Here we are, preparing ourselves to search for a sense of excitement, all while bearing witness to an ill-fated tragedy to one of life’s many unsuspecting victims. This brings about the question of “Who is the true villain here?” Is it I for writing about such things, or you as the reader who consumes these stories of death and tragedy for pleasure? Is it the bloodthirsty murderer who preys upon the weak, or the witness who watches death occur from the sidelines while recording every moment on their phone yet refuses to report the crime to the authorities?
Think long and hard. Now ask yourself “Just how villainous is my innocence?”
For those of you willing to accept the answer that you came up with, and who are looking to plunge even deeper into the darkness that begs to be fed, allow for me to paint a vivid picture to the beginning of the horrible tale that lies ahead…
A crescent moon dangles above the twinkling stars high in the sky like a lure cast into an endless ocean of darkness on the tip of a telescopic fishing rod. A palette of Autumn colored leaves rustle against each other creating an irritating sound that could have been misinterpreted as hundreds of slices of paper being ripped simultaneously. Even more irritating than that is the sound of an air compressed car horn infinitely blaring into the empty womb of the night. A balding black male with a shaved head has his face planted deep into the center of his mid-sized, silver, 2009 Nissan sports utility vehicles wheel. The hood of the SUV had been bent upwards exposing the iron guts of the vehicle after having smashed into the trunk of a massive Thuja Green Giant. Liquid poured onto the Earth from beneath the car and formed an oblong shape drowning a colony of ants that had lived in a nearby anthill.
Not far from the site of the accident, at the top of a long, winding driveway was a prodigious mansion. Surrounding the mansion was a beautiful garden with acutely trimmed hedges...but more on that later. For now, we shall stay focused on the man in the vehicle.
Within the next few seconds, this man will awaken and will be cast into a world unfamiliar to him. He will step out of his car and head into the direction of the lovely building built tall enough that it appeared to touch the sky. Unfortunately for him, inside of this mansion are events that take place primarily in areas that exist exclusively between light and shadow…
A dark line of blood seeped out of an inch long cut across the right temple of the man in the vehicle. With molasses-like speed, the blood slid down his cheek, dripped from the corner of his jagged jaw, and fell onto the man’s navy blue denim jeans leaving behind a barely noticeable circle stain. The car’s left headlight (the right one no longer functioned since a majority of the glass shards were smashed against the tree) beamed ahead illuminating an abandoned wooded area. The animals had grown scarce, mostly from beginning their early journey of a lengthy slumber for the Winter known as hibernation. A piercing wind flung a hundred or so leaves into the air forming a tornado of Autumn nature to dance in the spotlight created by the individual low beam emitted from the vehicle. The nauseating smell of gasoline stormed into the man’s nostrils. His eyes began to slowly appear beneath his rising eyelids.
He pulled his throbbing head from off of the car horn bringing a relieving stop to the annoying sound that screamed into the darkness. His visual focus remained blurry for a few moments until he was able to get a demanded control over his eyes. The shattered windshield took the man by surprise and he realized that he had no memory of how he had gotten himself into this situation. Still feeling the effects of disorientation, the man patted his hand against the side of his seat until his fingers ran across the seat belt buckle. He pushed his left thumb against the piece of red plastic releasing the seat belt and causing it to shoot across his body and retract back into its holster in the upper corner of the vehicle. With his index finger, he pulled at the neck of his shirt and could see a blotchy blue and purple bruise slant across his shoulder and down his torso where the seat belt had been fastened against.
Blood continued to drip slowly from the man’s forehead and he hadn’t taken notice until he tasted the iron in the red liquid as it dripped into the corner of his lips. The man raised his hand and placed two fingers against the cut. He winced as a reaction to the pain which felt like somebody taking their middle finger, tucking it back beneath their thumb, and then slingshotting it forward like a flick against his temple. His dark, watering eyes surveyed the interior of the car. Eventually, he found himself staring at his own reflection in the rearview mirror. The dark figure that stared back at him looked like a person who had just walked away as the lesser of two combatants who had just had it out in a back alley bar brawl. The face that stared back at him in the rearview mirror was unfamiliar but he would have to accept it at his own. There was some swelling around his bottom lip from when his head collided against the steering wheel smashing his mouth into the jagged edges of his central bottom teeth.
The man released a pained groan as he carefully arched his back forward in an attempt to reach behind in his back jeans pocket. The right pocket was empty but the left one housed a thin, brown leather wallet. He flipped the tri-fold wallet open and noticed that most of the slots were empty. A few green dollar bills poked out of the largest compartment at the top. He counted three singles and a ten. Thirteen dollars. He stuffed the money back into place and fingered through the few cards that were within the wallet.
The first was a punch ticket loyalty card to a frozen yogurt shop called Frozen Dozen. Some tiny animals with large eyes (a frog, bear, dog, and cat to be exact) smiled happily holding hands in the bottom corners of the pink card. Buy 10 cups of yogurt and get a Small cup for FREE on your next visit! Eight out of the ten boxes at the top of the card had been punched. Only two more to go.
The next card that the man came across was a silver, prepaid Visa debit card. Sixteen braille-like numbers lined beside one another front and center. Card expires 06/21. The date meant nothing to the man who had no idea what day it was, what month it was, or what year it was. A feeling of frustration melted over the man who wanted nothing more than to find out who he was, and how he had gotten into this situation. Like the money and the frozen yogurt card, he tucked the prepaid Visa back into the wallet.
The final card in the wallet was a green and white library card. It had the words Library System of Fairfax County written in cursive along the top. In the bottom left-hand corner was a yellow box with black writing that read Access Virginia.
“Virginia?” the dark man mumbled lightly to himself. He tucked the library card back into the wallet and searched through it again to make sure that there was nothing that he was missing. Unfortunately, all of the wallet's contents had already been discovered. Like he had done to retrieve the wallet, he arched his back forward, lifted his aching ass into the air and pushed the little brown wallet back into his pocket. While doing so he noticed a phone lying across the floor in front of the passenger seat. He reached across the seat and picked it up.
The man pressed his thumb into the circular indentation that was the Home button at the bottom of the phone but the slick screen remained black. He pressed it rapidly another ten or so times but still, the phone remained as dark and still as the night before him. In the top right of the phone, the man felt his index finger rub against another small button. He held the button down and was met with the image of a drained battery with a white lightning bolt in the middle.
Dead.
He placed the phone into his front right pocket and opened the car door. Before exiting he turned the key that was lodged into the ignition and shut the totaled car down. It was a lengthy debate whether or not he wanted to keep the single headlight shining forward, but he chose to turn that off as well.
The echoing smack of the slamming car door stirred some of the nearby avian inhabitants of the woods. Sounds of rushing wind being pushed around by heavy wings littered the space within the trees. Branches shook wildly as large black birds were juggled between trees emancipating dozens of dry, crunchy yellow and brown leaves.
