Ghostland

by Duncan Ralston

  PART 4

  THE LAST HAUNTED HOUSE

  Garrote House is not only haunted by the spirits of former residents, but is believed by some to be plagued by an entity many paranormal investigators and spiritual mediums have called "demonic," or "cursed." While the ghosts you will encounter inside are real, there is no concrete evidence that any such malignant supernatural force exists within its walls.

  — Know Your Ghosts: A Guide to Ghostland

  It was impossible to tell where the house ended and the writer began; they were one being, joined at the heart and the hearth, the bones and joists. Separating one from the other would destroy them both.

  — Rex Garrote, The House Feeds

  THE HOUSE WAKES

  BEN STARED UP at Garrote House[xxvi], thinking about truth in fiction.

  Having read The House Feeds and its two sequels countless times, he knew navigating the house wouldn't be quite as easy as it seemed. In the books, the house was sentient. It could change its dimensions, its shape, even the position of its rooms at a whim. He doubted the real house would be able to play the same tricks, but if Rex Garrote had been planning his attack since Ghostland had been only a vague concept with no real science behind it, he was likely to have made certain that escape would be as difficult as possible for anyone left alive after the initial assault. This was Ghostland's final exhibit, the capstone of his theme park and his long career in horror. It was the long-awaited dramatic conclusion to Rex Garrote's House series, left unfinished after his suicide. And with any luck, an abrupt end to his afterlife.

  Lilian stopped suddenly and turned back toward the gate. "I can't see them," she said, squinting behind her glasses.

  Just outside the gates the twisted and blackened hulk of the downed helicopter burned. Beyond that, the park appeared deserted.

  "Good," Ben said. "Maybe they're gone."

  "I doubt he'll just let us leave. We got to him back there. I think we really scared him—"

  "Yeah, how did you know about the red water?"

  "How do you know about the red water?" Lilian shot back with suspicion.

  "I read the book," he said.

  "What book?"

  "Shōki. If you haven't read it how do you know about the red water?"

  "It's what Allison said," Lilian said. "Right before she died, she said to promise we wouldn't go 'down into the dark.' She said, she could see him—I guess she must have meant Garrote—waiting for us in the water. 'It's so red, why is the water so red?'" Lilian recited the words almost mechanically, then uttered a strangled sob. "And then she died, just like that," she finished, and grabbed Ben in a stiff embrace.

  He hugged her back, scowling over her shoulder, trying to make sense of what she'd just told him. "That's strange," he said. "Why would she quote one of his books? Her last words, and that's what she says?"

  "I dunno," Lilian said, letting him go. "People say weird stuff when they die. My mom said Gramma asked her if the roast was burning right before she died, and she was already in the hospice by then."

  "That is weird," Ben said. But there was something more to what Allison had said than that. The thing about "waiting for them in the dark" wasn't in Shōki, as far as he knew. And why would she have quoted the book as her dying words? It just didn't make sense.

  He made to mention this when a message flashed on the inside of his glasses. It had been so long since the last one he startled and swatted the air in front of him, thinking an orb had fluttered close to his face, before he was able to focus on the message.

  HEADSET DISCONNECTED

  "No," Lilian said, shaking her head.

  The words flashed on the inside of his glasses twice more and disappeared.

  "No no no!" Lilian cried, spinning in a tight circle, trying to look everywhere at once.

  Ben put a hand on her shoulder. She jerked away from him.

  "We have to keep going," he said.

  "But we can't see them!" She looked out again through the gate. "I can't see them!"

  Ben couldn’t see them either. But it was impossible to tell if Garrote and his minions had left or were simply no longer visible with their glasses not functioning. Whatever lies the writer had told them, he hadn't lied about one thing: within Ghostland's walls he was in control. They wouldn't be safe until they got through that hatch, and without the security code the chances of doing so were slim.

