Content Warning! There is some body horror and graphic imagery.

The Home

Clara stood petrified in the doorway. Before her was a monstrosity. An amalgamation of bodies and appendages collected from the tens of victims the beast had taken. Faces fused to its sides cried out in agony, pleading for help that would not come. 

Clara trembled, unable to move. Sweat dripped down her back and her heart beat through her chest. This was it, the monster was going to take her too. 

It turned toward her. Clara did not know how she knew, as it had no face of its own, but she knew its gaze was set on her; its next victim. She screamed. 

It crawled forward, its multitude of limbs reached out to grip the floor, walls, ceiling, and anything else it could grasp as it pulled itself toward her, inching ever closer, dragging its bulk across the warped floorboards of the old oak house. 

“Why do you scream, Clara?” The monster rasped through the mouths that had just been screaming.

“Why will you not stay and join me? Why will you not be my guest?”

It was close enough now to grab onto her. Its fingers squeezed painfully against her skin. It pulled her closer, consuming her. She could feel a pulsing warmth all around her. It was dark. There were screams. She was screaming too.

***

Clara woke with a start. Had she been screaming? What had she been dreaming? Her sweat had soaked through her pajamas and drenched the bedsheets. Damn, not again. 

Spring Roll was sound asleep next to her. Clara reached out to give him a scratch behind the ears, and he nuzzled closer to her, his round corgi rump wagging slightly in drowsy happiness. 

Clara and Spring Roll got ready for the day and stepped out the door of their dingy studio apartment. It was only a step or two up from decrepit status and descending quickly. 

Clara looked back and sighed in relief that she had finally saved up enough to make a down payment on a house. A house! Could you believe it? It wouldn’t be an extravagant place, but hopefully they could find one that had a nice yard for Spring Roll to play and run in. That was all Clara wanted. 

John, the realtor, was going to meet them at a little place just outside downtown. He said it was a bit of a fixer-upper, but that it had good bones and room to grow. After viewing house after house and never making the winning bid, Clara was beginning to grow jaded from all the back and forth, but she still held on to a bit of hope. This one felt special. 

Clara and Spring Roll pulled up to a tiny little Victorian in a quiet neighborhood that looked like it was in the midst of transformation. Well kept flower and vegetable gardens shared wirelink fences with yards full of run down and rusted out cars and mechanical parts. John was waiting on the porch. 

Clara opened the wirelink gate to the small property and let Spring Roll in before her. He sniffed the dry, weed-filled ground inquisitively, investigating for danger and potential snacks. 

“Hey Clara, I’m glad you could make it,” said John, opening the door to the house. “I think we’ve got a really great shot with this one.”

He put a hand up to fix his slicked back hair as he flashed her a too-white smile. 

“Yeah,” Clara said, eyeing the place up and down. “It’s something.” 

Paint was chipping off the outer walls, the wood of the patio deck was splintering, the pillars holding up the porch roof looked like they probably had termites, and the windows were grimy and impenetrable to the eye. 

It was a fixer-upper alright. 

John took Clara and Spring Roll through the house and guided them through its history and condition. He told them about how it was built way back in 1891, back when the city was barely more than a frontier town. It had originally been owned by the Wilcaster family, who had wealth but preferred to remain humble, hence the single story house that would have seemed to belong to someone of middling means back in that day. Still, Clara could see that it had once been a jewel in its own right. 

The interior wasn’t much better. The wall paper slumped and wrinkled off the walls, but the flooring was in good condition. A stained oak, according to John. He showed her the office with built-in book shelves, the kitchen with a cast-iron oven that was original to the house, and the bedroom with stained glass doors. Honestly, this house was beginning to grow on her. 

“Everything’s original,” John said. “No renovations to speak of. If you want to turn on the stove, you’ll have to bring the wood in and light it yourself. 

“It’ll take a lot of work to fix things up, but if you’re up to the challenge I think I can work out a deal with the seller and get you this place before anyone else can snatch it up.”

Wow. This could be it. This could be the one. 

“Who’s the seller?” Clara asked. 

“One of the descendants of the original Wilcaster family, a uh…” John took a moment to think. “Sam! Samantha Wilcaster.” 

