by Ian Woodhead
Joshua saw the door swinging back, the rectangle of daylight narrowing. He lashed out, slamming the palm of his hand into Bryan’s solid chest and ran past him, dragging Clarice as the door squeezed the light down to a single line before slamming into the frame.
“Oh fuck, my heart and mind frays at the edges. Pieces rotting away, leaving me undone and broken.”
Joshua looked back at Tommy and Barbra, seeing only the girl remaining. She had Tommy’s torch, keeping the beam on their visitor. “Do you have the keys with you?”
“No, he took them with him.”
He turned around and saw exactly why the stranger had groaned. There was no handle on this side of the door.
“Josh!”
The warning came too late for him to react. A hand slammed into the back of his head, pushing his face against the hard surface. His nose reminded Joshua of pain as the warm blood streamed into his mouth.
“Nobody pushes me around, chicken legs,” snarled Bryan.
He felt the lad’s thick fingers dig into his shoulders before he spun him around and pushed Joshua against the door. “Don’t go away, either of you.”
Bryan snatched the torch out of Clarice’s trembling fingers, then ran over to the open cellar door.
“You really shouldn’t have come in here,” whispered the stranger. He crept over to Joshua, tipped his hat towards Clarice who crouched in front of him. “You’re all so young and pretty, with flexible bones covered with sweet meat. You’re all just what the spirit of this terrible house craves.”
Those fancy words pouring out of the stranger’s mouth made little sense to Joshua. They bunched together, forming a blanket of sound. He found himself smiling, wondering if the blow against that door had knocked something inside his head out of sync. Joshua followed a deep pink gully up from the man’s jaw until he reached his dazzling emerald eyes. It wasn’t just his mind out of place. Those intelligent orbs should not belong to such an old face, criss-crossed with winkles and folds, like a well used chamois cloth.
The floor trembled, his hands lifted off the debris covered stone. At first Joshua thought he’d imagined it, until the man in front of him stopped his one sided conversation and released a quiet moan. He moaned again and rocked on his heels.
“One of them has picked up her mask.”
Joshua felt his eyelids getting heavy. As the shaking intensified, panicked exclamations erupted from both girls, and a dull yellow light grew from the ceiling as Joshua allowed unconsciousness to claim him.
Act Four
Replete in fine black cloth, Conner Delaney watched the ongoing events with a mixture of resignation and dread. He stayed seated on the second step, resting his back against the polished oak panelling, his fingers tapping a mute staccato against the plush blue carpets that now covered the stairs and the lower hallway. “She made it green the last time,” he murmured.
Conner retreated as soon as the boy’s eyes closed. Regret and annoyance filled his thoughts, hoping that only that sleeping boy had heard his former warning. He blamed the glitch in his performance squarely on her. She should have shut the outside door as soon as her flies were already in the web. Leaving a view to the blue sky, brilliant sunlight, grass and trees, only invited regrettable words.
She’d turned back the decay, reverting the interior to resemble a time before her arrival, before the murders, the mutilations, and before her vile games. “Before the bitch trapped me here.”
He stood up and breathed in the air filled with the scent of old perfume, new paint, and exotic oils lifting from the wood.
Conner should feel a sense of rebirth, a sloughing of the old to slip into the fresh. Like the house, she had brought him back from the brink of collapse. Gone were the rags held together with only rough yarn repair; his hair now felt soft, just like his skin. The mirror in the master bathroom would give him more detail, but for this presentation he would dispense with his need for vanity.
Arnold had yet to come back down. His fellow caretaker must be feeling his own version of euphoria, only he would have no history to taint his feelings. Arnold was new, he’d only experienced one killing before, and that was nothing like what was about to occur tonight. The mistress had allowed them both to leave the prison, to help the holder of the mask to find meals away from the house. Both he and Arnold had enjoyed that experience.