  "There's nothing we can do about that now," Ben said. "We have to get inside, get to the service hatch—"

  "There is no service hatch!" she screamed, her eyes wild with fear.

  "We don't know that. Garrote was trying to get inside our heads, that's all. It's too late to turn back. We have to stick to the plan. There's no other choice. We have to keep going."

  She stared at him, tears welling in her eyes. He thought she'd never looked so beautiful, so vulnerable, as she did right now, and he wondered if that said something about him, that he'd never loved her more until fear and exhaustion had broken down her defenses, stripping down her facade of teenage apathy and constant aggravation.

  "You can do this, Lilian. We've made it this far, all the way here. We can't give up, not now."

  Her lower lip trembled. Then she clenched her jaw and nodded. "You're right." She nodded again, more forcefully, and wiped away standing tears. "We have to stick to the plan."

  They turned back to face the house. The sun had dipped below the westernmost gable, and the grounds beneath its shadow were caught in the haze of early evening. It would be full dark in another hour or so. Ben had always wanted to spend a night inside a haunted house, but he knew if they were still inside Garrote House by nightfall, neither of them would make it out alive.

  Sara Jane Amblin had compared a large mass of dead energy to a nuclear meltdown. There had been so many senseless deaths at Ghostland in such a short span of time, Ben suspected the fallout from today's meltdown would linger for centuries, long after they bulldozed the park and its exhibits and salted the earth below.

  "Ready?" he asked.

  Lilian nodded, and they started up the cobblestone path, heading up the small rise lined with gnarled, dead trees, the branches creating a canopy. As they reached the porch steps the front door creaked open.

  "Jump Scare City," Lilian said nervously, an oft-used reference from when they were younger, watching horror movies together in the dark and pretending they weren't afraid. Neither of them bothered to pretend now. They were scared out of their minds, and didn't care that the other knew it.

  Ben took the steps cautiously and peered inside. In the dying light the house looked warm and inviting, possibly illuminated by candlelight. He knew it was a trick, that the house was far more dangerous than any of the other exhibits thus far. No one had seen Garrote's ghost, but there were many other tortured souls attached to this house. Their dark histories had been woven into Rex Garrote's House series. Some readers had suggested all of his later novels had been based on reality, that the house and its many ghosts had played out their stories in Garrote's dreams, or whispered them to him as he wrote on his old Remington typewriter, and he'd merely transcribed them.

  Without a word, Lilian stepped through the doorway. Glancing back at the empty grounds, Ben followed her in.

  However dangerous the house was, it was undeniably beautiful. Ben's mother had said it was Victorian, but the interior seemed to be a mix of Gothic Revival and medieval, like the inside of an old castle. A massive brass chandelier tinkled musically above their heads as if to welcome them into the long, high-ceilinged foyer. Stairs with ornate dark wood railings and oil lamps fitted atop each bannister rose in a moderate incline along the west wall from the front door to the far end of the foyer. Under the base of the stairwell stood a single door with a chaise lounge beside it. There was a sign on the door, but they weren't close enough to read it.

  A massive stone fireplace stood beneath the second-floor balcony. A large tapestry hung from the railing above, depicting violent images from medieva
l battles to dragon slayings. He couldn't see the images from where he stood, Ben had seen them in photographs for an interview Garrote had done with Playboy in the mid-'80s. On either side of the fireplace two large abstract metal sculptures stood sentry, mad fusions of human and animal and ancient torture devices. These were the work of the previous owner, Clayton Odell[xxvii], whose most famous sculptures had been displayed in the MOMA in New York and several other prestigious galleries worldwide, before he'd gone insane and murdered his entire family. Now his remaining art was held by private collectors, the rest of it relegated to storage houses and backrooms, safely out of the public eye.

  A loud clatter caught their attention. Shadows began moving across the foyer. They turned to the door as thick metal sheeting lowered over the windows like the eyelids of a giant beast, finally allowing itself to dream.

  "What's happening?" Lilian shouted over the noise.

