House of Death

You looked out the window and, not for the first time, thought about how wrong the weather forecast had been. Even as you checked the forecast again, it seemed that all the neighboring towns were enjoying the warm, sunny weather that was promised, but in your small town of Ligonier the sky was a dark mass of black clouds that threatened rain. Wind howled past the living room window, knocking the branches of a tall oak against the side of the house. A shiver ran down your spine as the branches made a horrible screeching noise as they moved against the window. The lights flickered as the storm grew closer, the wind pulling at the power lines. As the lights dimmed for the last time and then remained off, you heard the patter of raindrops on the roof as the sky opened up above you.

“Great”, you thought to yourself. “Just what I need, no electricity and nothing to do while I babysit this old lady’s dog.” You were in need of some extra cash, so when Mrs. Morrison asked you to watch her dog over the weekend while she was away, you didn’t hesitate to accept. You were starting to question whether that was such a good idea though. The house was old and creaked as the wind battered against it. Cobwebs clung to the ceiling and corners of the room as if no one had bothered to dust in there for years. The furniture was musty and the smell reminded you of the funeral you had attended earlier that year. The ancient house and overcast weather were starting to get to you, and you had to remind yourself that it was just a house, just an old house with and an old lady who didn’t clean enough. And it was perfectly normal for June weather to be unpredictable, and you were sure you read somewhere that the location of your town –something about the placement of the mountains—allowed it to have drastically different weather than its neighbors. But as you glanced out the window again, you couldn’t help but feel as if the storm was an omen of some kind.

You must have started to dose off because you awoke to find yourself in the dark. The house seemed to close in around you as you scanned the living room for some source of light. A flash of lightning illuminated the room and you jumped before you realized that the glowing eyes before you were only the old woman’s dog. You stared back at the creature that seemed to be judging you with its tiny black eyes and nose. It was not a very appealing animal. Its fur was sparse along its body and its tail more resembled that of a rat than a dog. The dog appeared almost comical when you noticed the pink satin ribbons adorning its ears. The elegant fabric of the ribbons made a stark contrast with the dog’s mangy fur. Masking how unnerved the dog made you, you bared your teeth at it in a mock growl. To your horror, the dog did the same before turning and disappearing into the darkness of the house. 

Your rivalry with the dog forgotten you began to search the room for candles and matches. Thankfully, the old woman had enough sense to keep both above the fireplace. The fireplace was enormous. It was located along the outer wall of the room that paralleled the back yard, and covered the entire space. The opening itself stretched the length of the wall and was tall enough for a grown man to walk through. Why anyone would need such a fireplace in their house was beyond you.

Maybe the old woman cooks people inside it… the thought slivered its ways into your head, but you shook it away with a silent reprimand to yourself to be logical. Even still, you grabbed the candles and matches from the shelf and moved to the other side of the room where the couch made a nice barrier between you and the fireplace. You felt your stomach rumble as you finished lighting the candles, and wondered what kind of food Mrs. Morrison kept in her house. You grabbed one of the candles and made your way to the kitchen. The small flame didn’t allow you to get a good idea of what the kitchen looked like, but considering the condition of the rest of the house you figured that might be for the best. You started with the refrigerator, but found only a half empty jug of expired milk and a few rotten apples. You moved on to the cabinets and met with similar luck. Finally, in the very last cabinet, you came across a bag of peanuts. Stomach gurgling you reached for the bag… only to find that it too was empty.

What kind of a person doesn’t have any food in their house? You thought to yourself as you shut the cabinet, disappointed and still hungry. A small growl had you turning to find Mr. Cuddles once again baring his fangs at you. “What’s your problem, dog?” you snapped at the little creature, your hunger seemingly making you more irritated. Your anger didn’t seem to faze the dog as it turned once more and pranced away. Hesitating for only a moment, you decided to follow it. With nothing else to do, you figured you might as well see what the little devil was up to. You followed Mr. Cuddles up a flight of stairs where he came to a stop in front of a door. He turned back towards you as if indicating that you should open it. You wrapped your hand around the knob and turned, only to find that the door was locked.

