The House that Jack Built

by Malcolm James

  His styled black hair fell over one eye in a boyish cowlick. Beams of reddish-orange light flickered against his face and his features seemed chiseled and dark. But some of it hid in the shadows and barely hinted at expression. He took a sip of Scotch and continued to gaze at me. I couldn’t figure out what was behind that face. I’m sure of this: it wasn’t concern. Far from it. I clutched my glass in frozen claws and downed the Scotch. I held the empty glass toward him.

  He nodded and a small smile crept over his face. At least I thought it was a smile, for half of it hid shrouded in shadows that randomly subsided when flickers of light from the fire batted them away. He reached to the floor and lifted a decanter. Scholarly Prince! He brought the entire bottle. Although I hadn’t noticed, I was grateful. I held my glass out with unsteady hands.

  I don’t know why I trembled. The blanket and the fire had inspired the warmth of circulating blood that was swimming through my extremities. He reached over and poured. I nodded and smiled with hungry eyes. Signaling for him not to stop until the glass was full, save for a few bare millimeters on the top.

  “I didn’t know if I was going to make it.” It was my first coherent sentence since I arrived and my voice sounded hollow when it bounced off the walls. There was a strange echo in the room, and I instantly knew that it hated me. I guess I hadn’t noticed it while Jack was talking. But when I actually formed my own words, the room seemed conscious of them. The walls made it clear through eerie acoustics that I wasn’t welcome. I shivered, frowned, and took another drink of Scotch. Jack simply nodded.

  “Sorry about the driveway. The storm hit suddenly, and because I’m living on a rather remote private property, there’s no civic snow removal out here.” He picked up a pack of cigarettes and offered one to me. I nodded eagerly and he placed a smoke between my thawing lips.

  As if out of nowhere, Jack produced a flame. Maybe from a pack of matches that hid in his hand. Decked out in black and illuminated by the fire as he was, his affectation was reminiscent of a magician’s.

  I leaned forward and grasped the cigarette with trembling fingers. The flame encompassed the tip and I drew a long puff of smoke into my lungs. I held it for a moment, then exhaled with a sigh. Jack sat back in his chair and replaced the cigarettes on the table.

  “I tried a couple of private services. Thought they might come and plow the driveway, but of course, they’re all busy doing contract work for the county. Fuck. You’d think the hicks down here didn’t know what money was.” He took another sip. “Anyway, I lit the floodlight and hoped that you had the sense to stay away.

  “Now I wish that I’d told you to stay at a hotel.” I nodded and puffed. Sensation returned to my fingers and they stung with millions of neuron-driven pulses that attacked with prejudicial force. Me too.

  “No, it was my own stupidity. I just wanted to get out of there. I couldn’t stay in a hotel tonight.” Jack nodded.

  “I know. You’re starting to look better.” He leaned forward to peer at me. As he leaned into the light, I noticed that his face was strangely different. He’d changed. That’s odd. I’d only seen him the day before. I don’t know if it was the way the shadows played on his facial features or if it was something in his expression. I frowned.

  “Looks can be deceiving.” I sighed and remembered Elizabeth. The diversion of my near-fatal trek through the blizzard had given me something else to think about. But now that my body temperature returned to normal, everything came back to me in a tidal wave of anguish and guilt. Jack nodded and drained his glass.

  “True. You’ve had a tough day. How ‘bout we try to find you somewhere to sleep? We can talk about it in the morning.” I nodded as a hot tear crept into the corner of my left eye.

  He led me through a labyrinth of corridors, to a room that Jack told me was a near-replica of Louis XIV’s bridal suite. I didn’t think to ask why ‘near.’ I was too tired.

  It was lavish and sported two great hearths, a giant canopied bed and elaborate furnishings. Both hearths roared ,but I shivered as I leapt under the covers. I'm not sure whether it was a result of Jack’s Scotch or not, but the night sounds of the tumult outside were unusually profound. I slipped into a terrifying sleep.

