by M. C. Atwood
I nod. “Yeah. I guess.”
Her eyes shine into mine and the clouds break up. She says, “I have about eight ideas for a line of clothing.” She hooks her arm through mine and we get out of the boulder part of the House, go down another ramp, and stand at the entrance to the warehouses.
As we leave, I hear the Jaws music start up again.
ASHLEY
I knew Paul was a dork.
From the actual House in the actual boulder, the ramp sends us right back to the same entrance and then we are supposed to get our tickets punched for the second part of the tour, which is the weird-ass warehouses. I sashay my way to the entrance and wait for the lovebirds to follow. Here I am flirting like a fiend, for appearances, and Paul-the-dork doesn’t even care. He’s mooning over Madame Boring. Whatevs. I’d think it was cute if a) I had a heart, and b) it wasn’t getting in the way of what I need from Paul. Which is a cover.
I read over the text messages from my Plunder hook up again: Russiandelite4. Yeah, classy name.
Russiandelite4: The bathroom of which house?
Me: Boulder House. You go to the room with the windmill outside. In the warehouses. It’s the first bathroom when you go in. On the right.
Russiandelite4: what is this Boulder house?
Me: the place where we get to know each other REAL well
Russiandelite4: Tell me what you like . . .
Me: I like you to meet me there at 1:00 on Oct. 31. Yeah?
Russiandelite4: Yeah. I like.
Me: how about wearing the same bra from your pic? Crazy hot. You won’t have it on for too long . . .
Russiandelite4: how about you wear high heels from your pic? I’ll start licking from there and keep going . . .
Hot. God I can’t wait.
I huff a huge sigh—where the fuck is everyone? While I tap my toe as loud as I can and cross my arms over my chest, I notice the guy who was just manning the entrance isn’t there anymore. No one is anywhere. Lazy-ass mooches. Probably paid with our tax dollars, too. I can actually hear my dad say these words in my head, so I shake it like I can get him out of there.
Please never let me be my dad.
I scan the windows that look through to the ramp we just came from. I hear a scraping against stone and look up the hallway that leads back to the information center. The stone walls bend around and disappear in the dark so I can’t really see anything but that’s definitely where the sound came from. It sounds like someone trying to move something heavy by pushing it along stone. The scraping sounds through the room again. I roll my shoulders. I’m officially going bat-shit here with all the idiots I have to hang out with.
I shift my weight on these shoes that are already killing me and swing my purse back and forth, blowing out breath that poofs my bangs. I stare back up to the ramp at Paul and Violet walking so, so slow toward me. What is taking them so long? And where is the ticket guy?
I stop for a second and really look around. There’s the hallway that leads up to the information center. The door that goes to the ramp to the house part of the House. Then the other door that leads outside to the entrance of the warehouses. There is not one person in sight. My skin prickles. I listen for Ms. Harper’s voice in case she’s leading the class to the first part. But I hear nothing.
I shrug. We’re probably just early. And I should be counting my lucky stars Ms. Harper isn’t done yapping in the info center so that we have time to get ahead, instead of freaking myself out. I hop up on the small ticket desk and circle my feet.
As I kick my feet against the desk, I have a thought: What if no one else is here? As in, what if my hookup doesn’t show up?
If she doesn’t show, so help me . . . Worse, if it’s some asshole 50-year-old dude masquerading on the Interwebs for some barely legal . . .
I don’t let myself even think the thought. I need this. She just needs to show. And match the picture I got. And then things will be . . . more interesting anyway.
Finally, after 400 years, Paul and Violet reach me. I am giving them my best bored look. The scraping sound echoes through the room again and then I hear a thump. It’s definitely coming from the hallway.
I swallow.
“What’s wrong, Ashley?” Violet’s voice is high and hard to hear, like a dog whistle.
I look at Paul. “Looks like the ass-munch ticket guy isn’t here. We just have to go outside to the Wheel House.” My heart bangs when I even say the name of the room. My hookup better be there. I point out the windows in the opposite direction of the ramp to an ornately carved door and squat building sitting next to a huge mill wheel.
From the corner of my eye, I see the door open on the other side of the room from the ramp to the House. Gretchen and Dylan.
Paul looks at Violet, mouth down in a frown. “Shouldn’t we just wait for the guy? What do you think, Violet?” His voice echoes around the room.
I scorch her with a stare. She swallows and I say, “If you guys want to wait here then, whatever. I’m going in.”
Another scrape on stone echoes from down the hall and two thumps sound. I can actually feel something reverberate in the ground.
I am suddenly, totally, horribly freaked out.
Gretchen and Dylan come up to us. Gretchen says to Dylan, “Oh god. We caught up to her.”
I narrow my eyes at her. She does the same at me.
This time the thumps come in succession, but like a weird heartbeat: thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump.
I am off the desk and starting toward the door. Though I can’t see anybody, I can feel them all following me. The thumping sounds are not far behind us now. Like it’s getting closer. I know I’m being crazy, but it must be the damn House. And I don’t care. I want out.
