Don’t Take My Doll

It was July the 2nd, 1998 when she first appeared. A slight, pale woman with large black rings around her eyes, thin, hollow cheek bones and hair like matted wire. I watched from the front desk everyday as she flitted up to the window, stared into the police station and repeatedly tapped her bony fingers against the glass.

I’d been drafted to the small seaside town of Gentry less than a month ago and not a day had gone by without the woman appearing at the window, sometimes for hours on end. I’d asked a couple of my superiors what she was doing but they merely avoided my eyes and told me not to pry into private affairs.
Today was no different; the woman crept over to the window and danced her fingers across the glass. The sky outside grew dark as the hours dragged on and I watched as the first drops of rain fell from the sky. This light drizzle quickly progressed into a downpour and I observed as the woman went from being doused to being drenched in a matter of minutes. Yet her movements didn’t cease and she continued to tap fervently on the window, her hollow, maddeningly wide eyes fixed on me the entire time. When her hair began to literally melt out of its precarious bun I pushed back my chair and walked over to the door.

I hesitated for a moment, glancing tentatively behind me to make sure that all eyes were averted. Quickly, I wrenched open the door and stuck my head outside and called “Hey! Do you want to come inside until the weather calms down”?

The woman froze and snapped her head towards me. I was startled by her movement; the angle of her head made it appear that she possessed no spine to speak of and instead that her head was disconnected from her neck; a near complete rotation without her moving her shoulders. I couldn’t suppress a shiver as she twisted her body to align with her head and began to creep towards me, her arms lying limp at her sides.

I stepped aside to allow her inside and she twisted her head in that inhuman state to face me. We stood like that for a few painfully long seconds before she whispered “I have a crime to report”.

Her voice was delicate and childlike; as though encased within the putrescent grey skin and bedraggled hair lay a sweet child with pink ribbons scattered in her blonde ringlets.

“Of course ma’am” I smiled, gesturing for her to follow me to the front desk. I’d barely taken a step before she clasped her fingers around my wrist; her cold skin creating a crushing vice that stopped me in my tracks.

“Please sir…could we go to the back room”?

Her question surprised me but I could understand why some witnesses would be too scared to declare crimes in the open. I had never heard of any witnesses being relocated to an actual room in the time I’d spent at the station but the itching desire to know more about the woman prompted me to nod and change course; heading down a long, thin corridor leading to the tiny back room.

As we walked, I stole a glance back at her and noticed that she was a fair deal younger than I’d first assumed. Her slender limbs, hunched figure and dark eyes made it appear that she was an elderly woman but on closer inspection her undeveloped physique and smooth face suggested that she was most likely a prepubescent child. I was shocked at myself for not noticing this sooner that I almost strolled headfirst into the door of the backroom. Halting in the nick of time, I fumbled my keys before unlocking the room and stepping inside.

The room was comprised of dark metal walls and a concrete floor complete with a stainless steel table and two chairs. I took the chair closest to the door and waited for the girl to sit down.
I pulled out a recording tape from my bag and set it on the table.

“Okay,” I smiled “Go ahead…”

The girl’s dark eyes stared into my brown ones and she let her jaw grow slack. After a moment however, she began.

“It began like every other day. The sun rose, the tide ebbed from the shore and the seaside town stuttered into life. However this day was special-”

“Um, wait a second please,” I interrupted. “You don’t have to tell it like this; like a story, I mean. You can just tell me the key elements and I can submit a report.”

She fixed me with her intense stare and replied “But this is how it goes. I have to tell the story how it goes…”
I sighed and waved her on, not in the mood to argue with a child.

She continued. “It was a special day because it happened to be the birthday of the mayor’s daughter; Cecilia Abigail Townsend. Her mother had promised Cecilia that she could ask for anything she wanted so the little girl had replied ‘A doll’. So Cecilia’s mother went searching for the most beautiful china doll in the town. She looked in quaint boutiques and upmarket department stores but she found no doll worthy of her beautiful daughter. Finally she found a little girl playing on the street, a cherubic doll clutched in her hands. She begged and pleaded with the girl to part with the doll but the child would have none of it.

As the child played on, steely clouds rolled in from the ocean; threatening a storm. Finally the girl set the doll on a nearby bench while she went to fetch an umbrella from her house which lay only a few yards from where she was playing. Taking her chance, the mother snatched the doll from the bench and ran home, not stopping once along the way.