You looked down at the dog and shrugged, “Sorry, it’s locked.” Whining the creature began to scratch at the door, looking up at you occasionally to see if you were helping him. Grasping the handle again, with the intent to rattle it a few times to show the dog that it wasn’t opening, you turned the knob for a second time. This time, however, the door swung open. You stepped back, sure that there must have been a mistake. That the door must have been unlocked all along, it was only stuck the first time. That was the only logical explanation because how could a door unlock itself?

Unless it didn’t… Unless something else unlocked it… that fearful, irrational voice crept into your head again. “That’s ridiculous!” you said aloud, your voice echoing in the empty hallway. Turning to shut the door and return to the living room, you paused as a persistent voice in your head told you, Go inside… Go see what’s inside… Not entirely of your own accord you stepped into the dark room. The candle, now down to the last of its life, barely penetrated the blackness of the room. You shivered, whether from cold or fear you were unsure. You approached the small desk at the back of the room, a scattering of newspaper articles across its surface.

“You must leave this place,” the voice sounded again, but this time it was not in your head. Close, so close behind you, you could feel a presence hovering. Your breath quickened as you slowly turned to face whoever, whatever was behind you. You gasped as you took in the spectral figure floating inches above the floor. You could feel panic beginning to fill your lungs as a single thought chanted through your head, Ghost ghost ghost…

The ghost lifted its hands in a sign of peace and you realized that you had been brandishing your candle in front of you like a shield. “Please…” the ghost seemed to be struggling to speak, as if forming the words took more strength than she had. “I… mean you no harm… only wish… to help.” The ghost’s speech was staggered and difficult to follow, but you managed to understand the gist of it. Frustrated with her inability to speak, the ghost lifted a cold, shimmering hand and pointed towards the news articles. “Look…” is all she said before vanishing into the floor. Still perplexed by what the ghost was trying to say, you looked at the articles more closely. “Local teen gone missing…” one of the titles read. Sifting through the rest, you found that they were all about missing teens. One article in particular caught your attention. You recognized the girl in the photo. You glanced at the articles again. The girl in the photo was the same girl whose ghost just appeared to you. You must leave this place… Only trying to help… The ghost’s words ran through your head once more, and slowly you began to understand. “Oh my-“your exclamation of horror was cut off by the sound of the front door opening and closing.

You glanced out the window to find Mrs. Morrison’s car parked in the driveway. Run…Hurry… What you now recognized as the ghost’s voice whispered through your head, and a feeling of dread began to pool in your stomach. Killed… Eaten… Fireplace… Word after word flashed through your head along with glimpses of memory. The ghost’s memories, you realized with a start. “She killed you…” you whisper out loud. The ghost girl appeared once more, her face drawn and tear stained.

“Jenna, dear, I’m home a bit early. I hope you don’t mind.” The soft voice of Mrs. Morrison called from the foyer. Your stomach rose in your throat as you heard her begin to ascend the stairs. Idon’twannadie…Idon’twannadie…Idon’twannadie… Images of burned flesh and fanged teeth biting, ripping into it filled your mind. A creak on the upstairs landing had you scrambling to hide somewhere. Anywhere. Slipping into the closet you extinguished the flame of your candle, and waited. Mrs. Morrison appeared in the entrance of the room, eyes narrowed and hands braced on her hips. Her eyes focused on the disrupted news articles and then snapped to the closet in which you were hiding. Your heart thundered in your chest and you could swear that she must be able to hear it.

“I see you found my trophy room,” the old woman purred, stalking into the room and closing the door behind her. “You know,” she continued. “I usually prefer my prey docile. Fear just seems to make the meat taste bad… But alas, I suppose I’ll have to make do. I can’t very well just let you go now that you know my secret, now can I?”

“Now Jenna, we both know that I am fully aware of where you are hiding. Why don’t you come out and play?” Before you could move, the doors of the closet were thrown open, leaving you exposed.

“You’re going to kill me,” it wasn’t a question.

“Well of course, dear,” Mrs. Morrison grinned at you with a bone chilling smile.

