. . .
Right after dinner, William snuggled into bed with his book, the winds had kicked up, snow flurries had been predicted. James was in Albany for the night on business. Anne was surprisingly on her best behavior (maybe tonight is the night!).
William had dozed off. A sudden scream made him fall from his bed. This wasn’t any scream; this was the most famous scream in movie history. He had turned on the horror movie marathon just before he dozed off and much to his surprise, tonight was the original Invisible Man. Una O’Connor had the most famous scream in history, William should know, he claimed to have seen every horror film ever made. Since he was five, he would proud fully tell anyone who would listen. Una had screeched in such classics as the Bride of Frankenstein (It’s alive…it’s alive, the Monster’s alive!), he could tell her scream even in the dead of sleep. He jumped out of bed and looked out the window, it was nine-fifteen, and all was well. He turned to get back to his book when something caught his eye. There was a delicate veil of snow falling, but he could just make out someone coming from the barn. Oh my, it’s my rotten stepmother! She was wearing a hooded cape and instead of taking her car, she glided off into the woods. His first inclination was to follow, but then the fear set in, I’d better stay here, besides I have to take care of Charlie.
. . .
The two froze in unison, the sight of the mansion in the dark sent chills up their spine, “Bobby, are you sure you want to do this?”
“I never thought I would live long enough to see my brother Joey do doo-doo in his pants. Come-on, it’s only a house.”
“Yeah and it was only a cemetery.”
. . .
Curiosity got the best of William, he threw his clothes on and peered out his bedroom door, everything was still. He slowly tip-toed down the long hallway in his socks, he turned to lookback to see if Charlie was following, Charlie was snug as a bug, he had burrowed deep inside William’s Jurassic Park comforter (wasn’t Universal, but it was still monsters!) and had no interest in moving from the foot of the bed. He got up on his tippy toes, trying to not make a single noise, funny since this was his house (and nobody was home). William took a few steps, and something seemed to poke at his senses. He slowly turned, but something told him; William whatever you do, don’t look. His eyes were tightly closed, if I can’t see it, it can’t hurt me. That’s baby stuff, what am I afraid of, so he squinted his eyes ever so slightly, just barely opening his right eye, it was merely enough for a shock wave of terror to violently push him back. There hovering in front of him was a specter. At first, the ghost was no more than a chill in the air, a seeming conflagration of mist, silvery and diffuse. William moved his right foot back in the direction of his room, causing the ghost to congeal into a form, a small child with glowing white eyes, glistening skin and the smile of a carnivore. She had a white ribbon in her hair and wore a knee length dress with Victorian leather shoes, and from one hand dangled a kite, ribbons and all. Her lips were moving, but not a sound could be heard. He tried to decipher what she was saying but to no avail.
“I’m William, you w…won’t hu…hurt me, w…will y…you?”
The ghost-like girl kept speaking and then pointed towards the stairs and the basement of the house.
“D…do you wa…want me t…to go d…do…downstairs?
She then pointed at him and again pointed downstairs. Her sinister grin suddenly became a snarl, baring its teeth like a wild beast, and she then slowly drifted closer without taking a step. William tried to scream but all that come out was a rasping laugh, he turned and ran to the safety of his bed. Slamming the door behind him, he buried himself deep under the covers and dared not peek. This was not his imagination.
. . .
Bobby pushed open the ancient iron-gate that protected the structure. His left foot seemed welded to the ground
(Ah there’s nothing to be scared of. It’s just another old house. Yeah, but Bobby old boy, this was a real funeral home. Saw lots of dead people. Shouldn’t I be scared…Yes you moron, be very scared.).
He swallowed and peered up at the mansion, almost hypnotized. It stared back at him with a sinister indifference. The house seemed to lean towards them; it had been awaiting their arrival.
Bobby warily made his way through a plethora of wild growth with brambles, witchweeds and massive nettles far and wide; there were tangles of ivy and bryony clinging to the petrified tree trunks. This garden was a harbinger of what lie inside, it was filled with helpless rage.
