by Aaron Polson
“Kelsey… I was just talking with Sarah… How are the roommates hitting it off?”
“Fine,” Kelsey said. “You’ve found a matching set. If I remember, there were four before.”
Sarah gestured to the chairs. “So where’s the rest of our little club.”
“Erin and Daniel should be here any moment. John hasn’t arrived, but I expected no less from him. He knows how to make an entrance, doesn’t he? Good for him and good for the camera.”
Kelsey crossed her arms. Seeing the cameras had amplified the tension she’d already felt long before entering the house. They made it real, this crazy thing Ben and circumstances outside her control had convinced her to do. Those cameras would catch everything, each moment. They would find a way to peel back her façade and find the frightened little girl lost in a cave.
“Take your pick, Kelsey.” Ben gestured to the table. “We don’t have assigned seating.”
Sarah was already sitting at the end closest the cameras. Kelsey stopped at the chair farthest from Ben. She kept her gaze on the table, away from the cameras.
“So what’s to eat in this place? Are we going to be serving ourselves, or do you have craft services whipping something up in a hidden trailer out in the woods?” Sarah asked.
“Nothing of the sort. I’ve arranged to have our meals brought in from town. A mom and pop café called the Harvest House down in Muskotah was more than willing to have a solid week of consistent business. Three squares a day, right here in the dining room, all together like one happy family.” He looked up and away from the table. “Oh, here’s Erin and Daniel now.”
Kelsey watched as a tall, athletic blonde—a striking young woman with honey brown skin—rounded the table’s far edge and stood behind a chair next to Sarah. The young man, shorter than Ben with a dark complexion and lost look in his deep brown eyes, followed her but paused before sitting. He looked from the blonde to Sarah and Kelsey and chose a seat next to the blonde.
“Sarah, Kelsey, this is Erin Connolly and Daniel Pinto.”
Nods were exchanged.
“Well. That leaves our friend John. I assume he’ll be fashionably late.” Ben pulled out his chair at the table’s head and sat.
“Didn’t he call?” Sarah asked.
Ben touched the side of his nose with an index finger. “Now how would he be able to do that? Or have you forgotten?”
“What do you mean?” Kelsey asked.
The blonde, Erin, spoke. “What he means is no service. No cell phones. No land line. Nothing. I’m Erin Connolly, by the way. Junior at UCLA and willing guinea pig.”
“Sarah Mansfield. Nice to meet you, Erin.” Sarah smirked. “You’re a long way from the beach.”
An icy glaze slicked over Erin’s eyes.
“Kelsey Sullivan,” Kelsey blurted as an attempt to diffuse the tension she felt. Sarah and Erin had already thrown down the first cards in a game of alpha female, and she wanted none of it. “I’m studying psychology at Kansas State, graduate school—what is it you do at UCLA?”
Sarah leaned back in her chair. The ghost of a smile played at her lips.
Erin turned to Kelsey, and the ice-glaze melted. “Small world. I’m studying psych, too. I’ve changed majors once… So far. Makes me a bit of an oddity, I suspect.”
“You two can swap notes,” Sarah said.
The slight curl of Sarah’s lips had grown into a sneer, one which caused Kelsey to feel a twinge of discomfort. Her gaze dropped to the table.
“What about you—Daniel isn’t it?” Sarah tilted her head forward.
“Yes.” Daniel spoke with a heavy accent. “Daniel Pinto. I come from São Paulo, in Brazil. I’m here working on my graduate degree in computer engineering. Also at UCLA.”
“You and Kelsey could swap notes, too. She’s attempting to finish her PhD, aren’t you Kels?”
Sarah was the odd one out, and she was feeling it, taking a defensive stance and snarking at each person at the table. Kelsey glanced at the others for their reactions. When her eyes fell on Ben, she knew this was the type of drama he’d been hoping for. The cameras rolled, and Sarah played right into Ben’s hands. They hadn’t even been in the house for three hours, and tension sprouted like weeds—tension which had yet to be tainted with their surroundings.
“So, Kelsey, what are you working on, if you don’t mind?” Erin asked. She’d turned away from Sarah, physically shutting her off from communication.