She arrived home and wrapped the doll before presenting it to the delighted Cecilia that night. Cecilia however, received a great number of presents that night and the little doll was forgotten amongst the onslaught of gifts.

Cecilia bade her parents goodnight and left for bed as the moon rose in the sky. Her father soon followed her but her mother was left to clean up the mess that the wrapping paper had created. It was only when she had completely tidied the kitchen that she noticed the doll sitting on Cecilia’s chair; its glassy eyes staring straight ahead.

Cecilia’s mother had been sure that the doll had been discarded under the table earlier and no one had re-positioned it on the chair, unless it had somehow climbed up there itself…Scared by her own musings, Cecilia’s mother switched off the lights and retired for the night.

When the clock struck midnight, Cecilia Abigail Townsend awoke to a small voice whispering in her room.
‘Cecilia…I’m in the front hall.’

Cecilia slipped out of bed and padded to the front hall which led from the kitchen to the grand staircase. The doll was lying on the carpet, its gaze directed at Cecilia who stood at the top of the staircase.

Thinking perhaps her brother was performing some sort of trick on her, Cecilia shook her head and walked back to her bedroom. But then the voice returned.

‘Cecilia, I’m on the stairs. I’m on the first step… I’m on the second step… I’m on the third step…’ the voice continued until the very last step on the grand staircase.

Cecilia crept outside to check and, sure enough, the doll was lying at the top of the stairs, its hollow eye staring straight at her.

Truly frightened now, Cecilia ran to her room, locked the door and dove under the covers. And still the voice continued.

‘Cecilia, I’m in your brother’s room…’ There was a sudden scream of agony followed by the sound of a body hitting the floor ‘Got him’…

Cecilia began to cry, her teeth tearing through her bottom lip as the voice went on.

‘Cecilia, I’m in your parent’s room…’ Another set of screams followed ‘Got them.’

Cecilia listened in horror as her lock clicked and the door swung open.

‘Cecilia, I’m at your toes…I’m at your knees…I’m at your waist….I’m at your shoulders…’”

“STOP!” I yelled, slamming my hands down on the table. The girl didn’t look taken aback in the least at my outburst, instead gazing at me as though waiting to continue.

“I demand you stop this right now!” I growled “This is a police station, not a campfire and I’ll have none of your tales here. I know very well that today is the mayor’s daughter’s birthday and that they are all alive at this moment so please kindly stop wasting my time and”-

I was interrupted by the door bursting open and the Chief sergeant leaning in, policemen dashing backwards and forwards behind him.

“Detective, we need you at Mayor Townsend’s residence, please come with me”.

I looked back to the chair and saw that the girl had slipped behind me and out the door while my attention had been preoccupied. Gritting my teeth in frustration, I turned back to the Chief and nodded, following him back though the station and into the sheeting rain…
*
When we arrived at the Mayor’s house, the coroners were removing gurneys laden with bodies covered in blood spattered sheets. One of the sheets was blown back in the wind and I saw the mutilated face of Cecilia Townsend; her throat slashed into ribbons of flesh and her mouth slit from ear to ear in a horrific grin.
I felt bile rise in my throat and excused myself to empty my stomach behind the house. I was wiping my mouth when I heard a light tapping, even through the rain.

I glanced up and saw a figure standing in the upstairs window, its fingers splayed across the glass. Squinting I could make out the outline of the girl from the police station, a large smile upon her usually deadpan face and a doll with blonde ringlets clutched in her hand. She tapped on the glass again and began to write something on the window. When she was finished she waved at me, her smile growing impossibly huge, before disappearing into the room’s shadows I stepped closer and saw the words daubed on the window in blood red letters:

DON’T TAKE MY DOLL…

—
Credits to: Lilith Luna

Charlotte

When I was a young child, I had a playroom filled with toys which had accumulated over the many holidays and birthdays. I remembered sitting in the middle of that room playing with my toys each day. My mother and I were reminiscing one morning as I was packing my things to move into my new apartment when she brought up that playroom. She said that she always thought it was odd that I would sit in that room for hours playing with one single toy telephone. She said that it was a toy I had gotten for my first birthday, and she was surprised that I hadn’t lost interest by my sixth birthday. This brought back memories of my playroom and that telephone. I remembered exactly why I had begun playing with it and why I had stopped.

