Rhayven House

by Frank Bittinger

  “Do what you have to do, pal, but I say write the movies,” Toby said, and then he said goodbye and hung up.

  ~ ~ ~

  Disjointed thoughts pooled together before flaring up into a full-blown maelstrom in Ian’s dreams. Every fear he had about the renovation came into existence and was magnified sevenfold.

  When he woke up, he thought he might puke. Closing his eyes, he counted a dozen slow, deep breaths to calm down and stop the spinning. Running a hand over his face and pressing fingers to his temple, he told himself it wasn’t a tumor or aneurysm about to explode and obliterate his brain. It was just concern over the house and he told himself to stop being so full of nerves. It was normal to be a little nervous since he’d never undertaken the renovation of a house before.

  Still, he felt like an utter lunatic. Maybe it was the influence of the moon.

  Or maybe he was in the midst of a panic attack. Ian didn’t know because he’d never had one.

  The clock numbers said 3 AM. Wasn’t that the time when a lot of the alien abductions were alleged to occur? And why the hell was he freaking himself out by suddenly thinking of alien abductions?

  Served him right for staying up and watching a mini-marathon of Unsealed: Alien Files instead of going to bed. Normally, he wasn’t too interested in the subject of aliens. Sure, he’d read all of the Communion books by Whitley Strieber and found them mildly entertaining, but mostly fantastical, and not necessarily in the good way. At least until he started watching the show and got sucked in by the deep, dark eyes of the Gray alien they kept showing. He wanted to name him Harold. And before he knew it, he’d watched five of the half hour shows and there was only one left in the mini-marathon. Ian felt like he’d be gypping himself if he didn’t watch it, especially since it was about the Grays and the Reptilians.

  Ian got out of bed and walked to the window. Looking out through the glass and up into the obsidian sky, he tried to convince himself he wasn’t looking for a mysterious craft hovering in the night sky. He couldn’t see much anyway because the streetlamps were on in full bright glory. They illuminated the night, pushing the dark back where it belonged.

  Damn, he was really in a strange mood tonight and he thought about making good use of it by going into his office and trying to write a few pages. Strike while the creative muse was singing her song of inspiration, or get through a few pages of edits. Either way it would be a win.

  Then he got a case of the yawns and figured he’d better haul his ass back to bed and try to get some sleep. Anything he wrote he was bound to delete in the morning anyway.

  He crawled back under the covers, punched the pillow a couple times, laid his head down, and closed his eyes. Instead of fading peacefully back into sleep, his mind filled with the theme music and that announcer guy’s voice from the alien show asking all kinds of questions.

  Instead of sleeping, he lay on his back and stared up at the ceiling, at the shadows cast by the light from the streetlamps coming through the windows.

  Times like these made Ian fervently wished he drank. Maybe he could sit up under the blanket and read one of the Mushroom Planet books by flashlight, like he did when he was a kid. Maybe then he could go to sleep and dream of his own journey to the little inhabited moon Basidium, home of the Mycetians.

  Cowboy up, he told himself as he closed his eyes. Cowboy up.

  Four

  Under the watchful eye of the trinity of ravens who’d perched atop the gate, Ian felt like they were staring at him, he took in the vines that entwined the wrought iron. He decided he’d take their presence as a good omen and not a portent of bad things to come. He began to cut the vines and remove them from the gate so he could oil the hell out of it and it would loosen up enough to open. That would make it easier to get in and out of the place. Then the real work of the reno could begin.

  He’d already made the decision to put off any landscaping until the next spring. It wasn’t on the list of essentials so it could easily wait; however, clearing the foliage from the gates and the driveway was a necessity so the contractors and electricians would have access. The utility gloves with their thick palms and hefty price tag were supposed to be perfect for landscapers, according to the sales clerk who recommended them.

  They damn well better be perfect, Ian thought. If he wound up with a palm full of blisters, he was going to kick the guy’s ass.

  Sweat started to roll off him in a matter of minutes. He wasn’t used to this kind of work, but he kept on. It made him feel as if he was becoming part of the place, making it his home. The pile of vegetation grew larger and larger as Ian kept tossing handfuls off to the side. After an hour, he knew he had to take a break for a drink and a walk. He’d end up stiff and sore in the morning if he overdid it, and it wouldn’t be the good kind of stiff, either.

  Reaching for the cooler, he grabbed a soda and then put it back, knowing he needed to drink the vitamin water to replace what he’d already sweated out.

  Surveying the progress he’d made, Ian realized he might have bitten off more than he could chew, but that was easily rectified by hiring a helping hand or twelve for a day. There was always somebody looking to make a little cash on the side. He’d make a couple phone calls once he got back to his place later and see if he could dig up a warm body or three to help him out.

  Exhaling, Ian wished he had a smoke. His hand automatically went to his pocket for a lighter and he made a mental note to grab a pack on his way home. Quitting had been easy, but every so often he wanted a cigarette. A couple coffin nails wouldn’t hurt.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw someone standing at an upstairs window, looking out at him. His heart hammered in his chest. He jerked his head around for a better view; however, there wasn’t anyone there. Must have been nothing more than a weird shadow. Still, it was enough to zap his central nervous system real good and make him do a double-take.

