House of Horror

by E. J. Bennett

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  Copyright © 2017 by EJ Bennett

  Scene

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  House of Horror

  E.J Bennett

  Copyright © 2017 by E.J Bennett

  All rights reserved.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher/author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is completely fictional and the places, situations and characters are made up from the author's imagination. Any similarities with any person living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  House of Horror

  Matthew Hansen spun around, mentally scanning the room. Where the hell was that coming from? By the sound of the howls and cries, hell seemed a good guess and a cold sweat dripped down his back at the thought. Maybe it was that girl he had picked up from the night club playing some bad joke on him. Then again the noises had started a few days ago so it couldn't be her. He had thrown her out as he was in no mood for a sleepover. The girl had looked at him with wide disbelieving eyes, and then her look turned to hatred. Not that it bothered him; of course, she was just a bit of fun. Matthew slammed the door in her face and didn't give her a second thought.

  But as he padded back to his bedroom, the cries had started. Voices started to float from the walls, slow and barely audible at first, and then they became faint mumbles. Matthew couldn't make out what was being said, but from their high pitched timbre he thought they were female voices. When the heartfelt pleas began to echo throughout his room, as if they were bouncing off his walls, he sprang into action and darted out of the bedroom.

  The door to the kitchen banged shut with so much force the entire living room shook and pictures fell from the walls. For a moment, he was paralyzed by fear, watching helplessly as his home became a nightmare. Dread crept over him like an icy chill and numbed his brain. He told himself that this wasn't happening. It wasn't real. Deep inside, he knew that was not true. He tried to convince himself that he had drunk too much, but he knew that was a lie.

  Then the walls started to decay. Cracks appeared and the plaster became chipped and worn. The cream paintwork turned dull, caked with grime. Debris was scattered on the floor and he found himself standing in a place that looked like his flat, but also, like a long ago abandoned building. He opened and closed his eyes a few times, but everything was still the same. His once familiar home had somehow gotten lost in time.

  His body felt like stone and was rooted to the ground. The terror he felt locked him in place as things in the room moved and danced in the air. He heard a loud rumble and what sounded like a crack of a whip coming from the walls, followed by a high-pitched scream.

  That was when the adrenaline seared through his veins and kicked his brain into action. He ran for the door. Matthew didn't know what was causing this madness or what it wanted. He knew one thing. He didn't want to find out. In his haste to get out, he almost ran into the door of his flat, tripping over the clutter on his way. The panic he felt inside made his swift movements clumsy. The hairs on the nape of his neck stood on end and his stomach spun out of control with fear.

  Matthew pulled and yanked at the door, but it seemed to be glued in place. Then the feral noises stopped and at the same moment, the door burst open, sending him reeling backwards. It took him a moment to gain his bearings, and then he barreled out of the flat and into the communal corridor. In horror, he flinched as the door slammed shut behind him. For a moment he thought he heard a woman laughing, but the sound vanished so quickly he wasn't sure.

  The corridor was still intact and looked the way it had always been, narrow giving off a sense of claustrophobia. The white washed walls could do with a clean, but were otherwise in perfect shape. He just couldn't understand what was happening anymore. For the past three days, he had been hearing wailings and howling from somewhere close by, like someone was crying hysterically. When he had gone in search of the noise, he found out that it was echoing through the walls in the whole flat. It was as though the cries were translating through the walls, echoing back and forth endlessly. He was scared, but most of all, he thought he had begun to go crazy. The strange noises were louder and stronger in his bedroom, and they always seemed to start from in there and then follow him from room to room. This time, it had gotten worse. The flat had transformed in front of his eyes. He was sure he was hallucinating. He had to be, there was no other possible explanation for the strange happenings. Except one.

  Out of breath and his mind a jumbled mess, he stared at the door to his home, the place he had once thought of as his sanctuary. Now, it had become a place of horror and fear. He had never believed in ghosts or the supernatural, and was struggling with the idea, but it was either that or believe he was losing his mind.

  He had no choice; he needed answers. He would have to ask his crazy neighbour if the same thing was happening in her flat. Now that he had left his flat, he heard nothing. The confusion he felt mingled with his terror as he listened for any sound of the voices. A fleeting thought crossed his mind. It was quiet now, he had just imagined it all, he should go back in. Afraid he might act on the impulse, he took a few steps back and shook the thought away.

  Matthew waited for some time. The corridor was quiet. There was a little beam of moonlight streaking in through the panelled window at the end of the narrow hall. The dirty walls were filled with shadows in the places where the light didn't reach. This made him feel even more paranoid. His eyes scanned every inch, looking for anything moving or changing.

  But nothing did.

  Slowly the fear receded a little and he began to feel a bit foolish standing outside his flat in the dark, being frightened by shadows. He was just thinking about going back in, when he heard his neighbour still talking to herself. It was past midnight, but he decided that he should just see her and confirm his suspicions that he was going crazy. He wasn't looking forward to seeing her. However, she was the only person that was close enough for him to talk to-to voice his suspicions. What was her name? Amanda- that was it, Amanda Pratt. He took deep breaths to calm his racing heart, and tried to school his face. He didn't want to let her know how scared he had been. For this insane conversation to go well, he would have to look casual.

