The Neighborhood

"Welcome to the neighborhood!"

By that point, Arthur had heard that phrase excessively from the new neighbors that stopped by to embrace him into the area. Some brought him offerings; some showed up solely to say hello. 

To be frank, it was a nice little neighborhood. There weren't any significant towns for miles of Arthur's new community, and he liked the seclusion. His old city back in Briston was far too immense for his liking. There was too much traffic and a disproportionate amount of people who hadn't properly learned how to drive. It was a continuous cycle of insanity that people would have avoided if they had simply been wiser to the situation. Arthur had had ample of their antics. Thankfully, he discovered Cortex Roans, home of the most reliable and sophisticated social experiments on the market, as stated in their powerful advertisement, which relocated him to a small, rural community far from any crucial towns for more accurate results.  

Having been laid off just a month prior, life took a heavy toll on Arthur, whose mother became considerably ill. Fortunately, Cortex Roans assisted him amidst all of that, allowing Arthur to let his dying mother know that although she was a single mom whose son had been laid off, she still had something to smile about. It allowed her to know that although the sun may have chosen a different place to shine for a while, it was back to shine again brighter than ever before.

But in all honesty, it didn't truly matter what Arthur's new neighbors supposedly came for. Although each person that stopped by to greet him brought goody bags and pastries, which was always very considerate of them, it was what they concluded the conversation with that stuck with him.

"Watch out for Oscar Rexton."

He hadn't a clue who that suspicious character was. Still, judging off of the demeanor of his new acquaintances, he believed they must've been fooling around with him as they continually urged him to stay away from that mysterious man. Arthur wasn't sure if that was part of the experiment or not, and soon enough, he began to question what he was even doing out there because, in all fairness, whenever anyone spoke of that man's name, his stomach churned. He would begin to feel an evil presence nearby.

One of Arthur's new neighbors, an older woman named Nancy Martin, who dwelled next door to his right, showed up twice. The first time was to welcome him into the place with some homemade goodies she had wrapped up in a neat little bag with vibrant, radiant colors, on which she engraved her initials; the second was to finally explain what this Oscar Rexton business concerned if there even was anything to be discussed for that matter.

"So, how is the house treating you, Arthur?" Nancy asked.

"It's not bad," Arthur replied. "After all, it is two stories. From what my employer told me, I imagined the house would've been a bit bigger, but it's still comfortable, of course." 

And it was true. Arthur had been promised beautiful plum walls, capacious rooms, trim corners, and grand halls with fancy decor and dazzling lights that beset the home. Alternatively, the furniture had been clamped together, stray clothes had been whisked about, the walls were fading away, and his bedroom, located on the second-floor one could reach after walking up a narrow, dimly lit staircase was completely unkempt full of pet hair and dandruff. Things might've been set up in such a matter for the experiment, so while Arthur forced himself to get used to the condition of his temporary home, it wasn't looking too swell. 

He continued. "I've been told more than enough times to stay away from this Oscar Rexton person, and I must get to the bottom of it. What exactly is it with Oscar that I should be worried about?"

Nancy chuckled. "I doubt that you've heard," she began, "But people have died in this house." Arthur's ears perked up. "This is the only house on the block that's been affected. It's always this one. Every single person who has ever lived here was murdered. Did your employer tell you about that?" 

Arthur was speechless.

     "Every time a resident of this house is murdered, the name 'Oscar Rexton' is found nearby—in blood." Although he was sure this must've been just another part of this elaborate experiment, Arthur couldn't help but feel mortified. 

"I wasn't told about any of this," Arthur remarked, frantically. "I was laid off from my previous job until further notice, so I was looking through the newspaper for things to do to make money while I waited, and while doing so, I stumbled across this thing called Cortex Roans, which pays decently well."

"What kind of company is that?" Nancy asked.

"You haven't heard of it?" Nancy shook her head. "Well, from what was discussed in the advertisement, it has to do with some kind of experiment. Cortex Roans had to keep all details confidential, as not to take away from the results, I'm guessing. And I didn't mind at first. I mean, they paid for me to get out here, and the pay they're offering is considerate for whatever they have planned, so I was excited for all this, but from what you've told me, I'm not sure how I feel. And since you haven't heard about it, I'm not sure what's going on." 

"Well, none of the previous residents ever mentioned anything about it. I remember the last resident talking about how they were here as a getaway, and another before them claimed to be here because they were hiding from someone." Arthur looked at her haunting expression, beginning to wonder what secrets hid behind her own eyes. Maybe she was just messing with him; he wasn't assured. He couldn't prove it, but only then, he swore he heard a voice in the far distance, in which direction wasn't apparent, laughing at his unrest. It was time for him to escape.