  Now he really wanted that smoke; he decided to pack it in for the afternoon.

  ~ ~ ~

  Ian stopped at the store for a pack of cigarettes and some soda on his way home. He broke one of his cardinal rules and lit up in the car, sucking the smoke into his lungs.

  He didn’t want to go with an actual landscaping company because One: it would most likely cost an arm and a leg to have it professionally done; Two: he could find some local college guys who made extra money during the summer doing yard work. He'd save a bundle.

  Checking the ads online, he found exactly what he needed and made the call, arranging to meet the crew at the house the following afternoon to discuss cost.

  ~ ~ ~

  “It doesn’t have to be perfect,” Ian said as he took in the flora. “Just make it less like a jungle and more like a yard so the renovation can progress without us having to wade through the growth.”

  “We can do that,” Mason agreed. “And it won’t take as long as you might think, once the three of us get out here and work a couple eight-hour days. We’ll haul it off to the dump, too. There, it’ll get made into free mulch for people from the community to come and get.”

  “Good idea. No sense in letting it go to waste.” Ian turned to Mason and asked, “And that’s how long you estimate it will take to clear this place out?”

  Mason, a criminal justice student at the university, had already conferred with his two best friends, so he had the answer ready. “By end of the day Friday it will be ready for you to inspect and decide if you need us to do any more. You’re in good hands.”

  Ian extended his hand. “We have a deal.”

  “Do you mind if we take before and after shots to show perspective customers? It wouldn’t be a bad idea for you to take some, either. You could make an album chronicling the restoration,” Mason suggested.

  “Never thought of that. Good idea.”

  Having faith the trio could clear the foliage efficiently and sufficiently, Ian went ahead and scheduled the appointment for the driveway crew to come out later the following week. It wouldn’
t be long until he had a new driveway of sparkling, white crushed stone. He justified it by saying there had to be a good driveway for the work crews to get in and out. It would also be a big pick-me-up to the look of the property. It wasn’t too expensive and it would have had to have been done sooner or later anyway. Plus, Ian liked to think about how it would sound when vehicles drove across the stone, the crunching sound. And if he indeed was able to move in before winter, it would be nice to have a decent driveway with traction when more than likely there would be a load of snow and ice.

  He shook hands with Mason and the other two guys and watched them drive away, leaving him standing alone and wondering, not for the first time, if he’d taken leave of his senses. Not from a financial standpoint. Money-wise, he’d be fine even if it took more than a year to sell his townhouse. Sticking to the plan to do only what was positively necessary to get the house in shape and updated as well as a kitchen, bathroom, library/office, and bedroom.

  Still, he wondered if he was crazy for taking on such a big project, for buying the old house.

  It was all starting to change and Ian was grateful for that. First, the yard. Second, the driveway. Then, the real work began in earnest.

  Exciting. Frightening.

  Intimidating, but he knew he could do it.

  He was also anxious for his buddy Toby to come and see the place, even though Ian knew Toby wouldn't think his plan was solid financially or the house was solid structurally or agree in any way on anything.

  At least the yard would be cleaned up and the stone would be in before Toby came.

  Toby would definitely have an opinion.

  Breathing deeply, Ian exhaled a long breath; he laughed and walked to his car.

  Five

  Ian had to admit the place looked a damn sight better after the guys cut down all the weeds and trees and any other excess foliage and hauled it away. Even the new driveway stones practically glittered in the sunlight. He hoped it was enough to impress.

  Toby Slazek stood with his arms crossed and took in the house. He took his time and attempted to formulate a response that wouldn’t make him sound like a complete asshole. “Granted, outward appearances can be deceiving, so I’m trying not to use the word derelict.”

  “Don’t be a dick.” Ian shot his friend the side-eye.

  “That could be a bumper sticker if it’s not already.” Toby’s first impression of the house was poor. The façade left a lot to be desired. “Derelict does come to mind. No shade. Just truth. I’m looking at with unbiased eyes while you see it through a glaze of what it’s going to be.”

  Begrudgingly, Ian acknowledged to himself the possibility existed his friend was right.

  “You really should take pictures of everything.” Toby pointed from the gravel to the house. “All of it. The juxtaposition of the creepy old house with the brand new white stone driveway is odd to say the least.”

  Punching his friend in the bicep, Ian couldn’t help but laugh. “You want to see inside?”

  “As long as you promise I won’t fall through the floor and end up with multiple fractures and contusions; I’m game.”

  Ian gave him a look that basically meant shut up or risk being chained up and left to wither away in utter darkness in the basement.

  Standing on the porch, Toby watched Ian unlock the padlocked doors before bending down and taking a closer look at the actual lock on the door. “Skeleton keys. Don’t you have the keys?”

  Ian said, “Nope.”

  “You should be able to easily find keys for the doors; a lot of them are interchangeable. They could be in the house somewhere.” Toby took one step inside after Ian opened the door and stopped. “I just hope you don’t find any bodies. What?” he asked when he caught the dirty look Ian gave him. “I’ve seen those movies. From the looks of this place, it sure wouldn't surprise me.”

