“Did you find Daddy?” Sophie asked sweetly.
Karen shook her head and pursed her lips.
“What about the basement?” Marcus offered.
Karen viewed her son with a weary expression, He knew his mother would not dare venture into the dark basement unless absolutely necessary.
“I guess you're right, kiddo.” She said glumly. “I’ll be back soon. Take your sister in to watch TV.”
Marcus did as he was told and offered his hand to his baby sister who obligingly took it.
Karen watched them turn the slight corner from the hall into the living room and then reluctantly about-faced and made for the basement door.
She would normally need the key from high up on a kitchen shelf, but she suspected the door would already be open.
She pushed the handle down and the door gave.
Shit, Karen thought.
Either way, the door being open was not good. If James had left it open, Karen would kill him.
“James? Honey?” Again there was no answer but Karen could swear she heard something moving below.
She reached for the pull cord above her, praying that its bulb would still miraculously work.
It did.
She gripped the banister and slowly descended into the basement under the dim light of the bulb suspended above.
She could swear she heard whispering coming from deep within the depths of the basement.
“James...?” Karen was feeling unsure now. She knew something was down here but she didn't think it was her husband anymore. She wanted to go back up the stairs, lock the basement door, and never open it again. She knew she couldn’t; what if James was hurt?
Karen eased her way past the web-infested boxes. She didn't dare think about all the creepy-crawlies that made their abode down here.
She stopped and listened. A slight rustling.
She passed boxes and checked the blind spot behind them. No James.
Karen had reached the edge of the basement and had come face to face with a mottled gray wall, void of color or varnish.
She turned and was accosted by a dirt and sweat blinded face.
“Ahh!” she screamed and lashed out at the figure. It caught her flying fists deftly. It silenced her, deadening the sound of her scream as if placed in a vacuum.
“James?” Karen could hardly recognize her husband through all the dust and grime caked to him. His eyes were different; they were not the warm eyes she loved, tinged with a slight sadness.
His blue eyes were now cold and pitiless. Steel-like determination in them, as if he did not recognize Karen in return and viewed her with hatred and distrust.
“Babe, it’s me!” Karen said trying to gently shake her hand from his firm grip. It did not give.
“You want to come see the kid’s Halloween costumes?” She tried offering him a smile but she felt claustrophobic. She wanted out. Karen wanted out now or she would scream.
“No.” He said simply, his voice harsh and unfeeling.
“Okay...watcha doing down here?” Karen’s attempt at levity felt forced and she panicked that James might snap her wrist any second. Followed by her neck.
“Looking...” He said, and finally let his intense glare fall from Karen and he looked dreamily around the basement. “There's so much history down here...it deserves to be seen...”
“Whatever you say, Jay...” Karen tried to shake free of him again, this time harder. It worked. He let go of her hand and she pushed past him and ran through the boxes, not caring about the spiders that lurked inside.
Karen skidded in front of the steps and tripped several times as she scrambled up them on all fours. She looked back down into the basement just before the low ceiling blocked her view. James was standing in the middle of the floor, staring at her with murderous and lecherous contempt.
77
Halloween arrived quickly. Karen had stayed out of James’ way; avoiding contact with him seemed easier.
When the big day arrived, the kids’ excitement helped ease her mind as she became distracted by various preparations.
She was dressed her in suggestive cat suit. She waited for the kids to get ready for trick-r-treating.
A miniature ghoul came bounding down the main stairs.
“Oh, what a cute little ghost!” Karen enthused, squealing with delight.
She patted the head of the figure.
“Where’s your brother?” she asked.
Karen yelled up the stairs. “Marcus? Get your butt down here, your sister’s ready to go!”
“I know!” he shouted back. “I'm trying to get this damn mask on!”
“No swearing!”
“Sorryyyy!” his sing-song reply came.
Karen heard him laugh. She shook her head and smiled.
Young scamp, she thought warmly.
“Okay!” The voice floated from upstairs. “I'm coming down!”
“Oh!” Karen grabbed the ghost’s arm and the two scurried over to the foot of the stairs.
Karen was pleased with Sophie’s little ghost but wasn’t ecstatic over the thought of her 12 year old son dressing up as a serial killer, albeit one from a movie.
The boiler suit clad legs appeared on the landing. Karen squeezed Sophie’s hand.
Something was wrong. There was another pair of legs accompanying Marcus’ down the stairs; a pair of legs hidden under a white sheet.
Karen gasped and looked down at the hand she was holding. The eyes staring out from the ragged holes in the head where not Sophie’s but Karen still recognized them. They were the eyes of the boy from the car. They were dead eyes; bloodshot and yellowing.
He stared at her with even temper and patience.
Karen looked to the children whose heads were now visible. They made no reaction to their mother’s companion.
Karen looked at her cupped hand. It was now empty. The white sheet lay listlessly on the hall floor.
“Mom? You okay? You looked like you've seen a ghost!” Marcus smiled but his grin dropped as the look on his mother’s face did not brighten.
