THE CREAKING DOOR

Genre: Horror

 

 

 

THE CREAKING DOOR

By Randy Romero

 

 

The din wasn’t particularly loud, but it was enough to jolt Patricia Mercer out of her sleep. After her eyes adjusted to the darkness and she caught her breath, she sat up and gave her husband a shake.

“Will, did you hear that?” Patricia asked.

“Hear what?” William Mercer grumbled, half asleep.

“That creaking noise,” she said.

“I didn’t hear anything.”

She listened for a moment. “There, there it is again.”

He was groggy, but he heard it that time, the unmistakable squeak of the hinges, the door creaking as it swung back and forth.

“It’s the storm door,” he said, rolling over, showing her his back. “It’s just the wind blowing it.”

“I could’ve sworn I secured the storm door,” Patricia said.

“Did you lock it?”

Patricia thought about it for a few seconds. “No, I don’t think so. But I’m positive the door was latched.”

“Just the wind,” he repeated. “Probably blew it open.”

“That’s a pretty heavy door,” she pointed out, still hearing the hinges creak and moan.

“Patty, it’s just the wind. Go back to bed. Please, I’m tired. Tomorrow’s my only day off.”

Patricia rolled over and turned off the lamp on her nightstand. They’d been married so many years, they slept back-to-back. Their snuggling and cuddling days were over. The love for one another was still there, but not the affection. That can happen when you’re married for over thirty years.

Still, they were happy together. They never had children and it was too late now. Patricia was past her childbearing years and William was a few years away from retirement. But that just meant that all they had was each other. And that’s all William and Patricia ever needed. They were content with the life they had built for themselves.

The floodlight popped on outside. Patricia nudged William.

“Will, the light just came on.”

“What light?”

“The floodlights.”

“So? They’re motion activated.”

“That’s exactly my point,” she said, unable to hide the exasperation in her voice.

“What I’m saying is, anything can set them off. It’s probably a raccoon or a squirrel or something. Hell, those lights are so sensitive, even a moth could trigger them.”

The wind wailed outside, hammering against the windows. The door wasn’t creaking anymore, it was banging against the side of the house.

“Would you please get up and check,” Patricia pleaded.

“Son of a…” he grumbled and trailed off before he finished his thought.

He wrestled his way into a pair of jeans that were sprawled out on the floor and threw on a warmer shirt with long sleeves. He trudged down the stairs and walked through the foyer to the front door. He unlocked the door and saw the culprit.

The storm door was unlatched, and the wind was batting it around like a ping pong ball. He reached to pull it shut, and the floodlights popped on again.

He saw the outline of a man standing along the sidewalk, facing the front of the house.

“Who’s there?” Will called out.

The stranger walked briskly up the cobblestone path towards the front porch, clutching something in their left hand. It took a moment for his brain to register what he was seeing. The stranger wasn’t a stranger at all.

He was staring into the eyes of his exact double. The man was his height, looked to be around the same weight, had his graying hair and thick beard and pale blue eyes. The fact that he was holding something in his left hand even indicated that he was a southpaw like Will.

But by the time William saw the object in his twin’s hand, it was too late. The doppelganger swung with all his might, the wrench striking him above the right temple, bringing William to his knees. He raised the wrench, and brought it down again with enough force to cave in his skull.

 

 

***

 

 

He closed the bedroom door, took off his jeans and changed back into his pajama pants, and crawled into bed.

“What was that?” Patricia asked.

“What was what?” he asked.

“That noise? Was it just the wind?”

“Oh, yes…just the wind,” he assured her. “Now go back to sleep,” said the man who had replaced Patricia’s husband.

ABERRATION

Genre: Horror 

 

 

ABERRATION

By Randy Romero

 

The house was in desperate need of repair. But if anyone could pull it off, Eddy Vallen was the man for the job.

Apply a little elbow grease, work fast and hard, and he could wrap this project up in a month, maybe less. All the house needed was some tender loving care, a little TLC as his mom used to say. Though Eddy was never a fan of acronyms, especially ones like TLC. But he supposed it wasn’t as bad as some of his mom’s infamous mispronunciations.

But if there was ever a house that needed a little TLC, it was Eddy’s childhood home. The house he grew up in was a dilapidated money pit just waiting to implode.

