A Place So Wicked

by Patrick Reuman

  Richard pulled out from the driveway in a reckless skid. He was angry, and it wasn’t like there was ever traffic on their road anyway. The damn place was an empty wasteland. He remembered what his wife had said about the neighboring house being empty and wondered if he should have taken it a little more serious. It was a thought he would have to address later, though, because his mind was already bent on confronting David Masterson.

  He sped down the road, stopping only momentarily for the red sign at the end of the street. He turned the corner and headed straight for the realtor’s office. He was going to give that son of a bitch a piece of his mind, and he was excited about it. It was his fault, the realtor, that they were even in this position. How could he not have found the key yet?

  They had been there for days now, and not a word had been heard from this guy about it. Clearly, he didn’t give a shit. But that was going to change today.

  He reached the small building, pulling into the driveway nearly as quick as he pulled out from his own. Just as expected, the realtor’s car was sitting there in the lot. Richard pulled up right next to it, throwing the car into park. He got out, slamming the door behind him, hoping the rat bastard heard him coming, hoping he was afraid. He could shit his pants for all Richard cared.

  He pushed open the metal door, feeling a cool, air-conditioned breeze blow back at him. There was a secretary sitting behind the front desk who looked up upon Richard’s entry, but he walked right past her without a word, despite her feeble protest. He knew where his office was. If he didn’t already know he was coming, he didn’t need this lady giving the realtor a heads up, a chance to come up with an excuse and escape Richard’s wrath.

  He entered a short hall and then pushed open the door to his office. David Masterson looked up in surprise, definitely wondering how Richard had made it past the secretary, as if the small woman out front was some sort of heavily armed guard. He stood, seeing the fury in Richard’s eyes.

  “Mr. Harrington, what can I help you with?”

  Richard stormed up to the desk. David’s phone sat face-up next to a stack of papers, easily in David’s view. The screen was lit as well, an obvious sign that someone had just been using it. At the top of the screen, Richard could see a little voicemail symbol. The man hadn’t even bothered to listen to Richard’s voicemail. No wonder he looked so surprised to see him standing there.

  Richard spoke slow and with venom, the words seething from his mouth. “Where the hell is the key to that room in the basement?”

  David looked at Richard, a look of confusion on his face that only pissed off Richard even further.

  “The key to the room in the basement. The one you told me a couple days ago you would be looking for. The one I’ve been trying to call you about!”

  Recognition dawned, but Richard wasn’t buying it. This guy was a snake, a liar that could compete with the best of them.

  “That one!” David said. “Yes, I remember now.”

  “And?” Richard said, so near the edge of his patience.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?” Richard snapped. He wished he had fangs, so he could show his teeth, so he could inject into this guy’s head exactly how angry he was.

  “I don’t know. I wasn’t able to find it. I’m not sure where it is.”

  Richard’s face actively turned a shade of red. Everything that had happened to his family since arriving at the house, Richard believed, at least potentially, stemmed from whatever the hell was rotting away in that basement, and this guy, the one person who should know where the key was, had no god damned idea. Richard placed his fists on the table and tried to calm himself. Hitting this guy and getting himself thrown in jail would do absolutely nothing to better the situation. But boy would it feel good.

  “Honestly,” the realtor started, “I’m just as surprised about all this as you. The last people to live in that house never mentioned a locked room in the basement or a stinky smell.”

  Richard’s eyebrow rose. “They never asked about the key? How long did they live there for?”

  “Oh, not all that long.”

  Richard found it hard to believe that people lived there and never wondered at any point why they couldn’t get into the room in the basement. Had there not been a terrible smell stemming from the room, he still would have been curious and would have wanted to get inside. It was a locked room in his house. Just as if it were any other room in the house, he would have wanted to see inside. It was his right.

  “Why did they leave?” Richard asked, suddenly curious with an idea.

  David considered the question, for too long, Richard thought.

  “I’m not sure,” David said. “Financial issues, I think. They left in such a hurry. They hardly said goodbye.”

  Or, Richard thought, there was something in the basement, and maybe it did stink to high heavens, and that was what drove the former family away. Maybe the house had some chronic problem this rat had neglected to tell Richard of.

  He didn’t doubt, even for a moment, that this guy would lie to him. He doubted, even further, the man’s story, that the former family had never asked about the room and had been struck by sudden financial issues. Richard remembered now how anxious the realtor had seemed to get them into the house, like he was on some sort of deadline. He was all too willing to ignore any downside to them buying. Like when Richard had mentioned that he was only just starting his new job. That would have been a red flag to any other house dealer, the fact that long-term employment was not guaranteed, and thus, payments were not guaranteed. Things like that could stop you from getting a small loan or even a credit card, yet it seemed to be just fine when it came to buying this house.

  He recalled trying to buy his first new car, when the salesmen told him he may not get a loan because, despite his advanced degree and new job, his time at the new job was not long enough to impress the banks. Why had that not been an issue here? And any problem with the house that Richard presented, like property taxes and potential heating problems due to the house being old, the realtor was so quick to dismiss, telling Richard everything would be perfectly fine, that he was used to working with new homeowners, and that all these fears were perfectly normal.