The others had yet to notice Conner observing their behaviour. Their reactions followed the same pattern, deep seated rivalry momentarily forgotten while they adjusted to their new circumstances. Those two gorgeous women, both furnished in new outfits of low-cut tops and mini skirts, were by the boy against the door, helping him back onto his feet. His dizziness was cast aside, eyes bulging and joints stiffened. The boy’s head jerked from one anomaly to the next, probably wondering if he was still sleeping.
He saw the boy’s eyes find him. They locked glances, feeling his pain and confusion. For the first time in over three hundred years, Conner felt something close to empathy with one of the mistress’s future victims. The dangerous emotion left when the boy looked towards the cellar door, specifically at the two other boys, both dressed like the rest of the males in black tuxedos. Unlike Conner, Arnold, and the boy, next to those girls these two looked as though the cloth would soon tear from the strain of the hard packed muscles beneath the imagined suit.
Conner swallowed hard. One of them wore the mask, yet Conner didn’t know which one. He ran his tongue across both his lips, watching the two boys slowly walk across the floor, each one drinking in the gold decorations, expensive paintings, stout furniture, before finally looking up at the huge chandelier, its yellow light dancing off every polished surface. Unlike the other boy, neither of them was aware of his presence. He had hoped one of them would look his way, if only to see if he could detect the presence of his mistress hiding behind their gaze.
Conner wondered why he should even care who carried her soul. The outcome was always the same. Only he and Arnold would be left standing by the end of the proceedings. They were all dead, only none of them knew it.
***
After every new sight, scent, and sound had finished pummelling Joshua’s fragile senses, all he was able to hold onto was Clarice’s perfume and that fact that she now smelled like his grandma. He held her shaking body tight to his, watching Bryan and Tommy continue to batter the window with their improvised weapons. Tommy stopped assaulting the glass with the metal lamp stand. He dropped it and collapsed into a plush white and red patterned chair pushed up next to a grandfather clock.
“Okay, time out. I give up,” he said. “My brain tells me this is real and my fingers and feet concur.”
“This is bollocks,” snarled Bryan, continuing to batter the glass with a chair leg.” Somebody’s having a laugh on my expense, and when I find out who it is I’m going to break their arms and legs.”
Joshua was too tired to look for explanations; his nose hurt and so did the back of his leg. Clarice holding onto him as if he was about to vanish was all he cared about.
“How are you holding up, Josh?”
The sharp pains lancing through both extremities turned into a dull throb as soon as Clarice finished voicing her concern. “I’ve had better days,” he replied. “Bryan is so going to get what’s coming to him though.” He imagined the chair bouncing off the glass and whacking the meathead in the face. Joshua grinned, the damage certainly couldn’t make him look any worse.
“What’s just happened?” Her grip on his arm tightened. “I’m so confused.”
“You’re not the only one.” Several implausible explanations tumbled through his mind. Joshua dismissed each and every one as ridiculous. His eyes drank in all the details of this astonishing transformation. This hallway now resembled a cross between a stately house and a museum. With one subtle difference: the portraits, framed in gold, looked very familiar. He squinted at one picture in particular hanging above the door of the cellar.
His heart saw the connection a momen
t before his slow brain caught up. He was looking at the girl from the photocopied pictures crumpled up in his pocket. Joshua dare not think about what this meant for him or for the rest of them. He followed the line of paintings, then stopped when he reached the stairway. Leaning over the banister was the tramp who spoke those nonsense words before all the impossible landed on their heads.
The green eyed man hadn’t escaped the mass transformation. Wearing similar attire to the rest of them, he looked like he belonged with their group, apart from his movements. There was no look of confusion in those emerald eyes.
Josh saw fear, resignation, and a touch of trepidation in the man’s features. Something else as well. He shared a trait with Bryan when he managed to pick up a rare video. It was the look of excitement.
“Come down here, you fucker!” screamed Bryan.
