by Jack Wallen
The knob moved smoothly through ninety degrees, until the door popped open.
When I finally stood on the ground floor, it dawned on me that I was standing in what was the greatest haunt of all times…alone. A shiver of thrill raced through my veins and across my flesh. It took everything in my power not to whoop out cries of joy.
What had I hoped to see? Was it magic I’d wanted? Did I assume looking behind the metaphorical curtain would reveal too much? The last thing I wanted was to ruin the illusion of the haunt – but in this case, I couldn’t help it. Everything was too real, too impossible. I had to know the truth.
The beam of light raced around the room. I needed to get my bearings, try to retrace my steps from Halloween night. First, I had to find the entryway. Once inside that greeting room of the haunt, it was just a matter of pointing myself in the right direction and following my instinct.
It took all of five minutes to find the start of the tour. It was exactly as I’d remembered, but I was alone and my imagination had shifted into overdrive and was working my mind like a Chihuahua being chased by a pissed off cat.
After I’d walked through the first few rooms, recognition finally set in.
The hanging room. Where I first saw her. The memory struck me hard. Her glorious, red hair. The angelic smile. My heart flipped and fluttered in my chest. What I wouldn’t give to lay eyes on that perfect face; allow her lips to draw near and her scent to embrace my senses. The second I pulled myself away from the fond memory of the hanging angel, I remembered the very reason I was here – to see just how the sausage was made.
The first thing to locate was the pulley mechanism that raised and lowered the red-headed beauty. Once I had that locked in, it would be a simple matter of following the wire to the controller.
My skin was alive with hope…until no sign of a wire or pulley system could be found.
“This can’t be,” I whispered. “There had to have been a flying rig.”
No matter how long and hard I looked, I found nothing, no sign of the means to have pulled the hanging girl off.
Unless, the mechanisms were in another room.
I was about to open the door to search out a flying rig, when I heard a sound – soft and lilting, like whispered secrets shared between the sweetest lips. The sound jump started my heart and my feet gave chase.
‘Gave chase’ was a bit of an overstatement. It was more like a fast, awkward walk.
“It is him,” another whisper drifted to my ears.
I opted to go full-on daredevil.
“You’re correct,” I said, “It is me. Who are you?”
The whispered words shifted to giggles.
“What did I say?”
The giggles returned.
“Babbette, you can’t do this,” one of the disembodied voices whispered.
“I have to,” said the other female voice.
“It is in my best nature to always protect you, Babbette…especially from yourself.”
Movement. A cloud of dust took shape and resettled as two figures appeared, shrouded in mystery and a strange mist. My heart and lungs took a moment together. My eyes immediately darted about the room to locate the nearest possible exit. I wasn’t about to get caught ‘dead-handed’.
“Get them,” one of the voices whispered.
Two words wracked my body with tension. Was my curiosity about to slap me across the face and have me locked up in one of the cellar cages?
“You get them.” the second voice insisted.
The original fired back, “please, Timely.”
Timely? Was that a name, or was I about to be introduced to bone-crushing clock movement from Hell?
“Okay, fine; but don’t you dare leave.”
“Wherever would I go, Timely?”
“Hello,” I called out softly.
A wash of silence fell over the room.
“I’m not here to hurt you…or steal anything,” I added.
“Save my heart?” The sweet voice asked.
Like an idiot, I allowed the first thought to explode from my face. “Excuse me?”
The second the words escaped my lips, I had to fight back an atomic face-palm. Some sweet, disembodied voice had just tossed poetry down and I swept it under the rug with an anvil and hammer.
I had no ‘smooth’.
“What is your name?” the voice asked.
For some odd reason, it didn’t dawn on me to lead with caution. Instead, I plowed on through without concern for my safety. “My name is Scott. What’s yours?”
Silence.
“Hello?” I called out.
“Shhhh,” the voice begged with a whisper.
“My name is Babbette and you must keep quiet. If my father hears you, I cannot guarantee your safety.”
Babbette’s words ran, liquid-cold, through my veins.
“Who is your father?”
“I shouldn’t say.”
“Do you not trust me?”
“I do not very well know you,” Babbette replied, her twist on the English language a quaint cross between adorable and too much retro-kitsch.
“You know my name,” was my only retort. Lame.
“This is true. You, Scott, are a wise young man. My father’s name is Gorman Gaultier.”
“Wait,” I stopped Babbette, “This is the haunted Gaultier House. Do you live here?”
“I do,” Babbette responded without hesitation.
I was officially a bit weirded-out about having a conversation with someone through a shroud of darkness and mystery.
“Is there any chance I could see you?” I asked.
Silence.
“Should I take that as a ‘no’?”
“No,” Babbette’s voice was soft and coy.
Through the darkness, I was finally able to make out a shape. The figure cutting through the darkness was clearly female; the flow of curls over her shoulders and a sweet profile gave not only her gender away, but a hint of beauty.
“Why don’t you want me to –”
“I do,” Babbette interrupted. “It’s just…”
The other voice returned and whispered, “Here Babbette.”
In the silence and shadows, I couldn’t make out the details of the movement on the other side of the veil. After a shared moment of whispers, Babbette finally said…“You may see me now.”
