Word Count: 9,011
The community in which I spent my childhood years was old to say the least. Some of the houses surpassed two hundred years in age, and many of the trees were even older. Old, faded red brick roads lined with flagstone curbs still dominated the area as opposed to the few newly paved streets found nearby. Venerable oak trees located in most every yard provided the entire area with a cool shade during the hot summers and helped shield the wind during the cold winters.
As children, we probably spent more time playing in the thick sturdy limbs of those trees than we did romping around on the ground. The massive trunks supported thick limbs that were the perfect climbing places for young children enjoying the freedom of a summer out of school. We played spaceship, we played submarine, we played just about everything our active imaginations could conjure in the branches of those trees.
A few of the kids in the area had treehouses, but the absolute best climbing tree was in a vacant lot across from “the house.” I cannot account for other neighborhoods, but ours had that one house all the kids spun curious rumors about while at the same time all were afraid to approach. During most daylight hours, and even somehow in the dark one could see the man sitting at the attic window.
No one ever saw the man get up or return; he was either there or he wasn’t. Even before I was allowed to venture beyond the boundaries of our yard on my own, I heard the other kids tell stories about “the house” and the strange man at the window. Some children said it was not a man at all, that it was in fact a ghost. Other children said he was a prisoner the family trapped in the attic, but the most popular story was the man at the window was once a patient at a mental hospital. Variations in the story said he escaped or that his family broke him out of the institution. Now they kept their insane relative locked in the attic of that massive three-century old home.
I remember the first time I was allowed to leave our street without my parents’ supervision, the first thing I wanted to do was go see this spooky man in the window all the kids gossiped so constantly about. Around the corner and a few blocks away, some of the neighborhood kids were gathering together for a squirt gun war. We were all to meet around the largest oak tree in the neighborhood, at the tree in the lot across from “the house.”
Arriving to find no one in the attic window, I was more than a little disappointed. All my life I heard these other kids talking about the strange man, possibly an apparition in the attic of this magnificent dwelling, and I arrived to find nothing. I wanted to ask the other kids, but I was afraid I might get teased about it if I brought up the subject.
More than a month passed, and yet still I never saw the man in the attic window. I really began to believe he was nothing more than a myth some of the neighborhood kids cooked up to scare the younger kids. From what the others said, it made it seem like he was there almost all the time. We only had two weeks of summertime left when I finally got my first look at the man in the window.
There did not seem to be anything particularly striking about him one way or another. I was still a small child, so I could not provide any sort of accurate judgement of his age. Everyone high school age and up looked like adults to me. I could not see his face well enough to see if he had wrinkles, but I was able to make out his graying hair. His hair was long – it was considered long for that period in time at least – and looked like it had not been brushed in weeks.
Everything about him seemed normal to me from where I was standing. He stared out the window; I am presuming he was looking at the tree in the vacant lot as that seemed to be where he had his gaze fixed. I continued to watch the man in the window, but when he turned his gaze on me cold chills ran throughout my body.
There was something about that gaze that terrified me. It felt like he was reaching into my imagination pulling forward every fear I knew. I wanted to run, but all I could do was stand there and stare back. I wanted to get away from this street, but it felt like my feet were rooted to the ground. When faced with this fight or flight situation, I instinctively chose the third option and did nothing.
The blank look on the man’s face reminded me of how my uncle looked laying in a casket at the funeral home last spring. I watched him turn his head to look at me, but there did not look like he had any life in his eyes. I may have stood there for minutes or hours as time seemed to stop the instant the man looked at me.
Finally, I was able to break free from the spell the man had on me, and I ran as fast as I could all the way home. I cut through the next-door neighbor’s yard where he had the sprinkler out watering his lawn. More than a few times I was told to stay out of their sprinkler, but I was not outside playing this time. I was terrified out of my mind and running for the safety of home.
My mother was there when I got home, but she was in the kitchen preparing dinner. Without saying a word, I ran up the hardwood stairs up to my bedroom. Grabbing my favorite stuffed animal, a black and brown dog, I jumped into my bed and held my Doggy tightly against my chest.
A few minutes later there was a light knock at my door. It was my mother asking me if I was okay. I told her I was fine, but she opened the door and stepped in to check on me anyway. I was afraid I would get in trouble if I told her the truth, so every time she asked me what was wrong, I told her I was fine. Eventually she told me if I needed to talk, she would be downstairs in the kitchen.
