embedded, holding her up in the massive bouquet of wire.
“I can't give up,” she whispered to herself in the darkness. “I can't...”
No matter how hard she tried, however, she couldn't bring herself to fight against the wire again. Besides, she was too exhausted, and now she could feel blood dribbling down her body from all the little cuts.
“I can't give up,” she said again, hoping to maybe find some energy from somewhere. “I can't... I can't let this... I...”
She paused, suspended in darkness with the ticking sound continuing all around.
Suddenly she heard footsteps.
Looking up, she told herself that she had to be imagining things, that she must have lost her mind, but a moment later she heard a bumping sound from above.
“Jenna!” a familiar voice called out. “Jenna, are you down there?”
“Dad?” she stammered, still not quite daring to believe what she was hearing. After a moment, however, she realized she could hear him hammering on the hatch. “Dad!” she shouted, reaching up despite the pain. “Dad, I'm in here! Dad, help me! Dad!”
She heard the sound of wood bring broken, and finally she saw a crack of light appearing at one edge of the hatch. A couple of seconds later, there was another loud crack and more of the hatch was broken away. She could see someone up there now, using a crowbar to tear the hatch open, and after a few more seconds she saw her father peering down toward her.
“Jenna!” he shouted, reaching a hand through. “Hold on!”
Despite the pain, Jenna grabbed his hand and then braced herself. As soon as her father started to haul her out from the pit, she felt hundreds and hundreds of tiny blades slicing through her flesh, but she held her breath and then reached out with her spare hand to grab the edge of the hatch. Some sections of razor wire were still stuck to her, even as she managed to scramble out of the pit and onto the study floor, but she quickly reached down and started unhooking the blades one by one. Her hands were trembling as she found that some of the blades had sunk deep beneath her flesh.
“What happened to you?” Owen asked, pulling her closer and kissing the top of her head. “Where's your mother?”
“I don't know,” Jenna stammered, still getting the last of the blades out of her body. She could see scores of little cuts all over her hands, and her entire body was stinging. “I thought...”
She looked over toward the hallway, before turning to look at her father.
“Where the hell were you?” she asked, pulling him closer and hugging him tight. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been so pleased to see him. “I thought you were dead!”
“I nearly was,” he replied breathlessly. “Careful. Don't touch my shoulder.”
Pulling back, Jenna saw a bloody patch covering the top of his left arm.
“It knocked me out,” he explained. “When I woke up, I'd been dragged into some kind of dark, narrow space. I was being pulled over a ledge beneath the front room, but I managed to hang on.” He held up a screwdriver in his trembling right hand. “Fortunately, I had this with me. I tried calling out to you, but I think I was in a part of the basement that had been sound-proofed. It took me a while to find my way out, there was a moment I...” He paused, with fear in his eyes. “I'm here now, and we're going to get out of this place.”
“Mum's really badly hurt,” Jenna replied. “I thought she was dead, but then suddenly her body wasn't there anymore. The last time I saw her, she was at the bottom of the stairs.”
“Jenna -”
“Look at the blood trail,” she continued, leaning past him and staring at the smeared red stain that stopped just a few feet away. “I think she must have somehow woken up, and then she dragged herself somewhere and -”
“Jenna -”
“We have to find her!” she shouted.
“Jenna, the house tidies people away,” he said firmly. “You have to understand that. It tried doing the same thing to me, it's just a miracle that I held on.”
She shook her head. “No. She survived and she's hiding somewhere.”
“Jenna, please -”
“We're not leaving her!” Jenna hissed. “We have to keep looking!”
He paused for a moment, before nodding. “We'll focus on getting out of here, but we'll do what we can for your mother too.”
“I tried the front door,” she told him, “but it wouldn't open.”
“I'm not surprised. I think the back door's a better bet, the lock seemed more recent. We have to get to the kitchen, and then maybe with this screwdriver I can find us a way out.” He looked across the room. “This house is amazing. It's hard to believe that one man could have developed something so intricate, or that it could have lasted so long.”
“He was a psychopath,” she replied. “Did you hear the recordings?”
