A House in London

by Amy Cross

  “I can't,” she replied, just as the child let out another gurgle. “He's a monster, he's -”

  “Do it!” the old man screamed. With the knife still raised, ready to strike, he lunged closer. “Vivian lost her life trying to care for this child! He is going to grow to become the most important man this world has ever known. You are privileged to have born him in your belly and to have birthed him, and you are privileged now to give him sustenance. You will be remembered long after your death for the service you provide today. You're a mother, and mothers look after their children, and that is what you will do now!” Reaching around her from behind, he placed the knife's blade against the lower curve of her right breast. “Now will you let him drink willingly from you, Miss Griffith, or do I have to cut you open and drain the milk from your body? If necessary, I can hang you upside down from a hook above this crib and let the nourishment dribble down to him.”

  “Tell me what he is first,” she stammered, too scared to reach into the crib and take the child in her arms.

  “You don't need to know.”

  “What's his name?”

  “He doesn't have one yet.”

  “What's he going to be?” she asked, as tears ran down her face. “If you've done all this, he must be something important. Are you some kind of cult? Please, tell me what -”

  Suddenly she gasped as the old man grabbed the back of her neck. She tried to fight back, but she was powerless as he forced her forward over the crib and sliced the knife through the lower curve of her right breast. Letting out a cry of pain, she looked down in horror and saw that not only was blood dribbling down onto the crib's white sheets, but the baby was reaching out as if he instinctively knew that he needed to drink. Reaching down, Mr. Diebold grabbed the child roughly and pulled him across the crib until he lay directly beneath the stream of blood.

  “See how he feeds,” he sneered, ignoring Jennifer's pained cries. “He's getting stronger with every drop. Perhaps milk was never enough on its own, perhaps he always needed blood as well! There has to be some reason why he isn't strong enough yet!”

  Although she tried to fight back, Jennifer felt strength draining from her body along with the blood. She gripped the side of the crib in an attempt to stay on her feet, but her knees were starting to buckle and she felt as if the whole room was slowly spinning around her. For several minutes she remained in position, still being forced to feed the child, until finally Mr. Diebold pulled her back and shoved her to the ground, where she landed in a pained, bloodied heap. As she did so, the cuffs and chains around her wrists rattled against the stone floor.

  “Enough for now,” he said firmly, taking the other end of the chains and making his way toward a ring set into the stone floor. “You can stay down here with the child. I shall have to keep you alive for as long as he needs to feed. He's so voracious lately, I think he'll need more nourishment every hour.”

  After passing the chains through the ring and pulling them tight, he made his way back across the basement and knelt next to his wife's corpse. Rolling onto her side, Jennifer watched as the old man ran a finger tenderly against Vivian's neck, and after a moment she realized he was quietly weeping. Filled with nausea, she tried to sit up, only to find that she lacked the strength. A moment later she heard a bumping sound from the crib, and when she looked up she saw the baby smiling down at her with blood smeared over his chin and a sense of anticipation in his eyes. He already wanted more.

  A cold shiver passed through her body.

  “Is he...” She paused, as the improbable words caught in her throat. She couldn't bring herself to ask the question, but at the same time she felt she had to know. “Is he... the Devil?”

  At this, Mr. Diebold seemed genuinely amused, and he chuckled to himself as he turned to her. “The Devil? No, my dear, the child is not the Devil. What a preposterous notion.” He stared at her for a moment, as his smile began to fade. His lips moved a little, as if he was poised to say something more, but it took several more seconds before he was able to get the words out. “The Devil, my dear, is right behind you.”

  She stared at him. “You're lying.”

  “Turn and see for yourself.”

  Slowly, on legs that could barely support her, she got to her feet.

  “What's wrong, Miss Griffith?” he continued, as his smile grew. “Are you scared?”