As a child, I did not realize I was clearly showing my mother everything was not okay by the way I sat in my bed holding Doggy. Young minds do not think of things like this, so I thought I pulled something over on Mom. I did not think then of how much body language can reveal about someone. My mother knew something was wrong with me, but she knew pushing me only made me grow quieter and more withdrawn.
The rest of the summer I avoided the part of the neighborhood with “the house.” If the other kids were playing in the vacant lot, I found something else to do. I was not sure what it was that terrified me so, but taking the chance of that man in the attic looking at me was not something I was willing to risk. It did not take me long to realize I was not the only one afraid to go to that block anymore. None of the other kids said they were afraid of the dead-eyed man, but the fact they never played around there told me they were as scared of him as I was.
In the immediate neighborhood, the road in front of that house was the one with the least amount of traffic. Like most of the north to south roads in the area, this road was still the original granite cobble stone surface. Both made this a desirable place for children to want to play.
The leaves were beginning to change color before my fear of that man in the window began to subside enough that I was able to go and play on that block again. I tried not to, but virtually every time I turned toward that house, my gaze instantly darted up to that attic window. As all the kids played on or around that ancient oak tree in the vacant lot allowing our imaginations to take us to faraway places, I could not help but constantly wonder if that man was at the window.
Over the course of the school year, I observed that man in the window three more times. The second time was in the middle of the winter, and temperatures were getting well below freezing. That man sat there in the window wearing no scarf or jacket that I could see. How he did not freeze to death seated by that open window I will never know.
The third time I saw the man in the attic was during early spring of the next year. His hair was always unkempt, and he looked to me as if he were seriously malnourished. I wondered if he went up to the attic because he liked sitting by the window, or if the rumors were true and his family was keeping him locked up.
That was when it occurred to me, I never saw this supposed family of his. Never once in all the time I spent playing on that block did I see anyone come or go from that house. I did see lights switch on and off at night, but the heavy curtains obscured any shadows that might indicate who was inside.
No cars ever parked outside of the house, but it did have a two-car garage built out of what was once a large wood-working shop. Neither of the garage doors had windows, and neither did the garage’s exit door. There was no way for anyone to get a look inside to see if there were any cars parked inside, but it is not like any of the children in the neighborhood had the nerve to get close enough to look anyway.
Several years passed, and I continued to see that strange man in the window. Sometimes he did not look quite so bad, but other times he looked like an animated corpse. Regardless of how many times I witnessed that man in the attic, I still never got over the chills that came over me every time his gaze crossed mine.
I was eleven years-old and some when friends and I pulled one over on our parents, and we stayed out all night. My parents thought I was spending the night with Scott, Scott’s parents thought he was spending the night with Andy, and so on. There were five of us in all. We took great care to stay quiet so we did not alert any of the neighbors, who in turn would probably call our parents, and we tried to stick to the darkness as much as possible.
Vacant lots and patches of forest remained throughout the neighborhood, so it was not difficult for us to stay away from the streetlights, the roads and out of sight of any passing cars. We began our night in one of the newer sections of the neighborhood, which was fifteen blocks from my house. As the night passed, and we goofed around, we made our way closer and closer to the old section of the neighborhood.
Eventually we found ourselves at the vacant lot across the street from “the house.” It was after ten o’clock and there was no light on in the attic, so we could not see if that sickly man was sitting there or not. We did although, see lights through several of the ground floor windows. As always, the curtains were pulled, and it was impossible to discern if any of the rooms were currently occupied.
We started discussing the different rumors we heard about this house and its occupants, and it was not long before we started daring each other to approach the three-century-old house more closely. Quickly scurrying across the street, my friends and I ran to the adjacent house and hid behind the mass of shrubbery filling part of the lawn. We crouched down low as we made our way across the cobblestone road as if that was somehow going to make us less visible under the streetlights at both ends of the block. For the others I could not say, but this was the closest to “the house” as I ever was before.
I had a bad feeling about this and a sinking in my gut, but I was afraid to say anything out of fear of being teased and labeled a chicken by all my friends. My four friends continued to whisper and dare each other to get closer, but I crouched there behind the bushes with my mouth closed. I neither provoked nor accepted any dares. This was the nearest to this old domicile as I ever wanted to be.
Eventually Scott and Byron goaded Matthew and Andy to approach the solid old structure to try to see something through the window located next to the door on the side of the house. Cowering down as low as they could and still move, our two friends slowly approached “the house” until they finally reached the curtain obscured window. They were now officially closer to the building than any kid in our neighborhood during our lifetime was.
