The House On Monterey Way

If walls could talk, instead of listening, perhaps ask why. I can talk, for as long as I've been here. Yet, nobody worries about how. Oh, the stories I could tell. This one is about the last time someone moved into the house on Monterey Way.

"If walls could talk," said Janice. "That's all Detective Bauer would say, and then he handed me this." She was holding a police report, one that detailed a tragic ending to a family. She should have handed it back.

On March 13th, 2020, A man lay on the floor in front of the glass doors going out the backside of a home on Monterey Way. His sobs echoed through the house. Nobody was there, at least not anymore. He was alone and grasping that it was his fault.

"Shut up!" he screamed.

Peter was his name. Peter lay there on the ground, holding the sides of his head, begging for quiet. No matter what he did, the noise in his head wouldn't stop. Every day, Peter could hear the chaos in his head, but only when Peter was home. Even when he went to the doctor for help, Peter couldn't explain why the voices in his head weren't there. It was always at home, always.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" he screamed, oblivious to the knocks at the door.

Moments later, Peter found himself staring up at men with guns pointed at him and flashlights in his face. He held his hands up in front of him, crying hysterically. Peter looked at the blood on his hands, begging them to stop him.

Janice Stone stopped reading. She was in the steady of Professor Christain Jame's home. The young assistant was doing her doctoral studies in human psychology when Janice met the professor, whose interest in the bizarre rivaled her own. As his assistant, she got to sit in on interviews with subjects claiming to hear voices in their heads.

"Well, what do you think?" she asked the professor.

Christian stood at the window, pondering her question. They were looking for a site to explore, study, and record unexplainable events. The house on Monterey Way sounded perfect. It had been the site of a devilish murder thanks to Peter McCaw murdering his wife and daughter.

"It holds all the tells of a supernaturally charged location. Tragedy, murder, and madness abounded in that house before the cops found Mr. McCaw. I think you've found the perfect place for us to study. What are the chances of it being open?"

Janice, proud of herself, thrust the keys to the house onto the desk. It was such an intriguing place that she jumped at leasing it when the owners said it was available. They were desperate to find someone to move in, as its history tended to leave people a bit leary. She signed the six-month lease and paid upfront. The owners let her have it at a bargain.

"It is ours for as long as we need it. The couple that own it were desperate to get a tenant in and make something off their investment," she explained.

Christian was amazed at Janice's tenaciousness. She no doubt talked the owners into a real bargain or had paid them exactly what they wanted to get such an intriguing place locked down. Either way, he knew he could depend on her when it came to her fieldwork and her work ethic.

"What am I going to do without you?" he sarcastically asked, applauding her initiative.

"You can figure that out next fall," she replied.

Christian picked up the keys and told Janice to arrange to get their recording equipment, cameras, and supplies to the house. As he walked out of the office, he turned sharply, looking at her with proud eyes. Even as he was finishing his sentence, Christian knew it was for naught.

"Is the refrigerator stocked?"

Janice smiled as she passed him in the doorway, "You're cooking dinner."

606 Monterey Way was one of the more attractive homes on the island despite its checkered past. Professor James followed Janice, driving his Hummer. When the two pulled up to the house, parking alongside the grass on the circle drive, they attracted the attention of the neighbors. When Professor James stepped out of his Hummer, he felt an urge coming over him.

"It's the 21st century. I'm sure a man and a woman moving into a residence isn't that noteworthy," he said to Janice.

"Sixty years ago, they'd have been staring because you're moving in with someone that looks like me," she explained. "I'm sure it's because they're surprised anyone moved in here."

"Whatever do you mean?" he asked as they walked inside.

Janice looked at the professor, who she knew wouldn't make a thing out of what she meant. She was, after all, twenty-five years younger and black.

"Oh, my dear," he smiled. "Alert the local authorities."

They both laughed as they looked around the vacant home. The furnishings were still there, the appliances were there, and the food and bottled water she had delivered were still there. They had everything they needed.

"What time do you want to start?"

"Why don't you come back around seven? We can have dinner and then get to work," he suggested. "Tell Susan I said hello."