The tires of Eddy’s red Dodge pickup kicked up dirt and gravel as he drove down the long, narrow driveway. He stopped near the front of the house, cut the engine, and got out. Ross Schaffer opened the passenger door and followed behind him.

The front door jammed up and Eddy had to ram it with his shoulder. It opened with a rusty, hellish screech.

“A little WD-40 will fix that right up,” Ross quipped. Ross was Eddy’s best friend. He insisted on tagging along and helping Eddy assess the damage to the property and estimate how much it would cost to fix up.

They took a look around when the dust finally settled, literally. Everything was coated in a thick layer of dust or debris. Every surface, every fixture, every countertop or rotting piece of furniture was clouded with dust.

They checked the bathrooms first. Cracked black-and-white honeycomb patterned tiles that would have to be replaced. Eddy tested out the sinks. No hot water, and no water pressure either. The upstairs sink shot out sludge. When he flushed the upstairs toilet, it caused a backup in the downstairs tub.

The whole house needed to be rewired. There were shorts and blown fuses and broken fixtures in most rooms. The lights that actually did work still flickered occasionally as a result of faulty wiring. That’s where Ross really came in. Ross was an electrician, and as a friend, he’d offered to help with the wiring.

Paint bubbled from the ceiling and peeled from the walls in thick, uneven stirps. In the kitchen, Eddy spotted a pattern of yellow birds along the walls where the old wallpaper had started bleeding through the new wallpaper. Cracked linoleum tiles. Formica countertops covered in dust and sagging brown cupboard doors, barely clinging to their rotted hinges. In one corner, he noticed a brighter square of linoleum where the oven had been before it was removed. His father had never gotten around to replacing it, and as many times as Eddy offered, his mother refused to let him buy a new one for her. She didn’t have a reason to cook without his father around. She lived on takeout's, soups and salads and microwavable dinners when she felt like eating.

The halls were dark and reeked of mold and mildew. The brown carpets were threadbare and frayed. Eddy took another survey and thought to himself this may take longer than a month after all. Maybe two months. He had his work cut out for him.

“Jeez,” Ross exclaimed. “You definitely have your work cut out for you.”

“Thanks, buddy,” Eddy said, grimacing. “Well, you’re the electrician. Tell me how much the wiring is going to run me.”

“I could do it for a few grand. Normally, it would cost more, but I’m giving you the friend’s discount.”

“Lucky me.”

“Probably three or four grand total when I’m done. As for the rest of the house…”

“I know, I know. But it’ll be worth it. Trust me.”

Eddy’s father, Mitch Vallen, passed away in the fall of 2009. Complications from a fall off a ladder when he was cleaning out the gutters.

Doris had pleaded with him to be more careful in his tender age. But Mitch could never stay retired. He wasn’t accustomed to a sedentary lifestyle. He always had to busy himself with one project or another, find something to fix or clean or tidy up. It was in his blood.

Doris followed him in the summer of 2011. It was a heart attack that got her in her sleep, but Eddy truly believed she died of a broken heart.

It was 2012 now. And the house and a few thousand dollars were all his parents had left behind. The money covered the cost of his mother’s funeral, but it didn’t stretch far enough to fix this place up. Eddy would have to dip into his own personal savings to pay for the repairs, but he would be reimbursed handsomely when he turned around and sold it.

Eddy had the knowledge and ability to transform this dump into a dream home for some lucky family. He had followed in his dad’s footsteps and become a carpenter. His old man got him into the union after he turned 18, and rest was history, as they say. Eddy, now at 38, had even worked his way up to foreman like his father. He enjoyed calling the shots, teaching the younger generation, and giving directions. He kind of enjoyed the power and control that came with being a boss, too.

“The avocado don’t fall far from the tree,” Ross had said once.

“Apple,” Eddy had corrected him.

Adjacent to the living room and kitchen was a small den. They walked to the glass sliding doors and stared in awe at the backyard. Eddy had forgotten how big it truly was. It must’ve stretched back at least four or five acres. And beyond the fence, a vast wooded area. Perfect for hunting, Ross thought.

“Too bad I didn’t bring my rifle,” Ross said. “But check out that yard. Not bad at all. Well, you lose some, you win some.”

“It’s actually the other way around, but it doesn’t matter,” Eddy said, shaking his head.

