Break My Bones
Author: Michelle Ian
Date: 2023-06-14 00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Horror
Description: A secret never to be shared. A killer seeking vengeance. Is his nightmarish fiction about to become a bloody reality? Michael Kerrigan is delighted with his success. With his well-received suspense novels putting him on the map, the popular author trades his dark past for meet and greets with adoring fans. But his borrowed peace shatters when a friend he thought he'd buried dead in the ground long ago shows up very much alive... and hellbent on wreaking murderous havoc. Trapped in a deadly game of cat and mouse, Michael works furiously to uncover the shocking truth while dodging his assailant'

The Bone Architect

By

Ian Woodhead

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright July 2014 by Ian Woodhead

Proofed by Linda Tooch

Edited by Rebecca Bennett

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, scanning or otherwise, without prior permission of the author.

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Act One

Fifteen years ago.

Like a manic bitch in heat, his captured girl hadn’t stopped panting since he pushed open the cellar door. Fragments of an indistinct sentence were released with each exhalation. Mitchell Brady slowed his own breathing down, so wanting to hear every scrap, smiling at the almost musical quality to the seventeen year old girl’s plea for help.

There would be no help coming for this little imp, her train pulled into the terminus as soon as he picked her up last night. Mitchell ran his thick fingers down the edge of the cellar door, absently wondering what had been going through her mind when he pressed down on the brake pedal.

From what he learned from his brief time with the girl last night, Mitchell didn’t need to wonder too hard. Laney wasn’t a complicated animal. When his Ford Escort stopped, the girl, his next victim, could have only thought of getting out of the pouring rain, warming up, followed by getting some food into her rumbling stomach. The poor thing hadn’t eaten for two days.

Mitchell had fulfilled her unspoken needs as well as a few more besides. Of course he had, for last night was Laney’s final day on this planet. As host (and executioner) he had no other choice but to show her what she’d willingly forsaken.

Fully sated, cleaned up, and dressed in fresh clothes, her life story vomited forth. Mitchell sat back, nodding in all the right places, listening to her warble on, whilst absently wondering why his ‘guest’ hadn’t inquired as to why a man, living on his own, would have feminine clothes conveniently stored in his wardrobe.

She sat, cross-legged on Mitchell’s black leather chair, wearing a green t-shirt, panties, and a pair of bright yellow socks. It amused him to watch this pretty young thing idly brushing her index finger across a dark stain on the t-shirt’s hem. That spot was all that now remained of Candy Briggs, the last person who had sat on that very chair, travelling the very same well worn path that this girl now journeyed.

Up until two hours ago a significant piece of Candy still remained, but that now resided in their stomachs, along with grilled mushrooms, thick cut chips and fine-trimmed beans. Mitchell looked forward to sharing this young lady with his next guest.

Laney Bowers filled his living room with words of abuse, poverty, disappointment, and desperation. He sat back in his tattered armchair, sipping fine single malt, soaking up her recant of misery. Her actual tale meant nothing to Mitchell; he only needed to feel the desolation accompanying her story.

It’s what his silent partner needed in order to thrive.

He’d played his part as confessor, surrogate father, and caring older teacher perfectly. His silent partner rewarded him, as she always did, with allowing Mitchell to take the girl to his bed.

Mitchell ran his wet tongue across the top of his grey uneven teeth, imagining that he could still taste the girl’s juices. Of course, he couldn’t, his breakfast of cold spicy mackerel and cornflakes were the only tastes that he discovered with his exploration. He pulled his lips back, exposing his teeth to the bare light bulb directly above the thick metal pole set in the middle of the room.

She could not see who had flooded the dull cellar with white light from the kitchen (the illumination from the forty watt bulb would only give off enough visibility for her to watch Mitchell work his magic.) But she would know only two people currently occupying the huge house were her and her host.

Her impression of tattered bellows ceased. Mitchell pulled his work boot off the next step down and wrapped his thick fingers around the edge of the door, listening to the bound rope twist. Laney followed the same behavioural patterns as the others. Right now, the need to see who had opened that door spread over her coat of terror. It amused him greatly that hope could be such a powerful force.

Mitchell slammed the door shut and kept a tight reign on his own excited breathing, listening to her panting restart while her attempts to free herself from that pole grew ever more frantic.

“Please, let me go.”

That voice did not belong to the same person after a full night of endless shrieks mixed with moans, gasps, and crying had tainted her previously honeyed sounds with grit. Laney now spoke like an old lady.

“I know you’re there, Mitchell. I ain’t a fucking idiot. Let me go, this isn’t funny any more.”

The teenager crowed her last collection of words, each syllable slicing chunks from Mitchell’s enthusiasm. The extension of his arm, Mitchell’s favourite cutting implement, now reverted to a rough wooden handle and an eight inch metal blade, still coated with Candy’s dried insides.

Even after all the evidence, Laney’s gauche mind glossed over the facts with a thick brush of fantasy. The silly bitch actually believed he was playing with her.

Two players, acting in a convoluted theatre.

Mitchell’s silent partner stirred and he gulped down his apprehension. If she assumed Laney did think her life really wasn’t in danger, then Mitchell would suffer her wrath no matter what the runaway’s inevitable outcome.

Nine stone steps separated Mitchell from the girl’s enlightenment. The gap between the girl’s next accusation served to help re-establish the picture he thought had finished. Mitchell almost galloped down the remaining steps, ensuring her first sighting of him was the knife.

Her bulging eyes, dripping with terror, told Mitchell that he’d been wrong. This little girl did believe. All of his preparations had not been in vain. His knife sang, yet still he hesitated. His silent partner stayed silent, even now, right at the foundation of the butchery. The ancient woman residing inside his head should be singing even louder than the knife, amplifying his excitement.

“Please, don’t hurt me, Mitchell,” she snivelled. “I’ll do anything you want”. Laney tried to smile, to look seductive, yet the movement looked grotesque.

Her actions gave his exhilaration its own boost without his partner’s help. “You did that last night, my dear, when we fucked for a good couple of hours.” Her tears cleaned a narrow gully down her cheeks. Those two irregular rods of baby soft flesh felt like yet another slap in the face to his preparations. Mitchell growled and lost the distance between them, slamming his blade deep into the girl’s side. Her flesh parted so easily, as if it wanted him to open her.

Yet his partner still refused to come out and join Mitchell as he and his knife sliced through Laney’s shuddering body. The girl’s hot blood gushed from the neat wound, flowing over the back of his hand, but without his partner’s involvement, the cutting had no real design. Mitchell, felt oddly bored by the whole proceedings, and to make his mood even darker, Laney’s agonising shrieks were opening up his brain, as easily as his serrated knife parted the girl’s tender meat.

Mitchell slammed his free hand across her mouth. Laney’s bulging eyes suggested to him that she’d now given the task of finding more air for her lungs priority. He dropped the knife on the floor and fumbled with his trouser buttons. Now that relative silence ruled the cellar, he found his mind switching to another need. His little girl had tended to all of his wishes in his bedroom before the drugs he’d dropped into her wine glass had taken effect but there was one particular whim she couldn’t fulfil, not whilst breathing.

His partner remained silent. As he watched Laney struggle to breathe, Mitchell found that he no longer cared. He could do this very well without her watching him, giving Mitchell helpful hints, showing him how to gain maximum pleasure.

He hooked his boot around Laney’s ankle and dragged her leg across the stone floor, then drove his stiff rod deep inside her. Mitchell gasped in utter ecstasy when he felt her tear. Mitchell worked the blade further into the girl’s flesh, timing each push to coincide with his own pelvic thrusts.

Laney gave up on living, moments before he exploded into her.

He dropped back, sitting on the cold floor, watching his penis deflate, watching Laney’s body follow his cock’s example. Mitchell took a deep breath, then winced in annoyance when the stench from Laney’s excrement contaminated the hot metallic of blood that Mitchell so adored.

The sudden change in his routine widened the fissures, already opened from the apparent loss of his partner. Mitchell fell backwards, lying flat against the floor, stained with the spilled slurry from his last twelve victims. Whilst his body lay next to the eviscerated corpse, Mitchell’s mind clicked out of sync. For the first time in over five years, the voice no longer influenced his thoughts, feelings, and actions.

Mitchell Brady saw the doorway into the past open. Letting out a sick yellow glow, the illumination rose in intensity, losing the ailing taint, becoming purer and casting away the darkness as it neared his position. He opened his arms, welcoming the bleaching light, wanting this malevolent reality to cease to exist.

***

This rundown property should be condemned; the land rights alone would be worth a fortune. Not that any of the others would listen to Mitchell’s advice. Oh no, they knew best, he was just the junior partner. He ran errands and made the tea. Well, this particular teaboy knew a lost cause when he saw one. Mitchell saw that this property would cost more to renovate than it was worth. He made that sweeping statement back in the office, right after seeing the crappy photos brought in by the so-called owner.

He took one very careful step backwards. Mitchell had already discovered to his misery that this overgrown urban wasteland contained an untold number of discarded items with the unified purpose of tripping, tearing, or hurting this downtrodden estate agent. The pub called out to him; his car cried out with an even louder voice. Mitchell took his weary eyes off the crumbling house set in its own two acres of land and gazed with a loud accompanying sigh at his locked up red Ford Sierra parked directly outside the rusty metal gates. Common sense encouraged him to leave right now, drive away from this waste of his time and allow a couple of pints of real ale to caress away the layers of built up stress accumulated since he woke up this morning.

His professional pride obviously thought otherwise, else the mental clamps stopping him from taking another step towards his metal oasis would leave him be. Mitchell had yet to finish his survey. He’d only explored the downstairs rooms; there were two more floors to assess.

Mitchell gulped down a frustration bubble. As soon as the grey right angles appeared through the screen of green when he first approached the gates, Mitchell had known there and then that the photographs had presented the house in the best possible light. Yet Mitchell had told himself not to stress, to see this as a challenge, to do the best he could.

His frustration bubble expanded as he followed his own trodden down path back towards the front door. Once he was done here, Mitchell would need to down more than a couple of pints. For the first time since his alarm clock laughed at him, informing his bedraggled form that he was late for work, Mitchell Brady found himself smiling.

Marion was expecting him home at five.  Friday was their roast beef, two veg, and red wine night. Well his sister would be dining alone now. As soon as he was finished with this distasteful task, he’d find a phone and take the first trembling step down the rock road. He would tell his first ever lie.

He flipped through the five pages of notes he’d amassed and calculated he’d need another hour to finish off this task. By the time he found a phone-box Marion should be back home from shopping.

“Hi there, you’re not going to believe this, but the company has asked me to survey a property on the other side of the country.” His heart juddered. Mitchell licked his top lips. “Yeah, it’ll be an overnight stay. I’ll be back in the morning though.” A starling eyed him before taking off from the branch three feet above his head. The audience obviously approved of Mitchell’s first lie, and she would buy it. Although suspicious in nature, his older sister thought she knew him better than he knew himself, and little brother would never lie to her.

Mitchell stopped by the front door, unable to cease his grinning.  She wouldn’t even check up on his story. The woman despised the company’s senior partners, according to her, both Roger and David had tried it on with her at their last Christmas party. Unlike Mitchell, his only blood relation obviously wasn’t a stranger to the art of bending the truth. No twenty-something rich men with beautiful wives, gym built muscles, and expensive sports cars would want to bed his overweight, foul-mouthed sister. Even with thick make-up, the woman resembled a bulldog chewing a wasp.

He chuckled to himself, imagining the look on her face if he actually found the courage to repeat his thoughts to her face. The horrible woman would probably choke to death on her own overcooked cabbage. Mitchell inserted the key, unlocked the thick oak door, and slammed his back against the wood, using his weight to push the door open. Once he was finished here and told his little fib, Mitchell’s time would be his own, meaning he should have a better plan to spend these precious hours rather than drinking himself into a stupor before sleeping it off in the back seat of his car.