  When Richard didn’t respond to his financial issues excuse, David continued. “But I’ll get someone in to take care of the problem as soon as possible. I understand your frustration.”

  “Okay…” Richard said, not moving from where he stood.

  It took a minute, but David took the hint. “Oh, now! I’ll do it now.”

  Maybe the rat did have brains, Richard thought, his nerves simmering just a little.

  David picked up his cell phone and dialed a number. They waited a moment, Richard just barely able to hear the soft ringing coming from the receiver. Then someone answered.

  “Hello, Joseph! Yes, it’s David Masterson down at Black Falls Realty.” David smiled and nodded at Richard, like they were friends and Richard was supposed to be in on some inside joke. “Yes. Yes. I’m okay. I just have a little problem.”

  Richard could hear the voice speaking on the other line but not nearly loud enough to know what the man was saying.

  “I have a house I sold. Thirteen Ripley. There’s a room in the basement, from what I understand, and the owners can’t get into it. We can’t find the key, so we need a locksmith.”

  David paused as the other person spoke.

  “When is the soonest you can get in to check it out?”

  David frowned and glanced up at Richard.

  “Okay. Okay. Thank you.”

  David pulled the phone away from his ear and ended the call with a somber look. “I’ve got good news and bad.”

  “Okay,” Richard said.

  “The good news is, he can get in to check it out and will as soon as possible.”

  “And the bad?” Richard asked.

  “That won’t be for two days.”

  Richard’s anger rose again. Only, this t
ime, far less so than before. He was frustrated, but at least the guy did something instead of pushing him off like he did last time. He supposed it wasn’t his fault the locksmith couldn’t fit them into his schedule sooner. Unless he had called the locksmith in the first place instead of avoiding his calls.

  “All right,” Richard said, ready to get out there. He couldn’t stand the man’s plump face any longer.

  “I’m sorry it couldn’t be sooner.”

  Richard just nodded, not wanting to continue the conversation.

  “Maybe the problem will work itself out by then,” David said, a smile now replacing the anxiety on his face.

  Richard wasn’t sure how that was supposed to happen, but he didn’t care to ask. He told him to give them a call with any updates and then left. He wanted to get back home, but before he could do that, he had one quick stop to make. Two days was too long.

  24

  Toby watched at a distance as his mother stood in the kitchen, staring down silently at a dish of food. He wasn’t sure when it came, before his father left, sometime earlier in the morning, or after, in the twenty or so minutes since his dad left. But since he arrived downstairs, his mother had done nothing but stare at the dish.

  The whole house was in a state. His dad was gone. Paisley had left a short while ago. Trevor and Robbie were locked away in their rooms like they had the plague. That left him and his mother, who seemed right then to be just as gone as the others. Which left him, alone.

  But for once, he didn’t mind. He was in his own place as well. Only his world, unlike the others, was good. He was happy. He still couldn’t believe what had happened the night before.

  He recalled sneaking back in, the house draped in darkness, and finding his way back up to his room. For the first…however long it had been, he stared through the window at the house across the street, at the bedroom he knew to be Addy’s. But it wasn’t because he wanted to see Addy in the way he had before, in some teenage perversion, but because he wanted to feel close to her again, even if it was only from a distance. If he could just set his eyes on her, he had thought.

  But she never appeared in the window. The bedroom light across the way never turned on. In his fantasies, he imagined her lighting the room and coming to her window to look across at him just as he was looking across at her. Their eyes meeting, sharing something more special than words or a touch.

  That didn’t happen. But that was okay. The warm, butterfly feeling had lasted all night into the morning. Even as he stood there watching his mother stare at a dish of food like a confused zombie, he felt something amazing, something he had never even imagined was possible. The feeling had its own life, its own fire, spreading to every corner of his body, taking root in the crevasses of his mind and body, even his soul.

  He thought about heading across the street to say hello to Addy but decided not to after a minute of mental deliberation. It all boiled down to him not wanting to seem needy. So far, she had been coming to him, and that was okay with him.

  Instead, he sat on the couch and turned on the television. Flipping through the channels, he didn’t stop until he came across a news network, which was going on about some auto accident that had happened on a highway that sound only mildly familiar to him, like maybe it was one of the roads they had taken to get to Black Falls. Then came the weather, which forecasted sunny skies, a happy change from how the weather had been recently.

  Toby heard the sound of the refrigerator opening then the clatter of the dish being placed inside. He wondered why she hadn’t just thrown it out given that they hadn’t touched any of the previous dishes left strangely on their doorstep. His mother left the kitchen and went upstairs without a word to Toby.

  Shortly thereafter, Toby heard the door handle turn and in came his father. Immediately, he saw the frustration in the man’s eyes. That’s how his dad appeared most of the time as of late, a polar opposite of how he knew him to be. Just like his mother, his father didn’t say anything; he simply walked past the opening to the living room. Toby saw something in his dad’s hand but didn’t catch exactly what it was before he disappeared. He heard the sound of his dad placing whatever it was on the counter, then, again, like his mother, his father rounded the corner out of the kitchen and headed up the stairs. Toby thought it strange that he didn’t at least get a hello. Maybe his dad hadn’t even noticed him, his mind too focused on whatever it was he was doing.