Dust kicked up with every step they took. But Eddy was glad to finally be home.

The old house had opened the floodgates of his memory. Every room, every distinct smell, every chip in the paint, every dent in the moldings or plaster, every scuff mark on the linoleum brought the past back to the present. These marks were a personal record for anyone to behold, like a living photograph. Each mark or dent or bruise told its own story.

As they continued to explore, they came across some of Mitch Vallen’s paintings. As talented as he was with his hands, Eddy never shared his dad’s passion or skill for painting.

Mitch loved working with his hands. But as Mitch’s age progressed, and his mind slowly deteriorated, his artwork had devolved to madness.

When he was a boy, his dad used to take him to the track. Eddy was quite fond of the races. He never understood the gambling aspect, was too young at the time. He just enjoyed the fun and the time he got to spend with his dad, and he loved seeing the horses. That was his favorite part.

One horse in particular was simply named Storm. A big, beautiful, majestic, white-as-snow stallion that stood out the most to Eddy for some reason. His dad had painted him a picture of Storm for his seventh birthday. He still had the painting in storage. It meant the world to him at the time.

That was back when his dad was still painting things like beaches and sunsets and baskets of fruit. His later work was reminiscent of Frank Frazetta on acid. His work become manic, bizarre, quixotic, dark, and rashly impulsive.

Terrifying serpents and arachnids. Barbarians and axe-wielding warriors in the midst of bloody battle. Mountains of skulls and bones. Mutated or malformed creatures.

The most bizarre piece that stood out to Eddy was one he had titled himself. He called it The Urchin.

It depicted a half man, half fish hybrid. Bulbous eyes, ink black skin, its body adorned with tiny but sharp spines. In place of hands, it had two appendages that resembled hooks. For Eddy, that painting was the stuff of nightmares. God only knows what was going through his dad’s mind when he conjured it up.

“Your dad was…an interesting fellow, to say the least,” Ross said. “Come on, let’s check out the basement.”

They descended the creaking wooden staircase that his dad had assembled himself ages ago. There was a work bench, a red toolchest, a burgundy area rug that seemed oddly out of place in the center of the floor. Tools and extension cords hung from wall-mounted hooks. And there were tons of boxes stacked up in corners that contained everything from family photo albums to Halloween and Christmas decorations.

Ross pinched his nose between two fingertips. “Man, this place stinks something awful. You’re going to have air this place out, maybe get some incest.”

“I really hope you mean incenses,” Eddy said. Correcting Ross’s misquotes was exasperating. But it put a smile on his face from time to time, reminded him of his mother. Doris used to do the same thing with certain words. Instead of scenario, she would say scenarials. Irregardless instead of regardless. So on and so forth.

She thought truthly was a word and used it in place of truthfully. That one always had Eddy and Mitch snickering behind her back. Doris even pronounced the L in salmon.

But Ross Schaffer was ten times worse. He even thought a GIF was pronounced JIF. Even with his loathing from acronyms, Eddy knew the correct meaning and pronunciation. But he let it slide because it reminded Ross of peanut butter and always made him smile. Maybe what it really reminded him of was childhood, a simpler time, an easier time when things weren’t so confusing or complicated.

Ross was always good for a laugh, whether you were laughing with him or at him. But he was a hell of a friend. Eddy couldn’t deny that. He’d even shown up for both of his parent’s funerals. He wasn’t smart or clever, but he was a stand-up guy, nonetheless.

“It’s getting late,” Eddy pointed out. “I should probably drive you back. Unless you want to take a cab back or catch the train. I think there’s one leaving in half an hour.”

“You sure you’re going to be okay out here by yourself in the middle of nowhere? I could crash if you wanted me to.”

“You saw all the beer in the bed of my truck, didn’t you?”

“Oh, yeah. Besides, it’ll be fun. We’ll drink a few beers, order a couple of pizzas, hook up the TV and watch some movies if we don’t get electrocuted.”

“Ah, what the hell,” Eddy shrugged. “Why not?”

Before they headed back upstairs, they sorted through some of the boxes to see what was junk and what was worth salvaging. They separated things until piles. There were tons of old clothes, but most of them were stained with mildew and weren’t worth saving. Eddy put those aside to dispose of later on. He saved any toys or trinkets from his childhood that he came across. And he made sure to put aside any photo albums he found.