I was four and it was the week after Christmas. We had just relocated all of my new toys from the living room up to the playroom, and I was eager to nestle into my usual spot in the center of the room. I had only just sat down and picked up a toy horse when I heard a strange sound. It was similar to the haunting sound of a music box that was nearing the end of its tune. I looked around me and saw nothing that should be making that sound, so I continued galloping my toy horse around the carpet.

The noise grew louder and more persistent, so I began scooting toys away from the direction the sound originated. I finally traced the melody to a small plastic phone resting against the wall. It was a simple phone in appearance. It was white with a spinning dial, and a red plastic ear piece. The only thing that I had ever found unsettling about this particular toy was the set of eyes that flipped back and forth as you pulled the string attached to it. Being a somewhat lazy child, I didn’t feel the need to stand up to retrieve the phone. I reached over, grabbed the string, and pulled the toy to me. As the eyes flicked back and forth, the haunting melody grew louder and faster. I assumed this was normal for this toy. I thought maybe it had batteries and they were beginning to die. I picked up the handset and held it to my ear.

“Hello? This is Charlotte.” I said, imitating my mother when she answered the telephone.

Oddly, I heard static coming from the smooth plastic handset.

“Hello?” I said again slowly.

There was a clicking sound and the phone’s tune stopped. This routine went on for about a week until finally someone began talking to me through that phone. It said its name was Mordrid and that it was my imaginary friend. I remembered hearing the children at daycare talking about their imaginary friends and I was ecstatic to finally get mine. It felt almost like a rite of passage.

Our conversations started out fairly normal. We would talk about daycare and the latest episodes of Powerpuff Girls and Spongebob. Mordrid’s favorite characters were Him and Plankton. I always asked him why he liked the bad guys so much, and he told me that they were simply misunderstood good people. I believed him, and I began to like them too.

As I got older, our conversations became more intense. My first day of school I got made fun of and I came home in tears. The first thing I did was run up to my playroom and talk to Mordrid. I asked him if the mean children were misunderstood good people, and he said no. He said that they were monsters and that I should stay away from other children lest I be corrupted also. I didn’t understand, but I obeyed him. He would never teach me wrong because he understood everything.

One day I came home and my mother told me that we were storing the toys that I wanted to keep, and having a yard sale for the ones that were collecting dust. I ran up the stairs into the playroom, grabbed the phone, and hid it in my room. That day, I didn’t talk to Mordrid because I was so busy packing and getting things ready to sell. When I talked to him the next morning he was furious. He said that nothing should ever come between us and that we were best friends.

“How am I supposed to protect you if you don’t talk to me every day?” He snapped in his overly deep, angry voice. His voice always got very deep when he was angry.

I apologized and told him that it wouldn’t happen again.

My first day of high school was a nightmare. I wanted so badly to go home and call Mordrid and tell him about the awful things my classmates would say about me. They would whisper to their friends that I was a freak. They said it was no wonder that I didn’t have any friends because I was crazy. Maybe I was crazy, but the only friend I needed was Mordrid. This fact, however, didn’t make their cruel words hurt any less. I came home in tears once again. Ignoring my mother’s questions, I rushed upstairs to my room and shut the door. I rummaged around the bottom of my closet for my phone which was emitting its familiar haunting melody.

“Mordrid?..It’s Charlotte..” I sobbed.

“What’s the matter, Charlotte? Did the bad people hurt you again?” He said slowly.

“They whisper things..they say I’m a freak. Am I a freak, Mordrid?”

“Oh no, Charlotte! You’re not a freak. You’re special and they don’t understand.”

“You really think so?” I sniffed.

“Yes. I’m tired of those bad people hurting you, Charlotte. They won’t hurt you anymore. I promise.”    *CLICK*

I looked at the handset and placed it slowly back onto the top of the phone. He had never hung up on me before. I shrugged it off as him being overemotional and I went downstairs for dinner. My mother waited at the bottom of the stairs.

“Honey, what is wrong? You seemed so upset.”

“Nothing’s wrong, Mom. I’m fine. I just had a rough day.” I muttered. “What’s for dinner?”

Mother wore a worried look upon her face, and she quietly replied, “Pasta..”

I smiled and walked happily into the kitchen to make a plate.