“Me? I’m working on my dissertation. Fear and anxiety. I’m trying to study how fear and anxiety affect performance on complex mental tasks.”
“She runs rats through mazes,” Sarah said.
Erin didn’t acknowledge Sarah, but continued. “Sounds tricky. How do you get around the ethical concerns?”
“Non-human subjects. Like Sarah said, I run rats through mazes. Only I give them something to think about first. Electric shocks cued by lights or sounds. It’s pretty simple, really.”
“I’d like to hear more,” Erin said. “Maybe we can—”
A loud buzz cut into the room, and for a moment, Kelsey felt as though she’d been stung with a shock from her own experiment.
“That would be our dinner at the kitchen door. You’ll excuse me.” Ben rose. “Daniel? Would you mind assisting me? I think the ladies have so much to talk about.”
Daniel stood, glanced at the others, and followed Ben from the room.
“Like I was saying, maybe we can sit down later and talk about your research. I’m sure you’ve made some fascinating findings.” Erin grinned.
Kelsey understood. Erin had read Sarah and started to alienate her. Drama—just what the director ordered. She chanced a glance at Sarah who wore a rather placid, almost bored expression. Sarah enjoyed playing games; she always had. Kelsey offered Erin a slight smile. “I’d love to.”
A few moments passed, thick and awkward with silence. Kelsey couldn’t help feeling the first battle in a long war was over, but in the sleepy, post-conflict haze she found she had nothing to say, nothing she wanted to say.
She wouldn’t need to say anything else. As the three women sat at the big oak table, the front door banged open. Erin hopped up with a start. Kelsey craned her neck toward the entryway between dining room and parlor. Her heart throbbed madly against her ribs, worked into a frenzy by the sudden noise.
Johnny appeared in the entry, disheveled and weary-looking. He ran his fingers over his close-cropped hair, grooming when he spotted the cameras. “Have I missed dinner?”
“No,” Sarah said. “Just a few appetizers.”
“Good. I’m starving. Two flat tires on that fucking county road out there.” He shook his head. “It’s almost like my car didn’t want to be here.”
Chapter 11: Goodnight, Goodnight
After dinner, the group moved into the parlor. Kelsey slipped into an overstuffed chair facing the couch, stairs, and front door. Johnny meandered across the room and leaned against wall. He’d barely spoken after his entrance, but darkness brewed under his stony exterior. Sarah plopped into the high-backed chair across from Kelsey. Their eyes locked for a moment, long enough to send anxious pinpricks across Kelsey’s back. She shifted her gaze to the couch where Daniel and Erin sat together. Ben paced through the room, holding a glass of amber liquid. Alcohol, of course, although Kelsey hadn’t seen any at dinner.
The cameras hawked them from two corners, their lenses pressing a cold eye against Kelsey’s skin. She looked away, her gaze lingering on a pair of old style oil lanterns on the wall.
“I think I could get used to delivered, home cooked meals,” Ben said.
“Meatloaf?” Sarah narrowed her eyes. “I’m not sure what was in that stuff.”
“Homemade, though,” Ben said. “And those mashed potatoes weren’t from a box. Imagine how many poor Mrs. Deeken must have peeled for us.”
Johnny folded his arms and cleared his throat. “Enough chit-chat, Wormsley. You promised a little insight into what we’re doing, other
than camping out for a week. I signed a waiver and the contract, reading every word of both. The contract—slick and vague—said I would spend seven nights in this house under the parameters you, the countersigned, dictated. I don’t know about the others, but you didn’t dictate much.”
“Except your fee, John. I made it clear how much each of you could earn should you decide to stay.” Ben stopped his slow looping of the room behind the couch and took a drink from his glass. A grin spread his lips. “That was enough to get each of you here. If you don’t agree with the stipulations, please feel free to leave now.”
“So what are the stipulations,” Erin asked. “What exactly do we do?”
Ben shrugged. “Stay here. That’s it.”
“That’s it?” Sarah asked. “Stay here?”
