Mark Cooper was saddled with the joyless task of packing up his sister's house and getting it ready for sale. They had seemed like such a happy, normal couple with everything going for them, and for a number of years they were. But when their son disappeared, it was just too much strain for Victoria, which somehow lead to the breakdown she had.
Her husband, Jack, turned her into the authorities. It was a painful decision for him, but he knew that she needed help. He wrestled with it for a couple of days after she showed him the body, and as a result the district attorney originally attempted to charge him as an accessory, but those charges were finally dropped. He wasn't a willing participant, and he did turn his wife in. What man would be able to turn in his wife as a murderer at the drop of a hat?
Victoria's attorney was successfully able to plead insanity and she was ordered locked in a mental institution until such time as she was deemed safe for society. Her lawyer had pleaded with her to just show remorse at the trial, explain that she lost her mind, please temporary insanity and throw herself on the mercy of the court. But she refused, claiming the entire time that the boy she had murdered actually was her son. She never showed any regret and even once announced, unprovoked, in court that she didn't know what all the fuss was about. It was clear to all parties that she was completely unhinged. Had she been normal, she might have been confined for evaluation for a few months or years and then released, but this was far beyond that. Jack took little comfort in the fact that she at least wouldn't be executed.
He turned to heavy drinking, and soon lost his job because of it. While no one could forgive his wife for her crime, he was looked upon as a sympathetic figure who was a severe victim of circumstance. As a result, he was allowed to run up more bar tabs and lines of credit than otherwise would have been acceptable.
Unfortunately, it couldn't last forever, and soon enough the creditors came calling. He was in no shape to deal with them - he'd lost his son, his wife, his job, and his health. He checked himself into a halfway house run by the local convent. Of course, by moving out of his house, he lost the stipend granted him by his grandmother, but since that trust would now be re-assigned to the same halfway house anyway, he considered it a wash.
That was when he sent for his brother-in-law to come and help out by liquidating their assets and selling off the house. Mark had hesitated at first, still clinging to hope that his sister might be released. In an effort to put a stop to it, he went to visit her at the hospital, but instead of keeping him from agreeing to Jacks request, she persuaded him. She was truly insane by this point, babbling on about how her son was going to come and visit her an bring her home any day. Her chances for release were slim, so Mark at least wanted to help out Jack as much as he could.
It was not easy going. Plenty of people were morbidly curious enough to come and gawk at the house. They wanted to see everything about the house where the quiet woman who was so unassuming had done such a horrible thing. But very few were interested in actually purchasing any of their belongings. Most of their furniture was average and forgettable. Mark probably lost a few sales when he ran out the people that were particularly macabre and gruesome, but it was still his sister they were making jokes about. The thought of them buying her coffee table and then laughing and telling stories about the crazy woman it came from made his stomach turn.
Still, progress was being made. On the weekends he basically opened up the house to all passers by and if someone wanted to purchase something, they were welcome to it. He'd usually keep the house open during daylight and then close things down in the evening to head for his hotel. He had tried sleeping in the house the first few nights he was out at it selling things, but noises kept waking him up.
It sounded like people were running down the hallway, and doors would slam intermittently. At one point in the middle of the night, he was convinced he could hear moaning. On the third night, he woke up and was convinced that he saw an elderly man draped in a plaid blanket sitting in the chair in the corner of his bedroom. The moonlight just barely illuminated his face, but he was convinced he was there.
Springing out of bed, he raced across the room to confront the would-be burglar, but the chair was empty when he reached it. That was the last night he spent in the house.
Instead, he'd just check himself into a hotel when he came into town on Friday evening and then check himself out on Sunday afternoon. He put some of the money he was making selling things towards paying his hotel bill, which he didn't want to do at first, but as the bills started to mount, he figured he'd better. Besides, he rationalized, if he wasn't selling things, then there wouldn't be any money made anyway.
This weekend had been a banner day for sales. He'd gotten rid of the dining room set as well as several of the paintings. There were just a few stragglers roaming about the house to finish up with, then he could lock up and head home for another peaceful week of not dealing with this nonsense.
