The Uninvited

The sound of horse hooves galloping was distinctly heard in the town as it was early in the morning and the streets were still deserted. The wheels of the carriage rattled on the rutty road as a few women stood atop their porch steps, curious to see who had graced them with their presence at this forsaken town. All they could see was a man in a long coat and a top hat, pulling on the reigns of the horses with gloved hands. His black steed was strong with a silky mane. The wind seemed to whisper his name but it was inaudible. As he neared the town square, what they assumed was a carriage revealed to be a cart in which a plethora of trinkets and souvenirs dangled.

It was not often that they had a visitor here. “Ma,” A scrawny little boy tugged on his mother’s apron. “Who is that?”

The lady simply stared blankly at the man and replied, “I don’t know, son.” After a beat, she ushered her son inside the house and closed the door behind her. Then she pulled back the draperies and peered out the window. The strange man had brought his horse to a halt outside a magnificent but abandoned mansion. She couldn’t recall anyone buying over that house of horrors after the tragic incident that befell the Actons.

The next whole week, families waited to see if the visitor would get himself acquainted with everyone but he never left the mansion. They thought they could purchase a few trinkets themselves considering how unique they looked and portray a welcoming community. The woman who went by the name of Caroline was intrigued and wanted to bake some of her famous peach cobblers to give the stranger. The house is too big for one person. Surely he must be lonely. She thought to herself. Caroline sent her son to bring the dessert over to the mansion.

Little Scott rapped on the mahogany door for quite some time. Finally, it opened. The stranger appeared in the doorway wearing a shirt, vest and pants without a hat, smoking on his half-burnt cigar. He was balding in the centre and had a grim look on his face. Scott forced out a small smile and thrust the basket of peach cobblers at the man’s chest. “These are from my Ma next door. Welcome to our town!” The stranger stared at the boy dryly. Scott felt uneasy and spun on his heel to head home.

“Wait,” the stranger called out in a deep, gruff voice. Scott stopped in his tracks. Had the visitor really said something? Scott waited eagerly for the man to reappear. The stranger emerged from the dark of his doorway and handed Scott a music box. Scott received it in confusion and gratefulness.

“Thank you….?” Scott hinted at the stranger to introduce himself but the man just closed the door with a blank expression. He skipped to his home where his mother waited for him.

“So…?” She probed for information.

“He didn’t introduce himself nor did he say thanks for the dessert.” Scott retorted while examining the music box.

Caroline pouted. Then her eyes lit up as she noticed the gift. “What is that?”

“He gave me this.” Caroline took it in her hands. It was wooden and smelled faintly oriental like spices. “Maybe it’s his way of thanking us.” Scott proposed, intently staring at it in interest.

“Maybe,” She agreed and ruffled his hair, returning the souvenir to him.

From that day onwards, Scott would open it and play the music every night before he went to bed. Caroline did not find the music melodious, in fact, it was eerie. Scott was unfazed and even started humming to the tune at random hours of the day. His friend, Adam casually slipped a warning into their conversation.

“My Ma says we should be careful around that house,” Adam said, his eyes glancing about as if he was worried someone might be eavesdropping. The wind howled, adding suspense to Adam’s words. “The previous owners died in a tragic accident.”

“The Actons? What does that have to do with-”

“Why would he stay in that house? Unless,” Adam’s eyes grew wide with realization. “Unless he is the Acton’s last heir. The son that murdered his entire family.”

Scott quickly hushed him. “You can’t go around saying things like that.”

“It’s the truth. My Ma would never lie.” Adam insisted.

“Well, at least not his entire family.” Scott corrected him.

“What happened when you went over the other day?”

“He gave me a gift.” Scott showed Adam the music box. Scott played the music and instantly, Adam was enthralled by it.

“Maybe I should ask Ma to make her raspberry cheese tarts and I could get one of these in exchange.”

Scott shrugged and nodded simultaneously. You could try. He mused to himself.

 The next day, before anyone at home arose, Adam’s mother worked around the clock to make the sweetest and tastiest raspberry cheese tarts. She carefully lined a basket with napkins and arranged the delicate tarts in it. Adam took the basket and gaily skipped to the mansion, eager to get his share of a gift. He knocked on the door impatiently and the stranger opened with a scowl. Adam thrust the basket of tarts into the man’s chest. The man grunted with annoyance then told him to wait.