Caw! Caw!
The crows, unhappy with being disturbed, screeched viciously from high in the trees which were shielded in darkness. Then one of the crows became gutsy enough to leave the tree and drop onto the hood of the SUV. Soon another followed. Then another, until the entire car was lined with bulky winged bodies.
Like an organized military strike, the crows began to attack.
In a rage, they flew at the man and pecked at his flesh. He swung his arms wildly occasionally striking one of the crows to the ground but within seconds another would take its place. It didn’t take long for him to realize that he was in a losing fight. Ignoring the soreness that erupted in his legs, the man turned in the opposite direction of the car and ran as fast as he could. The caws of the crows were right behind him. The wind expelled from the flapping of their wings brushed against the back of his neck. The further he ran, the more sinister the crows began to sound. Their caws grew drawn out and sounded more and more like the gurgles of someone drowning in their own blood. Soon he reached a small embankment and painfully climbed until he tripped over a hidden ditch and fell hands first onto a gravel road.
His hands trembled uncontrollably from the pain of tiny pebbles lodged into the wet, sticky skin of his newly exposed layer of flesh. The sound of the crows began to fade off into the distance as they returned back to the woods. The man sat on the ground and held his hands inches in front of his face. If he squinted hard enough, he could see the tiny rocks that glued themselves into his hands. One by one he removed the rocks, feeling his skin lift from his bones every time he pulled. Salty tears welled in his eyes.
Fifteen minutes passed by. A total of thirteen rocks were removed from both hands.
For the first time that night he found himself shivering as he sat there on the rocks. Smoke clouds with low transparency formed in the air off of his every breath. The temperature had dropped down into the low forties. The man was wearing a simple gray T-shirt with a pocket protector. He had wondered if he had seen a jacket while he was in the car but didn’t dare return into the woods where the maniacal crows lived. He would have to go on without.
Flashes of bright white lights jolted life into the abysmally blank sky. A roar of thunder chased shortly behind. Rain was coming. The man raised up to his feet careful to not use his hands as assets. Another lightning bolt sliced the sky momentarily in half followed by more thunder that boomed like a shot set off by a cannon. Hoping to find some type of civilization, the man walked along the winding gravel road.
His hands burned tremendously. The best way to describe the pain would be to compare it to pressing one’s palms firmly against the burners of an electric stove. The man gently blew on them but all it seemed to do was irritate the nerves.
Three rapid flashes illuminated the sky. One loud burst of thunder rumbled the Earth.
In the distance, what appeared to be two flames burning vibrantly appeared in a clearing before him. The pace of his walking quickened. The semi-nude trees that lined both sides of the road swayed in the nightly wind. The closer the man got to the flames, the fewer trees that there were to make eerie mockeries of him in the darkness. Within minutes he was able to tell that they were flames encased within two lanterns that were attached to a large gate.
Behind the gate was the largest, most beautiful red brick home that he had ever seen (or at least from what he could remember which wasn’t very much.) A large semi-circle window stood out front and center as the heart of the building. On either side of that were five tall, rectangular windows each with an electric candle lamp perched on the window sill. Spouting out of the slanted black tiled roof was a towering greystone chimney that released a thick display of smoke that vanished beneath the moonlight. Two brilliantly designed pearl columns formed an archway that acted as an alcove leading up to the mansions jet black front door. The road smoothed out the closer that the man got to the home.
“Hello? Is anybody there? Hello?” The man peeked into the glass of a security booth located on the outer wall of the massive residential gate. An empty chair sat alone inside. He walked around to the side and turned the doorknob. To his surprise, it was unlocked. Six black and white screened security monitors were alive and running. Two cameras focused on opposite ends of the gate, one on the front door, one on the back door, one overlooking a gorgeous garden in the front yard, and the last kept track of a large wooden deck attached to the rear. There wasn’t any movement happening on any of the screens.
On a table beside the monitors was a black and white composition notebook. Inside were pages filled from top to bottom with names, dates, and times. The man paged through about three-quarters of the notebook until the names stopped. The final page that had been written on listed four names and beside them a time and a date. They read as follows:
Amanda Wilson-----18:24-----10/27/13
Rachel Lewis-----21:44-----10/28/13
Geneva Turner-----18:06-----10/29/13
Angela Ramirez-----22:15-----10/30/13
Each of the names was women, and each had arrived only one day after the name before. The man fingered back a few pages and saw the names of males written as well and passed it as just being a coincidence. The thing that stuck out the most to him was the dates. If this notebook had been filled out recently, that meant that it was the year 2013. Also, depending on how recent, it was possible that today was Halloween. The thought of it being a day dedicated to sinister activities sent a slight chill down his spine. He persuaded himself to ignore the thought knowing that the date wasn’t confirmed and exited the security booth.
A display of several white flashes of lightning lit the sky. Another parade of rolling thunder clapped soon after. An almost silent, calm drizzle began to rain down from above.
The mansion was ominously inviting. The large black, metal gates were spread wide open and the smoothly curved driveway allured for the man to continue forward. More flashes erupted in the sky, this time arriving without their noisy counterpart. Still feeling dazed and confused, the man trudged forward towards the building. Like the flick of an imaginary switch, the rain began to pour as soon as he crossed the property threshold.
By the time that he arrived under the shelter of the pearl archway, his clothes had been soaked. Water dripped onto the cement beneath his feet giving life to a multitude of baby-sized puddles. More thunder and lightning boomed and flashed creating the stage of an imaginary war taking place above in the Heavens.
The man gripped the heavy horseshoe-shaped knocker attached to the door and tapped it vigorously.
Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock.
Four times.
Thirty seconds passed without a response. He lifted the knocker once more and slammed it a little harder this time.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
“Excuse me!” The man shouted, his voice almost completely drowned out by the storm taking place behind him. “I seemed to have crashed my car a little way down the road and I was wondering if I could get some help by chance? Hello? Is there anybody home!?” Without thought, he lifted the knocker again and began pounding on the door wildly.
Knock! Knock! Knock! Knock! Knock! Knock!
Still no response.
He released the knocker and turned around looking out into the distant darkness that loomed amidst the torrential downpour. Countless spears of water crashed down onto the Earth from the puffy dark clouds floating overhead. The idea of trekking back to the SUV entered his mind but didn’t stay for very long. He lifted the knocker again, then released it before giving it a few more pounds into the door. His skin stripped hand wrapped around the doorknob and turned. Without requiring much force, the door began to inch open.
“Hello? Is there anybody here? My name is-” He stopped mid-sentence feeling foolish not even being able to recall his own name. How was he going to explain that to the owner of the home? As he entered the home his retinas were burned by the bright lights of a crystal chandelier that fell from the high ceiling above. Rainwater leaked from off of the man’s clothing and down onto the spotless white oak flooring.
