by Brian Brahm
Only slivers of the once new and shiny coat of snow-white paint remained on the grey, warped, splintered wood that creaked each time the slightest breeze brushed against it. Windows were still intact minus cracks and the occasional hole where a shard of glass had worked its way loose. Shingles clacked against an unstable roof like castanets. The chimney remained intact minus a few bricks missing from the top. Hinges on the screen door creaked loudly—the rusted spring moaned as it inhaled and exhaled with each movement the door made.
Dead, cold, and seemingly abandoned; the house still seemed to carry a life of its own.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Withered, gnarled, thorny rose bushes stood at attention on both sides, as Scott and Cody walked up the crumbling cement path that led to the front entrance. Amber light fell over them, as dusk settled in, giving everything in its path a radiant but eerie glow.
When they approached the screen door, it seemed to creak louder and slam more violently, as the wind picked up its pace. Finally the moment had arrived: they stood before the door, filled with hesitancy, fear, and curiosity.
Will it look the same? Will I find anything left behind by my father or me? May his soul be with God, Scott thought.
Reaching out for a hole in the metal frame of the door where a handle once was, Scott caught the inside of the rusted gap, and pulled the screen door open. Suddenly, the main door cracked open slightly, as if something was peeking out to see who was there. Then the door slowly creaked its way open. They watched anxiously, poised to turn and run. Dust from the whirling wind moved across the floor like a slithering sidewinder. Nothing else was present.
Taking his first step inside, Scott could hear the hard wood floor moan as if it ached from old age. It seemed to give a little, feeling more like a springboard than a solid foundation.
To his right was the red brick fireplace that enveloped the entire south wall of the living room. Howling winds echoed through the chimney causing the metal chain mail to sway side by side in front of the fireplace.
Continuing to enter the home with caution, they proceeded past the living room, and into the dining area. Making a left into the kitchen, Scott could see his father opening the oven to remove the baked stuffed peppers he had prepared for dinner. His father was a man of many talents, and cooking was one of them.
“Hey! What’s wrong? See something?” Cody forcefully whispered.
“No, everything is fine.” Scott replied, after coming back to reality.
Being in his old home was more difficult than Scott expected; memories of his father manifested throughout the painfully deplorable framework.
They walked back into the dining room and walked down the hallway that led to his old bedroom.
To the left, a spare room containing workout equipment. Scott’s father had made him a gym after he turned sixteen. A little further down was his father’s room. Not yet ready to travel down that memory, Scott went right for his room, which was to the right of his father’s. The door was ajar. He gently pushed on the center of the door, exposing the room where he spent most his childhood.
Memories again flooded Scott’s mind; all were positive except for one: the horse that creped out from the depths of Hell, and paid him a visit on the darkest of nights.
They hesitated, and then entered the room.
“Small room for such a big guy,” Cody murmured.
“I was fourteen.”
“Is that where the floating head entered?” Said Cody—pointing at the window.
“That’s where.”
Scott walked over to the window, and glanced outside. It was just how he remembered it, only dead. Bleak.
Scott turned and looked at where his bed had been. He envisioned himself sitting up with the book. He was close to the level where the horse’s head first entered, and began watching him. The perspective sent chills down Scott’s spine, as he realized how vulnerable he was, seventeen years prior.
Had his father not entered when he did, who knows what might have happened?
Wanting to conclude the search, they continued, quickly peaking in Scott’s father’s room.
“Empty. Now let’s move along.”
“Why the rush? Don’t you want to look around?” Maybe see if your dad left anything behind?”
“Maybe later. I’m going to check out the basement—make sure there are no vagrants hiding out down there.”
Peering down into the basement from the top of the staircase, Scott wondered if Whiskers would hear him, and come out of hiding for more of his favorite dried cat food.
The sun had set, and the moon’s light—extinguished by dark thick clouds—lent little light to the already murky basement.
Grabbing a flashlight, Scott made his way down the stairs, and into the abyss. Matching step for step, one inch behind Scott, Cody followed, breathing heavily with his eyes stretched wide open.
The beam from the flashlight cut through the black. They could only see what the flashlight exposed, making the search tense and lengthy. First they cleared the living room. The light rolled over the bricks of the fireplace, exposing the ash-covered interior.
Black shiny remains of what was once wood still lay on the cold steel log support.
“Wait! What’s that?” Cody asked in a startled tone.
Moving the beam to the right corner of the crusted black slab of cement where Cody pointed—Scott could see what looked like an odd shaped ball. Black as the place it rested, the object sat motionless. They slowly approached with the light fixed on it; Cody and Scott were unable to make out what it was from just a few feet away. Moving in closer, the lifeless ball was fully illuminated, unearthing its shiny, uneven, dirty black fur. The light bounced off of something reflective that peered from within the matted filament. Upon closer inspection, the reflection came from a glazed over eyeball. Yellow, with a black vertical slit down the middle, the eye stared back at them.
“Is, or was that one of your cats?” Cody stuttered carefully.