As usual, the people who spent the most time perusing everything in the house were the least likely to buy anything. They always hemmed and hawed and haggled. This time it was a young couple that wanted the two victorian chairs from the parlor, but didn't want them enough to pay the full asking price, or even to really make a fair offer. Still, Mark wanted to get rid of the furniture, and if he could get something reasonable out of them, he'd take it.
"How about ten dollars for both of them?"
Mark slumped into the chair he was trying to sell. "These are both fine pieces of furniture. Antique, well made, well cared for. They'd be a bargain at fifty dollars. I just can't go down to ten."
The young woman crinkled her nose and pulled her husband off to a corner where they whispered back and forth. Mark slid his hand across his face, letting it settle over his right eye as he opened his left. That's when he caught a glimpse of a child running past the room towards the back hall.
He sat up in the chair and craned his neck, but didn't see or hear anything. He looked at the couple, who were still debating their next offer. "Excuse me," he asked politely but got no reply. He repeated, "Excuse me," in a louder voice and they looked at him. "Is your son about with you? I think he just ran down the hallway. Would you collect him?"
The woman sniffed at him. "We have no son. And if we did, we certainly wouldn't bring him around to this house." She looked down her nose at him for an instant before returning to the pricing discussions. Mark thought he heard her say something about thirty dollars, which he'd be willing to take, but he was now paying more attention to the child he thought he saw.
He got up and crept to the edge of the parlor and peered around down the hallway. He tried to block out the argument brewing behind him and strained to hear any sign of life in the house. It was dead silent. As best as he could tell, they were the only three in the house.
"See here, old chap," the man tapped Mark on the shoulder, causing him to jump and making him lose his concentration. "I'm willing to spend twenty three dollars on both chairs, but not a cent more. Now what do you say to that?"
It was late. Mark was tired. He wanted to get things wrapped up so he could take the earlier train home and go back to his life. He sighed.
"Then I'll have to say, 'no sale.' Thank you very much for stopping by, I'll be back next weekend if you two change your mind." He smiled as graciously as he could and sidestepped to the left, opening the front door and gesturing for them to leave.
The man started to protest, clearly twenty three dollars was not actually his final offer and he'd hoped to negotiate more, but Mark's tired gaze made it clear that negotiations were closed for this weekend. The wife glared at her husband and stormed out of the house, giving Mark a curt smile as she stormed through the door, with her mate promptly tailing her.
The door shut and locked behind them and Mark stared at the ceiling in relief. He just had to lock everything up and collect his things, then it was back to his apartment. His eyes drifted down the dining room where he saw a young boy with red hair poking around the door to the kitchen. As their eyes met, the boy ducked behind the door and out of view.
Shit. There was some kid in here. Kids had gotten into the house a few times before and done some minor damage to things. Everything was still able to be fixed up and sold, but it was time that he didn't want to waste. He didn't want to waste time now chasing some kid around the house, but he knew that the little brat had to get booted out. He slid down the door until he squatted on his heels. Dammit, kid. Why'd you have to go and pick tonight to get your kicks? Why not yesterday, when I just had to walk to the hotel. Why today? Damn kid. He yawned and stood up to trudge after the little urchin.The boards squeaked under his lumbering gate, but otherwise the house was silent. Mark only took note of it because he was trying to listen for the child. Normally, the house was fairly noisy. People moving about would cause all manner of racket and were easy to pinpoint. That's how he found the three kids that had snuck into the house two weeks ago so quickly. They thought they were well hidden in the downstairs closet, but every time they shifted on their feet, the whole first floor moaned. This time was different. This child must've been light as a feather.
He was gone from the kitchen within the few seconds it took Mark to reach it. He was so flummoxed that he actually inspected all of the cabinets, assuming that the child was remaining motionless in them trying to hide. They were all empty. he scratched his head and turned just in time to see a small shoe disappear behind the swinging door to the back hall. He sprinted after him.
As he burst through the doorway, he found the hall was empty. Again, no boards squeaking, no giggling child. Nothing. Silence. The doors were all shut, and he just couldn't understand how a child could have zipped into there and shut a door so fast and so silently.