Matthew and Andy reached the large, curtain obscured window next to the door on the side of the house. As I watched them try to get a peek through the overlap in the curtains, I wanted nothing more than to flee as fast as I could. I knew doing so would keep me labeled a chicken for the rest of my childhood and possibly on into my adulthood. Despite how desperately I wanted to leave, I stayed hiding in the evergreen bushes with Scott and Byron.
My heart was beating so hard in my chest I could almost hear it. With our eyes focused on Matt and Andy, the remaining three of us did not see the oaken door slowly swing open. Andy noticed the door open at some point. Grabbing Matthew by the shoulder, Andy told him to run. Instead of running, Matt looked up at the figure standing in there in the shadow of the portal.
The other three of us waved our hands frantically and told our friends to get moving. We could not see what was standing in the doorway, but whatever it was it made Matthew freeze like I did the first time the man in the attic turned his gaze upon me. Andy pulled Matt so hard, it made Matt fall onto the ground. Scott panicked and ran. I wanted to run with him, but I could not leave Matt and Andy behind. Byron and I, against our better judgement, ran over to “the house” to help Andy get Matt off the ground and running.
It took the three of us literally lifting Matthew off the ground as best we could and dragging him off like he was unconscious. We got him half-way through the neighboring lawn before he started to show some signs of awareness. Within sixty seconds his faculties returned, and with his wits about him Matt ran with the rest of us as fast as we could away from this horrific place.
We never could get Matthew to tell us what he saw when he looked up into the doorway. He quickly tired of our prodding and began to grow angry with us for our repeated inquiries. At one point he almost shoved Byron to the ground for asking him what was in the doorway. It did not take long to become obvious Matt was not going to talk about what he saw, what made him freeze like he did. I could not help but wonder if he even remembered after seeing the reaction he had.
We spent the rest of the night hiding in some woods in the same vicinity as when we started our adventure. Scott was nowhere to be found, so we all assumed he ran home scared. The rest of us waited until it was close to eight in the morning before going home. We all wanted to go home last night, but we would get busted for sneaking out if we got back to our houses too early.
I saw Scott the next day after getting caught up on some sleep. He said he was hiding in the same patch of forest where we started our adventure last night, and he expected us to return there after getting Matthew off the ground. When we did not return, Scott was afraid something terrible happened to us. I explained our escape and how we spent the night hiding in woods only a few blocks from him.
Byron caught up to me and Scott as we neared his block. His first reaction was to ask us if we saw Matthew yet today. I was sure Byron was going to ask Matt about last night, and I asked him to please not bring up the subject. Whatever Matt saw instilled such terror in him that he went into a state of shock. My suggestion was to not bring up or talk about the subject unless Matt initiated the conversation.
Andy finally joined us a little more than an hour before it was time for everyone to return home for the night. The three of us questioned Andy about what happened last night, but he said he did not see anything. Andy told us he looked up and saw the door open, and that was why he tried to get Matt to run. He never looked into the doorway to see who was inside.
We did not finally see Matt until more than a week after that terrifying night. He got into an argument with his father which ended up turning physical. Growing into a hysterical rage, Matt attacked his father with his bare fists. Subduing a twelve-year-old was no trouble for his father, but that was absolutely unlike our friend to do something like that. He idolized his father, always talking about how cool he was, and how he wanted to be like his father when he grew up.
Over the course of the next few months, we watched our friend Matthew change from a promising student to one of the kids who spent more time in detention than they did in class. He wanted less and less to do with us, accusing us of not being his friends because we left him like we did. When we tried to explain to him we did not leave him, he accused us of lying. On one occasion he got into a fist fight with Andy over the subject.
Before that school year was even at an end, Matt stopped having anything to do with us at all. The rest of us were fed up with his attitude and his accusations, so we did not find his absence upsetting. To tell the truth, we found it a relief to not have him around anymore.
Rarely did we discuss what happened that night when we were trying to get a peek inside that mysterious house, but it did come up on occasion. No one knew what Matthew saw, so we were baffled at his instant change in behavior. We could not imagine what he could possibly have observed that made him change from a star pupil to an aggressive thug.
As the years passed, some of the historic homes were demolished to make room for newer, more tightly packed houses with small lawns, but most of my neighborhood remained the same. During this time I watched many houses undergo renovations, repairs and receiving fresh coats of paint, but “the house” across from the vacant lot never seemed to age. At this point I realized no one ever cut the grass. No one ever trimmed the hedges, yet they all stayed in great condition.