  Ben didn't answer, merely bolted for the door. He could have made it—just barely—but Lilian hadn't followed, and it would have meant leaving her behind, alone. He watched in dismay as the massive door slammed shut in his face. The lock clicked, barely audible over the clatter of the metal shutters, closing out the light inch by inch.

  The big brass handle wouldn't budge. They were locked in, trapped inside the most haunted house in America. Two kids just shy of adulthood, left alone with whatever ghosts remained inside. As the last two shutters clicked into place over the windows, steeping the foyer in absolute darkness, Ben once more found himself wondering if the security measures were meant to keep the ghosts out or trap the guests inside.

  "Ben?"

  "I'm here."

  "I can't see you!"

  "I can't see anything," he called back. His voice echoed in the large space. The darkness seemed endless. He could almost feel the emptiness. Were they alone in here? If not, they were completely vulnerable, completely at the mercy of Garrote House and its ghosts.

  The house groaned, deep within its bowels. Ben couldn't tell if it was settling or footsteps he heard.

  Finally, his eyes began to adjust. Small cracks of daylight dimly illuminated the foyer. A dark shape moved toward him from the center of the room he hoped was Lilian. It reached out and grabbed his shoulder. Warm fingers felt down his forearm until they found his hand. She grasped it eagerly.

  "There you are."

  He squeezed her hand.

  "I thought I lost you," she said.

  "I'm not going anywhere without you," he told her. Even if it had been possible to see, he wouldn't have left her alone, as scared for his own life as much as hers.

  Another message flashed on their glasses, blindingly bright in the darkness. He had to squeeze his eyes closed and blink several times to focus on it.

  INSTALLING UPDATE…

  0% 100%

  "Update?" Lilian said. "What's going on?"

  "I don't know. But if Garrote's involved it can't be good."

  When the progress bar had filled a second message appeared:

  HEADSET PAIRED WITH SYSTEM

  Suddenly all the lights came on around them, faux flame light bulbs in the lamps and chandelier lending the flickering orange glow to the room Ben had first seen when he'd peered in through the doors. A fire roared to life in the stone hearth.

  Lilian had taken off a glove from her keeper suit and held it in her other hand along with the helmet. Her hair was sweaty, her bangs matted against her forehead. "Oh, thank God!" she gasped, letting go of his hand.

  Ben wasn't sure he shared the sentiment. But he was glad not to be in the dark anymore, for however long it might last. Then he realized something. "The lights, the shutters… there must be power in here."

  "Lot of good that does us," Lilian said, eyeing the big metal shutters. "You think Garrote can get inside with those things covering the windows?"

  "I don't know. I hope not."

  Somewhere upstairs a door creaked open. Footsteps moved rapidly in several directions, a frenetic cacophony of stomping feet.

  Ben thought, Survivors.

  But he knew they were likely alone.

  And that whatever it was upstairs wasn't likely to be friendly.

  Lilian stayed by the doors, looking around, while Ben started cautiously across the large foyer. The footsteps they'd heard once their headsets had come back online still worried her. At first, she'd thought it might be survivors, but survivors would have reacted to the lights going out and the windows battening down. Which meant there were multiple ghosts inside the house. And she had no idea where to begin searching for the security hatch.

  "Where are you going?" she asked.

  Ben turned at the foot of a large Persian rug below the chandelier. "We should start in the basement. If there is a hatch, it's more likely to be there. Down is always the way out in horror games."

  "Whatever you say," Lilian muttered, thinking his logic was flawed and the hatch—If it exists, she reminded herself—was just as likely to be elsewhere. Puzzles and mazes almost never worked the way the player expected, and her aptitude for them had rarely steered her wrong in the past.

  Still, she was too tired to argue. More than anything, she just wanted to go home. Sometimes the simplest solution was the correct one. She just had to hope Ben was right this time.