How about a couple of pints, a trip to the cinema, followed by a splendid meal in an expensive restaurant in one of the more exclusive parts of his beloved town? Yeah, now that did sound so much more pleasing than just getting drunk. Food in the evening that wasn’t boiled to oblivion and doused in enough salt to grit a winter road, might actually help him have a decent night’s sleep for a change. Oh yeah, Mitchell actually believed his stress levels were lowering already.

As for this house, perhaps he could just sketch what he could from the top of the stairs? He stepped over the skeletal remains of a mattress and walked over to the first step, keeping a wary eye on that ceiling above him.  Sunlight filtered through a number of holes, creating beams of white dust, its light showing Mitchell the extent of the years of neglect and animal damage.

Stopping at the top of the stairs wasn’t just an excuse to lesson the workload, anybody with an ounce of common sense would understand that traversing across those boards above his head had potential life threatening consequences.

“Why even risk the steps?” he muttered to himself. After all, they were bound to be ridden with rot and weak from woodworm. Did he really wish to spend the rest of his day in the cellar nursing a broken leg, wondering if either Roger or David would bother to check his whereabouts. Fat chance of that. Right now, the pair of them would be dining in one of those expensive restaurants that he intended to visit tonight. Heck, he had more chance of finding them spit-roasting his sister than those goons caring about his well-being.

He could make something up in the comfort of his driver’s seat. Mitchell took out the keys and waved goodbye to the mattress. His original assessment still stood; this property should have been condemned and demolished decades ago.

Mitchell paused by the open front door, staring at the other keys on the ring. He banged his foot on the solid stone floor, feeling another rare grin finding its way onto his normally sour face. The only area that he hadn’t checked whilst surveying the ground floor was the cellar. The door leading into the room below here resembled this one, and with it being locked, no passing looter or homeless person would have been able to explore it.

“I’ve got the key to the door,” he sang, hurrying through the dining room and kitchen. At some time in it past somebody of significance must have lived here, and they had to have had plenty of money. Their client who handed over the keys hadn’t given the three of them much history, only that the previous owner had died forty years ago, and the house had passed from one solicitor to another, each one failing to track down any living relative. This individual had handed the keys over to David whilst confessing that he hadn’t checked out his inheritance due to him living in Germany now. He only wanted its cash value.

Mitchell lifted the other large key. “If he hadn’t checked out the house that meant…” It meant that only the grey bones of the other person who knew what the cellar contained now remained. His frustration bubble no longer existed, he even put his plans on hold. Except for his plan to commit his first ever lie to Marion, although the contents of his proposed speech would wait until he’d explored the contents of that cellar.

He’d never been blessed with much of an imagination but right now it raced like an express train, showing him pictures of forgotten paintings, rare, antique furniture, and even a pirate’s chest filled with gold. He chuckled to himself, striking that particular image from the list.

Could this really be his life changing moment? With both hands to steady himself, Mitchell pushed the key into the lock and turned it, finding to his surprise that the key turned without complaint. He twisted the handle and stepped back in unease when the door swung inwards, his knowledge acquired from a decade of house surveys suggested that only old doors in regular use would open so easily. He sighed heavily, already his hope of finding enough sellable items down there to allow him to move out of Marion’s slimy apartment, as well as leaving the estate agents, evaporated. All he would find down there was more of the same. More mould, more rubbish, and plenty of worthless junk.

Still, he was here now, armed with a powerful torch. He might as well check it out, just for a sake of completion. Heck, he might be lucky and find an old bottle of wine, just not a chest full of gold coins.

Mitchell shone the beam across the walls, immediately seeing no sign of damp. He aimed the light down into the Stygian darkness, the white light cutting through the black, showing him much of what he expected, more wall and a glimpse of an empty floor. He took his first step, keeping the beam steady. His spirit did crawl a couple of inches out of its self-imposed pit when the remaining steps showed a thick layer of dust. Mitchell placed his foot on the next step down then lifted it up. His boot imprint remained. Nobody had been down here for decades.

“You’re all mine, bottle of wine and treasure chest,” Mitchell said, clomping down the last of the steps. The narrow beam of light displayed over a dozen large items, their true shape hidden under sheets of grey fabric. The size signified furniture, probably wardrobes and cupboards. He stopped next to the first one and lifted the sheeting, coughing at the explosion of dust generated from his movements. His suspicions were correct. Under the sheet lay a beautiful piece of Victorian furniture, its immaculate condition, coupled with the exquisite whorled designs covering the sides, suggested that this one piece could be worth as much as his new car parked outside.

The irony of the situation caused Mitchell to laugh out loud. Oh yeah, he’d found a treasure trove all right, but he could hardly sneak this out on his back. As well as being worth as much as his car, the bloody thing probably weighed as much too.

“I hate you, God,” he growled, “I really do”.

Why the heck was he always so eager to scrape up the worst outcome from his every situation? “Will you just get a grip? This is only the first piece.”  Mitchell leaned to the left, estimating that the cellar ran the length of the whole building. From mentally going through his ground floor plans, the two upper floors would have no more than three bedrooms per floor, and this cellar certainly contained more than six wardrobes. Mitchell opened the doors, breathing in the musty odour. He smiled to himself as he ran his fingers along the inside. This was in remarkable condition considering how long it had been down here, no sign of the decay that inflicted the rest of the house.

He dropped the sheet and moved to the piece next to the wardrobe. Judging from the size, this certainly wasn’t another wardrobe. “Please be my treasure chest.”

Mitchell grabbed the corner of the sheet, his heart pounding. For a split-second those cellar steps called to him, pleading with Mitchell to run, to get back into his car, drive as far away from this evil place and strike the whole incident from his thoughts. He shook his head like a dog trying to dislodge a flea. What the heck was wrong with his mind? He blinked several times, each burst of darkness tearing through his unexplained apprehension until all that remained was a shadow of uncertainty which vanished when he dragged the grey sheet towards him, exposing, inch by inch, a pale circular sculpture, yellowed with age. Mitchell frowned and released the sheet before he could unveil the full object. “What the fuck is this?” He crouched and placed the tips of his fingers on the surface. It looked like a table but one constructed from bones. “Jesus, this is macabre.” His fingers traced the smooth bone contours, all the way to a collection of what appeared to be thin strips of white leather used to bind the pieces together. He leaned forward and took a tentative sniff, recoiling as the faint odour of old dead flesh filled his nostrils. Mitchell fell back, the movement pulling off the rest of the sheet.

“This isn’t a fake!” He sat up, staring at his new find with a mixture of excitement and fear. Mitchell got back on his feet, trying to figure out if he knew of anybody weird enough who’d want to buy this. Were they human or animal bones? It could be worth quite a lot of… His thoughts dried up when he saw exactly what the left piece of sheeting had concealed.

In the middle of this table lay a plain blue harlequin mask. His fingers strayed towards this new object whilst Mitchell’s eyes stayed glued to the thick, black painted lips. He’d never seen anything so beautiful in his life. Whatever else he found in here, Mitchell had found the one piece that belonged next to his flesh forever. He folded his hand around the edge and gently lifted it off the table, a feeling of calm, of tranquillity coursed through him. Mitchell turned the mask around, placing the front in the palms of his hands, bringing it closer to his face. The eye holes expanded beyond the boundaries of porcelain, showing Mitchell not the dust laden artefacts within this dull cellar, but the magnificent splendour from decades past, when all of these protected pieces were back in their rightful place. Hot tears slid down his cheeks as the images died. Forty years of decay raced through a brief moment until he saw what Mitchell discovered when he first pushed open the front door.

Connect us together, my darling. Push the mask against your face. Embrace your new life.

The soft words flowed through his mind, the hypnotic allure was impossible to resist. Mitchell dropped to his knees, still holding the mask out in his hands. His legs lost their strength.

Your sister despises you, my pretty. She thinks you’re weak. Your colleagues believe you a lesser man, a worthless wastrel, a spineless joke.

He watched mesmerised as the twin holes showed the cellar devoid of furniture. He blinked and looked away, seeing the pieces still there. Mitchell looked back, the image hadn’t altered, he brought the mask another inch closer to his face, feeling a gentle sigh filling his body.

You can do anything you want to her.  Do you want those men out of your life? Move the mask closer, my darling, and witness your sister’s humiliation.

Mitchell couldn’t refuse that honeyed voice. He brought the mask closer and saw Marion tied to a thick wooden pole, her naked body covered in human bite marks. Her eyes flickered open and looked with pleading eyes at his silent form. Mitchell felt the guilt, the fear, and the need to help pushed aside as his dormant darker aspect took over the body’s reins. Her large breasts hung like flabby sacks of pink padding, sliding from side to side, greased with sweat as she weakly attempted to free herself. He saw the bite marks around her nipples and found himself drooling, wanting to pull his tongue across those large mounds.

Press the mask against your face and she will be all yours to do with as you please. Marion will be your first one to feel your knife, Mitchell.

Mitchell couldn’t stand it any longer. He slammed the mask against his flesh, howling out in utter agony as thousands of needle-thin filaments pushed out of the surface, each one burrowing into his tender flesh. He desperately tried to dig his fingernails into the edge of the mask, to rip it off, but as the ends of Mitchell’s fingers sought for purchase around the edge, the mask sank into the man’s face like a stone dropped on soft mud.

***

He jerked up, his shriek drying on his bloodied lips. Between his shaking body and Laney’s putrefying corpse lay the porcelain mask. A full moon cast its silvery glow across the stained floor, highlighting a pool of piss spreading out from his trousers. He scrambled away from both the mask and the foul smelling corpse, aware that days had passed since he thrust his cock and the knife into the runaway, not minutes.

Time for his face to heal when his silent partner had left him for good. Empty of all but the basic feelings, he turned the held up the filthy blade and scraped away enough human detritus to allow Mitchell to look at his reflection one last time. Those black eyes were as lifeless as his last twelve victims. Mitchell wasn’t surprised to find the mask had gone, leaving just him and the corpse alone. He sighed heavily, his only regret was that his silent partner left him before he could finish his work, before he could de-bone the girl to complete his last beautiful piece.

His thick fingers stank of rotting meat, the scent still pleased him.  It reminded him of the many hours spent in the company of his numerous corpses, sliding, squeezing, and caressing the flesh as he lovingly extracted each bone.

He had no idea as to why his silent partner deserted him before he could finish his work. Mitchell hoped that the next person to discover the mask would be able to finish what he started. Mitchell Brady held the knife handle tight with both hands, then thrust the blade deep into the side of his neck.

***

Act Two

The Present Day

Joshua Browning’s green eyes flushed with hot tears when his trainer snapped through the top of a rotten pallet. He clamped his teeth tight, forcing the scream back down his throat. The annoying voices of his two friends currently boring him to death with their shared obsession of horror movies blurred into white noise as the pain from three spikes of agony punctured the back of his ankle. Were they nails? Joshua told Mr. Obvious to bugger off, keeping his jaw glued shut while he pulled his leg forward.

Thick blood gushing from the three wounds as the three nails in the plank slid out of his flesh suggested that their group’s midnight trek could be over before it even started. Swirling lines of mental rope laced with nausea spun around his head. Through the flickering of bright spots and wild bushes, two pairs of hands reached out and lowered him to the floor.

“Are you okay, Josh?”

“Don’t just stand there gawping, Tommy, go and fetch the first aid kit from the glovebox.” Barbra Webb pulled up the jeans leg, exposing the wounds. “Oh Christ, make sure you bring the tissues as well.”