I continued to see that man sitting in the attic window of “the house.” Despite all the years that passed, the man in the window did not appear to be growing any older, although his hair continued to grow and was cut somewhat frequently.
Although it did not affect me so intensely as it did when I was a child, I still got a sinking feeling I was being watched from beyond the grave every time his gaze passed over me. Even if I was not even facing the man’s direction, I could feel it every time he looked at me. I could feel those cold lifeless eyes looking at me. Some nights that blank stare haunted my dreams, almost always preventing me from achieving a healthy night’s sleep.
I could not help but wonder if the man in the attic knew I was one of the kids there that night. I wondered if he knew all of our identities. Whatever was in that doorway probably got a good look at Matt and Andy, but the rest of us were only in the open long enough to grab Matt’s limp body off the ground.
When he looked at me with those soulless eyes, did he know I was one of the prowlers outside his house that night we decided to try to get a closer look?
The more I pondered this possibility, the less time I wanted to spend on that block. I was not the only one. Andy started hanging out with some kids on the other side of the neighborhood. He never really gave us a reason why he ditched Byron, Scott and me, but I always suspected it was because he wanted to stay as far away from “the house” as he could.
In the early part of our summer vacation, I developed a crush on a girl in my class. I was more than elated when I found my feelings were reciprocated. Byron and Scott were worried this would end our friendship, but she was happy hanging out with the three of us. Sure, we wanted some time alone now and then, but my connection with my two oldest friends remained strong.
Candice lived on the opposite side of “the house” from me, and only saw it two times in her entire life. She asked us if the stories were true, and we told her the truth. We did not get into the various rumors about “the house,” but we did tell her about our experiences seeing the man in the attic as well as our prowling attempt.
This seemed to excite her, and she wanted us to take her so she could see him for herself. For nearly a week we rejected Candice’s requests to go and see the man in the attic, but when she said she was going to go by herself if we did not take her, we finally gave in. We were in young love, and she became friends with Byron and Scott very quickly. No one wanted her going there on her own out of fear for her safety.
The next day the four of us met at my house and headed to the vacant lot with the neighborhood’s most ancient tree. Candice marveled over the cobblestone streets, which were replaced with paved roads on her side of the neighborhood. She was also quite impressed with the climbing tree across the street from “the house.” The four of us climbed up into the tree and made ourselves comfortable.
She probably thought we were fooling with her when we told her not to stare at the window if it was empty. No one ever saw him get up or sit down, so if she watched the window, the man would not appear. Even so, she went along with us. We lazed around the massive oak for perhaps an hour or so when Byron told us the man was there.
Grinning from ear to ear, Candice turned to look at the local legendary man in the attic. The moment she turned, the man in the window quickly turned his head to gaze straight at my girlfriend. She froze instantly, and I remembered that look on her face. Scott and I immediately jumped out of the tree and told Candice to come down. I wanted to get her away from here, but she was frozen in place.
Candice did not react to us and appeared to not even hear us. I tugged her leg lightly, but she continued to stare back at the man in the attic. I turned and started screaming at the man. I only walked as far as the sidewalk, but I called the man a creep, a monster and several other descriptive words. I was trying to make him cease his staring at Candice. It worked, and the man stopped staring at her which released her from her paralysis.
I managed to get the man in the attic to stop whatever it was he was doing to my girlfriend, and I drew his attention to me instead. He did not give me that blank stare I came to know over the last seven years. This time his brow furrowed, and an angry scowl covered his face. I was terrified to my core. Until now all I ever did was passively attract his attention, but now I clearly made the man in the attic angry.
Running back over to my friends, we all ran until we were two blocks away from “the house” before we stopped to catch our breath. Candice began crying, and I took her in my arms. I assured her everything was okay, and we would never go near “the house” ever again.
“Yes we well,” she cried. “He showed me.”
At this point she progressed from crying to bawling. I did my best to try and console her, but she was becoming hysterical. Candice did not stop sobbing until she tired herself out. We took her to Byron’s house because it was the closest and had a gazebo in the back yard where we could sit.
We all sat there in silence for what seemed like an eternity when Scott finally asked Cynthia what she meant when she said he showed her. She said it was just that. When he gazed into her eyes, she saw the four of us following someone to “the house” at night. The person went inside, and eventually we followed.
There was another long uncomfortable silence, then Byron said he had a nightmare a few nights ago in which he experienced the same thing. Neither of them knew the identity of the individual we followed, but they clearly remember the four of us being present. The more they tried to remember, the more they forgot until they only had vague recollections.