Adam could feel his heart racing as the man returned inside. When the man appeared, he handed Adam a tiny bottle of perfume. Adam stared at it as his heart began to sink. Before he could say anything, the stranger slammed the door shut. Adam sniffed the scent and immediately his head started to spin but he could not stop breathing it in. It smelled of cinnamon and cloves. Ever since that day, he would spray some on everywhere he went even while he was at home.

The adults at home did not seem to like the scent but his friends around the town loved it. Soon, one could see a little child with a basket of delicacies standing in front of the mahogany doors of the mansion. Each time they returned home with a little gift. Yet, after all this time, no one knew the stranger’s name nor the purpose of his visit.

One night, Scott was lounging in his bedroom with the music box playing in the background. Ever since he first started playing it, he has always heard a tiny voice calling his name. He tried to ignore it but soon decided it must’ve been part of the song.

“Scott,” It whispered. “Come play with me.”

“Where?” He asked. There was no reply.

“Listen to the flute.” He furrowed his eyebrows. What flute? This wasn’t part of the song.

Adam too was in his bedroom and had just sprayed on the perfume after his shower. After two pumps, he gagged all of a sudden. The perfume had lost its oriental scent suddenly and smelled like dead fish. He smelled like dead fish. “Ugh, the music box would have been better.” He groaned and was going to have another shower when he caught a whiff of that foul smell. But it was coming from somewhere further. He opened his bedroom door and followed it like a trail, dismayed at how his house could reek of dead meat. He sniffed it all the way to the front door and opened it. He squinted his eyes to see a small figure in the middle of the street.

Mary was the fifth child in town after Scott to welcome the visitor with her cupcakes. She was snuggled on a couch, twirling the instrument she had been gifted in her hand. She had been playing it non-stop because it was the only thing putting a smile on her face. That night, when she played it, she heard a voice. At the end of each note that she blew, a soft voice coaxed her to keep playing. So she did. But the voice continued to demand that she play outside. With everyone in her household tucked in, she snuck out and played the flute, aimlessly walking down the street.

Scott heard the high pitched melody floating into his room from outside. It was the exact same melody as the music box. Knowing that it was past midnight, and everyone was asleep, he clambered down the steps and dashed outside. A girl about his age was walking down the street, playing the flute. “Listen to the flute,” he murmured. As if in a trance, he joined her out on the street just as Adam did too.

In a matter of minutes, most of the children in the town had joined them and were walking in a single file down the street, following Mary as if she was the Pied Piper. She stopped playing once they reached the front of the Acton’s mansion. It was a marvel how none of the adults heard this ‘parade’. Still, in a state of semi-unconsciousness, Mary opened the gate of the Acton’s mansion and all the children shuffled in. Adam caught a whiff of the odour again and this time they all followed the stink of rotten fish. They didn’t knock on the door. They knew it was open for them. In the dead of night, they entered the dark hallway of the mansion, completely unaware of what they were doing. The melody that had put everyone in a trance echoed throughout the mansion like a calling only meant for the children.

“Welcome children.”

 The strange man was seated in the living room by the fireplace, sipping rum from his glass. He hummed to the eerie melody as he waited eagerly for the children. In the last town he visited, he’d made much profit. The opportunities in the black market were endless. He grinned as he heard the song being played on the flute carried by the chilly wind outside. He was ready. He stood up and briskly walked out of the living area to the long corridor down his left. Huge paintings of his family members were framed and hung along both sides of the walls. Their ashes were kept behind the paintings, in the little vaults his father had built in the walls.

How ironic that his father had built the vaults to stash money that he got from his business dealings but unfortunately, he ended up buried in them. The visitor laughed at the prospect of his jest. He could still vividly recall the shrieks and screams of his mother and sisters. How their eyes were filled with pain and were mortified at him holding the butcher’s knife, father’s blood dripping from it onto the expensive Persian carpets.

It was too bad his brother had died a week before the manslaughter. As curious as he was to find out who killed his younger brother, he was glad that someone had done the dirty work for him, lessening his burden of one more dead body. All of the Actons had died in a single day except him. He fled from the mansion and took off into the dead of night after making a deal with the Devil of the black market. Since then, he’d been the most prized collector of human organs.

People in the black market call him ‘The Reaper’.