The man’s posture underwent a chameleonic transformation. Joshua blinked hard, unsure if he had witnessed that. Their guest now resembled a whipped dog, an underling, somebody used to being punished and spat upon. Bryan didn’t wait for the green eyed man to obey him, instead he marched towards that staircase. Joshua had no clue as to what part this man played, but right now he felt a tinge of pity. Bryan was as clueless as the rest of them but now he had a viable target in order to vent his anger. That green eyed man had better flee if he wished to spare his thin body from a bruising.
Tommy ran across the hallway and slammed his hand on his brother’s shoulder. The action halted Bryan in mid stride, allowing the man’s prey the opportunity to run, only he did the opposite. He sighed heavily then ran down the stairs, flattening his back against the wall when he passed the brothers and made a beeline for Barbra.
“What in God’s name is happening in here, little miss?” he cried, dropping to his knees. The man cast his head behind, his eyes now full of terror. “Please, help me find a way out of this demon house!”
Tommy looked at his brother in confusion, before walking back to the cellar door. He sat down in the chair vacated by his brother and ran his thick fingers down the side of the grandfather clock. “This was in the cellar when I went down there to explore,” he murmured. “It’s the same one, I’m sure of it.” He pointed to Bryan. “You were in here before us, so why don’t you tell us all what you know, otherwise I think my brother will get even more mad. I think you’ve already guessed that he has a quick temper.”
Clarice helped Joshua up and he walked, a little unsteadily, over to Bryan. The man looked back, and it took him by surprise to spot regret instead of scorn in those features. “Mates?” said Joshua, holding out his hand.
Bryan shook it. “Yeah, sorry about that, buddy. I guess I got a little riled.”
“I swear to all of you, I know nothing about any of this bullshit,” muttered the stranger.
“He’s lying.”
Joshua’s whisper was only meant for Bryan but the green eyed man’s ears were obviously keener than he anticipated. The stranger jerked his head up, their eyes met, and a freezing shiver ran all the way down his spine.
“I could ask what one of you has done to make this house change,” said the man. “After all, we’ve been in here for hours. It only changed when you came.” The man got to his feet and held out his hand. “Look, I know none of you know me, but can we not be at least civil? After all, it does look as though we’re all in this together.”
“You said the word ‘we’.” Barbra hurried past the man and took Tommy’s hand. “Yeah, I remember now. This tramp was shouting up the stairs before this happened.”
The girl had pointed out what they had all missed. Joshua now remembered the man shouting for Arnold, he also took note that back then their green-eyed colleague’s actions didn’t comply with how he acted right now. The ambiguity dried in his mouth as Barbra’s words acted like a catalyst.
Both brothers ran for the staircase, the stranger screamed out Arnold’s name, and the lights above them flickered. Joshua caught his reflection in the closest window and saw, just for a second, the trees, grass, and sky beyond disappear. In their place, the image of rough-hewn boards took their place.
The man lunged for Joshua. “Help me get out of here!” he hissed. The man’s fingers held his wrist tight. He looked past, watching the two girls run towards the foot of the stairs. Neither of them were looking at him or the stranger. “It’s about to begin, Joshua. Once she tastes her first kill, you’ll all follow the same path.”
The man opened his mouth again but a terrible heart wrenching shriek blasted through the floorboards.
He released Joshua. “What is she doing? This isn’t in the script!” The man ran for the stairs, pushed past the two girls, and raced up the stairs.
His black suit now bore a single red stain stretching from his elbow to the cuff. It looked like an old blood stain, only he knew for a fact that it wasn’t there a second ago. “Clarice, don’t go up there.” He hurried over to the girls, noticing that their outfits had degraded too. Barbra’s top now sported a ragged tear in the side, exposing her smooth tanned flesh.
He found himself being pulled up the stairs as both girls took a hand each.
“We’re not leaving you down here with that creep,” snarled Clarice.
Joshua watched the smiling man’s face growing smaller, his smirk widening just before the yellow wallpapered wall cut off his view of the room below.
“Tommy, where are you?”
