The House

My wife and I had decided it was time for a change. We drove to a new town a few hours away to look at a house that we had seen advertised for sale, but it didn't suit our needs. We decided to look around the town for other opportunities; it seemed like a nice quiet town. Spotting an older-looking man in a tan overcoat hammering a sign into the ground, we thought to take a look. As we drove slowly past the house, I peered out my window to catch all of the details. A tall oak stood proudly with a wooden swing swaying in the wind from one of its branches while the red and yellow leaves danced in swirling motions.

The house was a two-level home, I could see the roof needed work and the siding needed a new coat of paint. I shared a look of hopeful anticipation with my wife as we climbed from the car. The man stopped mid-hammer when he noticed us and greeted us warmly.

"Howdy folks, how are ya doing today?" He lowered the hammer to his side as he wiped his brow with his sleeve. A plain light gray shirt was visible through his open coat and his black pants were stained with flecks of whitish paint.

I extended my hand as I stepped forward, feeling a little over-dressed in black slacks and a navy button-up shirt. "We are doing well, thank you. I'm Eric Whaser and this is my wife, Isabelle. We came to town to look at a place, but it didn't meet our needs. We saw you were hammering the sign and thought to inquire."

Isabelle stood beside me in her sky blue dress, her dark brown curls at the wind's mercy. "Could you tell us a bit about the house?"

The man shook our hands, nodding. "I'm Gordon, the house does need some minor repair but it has three bedrooms, two baths, and a half bath in the unfinished basement. The roof needs to be re-shingled and the siding needs painted, simple things like that.

"Would it be possible to take a tour?" I asked. For an instant, I thought I saw fear in the gentleman's eyes as he turned to look at the house. When he turned back, any sign of uncertainty was gone.

"Absolutely! Just let me get the keys from my truck, you folks can take a look at the yard if you'd like." Giving us a wink and a smile, he shuffled towards his vehicle. Shrugging at his peculiarity, I gestured towards the side of the house to infer we should have a look. As we made our way along the cobbled path beside the weathered fence to the backyard, we looked for flaws in the structure. Everything looked to be in good shape other than the cracked and peeling grayish paint.

The path opened to a garden with a fountain featuring a dancing couple in the center of the yard. An assortment of rose bushes, lilacs, lilies, tulips, and orchids were positioned in planters in a circular pattern from the fountain with spaces left for walking.

“Beautiful,” Isabelle breathed, all I could do was nod my head in agreement as I looked around awestruck. We made our way back to the front to find Gordon waiting for us by the front door. He nodded to us and opened the door.

“I'll wait here if you don't mind. If you have questions, feel free to ask them.” Gordon took a step back to let us pass. We took a quick tour of the main and upper levels, the rooms were spacious and the bathrooms looked like they had been updated recently. The kitchen was a chef's paradise, with more counter space than most kitchens and a six-burner oven. Outside of the kitchen beside the pantry, we found the staircase that lead to the basement. The stairs looked worn but stable, we proceeded down into a wide room with a row of shelves resting against the wall to our left. To our right, four doors sat in the wall. The first two doors led to a storage room with more shelves along the walls and in rows like a warehouse. The third door leads to the half bath and antique fixtures and the fourth door led to an empty room with two ceiling to floor mirrors in the corner.

We stood in the main part of the basement discussing the potential of the house, weighing the pros and cons for a few minutes before returning to Gordon. “This is a beautiful home, but we will need to know the price before we make a final decision,” I said when he was within earshot of us.

“The asking price is three hundred thousand, plus closing costs. I would be willing to negotiate on some points since the place does need work but it would be dependent upon the house inspections,” Gordon responded.

“We'll take it,” Isabelle stated flatly, determination in her voice. “That kitchen alone is well worth the price but the garden? I was sold the moment I saw it!”

We returned home shortly after that to call our bank and get the paperwork rolling for it. After almost two months, we packed up our belongings and moved into our new home. As we unpacked and made the space truly our own, we started to feel uneasy about something.

