The Punished

by Peter Meredith

  Even if he knew which were the right wires, which he did not, it was flat out impossible.

  With a heavy sigh, he let his head rest on the floor. It was then that he felt an icy draft on the back of his neck.

  2

  The house had become whimsical again.

  He turned his head quickly and sure enough, the basement door was in the process of swinging open, revealing its black depths, spilling out its noxious fumes. It made his heart thunder in his chest to feel the eyes upon him and Curt gave the basement only a quick terrified look to satisfy himself that nothing untoward lurked just there and then he hopped up to shut the door.

  As he did, he wondered why the house had begun to act in this manner. Was it simply trying to scare him? Was there a psychological hiccup in its evil mind? He didn't know, but then he considered the possibility that the house had always done this and that Miss Feanor had sat in the kitchen every day simply to counter act it, he hoped that was the case.

  These thoughts ran quickly through his mind and he had just begun to shut the basement door when quite unexpectedly, the mudroom door came silently open and there in the kitchen was Matt. He was not more that fifteen feet away, standing near to the cabinet where the small amount of excess food was kept and in his hand, he held the long sharp stake. He gripped it tight, dagger like.

  Fortunately, for Curt the older boy had his back turned to him. But that was little consolation, for Curt was stuck, trapped in the very worst possible place. His logical choices to proceed from there seemed to have dwindled down to just two: make a mad dash for the hallway and hope to outrun the larger boy or fight. The latter idea was simply plain crazy, while the former looked impossible as Matt stood a mere seven or eight feet from the only path, Curt could take.

  With running, out of the question and fighting amounting to near suicide, Curt was left to abandon logic. The first illogical option was to just stand there and hope that Matt wouldn't feel the dread cold roiling about his ankles, or sense the uptick of fear that was fast permeating the room, or that he would simply fail to see the door standing wide open. Illogical and stupid.

  His second option was not only illogical and stupid, it was dangerous as well and that was to go into the basement on his own as he had planned earlier.

  Now this thought process occurred in a blink of an eye and just then, Matt began to turn. With no time left to consider any more ramifications, Curt stepped lightly onto the first step heading down into the basement, down toward where the feral creature dwelled in its freshly dug grave, and with his breath caught up in his throat, he shut the door behind him.

  All was black.

  And at first, Curt could see nothing as the damp frigid air closed in on him and the smell of rotted death grew thick in his nostrils. His throat undulated convulsively and he gagged in silent spasms at the smell. Somehow, he was able to hold back the vomit that threatened to erupt and clung to the ice-cold doorknob as if it were his salvation.

  And in a way, it was. For Curt, his world began at that doorknob. If he were to let go of it for any reason, he felt certain that in that deep black he would never find it again and that he'd simply fall away into the horrid nothingness. Until perhaps he would land upon the dirt floor of the cellar, where he'd be lost amongst a maze of crypts and graves and low mounds under which countless bodies lay entombed forever.

  His mind, now bordering on the edge of insanity, pictured what the blackness would never reveal and try as he might, he couldn't shake the vision. It clung stubbornly, but suddenly something happened that tore his mind from petty imagining, the doorknob moved beneath his hand.

  3

  The doorknob moved, turning, however not as if someone looked to open the door. Rather just the opposite.

  It may have been a tremendously foolish thing for Curt to go into the basement alone, but that didn't mean that he went in as a fool. When he had shut the door on the light and the world above, he had very purposely kept his hand heavy on the knob and held it hard over, keeping the simple latch from engaging. He feared the house too much to trust that he would be able to walk out again as simply as he walked in.

  And he had been right. The doorknob strained to the left, gently at first but the pressure against his palm soon grew strong enough that Curt had to fight it from turning with both hands. He felt his skin peeling back, making his face twist into a grimace of pain, still he held tight, waiting. It was too soon. As long as he kept that knob all the way to the right, Curt believed that he could force the door open anytime he wished, however, he felt that it was just too soon to try, because Matt was likely still in the kitchen.

  He knew he wouldn't be able to hold the doorknob in the open position forever, but he also knew he didn't need to. And therefore, he set a goal for himself of thirty seconds, and tenaciously held onto the freezing knob, counting slowly until at the count of eighteen it suddenly went slack against his efforts. It was as if the house had given up, or couldn't maintain the pressure on the knob.

  Panting from his labor, he sagged against the door, but still he didn't relax, though he took one hand off at a time to wipe sweat off onto jeans. When he put his hand back to the knob, he noted the anger of the house. It was plain beneath his palm, swelling in its ferocity and with the foul smelling darkness clinging to him wetly, it turned his pant of labor into a pant of fear.

  Suddenly he felt the air change behind him and he cranked his head around searching into the blackness with giant eyes. His breath blew out of his lungs fast and hard as he began to hyperventilate, but then, unbelievably, he felt a return breath on his face. Putrid and fetid, it smote his senses and was enough to stop his panting cold. Whatever it was that breathed upon him must have been large indeed, since the odor came from below him, perhaps only a few steps down but still it struck him like an ill wind.