"Right after I get done telling her hello," laughed Janice as she headed toward the door. "I'll see you at seven, and after this week, I expect to have an appetite when I get done with the hellos."

Christian walked through the house exploring. Eventually, he found himself staring out at the view. The glassed side of the home was A-Framed and exposed the residents to a beautiful yard that overlooked a majestic beach view. Opening the doors to let in the sea air, he took a deep breath.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

Christian turned around, startled. He knew he hadn't imagined the voice behind him. Or was it to his side? Christian reached into his pocket, pulling out a small pistol.

"Who's here?" he asked.

"You won't need that."

He turned in a circle, tracking a voice that seemed to be all around him. Christian walked to the front and looked side to side down both halls. He yelled for whoever was there to respond, but nobody did. Scratching his head, he turned and sat down on the overstuffed sofa.

"I'm going crazy," he said to himself.

"No," the voice told him, "You're not going crazy."

"Who in the hell is here?"

The voice told him to calm down if he wanted to know what happened to the McCaw family. It said that it could explain the sordid mess.

"What are you?"

"I'm the house on Monterey Way. Or, you can call me the 606. One of my former owners called me Monty. Poor Mr. McCaw, he believed I was something else."

Christian sat there, holding his head, thinking that it was impossible. How could he be talking with the house? There must be something in the place causing people to hallucinate. Maybe, he considered, it was what happened to the family that lived there before. Peter McCaw hallucinated and killed his wife and child.

"You're not hallucinating," echoed the house. "I'm real, you're really here, and you're really not going crazy."

"No," said Christian. "It's impossible."

"Any more impossible than your assistant having the hots for you?" asked Monty.

"That's absurd," a shocked Christian responded. "She's a lesbian."

"No, she's bi-sexual. And you, my friend, are blind as a bat," insisted Monty. "Trust me. I've seen all kinds, and she's definitely into you."

Christian turned as if he could look at the wall and see something. Monty scolded him, reminding him that he was everywhere and nowhere. Monty told Christian how he'd been a part of 606 Monterey Way for nearly one hundred and fifty years. Monty had kept the house standing during Hurricane Irene when the rest of the island was left decimated.

"Say I believe this is real," sighed Christian, "Can you see just inside the house or outside as well?"

"I can see anything visible from the structure. It's a magnificent view," said Monty.

"I bet you've seen a lot here," suggested Christian.

Monty could remember further back than the house on Monterey Way. He remembered the view before the house was the only thing there when there was a monastery on the island, and the only way to get onto the island was by boat. He remembered when there were few people on the beaches, and they were required to wear fewer clothes.

"Really?" asked Christian.

"I've seen all the travesties of your kind. I've seen the joys and the sorrows suffered by humans."

Christian wanted to know what Monty was and if he'd always been a voice in the walls. It was weird talking to a wall. He was starting to think it was real and had questions.

"I'll answer your questions but only yours. Your assistant can't know about me," said Monty.

Christian was suspicious that Monty didn't want Janice to know he existed. Why wouldn't he let Janice in on the secret? Was Monty a he? His voice sounded male. Christian told himself he'd call him he. It would make things easier, especially when he took notes.

"And you should probably get to work on dinner. You did tell Janice seven o'clock."

Christian looked at his watch, realizing that his exploration through the house and getting to know Monty had eaten time up faster than he realized. He trotted out to the kitchen, gathering together ingredients for dinner and scurrying around excitedly. After many years of study and investigations, Christian was dealing with an actual supernatural presence.

While he prepared dinner, he questioned in his mind, was Monty a ghost? If he had been there as long as he indicated, he might be haunting something in the house or on the island. What was he tied to, and would he want him to help him let go of this world? Being just a voice in a wall must be a miserable feeling. People weren't likely to take to a booming voice coming out of nowhere.

"When was the last time you had a friend?" Christian asked, looking up at the ceiling.

"I'm not in the ceiling. I'm everywhere. I'm in all the walls, not just one at a time," Monty explained. "And, it was in the 1920s."

"That must have been tough to make someone understand, especially back then," suggested Christian.