“Mommy, don’t you like my ghost?” Sophie cooed from under the sheet.
“Oh yes, darling, of course.” Karen’s faux smile was enough to reassure Sophie but Marcus was no so convinced. He simply pouted and frowned at his brave-faced mother.
Karen caught this look and gave him a radiant smile. He raised the edges of his mouth but his eyes showed no signs of a smile.
Karen had promised him she would be honest with him and treat him like an adult. He had asked her to tell him when things were bothering her.
How could she even begin to explain what had just happened?
“You two better get going, you don’t want to miss all the good candy!” Karen tried again, sounding more natural this time.
“Come on, Soph.” Marcus said, continuing to study his mother.
The little girl took her brother’s hand.
Marcus turned at the open front door.
“Be careful, mom...” He said and his eyes fell on the basement door.
“You too, kiddo.” She smiled weakly.
Marcus nodded and turned. The children winded down the path from the house and onto the street. There were throngs of costumed children milling around. A scattering of parents accompanied the very young.
Sophie skipped along beside Marcus as they walked towards town.
Karen watched them as long as her heart could bear it, before she closed the door and wiped her watering eyes.
She coughed the heartbreak away and strode into the kitchen. On the island, three plastic containers sat. They were each individually crafted heads; a skull with lidless eyes stared benignly at her, its toothy snarl almost comedic. The top of its head was missing and candy overflowed from it. Beside this was a replica Frankenstein head, the bolts supporting a thin wire handle. The third; Dracula’s blood drained face, lay on its side.
Must’ve got knocked over.
Karen bent down and pi
cked up the chocolates and gummies that had fallen onto the countertop. She scooped them back into the scalped Dracula tub.
She hooked her fingers under the candy containers and their handles. Karen carefully carried them out into the hall and towards the front door.
She set them down on the small table by the door, ready for any trick-r-treaters who may happen to call.
Karen then went into the living room and looked out the window. She could see children coming towards the house.
She squealed with delight and clapped her hands together.
“Oh, here we go!”
She waited by the door for the bell to ring or for the door to knock, but there was nothing. Confused, she went back to the window. The children were staring up at the house. One of them had his hand in another’s chest. He was saying something to him and the others now too.
Karen tried to figure out what they were saying. The leader kept looking back at the house and then returning to the group. He pointed a few times.
The one who had been standing in front of the leader pushed past him and marched up towards the house. The group were standing looking after him in horror.
Karen watched him ascend the long winding pathway up the hill. He stopped at the front door. He did not move to knock. The trick-r-treater just stood there, a statue at the entrance.
Karen contemplated just opening the door on him.
What is he waiting for?!
The boy licked his lips and raised his hand. He flexed his hand at the door. He brought his hand back as if to knock but brought it down again.
Karen let out an exasperated sigh, then the knock came.
Oh, great! Showtime! Karen thought.
She waddled as quickly as she could muster in the high heels she wore. She flung the door open, candy box in hand. Karen could see the boy stumbling down the grassy knoll. His friends were running.
They were screaming in utter terror. None of them looked back.
Several children on the street and their parents gawped at Karen. She felt very exposed in her skin tight leotard. Her hands moved instinctively up to cross her chest where she held herself. She offered a faint smile but the wide-eyed expressions did not change.
Karen hurried back inside and closed the door, leaning against its great wooden frame. She dropped her head back and sobbed.
78
Following Halloween, Karen moved through the house as stealthily as possible. Even the kids were careful how much noise they made. All it had taken was for James to roar once from beneath them that ‘they were making too much noise’. Sophie played with her dolls outside or go into the attic and sit with her brother while he read.
Karen would creep up to check on them occasionally, careful to avoid the slightest creak in the stairs. Her heart had been warmed by the sight of them together.
Despite her better judgment, Karen had ventured to the basement stairs. She asked James if he wanted to come up for lunch several days in a row, but he replied that he was not hungry. She stopped asking by the end of the week. He did, however, insist that he have his dinner ‘down with his work’.
Karen did not provoke James by asking about the office. She knew he had not been to work in the days before, and following, Halloween, but was too afraid to mention it.
Karen was cautious. She didn't hurry down to give him his daily meal. She kept stopping and checking herself.
The first evening, she had found James near the far wall, cross-legged on the floor, his head deep in a box. Karen could see various items he had removed from it. There were leather bound folders. Karen saw several sepia-toned photos peeking out from the sides. She craned her neck, making sure her eyes did not leave James, and observed Henry Clark. He stood with his hand inserted into the breast of his jacket; the traditional photographic pose for men of the time. The other was placed firmly on the shoulder of his sitting wife. She carried an infant in her arms.
The second wife! Karen thought.
The woman looked haggard. Karen knew Clark would have treated her poorly, but Karen wondered.
Did she know what was coming?
James looked up at her.
“Leave it.” He said, only meeting her gaze briefly before resuming his investigation of the box.
Karen continued this nightly ritual. She would bring James his dinner and sneak a quick glance at whatever he was studying, before hurrying back to the safety of the upper rooms.