Immediately in front of where he was standing was a gray-carpeted set of stairs accompanied by wooden railings that lined either side. To his right was an opening that leads into what appeared to be the dining room completely furnished with a light gray rug which laid beneath a long, black rectangular dinner table and six gray chairs that were neatly tucked underneath. A tall, thin vase sat in the middle of the table housing within it a half dozen skinny green straws that blossomed into pink and yellow flowers. Nailed against the far wall was a colorful water painting of elegant white yachts docked at a port with an orange and purple sunset dipping into the horizon.
His soaked shoes squeaked every time the pressure of his foot pressed against the floor. A trickled chain of water traced along the wooden floor mapping the man’s every move.
“Is there anybody home!? I don’t mean to intrude but I need help! I knocked on the door a few times but I figured maybe you didn’t hear me since the house is so big! Hello?” The only response was the echoes of his own voice that bounced around the walls.
The man explored the first floor hesitantly with a nervous hopefulness that he would run into whoever lived in the home. He figured that it was a possibility that they could help him, but there was also the possibility that they could shoot him for entering into what he figured would be considered private property. Before entering into any room he made sure to boldly announce his presence.
There were so many rooms that each one seemed dedicated to a specific activity. In one room (most likely an office) there was a harvest cherry L-desk and hutch combo with a black leather office chair tucked behind it. On top of the desk was a slim silver Macintosh computer and a clear jar filled with pencils and a variety of pens. A matte black picture frame occupied the corner and inside was the picture of a beautiful blonde with sparkling blue eyes smiling for the camera as she hugged a curly haired, caramel skinned girl. Pinned along the wall was a medium brown bookcase and storage cabinet filled with thick books focusing on business and psychology along with a few pieces of polished fine china. A giant clock with large fonts roman numerals ticked away on a near wall. Based off of the time displayed by the clock, it was one thirty-four in the morning.
The next room (a music room of sorts) welcomed its guests with an ebony satin Estonia 190 grand piano. A book of sheet music titled A First Book of Classical Music: For the Beginning Pianist by Bergerac was propped up on the music rack. The lid prop was erected at an angle lifting the lid of the piano up giving full exposure to the stringy guts inside. A gray sectional sofa lined the far corner of the room and in front of it was a glass coffee table with a single burning Yankee Candle titled Harvest. The smell being produced by the candle was a warming blend of cinnamon, cloves, pumpkin, and sweet apples.
The rain continued to pour outside. The smacking of millions of tiny droplets pounding against the windows sounded like a symphony of typing computer keys. As the man found himself entering into the kitchen, a strike of lightning flared beyond the glass of the window. The kitchen light, which was frighteningly left turned on like every other light in the house so far, flickered a few times. The man held his breath and was eased when the flickering stopped and the flashing bulbs found the power to remain on.
In the center of the kitchen was an island with a black granite countertop and walnut sidings. The island had a sink installed within it and the man tipped the cold water tap upwards. A fountain of running water poured out of the faucet and he placed his damaged hands beneath it. Veins bulged from his neck as he tightly gritted his teeth while struggling to withstand the pain that shot through his hands and down his arms. After a few seconds that felt like a few minutes, he removed his hands and flipped the tap back down bringing an end to the running water.
The microwave, refrigerator, and stove were all a sleek stainless steel. Hanging from the ceiling above the island were three chrome Freeport LED light pendants. On the wall beside the refrigerator hung a wall plaque with a bunch of dining words written different types of typography. Words like kitchen, spice, delicious, appetite and cuisine were listed just to name a few. He then noticed a calendar held against the refrigerator by a magnet that read You can’t scare me, I have KIDS.
The top half of the calendar was filled with a beautiful picture of three bright orange pumpkins leaning against one another surrounded by a sea of auburn and pecan brown leaves. The bottom half was headed by the word OCTOBER with the date of Thursday the 31st circled in red marker.
Halloween.
Beside the calendar, was a piece of lined white notepad paper with words written across it in the same red ink that was used to circle the date. COME UPSTAIRS TO THE GUEST BEDROOM...2nd DOOR ON THE LEFT. At the bottom of the paper was the drawn image of a smiley face.
“Come to the bedroom?” the man whispered lightly to himself. Surely this note couldn’t be meant for him. Possibly it was some promiscuous note left behind by an aroused housewife who fell asleep awaiting the arrival of her husband from work. The note had been written recently. The toxic fumes from the red Sharpie marker still lingered off of the paper and into the air. He exited the kitchen and returned into the main hall with the set of silver carpeted stairs.
“Hello, I...I saw your note taped to the refrigerator.” God he felt so ridiculous calling up to the top of the empty stairs as if some beautiful woman (perhaps the one that he saw in the picture back in the office whom he wouldn’t mind going a couple rounds with) was going to scurry into focus from around the corner and greet him as if she had been expecting his presence for hours. Yet still, he stood at the bottom of the steps reluctant to proceed any deeper into the womb of the house that had urged for him to come nearer from beyond the front gates like a carnival game operator telling him to step right up and win himself a prize.
The man found himself torn between three options:
He could follow the instructions of the note and proceed upstairs to the said bedroom. The chances of somebody responding to his calls even if he just simply chose to call out from the top of the steps may be higher than what they were from the first floor. Also, there was a smiley face at the bottom of the note which usually meant good things even though at the moment his memory was too hazy to recall any examples.
He could remain on the first floor and find a place to relax until somebody either walked through the front door or came down from upstairs. The chances of the homeowner spiraling into a panic from finding a strange man in their house uninvited could result in the police being called immediately and him being detained for breaking and entering, trespassing, or whatever the blue suits of justice would want to call it. He couldn’t remember much, but he still understood the fact that he was a black man in America and his time would more than likely exceed the crime.
Lastly, he could turn around, walk out the front door, and leave. Yes, he would be out in the wild beneath the stars, abused by the rain, but there would be no consequences. That is if he refused to view the possibility of catching hypothermia, becoming sick, and dying as a severe consequence resulting from his action.
He decided to go with option number one. Whether that was the best option in this situation or not is debatable.
The soft carpeting beneath his feet had a soft, welcoming feel as he took the first step onto the stairs. As he arrived on the seventh step of a staircase that had sixteen steps, the lights went out. A flicker of lightning seeped through the windows lighting the house for only a mere second before leaving the man to stand there alone in the darkness surrounded by the rumblings of the thunder. Shadowy marionettes danced along the walls. Seconds passed, but the lights never came back on.
“Excuse me, is there anybody home!?” No response as the man continued climbing the stairs. “Hello, I saw the note that was taped to the fridge! Is there anybody up here?” The mysticism of the night played foolish tricks on his mind. The man wanted desperately for somebody to appear from out of one of the upstairs rooms but his mind gave off the impression that if some figure did emerge from the darkness, it wouldn’t be friendly. He imagined deformed monsters with crooked, inverted legs roaming the halls of the unknown. Crazed cannibalistic conservatives who were patiently waiting within the black preparing to strike, kill, and feed from his flesh. Or maybe adolescents plagued with the disease of madness who had killed their parents and couldn’t wait to push a blade down deep into his own gut.
