LITERAL REMAINS

The Little Boy In the Short Pants

The closet door slammed.  Seth stood in the light that made it’s way around, sometimes through, the heavy curtains. Pops crackled off in the grand old house.

“Are you going to come out?” Seth asked.

No answer was forthcoming from the closet.  Another pop, another board settling into place, spoke from one of the lower back rooms.

Seth switched off the digital voice recorder.  He placed it on the hall table and picked up the digital camera next to it.  Wonderful lighting, he thought.  He looked at the front door, the strong, sturdy oak, the stained deep rich grain.  Seth snapped a photo and set the camera back down.

“Come out when you’re ready, I guess.”

Seth put his hand on the closet handle.  A knock at the front door tried to pry him away.  Always interruptions.  He debated ignoring the guest, he knew who it was, but if he didn’t answer they would persist.  Another series of knocks proved him correct.

He opened the door, allowing the daylight a full frontal attack into the house.  He blinked and then saw her wide smiling face, fist poised to pound again.

“Mr. Boulle?  Hello, sir.”

“Please, call me Seth, Mrs. Hooper,” he said.

“Well,” her smile broadened even more as she ran her fingers through her graying hair,” Seth, you must call me Clara if we are to be on a first name basis.”

“Agreed,” he smiled, wishing she would turn around and leave.

She peeked around his shoulders, much like the sunlight around the drawn curtains, trying to see whatever was to be seen inside.  “I just wanted to stop by and see for myself that you were situated comfortable.”

“Very comfortably, Clara.”

The use of her name pulled her eyes back to the young man like a magnet.  “That’s good,” she said.  “We’ve had so many renters over the last few years…well, I have had so many renters,” she giggled.  “My husband passed away some time ago.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” said Seth, standing like stone.

“Long time ago,” she said.  “I just wanted to check on you.  Big strong man like yourself, I should have known you’d be fine.”

“Yes, I’m doing okay.  Settling in adequately.”

“That’s good, that’s good,” her eyes strayed up and down him.  “No complaints?”

Seth wasn’t certain if it was a question or statement.  He guessed.  “No complaints,” other than unwanted guests he mentally finished.  “I do have a question.”

Clara’s eyebrow arched, interested.  “Yes?”  Her lips seemed to purse, just slightly.

“You’ve had a lot people move in and out of this house.  Why?”

“You know how old houses are, especially the big suckers like this one,” her eyebrow had lowered, her lips relaxed.  “They make noise on their own.  Some people are overwhelmed by it.  Some people get spooked.”  A thin grin, almost mischievous, sketched her mouth.  “Some easier than others.”

“Just wondering,” Seth said.  He waited, she just stood there on the stoop.  “I still have some unpacking to do, Clara.”

“Oh,” she said, giggling.  “Okay, well, if you need help…with the packing…or anything, you just let me know, honey.  I’m good at a lot of things.”  She winked at him.

“I bet you are,” he said under his breath, then quickly said aloud, “I will, Clara.  But I’m doing fine.  Thank you.”

Before she could say another word, he closed the door.  There was a nervous moment as she hesitated outside before her footsteps retreated across the porch and down the steps.  The muffled sound of her car starting and receding into the distance was what finally comforted Seth.

In the quiet, he crossed to the table and retrieved the digital camera.  He flicked through the images on the display screen to the one he took of the front door.  The picture showed, instead of the closed door, the image of the door, opened, and Clara standing there in the rays of the sun, hand raised to knock.

Seth smiled.  He laid the camera back in its place on the table and took the digital voice recorder.  He pressed play.  The static noise of silence repeated.  He heard his own footsteps, more silence, then the slam of the closet door.  He heard his voice asking “Are you going to come out?”, then more silence.  Next he heard the clear whisper, “We don’t go there.”

Seth pressed stop on the dvr.  Switched to RECORD.  He rounded to the stairs and stopped.

The little boy in the short pants, blue velvet with matching jacket, with white stockings and square toed shoes, stood at the top of the stairs, staring down him.

“Why don’t you go there?” Seth asked.

The little boy descended the stairs, losing substance half way down and then completely disappeared.

Seth stood motionless, listening, waiting.  “Why don’t you go there?” he asked again.  “What’s wrong with the third floor?”

More silence.

Seth waited a few seconds longer.  He stopped the dvr, played it.  He listened.  Heard his questions.  No immediate response.  Then, “We don’t go there,” repeated as the only answer.

Seth switched the device back to RECORD and started up the stairs.  He wound his way around the second floor landing.  The little boy in the short pants stood in the hallway.  They locked eyes.  The little boy turned and ran down the hall into the shadows.

Seth started up the stairs only the see the little boy once more at the top.  He stood on the stairs, not even on the third floor landing.  He slowly shook his head.

“What is up there?  What lives here?  How many live here?”

The little boy opened his mouth and was gone.  Seth had to blink and clear his eyes it happened so fast.  He pressed play on the dvr.  “We don’t go  there,” is all it offered.

RECORD.  Seth climbed the steps to the third floor.  One last step and he was there.

A chill ran up his spine.  His arms pimpled, his scalp itched.

The little boy stood beside him looking down the darkened hallway.

Seth checked his dvr.  It was dead.

thump-thump, thump-thump

It wasn’t his heart, it was the house.  Seth could feel the dissonant rhythm resonating in the floor, sending echoes up his legs and throughout his body.

thump-thump, thump-thump

It was in the walls, humming in his bones.  He could hear the house breathing, felt, even thought he saw, the house contracting and expanding with each heavy breath.

The little boy in the short pants didn’t move.  He continued to stare into the murk.

“We don’t go there,” the recording played in Seth’s memory.

He looked at the little boy.  “What lives here?”

The boy looked up at him.  His body jerked and then he ran down the hall.  Seth lost sight of him in the gloom.

“Who are you?” Seth asked as he took his first timid steps.

The house continued to breath.  The air alternated cool and warmth.  The walls, ceiling, and floor were, ever so slightly, moving in and out, rising and falling.

thump-thump, thump-thump

“Will you answer me?” Seth asked.  “Can you answer me?”  He waited.  “My equipment is…not functioning.  Can you make a noise?”

The dvr squawked.  Seth darted his eyes to it.  A quick pain flared in his hand as it was hit, the recorder was sent spiraling through the air.  It clattered broken on the floor pulsating floor.

“That wasn’t very nice,” Seth said, flexing his stinging hand.  A red welt marked the back of it.

The door to his left opened, screeching on its hinges.  The copper smell of blood pricked his nostrils.

Seth calmly pushed it the rest of the way open.

Daylight filled the room, and under normal circumstances it would have been a bright and lively space.  Seth, in the instant of a second, could imagine a painter, or any artist of any medium, making shop in this window plentiful room.  The views it afforded were beautiful, it caught the light from the morning, noon, and evening sun.

Maybe in better times it had been a studio for an aspiring talent.

The little boy stood in center of the room, staring at the walls.  He turned a circle and stopped at Seth.

“We don’t like to go here,” he said.

The walls were flesh.  Human flesh.  Cut, bleeding.  Peeling to expose the viscera and bone.  Lungs rasped.  The floorboards were bones, creaking and cracking.  The constant thump-thump, thump-thump assaulted Seth’s senses, jarred his brain, raped his mind.

“It’s bad,” the little boy in the short pants said before he disappeared.

The sound of bones breaking.  Seth didn’t know if it were his bones, but he felt it was his bones. The sound of a pleased, intrigued, sigh was the last thing Seth heard.  The flesh had taken form and latched hold of him.

It was the sounds of dinner being served and screams that filled the empty house.

the_novacula

feel free to leave comments here.