by Jack Wallen
“We’ll have to make do…unless you’d be willing to spare one of yours?”
Sally finished dressing, switched to the driver’s seat, and fired up the car. “Hit play on my iPod. I made a special playlist for the trip.”
The look on Sally’s face spoke volumes of wickedness as I picked the iPod from the dash of the car. I tapped play and the familiar sounds of one of my favorite bands spilled from the speakers.
“Die So Fluid,” I beamed. “You beast. This is my favorite song of theirs.”
Sally’s voice purred when she said, “I know.”
The opening drumbeat and guitar riff from The World Is Too Big For One Lifetime begged me to turn the volume past eleven. Instead, I closed my eyes and let the sound wash over me. As soon as Grog’s bass line and voice greeted us, I knew this night was going to be perfect.
Sally turned the wheel and pulled away from the house. We were on our way. My heart thrummed and thumped as if it would leap from my chest. When the chorus of the song hit, Sally and I both sang along.
I reached out and grabbed Sally’s hand.
“I don’t know how I’d get through life without you, Sally. Saying you’re my best friend doesn’t do my feelings justice.”
Sally squeezed my hand, hard.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, Scott, and don’t freak out…but…I love you.”
A mixture of ice and fire shot up my arm. Just before the words that couldn’t ever be taken out of play slipped from my lips, I saw the sign.
“Tyler’s End, two miles,” I shouted. My proclamation deflated Sally. I could feel joy leak from her pores.
“Sally, stop the car.”
“What? Why? We’re almost there.”
“Please, it’s important.”
She eased the car into a strip mall parking lot, put the car in park, and turned to face me. “What is it?”
I swallowed to force the lump of fear as far down as possible. I’d faced the most horrific of horrors on the screen, yet the simple interaction with a female had me sweating silver bullets.
“Scott, are you okay?”
“I am, Sally. Look…” Another swallow. “I love you too. I do…more than you could possibly know. But this – what we have – is too precious a thing for me to risk losing. Your friendship is the single most important thing in my life. The idea of doing something that could possibly ruin that is unfathomable. If I thought, for even a second, that we could allow what we have to evolve into something greater, without the risk of undoing a once in a lifetime friendship, I would jump into those waters with both feet. But that thought doesn’t exist. There’s no guarantee this would survive that. I don’t want that if it means I can’t have this.” I lifted our entwined hands to send my point home.
Cold tendrils of silence crept up my back and neck. Sally stared at me, her eyes welling up. I wasn’t sure if I could survive her crying…not without giving in.
And then she smiled.
“Scott, you are, without a doubt, the one thing in my life I couldn’t lose. As much as I want to be everything to you, I…”
Sally hesitated to blink tears from her eyes. My heart sank into my shoes. “I understand. The same thoughts have rattled around in my chest for such a long time, but my heart insisted we could make it work. I love you and will always love you. But more than that, I respect you and need your friendship. I would love to have you as my boyfriend, but not at the cost of this…or that.” Sally looked down to our joined hands.
She laughed; which in turn made me laugh. The end result was an epic hug I was certain I’d feel for days…maybe weeks.
When Sally pulled back from the embrace, she faced forward, put the car in drive, and said…
“We have a haunted house to find.”
*
The second the car crossed into Tyler’s End, the world – my world – changed. What I thought was going to be a visit to a first-class haunted house, turned out to be a journey into a magical world that would fold my definition of life inside out.
“Scott,” Sally whispered, “look at them…everywhere.”
“The costumes, the makeup…” I couldn’t find the words to describe what my eyes beheld. Walking about on the streets were horrific characters, all taken from the same page of the same book. As if time had no point or place in Tyler’s End, every person was dressed in a variation of the same theme – Victorian England. Waist coats, bustles, stockings, ruffles…every piece a precise turn of fashion with a twist of the macabre.
It wasn’t actually the clothing that brought about my bug-eyed awe. The makeup was astonishing. Every character’s skin was a shade of grayish-green and looked cracked and aged by too much sun. Some had what looked like over-sized boils, threatening to pop, on their cheeks and lips. Some, mostly the males, had horns budding from the tops of their foreheads.
Sally pulled the car into a cordoned-off field for parking. “They all look so…real.”
“And happy,” I added.
That was quite possibly the strangest thing of all – each and every one of the characters glowed with a joy that seemed to emanate from within. They talked, laughed…sang.
“This is…Sally, I don’t know what to say.”
We got out of the car and spun on our heels to take it all in. There was so much. Even beyond the idea that the haunt of haunts awaited me, I couldn’t get over the fact that the entire city seemed to be transformed into a horror-themed delight.
“It’s Monsterville,” Sally said.
“What,” I asked.
Sally looked at me and smiled. “This place is like a town filled with monsters…Monsterville.”
“God ye good eve’n,” said one of the towns folk as he passed by. The tails of his coat swept up into the wind as if to wave ‘hello’.
“What did he just say,” Sally asked.
“He said ‘Good evening’ in a Victorian England colloquialism. At least I think that’s what it was. Or maybe he thought one of us sneezed. I don’t really know for sure.”
“It doesn’t matter, Scott; it’s all so stinking charming.”