I try not to sprint but end up walk/running out of the room and outside to the Wheel House door without looking back. I thought for sure Gretchen and Dylan would wait at least until I got inside to follow me, but they are right there when I turn around by the door. The thought makes me feel better, actually. I wasn’t making the noise up.
There’s a creak and a groan and the gigantic mill wheel next to us slowly starts moving. I didn’t think it was, like, a working mill. I look up at it and notice the sky outside has turned completely dark. The wind, out of nowhere, whips my hair across my face. I hear crows cawing.
Paul and Violet have moved closer and I see them move their hands together until they’re holding hands, all the while looking at the sky, and Gretchen has her bitch look on her face like she’s telling the sky to knock it the fuck off. Dylan is staring up with one eyebrow raised. The air is charged, my hair starting to stand on end.
As I’m looking around and up at the sky, I see in the center of the courtyard a gigantic bolt of lightning shoot down to one of the metal sculptures. Sparks fly and a metal tang splits my eardrums. The air smells like burning . . . everything. Underneath the tang, the cawing gets louder.
For a split second, we all look at each other. But when the second bolt of lightning shoots down, we move as one through the door to the Wheel House.
Part III
Maxwell Cartwright Jr. opened his creation’s doors to the public for free on All Hallows’ Eve, 1936. They say that a line snaked through the forest two miles long, that the desperation to see wonder and beauty during the height of the Great Depression—for free—was enough to stuff the legend and the curse deep into the closet of the community’s psyche. And so, despite the stories, despite the fear that raised the hairs on the backs of their necks, and despite the murder of crows watching, always watching, the people came.
And they loved it.
For years, more and more people came to the House, even after an admission fee was added, all of them ignoring the tendril of unease, the whisper of horror that followed them through the buildings, the tingle of uncertainty as they entered the rooms. Or may
be because of it. Until at last the House over the years became a roadside attraction, a family vacation—benign, affordable. Safe. But all the while the House kept growing, kept changing, kept hissing through time, undetected.
As the House’s reputation grew, the local legend dimmed until there was but a spark of its real story left. Only a few of the elders remembered the legends, but as is true for all generations, their words became an inside joke to their younger relatives, a reason to put them in the nursing home.
Still there were some people, young and old, who knew for certain the stories were true. There were some who entered the House and never came out at all.
Because Maxwell Cartwright Jr. never stopped collecting.
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Excerpt from p. 101, The Collections of Maxwell Cartwright Jr.
VIOLET
I tangle over Paul’s legs and we both fall, me on top of him. Someone falls on top of me and then I feel another thwunk and heavy pressure. The door behind us slams shut so hard my teeth rattle. I feel the weight ease a little bit and then the cold feel of air as it makes its way to my face again and bodies climb off of mine. I’m still on top of Paul.
I scramble off of him and then try to grab his elbow but wind up, somehow, lifting him by his belt like a bad kid in a 1920s silent movie. But I can’t lift him up much because he’s a big guy so I just make an A-frame with his body, almost like he’s doing a really awkward version of a yoga position.
Luckily, he’s quick, so he bounds up and says, “Cool, cool,” to no one, and I back up and step on Ashley’s foot.
“Bitch!” Ashley pushes me forward. Paul catches me and I see him staring at her hard. He looks like he’s struggling to say something.
But then Dylan says, “Uh, Three Stooges, this door is, like, closed behind us in a major way.”
Gretchen feels around the edges saying, “shit shit shit” and Dylan keeps tugging at the handle.
Paul lets go of me and strides to the door. He looks cute and determined. He’s so . . . stride-y. I smile for a second but when he gets there and pulls the handle with all his might, my smile disappears.
“We’re stuck in here?” My voice is so high some dog somewhere just lifted up its head. I take a look around. The room is dim and disappears into a hallway that bends around, the walls made of stone. I can’t really make out anything farther down. All the carpet is velvety red, like dried blood. To my left is a gigantic fireplace and huge pots, and I can just make out a strange scene farther down the hall with knights and trees . . . Could that be right? To my right is a small window and down farther I see a sign for women’s restroom. A tiny ray of light triangles on the red carpet in front of the opening.
I look out the window cut into the wall on my right and see that the mill wheel is spinning fast and the air outside is swirling. Like, clouds are funneling. Holy schmolies. I see shards of lightning strike down at intervals outside, sparks shooting with every hit. No rain. Just dark swirling air and lightning. Lightning knives.
So. Lightning knives aren’t normal.
Where has love taken me?
“Guys, look outside,” I say. Paul’s grunting stops and so does Dylan’s, and I feel everyone come stand beside me.
“Holy shit,” says Ashley.
“Fuuucckkk me,” says Gretchen. Ashley flips her head around to her and then looks back outside.
As if choreographed, the five of us step back from the window.
Ashley’s voice is shaking. “What the holy fuck is happening? This is NOT happening. I will NOT be trapped in here!” Her last sentence verges on hysterical and she stomps a foot and her ankle turns on her heel. She stands up straight and smooths her skirt, then trains her look on Paul.
“You had better get us out of here. Try the door again!” She points a shaking finger at him.
Paul rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure it’s unstuck now. And anyway, you want to go back out to that lightning storm?” He points randomly and ends up pointing at the wall. Then he casually reaches behind him and tries the door again. It is still stuck. His beautiful face falls.