The house lit up for a few seconds as he reached the top of the stairs. The sight of a dark man staring back at him almost caused for him to jump out of his skin. As his body jolted quickly in fear, so did the figure in front of him. Lightning flashed again and the identity of the figure was revealed. He was staring into the deep, dark eyes that were his own. A large, silver antique tiled mirror hung on the wall before him. The cut that tore across his temple had been cleansed by the rainwater. His eyes were dark and dilated. He took his right hand and rubbed his knuckles across his high cheekbones. Tiny stubbles of facial hair pricked his fingers in the way that they do after a few days of not shaving. Not a single feature resonated within him.
COME UPSTAIRS TO THE GUEST BEDROOM...2nd DOOR ON THE LEFT
An imaginary voice repeated the instructions that had been written down on the notepad paper in the kitchen. The man stepped away from the mirror and followed the directions. A Safavieh Sevilla ivory multi viscose runway rug lay across the floor. The man walked cautiously down the hallway as not to run into anything unexpected. He passed a door to his right that was closed. A few steps further and he passed the first door on his left which was also closed. Beside the door against the wall was a dark wood console table with a large, glossy red bamboo urn vase. A couple more steps and he would arrive at his destination.
This door like the others before it was also closed. He grabbed hold of the glass doorknob which burned fiercely against his injured palm. He turned the knob slowly and pushed the door open. The room was dark aside from the flickering light coming out of the small electrical candle that sat in the window sill. A set of polyester Dreamweaver curtains hung in front of the window. The rain continued to pour while performing a symphony of endless tapping against the window. Against the back wall was a queen sized bed covered with a heavy vanilla comforter and sitting on top of that was another note with red scribblings. The man picked up the note and walked over to the candle so that he could properly read the writing.
REMEMBER HOW YOU LOVE TO PLAY GAMES? THE FIRST ONE TOOK PLACE IN THE BEDROOM CLOSET. SEE FOR YOURSELF. At the bottom of the note was the same smiley faced image as the one in the kitchen. He laid the note down on the sill beside the electric candle and stared down at the words on the paper.
“What is going on in this house?” he murmured to himself. He turned around and could see the closet that was mentioned in the note. Beneath the crack in the bottom of the door, he could see a reddish glow dancing around from within. The man walked towards the closet door and was met with the smell of burning candles. He swallowed a large ball of saliva that had developed in his throat and waited for the lumpy feel of phlegm to go away before venturing into the closet.
Brilliant shocks of ivory lit the graphite sky. An inconsistent beat of heavenly drumming rattled the base of the home. Thin streaks of water slid down the mansion windows like the fingertips of abandoned children locked outside begging to come back in from out of the freezing cold.
The closet door had been opened.
“Holy shi-” The man couldn’t even finish his sentence before a waterfall of vomit pushed itself up through his esophagus and ejected a greenish-yellow blend of stomach bile and water onto the wooden floor. The muscles in his stomach contracted and he retched a few more times before releasing another spillage of his innards across the floor. Strings of saliva dangled from his bottom lip. With a swipe of his hand, he wiped the remaining sick from his mouth and lifted his eyes back up to the sight that began the cycle of events.
Five tall, burning candles were placed in a large circle. The smell of spiced pumpkin overwhelmed the narrow walk-in closet. In the middle of that circle was a black-haired woman tied to a wooden chair with her neck slit. The legs of the chair sat within a thick pool of dark blood. The gash along the woman’s neck was deep, vast and was stretched wide open as her head hung fell back behind the back of the chair. Sections of the wound were beginning to clot with blood. The woman’s mouth fell ajar in a crooked, silent scream. Her hands had grown purple as a result of the circulation being cut off from the tightness of the thick rope that had been tied around her wrists. The pearl white color of the satin nightgown that fell from off of her shoulders had been washed away in a pool of crimson. Her feet, like her hands, were countless shades darker than her God-given skin tone.
The smell of pumpkin spice began to mix with the stink of vomit to blend together into an Autumn concoction of sweet, sour, and stale. Add to that the metallic smell of the spilled pints of blood and you have yourself an in-home slaughterhouse.
Sitting on the woman’s lap was a sealed envelope with the words OPEN ME written on it. The man’s heart was pounding and he wanted nothing more than to find a phone and call the police. But who was to say that they wouldn’t blame him for the murder? He did enter into a home uninvited that wasn’t his. Why should they believe anything that he would say, especially when he wouldn’t even be able to tell them who he was? The only sound in the room was that of the pitter-patter created by the rain hitting against the window. He anticipated a gurgling scream to fly from out of the woman’s mouth as she would become miraculously resuscitated just to find herself choking on her own blood, but it never happened. His arms trembled uncontrollably as he reached down towards the woman’s thighs and pulled the blood spotted envelope away from the deceased.
His stomach churned again and he could feel his insides showing more signs of weakness the longer he watched and smelled the stench and stiffness of the dead. He closed the closet door and rushed over by the window with the electric candle. Before opening it he stared into the doorway waiting, hoping that somebody would turn the lights back on and inform him that he was being pranked. That all of this was just some sick person’s idea of a joke. That the lady in the closet was nothing more than a damn good actress who was actually alive this entire time.
Nobody came.
The man turned the envelope over and held it close to the gentle, glowing warmth that buzzed from off of the electric candle. He slid his fingers inside and pulled out a driver’s license. The smiling face that stared up at him was that of the woman whose body was now lying limp in a closet, tied to a chair, surrounded by a pool of her own blood and a small contribution of vomit that his body was so willing to donate.
Rachel Lewis:
-ORGAN DONOR
-BROWN EYES
-5 FT, 3IN
-BORN JULY 17, 1990
Just that small amount of information listed on the woman’s driver’s license gave the man the feeling that he knew the woman. Information that wasn’t listed would be that she was a daughter. Maybe a sister. Maybe a mother. Perhaps she provided a lot of service in food kitchens helping the homeless and the needy. At this point, did any of that really matter anymore? Thinking about that kind of stuff left the man feeling a sense of guilt for a crime that he didn’t commit.
“You’re guilty!” his conscious constantly screamed at him. “Guilty! Guilty!” He dropped the license onto the ground and fell onto the bed as his legs grew weak and gave out from underneath him. His eyes immediately darted back towards the doorway. It was as empty as it had been all night. He put his fingers back into the envelope and pulled out another piece of paper. More instructions.
ANSWERS LIE WITHIN THE HOUSE. HEAD TO THE BASEMENT. WHATEVER YOU DO, DO NOT LEAVE. I SAY THIS FOR YOUR PROTECTION.