I went to school the next day and it was relatively uneventful. The bad people weren’t at school that day. I figured they were all skipping school together, but I was very wrong. When I got home, my mother was sitting on the couch staring at the television with a terrified look on her face. I glanced at the tv as I was placing my bookbag on the floor behind the couch. I saw the pictures of all the bad people on the news. They were all missing except for the worst one named Jessica. She had been found brutally murdered behind her home. My jaw dropped and my heart jumped into my throat. I dashed up to my room where my phone was chiming eerily.

“Hello….? It’s… Charlotte…”

“You seem afraid. Are you afraid of me, Charlotte?”

I didn’t know what to say. I was terrified. I knew now that Mordrid was something to fear rather than befriend.

“What did you do to the others, Mordrid?”

“I can’t tell you. You will tell other bad people and they will lock you up. I must protect you.”

I was silent, but I remained on the line.

“Charlotte, you don’t seem very grateful. They are gone. They will never bother you again.”

I remained silent as I set the handset gently back on the top of the phone.

Like clockwork, the creepy music box tune began playing and the eyes on the phone began flipping back and forth.  I immediately grabbed the phone, flew down the stairs, and ran out of the house towards the shed. I locked the phone up and ran into the house. I didn’t hear any more from Mordrid. Sometimes when I would be outside, I would hear that creepy tune wafting from the cracks in the storage shed. I would always quickly make my way back into the house.

I looked down at my watch and noticed how late it had gotten.

“I really need to head out, Mom. It’s going to get dark.”

She nodded and gave me a hug and a kiss.

“Oh, Charlotte! Take that box with you too. I packed it up forever ago and it’s taking up space.” She pointed to a box nestled behind the couch. I walked over to it, picked it up, and hoisted it up onto my shoulder. Mother kissed me again on the forehead and told me to be safe as I walked out the door towards my car. It was a tight fit, but I managed to fit the box into my back seat and I began to drive away to my apartment. I stopped at a red light and adjusted my mirror. Right as soon as I was easing my foot on the gas, I heard it. I heard that creepy music in the back seat of my car.

I took a deep breath and pulled over before reaching into the box to grab the telephone.

“Hello? This is Charlotte..”

 —
Credits to: TheRadHatter

Patricia

My house is so quiet. Except for the pattering of the rain on the window, and the scribble of my pen as I frantically write in order to get a good night’s sleep tonight, and the grandfather clock ticking. When I’m alone, I seem to pick up every little sound. To sleep without first recording what has happened would be the worst thing I could do. I must record everything. Every last detail. I cannot forget. I-

I woke up with a sudden sense of dread, though of what I did not know, could not explain, and ultimately forgot as my senses came to me. I realized my family was already up and engaged in their morning routine. A glance at the clock radio on my nightstand and my customary verification by the clock on my wall told me that I had overslept by fifteen minutes.

Jumping out of bed, I hurriedly dressed, brushed my teeth, and was on my way down the stairs pulling my hair into a ponytail when there was a knock on the door. It was uncommon to have a visitor this early in the morning, but being the closest to the door, I answered it.

To my surprise, my good friend Patricia was standing there in the heavy, Florida morning air. I couldn’t say I expected to see anyone in particular, but her being there was very unexpected. Aside from a sleepover or two that we had kept secret from my parents, she had never come to my house before.

I asked her to come in but instead she grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me outside, closing the door as she did.

“Patricia, what are you-” I started, but she cut me off.

“Why won’t you let your family meet me?” she asked, angrily. I was completely dumbfounded by the question.

“Patri-”

“No! We’ve been friends for years and I don’t understand why-”

“Stop it!” It was my turn to cut her off.

I yanked my wrist out of her hand and took a step back staring at her in surprise. She glared back at me. I had never seen her this angry.

We stood there for a few seconds, and for a moment, all that broke the silence was her heavy breathing and the muted sounds of the waking neighborhood coming through the humid air.

In an instant, she changed, her anger dissipated, and she looked as normal as if we’d passed each other in the hallway at school.

“So, do you think you can introduce me?” she asked, this time perfectly calm, as though the last ten seconds hadn’t even occurred. Still in shock, I took a second to take in what just happened and compose myself.

“Er, Patricia,” I started, trying not to upset her again, “ we’ve talked about this before.”

“I know, I know. But I really really want to meet them now,” was her reply, insistent.

I couldn’t even remember why we decided to not have Patricia come over. But although it had happened years ago- around the beginning of our friendship- and I had all but forgotten why, there was a very strong feeling within me urging me to keep that promise.

