Dorsey Mansion

           Why did I ever let them talk me into this? The gray house looms over me. Vines stretch up the walls and twist around gutters like the earth is getting ready to swallow the house whole. Gargoyles perch on columns guarding the main door like the creators wanted it to be a haunted mansion one day. 

           As the legends go, this dreadful place was first crafted to be the home of Blair and Edgar Dorsey. They were a young wealthy couple. Blair was an entrepreneur who created a wildly successful cosmetics and beauty supply company. Edgar worked for a pharmaceutical company. One night they hosted a housewarming party. Thirty guests attended. No one knows why exactly, but Blair purposefully poisoned all of them, including her husband. Then she vanished into the woods and was never seen again. I suspect she had an important secret to conceal.

           After the tragic fate of the Dorsey’s, a brave new couple, Martin and Taylor Reed, moved into the house several years later. I suppose brave isn’t the right word. Martin and Taylor were serial killers so it’s quite possible they weren’t afraid. They were hunters too. A fact that played a large role in the way they went about killing. The news referred to some room in this house as their Dungeon of Torture. I can’t remember which one. Real estate agencies should be careful of the type of people who want to live in homes like this.

           Now here I am, stupidly spending the night in this monstrosity for a dare. I have a secret to protect. I need to keep Marcus safe. Doing this stupid dare is the only way I can. After that I’m done with those friends. Real friends don’t extort you after all. I shake my head and pull the door open. Inside the house is dimly lit by the moonlight that trickles through the dusty windows. I can see a large spiral staircase before me and two large rooms to my right and left. I glance to the right, and see a dust and cobweb covered dining table. A tree grows through the center. I shudder thinking of all those poisoned people sitting up with their faces forever frozen in jaw dropping fear.

           I turn on my flashlight and see a mouse scurry across the floor. Who knows what else is in here?

           I remember Connie saying, “Pictures or it didn’t happen, Ava!”

           I pull out my phone and click the camera icon. Unable to look at that dining table, I walk in the other direction. I enter a living room or library. The walls are shelves of musky, moldy books. I pull a book off the shelf and the binding comes apart in my hands. The pages are yellowish brown. The words are not English, and I’m not sure what it says. I snap a picture and shove it back onto the shelf. The furniture in the center of the room is covered in mold and the couch has a bigger-than-a-person sized hole in the center. I wander into the kitchen, taking photos as I go. Things look even eerier with the shadows formed by using flash.

           A kitchen table with chewed off legs sits lopsided on the floor. Dishes that will never come clean still sit in the sink. The next room is covered in blood stains, so I quickly slam the door shut and move on. I open another door that leads to the basement. I take a few steps and then feel the wooden stair cave beneath me. My body drops, and panic flies through me. I hit the ground feet first, fall back, and feel like something has clamped tightly around my neck. Then everything goes black.

           I’m not sure how long I’m asleep, but when I wake my neck is sore. I massage it with my hands and search for my flashlight and phone. The flashlight won’t turn on, but my eyes have adjusted to the dark. My phone is smashed. Great! I can’t afford a new one. I leave them both and slowly work my way up the stairs. I death grip the railing and test each stair before putting my full weight on them. My head feels foggy like there’s something I’m not remembering. The stairs don’t even creak when I walk up them. Guess that one was bad luck. My body feels light.

           This dare isn’t worth all this. Marcus is though. Your protecting him. I head for the door but freeze when I hear something upstairs. It sounds like a boy crying.

           “Hello?” I call.

           “Help me!” The voice yells back. I rush up the spiral staircase, momentarily forgetting how dangerous stairs are.

           “Where are you?” I yell.

           “I don’t know. I couldn’t see anything. They shoved me in here. They’re gone right? Please, please tell me they’re gone!”

           Following the sound of the voice, I end up in what looks like the master bedroom. It sounds like he is coming from the closet. I pull on the door, but it’s locked.

           “I’ll get you out of here,” I assure him. “I need to break down the door I think.”

           Tools would help. Normally my dad keeps tools in the basement. With a groan, I cautiously creep down to the basement again. There’s a work bench and above it, the wall is lined with axes, hammers, saws, hunting rifles, and a cross bow. I grab an axe and saw. They are rusty, but hopefully can still help. A glossy shine catches my eye. On the ground sits a large metal bear trap with some sort of liquid shining in the sliver of moonlight that falls on it like a spotlight. You need to help the boy. I dart up the stairs and to the room.

           “Stand back! I’m going to try chopping the door open with an axe.”

           I pull back the axe and heave it with all my strength. It slices through the wood and splinters the edges. Hit after hit after hit. Finally, there’s a large enough hole for me to see the boy.

           “How’d you get in here?”

           “Bullies. They shoved me in here.”