"I have the living set up, I think. Would you care to check it out, dear?" I asked as I entered the kitchen. "This room is looking great in here for sure."

Isabelle looked over her shoulder, a smile on her face. "You're only saying that because I am an interior designer."

I grinned back, crossing my arms. "You got me. I don't know anything about aesthetics or how to create artistic beauty, which is why I became a psychiatrist. You help people live comfortably in their homes, I help them live comfortably in their minds."

A dull dong rang out, Isabelle shared my look of confusion. “We should think about changing the doorbell to something a little brighter, maybe like a twinkling bell?” She said as she walked into the main hall to answer the door. I walked over to the window to enjoy the sight of our beautiful garden. The fountain looked so serene as the sunlight glinted off the streams of tears from the pair of dancers. A gentle breeze blew causing the flowers to dance, as I stared the statues seemed to turn and look at me fully as their eyes narrowed and mouths opened in silent screams of rage.

I took a step back and blinked, the statues were in their original places. “Eric! Can you come here please?” Isabelle called from the foyer. I looked over my shoulder one last time at the garden as I heeded her call. Stepping into the front hall, I was greeted with a look of worry from Isabelle. Just past her, I see a disheveled man with a tangled reddish-brown beard standing in our doorway. “Your brother Charlie came to visit us and he has a favor to ask.”

Charlie stepped forward, wringing his hands nervously. "Hello, brother. It's been a long time."

My eyes narrowed, "What the hell are you doing here? The last time I saw you, I thought it would be the last. You didn't think I forgot that you kissed my wife, did you?" I growled.

Charlie raised his hands in a surrendering manner. "I know, I was a drunken idiot, and I can never make up for it. I am sober now. After you gave me a thorough beating, I was kicked out of my apartment. My job fired me and I had hit rock bottom. I put myself through a few AA meetings and made a few friends who will support me when I feel the need to drink coming on strong again. I have come to the next step in my recovery: asking for forgiveness. I am not here to darken your doorstep, I am here to clear the air."

I crossed my arms, dubious of his words. Isabelle laid a hand on my shoulder. "It's time for forgiveness. It has been five years, we've had our share of troubles in that too that have tested our relationship and made us stronger. The past teaches us for the future, the future has yet to be decided and the present allows us an opportunity to grow and learn. Take the opportunity to grow and change, for yourself and us."

I blinked, "I thought I was the psychiatrist?"

She smiled coyly and shrugged. "Philosophy is frequently used in interior design."

"Please, Eric, I am trying to defeat my demons. It would be easier with my brother by my side," Charlie chimed in.

I shook my head. "This isn't a story, I can't just throw my hands up and say 'all is forgiven'. All I can do is try, to accept you back into our lives and try to build a new relationship, Charlie. I can't make any guarantees, you betrayed my trust and that is going to be difficult to get over."

Charlie nodded slowly, a look of sadness in his eyes. "I understand. It makes my request even harder to ask. I need a place to crash, I was hoping to maybe stay here for a bit."

I narrowed my eyes, suspicious of how much my brother wanted to reconcile over his own needs. "Where exactly have you been living all this time?"

"With mom, but I feel like I have been too much of a burden on her. She isn't doing so well financially, if I had known before I moved in I would have stayed in my camp just off the Concord river," Charlie sighed. "I would go back now but mom threatened to whip me with a willow switch if I did.

I sighed; every fiber of my being screamed at me to throw him out on his rear. "For mom, you can stay for a month. You had best find a new arrangement within that time that isn't mom's or living rough. Furthermore, any funny business and you're out. Am I making myself clear?"

Charlie smiled gratefully, "Crystal. Thank you for giving me a chance; is there a room you'd prefer to stick me in?"

"There is a room in the basement, the one with the mirrors. There is also a small bathroom down there you can use during your stay," Isabelle chimed in. “You'll have to use the shower on the main floor though.”