Not knowing exactly why I felt this way, I said, “I’m just not sure that that’s such a good idea.”
Almost too quick for me to see, what looked like pure rage swept across her face and in an instant, was gone. She smiled her pretty smile that I’d seen a million times and said, “Okay, see you at school then!”

Then she was walking away. Down the sidewalk. To the four-way stop. And disappeared around the corner.
I turned and opened the door to join my family for breakfast, but as I opened the door I fell into blackness and…

Awoke with a jolt. My mind was racing with random feelings and images that I couldn’t piece together. A look at the clocks told me it was 10 minutes after I should have gotten up. I decided that the noise my family was making in the kitchen was what woke me up and quickly readied for the day. I was almost to the bottom of the stairs when I heard a knock at the door. Feeling a strong sense of déjà vu, I walked over and answered it. Patricia was standing there, and my feeling of familiarity with the situation grew. Uneasy, I stepped out of the house and closed the door behind me.

“Morning! Can I see your family?” she asked sweetly. Why do I feel like she’s asked this before?, I thought. Without any reason I could think of, I suddenly knew that I could not allow her in the house.

“No, Patricia, you can’t,” was all I could think of to say.

“But I-” as she spoke a sudden rush of fear swept over me.

“No!” I said, interrupting her.

“Now, Gabrielle,” she chided, calmly, serenely, “just let me in and we can-” Now my fear was turning into unreasonable hysteria.

“No! Get away!” I screamed, “Go away!”

At this, Patricia’s face turned to stone, emotionless, cold. I reached behind me without turning and groped for the doorknob, desperate to get inside; I felt like crying.

“Fine,” she said, and, turning, walked away.

I took a step as a turned around to face the door and tripped on the doorjamb before being consumed by an inky black…

I woke up with tears running down my face and I had no idea why I was crying. I was five minutes late in waking up and could already hear the rest of my family downstairs, in the kitchen. I was frightened for no apparent reason, I could only remember…nothing substantial…feelings. Fear. Weakness.

Eager to join my family, I quickly went about my morning routine and walked down the stairs. About halfway down I suddenly felt an expectation…of what… I did not know. Reaching the bottom of the stairs I turned to enter the kitchen and there was a sudden banging on the front door. Dread shot through my body like lightning. Everything came flooding back, and I remembered Patricia. In an instant, I didn’t know why, but I knew that I had to keep her out. I ran to the door and opened it. Patricia flew at me with a wild look in her eyes and I quickly closed the door. I heard her rebound off of the sudden resistance and took the opportunity to open the door and close it behind me as I stepped out. The morning was clear, but there were clouds on the horizon.

Patricia was picking herself up off the ground. I could hear the sound of a truck backing up in the distance. Tears were now flowing freely down my cheeks as I tried to reason with her.

“Patricia wh- why are y-” was as far as I got before her lips parted in a guttural scream and she lunged at me again, her face contorted in hate. In reflex, I ducked and protectively raised my arms. She flew over my head and slammed into the door once again. Momentarily stunned, she fell on top of me. I pushed her off, but before I was able to recover she was back on top of me, grabbing me by the throat. I tried prying her hands off but her grip was too strong. I couldn’t breath. The beeping of the truck was growing louder. I could see Patricia’s face, full of malice, over mine; but she grew dim. The beeping was louder. Grating. Inside my head. She continued to choke me. Black mist invaded my vision. Taking over. Then there was nothing but the Beep Beep BEEP BEEP….

…I woke violently to my alarm precisely when I was supposed to. The clock on the wall confirmed it. I could hear my…nothing. There was no sound coming from anywhere in the house; except for the ringing of the grandfather clock chiming the hour. Suddenly, I remembered everything vividly. Trying to keep Patricia out and being strangled as a result. I jumped out of bed, not bothering to dress or brush my teeth and ran downstairs. I threw open the front door, ready to do what it took to keep her away for good.

There was no one on the porch. Just the heavy, Florida morning humidity. And dark clouds, closer than in the dream. No Patricia.

With a sigh of relief. I turned and went inside. As I started closing the door, I looked toward the kitchen and froze. Standing in the doorway to the kitchen was Patricia. On her face was that smile I had seen on the face of my friend for years. In her hand was a carving knife I recognized from the knife block in our kitchen. I couldn’t hear anything from the kitchen. Dread filled my body as I realized what had happened. She began walking toward me with that smile and that knife. I was far too frightened to move.

