Old 11-14-2005, 02:41 PM   #1
MalReynolds
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Default The House on the Hill

Taking a break from Creep World, this is a fairly lenghty piece. Enjoy.

There is something in this house. I know that much for a fact. Something has trapped me inside here and won’t let me leave. I’m not afraid. Haven’t been afraid for a very long time… But this is unnerving, to say the least. I don’t know why; I’ve tried to shatter the windows on the upper floor, tried to shatter the windows on the lower floor… Nothing. Nothing will give. Hell, even the front door, primarily stained glass… It won’t give way.

Even if I get out of the house, I still have that unmanageable wall to contend with, surrounding the house. If I managed to climb that… Well, then I suppose I’d be home free. But as it stands, the doors won’t open, the windows won’t open, the windows won’t shatter… I’m not getting ahead in any case.

I’m an appraisal artist. The house was recently left abandoned, for lack of a better word, when the owner committed suicide in the study. He did it with his tie… That would take some ingenuity right there. Shut part of his tie in a window, got on his knees and leaned forward.

The man was a recluse; he had the house built for himself and no one else. No one from the outside had ever seen the interior, either. Not even the mans close family, you see. He was a father of 2, but they were grown and at a higher education establishment. As soon as they were out of the house, he sold it and began work on this monstrosity.

It’s not a monstrosity… I didn’t mean that. It’s a fine house; I just don’t like being stuck inside. At least the lights work. Oh, but wouldn’t you know it? The phone is dead. What a surprise.

I’m going to give you a quick rundown of the estate. It really is something else, you see… Worth more than it cost to build. Outside of the ten-foot tall brick wall is a driveway that curves around a wooded path. It leads uphill… From the base, it doesn’t even look like there’s a house here. The barred gate is graced with the initials of the previous owner, “T. P” engraved in a large metal plate.

The front door feels like solid oak but is much heavier, as if the center of the door is filled with a tempered metal. Perhaps that was a precautionary measure of some sort… Although, now, thinking about it, that would rather odd to have so much stained glass and use the door as some kind of safety device.

The front stairs are carpeted with green shag. It’s the on piece in this place that doesn’t look like it belongs. They lead to the second floor where the bedrooms lie. Another particular I found odd about this place: Even though it was built for one, there are three bedrooms, each fully equipped with bed, bookshelf, window, and closet space.

At the end of the hallway upstairs are a bathroom, toilet, shower, carpet, sink, and mirror… It’s a bathroom. There’s nothing really special about it… Except for the gold inlaid in the tiles.

Downstairs we have the office to the left of the foyer. T. P’s desk is set up, his degrees in rocket science and architecture framed and hanging on the blue wall. His desk is locked, although I do believe I will be breaking into it later if the house doesn’t yield.

To the right is a dining room, with a door in the back to the kitchen. The kitchen is an odd little number with large quantities of seasonings and over large cooking utensils. The pots and the pans are all comically oversized, the forks and spoons, however, are the same as I’ve seen anywhere. There’s a study on the other side of the dining room, which has a back door to the back yard. Green grass blankets, save for a large square area where I can only assume T. P was planning on placing a pool before he had decided to give up the ghost, as it were.

Various other rooms that I have yet to get into, including an attack in the upstairs. I’m not sure what that could hold for me, but then again, nor do I want to. I don’t believe that I shall be in this house very much longer, so I will continue the appraise…

-

It was worth much more than I had originally anticipated. I finally entered the attic and found that there were platinum carvings in the wall of a Centaur fighting of an army of Grecians. It was one of the most beautiful carvings I have ever seen, and greatly increases the value of the house. The rest of the attic was filled with old sets of clothes, new sets of clothes, books on astrophysics and books on the occult. What a bizarre range of things for this old man to be studying in his spare time. Yes, why not build a rocket to hell?

On my way out of the attic, I noticed one door in the upstairs hallways obscured by shadows. I had no idea it was there, and when I tried to open it, it was locked. It was very bizarre; the only doors in this house to be locked up to this point had been to the outside. I shall try and gain entry tomorrow.

The front door still will not open and darkness is rapidly approaching. I feel that the best course of action at this point is going to simply be lying down on the couch inside the study and waiting until first light before trying to get out again. Perhaps at this time the phones will be back up and I can make an escape… Although, this is such a nice house. If it weren’t for the lack of food, I wouldn’t mind inhabiting it.