She noted various figures, ghostly in their black and white immobilization, including a young boy. He wore a dark, flat cap with matching blazer and shorts. It was the dead boy from the car.
James eventually got into bed in the early hours of the morning. He did not try to speak to Karen, who pretended to be asleep.
Once the light had gone out and Karen could hear the slow, steady breathing of her unconscious husband, she would relax. She would get up and sit by the window, looking at the lake and smoking a cigarette. When she finished her second or third, she lay in the dark contemplating what she might find if she ventured downstairs.
What secrets and plans have been concocted down there?
Before long, James stopped coming to bed. He remained downstairs. Karen at first assumed he had slept on the sofa, maybe afraid he would wake her, but that was soon evidently not the case.
She sneaked down after three nights of him not coming to bed.
Karen checked every single room, figuring he may have gone to the kitchen for something to eat. She thought maybe he was watching TV if not sleeping. She suspected, wildly she later thought, that he too had acquired a mistress and had secreted her in the walls where he would nightly meet her for their trysts.
When she put her ear to the basement door, not daring to even open it, she heard his voice. It was quiet but she made it out in the dead silence of the house at mid-night.
It sounded like he was talking to someone. Karen strained for another voice. She could hear nothing, but the more she listened, the more convinced she became that James was having a conversation. He appeared to be answering unheard questions, and telling something about his discoveries down in the cluttered basement.
James insistence on remaining in the basement after nightfall suited Karen. She was afraid of what her husband had become. Her mind would wander to the newspaper articles on Blackwater; the men of the family. She observed James when he was not down in the basement, and she was not comfortable with what she saw; dark shadowed eyes that glared when she asked him anything, or white knuckled and shaking fists that screwed into the wall or table top whilst she was present.
This causes him pain, Karen considered. The very act of being with his family had become unbearable to him.
Marcus and Sophie were sitting across from each other at the breakfast table. Under the table, the pair pushed against each other with their feet. Sophie’s quiet giggles were the only sound at the family gathering.
James stared at his porridge with hate. He lifted the spoon and stabbed the soft mess. He had eaten none of it. James had not washed in a week, and the layer of dirt that covered him the day he grabbed Karen, seemed half an inch thick now.
Karen bit her lip. Her leg was shaking uncontrollably beneath her. She had to say something; she couldn’t hold it in any longer.
“What's bothering you, Jay?”
“Nothing...” He muttered.
“There's obviously something! You've been staying down in that basement all day. You haven’t been at the office in a week and you've stopped coming to bed now!”
“I said, there’s nothing wrong with me.” James said firmly now. He looked up at her and fixed Karen with a dagger-like intensity.
Sophie giggled again as Marcus’ feet pushed her light frame back in its chair.
“Enough!” James bellowed.
Sophie uttered a startled yelp. She stared at her Daddy with hurt, her eyes welling up.
“James, don’t shout at her, she’s only having---”
“Quiet, cunt!” James pointed
at Karen with his dirty index finger. He said the word with relish. “She’s just like you!”
“Dad, don’t shout at her...” Marcus said, looking unsure at his father. He cowered slightly as if expecting a blow.
“What did you say, boy?”
“James?! What has gotten into you?!” Karen stood up, ready to protect her son.
James looked back to Karen. “Fine...but this house needs discipline...” He wagged his finger at her as he backed out of the kitchen. Just as he disappeared out the door, he offered the gesture to Sophie and Marcus, lingering on the boy. He raised his eyebrows and lowered his head slightly. After a few tense seconds, he retreated.
Marcus looked back to his mother, clearly worried.
Karen nodded to herself and said, “It’s okay, guys, it’s okay...we’ll...eh...do something nice today...waddya say?”
Sophie was fighting tears. She nodded, her jaw set firmly while her mouth quivered ever so slightly.
Marcus nudged her with his foot. She looked to him. He smiled sweetly. She let a single tear roll down her cheek before giving him an unsteady, toothless smile.
79
An ice cream at the local diner was not the day trip Karen had in mind, but she had to get the kids out of the house. She knew now that James was dangerous and she had to get him out before something happened. Karen knew it wasn’t really her husband, she knew the house had him. She knew the Clark men had sunk their hooks into the man she loved, and he was now under their spell. Their whispering in his ear gave him the fire inside to turn against her and the kids.
“Honeycomb?” Karen said placing her hands on her knees as she bent down to ask Sophie for her ice cream of choice.
The little girl nodded and Marcus shouted to the waitress that an ice cream float with chocolate and vanilla would be ‘great’.
“I'm sorry you had to see that, guys...” Karen said when they had slipped into their favorite booth.
“Mom, it’s not your fault! Dad has been...well...acting pretty strange lately! He's been down in the basement constantly. When you go down at night...what is he doing?” Marcus face was open and Karen could see he was frightened. He was still a child and his gradual awareness of the genuine evil in the world terrified him. He still needed the home he knew and loved to remain a safe place. Marcus wasn’t sure he had that anymore.
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