As she came within striking distance, she reached out and grabbed my wrist with her free hand and placed the knife in my hand. It was all I could do to not to cry out when I felt the cold of the handle and the warm sticky of what could only be the blood of my family. She released my hand, patted me on the cheek, and walked past me out the open door.

I numbly walked to the door of the kitchen and saw what I hoped to God I wouldn’t: my family, lying dead in pools of their own blood. My knees gave way and I fell with a shallow splash, next to my parents. I stared. Unable to cry. Unable to move. Hours passed.

The rain came and I realized that I have to remember what happened. Everything. Patricia, the dreams, everything. This dream is the worst. I am alone. My house is so quiet.

***

Physician’s Note:

Dr. Randal Lunder
9/28/10
Patient ID: GDS1992

This document was collected at the scene of the murder of the patient’s family. Patient was found sitting at her kitchen table, surrounded by their bodies. The murder weapon (carving knife) was found at the scene covered in the patient’s prints and her family’s blood. When questioned, she showed no apparent guilt or remorse and insisted “Patricia did it” repeating the phrase ad nauseum. She was convicted of murder in the first degree on three counts and custody was remanded to the Psychological branch of the Federal Department of Corrections.

Patient exhibits signs of dementia and describes symptoms of Homicidal Bipolarism. She is currently incarcerated in the Southeastern Center for the Criminally Insane. As her treating physician, I suggest her treatment of high-dosage anti-hallucinogens be increased, and her shock therapy sessions be reduced to twice a week. Will re-evaluate patient in four weeks.
Randal Marshall Lunder Ph.D

—
Credits to: Strudeldude

No-End House (Part III)

As requested by http://foonirvanacage.tumblr.com/
Enjoy.
—
David stumbled to his car in a daze. The last couple of hours were a complete blur. Haunting images would sporadically cross over his mind, slowly reminding him of the hell he’s now leaving behind. He felt in his pocket for his phone and dialed 911. There was no way he could explain any of this, but for some reason his first reaction was to call - maybe they could just come here and confirm that it’s a normal house, nothing more. They could put his mind at ease and he could go home, live a normal life with-

Then he remembered. The dirt under his feet slipped around him as David tore back to the house. Maggie. Maggie was in there. As he ran, he flipped through his phone - looking for the old texts he knew he sent. but there was nothing. There were texts, to Maggie, from Maggie, but all of them were blank. David swore under his breath as he reached the door. He tried the knob, but no use. With both fists he pounded on the door, screaming Maggie’s name. Nothing. His fists were red and burning, and David slumped the his knees, palms dragging down the door as he went. After a few moments, David felt his eyes sting. He had left her in there. The woman he love went in to save him, and took his place. He had to find a way in. There had to be another way in. David got to his knees with a renewed energy, but before he could move he felt his phone vibrate. It was a text, and looking at the name gave him relief.

It was Peter Terry. Maybe he could help.

-Hey, Dave. You alright? Haven’t heard from you in a while.
-peter - jesus - where are you
-I’m in the House. I went in to find you, man. I told you not to go.
-its passed now whatever but peter i need to get back in - do you know how
-Go around back - there’s an oak next to the house with a trap door at its base. Go through there, it’s a service entrance.
-what why the fuck would this place need a service entrance
-Just get to the tree, man. I’m trying to help you.

David didn’t have time to ask anything more. He took off running down the porch to the other end of the house, leaping over the side rail and landing in an awkward pile below. He could see the tree wasn’t far, or maybe it was - it was so big the depth perception was hard to figure. And was that even there before? Yeah, he had other shit on his mind earlier, and who really takes notice of tress, but this one - it was massive. He ran up to the side and there it was - a small, wooden door on the ground below it, like one of those old cellar doors houses used to have leading into their basements. David looked around him and behind his back, and he wasn’t even sure why he did. He just had one of those feelings. Shaking it off, David yanked on the handle. The rusted hinges groaned in protest, but after a few hard pulls, it gave way and revealed the darkness below. With a heavy sigh, David slowly made his way down.