“For a week. No leaving the house for any reason. No stepping onto the porch, no taking a stroll through the backyard, no sneaking out a window and climbing down the trellis for a midnight rendezvous. You must stay inside the house for a week. I ask that you wear the microphones you’ll find in your rooms between breakfast and bed.” Ben reached behind his back and produced a small black box with a wire trailing under his shirt. “Just attach the transmitter and microphone cord. With the personal mics, we won’t need the boom after tonight. It will be set up during family meals but no other times.”
“Wait—no fresh air for a week?” Sarah asked. “That’s the twelve thousand dollar stipulation?”
Ben smiled.
“So we’re locked in, I suppose?” Johnny asked. He’d dropped his arms, but his face still wore a cold, hard expression.
“Locked? No. You are free to leave at any time. If you step through the door before noon on the 22nd, the contract is considered null and void.” Ben set his glass on an end table next to the couch. “It’s quite simple. You stay in the house with the cameras watching, and at week’s end, I cut each of you a cashier’s check for twelve thousand dollars. The cameras click off at midnight, and the crew sleeps outside. We’ve rented an RV. They’ll work out there. They’ve also set up a smaller base of operations inside.”
A week. A solid week locked in the house with no fresh air, no escape, no sunshine. Kelsey’s esophagus tightened. She shifted in her chair.
Erin sat forward on the couch, began to raise a hand, but thought better of it and dropped it to her side. “So we’re not to leave at any time, but what about the interior of the house? Do we have any restrictions on where we can go inside? Any out of bounds areas? What about a curfew?”
Ben pulled at his lip for a moment. His eyes—cold and dark but full of fire—fell on Kelsey. She shifted in her seat. “You are free to go anywhere—except, of course, the bathroom on the second floor. I’m sure most of you won’t want to step inside that room, anyway. The ladies are staying on the second floor; the men, including yours truly, have rooms on the third, the attic floor. Anywhere you go, just remember, the cameras are invited, too.”
“We can’t use the second floor bathroom?” Erin’s head tilted to one side. “Why?”
Ben turned to her, his smile never wavering. “Let’s just say it’s locked. For now.”
The hall clock ticked, echoing through the room for a few moments in which Kelsey studied the faces of her friends and the new acquaintances. Her eyes roved away from the surrounding group. The parlor or sitting room or whatever it was supposed to be had changed since she was last in the house. The change was subtle, perhaps a different color on the wall or furniture arrangement, but it bothered her like a bit of sandpaper rubbing tender skin.
“That’s it, Wormsley?” Johnny scratched the side of his face. “Just stay inside and everything’s fine. What about my tires? Was that part of the show?”
“What?”
Johnny looked at the others. “I guess you weren’t in the room—I blew two tires on the county road coming in. I’m not going to try and explain it. Funny coincidence, though.”
Ben circled the end of the couch and sat on the arm. “Are you suggesting—”
“You and your Hollywood tricks had something to do with it? Yeah, maybe. My car’s not even ten-thousand miles old, and to blow two tires within five miles… Something’s rotten in Denmark. Or wherever the hell we are in north-central Kansas.”
“Really, John. If I would have done anything, you can trust a camera would have been there to catch your reaction.” Ben gave an offhanded laugh. “Seriously—I had no idea.”
Johnny’s façade didn’t break, but he shut his mouth. No one spoke for what seemed like a long time. It was a handful of ticks from the big grandfather clock against the wall near Johnny, but Kelsey felt each one in her chest. Tick, tick, tick… The heavy meal and mounting anxiety during her drive brewed in her stomach. She thought about her twin bed in the yellow room, how she could fall into it and wake in the morning, one-seventh of her job done without any trouble. Tick, tick, tick…
She aimed her gaze at the floor.
The others had begun talking in smooth, even tones. They’d relaxed, taken down their guards. Sarah giggled, but she was a universe away. They spoke a universe away.