-

I woke up simply because I could feel someone breathing on me. It was a young man, ten years my junior, wearing thick coke-bottle glasses. He was wearing a polka dotted bow tie, a white shirt and black suspenders. Across the room, sitting in the lounge chair sat another man. His hair slick with grease, wearing a leather jacket… Someone directly out of the seventies. He too was wearing thick glasses. He was also the first to speak.

“Tim, is he up yet?”

“Yeah, his eyes just opened, Jim.”

Tim and Jim. Horribly clever. Jim stood and walked over to me, kneeling down. It was at this point I could see that they were identical twins, save for their differing attire. The greaser, Jim, looked slightly more tough and world weary than the bookworm, Tim. Considering the mystery of the house, I had nothing to do but ask.

“You two are twins, correct?”

“Oh, we’ve got a real bright one here, Tim, don’t we,” Jim said, popping a bubble before spitting his gum out into the waste bin.

“Don’t mind him. That’s my brother, Jim… He’s a bit high strung all the time. Don’t let it get to you, though. He’s really a good guy.”

“Honest,” Jim said, winking at me.

Chills ran up my spine. Tim was still crouched down in front of me, staring me over. I didn’t quite know what to make of it at all.

“How did you all get into the house?”

“I don’t remember… I was driving and-“

“The front door,” Jim interrupted. “Plain and simple. The front door.”

Well, I think we have safely identified the evil twin.

“It’s fine that you don’t want to tell me; you have no business telling me. I don’t know you and you certainly don’t know me. My name is Thad Turner. I was called in to appraise the house after the owner passed away. I came into the house and realized I had left something of vital importance in my car… But the front door wouldn’t open. I tried the windows, they wouldn’t open, I tried smashing the doors and the windows, that wouldn’t work… I was simply trapped inside of this house.”

Jim shrugged. “Didn’t need to know that.”

Tim stood up. “Well, I’m glad to hear it. We didn’t come in through the front door. I was driving, I passed out and I woke up in here. I don’t know about Jim. He’s a friend of secrecy.” He motioned to the back door. “We can get out that way, can’t we?”

I nodded, but frowned. “That only leads to the back yard. The wall extends completely around the house, not even a small break in it.”

“Well, with a boost, one of us might be able to get over,” Tim said excitedly.

I nodded and walked to the back door. It was odd, even in a house as secluded as this, you could still hear the faint roar of traffic in the distance. Tim and Jim stood on either side of me. I extended a leg upwards, Jim catching my foot. He practically threw me up to the wall. I gripped the edge tightly and pulled myself up. In a sitting position, I swung my legs over the wall.

There was a steep ravine on this side of the house that extended all the way around the wall. It must have started at the front of the house and made its way around…

“What are you waiting for? Jump! Get help in here! Don’t want to be trapped in this house forever, do I?”

“I can’t jump,” I yelled back over my shoulder. “The drop is too much. There’s a ravine on this side extending past the house in either direction. Too steep to jump down. It’d be suicide!”

I heard Jim curse and shortly after, a door slam. I turned back around to find Tim still looking up. I braced my hands against the wall and let myself drop, tearing my overcoat in the process.

“Well… So much for that plan,” I said, clapping him on the back.
“Don’t worry, Thad. We’ll get out of here. I can feel it.”

-

Tim and Jim went off to the upstairs, claiming bedrooms to themselves and I went back into the attic. It was truly a better place to be contemplative than the study, which was tainted by the failure of the wall plan. The books on astrophysics went far over my head, but the books on the occult were written very simply. Fragmented sentences, although, the descriptions were particularly vivid. Every few pages, a grotesque illustration inked in red showing some kind of demon attacking some kind of person that didn’t quite deserve it.

The attic was dark most of the time; an oil lantern illuminated whichever corner I was inhabiting at the time. The shutters out of the attic wouldn’t open and let in minimal sunlight, which was always caught in the dust that perforated the air. I found it ironic that a house this young would have so much dust in the attic… Must be a rule with attics.

I didn’t sift through all of the boxes of clothes, moreover, focused my attention on the wooden crates that had been stacked neatly in the corner behind the stairs. It was complete happenstance that I found them. I had been flipping a coin, reflecting on the wall and thinking about the twins when rage overcame my body. Having nothing to throw, save for the oil lamp that would have surely set the house ablaze, I flexed my muscle and threw the coin with all my might into the corner. It made a strange clunking noise as if hitting something hollow. I made my way over, the tendrils of light spilling out of my lamp and over the crates.