Monty agreed with Christian. He remembered how hard it was for him to enjoy a conversation with even his closest friend in the 1920s, a guy named Al. Al would take trips down to the island and occasionally invite young women, and on occasion, several men would land their boats on the beach and come for a gathering.

Al came to the island and stayed in the old house. It burned down in the late 50s. He hadn't seen Al in many years. Men from the FBI came. He remembered them talking about Al going to prison because of tax evasion.

"What is tax evasion?" asked Monty.

Christian tried to explain what it meant to evade taxes, and in the middle of the explanation, he realized who Monty was referencing.

"Wait, just a dammed minute! Are you telling me that Al Capone used to visit here, and that you two were..."

"Yes," said Monty. "Mr. Capone. His friends called him that quite often. We would talk late into the nights before he stopped coming."

"Knock knock," a voice called out from the front door. It was Janice.

Janice could smell dinner from the kitchen, so she found her way there. Whatever Professor James was cooking smelt delicious. As she approached the kitchen, she thought she heard voices.

"Professor, it's Janice. The food sure smells good," she loudly said, announcing herself.

When she walked into the kitchen, Christian was hard at work. He chose steak for their main course and had finished making a homemade mushroom sauce to pour across the meat. Along with the fried asparagus, Janice felt her mouth start to water.

Christian handed Janice a glass of wine as he buzzed by her with an oven mitten. He grabbed the oven door and pulled out two of his famous double-stuffed baked potatoes. Looking at his dinner guest, he told her it was time to eat.

"Were you talking to someone when I came in?" asked Janice. "I'm hopefully not interrupting anything."

Christian looked around the room. His first thought was that she'd heard Monty. His heart already raced, trying to think his way past the obvious.

"No, no...I often talk to myself when I cook. Cooking allows me to keep my own counsel," he told her. "Come and sit down. Let us enjoy dinner before settling in and trying to get into the mind of Peter McCaw."

"You're doing fine." Monty could talk to someone without anyone else hearing his voice. The being in the walls chose who could hear him and who couldn't.

Christian heard the words, causing his eyes to focus on Janice. Janice hadn't noticed the booming voice. Christian wondered how. How was it possible that Janice didn't hear the voice of the house?

"I can speak to you without others hearing me, Christian. I can also read your thoughts."

Telepathy? How was that possible, thought Christian. It was amazing and, by all accounts, scary.

"So, how was your afternoon? Did you work up the appetite you expected?" he asked Janice, smiling as he sipped from his wine glass.

Janice blushed as she finished chewing a bite of steak. Her eyes opened wide as if in shock, but she smiled from ear to ear. When she finally finished chewing, she grabbed her glass and took a copious drink.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" she flirtatiously asked Christian.

"I know I'd like to know. I should tell you about a particular actress. She was blonde, vivacious, and had a friend like your Janice. I remember when Kennedy came here for a weekend. The games the three played together were tawdry but fun to watch. It made me wish I had a body, even if it was only to touch myself."

Christian chuckled. The formless being in the walls could touch himself.

Then, he realized Monty was talking about JFK and Marilyn Monroe. President Kennedy had been having an affair with the actress. Or, that was what the history books believed. Christian thought how crazy it was that Al Capone and President Kennedy had carried on at the same place on the island.

Janice looked at him, puzzled. She couldn't tell if he was nervous over her flirtations or laughing at her. Janice wondered what he found funny about her answer. Janice always fancied the professor but was she reading his interest the wrong?

"I'm sorry if that was too forward," she apologetically said.

Christian was amazed. Had Monty been right? Was the young student interested in him romantically? She was attractive, and they had a lot in common despite their age differences. Any man would be lucky to find a girl like Janice. Why him, though? She could do better, thought Christian.

"Come on, you know you want to. I wouldn't pass on such a tasty treat if I had a human body," Monty told him.

Christian put down his silverware and walked to the other side of the table, leaning down and softly kissing Janice's plump, red lips. It was the boldest thing he'd done in years, and kissing Janice sent electricity through his body. When she began to reciprocate, he pulled her to his feet and took her in his arms, their lips exploring the others.

When they finally broke their kiss, Janice looked up at him. She was flush with excitement.