  “Whatever you are,” she replied, her voice sounding weak and frail, “you haven't got the Devil down here with you. The Devil doesn't exist. You're just a crazy old man, and your wife was crazy too, and you're not -”

  Suddenly she felt the breath of something hot on the back of her neck. Spinning around, she found herself face-to-face with a tall, pale-faced creature, but her gaze snapped away before she could see its face properly and she tumbled back down to the stone floor, landing hard. Letting out a gasp of pain, she felt for a moment as if her eyes had almost been torn from their sockets. She tried to crawl forward, dragging the chains in the process, and slowly her blurred vision began to clear once again. Her mind was flooded with shock, but she tried to tell herself that whatever she'd just seen, it couldn't possibly be the Devil.

  “You cannot look directly upon his face,” Mr. Diebold explained calmly, watching as she tried to crawl away. “Did you not know that, my dear? It angers him if we even try. Only those who have served him, who have given him what he wants, are permitted to look directly at the Devil's face. You're lucky he merely directed your gaze elsewhere. He would kill most people for such a thing.”

  Gasping as she tried to get up, Jennifer felt as if her head was spinning. The chains around her wrists were tighter now, keeping her from getting any further across the room.

  “Don't be afraid,” Mr. Diebold continued. “Even though he is here with us now, the Devil will not interfere, not in this house.”

  “I saw him outside,” she stammered, as she felt something brushing against her back. The dark figure was moving around her, as if to see her from all angles as she shivered and bled on the cold stone floor. She instinctively turned away, filled with fear at the thought of trying to see his face again. “He was in the streets.”

  “He was guiding you here,” the old man told her. “Most likely he opened your eyes, too, to some of the horrors that lurk out there in this wretched, degenerate city. Once you crossed the threshold of this house, however, he became bound to merely observe, to wait. I had thought that my wife and I would be permitted to see his face once we delivered a strong child for him to use, but that seems not to be the case. Why, I cannot imagine. Perhaps he is not yet satisfied. It is said the Devil only shows his face to those who have truly delivered what he wants.”

  Feeling the dark figure's robes brushing against her shoulder, Jennifer again turned away. The figure slowly walked around her, but she didn't dare look up.

  “My poor dear wife,” Mr. Diebold muttered, as he began to drag Vivian's corpse toward the far corner. “She so wanted to live long enough that she might see this day. I confess I do not understand why she was fated to die in such a cruel manner, but I can only assume that there is a reason for this tragedy, as there is for all things.”

  Out of breath now, he propped Vivian against the wall. She began to slip down, and it took a moment longer before he could get her in position. Like a child arranging a doll, he had to try several times before he was satisfied. Finally, he turned and limped back toward the crib.

  “At least she died knowing that we had finally succeeded,” he continued. Stopping next to the crib, he slowly got down onto his knees, gasping in pain as he did so. He placed his trembling, arthritic hands on the side of the crib as if he was about to pray, and then he took a moment to get his breath back before slowly bowing his head. “Hear me, Master,” he said after a few seconds of silence. “See that this child of yours has been born full and healthy into this world at last. See that he is strong and ready to grow. See that we, your loyal servants, did not give up until we finally delivered on your pro
mise to us. In return, I ask that you locate my dear wife's spirit in the next world, and see that she is amply rewarded. I have done...”

  He paused, as if still struggling for breath.

  “I have done everything I swore to do,” he added finally, his voice tinged with great weakness, “but I remain now, as always, your loyal and humble servant. The child is weak. We have done all that was in our power, we have followed your guidance without deviation, yet still the child seems feeble and incapable of sustaining itself. I have gone over and over your teachings, looking for some clue as to what we have done wrong, but I must confess that I still don't understand. I pray that in your infinite wisdom you might let me know what I should do next. As things stand, the child seems already to be fading. Please, guide me so that I might do your bidding.”

  In the crib, the baby let out a brief, sickly gurgle.

  Turning, Jennifer reached up and began to pull the chains loose. Her hands were trembling, but she knew she didn't have much time and she felt certain that the chains weren't tied too securely. Sure enough, she found she was able to start threading them out of the ring. All she could think about was the need to get away, and in her mind's eye she saw herself screaming as she ran out of the house and down the stone steps, and then she saw herself dragging police to the door so that finally the horrors of the Diebolds' home could be exposed. At the same time, her shaking hands could barely keep hold of the chains as she struggled to pull them loose.