One, simple sentence sent shots of electricity through my system I’d never felt before. My breath caught in my lungs and every sensation was filtered through desire and need.
Slowly, almost painfully so, I stepped toward her voice. With each footfall the urge to turn and run swelled in my lungs and brain. I wasn’t sure why, but some strange warning sounded within my skull.
Like any teenage boy with the scent of teenage girl nearby, I could only think with a much lesser ‘brain’.
Both girls giggled.
“Is something funny?” I asked.
“You’re cute,” said Babbette. “Don’t be worried. We won’t hurt you.”
I finally stepped through the boundary of dust and fog and into a room I didn’t remember from the tour. There were three winged-back, Victorian chairs, a fireplace that had to be six feet tall, and…
Her.
The hanging-room girl.
Recognition forced the breath from my lungs.
In the candle-lit room, she was even more beautiful than before. Her eyes weren’t the emerald green of before, but a light, golden-brown – almost yellow. Her skin was so smooth it looked unreal. When my eyes fell to her lips, I thought for sure I would pass out. The shape of her lips reminded me of a Shakespeare sonnet.
“Those lips that loves own hand did make.”
The girls giggled again. I had voiced the quote. The heat of embarrassment flushed my cheeks.
“That’s Shakespeare,” Babbette said with a smile. “We know him well.”
It finally dawned on me that she had an accent – some form of British, it seemed, but with an odd lilt.
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The second girl stood in polar opposition to Babbette. She was a waif with a raven-black pixie haircut and a puckish grin on her lips. Her eyes were the same light-golden yellow as Babbette’s. She was dressed in all black, down to the same style of black Chuck Taylors I had on my feet. On the toes of her shoes was written (one word per shoe):
Among You.
The girl caught me looking at her feet and shot a hand toward me.
“My name is Timely. I’m Babbette’s bestie.”
I took Timely’s hand in mine. The flesh was slightly chilled – just enough to notice.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I said as we shook.
“We don’t get to meet many…”
Babbette jabbed an elbow into Timely’s ribs.
“…boys after dark in the house.” Timely finished with a nod.
Babbette stepped over to one of the chairs and motioned for me to sit. As I walked to the chair, a fire flashed with a roar in the fireplace. I assumed it was little more than leftover trickery from the haunt. No matter the source or cause of the fire, I sat. Once we were all seated, Babette smiled at me and spoke.
“What brings you to our house, Scott?”
I swallowed hard and led with the truth.
“I visited the haunt last night and was so blown away I wanted to come back a second time. When I saw it was closed already, it seemed the only way to satisfy that urge was to…” I hesitated, afraid what the truth would get me into my usual trouble. I finally relented and continued my tale. “…break in and have a look around.”
Babbette smiled wide. “And do you like what you see?”
She wasn’t asking if I liked the house. Even I didn’t miss that clue. At this point, no lie was necessary.
“Very much so.”
“So you liked the Gaultier House? Why not just post on Facebook or Twitter, like everyone else?”
We were finally diving into familiar territory.
“Because I’m not like everyone else.”
Both girls smiled.
“I’m drawn to the odd and obscure. I’ve always been like that.”
“Such as?” Babbette asked.
Timely smiled and answered the question for me. “He means like freaks, geeks, and goblins.”
“Sort of, yes. Horror and the macabre have always fascinated me. That’s why I came back tonight; I wanted to get a look behind the curtain to see the real show.”
“I don’t understand,” said Babbette.
“How you pulled all of this off. Some of the effects were beyond anything I’ve ever seen. And the masks…I can’t even begin to describe how realistic they were. And how you managed to put them on and take them off without anyone noticing, that was…”
Babbette and Timely tensed at the mention of masks.
“Did I say something wrong?” I asked.
Timely released an uneasy laugh. “We just aren’t allowed to speak of such things…to give away the secrets of the Gaultier House. Centuries of meticulous design and planning have come together to create what you witnessed last night. If someone were to get their hands on those secrets…”
“Understood…of course,” I interrupted.
Timely laughed. “Snap. You’re an easy one.”
Two and two quickly came together.
“Oh, you’re just…”
“Fuuuuu –”
“Joking around,” Babbette interrupted what was certainly to be profanity from the lips of Timely.
“Oh Babbette, you’re just no fun some times. I’m sure Scott has heard much worse, considering…”
Babbette leaned over and slapped a hand to Timely’s mouth.
“This one,” Babbette said with a nod toward her friend.
Just as her hand was removed from Timely’s mouth, a thunderous roar shook the walls of the room.
Babbette and Timely stood with a nervous energy.
“Oh my,” Babbette whispered. “It’s father. We must get you out of here before he sees you.”
“What happens if he does see me?” I asked.
“You don’t want to know,” both girls spoke in unison.
“This way,” Babbette gestured toward the back wall of the room.
“There’s no way out over there,” I nearly shouted.
Babbette urged me on. “Just trust me.”
I looked deep into her eyes and connected to something so profound, so truthful. At that moment, I could place my very life in her hands.