  ***

  Lights flickered around me. Blinding, spinning, twirling. I stumbled toward them. Somewhere in the distance, I heard a woman’s wail and I wondered if it was her. It was behind me and grew ever fainter as I moved forward. I wept. I knew I couldn’t go back, even though I desperately wanted to. Something dragged me forward. Clammy stones beneath my feet made me shudder, for they were covered with an unidentifiable substance. It was slimy, slithering under my feet with each unsteady step. I stopped for a moment and looked down. All I could see beneath my naked body was a shimmering ooze that flowed in and around my toes. ‘God,’ I thought with intense misery, ‘I have to go on.’

  The wail in the distance seemed to increase in its pleading, agonizing intensity while I grew farther away from it. Eventually, it faded altogether. I shook my head and it was then that I felt stabbing pain in both eyes. Warm tears flowed freely. I reached up to wipe them away.

  When I lowered my hands, I saw palms streaked with blood. Dark, sticky, warm, unrelenting blood which still dripped from my eyes and into my hands. I smeared it onto my naked thighs, hips, and chest. I kept walking forward. One slimy step after another. The light was even more blinding now and I squinted and held my forearm up to my face to try to block it. But it seemed to ignore my flesh and bone and shot through my arm and into my brain through its only conduit: my eyes. I wondered for the first time what I was looking at.

  What was that? What did I just see?

  I stopped and turned around. Something was behind me. Oddly enough, I knew it was in front of me, too. As I peered back the wailing woman’s voice commenced again. I saw a long hallway that oozed thick, dark liquid from its pores. I felt a burning sensation, and looked down at my arms and wrists. They were on fire. Vitriolic, acidic fire. I screamed in agony and flailed them about for a minute before I realized they wouldn’t extinguish. Falling to my knees, I wailed too. That’s when I heard it. The scraping, pounding, scratching grate of the thing I feared the most.

  I listened, waited. There it was again. A grunt. A scream. A shuffling of thunderous angry feet against the once-firm granite that resided beneath me. It grew in frequency and intensity as I crawled forward. I heard snarling and then something that can only be described as the sound of thick, powerful bones snapping and splintering.

  Gasping, I clawed at the black ooze and the stone which lay underneath it. My flesh was torn asunder. Hands and legs scrambled as I scurried down the path, frantic to reach the light. A lame dog being hunted down by a more powerful predator. The grunt turned into a lustful, ravenous cry as my predator grew closer. I scurried onward, suddenly motivated by the knowledge that I was about to die. I screamed in terror and scurried. I didn’t know what else to do.

  ***

  I awoke in a lather and looked around, wondering from what direction the beast would attack. As I sat upright – palms planted on soft satin sheets – the fading remnants of a fire greeted me. But for glowing embers, there was no other light in the room.

  It suddenly occurred to me that the room didn’t have windows. Not even the smallest little pane of glass that could let the indifferent dimness of night peer in. I panted as droplets of sweat poured down my face. What the Hell was that?

  I sighed as I quickly realized that it had only been a dream. Gingerly lying back, I pushed and kicked the warm, heavy covers off of me. I’m hot. I lay for several minutes before I faded back into a fitful, troubled sleep.

  Chapter 57

  This is the rat,

  That ate the malt

  When I awoke, Jack was standing over me with a mug of steaming coffee.

  I slowly lifted myself into a sitting position and gratefully accepted it. The scent of the hot brew washed the cobwebs away. I gingerly sipped while he smiled and toss
ed the last remaining embers from one of the hearths with a poker.

  “Feel better today?” I silently lied as I nodded and sipped. He seemed pleased by my deception. But suddenly he seemed to remember himself and swept his arm around the room. “What do you think?” I gave him a confused look before I realized that he was asking me about the room. With everything that had happened, I didn’t even take notice of my surroundings. Save for a perfunctory hazy look from bed the night before.

  I peered around the room. From the canopied king-sized bed I looked at lavish ornamentation, tastefully-chosen antiques and the mammoth hearths. I could have walked into them without bending over. I nodded as I looked around.