A week passed, Charlie was cheerful the first couple of days but his demeanor grew darker as time went on. Isabelle grew more distant too and I had to fight against thoughts that crossed my mind. The fourth night living in the house, the nightmares began. I would dream Charlie had killed Isabelle while the fountain in the garden watched and laughed. I would be helpless to do anything, a marionette with cut strings while a boy would fill a goblet with her blood and drink it greedily and stare at me with dark eyes after he drank it all. Every night, I would wake up breathing hard and sweat running down my face. When I got settled enough to sleep again, the nightmare would pick up where it left off.

On the morning of our eighth day in the house, I walked into the kitchen for breakfast after another night of horrible sleep and Charlie came up from the basement, looking more ragged than ever. He slumped into a chair, staring at a spot on the table. “Morning Eric,” he mumbled. He looked up at me with haunted eyes. “You look like I feel. I was going to ask if I could move upstairs for the remainder of my stay but the look of you is telling me that wouldn't stop the dreams.”

I looked up sharply at Charlie, "What do you mean, the dreams?"

"I haven't caught forty winks since I arrived, I keep having a nightmare. Night after night, I have the same dream. It's worse than alcohol withdrawal; I'm sorry about my mood recently by the way. Losing sleep has that effect." He got up and poured himself a cup of coffee, staring out the window as he did. "Those dancers come to life and offer me booze. When I refuse, I find myself back in my room downstairs. When I try to leave, a boy is always blocking the doorway. There is something wrong with him."

A shiver ran down my back. “The boy, he is in a blue and yellow horizontally striped shirt? Are his eyes dark, almost black pits?”

Charlie spun around, surprised by my questions. "How did you know that!? How could you possibly have known what a kid in my dreams looked like!?"

I sighed, "I have also been suffering from nightmares. The same one every night." I recounted my night visions as Charlie seemed to grow even more afraid.

"Oh, thank God!" Isabelle exclaimed as she burst into the kitchen, looking like she might cry. "I thought I was the only one who was having horrible dreams, about that fountain and the child. I have been dreaming that I find Charlie staring into the mirrors. There isn't a reflection, the boy is always in both mirrors staring at him. Eric comes in and reaches out to tap your shoulder but you always turn before he can touch you. Your tongue is hanging out to the floor and the tip is barbed. The dancers float out of the mirrors and then the room crumbles. Waterfalls down the walls where the mirrors stood as Charlie grows into a monstrous size. Eric turns to run and Charlie stabs him through the back with his tongue, flopping him around like a rag doll. I always wake up about that time," Isabelle finished, tears welling up in her eyes. "This can't just be a coincidence, all three of us having nightmares? There has to be a cause for it."

I thought for a moment, then picked up the phone. I dialed the number we had for Gordon, maybe he had some idea of what was going on.

"Hi Gordon, this is Eric Whaser," I started after he had answered.

"The nightmares have started, haven't they?" He whispered. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have sold you that house. It's not safe to talk, meet me in the park in half an hour, you and your wife. Do not stay in the house alone! Whatever you do!"

A click and a dial tone rang out in my ear before I could respond. I slowly hung up the phone and the three of us went to the park to find out what was happening. When we arrived, Gordon was anxiously pacing beside the drinking fountain. "Hey Gordon, we need answers. Now," I called out angrily.

The man wrung his hands nervously in front of him. "You've been having dreams about the fountain figures, a little boy roughly eight years old, and someone's death, right? That is only the beginning I'm afraid. Those dreams aren't a warning, but if you stay someone will die. Maybe all of you."

"What are you talking about old man? Ghosts? Preposterous!" Charlie sneered.

Gordon looked at us all, an expression of sadness and pain etched on his weathered face. "How old do you lot think I am?"

We looked at each other, puzzled by the question. "Seventy?" I responded.

"Eighties?" Isabelle guessed.

"Too old to be telling tall tales?" Charlie snarled.