When I reached the spot on the wall Babbette indicated, I could feel a soft breeze. Upon closer examination, a seam appeared from the intricate Fleur di Lis pattern of the wallpaper. Before I had a chance to investigate, Timely reached out and placed a finger on one of the Fleur di lis. A hidden door slid smoothly to the side to reveal a tunnel.
“Through here. This will take you directly to an exit of the house – one that Father won’t consider checking. Leave the house and don’t look back.”
I turned to Babbette. “Will I ever see you again?”
She smiled. “Of that, there is no doubt. Now…go.”
I nodded and took one last look at the heavenly face before I turned and raced off.
Dim sconces lit the passage that wove through an odd collection of rooms – one of which was a library. I stopped and looked in to see a massive collection of old, leather-bound books; they lined the walls and any horizontal space to be found. Resting alone, on a small table by the door, was a book titled The Concise History of the Gaultier Family. Without thinking, I snatched the book from the shelf, slipped it into my backpack and rushed out of the house.
The cold night air was a welcome gift to my senses. The surge of adrenaline sent me speeding to the car. Just as I was about to punch the gas and squeal away from the house, I remembered my motive was stealth. After Babbette and Timely treated me with such kindness, the last thing I wanted to do was get them into trouble. The girls were probably inside the house, swearing to Gorman Gaultier there was no visitor among them.
With that in mind, I gently pressed the gas pedal to ease the car out of the parking lot and into the darkness of night.
ten | a lusty lie and a book
The Mustang coasted back into the driveway, lights out to avoid any attention. Everything went off without a glitch – minus Gorman Gaultier storming the castle and chasing me off. All I had left to do was sneak back into the house and slip into my bed.
Before I could open the door to the car, the image of Babbette danced into my conscience; her red curls and gorgeous lips forced a smile to my mouth and a tingle to nearly every nerve in my body. I hadn’t felt like this since the time I got my first look at a naked woman. This time, however, I was aroused beyond carnal desires.
My hand finally managed to open the door and I stepped out of the car. With my backpack shouldered, I silently stepped up to the door and took in my last breath of the thrilling night. Just as I was about to grab the handle, the door opened.
My dad’s disappointed face looked out through the darkness.
“I’ll give you one chance to explain yourself before I wake your mother.”
Dad knew; once mom was involved with the punishment, I was dead. Dad always seemed to understand my follies – especially when said follies involved a girl (which rarely, if ever, happened).
Actually, it never happened. I really only assumed he’d be cool if a girl was involved. That is why I lead with a lie.
“I snuck out to see a girl.”
It was really just a half-lie.
A smile crept across dad’s lips. “Really?”
And then…he shook his head. “You expect me to believe that? You haven’t mentioned a girl in your life, other than Sally; and I know you wouldn’t risk sneaking off in the dead of night, in my Mustang, to see her. Guys your age don’t sneak out, for a meeting with a friend. A little covert escapade means one thing and one thing only.”
Dad went silent for a moment…and stared at me, hard.
“So, are you s
aying, to my face, that you slipped away in my Mustang, and got lucky tonight?”
I was never one to lie to my parents. Nothing good ever comes of going down that road. The truth had always seemed to set me free.
But…
In this case, I needed the lie. This moment was a gift from God. I always knew Dad would let me off the hook for sex. Even though the prospect of talking sex with a parent made me want to toss my lunch onto the floor, this had to be an exception. I had to make it out of this night alive, or I’d never see Babbette again.
So…I nodded, ‘yes’.
Dad smiled. “It’s about damn time,” said Dad as he slapped me on the shoulder and leaned in close. “So, is she cute?”
I nodded quickly and received another slap on the shoulder for my effort.
“That’s my boy,” he grinned wide. You’re still grounded, by the way.”
The air escaped my lungs in a single, teen-exaggerated sigh.
“Hey, look at it this way – you got laid and your mom doesn’t have to find out, so you’ll survive to get laid again.”
Had my dad been any other person on the planet, hearing him use the word ‘laid’ would have had me running into my closet and locking the door until the moment was lost in a bottomless pit of memory. But my dad was cool enough to pull it off; so it really didn’t bother me all that much.
Getting grounded, on the other hand, did.
“Aw, come on, Dad,” I whined, knowing I wouldn’t get my way.
“Seriously? You’re getting off nearly scot-free and you’re giving me that act? Okay, I’ll withdraw the grounding and tell your mother. Deal?”
No deal. No way, now how.
I violently shook my head. “I’m good with the grounding.”
At least I’d live.
“That’s what I thought. No car for the time being. Period. Now, go to your room and get to bed.”
Crap.
No car meant I’d be begging Sally for a ride back to Babette.
Awkward much?
I glanced to my right and saw a picture of my mom. The memory of her last punishment slapped me across the face. Right then, I was very okay with my sentence. Besides, I had something else tugging at my attention.
Dad sent me packing and I raced up the stairs to my room. The second I was within my sanctuary, I opened the backpack and pulled out the book. It was glorious; cracked and aged leather, the smell of dust and time. The cover was faded with a thin, leather strap wound tight to keep the contents from the eyes of the world. Carefully I untied the binding and opened the creaky, flesh-like cover.