(If I turn and run now, I’ll never hear the end of it from Joey)
Joey was just inches away from his brother’s backside, hunched over as though his brother’s body would protect him from what evils awaited. They reached the porch, it wrapped around the entire structure, Bobby was astonished, this is some house. As they took each step; the creaking of every wooden stair announced to the Hades Mansion that it had guests.
Bobby was bewildered to find the door unlocked. It noisily creaked as it swung open, reverberating through its timbers. Both turned on their flashlights, everything in sight was blanketed in a thick patina of suffocating dust. “Jesus Bobby, it looks like no one has been here for a hundred years.”
“Close the door Joey, but make sure it’s unlocked before you shut it.” The lights flashed back and forth across the imposing stained-glass phantasm of purgatory, its vibrant shades of red and yellow crystals lured them in.
Bobby was in control, “Let’s explore the first floor before we go down to the morgue.” (No kidding, I need to rest my gentle nerves before going down to the dungeon.)
Meanwhile, Joey all along expected it would be just like the Fun House in Coney Island (Fuck the Fun House, this is the real deal).
A pedestal stood guard next to a tall casement window, it caught their attention. The wooden stand was intricately detailed to provide a regal appearance from a long-ago era. A bronze cremation urn rested atop, it shined in the moonlight that rode the autumn dark. Bobby leaned to read the inscription;
Beloved Daughter Karen Willowsby
1909-1915
Always in Our Broken Hearts
Bobby remarked, “That’s strange; I thought the owner of this place was Hades?” Joey reached to touch it, “What is this, a fancy ashtray?”
Bobby slapped his hands, “Don’t touch! I can’t take you nowhere.” he glared at Joey, “Come on stupid, and whatever you do…be quiet!”
They continued down a hallway, their lights revealed peeling wallpaper with a few odd paintings haphazardly strewn about. There were old easy chairs inviting them to take a few moments before proceeding on. The deafening sound of crickets that had invaded the home creeped them out; breeee deep, breeee deep, its eerie, monotonous droning mirrored a person’s breathing. Their waves of chirruping seemed to be drawing the pair deeper into the house’s recesses. Midway down the hall was an ornate side-table, it was covered in white lace and atop it was an odd round object. Bobby turned his light on it, “what the hell is that?” He looked closer, fearing to touch it, “Jesus, it’s a snow globe.” He lifted it up and turned it so he could see the scene; it held a leafless dark, dead tree with a young shoeless, girl hiding in the snow behind it. On the other side of the tree was a large ominous wolf, seemingly hunting for her. “What the fuck, I’ve never seen anything like this before.”
(Where the hell is the Christmas scene, Rockefeller Center, ice skating?)
He turned it over, and it had a label on the bottom; Tired of Running. He returned it to its resting place, quickly pulling his hand back, “This place gets creepier by the moment.”
Every single viewing room seemed identical; seemingly frozen in time, as though they were waiting for someone. There were cobwebs festooned through the parlors. As t
hey made a turn at the end of the long hallway, there was a spill of brilliant light that welcomed them. The concluding room was different than the rest of this abandoned house of death. It was splendidly lit, inviting the oblivious pair to join. Bobby peered in, the antique carpet was immaculate, its’ vibrant vermillion drapes embraced an ornately carved wooden casket that rested upon its catafalque. Joey felt a strain of fear enter his heart, he grasped at Bobby’s outstretched hand. At that moment, Bobby felt his brother’s hand and thought for a second; did his hand shrink or what? Haltingly turning his gaze backward, he was horrified. It wasn’t Joey at all. It was a small boy; his garb spelled the nineteenth century. The child’s blond hair was perfectly combed, but his skin lacked any color, any life, he was white as a ghost. Bobby’s jaw dropped in a body-numbing silent scream of horror; he violently shook his hand free from the aberration, “Oh my God!!!!” He recoiled back, the little boy giggled with malicious glee, “You’re silly…don’t you want to play with me?”