  My eyes finally rested on a sculpture that sat between the hearth and the bedroom door. It was about six feet tall and depicted a warrior – possibly Trojan or Spartan, judging by the armor. It appeared to be made of bronze, which did it justice, for it gave the appearance of a tan on the sinewy, well-muscled body of the warrior. He proudly held his prize in one hand and a shimmering broadsword was firmly grasped in the other. The arm with the sword was lowered to his side, but the hand which held the prize – a human head – was proudly raised above his own head. I raised my eyebrows and nodded in approval.

  “Michelangelo. Louis XIV would be proud.” He smiled and patted the statue. “I see by your face that you like it. Good choice. C’mon, I have a lot more to show you.” I nodded and got out of bed, only then realizing that I was still naked. Jack chuckled as he gestured toward a chair which sat by the dresser.

  “There are clothes for you over there. I hope you don’t mind, but I picked out your wardrobe. I chuckled at the black pants and expensive black turtleneck. It must be Jack look-a-like day. I quickly dressed and Jack led me into the hallway.

  “I had to come and get you. You wouldn’t have found your way otherwise.” His voice echoed through the hallway, and I peered around as we walked. I only half-acknowledged his words. The hallway twisted and curved, and everywhere I looked, there were strange patterns in the woodwork. Even stranger pieces hung from the walls. Paintings, broadswords, maces and sculptures assaulted my senses at every turn. Under my feet there were ornate rugs with elaborate designs.

  Jack would occasionally stop to explain the story of a piece and we’d stand there for several moments while he beamed and I listened.

  There seemed to be no sense to the layout of the hallway. It twisted in random patterns that had no basis in reality, as far as I was concerned. As I looked – and there was so much to look at – I realized that the walls curved as they reached the roof. In an almost arch-like manner. He really did pay Astrid to remove the right angles.

  Wow. That was all I could think as we wended our way through the strange hallways. All the while, Jack pointed out expensive masterpieces and worthless oddities. Although I didn’t initially notice it, I became aware of a strange hue in everything, and realized that the hallway had no natural light. No windows, no atriums, no nothing.

  Odder still, there was no electric light. Candles and torches adorned the walls every few metres. Were it not for those, we would have been in total darkness. Even though I must have slept for twelve hours, I assumed that it was day. That was unsettling.

  “Jack, do you have any electricity in this place?” He laughed as he pranced along.

  “Are you kidding me? Fuck. Can you imagine the electric bill?” He spoke comically and swept his arm like Moses showing the Jews the Promised Land. I chuckled and shook my head.

  “You’re kidding right?” He nodded.

  “Of course I’m kidding. Jesus! You know I can afford it. But to answer your question, yes. I do have electricity. In the kitchen, the Media Room, and one or two other strategic locations. Only where necessary though. Other than that, this place is lighted by the oldest, most tried-and-true method known to man. Fire.” I nodded and made a face, pretending to be impressed. Of course, I wasn’t.

  “I was forced to make many sacrifices for this place.” I scowled and watched his stone-faced demeanor. It was an odd comment: I didn’t know exactly what sacrifices he referred to. I thought about pursuing it, but quickly thought better.

  “At least you have something to keep you busy.” I looked at him sarcastically and gestured toward the flames. It had to be a full-time job, just keeping the candles and torches maintained. This was unbelievable. He really had lost it. Jack paused and looked at me with confusion. But then he processed my implication and shook his head.

  “If I bothered myself with keeping these things lit, I’d never get anything done. Someone takes care of it for me.” I raised an eyebrow while I sipped coffee and eyed a graphic nude portrait which hung on the wall to the left of me.

  “Really? Who?” It hadn’t occurred to me that Jack had anybody else there. Besides the stray hooker, that is. After I learned of his plan to build this place, I figured that was it. I made the assumption that now that he was moved in, he was living alone. But his revelation made sense. With that massive place, he had to have some servants. Didn’t he?

  “Alberto. His name’s Alberto.”