He even flipped through a couple of them for nostalgias sake. Most of the photos were old, faded, bent or creased. But some were still in remarkable condition despite their age. On the surface, the photos all appeared normal. But Eddy spotted a few with peculiar white circles or blobs of light in the corners.

“Orbs,” Ross said, looking over his friend’s shoulder.

“Orbs?”

“Yeah, those little circles of light. Ghost hunters call them orbs. They’re supposedly spirits trying to make you aware of their presence.”

“That’s a lovely thought,” Eddy said.

“It’s not that bad. You’ve heard of a photo bomb, right? Like when someone walks into the shot when you’re taking a photo. This is just a ghost photo bomb.”

Eddy put the albums beside his childhood trinkets and the other items that were worth saving. “That’s enough for now,” he said. “We’ll pick this back up tomorrow.”

As they were walking upstairs, Ross’s foot snagged the burgundy carpet and he almost toppled over. The disheveled rug revealed something rusty and metallic underneath.

A trapdoor.

“Maybe that’s where your dad kept the lotion and the basket,” Ross quipped. “Did you guys have a dog named Precious, by chance?”

“Very funny.” Eddy examined the trapdoor up close.

“Did you know this was here?” Ross asked.

“No clue.”

He was baffled. There was no knob, no handle, seemingly no way to open it. There was no release bar or mechanism. No lock. It was just stuck, set in the ground.

“Hand me that crowbar on the wall,” Eddy said. Ross passed him the red painted crowbar and he tried to pry the door open. No such luck.

He searched for a gap, any opening he could find with the bar. When the bar proved useless, he tried another prying tool. It snapped in half.

“You’re going to need the jaws of life to get that open,” Ross said. “Just leave it for now. We’ll figure out how to get it open later. And maybe we’re better off not knowing what’s down there right now.”

“Oh, stop. I’m sure my dad just used it for extra storage space.”

“Sure, if that storage includes corpses.”

“Hilarious.”

“It’s why you hang out with me.”

“Let’s just order some food and drink some beers. Tomorrow, we get to work.”

 

  

***

 

 

The next day, they ripped up the linoleum in the kitchen and put down shiny new eggshell white tiles. Ross helped Eddy install a new oven and hook the gas up.

They tore out the old cabinets and cupboards and Formica countertops.

The day after, they replaced the cupboards and put in brand new marble countertops.

Then there was the sanding, the peeling, the priming, and painting. Eddy chose white for the kitchen and living room, dark blue for the bedrooms, and yellow for the bathrooms. He replaced the wallpaper entirely with paint in the kitchen. Goodbye yellow birds.

Meanwhile, Ross got to work on the wiring. Minutes turned into hours, hours turned days. Days turned into weeks. But Ross stuck by his friend’s side the whole way. He was getting paid, after all.

They wound up consulting a plumber about the pipes. He told them a clog was causing the backup. He gave them an estimate, but little did he know that he told Eddy everything he needed to do when he gave him that estimate. Clear the clog, replace a few pipes, adjust the water pressure, and put in new toilets and tubs, and the bathrooms would be brand new. He could even rip out the tubs and just replace them with shower stalls if he wanted to go cheap or practical.

Two weeks in, they had already knocked out half the work.

Eddy used a curved carpet knife to slice up the frayed carpeting. Then he replaced it with a new light grey material. Things were really starting to come along…

 

 

***

 

 

It was early morning, but Ross was ready to get to work. He had his agenda for the day. He needed to run out and get some supplies before he could continue his work. He went to inform Eddy, who was on the landing of the staircase, gazing at one of his father’s paintings.

The Urchin.

“Hey, Eddy, I need to run out and get more fuses. I’m going to need your help later with the fixtures.”

Eddy didn’t respond. His eyes were glazed over.

“Eddy,” he whistled. “Earth to Eddy.”

Eddy stared vacantly at the painting on the wall.

Ross snapped his fingers. “Is anybody there?” But Eddy wasn’t. He couldn’t answer, couldn’t acknowledge his friend’s presence. He was in a world of his own.

“Eddy!” Ross screamed, and Eddy finally snapped out of it.

“What?” he said calmly, quietly.