Right then and there we made a pact that none of us would come within a block of that building. From now on we did our hanging around on the west side of the neighborhood, far away from “the house.” I silently prayed their visions were of what could happen, not what would happen.
Another school year came and went. Matthew was expelled at the end of the first semester for getting into two fights. He injured one boy fairly severely, for which he was put on probation and house arrest. Starting that night he stared up at whatever stood in the doorway of “the house,” Matthew was not the same person. Something about what he saw changed him, made him virtually unrecognizable.
Candice and I continued to “go together” throughout the school year and into the summer. The four of us spent a lot of time sitting in Byron’s family’s gazebo. We were surrounded by rich green foliage and a massive oak tree providing additional shade from the summer sun. His family’s lawn was large even for this area, and contained many hedges and flowerbeds. It was a soothing place to be.
We never did discuss the man in the attic after talking about it following our last encounter, but it was something that remained dwelling in all our minds. All of us swore we would never go near that house again, but if Candice’s vision and Byron’s dream were prophetic, we might not have a choice. I had to know more about this house and who occupied it.
Candice and I decided to take the bus to the city hall to see what we could dig up on the house and its owners. The task proved to be more time-consuming than we thought, and we got very little accomplished the first day. We went back several times over the next three weeks trying to find anything that might unlock the secrets of “the house.”
We could not find when the house was built, but it was the first house in this whole area before other houses started building around it. The first deed we could find for the house listed the date as April 22, 1823, which made “the house” older than we originally thought. Construction on several houses began before the deed to “the house” was signed, and according to an old newspaper clip, the mysterious house was here several decades before the next log structures.
I was comparing copies of the deed for the building through the years and found something very strange. After the initial deed, the following deeds were signed forty years apart in every case. Even though the names were different, I could tell they were all penned by the same hand. Five different deeds spanning two hundred years all used the same handwriting. I made photo copies of all of the deeds to take home with me.
Candice in the meantime found an article that could possibly explain everything. On the evening of June 28, 1833, a small black object fell from the sky like a shooting star, The object only damaged a single building, but the next day when everyone went to look, “the house” healed on its own. Reports ran in the local newspapers, but the non-local newspapers reported it as a hoax.
According to one report we found, the neighbors tried to get the residents of “the house” to come out, but they never received a response. It was thought they might be deceased, but lights shining though the curtains at night suggested the people were still home. The occupants only left at night, and every time someone tried to follow them, the spy would find their target vanished in the darkness.
Candice and I got copies of everything we were allowed to copy and made notes from the things we could not. After we compiled the documents and notes, we got them organized and brought what we found to our friends. They all thought we were joking with them, but we assured them this was all real. After the laughter from the initial joking ended, everyone grew quiet.
We showed them everything we had, and this revelation terrified every one of them just as it did me and Candice when we found this information. We started to speculate on what could really be happening with “the house” and the man in the attic. Theories spanned through everything from flying saucers to something being cast out of Heaven. We all agreed on one thing, it was whatever fell from the sky that transmuted the properties of time for “the house.”
As we discussed the possibilities, we eventually came to the same conclusion on the house. Whatever fell from the sky possessed the entire structure. “The house” was alive.
What of the occupants of “the house”? Was one of these occupants the man in the attic?
Learning what we did, we all found ourselves wanting to go back to that block and see “the house” once more. None of us went near that area for the next few weeks, and we all spent a little time doing some research on the history of that historic domicile. Everything new we discovered helped confirm what we learned already.
Something we all found strange, given the context of the situation, was the newspaper reports about the house ended abruptly. The Editor in Chief of one of the larger newspapers visited “the house” for himself. He never talked about his experience, but he immediately stopped having the newspaper reporting on “the house.”
Scott proposed we burn the house down. Initially we all thought he was kidding around, but the look on his face told us he was absolutely serious. That made us all take a pause, as we believed he was right but did not think we should commit arson. We knew performing an exorcism would yield no positive results after reading multiple articles about the ritual being done on ‘the house” to no avail.
Why have the adults, the city never done anything about this?
When we were ready to disperse and go about our night, several of us took a walk that brought us only blocks away from the street upon which it remained for hundreds of years. We did not plan on getting anywhere near “the house,” but something we saw caused us to alter our plans.
At the moment we were walking an east to west street, and walking under the street lights ahead we saw Matt. We were clearly not the only ones thinking about it, because we saw our former friend carrying a can of gasoline with him. There was no doubt in any of our minds that he was headed for “the house.”
