Dream House: A Short Story
Page 1
DREAM HOUSE
Cheryl Kaye Tardif
DREAM HOUSE
Copyright © 2014 by Cheryl Kaye Tardif. All Rights Reserved.
IF YOU RECEIVED THIS BOOK FREE VIA A WEBSITE DOWNLOAD ON A SHARE OR TORRENT SITE, YOU HAVE AN ILLEGAL COPY AND CAN BE PROSECUTED FOR COPYRIGHT THEFT.
Imajin Books does not condone or support ebook piracy in any form. If you have not PAID for this ebook, or have not won a copy from the author or publisher (Imajin Books), then you have received a pirated copy. If you have DOWNLOADED this book from any torrent or illegal pirate site (they’re ALL illegal!), then you have aided and abetted in ebook piracy, and you could be charged or sued by the author and/or Imajin Books.
Copyright is a matter we take seriously. Our authors and our publishing team work hard to produce quality books for people who will appreciate them. We often have discounts and sales so that ANYONE CAN AFFORD OUR EBOOKS. So if you choose to pirate our books, either by illegally uploading them and sharing them on file share sites or by downloading them so you can read them for free, please understand you are breaking current laws, and we can and will prosecute those who steal our authors’ works.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. And any resemblance to actual persons, living, dead (or in any other form), business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
http://www.cherylktardif.com
FIRST EDITION Kindle eBook
DREAM HOUSE first appeared in SHADOW MASTERS: An Anthology from The Horror Zine, published by Imajin Books in May 2013.
Imajin Books - http://www.imajinbooks.com
May 24, 2014
ISBN: 978-1-927792-71-1
Cover designed by Imajin Books; House graphic — 3Djml, iStockPhoto.com
DREAM HOUSE
A Short Story
The day we moved into our dream house was the beginning of our nightmare. And it all started with five fortuitous words…
"I want my dream house," I told my husband.
We stood in the poor excuse of a kitchen in our rundown Boston bi-level. I was stuck between the open oven door and a cupboard on the other side, while Ray unloaded the dishwasher and tried not to bump into me.
"This kitchen is ridiculous," I said. "Whoever designed it must have been a size zero anorexic who lived on her own."
I was neither a size zero, nor an anorexic. I wasn't willing to give up my bacon cheeseburgers and DQ Blizzards. So the scale tipped a little further—not in my favor. Oh well.
"Two weeks, Christine," Ray said. Then his psychiatric training kicked in. "Are you sure you're not substituting the new house for something else?"
"I just want space. If that makes me crazy, then…" I shrugged, "so be it."
Fact is, I'd fallen in love with the idea of buying and renovating an old home. You know, one of those period mansions with hefty wooden doors and arched hallways. Where the ceilings are ornate and massive chandeliers hang suspended high above your head.
My dream became reality when we found a stately-looking manor in Danvers, Massachusetts, not far from Boston.
"A perfect reno project," I'd told Ray when I'd spotted the manor in a real estate magazine.
Ray hadn't been too thrilled with my plans. He was a city guy. Give him smog, traffic and a condo on the twelfth floor, and he'd be happy as a pig in mud.
Speaking of pigs in mud…
Our six-year-old sons bounded into the room. They wore identical outfits—not the 'norm' for my boys even though they were twins—and almost identical dirt marks from head to toe.
"Oh jeez," I said, shaking my head. "What did you two get into this time?"
Danny and Nicky were quite the handful, always playing pranks on people and confusing them. The boys thought it was hilarious for one of them to answer the door dressed as a pirate, then close the door and reopen it so the other could stand there dressed as a policeman. To the person on the other side, it was as if the boy had changed clothes in the blink of an eye.
And before you think I'm a rotten mother letting my young children open the door to complete strangers, let me tell you that we have that front door rigged up like Fort Knox. Yes, those little—uh, angels of mine always seem to figure out how to unlock it. Even the lock at the very top.
I called Nicky and Danny my 'lucky boys.' They'd been born a minute after midnight on Friday the Thirteenth. Full moon and all.
"We planted trees," they said in unison.
I glanced out the back window and saw fresh footprints around the daisies I'd planted. I squinted. The boys' 'trees' looked suspiciously like last night's broccoli.
"Dream…house," I enunciated to Ray. "Where the trees aren't vegetables."
My husband groaned. "I'll get the boys cleaned up."
"My dream house will be perfect!" I said as he herded the boys upstairs.
*****
Danvers was a quaint, charming town located on the Danvers River, and our new home was located on the south edge of Putnamville Reservoir. When I first saw the house, it took my breath away.
My dream house was situated at the end of a winding road guarded by high steel gates that were operated by remote control. The house towered over us as we parked the car. A balcony on the second floor overlooked the circular driveway that swept past the front door. There were arches, columns and carved wooden accents, all remnants from another era. Imposing and regal, with castle-like turrets on both ends and a peaked roof between them, our new home almost pulsated with imperceptible power.
"It's spectacular," I said, stepping from our minivan.