  “I shall re-read the texts,” Mr. Diebold stammered, struggling to get to his feet. He was more out of breath than ever now, as he turned and began to limp back across the basement. Clutching his left arm, he took a few tottering steps before stopping and leaning against the crib again, as if he was struggling to maintain his balance. “The texts will have the answer,” he continued, clearly in pain. “The texts... The texts always...”

  The child gurgled again, louder this time, as Jennifer desperately worked to pull the last of the chains away. Turning, she saw that Mr. Diebold was still leaning against the crib, still rubbing his left arm as if something was wrong.

  “Give me another chance to serve you,” the old man gasped, hunching over now as if the pain was getting stronger. “I devoted my life to you, as have all the men in my family for generations gone by. We are so close to...” He let out a pained cry, before finally he fell backward. When he tried to grab the crib, he succeeded only in toppling it over, spilling the baby out onto the cold stone floor and immediately causing him to start crying again.

  Jennifer continued to work on the chains, trying frantically to get free, but at the last moment she found that there was a lock preventing her from looping the final section out from the ring. She tried again and again, but nothing worked and finally she let out a cry of terrified frustration.

  “Stop!” Mr. Diebold shouted, as the screaming baby began to crawl onto his torso, making its way toward his face. He turned and reached a hand out toward the dark figure. “I can still serve you, if you'll just show me the way! Whatever you're still waiting for, I can give it to you! Just tell me what you want!” He turned back and stared at the child, watching as it giggled and crawled across his chest.

  Nearby, the dark figure moved through the shadows, observing everything but still not interfering.

  Waiting.

  “Help me!” Jennifer screamed, still desperately hoping that suddenly someone from outside the house might hear her. “I'm in here! Somebody help!”

  Hearing a cry from nearby, she turned just in time to see that the child had begun to chew on Mr. Diebold's face, biting through the flesh of his cheek as if drawn to his blood. The old man began to scream, but sweat was pouring down his face and his heart was finally giving out. His body shuddered, and he let out a few faint groans which were quickly cut short as the child chewed through his throat and cut his vocal chords.

  Staring in horror, Jennifer watched as the child continued to feed, biting chunks from Mr. Diebold's body. The old man twitched for several more minutes, his eyes blinking sporadically as if somewhere deep inside there was still a flicker of life. Finally he let out a slow, rasping before falling still, and now the only sound in the basement came from the child's lips as it continued to tear strips of flesh from Mr. Diebold's neck and lower jaw. As Jennifer continued to watch the horrific scene, however, she began to realize that she wasn't the only one. In the far corner, the dark figure was still watching, still waiting for something.

  Unable to even think properly now, with her mind in tatters and sheer panic having gripped her body, Jennifer could only stare at the child as it finally rolled away from Mr. Diebold's corpse and began to crawl toward her across the cold stone floor. In the back of her mind, she knew she should try to run, but instead she simply froze in place and watched the child's slow, steady advance. Shivering with fear, she began to pull back until she was hunched in the corner, but the baby crawled closer and closer until finally she felt its hot little hands reaching out to grab her arm.

  “Please,” Jennifer whimpered, squeezing her eyes tight shut, “leave me alone...”

  She didn't dare look, but she could feel the child slowly crawling onto her body, trying to climb up her torso to reach her chest so that it could feed again. She was shivering now, but the child dug its nails into her flesh, taking a firm grip as it wriggled closer. Finally, opening her eyes, Jennifer looked down into the boy's blistered face and saw that his eyes seemed almost to be melting now, as if the heat inside its body was becoming stronger and stronger. Some of the blisters on its body were bubbling, as fresh blisters burst through the flesh, and trails of blood had begun to seep out from beneath. The child opened its mouth and let out a slow, rasping growl, but Jennifer could only watch in horror as she saw ripples of flame starting to burst spontaneously across the his skin.

  Spotting movement in the basement's far corner, she turned and saw the dark figure still watching. Again she tried to look at its face, but again she found that she couldn't.