“Where you been, bro? I’ve been trying to talk to you for like two minutes. You were zoned out.”

“I…I don’t know. I guess maybe I was sleepwalking. I don’t even remember getting out of bed.”

Ross eyed him curiously. “You fucking with me?”

“No, I am not fucking with you. Last thing I remember, I was curling up in bed with my eyes shut. But I used to sleepwalk a lot when I was a kid. It wouldn’t be anything new.”

“Right…so as I was saying when you were out on your feet, I have to run out and grab a few replacement fuses. You going to be alright while I’m gone? Maybe you could start by unscrewing or removing some of the old fixtures while I’m out. Just make sure the power is off before you mess around with anything.”

“I’m fine,” Eddy assured him. “Just give me a few minutes to wake up, and then I’ll get straight to work, boss.”

“Sounds good. Later on, you can help me with the fixtures.”

Ross eyed him again, then The Urchin painting. He hated that painting, wanted to take that carpet knife of Eddy’s and slice the canvas in half. But he wouldn’t’ dare disrespect or defile his dad’s work. So he left it be, though he still worried about Eddy. Losing his parents, then coming back to his childhood home after all these years to fix the place up, it couldn’t be easy on him. Ross would have to keep an eye out for him for the duration of his stay.

 

 

***

 

 

Ross returned with everything he needed and two cups of coffee, one for each of them.

“So you used to sleepwalk?” Ross asked in between sips of coffee.

“Yeah, all the time as a kid. I thought it was just a phase. I guess not.”

“I don’t ever remember sleepwalking as a kid. But it’s not uncommon. A lot of people sleepwalk; kids and adults.”

“I suppose you’re right. I just hope it doesn’t happen again. I hate sleepwalking. You’re never in control when you’re sleepwalking. I remember one time, this is actually kind of funny, my dad found my peeing in their bedroom closet. I was sleepwalking and thought I had wandered into the bathroom. Instead, I peed all over my old man’s work boots.”

Ross couldn’t contain his laughter at that story. “I bet he was pissed. No pun intended.”

“He was slightly perturbed. I wound up buying him a new pair of boots for Christmas that year. Well, technically my mom loaned me the money since I didn’t have a job.”

“You know there’s a term for that.”

“For what?”

“Sleepwalking.

“Yeah, it’s called sleepwalking.”

“No, no, there’s another word for it. It just…escapes me at this time.”

They finished their coffee and set to work replacing the fixtures. Eddy did the fixtures while Ross worked on the wiring.

“Give it to me nice and slow,” Ross called out from the other side of the wall.

“That’s what she said.”

Ross laughed. “The wire. I’m talking about the wire on your end. Feed it through the wall. And hurry it up. I want to take a lunch break in a few.”

Before Eddy could do anything, the lights popped and fizzled.

“Fuck!” Ross elegantly exclaimed.

“What happened?”

“Must’ve popped a fuse. Sit tight. I’ll fix it.”

Eddy stood in near darkness, waiting patiently for his friend to resolve the issue. He heard footsteps, but they sounded too soft to be Ross’s size ten work boots. Eddy peered down the black hallway that led to the basement door.

“What’s the hold up?” Eddy called out.

Wet squelching sounds filled the hall.

Eddy could just make out a distant silhouette. Tall and lanky. Its curved hands at its side. Sharp spines protruding from its flesh.

The Urchin.

The lights flickered back on and the hallway was vacant. He turned in every direction, dizzy and disoriented, looking for some proof of its presence. But the familiar figure was gone, if it had ever even been there. All that was left were a set of wet boot prints treading across the floor.

He heard heavy footsteps, heard the basement steps creak, and Ross emerged a moment later.

“What the hell was that?” Eddy asked, a quiver in his voice.

“You’re going to have to be more pacific.” That line seemed to snap Eddy out of it a little bit.

“Pacific? What am I, a body of water? I was talking about that wet squishing sound.”

They both looked down at the wet floor.

“Must’ve been me,” Ross said. “I must’ve stepped in something wet. Maybe a puddle outside before. Good catch. That could’ve been dangerous. I’ll dry that up and wipe off my boots.”