Not knowing what else to do, he opted to walk down the hallway and open doors as he went, checking each room for his little intruder. One after another, they were empty. Several of the rooms no longer had any furniture and could be inspected with a quick glance. Others were still packed and required a more detailed survey. He was even careful to always look behind the door. There was no sign of anyone; he seemed to be the only one in the house.
A door creaked behind him. Gotcha, Mark thought as he spun on his heel. He quickly guessed that the child had taken the door to the front hallway, perhaps to make a break for the front door. Or, worse, to run up to the second floor. If the kid wanted to give up an go home, Mark wouldn't hassle him - he wanted to go home, too. He hope the child had just left.
As usual, there was no one in the front hallway, but Mark pressed forward to check the front door. It was still locked, no one had gone through it. His shoulders slouched. Great. Where the hell is he?
He trudged into the parlor and flopped down on one of the still unsold Victorian chairs. The house was silent. He collected his thoughts. As he looked out of the parlor into the dining room, he once again saw the red-headed child peeking at him from around the doorway. The child paused momentarily and then pulled back behind the wall. Mark continued to sit. No use bloody chasing the brat around the house when I can't follow him. I need a better plan. He shut his eyes to think.
A scratching sound of metal on wood jolted him up. He spun around the room looking for the source but saw nothing. Still, the room looked slightly odd, as if things were out of place. It took him a few moments until he realized that every photograph in the room had pivoted and was now facing him. He picked up the photo closest to him, on the round table next to the chair he'd been in and examined it. It was a picture of his sister and her husband, and their son, the nephew he had only met briefly a few times.
The glass shattered as he dropped the picture to the floor. The child in the photo was the one he had just seen duck around the edge of the doorway. He was sure of it.
He flew around the room an studied the other photographs. All of the pictures that Jack Jr. was in were facing him, and they were all clearly the same boy. The photos that were just Jack or Victoria had all fallen face down. In the back of his head, Mark knew this wasn't right - how did the photos turn? Why had only the ones with the boy remained standing? But he pushed the thoughts out of his head as he realized that he had found his missing nephew.
He shot out of the parlor as fast as he could, careening around the dining room table and bursting into the empty kitchen. Where the hell was that kid? I've got to get him. That may snap Victoria out of her state, that'll bring Jack back to his senses. It'll fix everything!
"Jack! Jack? Jack!" he shouted as he zoomed down the back hall, flinging open every door he passed to briefly duck into the room. He flung open the basement door and shouted into the darkness, but got no reply. He was about to run down the stairs, but wisely opted to grab a lantern first.
As he fumbled for matches in the kitchen, he heard the floorboards creek upstairs. He dashed into the front hall, not noticing the basement door slamming on its own behind him. He nearly broke off the bannister as he grabbed the post to spin around on it and took the steps two at a time.
"Jack? Jack? It's your Uncle Mark, Jack. Where are you?" He frantically threw open bedroom doors as his search grew more frantic. He was close now, very close. As long as he could find the boy and he didn't slip back downstairs or out of the house, everything would be fine. He paused for an instant and considered camping out at the top of the stairs to keep him from coming back down, but a door slamming down the hallway snapped him out of it.
Of course, the child's room, Mark realized as he rounded the corner to the far hallway. He swung open the door to Jack Jr.'s bedroom. The boy was sitting in the far corner, cross legged, facing the corner. Mark burst into tears as he huffed and tried to catch his breath. He'd done it, he'd found his nephew, this was the solution to all of the problems his sister had faced."Jack? Do you remember me? It's your Uncle Mark," he wheezed out between deep breaths. The boy sat motionless. "I saw you at Thanksgiving last year when we had the big turkey your mom made. Remember?" Still, the boy didn't reply.
Mark unbuttoned his shirt as he rested against the door frame. He was having much more difficulty catching his breath than he would have expected, and his heart was racing. He dismissed it as excitement for having found the boy, who still sat motionless facing the corner.
He took a few steps into the room, unsure exactly what to say or do. He had to collect the child and notify people, but what was the best way? Just swoop in and grab him? Try to establish a friendship? There was no way to tell what the boy had been through or how he'd react to someone who may as well be a stranger grabbing him from behind. "Jack? He cautiously asked as he slowly approached.