He dropped the note onto the bed and felt his eyes begin to swell as they filled with tears. This had become a night of complete hell. The note instructed him not to leave but why shouldn’t he? Why should he stay within a house where there is a dead female with her throat slit tied to a chair in a bedroom closet? Then his rationale began to speak to him, explaining how his DNA must have littered the home by now. How his vomit was beginning to harden against the hardwood floor.
It sounded absolutely insane, but the man was beginning to believe that these notes left behind were indeed meant for him. So the questions were who exactly left the notes behind? And how did they know that he would end up at this house on this night? He wanted answers, but fear left his body paralyzed on the bed. What else would this house of horrors have to offer?
“Do not leave the house, I say this for your protection. Go into...the basement.” He spoke the words quietly aloud to himself as if he needed to hear each phoneme in order to understand exactly what was being asked of him. “I don’t even know where the basement is.” As he stood from the bed, the floor beneath him creaked under his weight. The sound left chills running down his spine.
The rain continued to flood the outside world.
Haunting images of Rachel Lewis’ contorted face and exposed neck meat flashed constantly in his mind. The house was blanketed in darkness but the images continued to show up under a focused spotlight in his mind. As he descended down the steps he could hear the ominous whispering of the wind seeping through the front door. The man could barely see and yet he was tasked with finding the basement, the one place in the home that he never wanted to explore.
He entered into the dining room and felt his way around the large dining room table and into a long hallway. The sound of a large grandfather clock chimed through the home and almost forced the man’s heart to burst through his chest. He threw himself against the wall and held his hand against his left breast. The swift beats of his heart raced in stride with his uncontrollable heavy breathing.
Ding! Ding!
The grandfather clock struck twice from an undisclosed location. It was two o’ clock.
A tapping sound echoed lightly from down the hallway. The man eventually found a way to calm his nerves and continue moving through the dark home. The further down the hallway he walked, the louder the tapping became.
Tap...Tap...Tap.
He arrived at the door that housed the eerie sound that crept down the hallway. “Hello?” he said quietly almost praying that he didn’t receive a response from the other side of the door. There was no voice, but the tapping continued. He reached his hand forward into the darkness and felt around until his fingers ran across the doorknob. With pain still shooting around in his hand, he grabbed the doorknob and turned.
Something heavy was blocking the door. He pushed with all of his strength until the door flung open and he stumbled forward. Immediately after he was smacked in the face by a foreign object. The tapping ceased. Another electric candle sat in the window sill and supplied light for a small area in the back corner of the room. Lightning flared through the window and gave life to the silhouette of the body that hung from the ceiling before him. The amnesiac let loose a bloodcurdling scream and fell backward out of the room. Another lightning strike froze the room in time like a picture captured by an old-school analog camera. The dainty woman’s body swayed gently back and forth from the tightened noose bound around her neck.
The man remained on the cold, wooden floor whimpering in a way that no grown man could ever admit to his friends or family. There was another one, another dead body hanging right there in front of him. A dry, pudgy tongue fell from the side of the deceased mouth. Her eyelids were trapped in a half-open position and her eyes stared lifelessly down at the ground, or in this case, at the horrified man that grieved before her. Like Rachel Lewis who was tied in the closet in a room above them, this woman was also wearing a pearl white satin nightgown. The only difference was that this ladies nightgown wasn’t covered in her own fluids.
Taped to the woman’s nightgown was another envelope again inked with the sickening red Sharpie telling the man to OPEN ME. The neverending twisted games continued. The man batted at the envelope like a kitten swinging playfully at a piece of yarn. After a few failed attempts, he was able to knock the envelope down onto the floor where he crawled beneath the hanging body and retrieved it. He continued to crawl until he was positioned on the far side of the room where he huddled against the wall beneath the window sill that was captained the dimly lit candle.
He opened the envelope and another driver’s license fell onto the floor. “Why are you smiling at me?” The man stared down at the photograph before him.
Amanda Wilson:
-ORGAN DONOR
-BLUE EYES
-5FT, 5IN
-BORN DECEMBER 2, 1987
Inside the envelope was another note.
TIME IS OF THE ESSENCE. DO NOT STRAY, OR IT WILL BE YOU WHO WILL PAY. THE BASEMENT HAS THE ANSWERS. LAST DOOR ON THE RIGHT SIDE OF THE HALLWAY.
Sealed at the bottom was that damned smiley face. The man dropped the letter and rose to his feet. He stumbled towards the doorway pushing past the hanging carcass of who was now identified as Ms. Amanda Wilson. The woman who had apparently arrived at this mansion a week prior to today. Deep down inside he could feel himself growing weak. More mentally than physically.
As he traveled down the deep, dark hallway, the amnesiac could feel the souls of the murdered clawing at the nape of his neck. Their final cries for help doomed to live within the walls for eternity. He could feel them watching his every move, judging his every action. More than anything he wanted to run as far away from this place as he could, but the notes constantly recommended against doing so. The basement has the answers. The basement has the answers. He continued telling himself those five words over and over again in his mind. Hopefully, the answers he was looking for didn’t come with the steep price of his death.
The man opened the basement door and stared down into the abysmal belly of the beast. It became evident that even darkness had its own variety of shades, and the shade that floated around in the basement was ten times darker than what he had been experiencing through the rest of the house. On the top step was a tiny, pocket-sized LED flashlight with a note that said TAKE ME propped up against it. Of course, there was the smiley face at the bottom sealing the note like a sarcastic mockery of the fear, sadness, and fatigue that the gentleman had been feeling. He lifted the flashlight, twisted the head to the right, and descended down into what would undoubtedly be Hell.
The basement was cluttered with boxes that were labeled with words like HOME MOVIES, POTS & PANS, and XMAS DECORATIONS, just to name a few. Thick spiderwebs pinning from one wall to another were ripped apart as the man unintentionally destroyed them with his face. Eight tiny little legs scurried across the man’s neck. He let loose a horrified cry and slapped ferally at his neck. A pale green longlegged sac spider was flung onto the ground and quickly retreated into the darkness beneath some boxes. Trapped within his own paranoia, the man continued to slap his hands around his body batting away at phantom spiders that his mind tricked him into believing were crawling all over his body.
The repulsive musty smell of mildew ruled over the area. He waved the flashlight around the basement like an untrained adolescent wizard who had just received their first wand. The beam of light bounced around energetically, trembling significantly within the man’s shaky hand. The diminutive squeaks of a family of field mice shot out at him from within the black. There were twenty-four of them that lived down there calling that basement their home, but there was no way for him to be aware of that. Seconds later there would be twenty-three after one of their necks would be crushed beneath the heel of the man’s size eleven shoe. The sudden crunch of the mouse’s fragile bones being churned into dust within its neck fabricated the clicking sound of an unfitting key being forced into a keyhole. The light fell to the cement floor and revealed the convulsing body of the light brown rodent, a stream of blood had been ejaculated from its mouth.