You knew it was a stupid question, but you couldn’t help but ask it anyway. “Why?”

Clicking her tongue in disapproval, Mrs. Morrison indicated the articles. “Someone didn’t pay attention to their homework.” In a flash, the newspapers appeared in the air in front of you and you caught them as they fell. Glancing at Mrs. Morrison you flipped through the articles once more. The dates… You hadn’t noticed before, but they went back over a hundred and fifty years. You looked at the one about the ghost girl. The date read June 1865.

“How…” you didn’t even know what to ask.

“Oh please, my dear.” Mrs. Morrison rolled her eyes. “I thought you were smarter than that.” You looked up at the woman, and swore you could see her aging as you spoke. With a sharp intake of breath you realized the answer to your question. Not just a how, but a why.

“They keep you from aging…” Again, not a question, you knew you were right, and Mrs. Morrison’s answering smile was confirmation enough.

“Yes, and now you are going to contribute to my immortality as well.” Throwing the remains of your candle in her face you ran for the door. As you cleared the stairs and entered the foyer, you heard a familiar growl near your feet. Mr. Cuddles blocked your way to the front door.

“I should have known you were some little zombie dog,” you hissed at the creature. The dog ran towards you as if to bite at your ankles, but before he could reach you a cold breeze blew past, scaring the dog off. The breeze condensed into a figure.

“Anne? Your name is Anne, right?” you asked the ghost. She nodded to you, a look of gratitude filling her eyes. “How do I stop her?” Anne had been Mrs. Morrison’s first victim based on those articles –articles that were still in your hands you realized. You figured that after all this time, Anne must have found a weakness. Anne pointed towards the large window in the ceiling of the foyer. No, not the window, but the moon beyond it. The moon was bright and full tonight, and had already started to descend towards the horizon. 

“What about the moon?” You demanded, not having time to be patient or polite. You could hear Mrs. Morrison walking along the upstairs hall, her footsteps unhurried. Waiting for Anne to respond, you pulled at the front door, only to find that it wouldn’t budge. You checked the lock, but it too wouldn’t move. Magic… You thought to yourself. It must be magic.

Turning back to Anne, you demanded an answer again. This time she managed to get out one word. Sunrise.

Sunrise. What could she mean by sunrise?

As Mrs. Morrison appeared at the top of the stairs Anne vanished. Her final advice whispered in your mind. Make it to sunrise… With Anne’s message finally clear, you ran toward the kitchen, barricading yourself inside. You heard Mrs. Morrison’s heeled steps echoing as she marched toward your hiding spot. You grabbed a knife and a frying pan from the counter and readied yourself to face Mrs. Morrison. Her fist connected with the outside of the door. Once. Twice. Her third punch shattered through the door, leaving a fist-sized hole in which she looked through. Her eyes were a glowing blue, and her hair floated in the air around her head as if she was under water. With a final kick the door came down.

She stepped toward you, her talon-like fingers grasping onto your wrist. With a shriek, you slashed at her with the kitchen knife, and knocked her hand away with the frying pan. She hissed at you, taking a step back. The blade of the knife seemed to have sizzled as it touched her skin, as if it was burning her. A light reflected in the blade of the knife as you examined it. You glanced to the window, and with a sigh of relief saw that the sun was beginning to rise.

You bared your teeth at her in a savage smile. “You’re too late.” The demonic woman followed your gaze to the window and the approaching sun. As the light began to seep into the room, Mrs. Morrison stumbled back, hissing as the light touched her skin. You watched, transfixed as the sunlight began to turn her into dust. As the last remnants of Mrs. Morrison faded away you sagged to the floor in relief. You gave yourself only a few minutes to recover before pushing back to your feet. You were ready to go home. As you looked at the foyer for the last time, you watched as Anne’s ghost smiled and waved, and then faded into the morning light. You hoped that with Mrs. Morrison’s death, Anne would finally be at peace. As you turned to go, you noticed a small pile of dust near the front door. No doubt the remains of Mr. Cuddles.

Stepping into the morning sun, you grimaced to yourself as you realized you wouldn’t be getting that dog sitting money.