 

 

***

 

 

Ross kept a close eye on Eddy in the days that passed. He hadn’t had any more sleepwalking incidents. But he had caught Eddy perusing that painting on several occasions when he thought Ross wasn’t paying attention to him. But Ross was always watching at that point. He was concerned for Eddy’s mental health and stability, and his physical health. He knew Eddy would do the same and look out for him if the roles were reversed.

Ross finished the wiring, repaired all the fuses. Eddy helped with all the fixtures. All the lights were working again, all the outlets had power. They could watch TV without the risk of electrocution.

Things were really coming along. The work was almost complete. They had painted. The floors were pretty much done. All Eddy needed to do was put new carpeting in the bedrooms. But first, he wanted to focus on the plumbing. He’d managed to unclog the pipes and resolve the backup issue. But he still needed to work on replacing a few other pipes, as well as the sinks, toilets, and bathtubs.

They stopped for a quick lunch.

“What have you got there?” Eddy asked.

“PB and J.”

“PB and J?”

“Yeah, it’s short for peanut butter and jelly.”

“I know what it’s short for. What are you, five?”

“Mentally, yes.”

Eddy chuckled and went back to his ham, turkey, and cheese on rye with mustard. As childish as Ross was, that was what Eddy admired about him. His friend was still a kid at heart in so many ways. He enjoyed the simple things in life like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Ross was the kind of guy who orders off the kids’ menu at restaurants. Chicken fingers and mozzarella sticks or pizza. Eddy wished he could be like him sometimes. And he wished he could have his diet and still maintain his physique.

“What’s next?”

“Well, seeing as how there’s only one working toilet we’ve been sharing, and we’ve been going back and forth to your place to shower since there’s no hot water, I figured it’s time we tackle the bathrooms. Once that’s out of the way, I’ll finish the carpets. Then it’s just a matter of inspecting and clearing out the rest of my parent’s things.”

“What are you going to do with all their stuff?”

“I’ll probably take all of my dad’s tools and supplies. And I’m obviously going to keep any photo albums or family heirlooms. The furniture and the rest can go. As for his paintings, I don’t know. I haven’t decided yet.”

“I think you should burn some of them,” Ross suggested. “Or at least have a priest bless them once a month.”

“What’s your problem with my dad’s paintings?”

“They give me the creeps, man. Especially that street urchin painting.”

“Sea urchin. A street urchin is like a disobedient child. And I don’t even think people use that term anymore. Maybe in the UK.”

“Street urchin, sea urchin. Tomato, tamato. It still gives me the willies. Those things don’t freak you out?”

“I prefer to focus on the man my father was, not the man he became,” Eddy said and left it at that.

The room fell silent.

“Somnambulism,” Ross blurted out.

“What?”

“The term for sleepwalking. I just remembered it. It’s somnambulism.”

“Where did you learn a word like somnambulism?”

“I think I read it in a book somewhere.”

“A comic or a picture book?”

 

***

 

 

THUMP.

Eddy sat up in bed. He didn’t even think it was possible. He thought it was a bodily function only reserved for the movies. When you first wake up, you’re normally too exhausted or disoriented to sit straight up. But not this time. The noise was so loud it not only woke him from his sleep, it caused him to spring awake.

Eddy rolled out of bed, stretched, and tried to shake off the cobwebs. He heard footsteps in the hallway.

“Did you hear that?” Ross called out.

“How could I not?”

“What the hell was that?”

“I have no idea. Did it come from outside?”

“I don’t know. I was sound asleep. It woke me from the dead.”

THUD.

Another loud bang. It sounded like it emanated from the basement. They looked at one another, then downstairs. Ross grabbed a crowbar from a pile of tools. Eddy, half asleep, twisted around in circles looking for some object to defend himself, settling on the curved carpet knife. The blade was sharp but lightweight, easy to handle and easy to defend yourself with at short range.

They crept downstairs, checking the halls, the living room, the bathroom, and kitchen along their way until they found themselves at the basement door. Ross went first, flicking the lights on. The banging continued until they reached the bottom step, then it suddenly ceased.

“It sounded like it was coming from the trapdoor,” Eddy observed.

“Whatever it was, it’s quiet now.”

“I don’t think I want to know what it was.”

“Yeah, well I do.”

Ross attempted to pry the door open with a crowbar, to no success. When the crowbar didn’t work, he tried with a claw hammer. Then he took a sledgehammer and wailed on it, whacked the corners, the edges, the center.