Arthur grasped for an object in his right pocket, discerned it wasn't there, and began searching around for something. "Arthur, what's wrong?"

"My keys are gone." He gazed around. "And my wallet's gone too! I swear, I left it just there," Arthur said to Nancy, but when he glanced her way, she was gone, and the front door had been swung open. 

Although he was noticeably shaken due to her peculiar absence, Arthur resumed his search. He must've dug throughout his place for hours, and the longer he did, it became evident that his wallet was one of many items that oddly disappeared. 

Heading upstairs, he noticed the pillows on his bed had vanished. After searching elsewhere before returning, he found that his bed had gone. The bed sheets, the mattress, and the frame were all missing. The room was empty.

And it wasn't merely his bed that had gone. All the chairs and settees had disappeared while he was searching through random portions of the house. His car, his escape from all this madness, was missing as well.

And when Arthur proceeded back into the main chamber, he saw it.

There stood before him, which he had dreaded, the name Oscar Rexton, composed in blood on the wall. He could envision himself being killed, whether by this Oscar figure or by his own hands, lying motionless on the ground by that grim name. 

He studied that name for whatever reason, almost as if he were possessed by it. With the sheer exertion of comprehension, his vision began to fade. With no more control over his own body, he crumpled.

. . .

Arthur awoke in a new framework, trapped in a chamber with no visible exits. All walls had been whitewashed, although the beauty of the room had faded alongside the stained wallpaper. An empty water bottle had been placed in front of him. Alongside it was a blank, open notepad and a pen that had been freed of its ink. The room he found himself in resembled a Roman amphitheater as if he were being watched and enjoyed. He was alone and vulnerable. Arthur felt as though he had been put on display. 

"This must be part of the experiment," he tried to assure himself, but his attempts to cool himself down were short-lived. Suddenly, a voice sounded, and Arthur noticed an intercom that had been hanging from the ceiling.

"Oscar Rexton," the bold voice spoke. And then again. "Oscar Rexton. Oscar Rexton." The voice maintained its monotone each time, repeating the phrase continuously. Arthur's worries multiplied as the voice grew heavier. And finally, it broke him. He couldn't take it anymore. 

"Just shut up!" Arthur yelled. "Stop it!!" But it didn't bother to stop. It kept repeating that awful name without any indication of a pause, and it drove him insane. Finally, as Arthur fell to the floor in anguish, the voice paused, but only for a brief moment. 

"Release the animals." 

Arthur suddenly heard growls ignite inside the room. Vicious and untamed snarls, which came from all sides. It gradually grew in momentum, peculiarly circling Arthur. He couldn't detect these animals, as perhaps they blended into the room too well, or maybe they were veiled to the naked eye, but if he could see these creatures, he'd understand that he should have never arrived from the beginning. He began to scream.

The voice from the intercom stayed true to its chant, repeating the name "Oscar Rexton" once again. And when the animals pounced as Arthur tried to flee, his screams, as well as the chant, came to a screeching halt. His new neighbors, Nancy included, stood above the room peering in, their eyes glazing over with schadenfreude.

"So is death, as is rebirth, Arthur," the voice echoed. "Welcome to the neighborhood." 

. . .

A week or so went by in relative silence. The house sat still in its shallow setting. The neighborhood had no visitors, and all was quiet.

It remained in its humble state until ten days after Arthur found himself trapped in that chamber of horror if anyone should put such a label on it when a man named Fred arrived. Fred had recently been employed for Cortex Roans, just as Arthur had. The residents of the neighborhood were festive at the sight of a new neighbor. 

Fred had arrived on a bright, sunny day in late June. He kissed his mother goodbye just some hours before ultimately finding the route to the small neighborhood. He promised her that he'd stay safe, and although she was skeptical of the company and its true intentions, Fred went for it anyway. 

As he drove by, seeking the house assigned to him, he noticed people smiling at him from behind their shades, and when he spotted those watching him, they moved away out of view.

Fred remained positive, wearing a bold, firm expression on his face, as he settled into his new, temporary location. Cortex Roans paid decently well, and although the house was a little smaller than his employer bothered to mention, it was acceptable. 

His mother's voice temporarily arrived in his head, as her uncertainty about Cortex Roans flooded back in waves, but he pushed those warnings aside. After all, it was money he was after, not delay. Finally, after getting situated in his new house, he began to get comfortable. After a quick nap, a knock at the door came to his attention.

And when he opened it, the face of a trustworthy young man stood in front of him, grinning from ear to ear.

"My name's Arthur," the young man said. "Welcome to the neighborhood!"