           “That’s crazy! How long ago?”

           “Earlier tonight, I guess.”

           “I didn’t hear it.” Though, I might have been knocked out or it could have been before I got here. I rub at my neck again and hand the boy the axe, so he can keep working on his exit.

           “What’re you doing here?” he asks. He pulls back the axe and hits the wood, but he’s not very strong. He’s so young. Maybe only ten years old.

           “A dare,” I say with an attempt at pride I no longer feel.

           “That’s stupid,” he whispers.

           “It is.” I needed to though.

           It’s easier to make out his face, and I realize the room has gotten a little lighter. Is the sun rising? I peer out the window and see the sky has gotten lighter. The sun is coming up. I’ve made it the whole night. I must have been out for a long time.

           “Don’t you have a phone?” I ask.

           “Mom says I’m too young.”

           I shrug. Having a phone would have helped him get out sooner. Surely, she’ll buy him one after this.

           “Why were they bullying you so bad?”

           “I don’t know.”

           “I guess no one really does.”

           The sun rise will look nice from this house. It’s set up on a hill and peers over the trees to the mountains beyond. I can see the golden light pouring over the horizon.

           “What’re their names?”

           “Who?”

           “The bullies. You should report it.”

           “Zachariah Jones and his crew.”

           What? “Hey, I know him. He’s my friend Connie’s older brother. But he’s like thirty years old. Why would he be bullying a kid?”

           “The bullies are my age. Must be someone else.”

           “Yeah, must be. That’s weird though. The one I know could easily be a bully. I hate that guy.” And his stupid sister. I rub my neck again. I look down and notice blood covers my hands. Where is it coming from?

           The boy steps out of the closet. “Thanks!”

           “Don’t mention it.”

           “Really. I don’t think anyone would have found me. I was so hungry. I tried to eat a rat, but I couldn’t do it. It was too furry and squirmy.”

           “Geez, little man. That hungry after one night? It’d take me weeks to get that desperate.”

           “Weeks and I’m pretty sure you’d be dead.”

           “Maybe. Still, one night? We should get you some breakfast before you try to eat me.”

           He smiles up at me. Together we walk down the stairs. I push the door open and we step outside. Rays of fiery orange sun hit our face, but I can’t feel anything. Neither of us moves.

           “This house isn’t so bad,” I say.

           “Yeah, I guess,” he says.

           “I can’t move.”

           “Me neither.” He looks at me with concern. “I saw this cartoon once that had ghosts in it. For some reason they couldn’t leave the place they died in. We’re kind of like those ghosts.”

           A chill runs down my spine. Do his clothes look outdated? Does anyone play that game on his shirt still?

           “Hey, do you remember the date?” I ask.

           “July 9^th.”

           It’s June 3^rd. “What about the year?”

           “2013.”

           I laugh incredulously but tears blur my vision. “You’re funny.”

           “How so?”

           “Cause that date was like twenty years ago.”

           “What?”

           My body feels cold. “Wasn’t there any way the ghosts could get out? Were they really trapped?”

           “Uh…I’ve heard it said that you sometimes need to realize you died.”

           I rub my neck again and an image of the bear trap fills my mind. It sat right below the stairs. When I saw it, it was closed and covered in…I look at the blood on my hands.

           “I think the bullies locked you in the closet and no one ever found you. I think you tried to eat that rat because it had been several days or weeks. I think you might have starved to death.” My bloody hands tremble.

           His eyes widen and his bottom lip quivers.

           “I think I fell through stairs and had the misfortune of falling in a bear trap.”

           “That’s crazy. Why was there a bear trap?”

           “Because the Reed’s Dungeon of Torture must have been in the basement.”

           “We died?” Silent tears roll down his cheeks and my heart breaks at the sight of them. I grab his hand in mine.

           “I think so, kid.” I’m dead. Dead from a stupid dare. Please, at least let my secrets die with me. Let Marcus be safe.  

           We look at each other, hold hands, and bright rays of sunlight wrap around us. In the golden glow of the rising sun, the house looks more alive. The vines become a lush green, the walls a pretty blue, and I notice flowers sprinkled through the vines that I couldn’t see at night. The eeriness of it vanishes, and it looks almost beautiful. The heavy weight of worry lifts off my chest and I’m breathing freely for the first time in years. Nothing much matters anymore.

The sun gets brighter and brighter. The boy’s features fade into a blinding white. I grasp his hand tighter, needing to feel something solid just a little longer. It’s like we’re absorbed into the sun. As I dissolve into this sense of peacefulness, I hope the weight of secrets and sadness will be lifted from the house as well. It’s only a building, so it shouldn’t hold the reputation for what so many evil people have done within its walls. There must be a difference between acting and witnessing, doing and holding. I need to believe so.