Tommy Radcliffe bolted through the undergrowth.  It struck Joshua as rather amusing to witness Bryan following his brother along the leaf-covered footpath. Boasting that no amount of blood and gore could shock the seventeen year old obviously didn’t include the real stuff. Hell, he hadn’t even lost enough to fill an eggcup.

“Give it to me straight, nurse. Will I be able to keep the leg?”

Barbra treated him to a soft smile, and just for that moment, her rare show of genuine warmth made him wonder if Joshua’s heart was in the hands of the wrong woman. The pain chose in that instant to flare up, causing a judder to shoot through the length of his body. When his eyes refocused, Tommy’s girlfriend was now busy helping Clarice Tenant to clean the skin surrounding the wounds with a hanky and water.

It didn’t shock him to discover Clarice was the cause of the discomfort. The girl had the touch of an elephant pissed on cider. He took the bottle of water off her and poured half of it directly on the back of his legs. It didn’t look too bad now.

“You’re going to need a jab or something,” Clarice said. “If it does become infected you really could lose your leg.” She stared at Barbra, keeping her gaze steady. “I’m not joking either.”

He shook his head. “It’ll be fine, lass. There’s a bottle of alcohol in the first aid box. I’ll pour that on my leg.”

“That’s if Tommy hasn’t drunk it.” Clarice helped him onto his feet, purposely standing in front of Barbra. “Can you walk?”

Joshua kissed the girl lightly, placed his hands on her shoulders and held her at arms length. “Stop fussing over me, Clarice. I’ll be fine, I promise.  It’s only a little scratch.”

He took a moment to run his appraising eyes over her. Clarice stood an inch lower than his six foot frame, with soft brown straight hair running just past her shoulders. Yet comparing her to Barbra was like putting a Porsche and a Lamborghini side by side. Right now, Joshua wished he could drive both of them, one after the other.

Barbra chuckled quietly. “So sweet. Just watching the pair of you lovebirds makes me wonder if I chose the wrong man.”

If glares were capable of killing, the blonde would now be lying at Joshua’s feet, bleeding in a thousand places. They’d need more than a crappy first aid kit to fix her back up.

“I think you should take the weight off your feet, Josh,” said Clarice, pulling him back down to the floor. “Barbra, can you see the boys? I think the bleeding’s started up again. She rested her fingers on Joshua’s ankle. “I saw you smirk just then,” she whispered into his ear, her tongue flicked out, leaving a trail of moisture across the whorls. “Pain or pleasure, it’s your choice.”

Her fingers drifted down to one of the punctures and she applied just enough pressure to make him clench up. Through tear filled eyes he saw a flash of a blue top through the green dapple.

“Don’t pick apples in another orchard, Josh,”

He wrapped his hand around hers and squeezed, watching Barbra run over to Tommy and take the first aid kit out of his hands. His brother stood behind him casually munching on a Mars Bar. So much for his theory that the sight of his blood made the guy’s guts dance the fandango. “Hurry up, guys, I’m dying over here.” He applied his own pressure on Clarice’s hand. “A guy is free to look,” he muttered. “Lose that jealous streak and learn a little trust. I’m not the betraying type.”

“Look, is this really such a great idea, Josh?” Tommy followed Barbra over to where Joshua sat. “I mean, we’re not even at the house and you’ve already turned yourself into a cripple.”

“I’ve got Nightmare Dawn part three all ready to go in the video player,” ventured Bryan. “Do you remember warmth, a sofa, nachos, and beer, Joshua?”

He took the clear plastic bottle out of Barbra’s hands. “Bryan, if you want to go, then go.” He unscrewed the cap and sniffed the contents, making sure that it was what was supposed to be and not water. Joshua counted to three then poured the full bottle over the three wounds, hissing in discomfort. Christ that stung.

“So you’re expecting me to walk home are you?”

It took a great effort not to laugh.

It took also took a great effort to not feel so fucking despondent at the actions of his so called close circle of friends. Although Tommy hadn’t opened his mouth, Joshua could read his childhood friend like a book. He could just imagine the two brothers sharing their reluctance in following through with Joshua’s plan as they trekked through the undergrowth back to the car. Tommy wouldn’t say anything, he’d probably see it as a betrayal of their friendship of something. Josh sneaked a sideways glance at Clarice, sat there, pulling leaves apart whilst quietly fuming. Hell, the only one who still seemed to be showing any enthusiasm for this adventure was Barbra.

“So that’s it then is it, guys? You all want to chicken out of this?”

Tommy shrugged. “What would have happened if the girls had fallen through that pallet, Josh?”

Oh, a guilt trip. Joshua wondered how long it would be before one of those would appear. It looked as though he’d have to drop the bombshell. Shit, he was hoping to spill his guts when they were already in the house. He shook his head from side to side and sighed heavily whilst drying the back of his leg. As he applied the bandage, both Tommy and Bryan were discussing which supermarket to visit to grab supplies before they all crashed at Tommy’s house. They had all obviously decided that Joshua’s plan to spend a night in the house of death was off the table; they’d also conveniently forgotten that he had the car keys in his pocket.

“Hey, Bryan, remind me again, how many people were murdered in this house?”

Tommy’s brother let loose a sigh, magnificent enough to equal his. Already, the lad had adopted his ‘know better’ stance.

“Well, actually, the two deaths were accidental. That Estate agent and his girlfriend had both fallen down those cellar steps.” He pointed at Joshua’s ankle. “We haven’t even got there and you’ve already had one accident. Tommy’s right, we should just go now before one of us ends up like those two poor people.”

Joshua mentally gave the lad a round of applause. He’d played his part perfectly. “An accident, you say?” He grinned. “Clarice, perhaps you could remind the young goon what my dad does?”

“You call me a goon again, Josh, and your damaged leg will have a sympathetic friend.”

“Leave it out, Bryan!” his brother snapped. “Josh, we all know that your dad’s a detective.  Why don’t you cut the theatrics and spill what you know?”

Joshua turned to his girlfriend. “What about you, Clarice? Do you want to crash at Tommy’s gaff and watch some crappy horror movie?” He leaned forward, seeing just a glimmer of moisture under her eyes. Oh hell, the girl must still be thinking that he was going to run off into the sunset with the big titted blonde.

She snuck a glance at Bryan then shook her head. “I don’t care what we do,” she stroked the back of his hand. “As long as we’re together,” she murmured.

Joshua reached into his back pocket and pulled out several folded up sheets of paper, then limped over to the thick set lad, eating another Mars Bar. He had no doubt that Bryan was capable of carrying out his threat. Both brothers worked out, but unlike Tommy, the younger brother took advantage of his heavy frame. He wasn’t usually nasty with it, beneath those layers of hard packed muscles, beat a good heart. Thing is, if anyone was stupid enough to piss him off, his temper locked that decent part of Bryan in a cupboard.

“An accident, you say?” Joshua rested one hand on the tree trunk, beside Bryan’s head. “That poor estate agent tortured, killed, then ate at least nine young girls.” He smiled at Barbra. “Apparently, he had a taste for blondes.”

“Bullshit. Something like that would have made global news, man. Hell, this shitty little town would be famous.”

Joshua nodded. “You’re absolutely right there, Bryan.” He unfolded the A4 sheets, and passed the top one to Tommy’s brother while he gazed down at the remaining sheet of paper. Right at the top was an eight digit number, and underneath the numbers was a brief paragraph of illegible handwriting. It was only when his eyes were drawn to the naked woman’s body tied to a thick wooden pole when his stomach flipped over. Even in black and white, the image did strange things to his mind. He’d seen much worse images, thanks to viewing the huge collection of gross horror movies that Tommy and his brother had collected over the year but this was real, it had really happened. He closed his eyes then snapped them open after the original colour photo flashed in front of his mind.

When Bryan passed the sheet to his brother, Josh handed the other piece of paper over, watching the lad’s eyes widen. He’d saved the worst for last. When son’s go through their dad’s gear when the said father is at work, they usually find dead socks, old love letters, perhaps a bit of cash, or if they’re really lucky, his porn mag stash. Not his dad though.  Oh no.  He had ancient case files, including this one.

“This has got to be a fake.” Bryan passed the other sheet to Tommy and glared at Joshua. “This has got to be bullshit,” he snarled. “You think I’m a fucking idiot or something?”

His brother rested his hand on Bryan’s shoulder. “You still want to watch that dumb movie?” Tommy folded up the photocopies and hesitated before passing them to his girlfriend.”

“Barbra, I wouldn’t recommend looking at them, seriously.”

“They’re real, Bryan, take my word for it. I’ve known Josh all his life. He wouldn’t pull a stunt like this.”

“But I don’t get it. Josh.  Come on, fill us in here.”

Both the girls had gone as pale as Barbra’s hair, and he now wondered if this really was such a great idea after all. When he first discovered the old case file hidden between two copies of Huge Rack Monthly, he too shared Bryan’s scepticism, believing it had to be some kind of sick prank that his dad’s colleagues had played on him a few years ago. Yet the more he read through the notes, the more he started to see the connections. He’d only been five at the time that this supposed mass killing had taken place, but he still remembered the unease felt through the town when two of the girls on this list had mysteriously disappeared. The official statement had said that both Alice Edwards and Daisy Price had turned up dead on the streets of Manchester and the case had been closed up and forgotten by everybody except for the grieving parents.

Clarice thrust the sheets into his palm. “Jesus, this is just fucking horrible!” She stared into Joshua’s eyes. “Can you imagine the heartache their parents would go through if this ever got out?”

Barbra nodded. “Even so, I’d like to know why it was covered up.”

“I can’t answer that one.

“The case file just contained the facts. I’m guessing that the mystery of why they pushed this under the carpet happened later.”

“Are there any more pictures, Josh?”

He nodded, “Yeah lots, but not what you’d expect to find. You see, this fucking psycho saved his victim’s bones and used them to make furniture.”

“You’re shitting me,” whispered Tommy. “Hey Bryan, remember Cemetery Funfair? Didn’t the family do the same?”

“No, they used the full body, minus the head,” he replied. “And you only saw the full special effects in the banned version.” Bryan rubbed his hands. “Okay, I’m hooked. Let’s go.”

Joshua dug into his pockets and pulled out a key ring. “There’s a good chance that the place hasn’t even been cleaned up. You see, I’ve already checked the place out and there’s no way of getting inside without these keys. They bricked up all the windows and installed a thick metal gate over the door.” He took Clarice’s hand.  “It’s almost as if they were trying to keep something from escaping, not stopping people from breaking in.”

He watched their faces carefully, wondering if he was laying on the suspense a bit thick. Tommy was right about Joshua not straying over the line and entering bullshit territory, but he could tell the odd white lie. This was the first time he’d been to the house, but the last picture of the building was taken only a few months ago, and he had little doubt that it had changed since the time the picture was taken.

“Can you walk though, Josh?”

He smiled at Barbra. “Yeah, I’ll be okay.  It’s just a bit tender, that’s all.” He took the lead, walking away from the clearing towards the black silhouette towering above the overgrown greenery. His thoughts swapped from the pleasing image of him lying on his front while Barbra massaged his back, to wondering why there was a recent photo of the house hidden in amongst a supposedly forgotten folder.

“Hey Josh, what would you have done if we hadn’t believed that those photos were genuine?” asked Bryan. “Would you have gotten all pissy and stamped your foot?” The lad chuckled. “Well, stamped the foot that wasn’t all bandaged up.”

Joshua stopped and pulled Clarice into his arms.

“Oh dear, have I said something to offend you? My bad.”

The lad’s caustic words bounced off Joshua’s broad back. He stared at the bundle of soiled, grey rags nestling in the long grass, and after his eyes readjusted and filled in the missing pieces, Joshua realised that Bryan’s desire to offend no longer mattered.

He held her tight, allowing Clarice’s warmth to meld with his own.  It gave him such comfort and helped him not to dwell on his grotesque discovery.