Now Gretchen says to Ashley, “Good thinking, Captain Vapid.”
Ashley narrows her eyes and I can tell this is going to be its own lightning storm, so I jump in fast. “Uh, wait. We’ve all got our phones, right? Maybe we can just call security or something?”
Ashley glares at me but doesn’t say anything. Gretchen trains her eyes on me and rummages in her monster bag, “Good thinking, Vicki.”
“Her name is Vi-o-let,” says Ashley like she’s talking to a really slow 3rd grader, and for a second I get a thrill that she knows my name and is defending me, but then I realize it’s just to contradict Gretchen. Paul looks at me as he reaches in his pocket and rolls his eyes at me. I smile back. I wish his hand was still in mine.
I clear my throat and grab my phone from my pocket.
It’s dead. I know I turned it on before, but no matter how many times I press the button, nothing happens.
From the look on everyone else’s faces, they’re in the same boat. We all look at each other and no one says anything. I put my phone away and so do Dylan, Gretchen, and Paul. The sound of lightning strikes comes through the window. And something else. I hear a squeak of iron, like a rusty hinge being opened.
Ashley shakes her phone like she can shake some power into it. She huffs again and then says suddenly, her voice still high, “I’m going to pee.”
It’s a good idea. I see Gretchen shrug and start moving and I begin to follow. Hate each other or not, in the history of the world, girls don’t let girls pee alone.
Ashley flips around and says, “I can go alone.” She glares at Gretchen.
Gretchen says, rolling her eyes, “You’re not the only one who has to pee, bitchwad,” and keeps walking. I don’t say anything, but I have to, too. Ashley’s eyes dart everywhere and I can see some sweat breaking out on her temples. She doesn’t say anything but hurries in front of us.
The three of us walk down the creepy, dark hall to the light triangle. The scene to my left with the knights is so dark I can barely look in. Something in the scene flashes but when I look closer, all I see is the darkness. A knight farther down the hall is encased in glass, a light shining down on the armor, somehow making the whole thing look sinister. I look back to see Paul and Dylan standing there, not talking. Paul stares down at his shoes and then rocks back and forth from heel to toe. Dylan chews on his fingernails and bounces a leg, eyes landing and jumping off of everything, like eye parkour. I bet he does actual parkour. He seems like the type. Another squeak gets my attention and I squint down the hall.
Nothing but the knight in the glass case, lit in that eerie light.
I’m imagining squeaks. I shake my head at myself and walk into the bathroom.
Back lighting illuminates a wall of bottles of all different colors and sizes. The bathroom is made out of stone and I’m half-surprised to see the toilets aren’t. I don’t remember this room, but it’s beautiful.
I also don’t remember the House being so . . . kidnap-y.
Gretchen and I take stalls and Ashley, after peering into them and grunting like she’s mad or something, looks in the mirror and reapplies her lipstick, taking a paper towel to kiss some of it off and wipe the moisture from her temples. In the mirror, I see Gretchen roll her eyes again and I kind of want to, too. I mean, come on. I thought she had to pee, but I guess she came in just to look at herself.
After doing what needs to be done, Gretchen and I come out of the stalls almost at the same time. Ashley’s still primping her hair. Gretchen’s lips twitch and there’s some struggle on her face. Which she clearly loses because she says, “Got a hot date here in Boulder House? Jesus.” She shakes her head and washes her hands.
Ashley, though, reacts like Gretchen just poked her in t
he boob. Her mouth works and she says after a few seconds, “No.”
That’s it.
We all stare at each other in a super awkward way and I’m about to say something I hope is funny because the tension is making little butterflies flutter up my spine and I want them to stop right now . . .
But then glass shatters somewhere in the hall. And the sound of little feet running makes my whole body stiffen.
A flash of something small and knee-high runs by the bathroom door.
But it’s the high laugh that comes out of nowhere that makes my knees buckle.
ASHLEY
Okay, forget the fact that Gretchen is clearly a psychic witch and should probably be burned at the stake. Even forget the fact that despite the pressure I’m under by being stuck here, my hair is holding up. What I am totally freaking out about is the fact that something small and crazy-looking just ran by the fucking door.
And I could swear I saw a glimpse of hair fly by.
Boring, Witch, and I run out the door like fucking idiots TOWARD the thing. But I guess where else are we going to go? We run to Dylan and Paul who have moved farther down the hall in front of the knight in the glass case and are looking around with eyes wide and panicked. Paul’s hands are out like he’s trying to keep his balance on a high wire.
Dylan says, “Holy hell, Gretch, did you see something?”
Gretchen, with her bitch-brows furrowed, says, “What just ran by?”
More sounds of feet running. And now I wish I’d actually peed. A loud metal squeak echoes off the stone.
I could swear that the knight in the glass case directly across from me just moved its head. I could swear.
Okay. I’ve been officially driven crazy. Thanks a lot, freakoids.
Violet says, “Maybe it was a cat?”
All of us look at her and she shrinks into herself, and stammers, “I mean, what do you guys think?”