  Lilian moved past him and headed to the door below the stairs marked EMPLOYEES ONLY. The chrome lock mechanism looked like it required a key card and the little light on its face was red, which likely meant it would be locked. She tried the handle, just in case.

  "Well?"

  She shook her head. "Nah. We'll have to find another way down."

  "There's gotta be another way down there."

  She said, "I hope so," but she wasn't so sure. The house was enormous. They could end up walking around for hours trying to find a route to the service hatch.

  Unless Garrote found a way into the house first, in which case they wouldn't have to worry about finding the hatch, because they would be dead.

  Ben headed across the foyer and Lilian followed. He tried the door closest to him. It opened inward with a groan and he stood there a moment looking into the room.

  "This is where he died," he said, seemingly wary of entering.

  She came to his side and peered into the large, octagonal library. Bookshelves lined the walls. A rolling ladder led to a walkway that accessed the upper shelves, surrounding its entire circumference. Above them, the darkening sky was visible through a muraled glass dome ceiling, the shadows of intricate stained-glass monsters—trolls, goblins and winged creatures with claws—falling over the shelves and the marble floor like a sinister baby mobile.

  "He was right there," Ben said, pointing to the floor at the center of the room. "That's where he burned himself alive. You see the black stain?"

  "Uh-huh."

  "That's where they found his remains, burned to ashes. They had to match his teeth with dental records, and DNA from the marrow in a finger bone with follicles from his hairbrush."

  "No wonder that detective thinks Garrote faked his own death," Lilian said.

  Ben nodded. "I always kinda hoped it was the ghosts haunting this place that murdered him, or made him set himself on fire." He shrugged. "Adds to the urban legend about the house. Except now that we're inside I kind of hope they didn't." He turned to her, grinning slyly. "You know, when we first came here, I was planning to burn this house down. I snuck in a can of lighter of fluid and matches and everything."

  She blinked at him, stunned. "Are you serious?"

  He shook his right leg and Lilian heard a little sloshing sound of liquid against metal. "Rex Garrote ruined my life," he said. "I was gonna pour lighter fluid on all the books in here and watch it all burn. I even got the same brand of matches Garrote used to kill himself. These old hardwood floors and wainscoting are probably so old and dry, they'd burn up just like kindling."

  "That's pretty badass. You're lucky security didn't find that stuff."

  "If Niko found them,
I never would've have gotten into the park. That seems pretty unlucky to me."

  "Good point."

  She looked around at all the books. There had to be hundreds of them. In a game, one of these books would lead to a secret tunnel. But this wasn't a game, and even if that were the solution to the puzzle, they could end up stuck here for hours looking for the right book. It did seem weird they would leave all the original books here, real books instead of props or faux book panels like they used in department stores, especially considering how easy it would have been for someone to steal one.

  Thinking this, she noticed the security camera in the corner of the room. The red power light was on, and its lens twisted with a barely audible buzz, as if it was focusing—

  "Oh crap!" she said.

  Ben turned with concern. "What?"

  "The camera." She pointed it out.

  "Shit," Ben agreed. "If Garrote can see us, we need to find another way down to that hatch quick."

  "And you know Rex Garrote better than anyone," Lilian said. "I think it's time to put that useless knowledge of yours to the test. So… where would he put the exit?"

  HACKED

  BEN HAD HEADED straight for the collection of first edition Rex Garrote books. But after tugging on every single book there—and wishing he'd kept his backpack to take a few of the more precious volumes home with him, if he ever made it home—he had no idea what to do next.

  "Nothing, huh?"

  He shook his head. "I thought for sure it would be one of these." He pulled out a limited-edition hardcover of Shōki with the original samurai mask cover and flipped it open. It was signed by Garrote himself, numbered 237 of 500. "This one's probably worth at least a hundred bucks. Maybe more."

  "Let's try the upper level," she suggested.

  "I guess it's worth a shot," he said, but he didn't feel very optimistic about it.