We knew we had to stop him, but he was too far away for us to call out to him. If we started yelling that loud at this time of the evening, we would receive a visit from the police. Instead, we increased our pace to a jog in an attempt to catch up to him. By the time we made it around that corner and then the next, Matt was already on the lawn of “the house.”
Cynthia suddenly began trembling as a look of panic and terror covered her face. She became hysterical so quickly, we had no time to react. Her legs gave out underneath her and she crumpled toward the ground. Byron managed to catch her from behind, and I caught her arm and armpit. Gently lowering her to a seated position, we tried to calm her down.
“This is what I saw. We’re all going to die,” Candice cried. Over and over she repeated those two ominous phrases.
I looked at Byron to see what his reaction was, as his dream previously corroborated Candice’s vision. Unfortunately, too many of the details faded from his memory, and Byron had no information to offer on the situation. Only a few houses away I could see the sillouette of my former friend Matthew, emptying the contents of the gasoline can around the back side of “the house.” Finally I told Byron to stay with Candice, and I ran as fast as I could to try to stop Matt before he killed someone.
I could not run fast enough, and Matt sorely underestimated the flammability of gasoline fumes. He probably thought he was going to light a match, throw it on the gas and run. Instead, the instant he struck the match, the fumes in the air ignited. Matt was engulfed in flames as the can in his hand spewed a cone of fire. Frantically, I searched for some way to stop the blaze, but there was nothing I could do. Helplessly, I listed to his agonized cries as the heat cooked his flesh.
I did not think things could be more horrific, but then something happened that turned my blood to ice. “The house” began drawing in the flames. Never would I have imagined this had I not witnessed it with my own eyes. I could literally see the fire soaking into the house like a sponge, leaving the old building completely undamaged. As the flames drew into the building, Matt was drawn in with them. His body continued to burn as he screamed and pleaded for me to help him.
I wanted to help. I wanted to do something, but all I could do is stand there in horror. I could hear Matt screaming until the building absorbed him completely. There was nothing I could do. Matt brought this upon himself, and he was gone. I turned and ran back to help my girlfriend.
Candice threw her arms around me as she continued to sob. She and Byron both watched the entire scene unfold from no more than a block away. I squeezed her tight as my body trembled in horror. The image of Matt’s body set ablaze, watching and hearing his skin sizzle as he was burned alive was etched clearly in my mind. I held Candice for a moment, but then I told them we needed to run.
Finally stopping when we reached my back yard, we stayed huddled together in a patch of trees at the edge of the property. This was somewhere we frequently sat and shot the breeze, and we felt safe – as safe as one could feel after an experience like this – and comfortable. For over an hour we sat there in silence, none of us able to think of anything to say.
Byron broke the silence when he cleared his throat and asked, “Did that happen? Did that really happen?
Candice and I continued staring into nothing, and when I finally got the nerve to speak I assured him it indeed did happen. After that we continued to sit in silence. It was late, and we were past our curfews, but none of us wanted to move. I finally told Candice I would walk her home. There was no way I could know this, but I told her she would be safe at her house. Tomorrow we would get together and try to put some reasoning behind what we saw, or what we thought we saw. It was still virtually impossible to believe “the house” consumed the flames and my former friend. I saw it with my own eyes from no more than forty feet away, but I still struggled to comprehend it was real.
I returned home right in time to catch my parents before they were finally going to bed after waiting up for me. They yelled at me for a few minutes, but were much too tired by the time I arrived to yell for long. I knew I was going to get an earful tomorrow, but hoped I would not be grounded for missing my curfew by several hours.
I scarcely slept at all that night, and during my time awake I devised an excuse to tell my parents. I told them Candice and I went down to the lake, which is about an hour’s walk from our house. By the time we realized what time it was, we were already late. I said I walked her home first since it was so late, then came home. I guess they bought it, because they did not punish me. I was afraid they would ground me and I would not be able to go see Candice today.
Byron and Scott caught up with me as I was on my way to my girlfriend’s house. Byron told Scott what happened, but Scott did not believe him. Even when I confirmed the story was the truth, Scott thought we were trying to scare him from trying to burn down “the house” himself. When he mentioned that, we both begged him not to try. I told him in detail the horror of listening to Matt scream as he burned without dying. Scott still did not believe us until he saw Candice.
She still wore the same look of intense terror as she did last night. I doubt she got any sleep at all. I am surprised any of us did. When Scott saw that look of absolute fear on Candice’s face, he realized we were not messing with him. We did experience the hellish scene as we described.