Danny and Nicky jumped from the van and headed for the steps.
"Careful," I warned as Nicky stumbled. I turned to Ray. "Is the inside as beautiful as the pictures?"
He grinned. "Even better."
We navigated the wide stone steps and I waited for Ray to unlock the door. I noticed it had one of those hefty brass doorknockers with a cherub face on it. I touched it, snatching my hand back as an icy chill spread through my fingertips.
Ray grabbed the knocker and banged it twice. We could hear the sound echo inside the house.
"Shall we, madam?" he asked me, one brow raised.
"Fine, sir," I said, playing along. "Will you carry me over the threshold?"
My husband swept me up and I giggled, wrapping my arms around his neck. The boys stared at us as if we had lost our marbles.
Ray nudged the door open with one shoulder.
Then we entered our new home.
With wide eyes, I took in the spacious foyer and double staircase that rose on either side to the second floor. Peaceful cherubs perched on the ends of the handrails, again made of brass that was blackish green with age.
"Angels are watching over us," I muttered as Ray set me down.
A five-layer chandelier hung above the center of the foyer. Beneath it was a round table in burnished cherry finish. In the center sat a crystal vase filled with a rainbow bouquet of roses, irises and other fragrant blooms.
"We want to see our room," Nicky said, tugging on my sleeve.
With a deafening roar, the boys went charging upstairs.
"Is it safe?" I asked Ray.
"Perfectly. It passed the inspection with flying colors. All this place needs," he hugged me, "is a little TLC. And I'm sure you're going to give it that."
"We're going to give it that," I corrected. "Don't yo
u dare think I'm going to do all the work while you play with your patients."
He cocked his head. "Play? Is that what you think I do?"
I saw the warning in his eyes and let out a shriek. Then I raced up the stairs, with Ray not far behind me. Laughing, I ran down the hallway until I came to a door at the end. I opened it, stepped inside and shut the door, leaning on it, breathless.
"Okay," I shouted. "I know you don't play at work."
There was no answer behind the door.
"I was joking." Well, not really. Sometimes Ray told me he'd have a chess match with a patient. That was playing, wasn't it?
Again, no answer.
"Ray?"
I slowly turned the doorknob and inched the door open a crack.
The hall was empty.
Where the hell did you go?
"Boo!" a voice said.
I shrieked and nearly jumped out of my skin.
Turning, I saw Ray. He was leaning against a door frame across the room.
"There's a connecting doorway from this room to the next," he said.
"Jesus!" I slowed my breathing and leaned down, putting my hands on my knees. "You took ten years off my life."
"And you'll still outlive me."
"Ha ha. Very funny."
"I thought so."
"Let me guess," I said. "These are the boys' rooms."
Ray nodded. "I'm not sure they'll want to be separated, though."
"They can choose. At least now we have room to expand." I followed him into the hallway. "So where's our room? I think I need a nap."
When I entered the bedroom at the opposite end of the hall, I gasped in shock. The room consisted of a sitting area with a fireplace and a raised pedestal where our king-sized bed reigned supreme. Two doors led to a balcony that overlooked the tree-lined backyard, another door led to an en suite bathroom and the final door in our room revealed a walk-in closet so big Ray and I could get lost in it.
"I need to buy more clothes," I said, mesmerized by the rows of hangers and empty floor-to-ceiling shelves.
"As long as you don't turn into a hoarder," Ray teased.
"Stop bringing your work home with you," I said, grinning at him. "Doctor."
Ray crossed the room, closed the hallway door and turned the antique key in the lock. In his best Sigmund Freud impression, he said, "Come lie down und tell me all about your obsession vis clothes."
"Nope. No time for that, mister."
Ray pouted. "Gee, first I was doctor and now I've been demoted to mister. That sucks."
"I'll give you a promotion later." I heaved a sigh and turned slowly in the center of the room. "Right now I just want to take in this…ah…space."
Freedom…
Our lives had changed drastically in the past two weeks. Ray had secured a position at the Danvers State Hospital, one of the oldest psych hospitals in Massachusetts. He'd enrolled the boys in Plumfield Academy, an expensive private school. And I'd found a part-time job in the town's library.
Life was perfect.
Until it wasn't.
*****
The first peculiar event happened early Sunday morning of the third week. I awoke at 6:06 AM to a bloodcurdling scream. Ray and I jumped from the bed and raced down the hall. "Danny! Nicky?"
Ray flung open the door to Nicky's room. It was empty.
"Nicky!" I cried.
I ran to the other door and opened it.
The boys were sitting in the single bed at the end of the room, their arms clenching each other, fear etched in their eyes so palpable that it made me freeze in my tracks. The twins weren't looking at us. They were staring at the far corner of the room, at a shadow that flickered rapidly like a static-filled television.
I blinked and the shadow vanished.
"R-Ray?" My voice squeaked. "Did you see that?"
Ray was already reaching for our sons, gathering them into his strong arms. "Just a bad dream, boys. Relax and close your eyes. Everything's fine."
Without a word, they obeyed and settled back to sleep.