Jesus, it was dark. But soon David was hit with a smell that put the darkness to shame. It was like burnt hair covered in shit and mold. He spit onto the ground - he could fucking taste that smell. David got his phone out and turned it to it’s highest brightness. It wasn’t much, but he was at least able to see the surrounding walls. Looking around in the dim light, David noticed something strange. He hadn’t been in too many underground tunnels, to be fair, but he assumed the walls would be dirt, mud, or something like that. He couldn’t quite see what it was, but it wasn’t anything man made, or that could pass as dirt. Curiosity got the better of him, and with his phone outstretched he went up to one of the side walls. He had to get close to see it, with the phone almost touching the wall. David’s eyes grew wide. No. Can’t- With his other hand, David prodded at the wall. It gave a bit, but was solid. He was reminded of the smell, and now knew its origin. It was flesh. The walls of this tunnel were covered in burnt skin. David moved the phone a few inches and followed the light. He saw areas where different skins were sewn together with some rough metallic string, almost like cooper wire. One section made his stomach turn over on itself. It was a face. A human face, stretched out and elongated, with the eyes and mouth sewn shut. The nose was removed, and the hole that was left behind was sutured as well. Maybe it was the smell, or the sight of this but David couldn’t take it. With a lurch, he turned to the side and vomited on the ground.

The tunnel went on for ages. What was most likely only a few minutes felt like hours to David. He had to get inside and save Maggie. Nothing else mattered. Peter was a friend of his, but if it came down to it, Maggie was the first to save. Peter could rot in there if need be. Then again, he was the one that told him about this path. David’s mental debate ceased after something from behind touched him. With a start he spun around and was face to face with nothing. Confused, David brought his phone up and reached out into the blackness. Nothing. Nothing, except a wall. A wall that wasn’t there two minutes ago, rank and covered in flesh. David screamed and pounded on the wall in front of him, and it gave only slightly. The hall was shrinking. Trapping him in as he walked. It hit David like a train. He was in the service tunnel, but he was in the house. It had him. There as no going back, the house was pulling him in, and it was glad to see him.

Earlier, this may have phased David more than it did at that moment. There, in that hell tunnel, David barely flinched. He had seen what this place was capable of, and he had witnessed some of the most sanity-testing experiences imaginable. He’d seen it all - or at least he thought. As he walked, David could now here the tunnel shrinking in from behind. The grinding, sloshing noise of flesh twisting on itself to seal him in made him feel sick again, but he only sped up his walking. After a moment, he heard something that made him stop dead in his tracks. It was a voice. A girls - and it wasn’t Maggie’s.

“Why did you come back? WHY DID YOU COME BACK?”

David stood there frozen. The voice seemed to come from every where.

“WHY DID YOU COME BACK? WHY?” The screaming was getting closer and David braced himself against the back wall. Soon he heard the thudding footsteps of someone running towards him. And then he saw her. A girl, no older than thirteen, running up to him yelling her constant question. David was too stunned to react short of just standing there. The girl ran up to him and began to pound on his chest with her fists, hard at first, but the weakening - like a spoiled girl hitting the ground when she doesn’t get her way.

“Why, David…why did you come back…?” The girl slumped to her knees in front of him, with one final hit against his leg. David stood there in shock, hands slightly raised and tense. His fear began to ease out of him. She clearly wasn’t a threat, and didn’t seem to be a ghost or anything.

“Hey,” he began, “it’s alright. Who are you?” The girl jumped slightly at his words. Slowly she lifted her head to look at David. His heart sank as he saw her face. No eyes. Absolutely no eyes. Blackness. And when she spoke, he could see inside her mouth. No tongue and no teeth, just a void.

“You came to save us…didn’t you?”
The girl stood up and brushed her hair out of her face. For some reason, even taking how terrifying she should be to David, there was something oddly…normal about the girl. She had shoulder length brown hair, and was skinny as a rail with a few specs of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Even her clothes could have been found in any store - black tank top and jeans tucked into black red boots. She was older than he first thought, as well. Closer to sixteen - if she even had an age. A hum from behind them startled them both, and dragged David back into his current situation.

“We have to go,” she said, “now.” And the girl grabbed his hand and took off. Surprised, David followed and nearly dropped his phone. He tried to hold it up as far as he could to light the way.