“We have to do something,” Scott insisted.
“What?” Byron asked.
We could not tell people about the fire, there was no damage to the house or the lawn. Matt was gone and there was no one who was going to believe us when we told them the house sucked him in along with the fire. All we would accomplish with that was implicating ourselves over Matt’s disappearance, which was going to become public very soon.
The only real option we had was to make a vow to one another to never speak to anyone about what we witnessed last night. The truth sounded too insane to be believed. If we ever told anyone about what happened, they would think we had something to do with Matt’s disappearance. We tried to stop him, but instead we watched helplessly as he set himself on fire. We listened in horror to his agonized screams, but only I was close enough to hear the sizzling of his flesh as he cried out for help we could not provide.
Candice was having the hardest time coping with the ungodly situation. She experienced it once when the man in the attic put that vision in her head, then she had to experience it again in reality. Watching Matt burning, crying for help, and then seeing him absorb into the house was more than she could take. That made me wonder if the man was in my head the same way the first time I saw him.
Did we make things worse for Candice because we interrupted whatever it was he was doing to her, what he probably already did to the rest of us?
I became dizzy as waves of guilt washed over me. I could see Candice was beyond distraught, and the idea this might be my fault almost made me sick to my stomach. I tried my very best to do whatever I could to console her, but the stress and horror of everything was becoming too much for her to bear.
I did not want to leave her alone, but eventually we had to part ways for the night. If I missed curfew again, my parents would certainly ground me for at least a few days, and those were a few days I did not want to leave Candice alone. The rest of us walked her to her house before we went on our separate ways. All three of us were concerned about Candice, as she was in such a fragile emotional state. The only thing we could do is hope she was able to get a good night sleep before we met back up with her in the morning.
I awoke the next day to the sound of my parents knocking on my door. They said Matthew had not come home for several days, and they wanted to know if I knew where he was. I used my sleepiness to help mask the lie when I told them I have not seen him for at least a week. They knew Matt and I did not hang out together anymore, so this was easy enough for them to believe.
Regardless, they told me to get up and get dressed so I could help look for him. I knew there was no point in trying to find him. I knew exactly where he was, but no one would ever accept that as the truth. I quickly got dressed, grabbed a few cold toaster pastries and left in hopes of meeting up with my friends. Scott and Byron did not live very far off the cross street, but I passed them and made my way straight to Candice’s house.
Her parents already joined the search for Matt leaving Candice at home alone. She did not look like she got much sleep at all last night. I told her to come with me to Byron’s house. The massive lawn contained several venerable trees and a wide variety of shrubbery.
That was a place that always seemed to relax her, so I hoped she might be able to get some rest there. Several hammocks hung between wooden posts next to the gazebo which was surrounded by beautiful and fragrant flowers. I thought she might be able to take a nap at least if I was there by her side to protect her.
Scott joined us as we approached Byron’s house, and Byron was coming out of his house as we turned onto his block. I managed to get Byron to the side for a moment and explained to him my thoughts on trying to let Candice get some rest, and I was glad to find he agreed. It was not difficult for him to see how exhausted she was, so he and Scott went to join the pointless search for Matt. I took Candice to his back lawn of thick green grass, sculpted shrubs and beautiful blossoms.
Once I finally managed to get her to lay in one of the hammocks, I laid on the ground beside her. I talked about the beautiful green trees. I talked about the cool morning breeze and the sweet smell of flowers in the air. I tried to talk about everything soothing I could think of. Clearly it worked because within half an hour Candice was sound asleep. At this point I sat up and leaned against one of the large wooden posts holding the hammock to keep watch over my girlfriend as she rested.
The search for Matthew continued for a week before authorities finally called him a runaway and ended the massive manhunt. Keeping our dark secret was taking its toll on Candice, so when the search finally ended, it was something of a relief to her. She remained withdrawn and deeply depressed, and I did not know what I could possibly do to make her feel better. I took her to relaxing places like the creek, the forest, or somewhere near beautiful flowers. This helped her some, but the memory of what happened was becoming too much for her.
We only had slightly more than a week before the summer of my thirteenth year was at an end. Candice enjoyed school, so I hoped that would help to elevate her mood. Perhaps being back in class and having something else to occupy her mind would help her forget about the gruesome scene of Matt’s fiery death. Having homework to do would give her something to keep her mind off of the horrible thing we saw.