“Play?” he frantically whirled around, looking for his sibling. “Listen, kid, where’s my brother Joey? What did you do with him?” He began to holler at the top of his lungs; “Joey!!! Joey!!! Where are you?” The proper young lad lifted his hand to his mouth and giggled, “Oh dear Robert, he’s resting now. Please, I’m not going to ask you again. You MUST stay here and play me.”
“How did you know my name? Only my mother calls me Robert. What the fuck is going on, who is in that coffin?”
“Questions…questions. They will all be answered in due order, but for now, you will do what I tell you to do!” At that moment, the childlike veneer began to crack. In front of Bobby’s eyes, the toddler mutated, the beauty began to disappear. His hair thinned and became an ugly shade of earth. His arms and legs became thick, hairy and gnarled; his forehead thrusted out; it had become monstrous. Somewhere off in the background Bobby could barely make out the subtle, soprano-like singing of young virgins, it had a sweet southern drawl, a hypnotic macabre melody.
(This is madness, girls are singing down one of these damn hallways, but in here?)
He strained to hear the honeyed lyrics, mouthing them as he distinguished each sweet word of the harmony,
Go to sleep my little baby…
Everybody’s gone in the cotton and the corn…
His body recoiled; an electric jolt of fear brought him to his senses. That was enough for Bobby; he wasn’t waiting around for the finale. And most of all, he had to find Joey.
You and me and the Devil makes three…
Don’t need no other lovin’ baby…
He bolted from the viewing room and headed for the front door. Behind Balin admonished him, “My friend, stop wasting your time. There is no way out. You are now part of my world.”
Oh, Come and lay your bones on the alabaster stones…
Oh, fuck! Bobby sprinted down the hallway; cold sweat was covering his upper lip. He kept frantically looking back, was the dwarf chasing after him? There was the front door, he reached for the knob, and as he turned it, he slammed shoulder first into the massive oaken door. It didn’t budge. The right side of his face was numb, his lip and teeth were bloody. For a split second, he could taste the saltiness of his own blood. He pushed again; the damn door was locked. A chain and padlock had been wrapped around the outside handle…it was locked, it had always been locked; it had been padlocked for nearly a century…
The violent thumping of his heart against his chest was deafening. He frantically looked left and right, what monster was going to grab at him? Bobby’s fingers were curled into a fist, nails digging into his palm.
(My God what do I do?)
He looked back down the hallway, it was now evident to him, he was trapped, this was now Balin’s dwelling, and they were not going to leave.
He ran as fast as he could with reckless abandon. A door slowly creaked opened; its rickety old stairs led down to the cellar.
(a door opening by itself?)
He had no choice, there was no other escape. He hopped down the steps, two at a time into thick darkness. When he got to the bottom, his flashlight whirled around, what was this place?
(there has to be someplace to hide down here)
(but where the fuck is Joey?)
The crypt was eerily lit with a sea of candles, (My God, these candles look like a freakin romantic bath)
He could sense that there was someone or worse, something, evil, seemingly crouching in the recesses of the cellar. It fed on his fear. It was watching him, waiting to drag him into the shadows of an unseen corner. He could now hear the dwarf; it had been slowly following him. Its deformed legs struggled with the stairs; step by step, one dark stair at a time. It was humming the melody; it took its time; this prey was going nowhere.
Bobby’s eyes widened, his breath became ragged and harsh. As Balin reached the bottom, a light was switched on, Bobby took a deep breath; it’s now or never. There were only two hallways,
(pick one, but my God, which one?)