As he heard his front gate creak open on its hinges, he braced himself at the end of the hallway and slipped on his latex gloves, stretching them over his gnarly fingers. He couldn’t give the charmed souvenirs to every kid in town, nevertheless, the select few that were innocent enough to bring him food; or rather greedy for gifts; were about to walk into the jaws of death. The fat boy who received the perfume ungratefully first entered. He remembered this one. He had those greedy little eyes that were expecting payment in return for those cheese tarts that were fed to the birds the next day. The Reaper shuddered in disgust. Children were vulnerable because of their unshameful greed.

“Welcome children.” He said. The children regarded him with blank eyes, still in a trance and unsure how to respond. “This way,” He turned his back on them and led them to an inner room under the grand staircase. It was dimly lit and had a dental engine underneath a giant spotlight right in the centre of the room. Scalpels, scissors, saws, forceps and clamps were arranged neatly on a tray beside the dental engine. He made the children wait outside in the lounge where they were served Caroline’s peach cobblers. The Reaper could not stomach any of the food given by the townspeople.

He brought in Mary, the girl with the flute and strapped her to the dental engine. Her eyes were glazed over, like glass. She didn’t struggle, much less move an inch. He smiled and rolled up her shirt, raising the scalpel over her stomach. He loved it when the victim’s eyes were still open during the process, completely unsuspecting of what was about to happen due to the spell they were under. The tip of the scalpel grazed her stomach; an electric saw sounded from behind him; a thin line of blood pooling on the cut he just made. He whirled to find the children, each holding a surgical tool, glaring at him menacingly.

The peach cobbler boy held up the saw and revved its engine.

The children waited patiently in the lounge and greedily gobbled up the peach cobblers that were served. After a few bites, Scott’s eyes widened and he snapped out of his trance-like state. He glanced about, shifting impatiently in his seat.

“Adam,” He whispered, elbowing his friend. “Where are we?”

Adam looked over at Scott, his eyes still glazed over. Scott forcefully opened Adam’s mouth and stuffed a peach cobbler into it. Adam blinked as he chewed, suddenly mindful of his surroundings. “The Actons,” He stammered in fear. “The visitor’s mansion.”

They noticed the other children waking up from their trance, their eyes darting about in fear and curiosity. What were they doing in the Acton’s mansion at midnight?

“The flute,” Scott registered. “Ma’s peach cobblers.”

“The perfume,” Adam said, quickly grasping onto Scott’s idea.

“A taste of home saved-” He was cut off by the sound of the familiar melody. The tune of the music box and the flute played by Mary. Someone was humming it and it was coming from that inner room.

“Where’s Mary?” Adam asked, swallowing hard.

The children had snuck into the room under the stairs and saw the horror that was about to unfold. Without thinking twice, they grabbed the surgical tools and Scott revved the engine of the saw. The Reaper did not know, this town was forsaken because of the horrors the children had dealt with and on the most part…. had done themselves. Just as the man registered their presence and what they were holding, Adam knocked him out with a hammer.

The Reaper opened his eyes, feeling lightweight and dizzy. He tried to move his arms but couldn’t. He looked down to see that he was strapped to the dental engine. What sick joke was this? He thought to himself. Who would dare do this to The Reaper? Then, Scott, Mary and Adam’s head loomed above him.

“Would you like to do the honours?” Scott passed the scalpel to Mary.

“With pleasure,” She grinned wryly as Adam rolled The Reaper’s shirt up.

“What are you doing? Wait! No!” He shrieked.

The children gathered around a large hole they dug in the Acton’s backyard.

“How ironic,” Adam said dryly. “To be buried beside his little brother after he massacred the rest of his family.”

“His brother was a little troublemaker, wasn’t he?” Mary reminded. Scott, Adam and the other kids tripped from the weight of the body wrapped in a cloth and threw him into the hole they had dug.

“He tricked us,” a girl in the midst of them spoke up. “He tricked us to get all our food when he was the richest among us.”

“Exactly,” Scott agreed, heaving from the weight of the dead body. “So we had to teach the little Acton a painful lesson.” He gazed sorely at the ground next to the hole they’d just dug. The grave of the youngest brother of the Acton’s.

“And now, we taught the older Acton a lesson.” Adam came to stand beside the twelve-year-old girl who’d just spoke.

That night, the children went home to their beds like nothing ever happened. Just like they did five years ago after the youngest of the Acton’s was buried.

In this town, you aren’t invited to make it your home unless the children accept you. If they didn’t, you’ll end up becoming like the rest….like the Uninvited.