The girl scanned both directions. He followed her gaze, seeing nothing but a deserted corridor, its dark walls covered in more portraits. The three bare light bulbs giving off just enough light to make out four doors spaced a couple of inches apart a few feet from where the three of them stood. The sick yellow glow cast long shadows across the bare wooden floor. Yet even with the inadequate lighting, Joshua could see irregular shaped patterns of pitch black etched in the old wood, as if scorched. This house held out its history for all to see, even if none of the clues made any sense. Joshua was sure that nothing of any benevolence had occurred within its walls.
“Why hasn’t he answered?”
Joshua took one final look down the stairway, not that surprised to see the green-eyed man staring back up and grinning, before walking down the grim corridor, taking care not to step in the black recesses as well as avoiding the painted stares. “This is a very old house, Barbra. Those doors are probably as thick as the walls. Don’t worry, they won’t be far.” He reached the first door, stopping to catch his breath. Christ, he was tired. The dark brown wood smelled of mildew and rot, despite it looking freshly polished. “Paradox is strong in this dwelling,” he muttered to himself, seriously wondering if he really was asleep.
“Why aren’t you opening the door, Josh?”
He shrugged, remembering how his stomach had flipped upside down and blue lights danced in front of his eyes when he first saw those pictures. Fantasy and reality merged. The rotting cadavers from House of the Bloodied Bride mixed with the poor woman in that picture, her final scream captured on celluloid forever. He saw himself, Clarice, and the others munching down popcorn and giggling as the photo girl shrieked, her jaw muscles stretching tight, hot tears mixing with her spilled blood while her masked killer gutted her like a dead fish, his serrated knife sawing up towards her sternum.
Somehow, the sight of three actresses all covered in poorly applied make up, walking like the parody of Frankenstein’s monster now felt more laughable than ever, only Joshua wasn’t laughing. He looked deep into his companion’s faces, knowing that only he had shared that vision, knowing that something had prepared him for what lay beyond this door, the thick oak acting as the final barrier between him and the truth of the green eyed man’s warnings.
“Christ almighty, Josh,” said Barbra. “How hard is it for you to open a pissing door?” She pushed him out of the way, wrapped her slim fingers around the brass door knob and twisted. “The faster we find those two, the quicker we can get out of this perverse fun house.”
The smell hit Joshua before Barb
ra’s scream assaulted his ears. He took her arm and threw the girl into Clarice’s open arms. “Don’t move.” Hung upside down from a thick rafter was the skinned carcass. Rope tied around its ankles suspended the body high, its ten digits painting vivid red lines across the light blue carpet. Joshua was the person who should have seen this first. He closed his eyes, not that it made any difference. His mind now showed him the unknown body’s eyes opening, its arms reaching out, a mouth opening in a silent scream. The face had changed and he saw himself upside down, his thick blood gushing out from the ragged hole in his stomach.
He snapped open his eyes and jumped back, thankful that Clarice hadn’t seen this too. The body hadn’t vanished. The metallic odour of fresh blood overlaid every other smell; his hand rested on the door handle, pausing, wanting to shut away this travesty and yet his muscles wouldn’t respond.
“Oh fuck,” said Barbra, wrapping her arms around the other girl’s neck. “Its, it’s a dead person, I…”
He saw the question asked in Clarice’s eyes at the same time he heard footsteps getting louder. Beyond the two girls, the green-eyed man reached the last step. He cast his eyes to the floor, remaining motionless. “Please, don’t look. She’s right.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” said the man. “She’s started faster than before.”
Joshua looked at the girls; he then risked his stomach rebelling by taking one more look at the dripping carcass before he turned his full attention at the still figure. “It isn’t either of the brothers,” he replied. “Not unless the killer cut away their muscles when the poor bastard was skinned.”
“No fucking way!” he shouted, charging towards them. His servile performance now looked as false as their new clothing. The man genuinely looked distraught. Was this the first true feeling Joshua had seen in this emotional amalgam?