“What are you doing, Josh?”

She hadn’t seen it yet. Clarice had no idea that, like him, she had been on the verge of plunging her foot into unknown territory. If he hadn’t pulled her back, Clarice’s wounds would have been on the inside.

Weak afternoon sun picked out grey tissue hiding under the soiled rags, the skin glistening, stretched from the weight of gases beneath the dead man’s flesh. She stiffened in his arms, her shuddering travelling into his body.

“Oh, my fucking God!”

Joshua kept her firm hold on Clarice. He looked back at Tommy, blanking his brother. “You always wanted to see a corpse? Well here’s your chance.”

The three behind Joshua and Clarice looked over their shoulders.

“We need to call the police!” Barbra spun around, only to have her movements halted by Tommy’s hand wrapped around her wrist.

“That’s not a good idea, hun.”

“Have you lost your tiny mind?” she hissed, looking at all of them one by one. She paused at Clarice before gazing directly at Joshua. “Why are you not moving?”

“He’s been dead a while, a couple of weeks at least.” Joshua carefully pushed foliage away from the man’s face with his scuffed blue trainer. The corpse’s eyes were shut tight, he saw no sign of damage.  If it wasn’t for the stench of death and the bloat, the tramp looked asleep. “What are the police going to do? The poor guy died in his sleep.”

“But we can’t leave him here,” said Barbra. “I don’t care who he was, he still deserves a decent burial.”

Bryan strode up to Joshua’s face until he was almost nose to nose. He sighed inwardly, expecting the goon to side with Barbra and demand that he obeyed her request. It was typical of Bryan to act the hero, to show his tender aspect, but mainly to make Joshua look like a dick.

“We can call the cops once we’re done,” he said, keeping his eyes fixed on Joshua. “It’s not like he’s going to get up and walk off, now is he?”

“Hmpth,” she spat. “I expected more from you.”

Tommy pulled her back. “No, Bryan’s right.” He tapped the sheets of paper in Joshua’s hand. “This dead guy probably just came to the end of his miserable life.  No crime, no mystery.” He nodded his head, his eyes following the path past the corpse. “The girls who lost their lives in that house deserve eternal rest, and their families deserve closure so they can grieve properly.

Act Three

He so wanted to snap off those spindly fingers. The others were all impatiently waiting for Joshua to unlock the house door. Their rapt attention suited Bryan just fine. He swapped his contempt to admiration as he ran his gaze over Clarice’s oh, so delectable and underused body. Christ, what a frigging waste of a good woman.

Bryan ran his wet tongue along his lips, imagining his organ rolling up that smooth back, her groaning in ecstasy, the girl arching her back while he dug his fingers into her hips, and…”

“Will you put your eyes back into your perverted face, Bryan!”

Like that was going to happen. It’s not as if her knight in shining armour was about to rescue her from the evil dragon. Bryan treated Clarice to a wink and blew her a kiss. Even if Joshua wasn’t still crying and wrestling with that stupid key, he was hardly likely to be able to stop him.

“Your boyfriend has arms like chicken legs, hun.” He looked back at the trail they’d all trampled through, seriously wondering if there were any more bodies hidden in the greenery. Although he hadn’t shown it, the sight of that body had shaken him up more than it should. Christ, he almost lost his burger and chips when the smell slammed into his nostrils.  His obsession of horror movies had never prepared him for that. It pissed him off more to see that Joshua hadn’t even blinked.

Clarice didn’t even bother to reply. Instead, she folded her arms protectively around Joshua’s waist, leaned forward, and whispered something into his ear. Joshua released a quiet snort.

“Don’t even think about it,” warned Tommy, resting his hand over Bryan’s shoulder. “Put your hormones back in the box, you idiot.” His brother pulled him away from the other three and spun him around. “We’re facing the biggest cover up of this decade and all you’re thinking about is getting into her panties.”

Bryan looked into his brother’s eyes while estimating his chances of dropping Tommy without the big guy wupping his ass.

“Oh hell, you bloody idiot. I told you not to take them, at least not until we knew they were safe.”

“Crap, of course they’re safe. What’s wrong, bro, don’t you trust me?” Right at that moment, he knew his brother was no longer the strongest one, he could see the weakness in his eyes, the doubt was written all over his face. Okay, so he’d taken the steroids before they set off from their shared flat this morning. So what? Christ, he and Tommy had been taking the drugs for three years now, ever since Tommy hit the big eighteen mark, and they’d never had a single bad batch despite using a variety of suppliers. This lot had come from a new guy who’d only just started working out at their gym. They looked, tasted, and acted the same as their last batch, so Bryan had no idea what had made Tommy so cautious all of a sudden.

“I want you to try and chill, at least until we are out of here, dude.” He turned away from him when Joshua had finally opened the door. “Please, just for me, try to keep a level head, and for God’s sake, will you leave those two alone?”

Bryan nodded, intending to do no such thing. If they wanted to play Scooby Doo then let them get on with it. He couldn’t care less about the missing bodies, unexplained murders, or for that matter, Joshua’s crooked dad. Right now his wired brain only had one desire: to get Chicken legs away from Clarice. The other four disappeared into the house, leaving him alone. He stood back and gazed up, noticing for the first time just how big this old house actually was. With three floors and no doubt an attic and a cellar, it must have more rooms than his college.

“I would have gotten away with it if it hadn’t been for you meddling kids,” he muttered, following them inside. The gloom hid his shark-like smile. So dearest brother wanted him to chill out, at least until they got back to the flat. He could play along.

As he leaned against the wall watching Tommy and chicken legs play torch beams across the floor, Bryan considered their immediate future. These idiots would soon get bored with this bullshit, and the decision to get pizza and watch a movie would inevitably crop up,

If that did happen then, he’d end up taking out his frustration on his weights whilst those two with the torches would have an alternate method of exercise. No way. He intended to make damn sure that the two brothers would be enjoying woman juice tonight, even if it meant losing chicken legs in this house.

***

The daylight streaming through the open doorway gave Joshua a hint of what the five of them would find in this derelict building. Their torch confirmed his initial findings. He shone the beam along the ceiling, the light bouncing off rotting plaster. The illumination disturbed the largest spider he had ever seen. It raced across the surface and disappeared through a two foot hole.  From where he stood, Joshua saw the remnants of a metal bed and what looked a like a pair of handcuffs fastened to the end of the frame. He followed the spider’s progress as it crawled up the far wall towards an irregular patch of darkness covering most of the wallpaper. At first he assumed it was mould, until the patch moved.

“You have got to be having a laugh!” The torch almost slipped from his grasp. His last image before the torch beam stopped on a broken wall mirror was of the one spider losing itself in that patch.

“Are you okay?”

He nodded. “Sorry, Clarice. I thought I saw a spider.”

“I hate those things.” Clarice took his hand. “I bet this old place is crawling with them.”

Bryan chuckled. “No worry, sweetheart. I can protect you from one little spider.”

The big lad stood directly under the hole now. Joshua so wished those things would fall right on him. Bryan screaming like a big girl made such a pleasing thought as thousands of them scuttled into every one of the goon’s entry points

Not for the first time Joshua wished Tommy would stop being such a softy and tell his younger brother to bugger off. It’s not like the kid didn’t have mates his own age. Then again, considering how Bryan behaved around him and the girls, his proper mates were probably glad to see the back of the little shit.

He’d known Bryan since he wore short pants and Joshua had never seen eye to eye with him. Even back before Bryan followed his brother into the world of body building, he used to be a cocky little shit.

Strange how at the time Joshua actually welcomed the idea, believing the work outs could channel away a lot of that built up aggression.

Bryan had planted his feet apart with hands on hips, his eyes running up and down the length of his girlfriend’s body. If anything, the weights had made him worse.
Joshua had yet to come to blows with the lad, and he hoped that occasion would never arise. He believed that after all these years he knew how the lad’s brain worked, and right now Bryan’s mind had travelled down to his groin.

As soon as Bryan found the right girl he was sure that the goon would drop all of this ridiculous posturing; swaggering about like a drunk gorilla all the time couldn’t be good for anybody’s pose. Yet despite his self assurance, this time Joshua failed to convince himself.

He thought he knew his dad. Joshua thrust his hand into his pocket, stroking the paper’s surface. Oh boy, had he been wrong on that one! If he didn’t even know his father, what chance did he have in figuring out the sex-starved ape?

“Josh, where do we go from here? This place is not what I expected.” Tommy shone the beam on Joshua’s chest. “It’s not safe for a start. No offence, but lounging on the sofa, drinking a cold one is now beginning to really appeal.”

His words struck a cord with Joshua. Whilst still outside, the need to get in here to discover the truth was all he could think of; even Bryan’s constant bitching took a back seat. Now that they were finally in here, though, he wanted out. “The bodies were all found in the cellar, so I guess that we should start looking down there.”

The words had left Joshua’s mouth without any prompting, without any prior consideration to his reluctance to continue. It didn’t shock him either to find his body following through with his suggestion. He swept the beam along the wall from left to right, the light catching more decay and evidence of the house’s new owners. The webs old and new created their own patterns, softening the sharp edges between the wall and the ceiling. When the beam found the first door, he stilled his arm. “It’s there,”

“You sound so sure.”

From a thousand miles away, Joshua heard himself explaining to Tommy that the other doors in here wouldn’t have a key plate under the handle. His hand plunged into his right trouser pocket and clumsily pulled out the keys that he took from the file that he’d found under his dad’s bed. “You can do the honours, Tommy.”

As soon as the keys left his fingers, all feeling returned to his body. Joshua reached out needing to feel Clarice’s warmth, his fingers slipping between hers. Joshua shook his head, trying to clear the miasma. Right now, the need to go took control, and he took one step towards the door, only to find his way blocked by Tommy’s brother.

“I hope you weren’t thinking of leaving us here, Josh?” he said, staring at Clarice’s breasts.

“Move out of the way, Bryan. I just need some air, that’s all.”

“Well, you see. I can’t do that. Cos, I just don’t think it fair that you gave our Tommy some keys but not me.  Tell you what, if you hand over your car keys, I’ll let you pass.”

Clarice took the torch out of Joshua’s hand. “I’ll tell you what, you annoying little man. If you don’t shift your fat carcass, I’ll brain you with this.”

Joshua jumped back, but not because of Bryan’s threats or the dark look in the lad’s eyes. He moved back because he saw they were no longer alone in the house. A man shaped shadow blocked out the daylight, streaming through the open door.

“Don’t just stand there gawping, Arnold, get yer arse down those stairs!”

The shadow moved away from the open door, back towards the foot of the stairs. Joshua could now make out the details of an overcoat stretching to the man’s knees, a hat, belonging several decades in the past, and a beard. The figure put one hand on the bottom of the banister and turned to face them. “Don’t just stand there, sweet little things, get out of here while you still can! Arnold, for crying out loud!” he yelled, turning back to the stairs.

Joshua heard creaking floorboards above him, followed by low muttering. Clarice squeezed his hand, her fingers gripped the torch just as tight.  Evidently the thought that she might have to use that on more than just Bryan had probably just entered her mind. “Who the hell are you?”

“Misdeeds and urges for introductions can wait, little mister! Please, exit this foul place before its spirit dances with your bones.” The man began to climb the stairs. “Arnold, come on, man!” He spun around, a low groan leaving his throat.

Joshua saw the door swinging back, the rectangle of daylight narrowing. He lashed out, slamming the palm of his hand into Bryan’s solid chest and ran past him, dragging Clarice as the door squeezed the light down to a single line before slamming into the frame.

“Oh fuck, my heart and mind frays at the edges. Pieces rotting away, leaving me undone and broken.”

Joshua looked back at Tommy and Barbra, seeing only the girl remaining. She had Tommy’s torch, keeping the beam on their visitor. “Do you have the keys with you?”