"Finally," she whispered through labored breath.

"Why do you say that?"

Janice smirked as she answered, "I was beginning to think that I couldn't attract a man, especially one like you."

"What about your..."

"Christian," she sighed, "It's been over for six months."

Christian picked her up and carried her to the main bedroom. Janice immediately began tearing her clothes off as Christian slowly unbuttoned his shirt, dealing with getting undressed in front of such a youthful young woman. Pulling his shirt off, Christian bit his lip nervously, but Janice reassured him coming to her knees in front of him as she kissed his slightly gray-haired chest.

She pulled him onto the bed, her legs wrapping around him, the two rolling side to side, passionately kissing one another as their hands roamed and freely explored each other's bodies.

Christian woke up at 4:00 in the morning. Unable to go back to sleep, he strolled to the main room, looking out at the Gulf Of Mexico. Christian was still surprised that Janice had hooked up with him. As happy as he was, Christian wondered if it could last.

"I remember when men like you hooking up with a girl like that was a big no-no. It's nice to see that the world has changed."

"You mean because she's black," said Christian.

"I remember an airman in the 50s. There were island girls from Jamaica that relocated to the states. He fell hard for that one. She was as stunning as the morning sun peeking over the horizon. Her smile was so bright I could see it when they were on the beach together."

"She sounds lovely," replied Christian. "What happened to them?"

Monty told him how other men, less tolerant than the airman, came to the beach. When they saw the white man with a beautiful black woman, they started to harass them. The airman was a brave young man. No doubt that he felt for the girl. So, he did what men do and stood up to the raucous group of locals.

Sadly, it didn't matter how hard he tried to fight. There were six of them and only one of him. They beat that poor boy to a bloody pulp. As he lay there in the sand, they did the unthinkable. Each of them took turns on the girl until she just stared at the poor airman who was barely alive.

"When they finished with the girl, they drug them into the ocean. The ocean has a way of hiding the sins of men, especially those creatures capable of such heinousness. Are you capable of such acts? Have you ever done such evil things?"

"Jesus, Monty, what the hell?" asked Christian.

"Who's Monty," Janice's soft voice wondered as she put her arms around Christian.

Christian jumped, turning to face her with a startled and terrified look. He didn't speak at first, just staring at Janice until he made her uncomfortable enough she backed away. Christian realized he was freaking her out.

"Jesus, you scared the hell out of me," he told her.

Janice relaxed a bit. She had quietly walked up behind him, amused that he was talking to himself. Now, Janice wondered if the discussion was more serious. She put her arms around him, hugging him as she apologized.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to scare you. I woke up, and you were gone. I was afraid I'd find you out here rambling, going over your second thoughts in your head."

"No, my dear, nothing of the sort," he assured her. "I'm just a very light sleeper."

As he put his arms around her pulling her closer to him, Christian heard her ask the question again. Who's Monty? He knew he needed to answer the question. Christain wanted to tell her the truth. Especially after what they just shared. Monty warned him that he couldn't share their discussions. He couldn't tell anybody about the walls that could talk.

"I talk to myself whenever I'm working out a problem in my head. To keep from feeling lonely, I use Monty for counterpoints."

"Creative," she said, smiling. "Genius types, always so eccentric. I'm still tired. Are you coming back to bed?"

Christian wanted to follow her. In his tee shirt, she was so adorable that it was hard not to follow her. The voice from in the walls spoke to him again. Monty wanted to talk more.

Janice left the room. Christian watched her walk down the hall and into the bedroom, disappearing into the pale blue light of the moon shining through. He desperately wanted to join her.

"I know you're a wall, but have you ever been told you're a buzzkill?"

"She's quite fetching. Remember our agreement. She can't know about me until I'm ready."

"I remember. Now, can we finish this later?" asked Christian.

"Go. Just remember, I'll be watching."

It wouldn't have been creepier if Monty were a person. Still, Christian was creeped out by the sentiment. He imagined that a sentient being inside a structure must be lonely. He told Monty they'd talk again soon, starting to walk back to the bedroom.