  “What do you want?” she stammered. The child was getting hotter and hotter as it finally wriggled into her arms. Instead of trying to feed, however, it seemed to want to be cradled. “What do you want?” Jennifer screamed, as the dark figure continued to watch them. “What are you waiting for? What -”

  Suddenly the child in her arms burst into flames, burning bright and hot as it let out an ear-piercing scream. The pain was intense as Jennifer felt her flesh being seared, and finally she lunged forward, tipping the burning baby onto the floor where it began to break apart. The inferno built and built as the scream continued, and then suddenly the baby's cry stopped and the flames began to fade. Jennifer stared in horror as she finally saw a collected of charred bones on the stone floor, with a few pieces of black meat and ash in-between. The baby had burned away, as if the heat in its body had finally proven too great.

  For several minutes, Jennifer remained in place, too terrified to move. She could barely even think, as if the horrors she'd witnessed had fractured her thoughts. Shivering and sobbing, she stared at the child's remains, transfixed by the hideous sight. Even the burns on her chest and arms were barely registering in her mind, despite the fact that in some places her flesh had been seared away to expose the red meat beneath.

  The basement was silent now, save for the occasional rumble of a London bus passing in the street above. Jennifer knew she should get up and run, that she should go to the front door, pull it open and scream for help; at the same time, in the back of her mind she was scared that something would try to stop her, that perhaps the dark figure reach out and finally reveal what it wanted from her. Even though she didn't even try to look at it anymore, she could see the figure out of the corner of her eye, still watching from the far corner, still waiting for something.

  Minutes became hours as she sat hunched and shivering, waiting for the figure to make its move. Finally she realized that if she didn't get up and leave, she'd end up wasting away on the floor, perhaps even bleeding t
o death. She turned and looked at the chains, only to see that somehow the lock had been broken apart. Reaching out with trembling, burned hands, she began to pull the chains loose, and sure enough she found that she was free. For a moment she couldn't believe that such a miracle had taken place, but slowly she began to realize that something, somehow, had given her this chance to get out of the basement.

  Slowly, wincing with pain, she stumbled to her feet and began to make her way toward the stairs. Glancing over at the far corner, she could tell that the dark figure was still there, but for some reason it seemed unwilling to come closer.

  Still watching.

  Still waiting.

  Jennifer was limping heavily now, barely able to put one foot in front of the other, but she managed to get all the way up the stairs to the house's main hallway, where she once again caught sight of her reflection in the mirror. What she saw was almost too horrific to believe, as she witnessed the true extent of the burns she'd suffered while holding the dying baby. Her arms and chest were red raw, as were parts of her neck and her lower jaw, but in truth the pain from the burns somehow wasn't quite registering in her conscious mind, which she figured was due to some kind of shock or delayed reaction. Her thoughts seemed numb and empty, as if she could no longer process her surroundings properly, but a moment later she heard a passing bus and she realized that she had to get out of the house, back to the real world. She grabbed one of Vivian's fur coats from the rack and tried to slip it on, to cover her bare and damaged body, but the pain was too intense and she had to drop the coat to the floor. Instead, semi-naked and bleeding, she limped toward the front door and reached out to turn the key in the lock.

  The city was so loud outside.

  Suddenly a sharp pain hit her in the gut, sending her staggering back with an involuntary cry before she could open the door. She steadied herself against the bannister, but when she tried to get to the door again she felt the pain return, almost as if something in her belly was trying to hold her back. This time she stopped and waited for the sensation to pass, but if anything the pain was getting worse. Something was churning in her belly, biting its way down through her gut. If anything, the pain was similar to the agony that had struck her when she'd given birth, except that this time it seemed even worse. Staring at the door, she winced as she felt a tearing sensation between her legs, which she realized with a sense of horror must be the crude stitches coming undone. Again she tried to get to the door, but the pain punched her back and she fell, landing at the foot of the staircase. Leaning back, she let out an agonized gasp as another bus rumbled past outside. She could feel something moving now in her body, something twisting down through her gut.