“No, he took them with him.”

He turned around and saw exactly why the stranger had groaned. There was no handle on this side of the door.

“Josh!”

The warning came too late for him to react. A hand slammed into the back of his head, pushing his face against the hard surface. His nose reminded Joshua of pain as the warm blood streamed into his mouth.

“Nobody pushes me around, chicken legs,” snarled Bryan.

He felt the lad’s thick fingers dig into his shoulders before he spun him around and pushed Joshua against the door. “Don’t go away, either of you.”

Bryan snatched the torch out of Clarice’s trembling fingers, then ran over to the open cellar door.

“You really shouldn’t have come in here,” whispered the stranger. He crept over to Joshua, tipped his hat towards Clarice who crouched in front of him. “You’re all so young and pretty, with flexible bones covered with sweet meat. You’re all just what the spirit of this terrible house craves.”

Those fancy words pouring out of the stranger’s mouth made little sense to Joshua. They bunched together, forming a blanket of sound. He found himself smiling, wondering if the blow against that door had knocked something inside his head out of sync. Joshua followed a deep pink gully up from the man’s jaw until he reached his dazzling emerald eyes. It wasn’t just his mind out of place. Those intelligent orbs should not belong to such an old face, criss-crossed with winkles and folds, like a well used chamois cloth.

The floor trembled, his hands lifted off the debris covered stone. At first Joshua thought he’d imagined it, until the man in front of him stopped his one sided conversation and released a quiet moan. He moaned again and rocked on his heels.

“One of them has picked up her mask.”

Joshua felt his eyelids getting heavy. As the shaking intensified, panicked exclamations erupted from both girls, and a dull yellow light grew from the ceiling as  Joshua allowed unconsciousness to claim him.

Act Four

Replete in fine black cloth, Conner Delaney watched the ongoing events with a mixture of resignation and dread. He stayed seated on the second step, resting his back against the polished oak panelling, his fingers tapping a mute staccato against the plush blue carpets that now covered the stairs and the lower hallway. “She made it green the last time,” he murmured.

Conner retreated as soon as the boy’s eyes closed. Regret and annoyance filled his thoughts, hoping that only that sleeping boy had heard his former warning. He blamed the glitch in his performance squarely on her. She should have shut the outside door as soon as her flies were already in the web. Leaving a view to the blue sky, brilliant sunlight, grass and trees, only invited regrettable words.

She’d turned back the decay, reverting the interior to resemble a time before her arrival, before the murders, the mutilations, and before her vile games. “Before the bitch trapped me here.”

He stood up and breathed in the air filled with the scent of old perfume, new paint, and exotic oils lifting from the wood.

Conner should feel a sense of rebirth, a sloughing of the old to slip into the fresh. Like the house, she had brought him back from the brink of collapse. Gone were the rags held together with only rough yarn repair; his hair now felt soft, just like his skin. The mirror in the master bathroom would give him more detail, but for this presentation he would dispense with his need for vanity.

Arnold had yet to come back down. His fellow caretaker must be feeling his own version of euphoria, only he would have no history to taint his feelings. Arnold was new, he’d only experienced one killing before, and that was nothing like what was about to occur tonight. The mistress had allowed them both to leave the prison, to help the holder of the mask to find meals away from the house. Both he and Arnold had enjoyed that experience.

The others had yet to notice Conner observing their behaviour. Their reactions followed the same pattern, deep seated rivalry momentarily forgotten while they adjusted to their new circumstances. Those two gorgeous women, both furnished in new outfits of low-cut tops and mini skirts, were by the boy against the door, helping him back onto his feet. His dizziness was cast aside, eyes bulging and joints stiffened. The boy’s head jerked from one anomaly to the next, probably wondering if he was still sleeping.

He saw the boy’s eyes find him. They locked glances, feeling his pain and confusion. For the first time in over three hundred years, Conner felt something close to empathy with one of the mistress’s future victims. The dangerous emotion left when the boy looked towards the cellar door, specifically at the two other boys, both dressed like the rest of the males in black tuxedos. Unlike Conner, Arnold, and the boy, next to those girls these two looked as though the cloth would soon tear from the strain of the hard packed muscles beneath the imagined suit.

Conner swallowed hard. One of them wore the mask, yet Conner didn’t know which one. He ran his tongue across both his lips, watching the two boys slowly walk across the floor, each one drinking in the gold decorations, expensive paintings, stout furniture, before finally looking up at the huge chandelier, its yellow light dancing off every polished surface. Unlike the other boy, neither of them was aware of his presence. He had hoped one of them would look his way, if only to see if he could detect the presence of his mistress hiding behind their gaze.

Conner wondered why he should even care who carried her soul. The outcome was always the same. Only he and Arnold would be left standing by the end of the proceedings. They were all dead, only none of them knew it.

***

After every new sight, scent, and sound had finished pummelling Joshua’s fragile senses, all he was able to hold onto was Clarice’s perfume and that fact that she now smelled like his grandma. He held her shaking body tight to his, watching Bryan and Tommy continue to batter the window with their improvised weapons. Tommy stopped assaulting the glass with the metal lamp stand. He dropped it and collapsed into a plush white and red patterned chair pushed up next to a grandfather clock.

“Okay, time out. I give up,” he said. “My brain tells me this is real and my fingers and feet concur.”

“This is bollocks,” snarled Bryan, continuing to batter the glass with a chair leg.” Somebody’s having a laugh on my expense, and when I find out who it is I’m going to break their arms and legs.”

Joshua was too tired to look for explanations; his nose hurt and so did the back of his leg. Clarice holding onto him as if he was about to vanish was all he cared about.

“How are you holding up, Josh?”

The sharp pains lancing through both extremities turned into a dull throb as soon as Clarice finished voicing her concern. “I’ve had better days,” he replied. “Bryan is so going to get what’s coming to him though.” He imagined the chair bouncing off the glass and whacking the meathead in the face. Joshua grinned, the damage certainly couldn’t make him look any worse.

“What’s just happened?” Her grip on his arm tightened. “I’m so confused.”

“You’re not the only one.” Several implausible explanations tumbled through his mind. Joshua dismissed each and every one as ridiculous. His eyes drank in all the details of this astonishing transformation. This hallway now resembled a cross between a stately house and a museum. With one subtle difference: the portraits, framed in gold, looked very familiar. He squinted at one picture in particular hanging above the door of the cellar.

His heart saw the connection a moment before his slow brain caught up. He was looking at the girl from the photocopied pictures crumpled up in his pocket. Joshua dare not think about what this meant for him or for the rest of them. He followed the line of paintings, then stopped when he reached the stairway. Leaning over the banister was the tramp who spoke those nonsense words before all the impossible landed on their heads.

The green eyed man hadn’t escaped the mass transformation.  Wearing similar attire to the rest of them, he looked like he belonged with their group, apart from his movements. There was no look of confusion in those emerald eyes.

Josh saw fear, resignation, and a touch of trepidation in the man’s features. Something else as well.  He shared a trait with Bryan when he managed to pick up a rare video. It was the look of excitement.

“Come down here, you fucker!” screamed Bryan.

The man’s posture underwent a chameleonic transformation. Joshua blinked hard, unsure if he had witnessed that. Their guest now resembled a whipped dog, an underling, somebody used to being punished and spat upon. Bryan didn’t wait for the green eyed man to obey him, instead he marched towards that staircase. Joshua had no clue as to what part this man played, but right now he felt a tinge of pity. Bryan was as clueless as the rest of them but now he had a viable target in order to vent his anger. That green eyed man had better flee if he wished to spare his thin body from a bruising.

Tommy ran across the hallway and slammed his hand on his brother’s shoulder.  The action halted Bryan in mid stride, allowing the man’s prey the opportunity to run, only he did the opposite. He sighed heavily then ran down the stairs, flattening his back against the wall when he passed the brothers and made a beeline for Barbra.

“What in God’s name is happening in here, little miss?” he cried, dropping to his knees. The man cast his head behind, his eyes now full of terror. “Please, help me find a way out of this demon house!”

Tommy looked at his brother in confusion, before walking back to the cellar door. He sat down in the chair vacated by his brother and ran his thick fingers down the side of the grandfather clock. “This was in the cellar when I went down there to explore,” he murmured. “It’s the same one, I’m sure of it.” He pointed to Bryan. “You were in here before us, so why don’t you tell us all what you know, otherwise I think my brother will get even more mad. I think you’ve already guessed that he has a quick temper.”

Clarice helped Joshua up and he walked, a little unsteadily, over to Bryan. The man looked back, and it took him by surprise to spot regret instead of scorn in those features. “Mates?” said Joshua, holding out his hand.

Bryan shook it. “Yeah, sorry about that, buddy. I guess I got a little riled.”

“I swear to all of you, I know nothing about any of this bullshit,” muttered the stranger.

“He’s lying.”

Joshua’s whisper was only meant for Bryan but the green eyed man’s ears were obviously keener than he anticipated. The stranger jerked his head up, their eyes met, and a freezing shiver ran all the way down his spine.

“I could ask what one of you has done to make this house change,” said the man. “After all, we’ve been in here for hours. It only changed when you came.” The man got to his feet and held out his hand. “Look, I know none of you know me, but can we not be at least civil? After all, it does look as though we’re all in this together.”

“You said the word ‘we’.” Barbra hurried past the man and took Tommy’s hand. “Yeah, I remember now. This tramp was shouting up the stairs before this happened.”

The girl had pointed out what they had all missed. Joshua now remembered the man shouting for Arnold, he also took note that back then their green-eyed colleague’s actions didn’t comply with how he acted right now.  The ambiguity dried in his mouth as Barbra’s words acted like a catalyst.

Both brothers ran for the staircase, the stranger screamed out Arnold’s name, and the lights above them flickered. Joshua caught his reflection in the closest window and saw, just for a second, the trees, grass, and sky beyond disappear. In their place, the image of rough-hewn boards took their place.

The man lunged for Joshua. “Help me get out of here!” he hissed. The man’s fingers held his wrist tight. He looked past, watching the two girls run towards the foot of the stairs. Neither of them were looking at him or the stranger. “It’s about to begin, Joshua. Once she tastes her first kill, you’ll all follow the same path.”

The man opened his mouth again but a terrible heart wrenching shriek blasted through the floorboards.

He released Joshua. “What is she doing? This isn’t in the script!”  The man ran for the stairs, pushed past the two girls, and raced up the stairs.

His black suit now bore a single red stain stretching from his elbow to the cuff. It looked like an old blood stain, only he knew for a fact that it wasn’t there a second ago. “Clarice, don’t go up there.” He hurried over to the girls, noticing that their outfits had degraded too. Barbra’s top now sported a ragged tear in the side, exposing her smooth tanned flesh.

He found himself being pulled up the stairs as both girls took a hand each.

“We’re not leaving you down here with that creep,” snarled Clarice.

Joshua watched the smiling man’s face growing smaller, his smirk widening just before the yellow wallpapered wall cut off his view of the room below.

“Tommy, where are you?”

The girl scanned both directions. He followed her gaze, seeing nothing but a deserted corridor, its dark walls covered in more portraits. The three bare light bulbs giving off just enough light to make out four doors spaced a couple of inches apart a few feet from where the three of them stood. The sick yellow glow cast long shadows across the bare wooden floor. Yet even with the inadequate lighting, Joshua could see irregular shaped patterns of pitch black etched in the old wood, as if scorched. This house held out its history for all to see, even if none of the clues made any sense. Joshua was sure that nothing of any benevolence had occurred within its walls.

“Why hasn’t he answered?”