The squeaking grew erratic after the death of their possible mother, father, brother, sister, aunt, uncle, cousin, friend, or whomever the rodent may have been was found lying dead across the freezing floor.
The positioning of the flashlight was locked into place as it focused in on a baroque throne chair that sat in front of a bulky old thirteen-inch Zenith color television. The TV sat on top of a dark wood Baxton Studio television stand and beside it was a VCR that flashed on and off a blocky white 12:00. The back of the red velvet chair stood high and was rimmed with a golden frame which was decorated with detailed hand carvings of Templar symbolism offering an immaculate scale of grandeur. The sound of a constant gnawing escaped from the chair’s front.
The man treaded slowly around the majestic throne until the radiant beam spraying forward from the LED bulb spotlighted members of the mouse family ripping away at bits of flesh that gave way to an emerging tibia bone. Attached to the leg that was currently being eaten away at was the rest of the body, slumped in a lackadaisical manner. The body was covered in sores and had been eaten away at so extensively that the gender was no longer identifiable. A gaping hole was ripped into the side of the person’s face which in this condition acted as a permanent alternate route into the mouth, providing vacancy to a jet black, a yellow legged centipede that was wrapped around the tongue. It’s decomposing arms seeped a greenish brown pus from the countless wounds. Wavy locks of black hair fell down across the shriveling face of the dead.
The monotonous routine of finding a grotesque dead body equipped with a mysterious note was becoming undesirably predictable. The smell though, as many times as he had experienced it within the last hour of his life, seemed to get worse every time. The vanilla envelope was placed gently against the body's lap. The mice that were enjoying a carnivorous feast scurried away as the man reluctantly reached his arm out to grab it. For the third time, the envelope contained a note and an identification card rather than a driver’s license.
Angela Ramirez
-BLACK EYES
-5FT, 2IN
-BORN APRIL 7, 1994
THERE IS A VHS CASSETTE TAPE AND A REMOTE CONTROL ON TOP OF THE TELEVISION. THE CASSETTE IS TITLED VIDEO TJR-PY08. TURN ON THE TV, PLACE THE VIDEO IN THE VCR. GAIN ENLIGHTENMENT.
Smiley face.
The VHS tape and the remote were exactly where the note said that they would be. “T...J...R.” He whispered the letters to himself feeling that there was something vaguely familiar about them together. Branches of wrinkles materialized around the man’s ebony eyes as he shut them tightly trying as hard as he could to remember something, anything. His efforts were in vain.
The flashlight hovered over the remote until the man spotted the red power button in the top right corner. He pressed the button and the television came alive. A turbulent hiss erupted from out the ancient electronic. A war of salt and pepper battled across the screen. Thousands of tiny black specks overpowering thousands of tiny white specks and visa-versa. It was an endless monochrome battle that would never attain a decisive victory.
He slid the VHS tape labeled TJR-PY08 into the VCR and watched the buzzing jumble of black and white vanish. Three white fuzzy lines ran vertically down the screen before auto adjusting into a clear frame that showed the red velvet throne. A pair of legs walked into view and the so-called enlightenment that was promised in writing was about to be delivered.
“This is video Thomas J. Ross, project year: zero eight. What you are seeing right now, and what you are about to hear may be a little hard for you to comprehend at first.” The man’s mouth hung wide open as if his jaw was detaching from the ligaments and bones that held it in place. His eyes quivered in disbelief. A tight pressure seized the man’s chest and he was being forced to suffer through the pain of what felt like his sternum imploding and rupturing his heart. The dark eyes. The creamy caramel skin tone. The receding hairline. Speaking directly to him through the television in a distorted, crackled audio...was himself.
The man (from the virtual world within the television set) took a seat in the throne chair and crossed his right leg over top of his left. He removed a pair of black reading glasses that sat atop the bridge of his nose and twirled them around between his thumb and index finger. A white button up dress shirt, with the three top-most buttons unbuttoned, was tucked into a pair of navy blue dress slacks. Appearing below his pant cuffs were a pair of walnut calf leather dress shoes by Allen Edmonds.
“At this point, you probably have absolutely no memory of who you are, so let me tell you. My name...or better yet, our name is Thomas Joseph Ross. You are the Chief Operating Officer of a half billion dollar corporation called Magari Incorporated. For the past eight years, you have been participating in this ritualistic activity to satisfy the needs of a personal thrill that is simply lacking from the other three hundred and sixty-four days out of the year. I mean what better time than Halloween, am I right?” Thomas (the virtual one) let loose a string of cackles.
“A majority of people would probably tell me that I’m sick for the things that I do on Halloween, but they obviously can’t comprehend the fine line that divides mental sickness with boredom.” Television Thomas pulled a folded piece of notebook paper from out of his front pocket and placed the glasses back onto the top of his nose. “Allow for me to break things down for you in bullet points so that I don’t miss anything. Understanding is a crucial part of successfully completing the game.” He winked at the camera flirtatiously.
“First thing to explain is why you have no memories at the moment.” He leaned down beside the chair and lifted up a syringe into camera view that had been conveniently placed. “Magari is currently one of the top donators for a sixty thousand dollar drug called Zodiasepinephren which causes short-term effects of amnesia. It is currently being developed to help bring forward repressed traumatic memories for victims of sexual and or physical abuse by temporarily locking away a person’s common thoughts and memories. The drug normally wears off between four and seven hours and I am injecting it into myself at ten o’clock sharp. Also, the drug causes the user to lose consciousness for about a half an hour after its initial usage. And just a little side note here, this is the first year that I am doing this after taking the Zodiasepinephran. So just imagine how much planning went into making all of this feel mysterious and exhilarating as well as making sure that we have another successful year!”
“By this time I’m sure that you’ve noticed the dead girls that are strewn throughout the home, and yes, this is your home. Each of them is a prostitute who lived a lifestyle that would have eventually resulted in their death or their incarceration. I simply sped up the timetable for one of those circumstances. They agreed to come back to the home after I promised to pay them twenty thousand dollars for two hours of service. Their names are-” Television Thomas reached forward out of the camera and then sat back with four rectangular cards in his hands. “Let’s see...we’ve got Rachel Lewis. Amanda Wilson, Geneva Turner, and Angela Ramirez.” He continued thumbing through the cards post reading off all of their names. “No big loss.”
“You’re probably wondering about the cut on your forehead and why you woke up in a crashed car. Well, I...or you did it all to yourself.” Television Thomas dropped the cards onto the ground and refocused his complete attention towards the camera. Man, this shit is a lot more confusing to explain when talking to my future self than I figured it would be.” He bared his fangs at the camera like a heartless vampire that couldn’t wait to dig their jagged teeth into a chunk of flesh. “There should be a cut somewhere along your forehead. You did that with this razor blade.”