It was the Friday before school resumed, and I was having difficulty getting to sleep. My mind raced with so many thoughts, I could not relax enough to get any rest. I decided to get up and just take a walk around the block to try to clear my head. With school about to start again, we would be around a lot of the people we did not see during the summer. I was absolutely certain there would be talk of Matthew’s disappearance, something I had not considered prior to this, and that was going to be hard for all of us. For Candice, it might be too much.
As I rounded the first corner, I saw a figure in the darkness walking directly toward “the house.” From this distance at night I could not make out who this person was, but I knew approaching “the house” was a terrible and possibly deadly idea. I increased my pace, but the figure was approaching the old structure too quickly. I started jogging, and when I got a look at the figure under the street light, I began to run as fast as I possibly could.
Now standing directly on the sidewalk in front of “the house” in her white nightgown, I knew without question it was Candice. What she would be doing out here this time of night, I could not begin to fathom. In an absolute panic, I began to shout her name. I called over and over, but she did not react. She stood there motionless with her back turned toward me and her arms held out in front of her.
When I reached the middle of the street, I could see blood dripping from her elbows onto the ground. Finally reacting to my calls, Candice turned around to face me. In her limp hand she held her father’s straight razor. Blood flowed from diagonal gashes across her wrists. In a state of shock, I froze in place as I watched the blood running down her arms. When I did start to move, she shook her head.
“There’s nothing we can do,” she said. “The house wants us all.”
With that final warning she turned and began to run. Candice was only about twenty feet into the lawn when she began to sink as if she were in quicksand. I ran to her as fast as possible, but she was sinking too fast. By the time I reached her the only thing remaining above ground was her left arm. Locking my hand around hers, I pulled with all my might, but she continued to sink. I held on until the ground finally prevented my hand from moving any further.
She was gone. Candice was gone. I sat there on my knees crying. I knew she was having a hard time coping with what happened, but I never thought she would do something like this. I did everything I could imagine to help her deal with Matt’s gruesome death, but I did not do enough. It was my fault. I should have seen this coming. I should have been there to protect her. Candice slashed her wrists because I did not get to her quick enough when I should have been with her.
Why did “the house” not take me too? Why did it drag her into the lawn but leave me kneeling here, helpless to do anything to help her?
My grief and horror turned to a blind rage. Rising back to my feet, I picked up one of the rocks bordering some of the shrubs in the lawn and marched straight up to the nearest window. I waited until I was only a few feet away and thew the stone with all my might. To my shock and horror, the rock passed through the window and curtain as if neither were there. Turning to look behind me, I saw the stone sitting in its original resting place as if I never touched it. I pounded on the glass with my fists, but it was like I was striking the stone siding. There was no loud banging from the glass. All I could hear was a solid thud every time I struck the window.
Why did it take Matthew and Candice, but “the house” would not take me? I was trying to get into the house, so why was it keeping me out?
I sat there at this point with my back against “the house” thinking of the look on Candice’s face before she turned to run. She looked completely defeated. I thought I was helping her, but I did not do enough. Suddenly it came to me. I knew why the house took Matt and Candice but was not taking me.
Getting back up to my feet I walked over to the sidewalk and picked up the strait razor Candice dropped from her limp hand. Holding the blade firmly in my hand, I walked over to the door Matthew stared into several summers ago. I put one hand on the door knob and with my other hand I swept the razor from one side of my neck to the other.
The knob melted in my hand and became a fluid darkness. The ebony substance flowed up my arm and drew me into “the house.” “The house” took them and not me because they were dying. Whatever struck the building all those years back did not fall from the sky, if fell through from another dimension. It had form but it was nothingness. It had sentience but no consciousness until it found form with the house and learned self-awareness from the original residents.
Only people between life and death, people in a place of nothingness can become one with “the house.” No one who entered the dwelling ever truly died, but instead merged with the thing that made the building its body. It used us for our senses. It used us to sustain its own other worldly existence as it was stranded here in a foreign universe.
Trapped in a void of time immemorial, I never again saw the girl for whom I took my own life. Although we were trapped inside the same house with God knows how many others, we each resided in oblivion. I existed to me, but to no one else. Candice existed to herself, but not to me. I thought I could save her, I thought I could help her through this traumatic time, but now we were both trapped forever in this timeless, spaceless limbo.
“The house” could not learn on its own. It was not able to gain knowledge except for what it assimilated from those who entered its form. In order to continue to develop, continue to evolve, “the house” lured people to a fate such as mine so it could incorporate their thoughts and memories into its own. To do that, it selected its victims and lured them in using the man in the attic.
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