Kelsey was sitting in a chair in the house where they’d found a dead man, a mysterious John Doe with slashes on both his arms. It was an absurd thing, really, a monster of a farmhouse in the middle of rolling nowhere with a dead man inside. No, too big for a farmhouse—it had once been an inn or hotel. They’d found it by accident. They’d needed a place to escape the snowstorm, that’s all. Coincidence. Jared made a bad choice. He’d wandered into the snow and lost his way. That’s all. There wasn’t anything wrong with the house. There was no reason for Kelsey to let the cold, furry thing in her gut continue to crawl around and send cold tendrils through her skin.
Only a house.
Only a week.
She could go home, then. Go home and forget all of it. Maybe even invite Johnny for a visit.
She lifted her eyes and examined each of them again. Their mouths moved, but she didn’t hear the words. Ben smiled. He was always smiling, always selling something. Sarah held as much bitterness as ever—she’d always felt in some competition with her, a competition Kelsey wanted no part of. Johnny was hiding a secret, a wound which was new and raw. He hadn’t let anyone else know about it. What had happened in the war? The other two, Erin and Daniel, seemed just what Ben suggested: young fresh faces for the camera. Erin had spunk, though. Daniel might as well been a strip of wallpaper so far. Horribly mean, but true. He hadn’t said more than a handful of words since before dinner.
One week. Twelve thousand dollars. She would be safe and sound and so would her mother.
“I’m not anyone’s nurse maid, so I won’t tell anyone when to hit the sack, but I’m going to bed. It’s been a long day.” Ben rose from the couch. “You have free reign over the house—anywhere inside the house you find an unlocked door.” He placed a special emphasis on the word inside.
Inside the house for seven days. Easy enough for the monster to swallow you.
Kelsey shook her head to dislodge the thought.
The house was just a house. Not a monster.
“I’m done, too.” Sarah stood. “Kels, what about you?”
“Sure,” Kelsey said. “Sounds good. It was a longish drive and… I’m pretty sleepy after stuffing myself.” She glanced at Johnny. He smiled.
Ben was halfway up the stairs to the first floor when Erin stopped him.
“Um, Ben? One quick question… Something I’ve wondered since agreeing to this thing, but haven’t asked.”
“Shoot.”
“Why this house? I mean, you could have picked some out of the way place just about anywhere and stuffed five people inside with cameras. Why here?”
Ben’s usual smile wavered. His eyes caught Kelsey’s and he looked away quickly. “This house has history, Erin. History best discussed over our coffee at breakfast. We shall have a proper tour in the morning.”
~
A wind-blown December rain pelted
the yellow room’s windows as Kelsey lay awake, unable to sleep in the house—unable to sleep a few doors down from the bathroom where they’d found a dead man five years before. The rain tapped a constant, simple rhythm. The window panes were thick and blocked the wind’s brute fury. The sound would have acted as a lullaby on any other night at any other place, but not in the house. Not on December 15th, her first of seven nights.
Dinner—meatloaf and homemade mash potatoes—sat in her stomach. She didn’t understand what had driven her to eat so much. Swallowing the tension in the room, perhaps. And there had been tension—Erin and Sarah sparred, but also a few fiery moments after dinner, as they sat in the parlor and batted small talk through the room. Johnny all but suggested Ben had something to do with his blown tires. Drama. She’d tuned it out well enough—tuned it out or memories had swallowed it.
Memories and bad dreams.
Shadows danced outside. Naked branches blew in the wind and played with moonlight.
Kelsey rolled over and faced away from the window. Sarah lay in a bed four feet away, a lump moving up and down under her covers. They’d never been close, not even in college when they hung out with the same crowd. Sarah had always been different somehow. Edgy. Almost as though she wasn’t comfortable in her own skin. Kelsey closed her eyes. Not being comfortable in one’s skin was a common theme.
A heavy gust rattled the thick window glass. Kelsey flipped in bed. Her eyes fluttered open. Thin curtains covered the windows, but offered little to hold back the dancing shapes. They’re just shadows. Just shadows, Kels, she told herself. Shadows of trees and moonlight. She held her breath for a moment, almost expecting something else, perhaps the icy fingers of a ghost or a dark, clammy ghoul lurking in the dark. She expected a sound at least, maybe the creak of old wood or groan from a settling foundation.