He chose the right one. With his back brushing against the damp jagged stone walls, Bobby scurried along. He began to recite aloud,
“Hail Mary, full of grace
The Lord is with thee…”
The air was tainted with a something-is-decaying odor. He realized pretty quickly that the expanse of tunnels was a massive maze. They just kept going around and round, bringing him back to the identical point, but in the confusion, he had now lost track of Balin. His heart skipped a beat with every shadow. The beam of light was jumping left and right, everything was covered in cobwebs, it picked out shiny ornaments of death that were left behind by Hades. Fear grasped at him, a paralyzing fright, it engulfed his conscience, knocking all other thoughts aside. He began to duck into different cave-like rooms. Hiding, crouching. He kept reciting the prayer out loud over and over again,
“Blessed art thou amongst all women…”
The fright would make him jump and run off again, he sprung into another opening, the flashlight revealed a cold storage chamber with dozens of stacked coffin storage racks. How many dead bodies had rested there before embalming? This was too creepy, he moved on and found that the chamber was followed by two other rooms with old wooden racks and a few coffin trolleys strewn about. One of the heavy trolleys seemingly grabbed at him, he nearly fell, his hand hit the floor, catching his balance. He looked down; it had torn at his pants. His knee was bloody; the sharp, jarring pain brought him out of a daze.
He then skipped into an antechamber that had stored all the chemicals complete with Hades’ protective coat still eerily hanging on its hook. He was shaking from the fear, he desperately looked behind him. Was a hand about to come out from the dark? Unnerved, he quickly turned into the largest of all the rooms, this was the core of the mortuary. Its dark heart, a palatable presence was foreboding. It had been festering. It was vile. His eyes frantically darted about; trying to identify what malignancy lie before him. His failing light, only had minutes left, was seeking out what was about to seize him, pulling him into the gloom. In one corner was a mechanical lift with straps that hung ominously from the ceiling; this was how Hades brought the corpse laden caskets upstairs. Dread caused him to grit his teeth over his lip harder than he ever had. Salty blood now filled his mouth.
“Blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus…”
He walked around a large steel cylinder that sat on a table, it dominated the room. Alongside was a pair of trocars in the embalming station – at the ready to clean out the organs of fluids. Bobby jumped in terror when he laid eyes on the ceramic embalming table.
“Holy Mary, mother of God…”
But to his fright, there lay the still body of his brother, waiting to be prepared for his fune
ral. He grabbed at his chest, lifting him forward, “Joey…Joey,” he violently shook his brother’s shoulders. At first, Joey didn’t respond, but seconds later he began to come around. His eyes fluttered, his gaze seemed far off, but then it changed. He was coming to, his look turned to cold fear and fright. “Joey, oh thank God. I thought they had gotten you. We have to get out of here.”
“Where’s here? Where am I?”
“Joey, you’re lying on an embalming table in the morgue.” A sudden jolt of lightning struck him as Joey leaped from the table in a single bound, landing on his feet with a new-found life, full of vim and vigor. He rubbed his body up and down, “Oh…Oh…Oh, My God.” He rubbed his body more. “Holy Mother of God, was I really lying there?”
Suddenly out of nowhere, a deep menacing voice came from the shadows. It had a droning cadence, “My friends, welcome to my mausoleum of the malignant.” Balin’s grotesque image then came into view, “This is a house of the dead; full of boogies, elves, pixies, bat-fairies and a few other diabolical inhabitants.” He was well versed in such theatrical salutations from his previous master. He waved his hand, gesturing something in the shadows, “This, my friends, is a place where hounds bay, witches fly and a belief in the supernatural is as natural as breathing…or for that matter, not breathing…Come closer, I have something I want to show you both.”
“Holy Mary Mother of God…Pray for us sinners…”
“Foolish boy, prayers will not help you here.” A cape covered form followed Balin from one of the deep corners of the morgue. The form lifted its head, brushing its cape back, and standing before them was a wolf-like beast. Its massive body was held erect by robust, thickly muscular legs. Its jaws were frightfully powerful, ruffs of long hair framed the sides of its mighty face. The beast had long fangs and red, lurid eyes that were like furnace doors to hell. Its long, serpent-like tongue flickered back and forth, as though, savoring the fear of its next sacrifice. A mixture of saliva and blood dripped from its fangs; the two stood frozen, shackled by fear. Their feet trembled and their legs twitched, both fighting the impulse to whirl around and sprint down that damp corridor.
A Wistful Tale of Gods, Men and Monsters Page 12