He held an inch long blade up close to the camera lens that took a few seconds before it could clearly refocus.
“After using the razor, I’ll make sure to throw it out into the woods along with the syringe with the Zodiaspenephrin. The SUV that you woke up in is a throwaway car that has been down in that ditch for years. I own over fifty acres of private land so there is nobody walking around those woods who would ever discover it.”
“Before I end this recording, I think that it should come as common sense to you just how necessary it is to dispose of the bodies. Bury them in the garden. Make sure that this is done within the next two days because Marie and Isabella, your wife and daughter, will be coming home from vacation and it might not go over too well if they return to a home filled with bloody, maggot infested corpses.” Television Thomas grinned at the thrilling thought of his future kills. “Also, make sure to tear the pages out of the visitors log in the security booth with the ladies names on it as well as destroy this tape. No need to incriminate ourselves now.”
Amnesia. Thomas couldn’t pull his eyes away from the television set. If everything that was being said was true, then he should be regaining his memory within the next hour. He also couldn’t believe that the man on the TV screen was him, talking about kidnapping and murdering women like it was a sport.
“Well, that pretty much covers it. Here’s hoping that you find your way back home, find the letters left behind, and find this tape.” Television Thomas stood from off of the throne and walked towards the camera and fumbled around before dropping his face back into view. “I almost forgot! One of the ladies will still be alive by the time that you find this video. I haven’t decided which one yet. She will be locked inside the panic room which is set to automatically unlock and release her at three in the morning. If she escapes, she will contact the police and you will be charged with multiple counts of homicide. Kill her, or spend the rest of your life in prison.” The camera wiggled around some before a piece of paper with a large smiley face drawn on it was held into focus. Seconds later, the tape ended and was automatically ejected by the VCR. The static war inside of the television between white and black resumed.
Thomas clutched the remote in his hand and pressed the power button bringing an abrupt end to the electronics short lived life. He turned and blasted the rotting corpse behind him with a shot from the flashlight. To think that he was capable of committing such a horrific crime against another human being. He collapsed onto the ground and slammed his back into the television stand. Thomas went on to weep hysterically in the darkness with his legs wrapped in tightly to his chest. He dropped his head down into his knees, muffling the sobbing and sniffling noises.
The rain had begun to slow. Sparks of lightning still occasionally lit up the night sky but the thunder had moved on. The stinging smell of mold and mildew started to comfort the man as well as bring about a sense of familiarity. Voices of the past screamed from out of the darkness and flooded over the small sliver of sanity that still existed within Thomas’ mind. The feelings of remorse, guilt, fear, were all instantly washed away. The black of the basement caressed the man’s soul and administered an icy dose of adrenaline into his veins. Thomas’ heart pumped faster and faster until the blood rushed into his head so quickly that it created a euphoric high. He lifted his head and laughed madly as the flashlight rolled back and forth across the ground shining across the left half, then the right half of the remains of the woman in front of him. Like an infant throwing a tantrum, Thomas kicked his legs and slapped his hands against the ground as he continued to laugh. A concert of chittering mice joined the man as he descended deeper and deeper into the madness that had repossessed his mind.
Ding! Thomas’ laughter ceased immediately as he allowed his brain to process the familiar chime that echoed through his home.
Ding! The grandfather clock tolled it’s commanding bell for the second time.
Ding! The long, black hands of the grandfather clocked pointed directly north and directly east respectively. The house was silent. Thomas lightly rose to his feet knowing exactly what was supposed to happen at three in the morning. Loud clicking noises resonated from the second floor and invaded the peacefulness of the basement. Thomas’ eyes bounced around in the darkness and he tiptoed towards the steps trying to prevent himself from making any unnecessary noise. Then there was a scurrying of footsteps that swept across the floor above the man’s head. Like a rocket breaking through Earth’s atmosphere, Thomas launched himself towards the steps.
The duo of footsteps coincided with one another. The only living female in the house rushed as quickly towards the front door as her body would allow. She arrived at the top of the gray carpeted steps and felt her eyes widen as they studied the door that stood invitingly at the bottom of the descent. Behind that door was freedom. There was life and opportunity. A looming dawn of the final day of October where she could offer to take her three-year-old nephew who had picked out a Buzz Lightyear costume Trick-or-Treating. The chance to attend community college and make something positive out of her life that could emancipate her from the sadness and humility that came packaged with satisfying selfish perverts for a handful of twenty dollar bills. But that was only if she could make it through the front door, because if she didn’t...her life would be brutally snatched away.
The woman, (more commonly known as Geneva Turner on a normal day) lunged her arm forward towards the door as her shoeless feet slammed onto the hardwood floor. She grabbed the doorknob and was hurled to the floor by a wicked backhand from the murderous millionaire, Thomas Ross.
“Tsk.Tsk.Tsk.” Thomas clicked his tongue against the rigged roof of his mouth while wiggling his index finger back and forth insinuating his disappointment in the frightened prostitute. “Now where were you planning on going? Last I remember, the money that you shoved into your disgusting pockets acted as the signature to our mutual contract. You know, the one where you agreed to pleasure me?”
“You’re crazy!” Geneva screamed as she pushed herself back into the dining room. Trickles of blood slid into her mouth from a cut opened up on her bottom lip from the bony knuckle of Thomas’ hand. The madman crept closer and closer. Tears poured out of Geneva’s chestnut brown eyes. “Please...just let me go home.”
“No, I’d rather not.” Thomas pounced on top of Geneva and folded his callused fingers firmly around her neck. She kicked uncontrollably and could feel the life being slowly vacuumed out of her body. Her eyes began to roll into the back of her eyelids. She forced out a few raspy coughs hoping that a backdraft of oxygen would kick back into her lungs. In a desperate attempt, she swung her arms towards Thomas’ face and succeeded in connecting a clubbing blow against his left eye. His grip loosened and Geneva pulled herself to her knees and then to her feet as she ran off into the shade.
Geneva’s hands layered on top of each other against her mouth in an attempt to deaden the noise of her breathing. She quietly entered into an open room and was tapped in the face by the lifeless toes of Amanda Wilson who still dangled from the ceiling like a piece of strange fruit. Geneva made an uneasy squeal from beneath her hands as she slithered around the body whose eyes seemed to follow her every move as the noose twisted the carcass in circles. She bent down beside the bed and slid her body underneath. Thomas’ rhythmic footsteps preyed upon Geneva’s fragile emotions. Tears poured down her face but she somehow found a way to cry without making any noise.
A kitchen drawer slammed shut sending tremors into the still night. Thomas gripped an eight-inch butcher knife within his sensitive hands. The adrenaline that pumped through his bloodstream nullified any pain that would have sent shockwaves up his arms earlier in the night. He took the tip of the blade and dragged it gently along the wall as he marched up and down the hallway. Geneva’s body shook only inches beneath the metal bed frame. She listened as Thomas whistled an inaudible tune with a fluttering off-key pitch.