They had taken mere minutes to open, finding something suitable to pry them open with wasn’t especially difficult. An ice skate in one of the old boxes provided more than enough leverage to crack the crate.

They were filled with old newspaper balls from the fifties, packaging for some unknown item. I sifted through, curiosity getting the better of me, and found an urn filled wish ashes. I set that aside, reading the placard, “Ann Pointe” before turning my attention back to the crate. There were several objects wrapped in a browning fabric that I, upon closer inspection, worn and cracked pieces of leather.

Golden knives lay inside each of the wrappings. Bizarre designs covering the face of the each hilt, skulls shining brilliantly in the waning light, angels and demons fighting and a ruby that sat at the top of the hilt. They were precious, dating back to the Mayans, most likely. The owner of the house had acquired them God knows how, but they were here, sitting in the attic. One design in particular brought my attention back to the book on the occult.

The passage of interest was written in Latin, and I did not speak it fluently. I matched the picture on the page to the design on the knife and began to translate.

“He who knows true value… Of the Gemini… Upon this.”

All I could make out. Didn’t make much sense, either, until I thought about it again.

I knew value. The Gemini… Could that be about the twins? Was there a reason we were in here?

I rushed out of the attic with the book in hand, banging on the bedroom doors. Jim opened the first door I came to.

“Do you know Latin?”

He shook his head. I continued down the hall to Tim’s room.

“Tim, do you know Latin?”

“A little bit. Why?”

I flipped the book to the page, handing it over.

“The passage by that picture. What does it say?”

“Let me see,” he said, pushing his glasses up. “It says… Oh my. ‘He who knows true value will use the knife of the ancients upon the Gemini, opening the gate to forever.’ That’s… Odd… Don’t you think?”

I nodded. The passage was much darker than I had feared. I was to kill the twins? What was the gate to forever? Tim backed away into his room slowly, watching me carefully.

“You’re not to come in, do you understand, Thad?”

I nodded. The door slammed in my face, the noise reverberating around the house. Unfortunately, I had left the book with Tim. I knocked on the door.

“What do you want? To kill me?”

“No. I just… Does the passage say anything else?”

“Yes. The first part says something. ‘In the shell of sorrow, he who knows…’ You know the rest of the passage. I don’t need to read it to you, do I?”

“No. Get some sleep.”

I turned around, making my way back to the attic, when a hand came down on my shoulder.

“What did the book say?” Jim asked.

“It said something about… Being in the shell of sorrow, the man who knows true value will use the knife of the ancients on the Gemini, opening the gate to forever… Any idea what that means?”

“I have an idea, but… There are no knives in here. I checked all of the nooks and crannies for a weapon before you woke up. Didn’t make much sense not to arm myself. After all, I didn’t know who you were, did I?”

I shook my head. “I found some in the attic, in a wooden crate along with an urn of ashes belonging to someone related to the man who built this house. I think it would be better if you kept a hold of the knives with your brother, just in case something happens that I can’t control.”

Jim nodded. He followed me into the attic, taking the two crates back down the stairs with him. He disappeared into his room and locked the door.

I slept restlessly that night; my dreams haunted by visions of what I could only hope were falsehoods and not the future.

-

At next light I awoke to the tranquility I had come to appreciate inside this house. I also had a goal; to get into the desk in the main office and try and find something that could possibly explain what was going on.

The desk, as I mentioned before, was locked. Using the ice-skate, I managed to open the slim drawer that rested just under the surface. Inside were pencils, stationary and paperclips. Nothing of particular interest. I grabbed two of the paper clips and began to unfold them. The hours of my misspent youth coming to fruition as I picked the lock on the upper drawer. The catch mechanism made a loud clicking noise and the drawer opened automatically.

Inside were stacks of paper of little interest. Scribbled notes on space ship designs and other assorted items of disinterest.

The locking mechanism on the bottom drawer was slightly more difficult to get into. I ended up breaking a paper clip in the lock before kicking the desk in frustration. The drawer slid open. The only item in the bottom drawer was a red, leather-bound journal.

This was slightly more interesting. Perhaps it would lend me insight into the madness that created this house. It was also locked, but small locks on diaries were simple enough to get around. I simply placed the lock dangling in the upper desk drawer and slammed it repeatedly until the frail, tiny protection mechanism fell off into the cavernous desk.

“June 21, 2002.