“I’ve been sticking to speaking with her realtor, but the ol’ Ms. Wilcaster seemed nice enough the few times I met her. Apparently, her main concern is keeping the house standing. She said she wants someone who will fix it up, and is absolutely opposed to anyone tearing it down to build anything new.” 

Clara wandered through the house while Spring Roll continued to sniff his way up and down the halls. While it would definitely take a lot of work, owning a piece of history like this was a reward in and of itself. That was it, she had to make a move.

“We’ll take it.”

“Great!” 

John shook Clara’s hand enthusiastically as they left the Wilcaster house. Clara looked back at her new home, and oddly, she felt like it was looking back at her. A new friend perhaps?

She was going all in on this. All her savings, all her assets, they were being put on the line for this house. This was going to be it. This would finally be their well-deserved break. 

***

Clara and Spring Roll settled into their new home quickly enough. Being a freelance writer afforded Clara the time to dive right in to fixing up the place. She spent the first few days cleaning the dust and debris out before beginning to move her own things in with a menagerie of boxes and bins. Every time she moved she was astonished at the amount of stuff she owned. Just another part of growing up, she supposed. 

“Spring Roll!” Clara called in exasperation. “Did you start tearing up this wallpaper?”

She crouched down and began surveying a corner of the wall in between the office and the bedroom that looked particularly worse for wear. Water stains and moths had done a number on the poor thing and it would have to go. But the bite marks at the bottom were definitely a new addition. 

Spring Roll ran over and started giving Clara plenty of wet kisses. Clara wasn’t sure he had done it, but either way she couldn’t be mad at him. He was a corgi after all. 

“Alright, bud, let’s get started on this.”

Clara began to tear away the wallpaper, beginning with the shredded corner and pulling until it separated at the ceiling. Behind the wallpaper was a door. It wasn’t ornate or detailed like any of the other doors in the house, but it looked like it was just as old, maybe a little older. 

“Huh. Did we get lucky with a bonus room? What do you think, Spring Roll? Shall we investigate?” Clara said, smiling down at the little dog. 

She took his immediate sniffing at the crack at the bottom of the door as an affirmative. She chuckled and opened it up. 

The smell of old air and dried wood washed over her in a wave that made her eyes tear up. An unlit passageway stood before her leading into darkness. 

Clara took out her phone and used the flashlight to guide her way as Spring Roll rushed ahead of her, following his nose to God knows what. 

Clara crept through the darkness, warped floorboards beneath her feet creaking from decades of dry rot and neglect. The passageway continued on for what felt like a football field in length, growing narrower and narrower the further she went.

“Spring Roll? Buddy?” Clara called, worried. 

She could hear scratching and something that sounded like the patter of little paws not too far ahead. Clara was scooting along sideways at this point, squeezing herself along the walls that were now pressing in on her from both sides. 

“Spring Roll?” Clara said again, all confidence lost. 

Something wasn’t right here. 

She pointed her flashlight back the way she had come. Darkness. 

Ahead again. Darkness. 

“Spring Roll! Come here, please!” Clara called, her breath shaking. 

There was more scratching ahead. It sounded like Spring Roll was trying to dig into something. 

Clara continued forward until she felt like she could barely breath from the walls crushing her. 

Her flashlight revealed the passageway had come to a dead end and there was nobody there. No Spring Roll, no little rodent, nobody. Not even a cricket. 

Clara felt like she was losing her mind. 

Spring Roll barked from the entrance of the passageway and there was a slam. Did someone just close the door?

Clara began to slide her way back to the door. Her breath came in short, uncontrollable gasps. Sweat was dripping into her eyes now. The walls kept closing in on her. She was going back, the passageway was supposed to open up, but it was getting smaller. This wasn’t possible. This shouldn’t be happening. How was this happening? 

The flashlight danced and gave glimpses of what was ahead as her hands began to shake uncontrollably. She had to get out. The flashlight fell out of her hands, and everything went dark. She screamed. 

***

Clara’s eyes snapped open and Spring Roll covered her face in wet kisses. Had she had another nightmare? Wait, no. She was lying on the ground. She was next to the unknown door. It was closed. 

Clara sat bolt upright and jumped to her feet, startling Spring Roll who yelped with surprise. 