  His body went instantly numb and only his eyes could move, straining into the darkness, which for the first time he realized was not complete. Light from the mudroom slipped under the door and showed him that something seemed to be moving. It swirled and eddied, feet from him, black upon black. It wasn't the creature, it was the horror that he had seen before and no longer was it bothering to hide its evil nature, perhaps it no longer could as it solidified into an actual being.

  A blacken burnt looking arm reached out of the eternal night of the basement. It reached for Curt.

  Feeling a fright beyond normal human awareness, and without a single thought or care as to where Matt was, he turned to run screaming from the basement, but though the knob was cranked all the way over, the door wouldn't budge. He hammered at it with his shoulder, raging against it in a frenzy of fear but to no avail. With a frantic desperate cry, he turned around in the darkness not wanting his back exposed to the thing and just then, his hand struck something upon the wall.

  He fingered it lightly, his mind categorizing the shape quickly. It was the wall plate for a light switch. His mind toyed with the idea of flicking it on, but then his imagination took over and he snatched his hand back away from it as if it contained an adder ready to strike. Whatever was in the basement; he didn't want to see it fully. Though it would likely kill him, he couldn't bring himself to see it in the light and letting out a little spastic gurgle of fear, he pressed himself against the basement door and clamped his eyes shut tight.

  A second later, a long scream of anguish rent the air, coursing through the wooden bones of the house.

  Chapter 30

  The Thief's Worst Punishment

  1

  The scream was more of a desperate shriek.

  "Nooooooo!" The sound was harsh as if vocal cords had been ripped or torn lengthways like delicate ribbons. It came from upstairs, all the way from the second floor and Curt instantly recognized the voice; it was Amber's, she was in trouble, and he knew exactly what sort of trouble. He should have seen this coming, undoubtedly, Matt was threatening her to get to Curt.

  Now the scream had an interesting effect on both the cower
ing little boy and the angry black entity forming in the dark. One second, the deep ebony figure of a woman, exuding a terrible unnatural feel grew before him and the next, the thing seemed to dissipate like smoke in the wind. For his part, Curt forgot completely his fear for himself, he pictured only a cringing Amber and with his heart in his throat, he pulled himself up and made to dash his scrawny shoulder against the door again.

  But it came open without the need. The evil spirit in the house, as Curt knew, couldn't concentrate on more than one area at a time and it had evidently sent its focus to the room from where the scream had originated. Now, the air in the mudroom felt hot, wonderfully so and for just a second it made him light headed and he could only teeter slightly still holding onto the basement door, however his fear for Amber forced his worn body onwards. At first, he staggered from exhaustion and a lack of strength, hitting the table, then bouncing off a wall, but quickly he felt his mind clearing and he began to run.

  Perhaps it was the scream or the fact that Curt had escaped the basement so easily, but whichever it was, the anger of the house grew steadily as he raced, fleetly, yet quietly on practiced feet. First down the hall and then up the stairs, he sped, paying the anger little attention. That there would be a punishment soon he did not doubt in the least.

  At the top of the stairs, he paused and sent a fast look into his own bedroom, but it was empty, just what he had expected. He would find Matt and Amber in her room and two seconds later, he did.

  The older boy had Amber in the corner and straddled her, pinning her beneath the weight of his body. In his hand, he held the stake and with it poised above Amber's eye, it looked very large, capable of doing a great deal of damage to her beautiful face. But then Curt saw that it already had.

  Its wicked point was bright red and dripping.

  Amber had been stabbed a number of times already. Blood bubbled up from four different wounds on her face and neck. Curt's mind had trouble understanding what was happening. He hadn't expected to see Matt up here attacking the girl, but only threatening her, and it made him stop in the doorway in indecision.

  "Curt, no. Run!" Amber cried out to him the second he came panting up. Now he understood. Amber was being stabbed for not crying out to him. She had only let loose with the one scream despite her jagged brutal looking wounds. It touched him deeply to see her sacrifice herself.

  "No, if you run anymore, she will be the one going into the basement," Matt said in a long practiced whisper. The sound was calculated to reach his ears and no further. "And if you don't do exactly what I say, she will lose this eye first and I'm not messing around now."

  The point of the stake came closer to the girl's eye and she tried to turn her head, but he gripped her hair viciously and pulled it around. Curt believed that he would do such a thing, Matt's battered and bitten face looked fiendishly cruel and set in determination.

  "I won't run...but...I think you should listen to me," Curt pleaded quietly. "No one's coming to rescue us. I've..."

  "Shut the hell up!" Matt's voice rose louder than he had expected and the air became as charged as Curt had ever felt it, Matt didn't seem to care. "This is all your fault. Look at my face! Look at my face! This is all because you thought you could escape, but you can't. No one can. We have all tried and no one has ever gotten even close. You can't beat the house, Curt. There is no winning here, there's only surviving and until you learn that lesson, you are going into the basement every day."

  "I just came from the basement," Curt said blandly as if it had been no big thing.

  Matt's face contorted, "You lie!"

  "No I'm not. Why do you think you couldn't find me?"