I hesitated by the door. "D-didn't you see it?"
"See what?" Ray asked, confusion etched on his face.
"The shadow. In the corner."
He chuckled. "Don't tell me you're seeing ghosts now. The boys had a nightmare. You know how it is with twins. One has a bad dream, so does the other."
My mouth gaped for a second. I closed it and shook my head. "Obviously I'm overtired." I glanced at the empty corner. "Yeah, I need sleep."
Minutes later, Ray and I climbed back into bed. He fell asleep immediately, but I stayed awake until his alarm rang. Then I clambered out of bed and headed for the shower, trying hard not to think of the flickering shadow in Danny's room.
Just my imagination. That's all. Nothing more.
The second incident occurred two days later. I was dusting the living room. No small feat, I must add. That one room was bigger than the first floor of our Boston bi-level.
The manor had come with some original artwork, paintings I was sure must be worth a few pennies. According to the realtor, none of the previous owners wanted to remove them, so the paintings had been passed down with each sale of the house. I thought that was weird, but who can argue with free décor?
The paintings weren't my taste so I decided to replace some with our family photos. I took down a gray-brown monotone of a husband and wife, both with serious, unsmiling faces. "Time for you to say goodbye," I said. "This is our home now." I placed the painting face down.
After digging through two boxes of mostly junk, I found our oversized family photo taken last year at Christmas. As I reached out to hang it, a slight movement caught my attention. In the detailed wood panel that lined the walls of the living room, a hole had been drilled.
An eye stared out at me.
Startled, I cried out and dropped the family photo. The glass in the frame shattered. I stepped back, my bare foot catching one of the splintered glass pieces. "Ow! Ow! Ow!"
Ray ran into the room. "Christine, you're bleeding. Sit down. I'll get a cloth." He disappeared for a moment, then returned with cloth in hand.
"Someone…was…watching…me," I said between deep breaths.
He squinted at the nearest window.
"Not from outside. From the wall." I pointed.
He smiled at me. "Honey, how can anyone watch you from a wall?"
"There's a hole." I grabbed at my chest. "I saw an eye."
Ray strode to the wall. "Here?"
"Just below the nail for the picture."
He touched the wall. "There is a hole here, but it's awfully small." He leaned forward, pressing his face against the wall. "I can't see a thing, Christine."
"Don't do that," I said, my stomach churning with dread. I was terrified that he'd pull away, screaming and flailing at his face, his eye gouged by a sharp object. "Get away from the hole."
"No more horror movies for you," he said, turning toward me, his eye intact. "You have an overactive imagination, honey."
"B-but I-I saw…" Hell, I didn't know what I'd seen. Maybe Ray was right. I'd let my imagination get the better of me. "I'm going to lie down."
After a short nap, I returned to the living room. Ray had cleaned up the glass and rehung the eerie monotone painting of the couple.
"We'll take it down as soon as we replace the glass in our family photo," he promised.
I studied the couple in the painting. My house. Not yours.
Their expressions seemed to mock me.
*****
Over the next few weeks I noticed more bizarre incidents. At times I swore I heard someone whisper my name. Then objects began to go missing, only to be found much later in the weirdest of places. I found more holes—I came to call them 'peepholes'—camouflaged in the ornate paneling of the walls. They were everywhere. Ray said they were most likely old nail holes, but I didn't believe that. I'd seen the eye in the wall twice in the past week. Of course, my husband thought I was being silly.
We'd decided to tear down some walls, which were rotted near the baseboards.
"Just wait 'til the workers come," he said. "They'll be here next week. Seven days."
But I had to know what was behind those walls.
When he left the next morning, I took a small sledgehammer into the living room. Removing the monotone, I glanced at the small hole where I'd first seen the eye. "The moment of truth."
It took a few good whacks before the wood collapsed. When it did, it dissolved into the space behind the wall. I poked my head inside, the barrel of a thin flashlight pressed against my cheek. "I knew it."
A narrow, secret hallway ran into the shadows at either end.
Before Ray came home, I rehung the painting and cleaned up.
What should I do?
If I told Ray what I'd found, he'd shrug it off as just part of the old manor. He was already giving me his 'shrink look,' the one he gave others when he thought they were 'out to lunch.'
That evening, Ray noticed the painting on the wall was crooked. He went to straighten it, frowned, lifted it down and gazed at the head-sized hole in the wall. "Christine? Something you want to tell me?"
"Uh…I hit the nail too hard?"
He flicked a mocking look over his shoulder. "Really. You expect me to believe that."
"I was right, Ray. There's a hallway behind the wall."
He scrunched his brow, then poked his head into the hole. "Not much of a hall. It's just an empty space. Probably to eliminate drafts or circulate stale air."
"Big enough for someone to hide in."
"Nobody is hiding in our walls." With a huff, he left the room.
I rehung the painting. "I know you're in there," I whispered.
Am I losing it?
I had the intense feeling I was being watched. The hairs on the back of my neck and arms stood up. A deep shiver slithered up my spine.