Sally reached out her hand to me. “Come on, let’s go find the house.”
It wasn’t hard. It seemed every member of the town criers assembly was headed in the same, general direction. That kind of deduction could be handled by a chimp.
“Scott,” Sally nearly squealed. She pointed ahead. “Look at it.”
It, the Gaultier House, was glorious beyond words. The building was a multi-story Victorian mansion that looked as if it had been plucked from some member of the English nobility and magically transported to the states. It was very out of place, but glorious in its oddity. Though it was certainly true to form in its architecture, there was a certain Tim Burton-esque element to the design. The mansion stood three stories high with turrets on each corner that pointed and curled like elf or witch shoes. The whole of the design stood as a reminder that those who dwelled within were a class that no longer existed. The solid rock walls mocked anything modern builders could construct.
After spying the Gaultier House, I finally managed to see without my usual filters. Every element of the town seemed to work its way into the fabric of Halloween. The houses and buildings all seemed, on the surface, to be normal; but when you looked closer, you spotted fragments of strangeness littering the design. One three story house looked perfectly standard from one angle. The second you shifted your view, you spotted the slant and pitch of the walls – just enough to obscure normalcy.
There wasn’t a straight line in sight. Every edge of every structure seemed to include some tick and trick in its shape and design.
I was in heaven.
Sally gave my shoulder a slap. “I think I see the ticket booth.”
She took off running. I couldn’t help myself but to fall into perfect lock-step with Sally. I wasn’t taking any chance in losing her here. It was Halloween night – a lot of crazy would happen within the next twelve hours. It always did.
We arrived at the ticket booth and dropped our cold, hard cash in front of the vendor who smiled and said, “Two tickets to the most unholy and frightening site you will ever witness. Please, make sure to pick up a brochure that explains everything you will need to know, before entering the double door entryway.”
Both Sally and I had our faces buried in the pamphlets, so we hardly noticed the two, be-costumed girls rush past us.
“Are we the only people here not dressed up in period costumes,” asked Sally. “I feel so out of place.”
She was right. We were in an overwhelming minority. In the midst of the velvet and lace, we stood in denim, fake leather, and yoga plain-ness. I wasn’t sure why every eyeball wasn’t trained on us to ask if we failed to receive the memo about dressing the part.
“OMG,” proclaimed Sally. “There it is.”
My eyes followed her point and beheld what had to be the most wondrous spectacle I’d ever seen in my short lifetime. Seeing the house from even the slightest distance was one thing. Up close and personal brought everything into perspective. The house was tremendous in size and design. A perfect replica of a period long since forgotten. And yet…this wasn’t a rebuild of a collapsed mansion from days gone by – this was very real, very complete, and very…
“Amazing,” squealed Sally. “Scott, you must be peeing your pants. Scott? Earth to Scott.”
I hadn’t heard her. I was too lost from taking in everything from every direction.
“I’m sorry, Sally. I just…”
“I know. Take your time; drink it all in.”
I felt like I was a little kid again, stepping foot on Disneyland soil for the first time. My world, always so small, had officially grown to magnificent proportions. Someone had reached their taloned fingers into my dreams and ripped the fantastical out, only to make it real in Tyler’s End.
“I’m afraid to go in,” I said.
“What? I call shenanigans on that, Mr. Maskey. I’ve never known you to be afraid of anything…well, except maybe Cody Sloan.”
“No. Oh, no. I’m not afraid in the usual sense of the word. My fear is that it either cannot possibly live up to the promises it is currently making or that it’ll be over all too soon. I want to walk into that house and be transported to something completely removed from our existence and for it to last a lifetime.”
Sally stared into my eyes, a twinkle raced around her irises.
“Scotty Maskey, you are the most romantic human being on the planet. Either that,” Sally gave my cheek a gentle slap, “or you’re just crazy.”
“Tickets please,” begged an extremely tall, bone-skinny man in a burgundy velvet tuxedo and top hat. “You two lovebirds are the first to enter this night’s parade of fear. Welcome.”
We handed the man our tickets and walked on by. I felt heat rise in my cheeks. Sally looked at me, her face flushing fire red and her smile slanted and wide.
We let the ‘lovebirds’ comment go unmentioned.
“That man’s hat had to be three feet tall,” whispered Sally. “How does he keep it on his head?”
I leaned into Sally. “Maybe his forehead fills it up.”
Sally squealed. “Now that’s just creepy.”
As we stepped up to the main entrance, the door opened with a loud complaint. The creaking hinges were an overture and a promise for delights yet to come. Sally and I stepped over the threshold and were immediately transported back in time, along with a small group of wide-eyed spectators. The door closed behind us to seal the modern world from reaching our senses.
Sally grabbed my hand. “Breathe, Scott.”
I hadn’t even realized I was holding my breath. When my lungs finally sucked in, I felt a flood of tension wash away.
My pulse raced faster, faster, and yet still faster.
The antechamber was lit only by candle light. The flicker and dance of the flames cast eerie shadows over the walls and ceiling. A chilled wind washed through the room and extinguished the candles. A soft cry cut through the darkness.
“Help me.”