Joshua took one final look down the stairway,  not that surprised to see the green-eyed man staring back up and grinning, before walking down the grim corridor, taking care not to step in the black recesses as well as avoiding the painted stares. “This is a very old house, Barbra. Those doors are probably as thick as the walls. Don’t worry, they won’t be far.” He reached the first door, stopping to catch his breath. Christ, he was tired. The dark brown wood smelled of mildew and rot, despite it looking freshly polished. “Paradox is strong in this dwelling,” he muttered to himself, seriously wondering if he really was asleep.

“Why aren’t you opening the door, Josh?”

He shrugged, remembering how his stomach had flipped upside down and blue lights danced in front of his eyes when he first saw those pictures. Fantasy and reality merged. The rotting cadavers from House of the Bloodied Bride mixed with the poor woman in that picture, her final scream captured on celluloid forever. He saw himself, Clarice, and the others munching down popcorn and giggling as the photo girl shrieked, her jaw muscles stretching tight, hot tears mixing with her spilled blood while her masked killer gutted her like a dead fish, his serrated knife sawing up towards her sternum.

Somehow, the sight of three actresses all covered in poorly applied make up, walking like the parody of Frankenstein’s monster now felt more laughable than ever, only Joshua wasn’t laughing. He looked deep into his companion’s faces, knowing that only he had shared that vision, knowing that something had prepared him for what lay beyond this door, the thick oak acting as the final barrier between him and the truth of the green eyed man’s warnings.

“Christ almighty, Josh,” said Barbra. “How hard is it for you to open a pissing door?” She pushed him out of the way, wrapped her slim fingers around the brass door knob and twisted. “The faster we find those two, the quicker we can get out of this perverse fun house.”

The smell hit Joshua before Barbra’s scream assaulted his ears. He took her arm and threw the girl into Clarice’s open arms. “Don’t move.” Hung upside down from a thick rafter was the skinned carcass. Rope tied around its ankles suspended the body high, its ten digits painting vivid red lines across the light blue carpet. Joshua was the person who should have seen this first. He closed his eyes, not that it made any difference.  His mind now showed him the unknown body’s eyes opening, its arms reaching out, a mouth opening in a silent scream. The face had changed and he saw himself upside down, his thick blood gushing out from the ragged hole in his stomach.

He snapped open his eyes and jumped back, thankful that Clarice hadn’t seen this too. The body hadn’t vanished. The metallic odour of fresh blood overlaid every other smell; his hand rested on the door handle, pausing, wanting to shut away this travesty and yet his muscles wouldn’t respond.

“Oh fuck,” said Barbra, wrapping her arms around the other girl’s neck. “Its, it’s a dead person, I…”

He saw the question asked in Clarice’s eyes at the same time he heard footsteps getting louder. Beyond the two girls, the green-eyed man reached the last step. He cast his eyes to the floor, remaining motionless. “Please, don’t look. She’s right.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” said the man. “She’s started faster than before.”

Joshua looked at the girls; he then risked his stomach rebelling by taking one more look at the dripping carcass before he turned his full attention at the still figure. “It isn’t either of the brothers,” he replied. “Not unless the killer cut away their muscles when the poor bastard was skinned.”

“No fucking way!” he shouted, charging towards them. His servile performance now looked as false as their new clothing. The man genuinely looked distraught. Was this the first true feeling Joshua had seen in this emotional amalgam?

“Oh Christ! Arnold. I’m so sorry.” The man fell against the side of the door, weeping. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to happen. He shut his eyes. She’s making up the rules.”

Joshua pulled the man back. The door slammed shut. “I might not be built like a brick wall like my mates,” he snarled, curling his fist, “but I still know how to cause you a lot of damage. You’d better start talking.”

“My name is Conner Delany. The poor man in that bedroom was Arnold Banks. Together we looked after the mistress.” He leaned against the wall, his fingers tracing along one of the scorch marks. “You’re all going to die in here,” he said without looking up. One of your two absent friends is now dancing with her. She will consume your sanity before your friend rips the skeleton from your still twitching body.” He stood up and rested his fingers on a thin wooden chair.

Joshua moved away from the smiling man, watching the furniture beneath his fingers change colour to pale cream before the structure shimmered, its true form appearing out of the flickering cloud. Conner Delaney held a chair constructed of bone.

“And now, I find myself in the unfortunate position of being on the other side.” He looked up, his eyes resting on the two other doors, beginning to open. “I’m not sure I will enjoy being the rabbit.”

Barbra untangled her arms from Clarice when Tommy walked out from the next door. He turned. “Have you seen Bryan?” His girlfriend hurtled forward, throwing herself into his arms. Tommy gave Conner a quizzical look before turning his head as his brother emerged from the other door.

“Look what I found,” he said. His huge hand folded over the handle of a long thin knife.

“How the fuck do we get out of here!” The green-eyed man now stood in two of the depressions.  Somewhere in the house’s past a person had stood in the same spot and burnt to a cinder. Joshua was more scared than he’d been in his life. He sought comfort in his girlfriend’s warm hand, listening to the faint sound of pleasant laughter. It didn’t take him long to discover the voice lay inside him.

Conner shook his head and removed his hand from the chair, its shape returning to a form less offensive. “There is no escape, Joshua, I’m sorry. All you can pray for is to let her take you first. Believe me, the suffering will only increase the more she drinks”.

Act Five

Three years ago Tommy took his brother to the gym for the first time, explaining to Joshua that the lad needed a focus. The hazy explanation was not clarified until just a few weeks ago when a very drunk older brother explained how he found Bryan’s bank account book detailing more money than he should have had. The lad had sold a huge amount of stolen property to some old school friend who ran a market stall in the next town. The properties were all acquired by Bryan. It turned out that his younger brother had a talent for breaking into other people’s houses.

Joshua had no doubt that right now the lad was using all of those talents to find a way out of this hellish house. Even with the supposed threat of their deaths hanging over their heads, he refused to let the green-eyed man’s constant muttering to eat into him.

He pulled on the rope, and like an unruly dog, Conner’s noise jammed halfway out of the throat when the knot bit into throat. “Keeping quiet isn’t a difficult as you make out, Conner.” The dried blood from his friend had rubbed off on Conner’s skin. The man didn’t seem to have noticed.

What little empathy Conner had shared with the two girls blew about when he calmly told them all when on the floor above that they were all going to be slaughtered like cattle in an abattoir. The green-eyed man’s mouth would not stay still, else they would have objected to Tommy and Bryan removing the corpse from the rafters and using the rope as a lead. Bryan suggested that they all stay together; that ensured Conner stayed within sight.

It was strange how cemented morals slipped away without conscience when confronted with impending extinction. He tugged on the rope again.  The man hadn’t spoken, Joshua just wanted to hurt him. Unlike the others, he wasn’t convinced that Conner wasn’t still playing a part. He said it himself that his mistress , whoever she was, operated from a script, and that each showing deviated little from the main performance.

He had seen a touch of relief in Conner’s eyes when Bryan handed him the rope, ordering Joshua to keep their prize under constant surveillance. Tommy’s brother was under the impression that the unknown killer wouldn’t attack any of them if the green-eyed man couldn’t slip away. Their leashed up prisoner had already voiced the notion that either Bryan or Tommy could be the killer,

Joshua tugged the rope again when Conner’s mouth opened, whether for a yawn or to breathe out, he didn’t care. Joshua didn’t want Conner to vomit any more lies, truths, or a mixture of both. Keeping him silent served both their purposes. With the torrent of obscenities streaming from Bryan’s mouth, he had finished checking the windows, door, and ventilation vents in this room for any possible way out. The younger brother marched out of the room, pausing to boot Conner in the ankle.

“Wait!”

He couldn’t yank the rope again, not after Bryan had kicked the man. Joshua walked towards the doorway, intending to follow the others into the next room. “Be quiet and behave, Conner. It’s the sensible way to avoid getting hurt.”

“Before you leave this room, please, you must listen to me.” He ran around the front, his head jerking towards the open doorway. “He’s wasting his time, Joshua. Even if he was really trying, your pal won’t find an exit from this house.” He slowly grinned. “I know how to escape though. I’ve been in here for a long time, I know this house intimately.”

From behind Conner’s sincere expression, he watched Clarice trail off from the procession. She turned around, urging Joshua to hurry up.

Conner’s voice took on a lower tone, becoming ever more urgent. His eyes slid to the side. “We need to leave right now though, as I think she’s already chosen the next player!”

“Make a choice: either keep your trap shut or I’ll stuff one of my socks in there.” He wrapped his fingers around the rope. “I think the one full of my blood should do the job nicely.”

“Go ahead,” spat Conner. “Do what you like, you obviously don’t care about living any more.” He wrapped his own fingers around the rope. “On second thoughts…”

The man tugged down on the rope, pulling Joshua hard against his body. “It’s been such fun,” whispered Conner. The man ran his cold tongue along Joshua’s mouth before he brought up his open palm and backhanded him across the cheek. “Give my regards to her.” He pulled the noose off his neck and blew Clarice a kiss; he then jumped over Joshua’s body and ran back into the room.

Joshua growled in fury. He scrambled to his feet and spun around. “What the fuck?” The man was nowhere to be seen. “Where did he go?” he asked, turning to face Clarice. Only she wasn’t with him either. Joshua gently rubbed the side of his face, walked up to the door frame, and leaned out. The corridor with four closed doors, each one leading to another room, greeted Joshua. There was no sign of the others.

“So, you think this is funny do you, Conner?” he yelled. “I’m too fucking old for hide and seek.” Joshua left the room, slammed the door shut, and looped the rope around the door handle, tying the other end to a thick metal pipe that ran parallel to the deep red skirting board. Once he was satisfied the door was secure, he hurried across the hallway, stopping in front of the door that led to the kitchen. They were bound to be in here, this was the only room that Bryan hadn’t checked yet.

His drawn face, crumpled, twisted, and warped, stared back at Joshua from the polished reflection in a silver door handle. Dried blood coated the mirror image’s top lip, painfully reminding him of Bryan’s last outburst. Joshua’s fist tightened around the handle, blocking out the other face.

If Bryan did bring out the fists, then he’d just show him the roped door. Fuck him. Joshua’s inadvertent method shit on the dog lead idea. Not even Houdini would be able to get out of that room.

For the first time since entering this bizarre house the only thing he could hear was his own shallow breathing. Although he still wasn’t sure that the others were on the other side of this door, Joshua found the solitude strangely comforting. He hesitated, finding himself caught between wanting to find his Clarice and the urge to explore this building alone, to immerse himself in the building’s ambience, to experience the utter joy of teasing out the anguish from the thousands of trapped souls caught within the stonework; to love the mistress and harvest more bodies to…”

He slapped both his hands against the side of his head and shrieked. “Get out of my head!” Joshua shook himself like a wet dog, feeling the intruder slipping away. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, staring in fascination at the pink spots swimming through the saliva.

The visitor had left him quietly weeping.  As a final torment, it had deposited images of Clarice lying on the kitchen tiles, gutted and headless. He fought against the shakes and lashed out, his weakened fingers once more clasping the door handle, using it to drag himself back up.

“You won’t beat me,” he growled, licking his dry lips. “I refuse to be cowed by a bunch of cheap tricks.” He turned the handle and pushed it open. The door slowly swung in, its wake revealing a black chair sat on grey carpeting, and a wall of book cases filled with red leather bound volumes. “What is going on here?”

Joshua spun around, the rope was still wrapped around that door handle, sealing the room shut.  If that were the case, how the fuck could he be now looking into the room that he’d just left?

He took a single step over the threshold, keeping his hand tight around the door handle. There was no mistake, this was the same room. He saw the book on the carpet, dropped by Barbra just ten minutes ago. The only thing missing was the green-eyed man. “Get a grip; how can he be in here, you idiot?”

“Where else would I be?”