“Sorry buddy!” Clara said, giving a few consolatory pats. 

Clara needed to call John and get to the bottom of this. Where was her phone? 

Her phone buzzed and dinged from the ground, right next to where she had been lying down just a moment before. And speak of the devil, it was John.

“John, there’s something wrong here,” Clara said.

“Oh no, did she get there already?” John said. 

“What?” Clara said. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh uh, so there was a whole thing with the house,” John said.

Oh no. 

“That old lady, Sam Wilcaster, she said she’d only sell it if I promised her that it would remain untouched and that nobody would live in it,” John continued. “She said bad things keep happening there, but I’m sure it’s all superstition anyway so no need to worry about that.”

“John, what the hell.”

“Oh yeah, also, she’s on her way right now. So if you could just hide or tell her that you’re a museum curator looking for artifacts and stuff that’d be great. I’ll be right there,” John said as he hung up the phone. 

The doorknob to the front entrance began to rattle as someone shoved the key in and began to shakily turn the bolt. 

Spring Roll barked at the front door. 

This was a disaster.

“Hello? Is someone in there?” Said an old woman’s voice. 

Clara scooped Spring Roll into her arms and opened the door. 

“Who are you?” Said the old woman. “Nobody is supposed to be here!”

There was shock and anger in her voice, and Clara was feeling the same way. 

“Yeah, about that,” Clara started. “Looks like we’ve both been duped.”

John’s car skidded to a stop in front of the house and he jumped out before remembering to duck his head back in to set the parking brake. 

“Hey ladies! I see you’ve already met each other,” John said, jogging up to the porch as he tried to fix up his suit and tidy up his slicked back hair.

Clara and the old woman both glared at him.

“You said nobody would be here. You must both leave now!” Said the old woman, pointing toward the street. 

There was a fervor in the way she spoke and moved. Her hands shook and her eyes bulged from her head. Clara did not like the look of this. 

“Now, now, now, nobody needs to leave, Ms. Wilcaster,” said John. “Why don’t you come inside and join us?”

John motioned toward the door to the house. 

“I’ll never step foot in that house again,” hissed the old woman, before storming off with fear and anger in her eyes.

“Sorry about that,” John said as he closed the front door behind him. “I honestly thought she’d croak before realizing anyone had moved in here.”

Clara placed Spring Roll back onto the ground and tore into John. She questioned his integrity and his credentials, condemned his morals, and blasted him with a slew of profanities. John rolled his eyes. 

“Look, Clara, I don’t know what’s going on, but there’s nothing to freak out about, okay?” John said.

“Nothing to freak out about?” Clara said. “Then explain that!”

Clara pointed to the unknown door, which now stood ajar with Spring Roll sniffing around its corners. 

“No! Spring Roll! Here! Now!” Clara shouted, crouching down to pick him up again as he ran over looking abashed. 

John walked over to the door and took a look inside. 

“What is this? Some sort of closet for a furnace? Is this what you’re so freaked out about? Seriously?” John said, turning toward Clara with a look of exasperation and dismissiveness. 

He took a step in. 

“John, wait,” Clara said, reaching a hand toward him. 

“If you had some sort of psycho panic attack because of a closet then you need some serious help, Clara,” John said.

He stuck his head in deeper, peering into the darkness. 

“Both you and that Wilcaster lady are acting crazy about this house. Honestly, I did a huge favor getting you this house. You should be thanking me,” John said. 

He turned to face Clara, still standing in the doorframe. 

“I drive all the way down here and you go and make more—“ 

Clara’s eyes widened in horror as hands reached out of the darkness, surrounding John in a small meadow of ragged fingers before grasping onto him by his disheveled suit and slicked back hair. More hands materialized and covered his mouth, gagging him with broken nails and calloused palms before he could utter a word. 

The monster from Clara’s nightmare pulled itself forward and consumed John. He seemed to melt until his entirety had joined the mass that was the beast. Then his head began to let out moans and screams, just like the rest of them, looking like nothing more than festering pustules in the shape of agonized faces.

The many eyes of the monster turned in unison to gaze upon Clara.

“Welcome home, Clara,” it rasped, its innumerable mouths smiling. “Won’t you join us?”

Clara screamed.