The House
written by: Stephen Herczeg
@HerczegStephen
The house was old. It had stood on the same hill overlooking the town for a hundred and fifty years. It had watched as the tiny hamlet had grown into a city. Watched as other houses sprung up and encircled the hill. Seen the children grow to adulthood and spring forth new children in their place. Seen the horses replaced with carriages. Seen the single-storey buildings turn into multi-storey towers.
The house was lonely. No one had lived there for almost a hundred years. The last in line of the family had returned from the war a changed man. On that last night he had drunk, found his service revolver, and ended the occupation of the house forever. Haunted, they said nowadays. No one wanted to buy the house. No one wanted to live in a haunted suicide house.
So, the house remained. Lonely. Empty. Desolate. Decrepit. Windows boarded up over broken panes. Roof tiles cracked and missing. Woodwork full of rot and termites. Paint faded and flaking off.
And the house was fed up.
At first the yearly visitations from the local children at All Hallows’ Eve were a welcome respite from the sullen loneliness at the top of the hill. Those first children were shy, frightened by the legend that was the house. The smallest was always coaxed into entering through the overgrown gate and running up the cracked stone path, their goal— to step onto the front stoop and knock on the warped and splintered door.
A child’s test: to be brave enough to trick or treat the murder house.
Very few of the early visitors managed to enter through the gate before their fear drove them away. Even fewer ever managed to knock on the door.
Then the older children came. With their stones to break the house’s windows. With their drinks and smokes and later, their sex and drugs. But only ever on Halloween. The intoxicating effect of the legend of the house was a greater attraction on that special night.
The house looked inward. The detritus of the teenagers’ parties remained. Empty and broken bottles. Cigarette butts and scorch marks in the rotting floorboards. A stained and filthy mattress tossed aside in the corner amongst the used bongs, needles and condoms.
The house sighed. The chilly winds rose, once more heralding the onset of winter. It knew what that meant. It had seen the change that brought with it Halloween on dozens of occasions. And it knew what else it brought.
The house was tired. It had decided that this year would be the last.
***
The car pulled up in front of the house as the sun disappeared behind the distant mountain peaks. The four teenagers exited and carried their supplies towards the house. The dark-haired, well-muscled boy kicked the rusted iron-gate off its hinges. It flipped into the long grass at the edge of the path and lay still.
The two girls laughed at the antics of the boy and headed towards the front door. It was jammed shut, swelled from the recent autumn rains. The fair-haired boy kicked at the rotted wood and the door burst open. All four cheered and entered the darkened room.
The blonde girl turned on her phone’s torch and provided light while the brunette set up some candles around the room. Soon it was awash with flickering light.
“Cosy,” she said.
The well-muscled boy moved up and hugged her from behind, wriggling his hips against her buttocks, much to her delight.
“Not cosy enough,” he said.
She giggled and backed into him some more.
The other male pulled out a bottle of rum and swigged down a huge swallow. He brought it over to the others who took it with glee. All joined in and soon the bottle was gone. They threw it into a corner where it smashed against the exposed brickwork. The shattering sound brought more laughter.
Another bottle was produced. Blankets were laid down and a makeshift bong was lit and passed around. Then the fun began.
The house took it all in and started to flex its old hoary muscles.
The blonde stopped sucking her date’s face and looked up.
“Did you hear that?” she asked.
A creaking noise emanated around the room.
“Wind,” he said.
“But it’s coming from the floor,” she said and stood up, the blanket falling off and revealing her to the world.
Her boyfriend smiled, taking in the sight before another creak sounded out. He looked around confused and sat up slightly.
A cracking sound snapped out of the floor.
The boy’s face turned to agony. He coughed. Blood spewed from his mouth and spattered the girl’s legs. She screamed, grabbing the attention of the other two. They looked over just as the boy flopped back and lay still. All three screamed.
A large piece of wood protruded from the boy’s chest.
In the corner, a floorboard warped and moved, knocking over the bottle of rum. The contents poured out and ran along towards the nearest candle. The wall distorted and toppled the candle into the liquid.
The alcohol ignited with a woofing sound. The ancient floorboards joined in.
The three teenagers ran to the door. The blonde boy dragged the door open and stepped through.
Another crack. The lintel broke in half and brought the ceiling down on the boy. Jagged pieces of wood and masonry pierced his naked body and impaled him to the floor.
The girls screamed.
The fire raced across the floor and walls towards them.
There was nowhere to go.
Their final screams echoed into the dark night.
***
The house waited.
There was no pain as the flames licked at its old, tired body.
It knew that death would be pleasant.
It could finally rest in peace.