“Some of them. I think there's more than one phonograph system in the house.”
“He explained it all. The house is his way of proving that he's a genius.”
“Well, it worked,” Owen muttered. “Whatever else you think of this place, you can't deny that Cesar Marchionne created something unique.”
“But it's not possible, is it?” Jenna asked. “A guy from the goddamn Victoria era couldn't have put this together!”
“It's highly unlikely, but it's possible.” He paused, seemingly in awe of the place as the walls continued to tick. “By the late nineteenth century, the first crude computing machines had already been invented. Some of Charles Babbage's early work was done before Cesar Marchionne was even born. Still, the idea that Marchionne was able to create such a sophisticated mechanism is... The calculations alone must have taken him years, and then the detail that must have gone into building the place... It's staggering.”
“But how could it have gone undetected?” she asked. “The police must have searched the place when the previous family vanished!”
“The Marchionne Corporation has a lot of money,” he pointed out, “and probably high-level connections. I guess they were able to keep the place away from prying eyes.”
“But how -”
“I don't know!” he added. “Jenna, I can't even begin to explain it all. Marchionne was clearly a genius. Things that seem impossible to ordinary people are just... challenges to men like that.”
“You almost sound like you admire him,” she replied skeptically.
He turned to her, before glancing over at the damaged wall. “Look,” he continued. “The house has detected damage and started repairing itself.”
Turning, Jenna saw that he was right. Already, the gears and wires she'd broken earlier were being slid out of the way, and replacement parts were effortlessly moving in to repair them.
“How is it doing that?” she asked. “Is it alive, somehow?”
“No, I think it's just a very complex series of weights, maybe magnets too... Like I said, the sheer number of calculations must have been immense. Cesar Marchionne must have been one of the greatest inventors in history of mankind. Even today, it'd take years for a team of people to come up with something like this place. To think that one man could have done it alone, and that more than a century later it's still running...”
“The man's a murderer,” Jenna pointed out.
He turned to her. “Your mother -”
“I'm not talking about Mum!” she continued. “There was at least one other family that disappeared in this house! The Cavendishes, remember? They vanished without a trace, more than seventy years ago! There were blood smears, but their bodies were never found.”
“You can't just assume that they -”
“What the hell do you think happened to them?” she shouted, momentarily losing her temper. “Thi
s house is evil! The house killed them and took their bodies!”
“Okay,” he replied, putting a hand on her shoulder, “calm down. Right now, we need to focus on getting out of here, and that means making it to the back door.”
“There are too many traps.”
“We can get past them,” he continued. “Jenna, I refuse to believe that a man like Marchionne would leave no possible way out. He probably set this house as a test, to see if anyone would be smart enough to figure out how to escape.”
“He didn't mention anything about escaping on those recordings,” she told him. “He said there was no way out.”
“We're still going to find a way.” He turned and looked toward the door that led into the hallway. “I've got an idea of how the traps operate. There's some kind of weight system that -”
“I thought the same,” she replied, interrupting him, “but then the door into the kitchen... There's a blade and it comes down, but I swear I didn't activate any kind of sensor.”
“Obviously you did, you just didn't realize it. We just have to figure out how.”
“Can't we just go out the front door?” she asked, looking at the screwdriver in his hand. “If you work on the lock, I can try to find Mum.”
“We're not splitting up.”
“Dad -”
“I'm not losing sight of you again!” he said firmly, before pausing. “Jenna, you're the most important person in the world to me, and I'm not letting you go off by yourself. Maybe I haven't always shown it, but everything I've ever done has been designed to make your life better, and your mother's too. I know I screwed up, but I'm damn well going to get us out of this place.”
“But -”
“And we can talk about the rest later,” he continued, turning and making his way cautiously toward the door. “We need to stay focused and calm.”
Reaching the door, he grabbed a broken piece of wood and used it to check the floor for pressure-sensitive boards, the same way that Jenna had used her baseball bat earlier. After a moment, once he was satisfied, he stepped through.
“It's okay,” he told her. “So far, so good.”