Run! Her conscience scolded. Run!
The second that the woman decided to listen, a pair of legs stopped in the doorway. The sound of steel slicing through thick, braided strands of hemp irritated the nerves in Geneva’s top two front teeth as she had just bitten down on a freezing block of ice. A loud thump crashed through the room as the body of Amanda Wilson tumbled onto the floor. Her eyes, more barren than the widest of wastelands, pierced through Geneva’s skin and stared deep into her wavering soul. Amanda’s right arm bent awkwardly like a floppy piece of moist Playdoh. Her index finger ironically pointed in Geneva’s direction as if to silently say She’s under the bed! Kill her! Kill her just like you killed me!
Thomas grabbed both of Amanda’s legs and tucked them beneath his armpits. As her body was dragged out of the room, the bumping of Amanda’s head against the floorboards manipulated her mouth into a cocked smile. Even Death himself had a sick sense of humor, constructing wicked facial features on the dead with his invisible strings like a master puppeteer. Thomas and the one hundred and twenty-four pounds of meat that was Amanda faded into the blackness of the hallway.
This is it! Go now. RUN! There it was again. That mysterious voice that directed Geneva’s life decisions demanded to be obeyed. The familiar one that imitated the shrill sound of her own and would tap into whatever primitive instinct that still lurked deep within a twenty-first-century human who relied mostly on the power of technology to survive. That voice wanted for her to live.
So she listened.
Like a seasoned military veteran, Geneva Army crawled her way out from beneath the bed and darted towards the hallway. The mind-bending illusion that the walls of the home were closing in on her brought life to a minor panic attack. The air felt like it was being sucked out of the building and into a giant whirlwind that would then eject it all into the galaxies. Her vision grew blurry and she struggled to maintain her focus as she stumbled through the hallway and into the main parlor. The front door was fifteen feet away but it might as well have been fifteen miles. Geneva fought against her body which was willing to fail and surged towards the door with as much energy as she could build into her skinny legs. A thick mist shrouded around her brain and made thinking logically feel like a forced chore.
“Get outside,” Geneva whispered softly to herself. “You have to...get outside.” She sucked in small gulps of air like a toddler sipping juice out of a sippy cup. Her hand clasped around the doorknob and she pulled. It opened. Freedom was inches away. Her eyes found themselves lost within the hazy mist that rose above the massive front lawn. Thoughts of her past raced through her mind. The decisions that she was proud of. The ones that she wasn’t so proud of. Regrets of how she wished she wouldn’t have missed her nephews last birthday party, or her sister's wedding because she was too doped out of her mind off heroin with some stranger who had left her with nothing more than fifty bucks on a filthy motel nightstand by the time that she would finally regain consciousness. The events of her life that she wished she could do over far outweighed the ones that left her standing there in the doorway with a crooked smile poorly drawn across her face. It wouldn’t be long now before she would be welcomed into a celestial haven where the sins of her life would be washed away. The first ones to greet her would be Amanda Wilson, Rachel Lewis, and Angela Ramirez.
The darkness before her was engulfed by the overwhelming presence of a smothering light. The lower her eyes began to shut, the brighter the light became. Time stopped. The soothing melodies of harps, flutes, and trumpets latched onto the woman’s spirit and floated away. Geneva Turner’s body slumped forward smashing headfirst into the concrete. Five inches of the sharpened kitchen blade stood erect, glimmering against the glow of the descending moon. The other three inches were submerged into the back of Geneva’s skull.
Like he had done with Amanda, Thomas grabbed Geneva’s body by the legs and dragged it back into the house. A river of blood flowed from the concrete onto the white oak floor. The front door was closed exiling Thomas and the four bodies of the murdered prostitutes from the outside world. The feathery notes of the piano serenaded the home as the night died and gave birth to a distant twilight. The dew covered grass glistened beneath the morning sun. What a beautiful beginning to Halloween.
The sound of a car door slamming in the distance traveled around the side of the house and into Thomas’ ears. He shoved the edge of the spade into a patch of soft soil and lifted himself to his feet. With a few quick swipes of his hands, Thomas brushed the traces of dirt from off of his jeans. He pushed the pair of black glasses that rode his nose closer to his face and wearily walked towards the source of the sound. He whipped his head back and quickly scanned the quality of his gardening. Shaking his head in a personal nod of approval, he continued on.
“Daddy!” A long locked, bouncy-haired girl rushed towards Thomas and ran her head going full speed into his lower abdomen. He let out a defeated groan and cupped his hand around the back of his daughter's neck. “Me and mommy got you a present from…” The eight-year-old girl lifted her head and gave off a guilty expression having forgotten where she and her mother had traveled.
“From Paris?”
“Yeah, yeah! Paris. We got you a gift from there. You gotta come see!” As fast as the girl had run towards her father, she darted off in the opposite direction. “Mom, daddy’s in the back by the garden.” Her tiny, innocent voice carried weightlessly in the wind.
“Ah! There you are.” A blonde haired, blue eyed woman emerged from around the corner of the massive house. She walked up to Thomas and greeted him with an aggressive kiss on his lips that almost knocked him backward. After a few moments of embrace, she stepped backward and analyzed her husband. “Tom you’re filthy.”
“Yeah, I know. I was back in the garden pulling out some weeds and checking on the fertilizer.” Thomas shrugged his shoulders as he looked embarrassingly down at his clothing. “How was Paris?”
“It was gorgeous. I just wish you would have been able to come. We really missed you not being there.” She wrapped her long arms around his shoulders and interlocked her fingers with ruby painted fingernails around his neck.
“I know, I know. Trust me, I would have much rather been there with you guys than here but work has just been crazy lately.” He leaned forward and gave her three rapid pecks on the lips.
“And I’m very proud of you for working as hard as you do.” She leaned in for another kiss and was interrupted by the bossy commands of their daughter.
“Mom! Dad! Let’s go inside so we can show you what we got from Parsa!” The loving couple chuckled to one another and released from each others grip.
“I think she means Paris.” Thomas raised his eyebrows and grabbed ahold of his wife’s hand and together they walked around to the front door of the home. Laughter and love escaped the house as gifts were open and stories were shared. Some of them true, others far from it.
The buckets of blood that had been spilled in the home only days prior to the return of Thomas’ wife and daughter would forever be soaked into the floorboards. The blood-curdling screams would haunt the hallways for anyone who entered that was willing to listen. Bits of black videotape containing footage of Thomas instructing a drug-induced version of himself to kill smoldered in the flameless fireplace. Four rotting bodies began decomposing beneath the garden that Thomas’ daughter would pick fruit and vegetables from come the following Spring.
Those four women whose tragic deaths were described would join dozens of other victims from previous years who had merged with the Earth and had become one with the nefarious property.
Dozens of others were still to come.