  “There better not be any bodies. Let me rephrase; I better not find any bodies.”

  “What about skeletons?” Toby asked.

  “Shut up.”

  Walking through the downstairs of the house in a slow, deliberate manner, as if he was tentative about the sturdiness of the hardwood floor, Toby intoned, “The creep factor of this place is off the charts. Maybe you should think about burning some oregano or basil or whichever herb it is that's supposed to chase away bad juju.”

  “Only because it’s been neglected and abandoned for so long.” Ian jumped up and down on the floor. “See? Now quit being such a worrywart.”

  “It’s still creepy and I better not have to go all Crouching Tiger on any ghosts.”

  Ian asked, “Are you saying I should just give in and call the psychic to come cleanse the house or can I wait until I at least get electricity?”

  “Make fun all you want. You write about this stuff, so you know the potential risk factor.” Toby looked up. “Dude, this crown molding is the real deal.”

  Ian nodded. “I know. There are all kinds of details all over the place. Stroke of luck.”

  “What do you mean?” And then it dawned on Toby. “Please tell me you got the tour before you bought it. I say that knowing full well you bought it without ever stepping foot inside, because to do otherwise wouldn't be you. Tell me I'm wrong.”

  “At least I looked through some of the windows,” Ian said in his defense.

  “Looked through what windows weren’t boarded up, you mean. You got extraordinarily lucky. You could have been stuck with a real pile of shit.”

  “Keep in mind, the land alone is worth what I paid in back taxes to get the place.”

  Walking into the next room, Toby called out for Ian. “Did you see this old piano?” He plunked the keys. “It’s a little out of tune.”

  “It sure has seen better days and will be hauled off along with any other crap.”

  “Brutal way of thinking, pal.” Toby stroked the top of the piano like it was the one used by Mozart himself. He walked slowly around it, his fingertip tracing along the edge. “These are someone’s precious belongings.”

  “Quit checking for soft spots in the floor. The best thing for that piano is to put it out of its misery. If there’s anything worth keeping, I’ll keep it,” Ian said, “but I highly doubt there will be much.”

  “And you’re still thinking enough of the renovation will be done for you to move in by Halloween?”

  “Halloween, yes.” Ian reached out and knocked on the wall. “Thanksgiving at the latest. All I need is enough done to live comfortably over the winter and then start the rest in the spring.”

  “Get enough people out here and you’ll be surprised how fast the work gets done. But first you might want to consider cleaning up a bit first. Look at this.” Toby held up his hand to show Ian how much dust was on his palm. “On second thought, the dirt might be what’s holding this place together.”

  Clapping his hands together to knock off the dust, Toby said, “All kidding aside, this place is pretty big and seems solid enough to withstand an earthquake.”

  “I feel the urge to describe it as Dickensian. Even though the roof is bad and windows are busted, it doesn’t seem like there’s been a ton of water damage.”

  “Strange luck. You’d expect there to be a lot more. What about the kitchen? Is it a complete gut job?”

  “Leave it to you to think about food and eating, even now, Toby.”

  “Don’t people say something about the kitchen being the heart of a home even if it’s under a veil of dust?”

  “Too quaint for my taste. The kitchen’s this way.” Ian pointed. “See for yourself. I’m pretty sure it’ll be a total gut. I’m all for keeping the integrity of the house, but if I’m putting all this money into the place, I want the kitchen I saw online last summer.”

  Toby followed his friend and right away started opening the cabinets.

  “I doubt you’ll find anything to snack on, unless you have a hankering for a dead mouse,” Ian told him.

  “Funny man. Not.” Toby moved from one cabinet t
o another. “Check out all these bottles and jars. You think the previous occupant was some kind of gourmet and these are exotic spices?” Opening one of the jars, he took a whiff, promptly wrinkling his nose and sneezing.

  “Serves you right.” Ian took the jar from Toby, put the lid on, and placed it back in the cabinet. “Leave it alone. It will all get tossed out once I start cleaning the junk out of this place.”

  Abruptly, the jar slammed to the floor, busting open, glass fragments ricocheting across the floor, making them both jump.

  Ian looked at Toby, who said, “Don’t freak out. You didn’t push it back far enough on the shelf.”

  “So it opened the cabinet door and committed suicide?” A hot sensation spread through him, like a pulse of electricity. Without warning, his cock twitched to life, as if something had sparked it. Over a shattered jar?

  “Think of it more along the lines of a bid for freedom,” Toby said as he continued rummaging through the cabinets in the kitchen. His friend looked up and stared at him. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” He did his best to hide his growing erection and not appear awkward. It somewhat freaked him out, so he turned to the cabinet and pretended to stare into the space where the jar had been.

  “You look like someone walked over your grave; you're a whiter shade of pale.”

  Moving onto the drawers, Toby found a ring of raven-headed skeleton keys in one of the first drawers he opened.

  He held them up and whistled shrilly. “What did I tell you? I bet these are for your house, my friend. Whoever built this place had them specially made, I bet. Look.” He walked over to Ian.

  With his hard-on issue under control, Ian reached out and ran his fingers over the keys. “Ravens.”

  “Yeah. Somebody liked them way before they were a football team.”