  A thousand thoughts seemed to explode at once in Matt's mind and for a few moments, he did nothing but look strangely about, his eyes blinking in odd confusion. "That doesn't change anything. You still need to be punished and you're still going down there," he said eventually.

  Curt shrugged noncommittally.

  That simple movement was the best lie he had ever told. The basement and that terrible black thing scared him more than he could ever put into words and even as he lifted his shoulders, he had to fight his bladder from letting go.

  But Matt bought into the lie.

  "Ok, then the monster can come up here and you two can flip a coin to see which one it attacks." Matt no longer bothered to whisper and he had an evil light behind his eyes, "Call it," he said to Curt and raised the stake.

  Amber tried to shake her head to tell Curt not to, but Matt held her hair with his fingers enmeshed and tangled.

  "It's ok Amber, it won't be so bad," Curt lied. Defeat weighed heavily upon his shoulders, making him droop almost as if it were an emotion in itself. That he felt fear, there was no question. It was a cold lump in his chest, and as he glanced to the window and saw the light fading in the sky that lump expanded, making it difficult to breath, but it was defeat that he was having trouble dealing with.

  Or perhaps more likely it was the absence of hope. He had tried everything that his fertile mind could think of, yet he had been stopped at every turn and now there seemed nothing else to do, but to call the creature. Pausing only for a second to collect himself, still unsure of the exact manner in which to call the thing, he took a large breath in.

  "Hey!" Curt shouted. And then waited. The air practically roiled to the point that he could feel it moving gently against his skin. Matt's eyes darted about and then his brows furrowed deeper as nothing more happened.

  "Come on, damn it!" Curt screamed at the top of his lungs. It felt good to scream, to use his lungs to their full capacity. But that good feeling lasted only a moment.

  And then came the rushing noise of the creature pounding up the stairs of the basement and any good feeling within him fled before the sound. The creature's eagerness to cause pain could not have been more obvious, and instinctively Curt turned to run, but had only taken a few steps, stopping in the doorway, when he realized that if he ran, Amber would likely be punished instead of him and with a great force of will he flung his hands out and gripped the frame.

  A millisecond later, Matt crashed full into him, sending him sprawling to the floor. Dimly, he felt feet treading upon his back and arms as the older boy dashed for his room. Curt struggled up, not knowing what to do. He could not bear for Amber to be punished, yet he felt stark terror at the notion of meeting the creature again in the hall and every fiber of his being called for him to run.

  An idea struck him.

  He'd fly to his room and call the creature again. In that way Amber would be safe and his own punishment would occur in his bed, where supposedly it'd be less severe. The sound of the creature barreling down the main floor hall meant he had bare seconds left, but he used one of those seconds and turned to look into Amber's room, fearful that he would see her in one of the catatonic states that gripped her under the extremes of stress.

  She was fine. He saw her climbing into bed, wearing a hard look, a look that showed angry determination. The look made him hesitate for the briefest time, just a fraction of a second; it was so unexpected. But then their eyes met, her pale blue eyes held his and he knew she would be all right and with that tiny amount of relief feeding him, he turned and ran.

  "I love you, Curt," she called softly after him.

  2

  He loved her too, but he was in no position to reply, though later he wished with all his heart that he had. Just as he heard the words, he neared the end of the hall from which his bed lay only a few feet away, and it was then that he heard the great thumping of the creature's heavy footfalls upon the stairs; he had been too slow.

  His fortitude crumbled at the sound. And instead of running across that little bit of open hall to his bed, exposing himself to the creature and making himself a target, he backed away. He backed around the corner of the hall toward where Matt and the mouse had their rooms and felt like a miserable coward doing so. Now the creature came to the top of the stairs and paused, building the tension and fear
within the breasts of the children, purposely. With it so close, Curt's throat locked up, almost choking him and with his fear turning to panic, he glanced back and saw the stairs leading to the kitchen only a dozen feet away. But the door to Matt's room was just a few steps beyond that.

  A new plan wormed its way past his fear.

  He would scream, right there in the hall, calling the creature to him and then make a run for Matt's room. The words "... and you two can flip a coin to see which one it attacks," that Matt had said with such nastiness were now an inspiration. Perhaps the creature would only attack Curt, but there was a chance that it'd also go for Matt, especially with Curt struggling to use the older boy as a shield. A grim smile spread across his boyish features at the image and at the knowledge that the older boy would never see this coming.

  He had just made up his mind to call the creature, when someone else beat him to it.

  "Hey! Over here, you p-p-piece of c-c-c-crap!" Amber called out.

  Her voice, barely loud enough to be considered conversational, shook, warbling up and down in the extremes of her fear. The sound stunned Curt. The notion that Amber would do this was so completely unexpected that for a few seconds he doubted his own ears. Even as he heard the creature moving swiftly down the hall towards her, his mind refused to accept what was happening.

  Then his bewilderment came to an end.

  Amber screamed a heart-rending shriek of fear. It went right to Curt's soul and tattooed itself there; marking him forever, and always afterwards he could hear that scream. He would recall it in perfect detail and each time goose bumps would flare at the memory.