  He wished now that he had taken his buddies offer of a flat share in the newly built complex that was just outside of the city. Matthew had declined as the idea of bringing girls home to a shared accommodation didn't sit well with him. Matthew was a player and got bored easily. He loved the chase and the challenge of bedding a new girl. Once the thrill of each conquest was over, he would move on to the next girl. He had built up quite a reputation for himself.

  So he had turned down the offer to share a plush new place, instead he had taken this flat that sat in the heart of London. It was in an old Victorian house that had been renovated and turned into individual apartments. Rumour had it that the house once belonged to a wealthy family. The father was a greedy man who was unfaithful to his wife. He started to go mad, claiming to hear voices, then committed suicide. The thought of the rumour sent a shiver down Matthew's spine. He had never believed the crazy story. Now, he wasn't sure what to believe.

  When he banged on her door, Amanda opened it almost immediately, as though she had been expecting him. He stared at her, he couldn't help himself, she always had this effect on him.

  She had that rare beauty which meant she didn't have to wear makeup, or doll herself up. Matthew suspected she knew it too, and used it to her advantage. She had long wavy brown hair that she almost always wore down, cascading down over her bare shoulders like silk. Her tight red tank top
fitted the upper part of her body snuggly. Her skin-tight jeans complimented her slender, toned figure. She had the most striking eyes he had ever seen. Their emerald colour was mesmerizing. He often wondered if she wore contacts, but never dared ask. She was bold as brass and Matthew disliked that about such an attractive girl. It meant she had no problem calling him a user and a womanizer. He hated that. What was it to her what he did in his private life? Who was she to judge him?

  He pasted a smile on his face, not wanting Amanda to slam the door on him. She had been doing that since the night he had slept with her.

  "So, how are you doing tonight Amanda?" Matthew asked, trying to sound casual. Inside, he wanted to blurt out about the strange happenings in his flat. He knew if he did, she would probably laugh at him and then ask if he was on drugs, before slamming the door in his face.

  She stood with her hands on her hips, her face a mask of disdain.

  "What do you want?" she demanded. Matthew felt his face grow hot as he scrambled to come up with something to say. "Oh, I see. You thought if you come here with that look on your face like a scared school kid I would invite you into my bed." She laughed and began to shut the door. Matthew stuck his foot out and stopped the door from closing. "Amanda, please, that is not why I am here. I have a problem." He glanced down at the floor, not sure how to tell her what had been happening to him. She laughed, a high pitch laugh, and Matthew looked at her suddenly wondering if she was the one that had gone insane.

  "So you finally caught a disease?"

  Matthew wasn't sure if that was an insult or a genuine question, but either way it was not something he was going to take from her. He shoved the door open, knocking Amanda backwards as he entered her home.

  Her flat was just as small as his. It had one bedroom that only just managed to fit in a double bed and a wardrobe, and a small galley kitchen that was falling apart, with little storage. The living room was tiny with hardly any floor space. In Matthew's opinion, Amanda had way too many items that just weren't needed. Somehow though, despite the clutter, she still managed to make it look neat and tidy. Now she stood, leaning against the doorframe, glaring at him.

  "How dare you -"

  "Look, there's something really odd in my flat. Strange noises at night. Things moving around, stuff like that. I was just wondering if the same thing is happening in yours," he said. He held his breath, waiting for her to tell him that he was imagining things. He just needed someone to confirm it. Then maybe the weird stuff would go away and he would be able to sleep.

  "Isn't that just creative of you, Matt? You have even thought of a story to tell me to get me to feel sorry for you." She pushed herself away from the doorframe and stood in front of him with raw anger in her eyes. "You thought, if I felt sorry for you, I would just let you in after you have ignored me for weeks, said mean things about me to your mates, and now come knocking at my door? Oh I get it. You're not used to being refused, so you made up some story so that I feel sorry for you."

  Matthew let her finish then ran a hand through his thick, dark hair.

  "Amanda, it is not a story. There is something not right. Have you heard anything, anything at all?" He had to make her realise he was deadly serious. She looked at him for a long moment then she sighed.

  "Whatever you say, Matt," she said, a note of resignation in her voice, "And yes, I've heard a lot of noises lately during the night too."

  He felt a rush of pure relief and closed his eyes to let it pass, rubbing his face with his palms.

  "Oh! Thank God! I was beginning to think I was going crazy." If Amanda had been hearing the voices and cries then maybe they could sort the problem together. But her next words blew that thought out of the water.

  "I don't think the sound I heard and what you're talking about is the same thing, because the one I heard sounded like those pipes that rattle whenever the trains pass."

  "What?" Matt looked at her aghast. She could have said that in the first place, rather than letting him hope that things were actually alright. What kind of bitch was she, letting him think one thing then hitting him with the truth?