They’re off to college now. I finally have free reign over my house. This one reminds me too much of them, too much of their dear mother. I shall begin construction immediately on my new house. I’ll have several pieces imported, and groceries delivered weekly. I won’t need to leave for anything; I should be able to work from the house, given that the National Astronomy Agency doesn’t take my seclusion as anything other than it is; an attempt to get away from the world.

June 22, 2002.

I put my house on the market today. My broker told me that I should have a buyer within a week if all goes according to plan. I’ll use this next week to go scout out furniture and assorted items in Europe to garnish my new house. Bookshelves, whatever I can find.

July 4, 2002.

Happy Independence Day! During my stop through in Haiti I managed to procure several journals that I would like to use to fill my library. Mostly reading on the occult and black magic. I don’t particularly take stock in it, but the books are a delightful find. I’ll thumb through them more thoroughly on the plane home. They also have thrown in several crates, as well. I’ll put my dear Ann’s ashes in one of them. Safer than carrying them on the plane like I have been doing.

July 20, 2002.

My house is now off the market, sold to a nice family with two children. They’re just starting elementary school. Cute little children. Construction will begin on my new home immediately. I’ve picked a secluded lot high atop a hill, surrounded by trees.

December 22, 2002.

The construction is awful. The workers keep leaving, unable to fill my specifications. They’re calling me insane for wanting a house this far away from everyone. They don’t know that I just want to get away.

January 1, 2003.

Happy New Year.

May 15, 2003.

I know what I’m going to do now.

May 15, 2005.

I called them today. The first time I’ve spoken to my sons in so long. I called them, invited them to the house for the weekend. Naturally, I won’t be here anymore. But if all goes according to plan, they should see me very soon. Especially considering the squirrelly one… How much he admires me. I feel almost guilty using this admiration to my advantage… But it must be done.

Tim, Jim… Welcome home.”

There were no more entries in the diary after May 15. The twins upstairs were the sons of the man who built this house. I could feel myself getting angry… Very unprofessional, but they had been hiding this secret for so long. I bounded up the stairs and knocked on Tim’s door.

“What did he say to you?! What did he say to you on the phone?”

“What are you talking about? What did who say to me?”

“Your father!”

The door swung open, Tim standing in the doorway, his face red with anger.

“The last time he called he told me to come to this house for the weekend. That was almost four months ago, I told him I didn’t want to come. That was the last time I spoke to my father.”

I ran down the hallway to Jim’s room. The door was open and he was seated on the bed, calmly.

“JIM! What did he say to you?”

“What did who say to me?”

“Your father… The last time he called.”

“He invited me to this house for the weekend. I made an excuse as to why I couldn’t be here. That’s the last time I spoke to him.”

Tim was behind me.

“Why didn’t you all say anything to me about being connected to the house?”

“Because,” Tim said, “It didn’t seem like anything important. Jim and I agreed that it would be for the best if we didn’t tell you… Didn’t want to put you on edge. We’re sorry, but it was the right choice at the time, I think.”

I nodded. They were right. Had I known they were directly connected to the house, I wouldn’t have treated them fairly. Now, I was sure that they were trapped in here just as I was; Tim was concerned about me attacking them… He would leave if he could. I’d take their words on the situation for now.

“Alright… I’m going to go lie down in the study. You all try and get some rest, alright?”

-

I awoke after another haunting dream, standing over Jim with the Golden Knife. It was horrible, but I couldn’t help but think that that might actually happen if I stayed in this house any longer. I ran up the stairs and in a rage, broke down the locked door. I could hear the mattresses squeak in the bedrooms, turning over at the noise.

It was the library I had read about in the journal. The light was on already. The books were all on the occult; no literature… Nothing but the dark arts in this large room, stocked to gills with knowledge of what shouldn’t be known.

“Reviving the Dead, Welcome to Hell, Summoning Your Own Demon, Meeting Your Loved One on the Other Side.”

Not kosher. It became clear to me at this point that it would be in everyone’s interest if this house didn’t remain standing any longer. I ran to the attic, grabbing the oil lantern and setting a small fire. I scurried down the stairs into Jim’s room.

It was covered in blood, Jim’s unmoving body sitting in the bed, propped up against the headboard. His stomach had been stabbed, his wrists had been cut.

“Oh my God…” He had the golden knife in his hand, his blood fresh on the knife’s surface. I grabbed it and began to shake Jim.

“What?”

I turned around to face Tim.