Gordon pulled out his wallet and yanked his driver's license from it. He threw it on the ground in front of us. "I am only thirty! Whatever is in that house robbed me of my life and caused the death of my wife and child! It started with the dreams; we believed it was the stress of moving since we were packing to leave. We learned too late that it wasn't. Our child died from literal fright and my wife died from heartbreak. I barely escaped with my life; the child from our dreams manifested one night and attempted to convince me to follow it. When I refused, it screamed something terrible and grabbed my arm." Gordon rolled up his sleeve as he spoke, shaking with anger and fear. He thrust his arm to us, showing a blackened handprint imprinted in his arm. "I don't know how I got away, but it sapped me of my life. I had hoped whatever it is was gone when I sold you the house, I'm sorry."

I stared at him in disbelief. "You're sorry? Is that all you have to say about putting our lives in jeopardy?"

"Did you try to have the house blessed?" Isabelle asked.

"Yes. My wife was a devote Catholic, she wouldn't hear of not having any home blessed," Gordon sighed. "We had the house blessed multiple times over the years, more and more frequently since our daughter was subject to night terrors. Medication didn't help her any and my wife feared she was getting possessed.”

We went home sometime later, with more questions than answers. Charlie had gone off on Gordon, calling him a crazy old man and wouldn't hear a word more of what he had to say. Over the next three days, we tried to ignore the dreams, but we began to live in a waking nightmare. We would find food spoiled before it should have, lights would flicker or burn out shortly after being replaced, and the air became heavy and almost unbreathable. Isabelle and I came home on the fourth night after talking with Gordon to find Charlie sitting on the porch steps with several empty gas cans littering the ground in front of him.

"Charlie? What are you doing?" Isabelle asked him lightly.

Charlie looked up, a haunted look in his eyes. "The boy from the dreams. He...HE stepped out of the mirrors today. He somehow held me in place, a prisoner of my body." Charlie raised his hands and struck a match, which flickered slightly in the breeze. "I can't let him win. The house must burn."

Before Isabelle or I could do anything, an inhuman shriek rang out in the crisp evening air as the dancing figures from the fountain dropped from the roof and moved at inhuman speeds. They swiped in unison at Charlie; his head flew into the open door of the house as his body dropped to the ground with a dull thud.

Isabelle's screams sounded very distant to me as I watched the child from our dreams step into the doorway, a twisted smile on his face. The dancers slinked onto the porch to stand on either side of the door.

"Welcome home, are you ready to play with me?" The boy asked sinisterly.

Isabelle abruptly stopped screaming as I felt my body moving forward on its own. We were both shuffling towards the house, towards the boy and the statues. My eyes darted around, looking for a way to escape our fate. My eyes landed on the box of matches Charlie had in his hands when we got home. Through an enormous amount of effort, I managed to reach down and grab the box. I struck a match and dropped it on the porch where I could see the dark stain of the gasoline Charlie had poured there.

"Noooooo!" The boy howled in a distorted voice as the flames raced into the house. Within seconds the house was engulfed in a blaze, the boy's skin melted away revealing and horrible visage under the innocent demeanor. The statues swayed and fell, breaking as they struck the ground.

Isabelle and I got into the car and sped away, not risking a look back. We spent the night in a hotel, returning to the house the next day to see the husk before we sought shelter at my mom's.

Our jaws dropped as we pulled up. The house stood as it did the day we first saw it, out front Gordon was hammering a for sale sign into the ground. Looking up, he waved at us.

"Gordon? What is going on here?" I demanded.

"Would you believe me if I told you I am the slave of a demon, as I have been for the last fifty years?" He asked, pulling out his wallet. "Take your money back and run. Don't look back. Don't even bother trying to share your story, no one ever believes it anyway. Forget this place and me, try to live free. Go, now." He turned back to resume his hammering but paused. "Sorry about your brother, but it's better to be dead than in servitude of a demon."