Slowly, he crept up behind the boy and stooped down. "Jack? It's your Uncle Mark. We've all been very worried about you." He set his hand on the boy's right shoulder as he spoke.
Suddenly, the boy sprang to life, grabbing his Uncle's hand with his own as he turned to face him. Mark smiled as a few tears leaked down his face. The boy stared at him icily with bright green eyes.
"I'm glad I found you, kiddo," Mark said. He tried to lift up his hand to give his nephew a hug but found it stuck fast. He jerked at it but it wouldn't move. "That's quite a grip you've got there, sport," he said with a chuckle. The boy didn't respond.
"Okay, that's enough. Time to let go of Uncle Mark's hand." He responded by squeezing it harder. "Yee owch. Man, you're strong. Okay, now let go." Mark stared at his hand as he spoke and struggled and the boy remained motionless. As Mark struggled, something in the child's face caught his attention.
The skin was turning rapidly gray. Mark's brow furrowed. "Jack? What's wrong? Son?" All the blood seemed to be flowing out of his face. This was concern enough, but Mark couldn't have been prepared for what happened next.
After Jack's skin turned completely gray, it started to shrink and pull back into the skull. It pulled tighter and tighter, emphasizing the bones underneath. His eyes sank back into their sockets and quickly disappeared. The lips pulled up and exposed his teeth. Quickly, the small boy's face was turning into a skull.
Mark screamed and pulled his hand, but it was still stuck fast. His instinct to flea overwhelmed his desire to help the boy and he kicked at the child's back, knocking Jack to the floor and sending Mark flying backwards into the far wall. He sat, panting, trying to catch his breath.
Mechanically, unnaturally, the child pushed himself up off the ground and turned to face his uncle, staring at him with eyeless sockets under a mop of red hair. It faced him for an instant, then started to walk towards him, in the same unnatural mechanical fashion, as if the bones were constantly popping out of and back into their sockets.
Mark scrambled to his feet and ran out of the room. What the hell just happened in there? he wheezed to himself as he sprinted down the hallway. He looked back over his shoulder and saw the thing that used to be his nephew contorting its way down the hall after him.
He reached the end of the hallway first and grabbed the bannister post to swing himself around an down the stairs. From there it was a clean shot straight out the door. Unfortunately, as he put all of his weight onto the post, the old wood snapped under his weight and sent him spilling down the stairs.
As he tumbled, the broken shard of wood in his hand pierced his stomach, just adding to the damage the staircase was doing to his body. He landed at the bottom in a heap, looking back up the staircase an unable to move.
His nephew appeared at the top of the stairs, seeming to look down on him, then slowly evaporated into wispy light smoke. Mark's vision faded to black.
| 10/24/2006 | The Seventh Story of the House |
| 10/21/2006 | The Sixth Story of the House |
| 10/13/2006 | The Fifth Story of the House |
| 10/04/2006 | The Fourth Story of the House |
| 10/03/2006 | The Third Story of the House |
| 10/02/2006 | The Second Story of the House |
| 10/01/2006 | The First Story of the House |
| 10/01/2004 | It's Your Turn |
| 10/02/2003 | The Experiment |
| 10/02/2003 | The Stain |
| 10/02/2003 | The Recorder |
| 10/02/2003 | The Secret Room |
| 10/02/2003 | Why you should always carry tools |
| 10/02/2003 | The Solicitor |
| 10/02/2003 | The Picnic |
| 10/02/2003 | Moving Day |
| 10/02/2003 | The Very Short Life of a Fat Man |
| 10/02/2003 | Life on a Farm |
| 10/02/2003 | The Mooresbury Men |
| 10/02/2003 | A Better Killer |
| 10/02/2003 | Scary Noises |
| 02/01/2003 | The Wind Blows In My Heart... |
| 01/15/2003 | I Am The Goddess |
| 01/15/2003 | Freak |
| 01/12/2003 | They Won't Be Coming Back |
| 01/12/2003 | Bugs |