In the morning, Janice walked around the neighborhood, interviewing the neighbors to find out if anyone remembered Peter McCaw and his family. If they were to develop a profile, anything the neighbors remembered would help. Their work would take days, and Janice would do most of the footwork between romps with the professor. Janice took off twice a day to do interviews and to work out.

Whenever Janice was gone, Monty would tell Christian stories about the island and the visitors that came to the beach or stayed in the old house. Everybody from politicians to fortune 500 company heads and Hollywood types visited the island until things slowed down in the 1970s. A couple of weeks went by before he told him about the last famous person to stay in the beach house was a horror writer.

"Did you interact with the writer?" asked Christian.

"I showed him things. It helped him to write his first book. He came back a couple of years later to work on a sequel, but he sold out and sold the rights to Hollywood. They made many movies based on the things I showed Clive."

Christian's wild imagination ran amuck as he pictured Monty working with a horror writer. There was only one noted horror writer he knew of named Clive. The movies were some of his favorites in the genre, as Christian sat picturing his favorite Hollywood demon. As much as he wanted to ask, he forced himself not to seem like a fanboy.

"Yes, it's who you imagine it is."

"You showed him things. What kind of things?" asked Christian.

Monty explained that he showed the writer a doorway, a place to look into the deepest, darkest realms of human existence. It inspired his works and much more. The door was something few humans knew existed. Fewer held onto their sanity after seeing the other side.

"You said much more?" questioned Christian.

Monty explained that the writer delved into his work. He wanted to know more, to experience the pleasures only someone succumbing to their darkness can feel. During the first book, he wanted to be able to describe things as realistically as he could. Some of the scenes he acted out within these walls.

"He murdered people?"

The voice of Monty recounted that the writer murdered dozens of people in grizzly ways. The writer got away with it all because of the doorway. He would dump the bodies through the opening, feeding the evil on the other side.

"How do you know about the doorway? How do you know how to open it for someone?" asked Christian, starting to suspect Monty was less benevolent than he believed.

"I'll show you if you want. First, you have to do something for me. To open the door, I need something first."

Christian knew what Monty was going to ask. He knew it before he heard the question. Opening a gateway required a sacrifice. The house wanted him to kill Janice.

Janice walked in through the front door. Christian looked at the woman, wishing she hadn't come back. Monty was dangerous. Christian wished she'd stayed away so he could find out what Monty was, what it was really called. Much like the stories and interviews he conducted with demon experts, he believed that Monty had deceived him.

"I interviewed three of the neighbors that knew the McCaws. They were the typical family and by all accounts, happy," she announced.

"I'm sorry," said Christian, looking down at the floor.

He got up and walked to the kitchen. Monty's voice echoed in his head. He kept saying to do it, and then you can see the other side. All of his life, Christian questioned what was on the other side, and what made men do the things they do. Now, he was about to find out.

"Christian, what's wrong?" asked Janice, not seeing him pick up the kitchen knife.

Christian walked back into the front of the house, standing in front of Janice, tears rolling down his cheeks. Monty kept telling him to do it, and then he could open the doorway. His voice echoed throughout the house on Monterey Way, revealing himself to Janice for the first time.

"Is somebody else here?" she asked.

Christian put a hand on her cheek, sliding it behind her head as he told her she would never understand. He pulled her close to him, sliding the knife into her just below her left ribs. He angled it upward, perforating her heart, as blood poured out of the wound. She died quickly, her eyes locking with Christian's as the last sparkle of her life drained out of her.

Christian dropped to the floor, sobbing. What he had done was beyond anything he imagined he could do, and there he was with the blood of a young woman he cared for staining his hands. He let out a guttural scream, angry at himself for succumbing to the temptation.

"Don't be like Peter," the voice said.

A sobbing Christian crawled to his knees, staring at a doorway in the middle of the room. All he had to do was get up and open the door. He could push Janice's body through.

"Who are you really?"

"You know who I am," said the voice, as the walls around Christian changed. "I am the reaper of souls, and you've just brought me a delicious one."



Like Peter McCaw, he thought I was talking about the soul of his victim. Little did he know, killing for me, guaranteed me his soul. So many souls have come to this island, and so many more will follow. Will you be next?