“I don’t think so. I’ve owned many cats, but Whiskers was the only one alive after I moved, and he had longer grey colored hair with green eyes.”
They whipped their heads around simultaneously as if on swivels. A scratching noise came from atop the stairwell. Like a row of knitting needles slowly ripping through a piece of thick fabric, the noise echoed down the stairs.
“Probably just an animal in the garage trying to come in from the cold,” Scott said, unconvinced.
Cody seemed unable to speak, so Scott nudged his shoulder, and signaled that he was going to approach the stairs.
Cody again followed closely as Scott carefully planted one foot in front of another, trying not to make a sound. Pressing his back against the wall while Cody waited behind, Scott did his best to stay out of sight.
Waiting to turn the corner, fearing the light would expose something at the top of the stairs; Scott took one last deep breath, praying that whatever it was would be on the other side of the door, in the garage.
He turned—the beam of light turned with him as it sliced through the dead air. His eyes focused in on the landing. Startled, Scott dropped the flashlight. A circle of light bounced off of the walls and stairs until the flashlight settled at his feet. The scratching had stopped, and silence fell upon the house.
Scott could hear Cody breathing heavily behind him as if he wanted to say something, but couldn’t. Scott stood
frozen in place, waiting to hear footsteps descend from the top of the stairs.
Suddenly, the flashlight shot up the stairs until it reached the landing. Cody had lost patience and grabbed the light. They both stared at a large, healthy cat, with long grey hair, and green eyes.
“Whiskers?” Cody asked.
“Not possible,” Scott replied, with uncertainty.
The cat sat perfectly still on the landing at the top of the stairs, glaring at them with glowing green eyes.
Cody jumped and screamed, dropping the flashlight, only this time, the ligh
t didn’t reflect off of the walls, allowing them to see where it landed. Either the switch had been bumped to the off position, or the light had broken. They prayed it was only the switch.
In total blackness, they dropped to their knees, frantically searching with shaky, unsteady hands.
“Why did you drop the light?”
“Something bumped the back of my leg!” Cody replied.
“That’s not possible; the cat was still at the top of the stairs”
“It was something else. I need to get out of here!”
Cody was losing it, and Scott was terrified at the thought of what shared the dark basement with them.
Running his hand along the floor, Scott felt his pinky bump something hard, and then it rolled away. The flashlight! Moving in the same direction, he was able to grip the handle of the light. His thumb found the switch. Thank God! The light still worked.
They both jumped to their feet. Scott quickly scanned the area around for whatever it was that bumped into Cody.
There was nothing in the area that he could see, so they shot the light up to the top of the stairs. The grey cat was no longer perched on the landing.
Scott quickly walked into the living room and shined the light on the fireplace. The black lifeless feline corpse was gone.
Loud footsteps quickly faded up the stairs. Scott turned the light to where Cody was standing, but he was gone.
“Cody! Come back!”
The door leading to the kitchen slammed, then pounding footsteps raced across the ceiling above his head. Scott followed up the stairs, and before he could reach the kitchen door, he could hear the old screen door slam shut. Scott bolted through the house, headed for the exit.
Upset that Cody had abandoned him, Scott could feel rage overwhelm his feeling of fear.
He exploded out the front door, tearing the screen door off of its hinges. Nearly unloading a violent explicative onslaught of words that rarely escaped his mouth, Scott was stopped by the site of a grown man sobbing, with his head buried between his knees.
Now composed, he asked Cody if he was all right.
“No, I’m not all right.” Cody labored to say. “My heart is pounding out of my chest. I can’t breathe.”
“You’ll be okay. Let’s go back to the car and rethink this whole thing.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Sitting in the car, and contemplating what their next move should be, Scott and Cody stared at the house with mixed emotions.
They had gotten a late start on their road trip, which placed them at the house at dusk—too late to start an effective search.
The condition of the neighborhood was a shock to both of them, especially Scott, who believed there would be occupants still in the house. The vacant rotted lot where he once lived did however make it easier for them to access; they didn’t need permission to enter.
Another problem looked them in the eye—they found themselves in the midst of unwelcome guests—guests that although would normally seem harmless—startled them to the point where reentering the house at night was not a viable option.
Concerns sprouted in Scott’s mind: temperatures are likely too cold to stay in the car. We don’t have enough gas to leave it running all night, so the car heater is out of the question. If we opt to set up camp in the home, we take the chance of running into more unwelcome surprises, and renting a motel would chew up the funds set aside for fuel and food.
“What now?” Cody asked.
“Well . . . we either layer up with blankets and clothing and sleep in the car—or we set up camp in my room like originally planned. I have a propane heater, sleeping bags, and pillows, so it would be much warmer and more comfortable.”
“It’s not safe in there!”
“It’s just a couple of cats. You’re letting my past experiences and the dark freak you out. A couple of cats were able to access the house and make it their home—they probably eat the mice.”
“Sure . . . a cat that just happens to look identical to your cat, Whiskers, and who also scratches at the top of the stairwell just like Whiskers. That doesn’t scare you, even a little?”