Conner leaped out from behind a high backed chair; he had the rope held in both hands. “Let’s see how you enjoy being pulled about!”

Joshua’s slow reactions allowed the man to cross the distance between them in a heartbeat. He saw Conner’s arm drawing back. The lights flickered, then a thousand light bulbs exploded inside Joshua’s head.

***

The numbers left Barbra’s mouth one by one.  Each digit sounded gave her more assurance of those eight bulbs standing in a golden circle, they weren’t going to fade to black. “Don’t go out,” she whispered, after reaching ten. Barbra curled her fingers into fists, keeping her eyes on those bulbs. “I’m not sure I can stand that again.”

Only a couple of minutes had dragged past since the lights turned the room into an explosion of screams, shouts, and swearing. It shamed Barbra to admit that most of the noise erupted from her mouth.

The noise only halted when she realised that she was the only one still making any sound. The lights chose that moment to burst out their brightness, the illumination showing her that she stood alone. The others were nowhere to be seen.

Panic and fear took no prisoners with the few emotions on show. Her breath misted as she ran into the door, expecting it to burst open and spill her into the waiting arms of her boyfriend. The impact stole the air from her lungs. She wheeled out her hands, fingers only brushing against the handle before connecting with the tiles.

She wrapped her arms tight around her chest. Her eye line now level with the handle, attempting to piece together why she now sat on this cold floor. Her bare thighs no longer smooth. The skin rose in goose bumps.

The handle turned clockwise, and through the freezing shakes Barbra found muscles to smile. They’d obviously figured out their number was short. “You took your time!” she shouted, waiting for Tommy to open the door wide, his own face matching Barbra’s grin. She tried to inject anger in her tone but gave up on that impossible task; her relief was just too great.

The door swung open. “Help me up then…”

The man shaped shadow lunged through the opening, his sausage-sized fingers twisting into claws, clenching tight around Barbra’s hair. She screamed out, her own clawed digits raking down the stranger’s thick arm while he pulled her across the tiles.

He bent his head, the scent of rot filling her mouth.

“You are very pretty.” He released her hair, sliding a thick finger down the side of her face. “Your flesh hides such beauty; you really are a gift from beyond my domain, sweet one.” His hand curled around Barbra’s wrist. “Thanking you would not seem right, you know. The others previous would find that distasteful.

Barbra breathed through her mouth, not daring to take her gaze from the masked stranger. Grey porcelain encased his full face, even the eyes were absent.  She only saw twin infinite black pits when she dared to look.

“Please, let me go?”

The man lifted his bulging arm, the muscles rippling beneath the filthy grey smock. Her body rose. Barbra found herself staring down into those terrible dark holes as her feet swung in lazy circles.

Hot tears sprang forth. “Oh God!” she blurted, seeing the wide blade for the first time, nestled in his other hand. “Please, I don’t want to die.”

“I’d rather you didn’t allow the clear fluid to escape, sweet one.” He pressed the blade’s tip against the top of her blouse, the fabric tearing at the slightest touch. Soft moans left her dry mouth; as the blade continued its journey down the front of her body, slicing through cloth, leaving her skin exposed to the freezing air. Barbra punched up her other arm, her fingers digging into his thumb, searching for purchase. She wasn’t going to go without a struggle. Her actions went unnoticed by the man, his focus lay on her full breasts as his knife sliced through the bra too, the two cups dangling below her nipples.

No matter what she tried, there was no shifting the man’s thumb. Barbra pulled his sleeve down and pinched his skin, lifting, stretching, and twisting the skin. A low grunt was her only reward, followed by the explosion of white light, loud ringing, and pain when he slammed the blade’s handle into the side of her head.

She lashed out with her leg, the foot slamming into his thigh. She kicked him again, this time hitting her target. The man dropped her. Barbra hit the ground hard, cracking her knees against the tiles.  She clenched her teeth together, jumped over the groaning mound of hard flesh, and raced down the carpeted hallway.

Paintings flashed past her as she headed for the only open door. Each portrait was just one woman.  She saw dozens of herself frozen in mid scream, the blue eyes from each one accusing her of not trying hard enough to escape. Barbra kept her eyes on the carpet, crossing her arms over her front, putting on an extra burst of speed as she heard his heavy breathing increasing in volume. She reached out, her fingers finding the edge of the door frame. She dared to look back just once and found…

The hallway empty. There were no paintings on the walls and every other door stood open. In the last door at the end Tommy, Bryan and Clarice were yelling at her. She swallowed hard, finding a smile of relief creeping over her face. She took one step away from the door.

“Like a balloon full of liquid life, my sweet one.”

His huge hand closed around her ankle. Barbra shrieked; she tried to spin around, seeing the man below her, lying on stone steps leading to the cellar. Barbra turned back, her hands reaching out for the door, seeing her friends racing towards her as the cellar door slammed shut, plunging her into blackness. She felt him grab her other leg before dragging her body down the stairs. Fingers found nothing to stop the descent. Barbra twisted and bucked, only slowing down when the back of her head cracked against the edge of a step.

“I should have waited. The ones that struggle tenderise their own meat.”

Through dazed senses, she experienced a moment of weightlessness before gravity pulled her down. Red light lit up the inside of her eyelids, and Barbra opened her eyes to rough stone walls, wet with lumps of dark red gristle,

She tried and failed to move her hands back to cover her nakedness. He’d tied her to a thick pole; the rough grain rubbed against her shoulder blades. He moved out from behind her, his huge form blocking out white light from the bulb behind them. He no longer held the knife. His hands rested on her breasts, the thumbs pressing down on her nipples, while rotating in slow, tight circles.

He moved the mask closer to her face. “Tell me your guilty secret, Barbra. Your story will determine your final structure.”

She found her eyes drawn into those endless dark chasms.  Like falling down the rabbit hole, her slippery journey took Barbra away from the stench of decomposing human meat, away from the conflicting pain and pleasure he inflicted, away from her imminent demise.

Her eyes flickered open, stretching out, naked on pure white silk sheets, sighing in delight as her lover peeled away his blue boxer shorts. She rolled on her front and crawled towards him, her mouth open wide, her tongue flicking in and out, already wet with anticipation of feeling that huge organ slide between her firm thighs.  Not yet though. She wanted him totally solid. Barbra gripped his firm buttocks, looked into the eyes of Joshua’s father, then rolled her tongue from the base to the tip.

The male groans, sunlight streaming through the man’s bedroom window, and the faint taste of soap all faded away, the thin veil dissolving, leaving Barbra’s captor inches from her face. The cold now penetrated every part of her body, with numbness its eager bedfellow. She cast her eyes down; his hands were no longer caressing her breast.  It didn’t shock her dying brain to see he now held the knife in both hands, the blade lost inside her body. His arms stopped moving.

Strange how death no longer frightened her. She felt no pain, just more numbness, its fingers finding her blood vessels, filling them with a freezing void. It wouldn’t be long now.

“No, you don’t!” screamed the man. He grabbed her ears, pulling them forward, bringing her screaming head down to witness the violation he’d inflicted on her torso. His knife opened her flesh like ragged petals. Purples, reds and blues filled her vision. Barbra couldn’t stop screaming as his clawed fist pushed into the hole.

She arched her back, forcing him deeper into her, as excruciating agony finally detonated, plunging every pain receptor into a pit of fire. Her eyes bulged in her sockets, the anguish crashing through her in wave after wave as he twisted, pulled, and brought out his bloodied fist, holding up her squashed intestine, the warm rope sliding over her breasts.

Barbra found the numbness wanting to reach through this receding curtain of white pain. She shut her eyes, forcing out the picture of him and allowed the soft embrace of death to finally claim her. Somewhere, a thousand miles distant, she made out the sound of a car engine and of her murderer releasing a soft laugh.

***

She so wanted to knock that smug grin off his dozy face. Mavis Longheart give Nigel Bard a single icy glare before pressing her nose against the side window. Only the headlights gave Mavis any clue as to what lay beyond this supposedly broken down car. The yellow light showed her more tarmac with low growing weeds changing colour to black and shadow the further she moved from the beam.

“Well?”

Her new boyfriend’s eyes told volumes. She’d had way too many male friends play the old broken down trick on her to know that this moron hadn’t expected the car to just stop.

“Don’t give me that look, love. I don’t know what the bloody hell is up with it.” His hand reached for the door handle. “Let me see if I can sort something out.”

Nigel left her alone, stewing in her own juices, her temper struggling to rise from where she locked it two hours ago. Back in Radfield her best mate, Trixie, would be laughing her tits off if the bitch could see her now. Of course she would; after all, it was Mavis who stole the male dish right out of her arms when Trixie rushed off to the toilet in the Seven Cocktails nightclub.

Oh, back then her mood had been as sweet as a jar of honey. Back then she hadn’t realised that this lump of manly muscle was such a fucking moron. “What’s wrong with it?” she asked winding down the window.

“I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be looking at,” Nigel admitted, slamming the car bonnet. “As I said earlier, this is our Brian’s motor. It’s never been that great a runner. Thing is, he swore down that he had it fixed.”

“You said it was your car!” She waited until he climbed back into the driver’s seat before reaching over and pulling him by the lapels towards her face. “Nigel, we’re in the middle of nowhere. Sitting in a shitty car and now I’m beginning to get cold. Pray tell, how do you intend to fix this?”

His look of bafflement turned into a leer. “I think I can suggest a good way to warm you up, love.” Nigel licked his lips. “And when we’ve finished, maybe the car will start again?”

Mavis pushed him back, reached for the door handle, and climbed out of the tiny Ford Fiesta. “Are you having a laugh? Nigel, I wanted your bed. If you think you’re having your way in some metal coffin, then you’re so mistaken!” She slammed the door shut and tightened her long coat around her body. God, some good night this was turning out to be.

She waited until the big lunk had squeezed his body out of the narrow gap before she gave him another withering glare. “Come on, Einstein, I’m still waiting for you to tell me;  how you are going to fix this mess?”

His sullen expression gave her his answer. Had she honestly expected him to do anything else? Mavis might have only known him for just over two hours but already she’d found out his only two talents were football and sex. Neither of those would be of any use in this situation.

“We’re only a couple of miles from our house, honey. It should only take us about half an hour to get there. I promise.”

Their journey from town to here told her otherwise. The car’s milometer hadn’t rolled past that many numbers.

“He held out his hand. “Mavis, I really am sorry about this. Believe me, breaking down in the middle of nowhere wasn’t what I had planned either.”

For the first time since the car coughed out its last emission, Mavis felt a little of her mood soften. She allowed him to wrap his thick arms around her waist, snuggling into his chest. “I really hate walking, you know.”

He kissed the top of her head. “Who said anything about you walking?”

Mavis let out a surprised squeal when Nigel picked her off her feet.

“Wait on, maybe there is another solution.” He pointed to her left. “I can see a light.”

“Oh god, you’re right, there’s a house over there.” Through the screen of foliage Mavis saw over a dozen yellow lights. “Carry me over there, Nigel. They’re bound to have a phone we can use.” Their lighthouse blazed a trail through the wilderness. Mavis felt her libido returning as this hunk gently carried her over the rough ground. She wondered if they had any spare beds.

Act Six

He lost more fabric from his smart black jacket. Joshua examined the pear shaped hole situated just below his breast. It didn’t shock him to see his original clothes beneath, only the condition of his jacket confused him. Vivid colour no longer stood out in the material. It looked like it had been through a thousand washes or left out in a desert sun, the heat and light bleaching it to grey.

“You know the significance of this, don’t you?”

His other companion watched him wearily from his position in the far corner of the bar. He too had pieces missing from his suit. Unlike Joshua, his attention centred on the glass on the round metal table standing between them. He’d woken up in this room, occupied by a drinks bar, two tables, a dozen stools, plenty of liquid refreshment and two locked doors. Conner had made sure Joshua knew that he couldn’t escape.