  The news ended, and Toby leaned back, closing his eyes. The fact that he spent most of his night awake in a state of extreme happiness was finally catching up to him as his eyelids began to feel heavy. He yawned, stretching his arms as air escaped his lungs.

  His dad came rushing down the stairs with loud, heavy footfalls. He stepped into the living room, a crowbar in his hand, and a small box in the other, startling Toby into dizzy awakeness.

  “I need your help; Robbie is still pretty sick.”

  Toby sat forward, blinking. “With what?”

  “The locksmith can’t come for a couple days, so we’re going to break the door down.”

  That’s when the presence of the stench came rushing back to him. He had been so overwhelmed in his own thoughts that his mind managed to shut out the horrible aroma that had plagued their house. He was about to argue that he didn’t want to go down there but stopped himself, noticing quickly, now that he was more alert, that his father looked in no mood to argue. He would lose either way, and he didn’t need his father’s wrath added on to the agony of having to tread down into the putrid pit that was their basement.

  Toby stood and walked over to the front door to put his shoes on, his mind telling him it was something he should do. He supposed that if the basement stunk as bad as it did, then maybe the subterranean room was dirty, even though the running theory was that the stench was stemming from inside some room that he hadn’t even seen yet. He imagined stepping on a rusty nail and dying from whatever was making his brother and uncle sick.

  His father didn’t say anything about the shoes as they started toward the basement. Generally, this would be against the rules, but his dad had his shoes on as well. Everything seemed to be falling into chaos, the entire house in a constant state of ruleless disarray.

  Just outside the basement door, he could already smell the stench more thickly, like it was a tangible substance, a scented aerosol that someone had gone overboard with spraying. He realized then that he had been unknowingly avoiding this small portion of the house, him not having walked by this door since maybe even the first day they moved in there.

  “I picked up this crowbar on my way home. We’re going to use it to pry open the door.” He paused for a second then held up the small box he had been carrying. “I’ve got a new lightbulb for the basement. I’ll go put it in. When I call up, you turn on the light.”

  It didn’t seem like the best plan, but he didn’t have any holes to poke in it, either. He hadn’t been down there so he wasn’t sure how difficult it would be for his dad to reach the light socket in nothing but the light coming from the stairs and any windows down there. He dreaded the seconds as they stood there, moments away from descending the stairs. Finally, after a long second, his dad reached for the door and twisted the handle.

  The expected wave of stench poured out at them. Toby cringed and turned away from the descending pit. It didn’t help at all. It felt like the hairs in his nose were singeing. The vertigo came quickly. His ability to focus on anything other than the smell was suffocated into oblivion.

  His dad stormed ahead like an officer performing a drug raid, as if the smell wasn’t even there, not fanning in front of his face or hiding his nose under his shirt, just charging down the stairs with ruthless determination. The stairs didn’t even creak, as if they were brand new. He expected them to be old and haggard, like they were barely holding together against whatever death was filling the air down there. The light reached the bottom of the stairs, but that’s where it stopped, and also where his dad disappeared off to
the right.

  Toby waited a moment, wondering if his father would be okay, imagining childishly that some monster had been waiting down in the dark for the opportunity to pounce.

  “Okay, do it!” his dad shouted up, groggy, like he had forced the words out against something lodged in his throat.

  Toby did as commanded and hit the light switch. The basement lit bright white. He descended the stairs slowly, trying to hold his breath, taking in the cavern as it appeared. It was wide, and tall enough to stand in, and mostly empty. The walls were made of stone, large chunks held together by some white adhesive. The basement went back a way until he spotted the door in question, located almost dead center of the furthest wall from the stairs.

  His dad was already at it, sizing up his stationary opponent. Toby had moved his arm over his nose, trying to shield away as much of the filth as he could. It wasn’t working very well. The best course of action, he figured, was to just hurry and try to get the door open as quickly as possible.

  If only it had been that easy. He hurried across the basement until he stood before the door alongside his dad. He was right; there didn’t appear to be any hinges. Even worse, Toby didn’t see gaps between the door and the neighboring wall, at least not ones large enough to fit the tip of a crowbar.

  His dad didn’t waste another second, hurrying forward with the metal bar. He jammed the sharp edge into the tiny crack, pushing hard, trying to get it as deep into the crevasse as he could. Toby was about to help him when something caught his eye.

  There were small indentations in the door, small enough that they only caught his eye when the light hit them perfectly. The marks were so shallow and worn away that he almost didn’t notice that they connected, intertwining into what Toby thought looked like words. When he tried to focus in on them, they seemed to blur, as if the words themselves didn’t want to be read.

  But his eyes were the ones blurring as they teared up against the infiltration of the smog. He could feel his eyes actively burning, like someone had just thrown dust up into the air and he walked right through it. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear out whatever was causing the problem.