  "I'm not hearing pipes, Amanda," he told her, coldly. "What I heard sounds more like teenagers crying, chanting or something of that sort. Not rattling pipes."

  "Oh?" She looked almost as if she cared, but she shook her head. "Sorry, Matt. I've not heard anything like that since I moved into this place."

  "Are you sure it's not that you are too tired these days and all you need is to rest well?" This time he was sure there was some genuine concern in her voice.

  She moved closer and ran her slender hand down his bare arm. He knew it was meant as a show of affection. Something he wasn't used to and he had no idea how to deal with it. He pulled back and crossed his arms across his chest, seeing the small flicker of hurt pass through her eyes as he did so. When he was small and his mom was on drugs, she had never really hugged him or touched him like that. The men she slept with would smile like wolves and be gone as soon as they had what they came for.

  "Maybe I can come listen for a moment and be sure it's not the booze that's affecting you," Amanda offered, smiling a little as he lifted his head to look at her. He nodded, feeling the sense of relief return.

  Matthew had half-expected the flat to still be derelict as it had been when he left. Instead it all seemed very normal with nothing out of place. They checked each room together, but they heard nothing.

  "I think you are going to be alright now," Amanda told him as they got back to the front door.

  Matthew realised she was about to leave and grabbed a hold of her wrist.

  "Please stay with me." He felt degraded, begging her to stay. It felt like all the times he had begged his mom not to go out and leave him when she was looking for another man or buying more drugs.

  Amanda looked at him, her expression unsure, and then shook her head.

  "I promise I won't touch you," he added. "Please stay."

  He could see that she was in two minds. Her lips seemed to tighten as she made her decision and gave a small nod. He led her to his bedroom and, Amanda climbed under the quilts. Matthew had been going to sleep on the small strip of floor, but she patted the bed beside her.

  "You can sleep here as long as you stay on top of the quilt."

  Afterwards, he was never quite sure who started it, but somehow her face was right beside his. He pressed his lips to hers and as soon as they touched the voices started.

  Amanda sat bolt upright and her eyes darted around the room. She cursed under her breath then laid back down.

  "You hear them don't you?" Matthew asked her.

  "Yes, I do. And you really should treat girls better, Matthew," she replied. He didn't understand what that had to do with anything. She didn't explain, just turned her back on him and pulled the quilt around her shoulders.

  Matthew envied the way she slept serenely and undisturbed while the voices tormented him for the remainder of the night, as the walls cracked then healed themselves. He listened to the whispers and Amanda's light snoring for the remainder of the night. Matthew was too scared to close his eyes, God only knew what would happen if he fell asleep.

  He must have dropped off to sleep eventually, because he woke with the alarm. Amanda was already gone, the bed still warm where she had slept.

  That evening, he was walking back home with his catch for the night - blonde, curvy and cute - when he stopped in his tracks just outside, key poised to put in the door because the house began to change. The outside brickwork crumbled away, leaving large holes in the walls. The roof collapsed and sank in. The windows shattered, with explosive pops, spraying shards of glass. The surrounding properties changed from rows of houses to a cluster of foreboding trees.

  The house now looked like something you would see in a horror movie. It gave off that creepy feeling, and the hairs at the base of his neck prickled. His heart was dancing a song of fear, drumming and banging against his chest. Was he going mad? Had someone spiked his
drink?

  "What's wrong Matt?"

  He looked at the girl, Taylor she said her name was.

  "Don't tell me you have changed your mind?" She twisted a lock of her blond hair and bit her lower lip. He shook his head, afraid to speak in case his voice cracked. Taylor looked completely unaware of anything being wrong. He looked back at the house and let out a gush of air. It stood tall and proud, no sign of decay.

  He was done with the girl within an hour of getting home and was sound asleep before midnight struck. It was only when the noise was unbearable that Taylor woke him up to complain. It had just gone past midnight. He had let her stay, breaking his usual habit, because he had not wanted to face the night alone.

  He had half-convinced himself Amanda had only said she heard the voices to please him. If she had heard them, there would be no way she would have been able to sleep. She would have been as frightened as he was. But Taylor heard them too, or heard something, she just moaned about his neighbours making so much racket.

  Excusing himself to get a glass of water and give himself a moment alone to pull himself together, Matthew was in the kitchen when the wailing started again. This time, it was louder, and it seemed to have found a loophole in the walls because he could hear the voice clearly. It hissed his name over and over again. Hearing the sound of his name echoing through the walls made his stomach lock up tight. He scanned the room looking for the source of the voice. Secretly, he was hoping it was just a silly prank, but deep inside he knew that wasn't true. Whatever was happening was completely real.

  He noticed a strange light casting its shadows at the kitchen entrance as he walked back into the living room. His bedroom light was not bright enough to cast a beam as strong as that. He had energy efficient light bulbs. They were in the flat when he had moved in and had never bothered to change them. Stealthily he stepped further into the room as though he was expecting something to spring up once he made his way into the center of the living room. Matthew caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror that hung above the electric fire that didn't give out much heat at all.