  “Interesting name.”

  “He’s Chilean.”

  “Hmm. Where did you find him?”

  “Agency found him. I needed someone who fit the criteria.”

  “And what criteria would that be?” Jack just shrugged, ignored my question and kept walking.

  “It’s good that you have some company.” Jack nodded.

  “He’s not really company. He’s the hired help. And he can’t carry a conversation.” I peered over at him. His evasiveness shouldn’t have come as a surprise. But I still hated it when he said things like that. I had to ask the question. If I didn’t, he wouldn’t have taken it any further.

  “Okay. Why can’t he carry a conversation?”

  “He’s a deaf mute. Can’t speak a word. I prefer it that way.” Deaf mute. The perfect companion for Jack. I nodded and took another sip of coffee while we descended a long ornate staircase that spiralled toward the main floor. Jack told me there were 1,111 steps in the house. I commented that it was a ridiculously large and oddly-contrived number.

  “Sure it’s contrived. But forgive me for being a little superstitious. I like nice neat numbers. Besides, it wasn’t my choice. Astrid’s design.” I smiled weakly.

  Shields adorned the walls that hugged the stairwell. They contained colorful coats of arms crossed by spears. At the base of the stairs was the huge hallway – the main entrance to his house. It looked vaguely familiar, for it was here that Jack had dragged me from certain death only hours before.

  But in the light of day – well, that’s not quite accurate, because there was no sunlight – in the firelight the place looked like a strange cathedral. On one end – where the towering front doors sat – the walls curved around in a semicircular fashion. But they snaked outward and away from the doors in an odd curvature as they rose to the ceiling. Once they had curved to the point where they were jutting down again, they curved up. And so-on across the entire breadth of the ceiling. Its appearance was of stalactites dropping down from above

  They had odd symbols carved or painted on them, which flickered and disappeared as flames danced erratically. The sharp tips of the stalactites were stained with crimson paint. Each pattern was unique, and they gave the appearance of blood dripping from the ceiling.

  Across the room and opposite to the front doors, the wall was tiered as it rose upward. Giving the appearance of inverted steps. But they weren’t perfect steps. Remember: no right angles. Instead, they curved unevenly and appeared to swirl upward. Like a waterfall flowing in reverse. As with the rest of the trim in the house, the swirls were etched with strange symbols, uneven and irregular in their distribution. There appeared to be a common pattern to their layout, but for the life of me I couldn’t figure out what it was.

  In the center of the hallway, a giant Persian rug covered the floor. Save for that, there were no statues, paintings or pieces of art adorn
ing the great room. I thought that strange, for the entrance to your home is the first place that someone sees when they enter it. But I remembered myself and realized that Jack was far from typical. And this wasn’t a home.

  ***

  Jack guided me through one of the many curved exits that radiated throughout the hallway. With another right turn, we were in the kitchen.

  It was the first normal room I’d seen. It looked just like a kitchen. There was even a window, albeit a small one, where dull sunlight poured in and illuminated the white linoleum on the floor. It was a nice kitchen, too. Stainless steel appliances, marble countertop, double sinks, and an island adorned with brass pots and pans which hung from hooks on the ceiling.

  The scents of coffee, bacon, eggs and something that smelled like toast, bagels or pancakes filled my olfactory senses with delectable thoughts. I didn’t stop to wonder why I hadn’t sensed those wonderful delights until we walked into the kitchen. My appetite roared an angry rebuke at me as my body remembered the abuse which it had undergone over the past several days. With the exception of the modest breakfast I ate the day Elizabeth was murdered, and a couple of flavorless packets of airplane trail mix, my body had been surviving on a steady diet of Scotch for the past two days.

  Bacon sizzled enticingly in a pan that sat on top of a ceramic burner. The scent of fresh-cooked eggs seeped gently out of the oven. Jack gestured toward the stools which were perched around the island and donned oven mitts. He produced a large casserole dish that was covered with tin foil. Carrying it to the table, he plopped it in front of me and peeled off the foil.