“It was a little weird, but a twenty something year old cat wouldn’t look that healthy—the cat in the house is no more than five years, so again, it’s impossible.”
“We’re here to try and recreate a scenario so you can record a horse head from hell, and you think a Whiskers homecoming is impossible?”
“It’s different. The head is something from the spiritual realm, the cat is a physical thing—not the same.”
“The curtains! They just moved! Cody screamed, pointing at the front window.
Scott looked at the window, but the curtains remained perfectly still.
“You’re seeing things, calm down.”
“No! They moved! Keep watching!” Cody insisted.
Watching, waiting, for what seemed like several minutes— the curtains finally fluttered.
“See? I’m right! There’s something there!”
“Yep, you’re right. It’s a cat. That’s all that’s inside—cats.”
“Whoa!” Cody screamed again, causing Scott’s ears to ring.
Whiskers, or a cat that looked like Whiskers, jumped up and landed on the ledge inside the main window. Staring at them with its intense green eyes, it almost seemed inviting.
“It’s probably lonely and in need of food, that’s all.” Scott said, annoyed.
“It’s hungry all right. It’s staring at me like a giant bowl of Kibbles and Bits!”
“A fifteen to twenty pound cat is going to eat you?” He said, laughing hysterically. Scott needed a good laugh and Cody had just reminded him why he decided to bring him along.
They had both had dozed off, and Scott was the first to wake from the bitter cold. Looking at the time on his cell phone, he was shocked to see that it was already midnight.
Scott glanced over at the main window of the house. His eyesight was still slightly blurred, so it took a moment to focus. The cat was gone.
“Wake up!” He said, as he nudged Cody’s shoulder.
Half awake, Cody attempted to respond, “Wha . . . Hmmm? Tired—Go away.”
“Seriously, we need to do something. It’s freezing out here.”
A sound erupted from Cody’s direction that resembled an underwater explosion.
“That should warm you up!” Cody said, laughing hysterically to the point where he had tears building up in his eyes.
“That’s rancid! Just for that, you’re sleeping outside . . . alone!”
His reply only added fuel to the fire that originally ignited his laughter. Cody’s laugh quickly turned into a wheezing sound, which soon led to Cody coughing and gagging as he tried to catch his breath.
“I’m sorry man. That nut mix I ate earlier had a profound impact on my gaseous state.” Cody replied as he continued to chuckle, like some evil clown tormenting a child.
Cody would sometimes say things that didn’t necessarily make sense, but would have a twisted ring to it. He would do this to elicit a response from his victim, and the more agitated and serious the victim became; the funnier Cody thought it was. Most of the time—and tonight being one of those times—Cody would be the only one laughing.
“Alright man! Let’s do this like Thelma and Louise. We’ll grab our stuff, and run for the house holding hands!” Cody chuckled, again trying to amuse himself.
“Seriously? You want to go for it?”
“Yeah. It’s too cold out here. If we stick to the upstairs, and barricade the bedroom door once inside, we’ll be fine till morning.”
Cody actually displayed some semblance of sincerity, so Scott took him seriously.
“Who needs a barricade? Eat more nut mix, and there won’t be a cat within ten miles of here by sunrise.”
“That’s right brother! And if any of them should mess with us, I’ll just light a match, and boom! I’ll take ‘em all out!”
“Unless the cats have lost their sen
se of smell, that won’t be necessary. It’s good to have a plan-B though.”
Although pretentious and immature, their conversation put both Cody and Scott at ease. All of a sudden, the fear was gone. At least most of it was.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
A gnarled limb tapped at his window as if begging to be let in from the howling winds and cold. It was just how Scott remembered it.
His sleeping bag was placed in the same area where his bed used to be, while Cody rolled out his bag by the closet, which was to the right and at the foot of where Scott chose to rest.
Cody wedged wood chips under the inside of the door, which he had found outside. He believed it would make the door more difficult to open. He also placed their luggage against the door; it weighed no more than forty pounds, but it made him feel safer. Scott on the other hand, relied on twenty years of martial arts training and a .45 auto that he kept by his side. He also brought a-hundred rounds of ammo and two extra thirteen-round magazines just in case.
Feeling somewhat warm and secure in their heavy down bags, they finally began to doze off at approximately 1:15 A.M. It had been a long road trip and a stressful evening, so regardless of the less than desirable conditions; they both had no trouble falling asleep.
The sound of something sliding across the floor woke Scott. He turned his head to try and make out what it was. There was nothing, no movement, no shapes lurking in the shadows, just Cody snoring away the night.
Still half asleep and having a hard time focusing, he continued to search for something that could have made the sound. The zipper on Cody’s sleeping bag, as he dragged his feet? He thought. Possibly, but Scott wasn’t convinced.
Continuing his scan of the room, the luggage by the door caught his eye. It didn’t look like it had been moved, and the door was still closed shut.
Knowing nothing had entered the room; Scott felt satisfied, and rolled on his side for some much needed rest.
Silence filled the air, Cody had stopped snoring, and the quiet was so dense that Scott could actually hear his heart beat.