“Your brother… He’s dead.”

“You killed him, too… I know you did, Thad… The book said you would. You would kill the Gemini.”

“No, no I didn’t. I didn’t do this I swear.” I took a step towards Tim, who ran out of the room and down the stairs. I rushed into Tim’s room, trying to find the book from the attic.

He had a pad of paper sitting next to the book, open to the sacrificial page. On his notepad were various scribbles, including, “Flip it?”

The realization washed over me. It wasn’t “The one with true knowledge of value will use the knife of the ancients on the Gemini…” It was, “The one with true knowledge of value with have the knife used upon him by the Gemini… Opening the gate to forever.”

I dropped the knife to the floor and ran, trying to find Tim.

“Tim! Tim! You read the passage wrong! You’re supposed to kill me! You’re supposed to KILL ME!”

He appeared behind me, rushing down the stairs, knife in hand.

“Wait, Tim… Let me explain…”

He didn’t want an explanation. He rushed at me with the knife, slamming it into my stomach. An intense pain shot through my body as I dropped to the floor.

“You fool…”

“You killed Jim!”

“I didn’t… I swear…”

“Then who did?”

“He killed himself… Listen… Your father was devastated over the loss of his wife… She killed herself, right? That’s why he did… That’s… He wanted to see her again… And he wanted to see you all… That’s what the weekend was about… You don’t know… Your brother went… You told him you weren’t going and that he shouldn’t go… and he went… They’ve been planning this for three years… This house was the shell of sorrow… Because of your father. You miss him; you’re filled with sorrow… This house was built with his suicide in mind so he could see your mother again… Your brother killed himself to get you to kill me, make you a guilty soul…”

Tim began to weep.

“And the house is burning. There’s no way out… You’re going to perish in the flames with my blood on your hands, your blood on my hands… I set the house on fire… I’m responsible for your death…”

I began to cough up blood, the iron taste bitter in my mouth.

“Your father wanted a reunion more than anything… And that’s what he’s going to get… That, and a very unwelcome appraisal artist…”

Tim smiled. The smoke began to drift down the stairs he looked up the stairs, to the black hallway, covered in the acrid fog. He slowly began to walk up the stairs. There was nothing he could do but walk into the fire. I heard his screams as I my mind began to play the last piece of the ritual…

“Opening the gate to forever…”

I smiled wryly as I heard the fabric of my existence tear open behind me, feeling the fire and brimstone of hell lick at my back.

“I shouldn’t have gone out this way…”

Those were my last conscious thoughts as the house began to fold in on itself, pulling inwards into the vortex. My body began to slide, and I could only hope that the house was the only part of my world that was pulled in…

Otherwise, I’ll be standing at the doorway, welcoming you to Hell.

-

Mal
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Old 11-14-2005, 05:02 PM   #2
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Default RE: The House on the Hill

Very spooky, though I dont really know what the whole Gemini this was about.
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Old 11-14-2005, 05:03 PM   #3
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Default RE: The House on the Hill

Hold on, I got the story until the very last part. Why was the appraisal guy going to Hell? I don't remember him killing anyone during the story.
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Old 11-14-2005, 05:04 PM   #4
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Default RE: The House on the Hill

He killed Tim, by setting the fire. I think...
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Old 11-14-2005, 05:15 PM   #5
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Default RE: The House on the Hill

Ding. Nate has it. He's repsonsible for the death of Tim by starting the fire in the attic.

Mal

EDIT: The Gemini has to do with them being twins. It's an astrological sign of duplicity and twin-ness.
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Old 11-14-2005, 05:15 PM   #6
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Default RE: The House on the Hill

Damn. That sucks.
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Old 11-14-2005, 07:01 PM   #7
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Default RE: The House on the Hill

Yeah... I've noticed that a lot of my stories end on sour notes a lot of the time. Guess unhappy endings are just more realistic.

I actually changed the ending of this to Hell being opened. It was originally going to end with the grocery delivery boy coming in and rescuing Thad, but that would negate almost all of what was read in the books about opening the portal.

And this story went through a few revisions: In the first draft, the house was a rocket heading to hell, and Thad was food for the twins. In the second draft, it was just a rocket to Mars with Thad as food. In the third, the house just floated presenting the problem of leaving, with Thad as food... And you read the fourth draft. Which I'm happy with.

Mal
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Old 11-15-2005, 01:50 PM   #8
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That was one of the best stories I have ever read, I really hope you write more.
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