There was no noise, no thuds or bangs in response to Ross’s noisy yet futile attempts to open the trapdoor.

“Stop! Just stop before you wake up the dead! I’ll call a locksmith tomorrow and they’ll figure out how to get it open. Then we’ll find out what’s down there. It’s probably just a possum or a raccoon or something.”

“That must be one pretty big fucking possum.”

 

 

***

 

 

Eddy didn’t expect an immediate response. He assumed he would make an appointment, schedule a time and date. But the first locksmith he called was available that morning.

“Wow, old school,” the locksmith said, admiring the trapdoor. “Haven’t seen one like this in a long time. Looks almost like the door to a bomb shelter. Was your dad a doomsday prepper by any chance?”

“Not to my knowledge. So, can you get it open?”

“I’m going to be honest, I’m stumped. There’s no lock, no knob, no handle. My guess is there’s got to be some hidden mechanism that springs the door open. Either that or it was set on a timer. Whoever installed it, they really wanted to protect or hide whatever’s down there.”

Ross glared at Eddy.

“Shut up,” Eddy said, almost reading his mind. He wanted to make another Silence of the Lambs reference or serial killer joke about Eddy’s dad. It was all in jest, but Eddy wasn’t in the mood for it. At first, he didn’t want to know what was down there. Now it gnawed away at him. He had an itch that needed to be scratched.

 

 

***

 

 

Eddy dreamed of the sea that night. Dreamed of a wrecked ship washed up on shore. Of a bipedal creature stumbling onto the beach, tangled in seaweed. Razor sharp hooks for hands, round bulging eyes, pointy spikes protruding from its dark, scaly flesh. The wet squelching sounds as it stepped forward echoed through his dreams. And then there was another noise that invaded his slumber, and he was awake once again.

THUD. THUD. THUD.

The air left Eddy’s lungs. The house shook from its eaves to its foundation. Ross sprang from the guest bedroom and bolted down the stairs with Eddy not too far behind. They made a run for the basement, but stopped halfway down the stairs.

The trapdoor hung open, wet footprints on the ground…

 

 

***

 

 

The cops formed a semi-circle outside the house, standing in stunned silence until one of them finally broke the ice.

“I’ve never seen that much blood before at a crime scene,” one of them said.

“I’ve never seen that many stab wounds,” another officer said.

“Sick fuck,” a third officer said.

The four of them stared through the window of the cop car. They had Eddy Vallen in the backseat, hands cuffed, waiting for the detectives to wrap up before they hauled him away. They had the body, they had Eddy’s prints everywhere, including the murder weapon, a curved blade used for cutting carpet. But Eddy still pled his innocence. The officers assumed he was aiming for an insanity plea, and he might actually get one.

Detectives Hall and Vanzetti finished up with the coroner inside and watched the paramedics haul Ross’s body, riddled with innumerable wounds, out on a stretcher.

“This is a bloody mess,” Vanzetti said. Then he added, “No pun intended.”

“Yeah, but it’s an open and shut case,” Hall said. “Easy work for us. We’ve got the body, the murder weapon, the fingerprints. We just need a confession. What else did the boys find?”

“They found some bloody footprints in the basement, the stairs leading up, and the hallway. No doubt they’ll match Eddy Vallen’s shoe size. And they spoke to a family member, found out this guy Vallen lost both his parents and his been working day and night on fixing their old house up. I guess the pressure finally got to him.”

“Or maybe him and his buddy had some sort of dispute. Could have been money related. Or just a fight that escalated, got out of hand. But with all the evidence they’ve found, we have our guy.”

“Now I just need to find something with caffeine in it, and maybe something with sprinkles,” Vanzetti said.

“One dozen or two?” Hall asked.

“Just half a dozen. You know I’m on a diet.”

“By the way, what else did they find in the basement?”

“Just a lot of tools and junk, family items, and photographs. And there was a trapdoor that was left open. Looks like an old bunker that was being used for storage. We didn’t find anything useful down there.”

Vanzetti excused himself. Hall said he would catch up. Just wanted to take one final look around, make sure they didn’t miss anything. He was halfway to the basement door when he heard the wet squelching sounds, accompanied by the tiny patter of footsteps coming up the basement stairs…