The voice surrounded the room and, at the same time, seemed to have its roots within my chest. It begged for a mercy I had no way of knowing how to give.
“Please,” the voice whispered again, “save me.”
I wanted to call out, cry to the disembodied voice ‘How?’ Before I could find the words, a single candle flickered to life at the end of the room. Behind the candle was a face – grayish-green in color, yet soft and feminine. The eyes were a golden yellow, the lips lush, the hair a spiky mess of black.
“We have walked among you for centuries. Our lives have existed, in a parallel unison, until the Clock of Ages struck its final, sullen song. At the last chime of humanity, we were made monstrous and wicked; our flesh boiled in bile, our eyes turned sour with loss. Since that moment, we ‘Kind have made bargains with evil nobility in hopes of returning our lives to the parallel existence with yours. It seems, however, evil runs far deeper than desire. And so, we have devised a simple plan – wage war against mankind, so that we may strip the planet of greed and hatred. As you walk through the Gaultier Mansion, know that you glimpse a world your eyes and soul may well not be ready to behold. You may find yourself diving deep into the waters of madness. Should you give into that pull, your soul and your heart are ours to have and to hold…into and beyond death.”
The candle light licked the air as another, colder, breeze shot through the room. I could feel the flesh on my arms grow tight. The young creature continued.
“There are but a few rules to help guide you safely through the Gaultier House. Most important is to not touch the appointments within the rooms, nor any of the other guests – corporeal or not. Next, you must not attempt to exit the tour. The ticket you purchased is one way only. Should you find yourself unable to continue on, seek solace in the arms of another, your journey must continue. Finally, and this is crucial, do not attempt to interact with the creatures you find within the Gaultier house. I cannot, in any way, guarantee your safety should you break that final rule. There are souls within the walls of these rooms that have been trapped for centuries; some are harmless, while others wait for one of weak constitution to possess. Should you fall prey to such a spirit, your life might well be forfeit.”
A wall-rattling roar shattered the comforting peace of the room. The response from the majority of the audience was typical – shrieks and nervous laughter. I was enthralled, overjoyed, maddeningly in love with every second.
“And now, I ask that you close your eyes and open your mind. The journey you are about to undergo will change you. Once touched by the Gaultier house, you will never be the same.”
With that, the young girl blew out her candle, which in turn extinguished every source of light in the room. We were in total darkness.
After a moment, a door cracked open. Whoever was standing closest to the entryway forced the door further and gestured us to walk through.
The first room of the house was glorious; a well-drawn and appointed, Victorian greeting room, used to welcome guests into the home. What instantly struck me was the lack of standard ‘Haunted House’ trappings. The walls weren’t covered with spider webs and glow in the dark eyes. Instead, a deep burgundy velvet wallpaper decorated ten foot walls. In one corner stood a proud full suit of armor – as if to say ‘None shall pass’. We weren’t standing in the entrance to campy horror. This was real, this was something special. Depending upon the weather, coats and shoes would be removed and guests sat about, growing familiar with one another. During that period, conversation was an art; and so rooms dedicated to that very pleasure were often given over to opulence and finery.
When the final guest was inside the greeting room, the entryway crashed shut and the lights dimmed and flickered.
“Come on,” someone whispered, “enough with the dark. Let’s see some gore.”
I wanted to race to the side of the insolent heckler and inform him he wasn’t in his home wat
ching a teen, slasher flick with little artistic value. Sally glanced at me and then shook her head, fear widening her eyes. She must have seen the impulse race across my lips. Instead of pouncing, I took in a deep breath and sighed the frustration out of my lungs.
An unsettling silence blanketed the room. Everyone nervously looked around or shifted their weight. This would be the calm before a most wonderful storm.
Just as the tension in the room drew to a palatable apex, a spine-shrinking roar cut through the space. Doors and windows rattled on their hinges, paintings threatened to leap from their mountings.
Again, the roar punched the collective gut of the audience.
Before anyone’s curiosity had them seeking out an exit, a door on the far end of the room crashed open and a young woman in a red velvet dress slipped through and closed the door behind her.
“He’s not here is he?” The young woman whispered. “Please tell me father isn’t in this room.”
The youthful stranger raced around to check every nook and cranny. She pulled a grand tapestry from the wall and dust exploded into the air. The stale stench of mothballs and old age wafted across the room. Once satisfied, she dropped into one of the wing-back chairs and giggled.
After a moment, she spoke – not seeming to address anyone in particular.
“Should father catch me, he will strip me of my life.”
Again, the girl giggled.
“The thought of death seems, I don’t know, worthy of a measure of joy. Considering the circumstances, I cannot imagine myself continuing on beyond this moment.”
The woman stood and stepped forward. A spill of candlelight fell upon her to reveal the same skin discoloration and yellow eyes we’d seen before. Unlike the first young woman, our new guest had a waterfall of blood-red ringlets cascading from her head to frame her face. Not a single boil, or horn presented itself. Outside of the varied coloration, she was perfect. Her face was round, her cherub cheeks gave birth to dimples the second a smile lit up her expression.
“Where is she?” The roar returned, this time with purpose. Whatever it was, it was angry and looking for someone.