“No need,” the girl raised her free hand in front of her as she spoke, “I got it.” She mumbled something under breath, something that couldn’t have been English, and a glowing light pulsated in front of them and followed. It was like a spot light from above was following their movements. The hum from behind was getting louder as they approached the first fork in the tunnel. Without hesitation, the girl veered them over to the right. Clearly she knew where she was going, and David wasn’t about to argue. After a moment, the humming stopped, and they were stood in front of a ladder leading up into darkness.

“Just up here!” And the girl began to climb the ladder before them. David snapped back into reality, and he was incredibly confused.

“Wait!” The girl stopped mid climb and looked over her shoulder.

“Look, I know this is weird-”

“No. No, I know what weird is. I’ve seen weird. Who are you?”

“I’ll explain soon, okay? We just really kinda need to get out of here, okay? No one is supposed to be here and we, well, are. So-” And with that the girl returned to her climb. David was about to retort, but the hum from behind grew louder. Survival outweighed understanding at that point, and David grabbed the ladder and followed the girl, leaving that tunnel for hopefully the last time.

The ladder lead the pair into an empty room. It almost looked like a huge broom closet. A few scattered buckets and mops were lining the walls, but for being a part of the house, it was very unassuming. The girl next to him shook herself off and shoved her hand toward David. Her mood swings were clearly something to be impressed with, and David reluctantly took her hand and shook it.

“You’re probably wondering who I am, and why I know you.” The girl didn’t even wait for David to respond. “My name is Natalie, and this is sort of my house.”

“What are you talking about? How is this your house? This fucking place is your house?”

“I know, I know, but you have to understand what happened. It wasn’t always like this, it-”

“And what the hell - what was that thing you did? With the light down there?”

“Yes, I know - this is all a part of it. It all relates just let me explain.” Natalie paused and looked at David. He closed his mouth and looked back at her, letting her know she was now free to talk without interruption. “This is my house. I know it may seem like hell right now, and you’re right. It is. My family kind of dealt in some weird stuff. We moved into this house about ten years ago, and it was nice. A small, quaint place, yeah, considering I’m used to the city - but it was nice. The problem is, my family, we…can do things. Witches, I guess.” Natalie kind of laughed at the thought. “Mostly just parlor tricks, like that light show you saw in the tunnels. But some of us, like my brother, took it a bit too far. He started to mess with some dark dealings - demons and summoning and the like. I mean, summoning isn’t always bad. I can summon a cat, for instance, which is kind of cute but what my brother dealt with was far worse. We would try and tell him to end it, but the power was kind of getting to him. Peter was never one to listen to reason.”

“…Peter?” The ideas was circling David’s head, but he wasn’t quite ready to accept it. Peter had been his friend for years…he thought.

“This one night, seven years ago, my brother took it too far. Summoning demons for a few minutes here and there wasn’t enough for him anymore, he needed more. We would ask him why he was so obsessed with all this, and he would only respond by asking why not? What happened over the next few nights…it’s kind of hard to talk about it.” Even with her blacked out eyes, David could tell this memory really pained the young girl. All of this - this hell - was because of her brother, his friend. It seemed to David that this girl was just as much a prisoner as he was.

“Alright,” David put a hand on her shoulder, “then let’s get you out of here.”

David took a look at his surroundings. His heart jumped slightly as he glanced around. Aside from the hatch in the floor they just entered through, they wasn’t any other exit - just smooth cement walls.

“Do you know where we are?” He asked the girl, hoping to God she had some idea.

“Yeah, of course,” she said, with a bit too much hesitation for David’s liking, “It’s my house, isn’t it?” And with that she made her way over to one of the far walls. The surface of the wall was a smooth brushed gray cement - there was no way through, no door, nothing. Natalie reached into her pocket and took out what looked to be a small piece of artist’s charcoal. She pressed it to the wall and began to draw a long, swooping line about three feet in length. Line after line followed, and David watched in awe as the girl stood back and admired her work. David had never seen anything like it outside of fantasy movies. It was like a yin yang mixed with a pentagram mixed with a child’s doodle. Natalie placed the charcoal back into her pocket and ran her fingers through her hair. After a moment of silence, she raised her hand and placed her right palm against the symbol, resting two fingers against her temple with the other. At first David thought she was speaking to him, but then realized that she was chanting her weird language again. Soon the symbol looked to be vibrating, and David watched on as it began to steadily glow a deep purple. Natalie smiled to herself as she felt the wall shake before it split in two.

“I’ve always loved doing that.”

—
Credits to: Brian Russell