The glass held in his own hand reflected the bastard’s smug grin. Joshua jumped off the stool and approached Conner; his apparent lack of concern infuriated Joshua. The glass left his hand, shattering against the wooden surface. He dropped down and scooped up the largest shard.

“Do you wish me to furnish you with a fresh glass?”

He roared, swept the table aside, and dived on Conner, pressing the piece against the side of the man’s neck. His adam’s apple bobbed up and down. Joshua pushed the shard harder, feeling vindicated when a droplet of bright red blood surrounded the point. “Open that fucking door right now, or I’ll slice off your bastard head and get the keys from your cooling body.”

“Your beloved still lives, Joshua,” he whispered, turning to face him, seemingly oblivious to the glass held tight against his throat. “She took one of the others. Perhaps she made her first mistake? With her out of the way, your connection with the others is tenuous at best. Now I ask myself if your mind would finally fall through the thin ice if I thrust my head forwards.” He yawned. “I do not doubt your will to carry out your threat, Joshua. Even though you fantasised about climbing into Barbra’s undergarments, your strong bond with Clarice wouldn’t allow you to cross that line.”

“Shut up!” Joshua squeezed his fingers tight. “Give me that key!”

“You’re trapped in a maze where walls, time, people, and floors shift to serve her purpose. Without my help you’re only going to end up tied to her pole in the cellar. Once you’re down there, her chosen host will gut you, pull out your bones, and make them into a fucking chair! It’s inevitable. Stay here and live, Joshua. You can always get another whore to fuck.”

Conner reached out and closed his own hand around Joshua’s fist. “Go on, do it, man. Murder me. Be just like her, become a killer.” Conner growled deep then jerked forward, still holding onto Joshua’s fist.

The glass shard slid easily into Conner’s neck. His body fell forwards, hot blood gushing from the wound when the glass slipped from Joshua’s hand. He screamed out in horror, falling backward onto the other fragments as the man’s body followed him down, landing over his shoulders and head.

The man’s blood filled his mouth. He gagged, panicking arms pushing the corpse off him. Joshua scrambled to his feet, staggered to the other side of the room, fell to his knees, and threw up. “I’m so sorry,” he spluttered, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “I didn’t want to make you dead, Conner.” He stood up, facing his crime. Accusing eyes glared at him. “You made me do it; I wasn’t going to hurt you, not really.” The lake of blood spread across the floor, creating glass islands in a sea of scarlet. The spill stopped before the gloss touched the tip of his boots.

His aching guts had not stopped their protests. He swallowed down what remained, determined to finish what he set out to do the moment Joshua woke and discovered the green eyed man’s intentions.

He lifted his foot, hesitating, not wishing to defile the man any further by stepping in what just minutes ago was flowing through Conner’s still living body. Joshua jumped to the left, and climbed onto the table, crawling across the surface, until his hands gripped the edge.

As he leaned towards the man’s pockets, his eyes shifted back to his face. Joshua shrieked and fell back into the blood as Conner winked. “No, no fucking way,” he cried, splashing back to the door. He crashed against its surface, crunching himself into a ball, imagining that corpse crawling through his own blood, holding the shard that Joshua used to murder him. He moaned in soft tones, fearing that Conner’s prophecy that his mind had tilted was coming to fruition.

“It’s not real. It’s not real, it’s not real.” His mantra gave him the courage to turn his head to witness that the man hadn’t moved, and the shine of life had left Conner’s eyes. The corpse looked as menacing as that table.

None of that mattered, there was no way he would go near the body. He was doomed to stay where he shivered, his suit continuing to degrade as the killer took more bodies. Joshua roared out in frustration before smacking his head hard against the wood.

The door clicked, swung silently open, showing him the interior of the hallway, two pairs of wet footprints leaving the outer door heading up the staircase.

***

The warmth, and dry towel wrapped around her shivering body did not compensate for the impulsive urge to flee from this house right now. Mavis couldn’t give a hoot if she was naked under this fluffy green towel, or that the heavens had opened moments after spotting the house. All she wanted right now was to feel safe again, to not expect some calamity to occur at any moment.

“What the hell are you grinning at?” Nigel, like herself had shed his clothing after finding these towels placed on the huge circular polished oak table that dominated this room. Bookcases reaching up to the ornate ceiling surrounded them, all full of spines written in some strange language; even the alphabet looked alien. She turned back to her stolen date. “Come on, spill it. You haven’t stopped smirking since we undressed.”

He sat in one of the dining chairs. It surprised Mavis that the frail looking thing didn’t collapse under his weight. She’d never seen chairs look so thin.

“Am I not allowed to smile now?” He spread his legs and leaned back, placing his thick arms around the back of his head and stretched. Just look at this place, girl. The house is obviously empty, yet it has everything we need to be comfortable. Reminds me of that house made of cake that Hansel and Glenda found. Yeah, just like that.”

“It was Gretel, you moron, and can you remember what happened to them?”

Why couldn’t this idiot see the obvious warning signs? No way could this house be empty. The owner was probably having a bath or something. She dare not imagine what they’d do to the pair of them after discovering she and Nigel had broken in and made themselves right at home, apart from blowing off their heads with a shotgun. The folk who lived in these big houses always had shotguns, and dogs.  God, Mavis hated dogs almost as much as she hated spiders.

“Sorry, doll. I was never into fairy stories. The only reason I remember that bit was because of the cake. Didn’t a bunch of bears chase them through some woods? Look, does it really matter? We’re out of the pissing down rain and comfortable.” He chuckled. “As well as naked. It’s obvious what should happen next.”

“Yeah, we get the hell out of here before the owner comes back and finds us using all of his stuff.”

Mavis picked her sodden white top from the back of another chair; the heat from the open fire made the cloth warm to touch. It would take more than a few minutes to dry this and her other garments. She couldn’t stay here for another second, never mind another minute. She loosened the towel and let it fall to the carpet.

“Yeah, baby,” purred Nigel, “come and sit on my knee.” He pulled back his own towel, exposing his rigid manhood. “See anything you like?” He winked, wrapping his fingers around the thick shaft.

“Cover yourself up for crying out loud.” Mavis turned her back, shrugging on the wet top. She wasn’t going to bother with the panties and bra, figuring the walk home with her skin next to one layer of clothing would be torture enough without the scaffolding making her sore. Christ, if only she could turn back the clock.

She yelped out as Nigel’s hands found her breasts. She twisted her hips away from his erection. “Get the fuck off me, you idiot. This isn’t the right time.”

“Enough of the hard to get routine, baby. Of course it’s the right fucking time.” His rough fingers played with her nipples through the wet fabric. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

Mavis reached down, her fingers grabbing his shaft.

“Oh yeah.” His breathing quickened. “Wanna suck me? God, that so turns me on.”

She tightened her grip, ensuring her nails dug into the tender flesh. His hands whipped back, closing around her fingers. Already she felt the organ softening.

“Get the fuck off it, you manic bitch. Ow, that really does fucking hurt!”

She turned, her blazing eyes seeing nothing more than a small child encased in a suit of adult flesh. Tears filled his eyes. Mavis sighed; she let him go and stooped to retrieve her dropped shirt. “Be thankful that I didn’t put that in my mouth, my jaw is strong, and my teeth are very sharp.”

“You’re insane,” he whispered, clutching his crotch and backing away. “What the hell is wrong with you? Why me, for God’s sake.” He gazed up at the ornate ceiling. “Why did I have to be stuck with such a cold hearted bitch?”

Her own tears blurred Mavis’ eyes. “How dare you call me names!” She forced the top over her chest, the tears flowing even more when she saw the lust in his eyes returning; his gaze had not left her breasts.

Nigel sank to the floor. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “It’s just that you really are beautiful and I …” he sighed heavily. “Well, I just thought you liked me too. I don’t want to hurt you, Mavis. He looked into her eyes. “I still don’t get why you want to leave this place, but if that’s what you want, then fair enough, we’ll get dressed and go.”

She wrapped the towel over her top. “Don’t get me wrong, Nigel. I do like you. If I hadn’t thought you were a bit of a cutie do you think I’d have climbed into your car in the first place?”

Mavis didn’t really think of herself as a complicated woman, not when it came to her notion of how a man ought to treat a lady. She looked back to that darkened corner in the club, feeling her emotions knot up at the sight of that hunky beefcake making her friend laugh and giggle. She should have known better, it had to be a combination of too much vodka and jealousy that caused her to react in such an undignified manner. All she saw approaching that wobbly table was the man of her dreams wining and dining her best mate – and not her.

Somewhere in that distorted reality she saw Trixie and this hunk, sitting in some lush but quiet restaurant with his warm hands over hers, both deep in intimate conversation, with him more listening than speaking, empathising while she explained about her mum and dad breaking up, about how her older brother once tried to get into bed with her when he was drunk, about how her grades in uni have slipped. About anything at all.

Her short-sighted grab had landed her with everything her best mate wanted in a man, more hormones than a drugged up stallion, with a cock to match. The best meal deal she would have got from Nigel would have been a portion of fish and chips, with a tub of mushy peas on the side, if she’d have let him take her from behind.

Look, I’m really sorry about all of this, Nigel.” She took a deep breath, collected his soaking clothes and carried them over to his slumped form. “Please, take me back to the road?” She dropped the pile onto his ankles. “Look, it’s still early, Nigel. Why don’t I do you a deal? Walk me back into town and we can find Trixie. I’ll say that I had to get home or some crap like that and you gave me a lift.  Whatever we say, she’ll swallow it.” Mavis chuckled, “She does swallow by the way.”

The man sitting against the bookcase didn’t respond. Her smile fell away. “Nigel, are you okay?” She nudged his foot, jumping back in shock as he slid down, the side of his head smacking against the carpet. “Oh fuck, Nigel!”

Mavis spun around and ran over to the open door, her towel falling away. She had to get to a phone! There must be one somewhere. “Help!” she yelled, “Oh God, please help!”

“What the hell has gotten into you, Mavis?  Is this just because I don’t know the names in some bullshit fairy story?”

She looked behind her. Nigel was back on the chair, slouched in the same position, his towel over his legs.

“What the fuck are you playing at?” She then saw Nigel’s clothes hung over the other chair, in the exact position as he left them. Mavis looked down, seeing her towel wrapped around her naked body. She picked up her own top, running the fabric between her fingers, knowing from the feel that this hadn’t been near her body since she first took it off.

Mavis stood in front of Nigel and let the towel fall to the ground. “Tell me what you see.”

The man jumped back, the chair tipping back. “Oh my, so that’s what you look like!” He pulled back his own towel. “Come on, you, let’s play.”

She shook her head, grabbed her top, and pulled it over her shoulders, not allowing her gaze to drift from his eyes. “I shouldn’t have stolen you from Trixie. You belong to her, not me.” Mavis threw him his clothes, so trying not to let that hallucination to dominate her thoughts. Yet how could she not?  It felt real, as real as this right now, but it couldn’t be. Nigel didn’t have enough intellect to lie convincingly.  She stepped away from him and grabbed her trousers.

“There is no way on this planet that me and you are going to be an item. Deal with that right now. You want hot sex, fine. I can sort that out. Just not for a couple of hours. Get back to town and I’ll patch things up with Trixie. That silly girl will believe anything I say.” Mavis pulled on her trousers, feeling so much better once they were fastened. “Only if we leave this place now, I mean like straight away.”

It took effort not to breathe out a sigh of relief when Nigel stood up, dropped the towel, and began to dress. He still looked baffled but Mavis could deal with that as long as he continued to dress. She saw no point in explaining why they had to go, basically because she couldn’t explain it herself. That didn’t matter; he’d do whatever she said as long as he received his reward.

“How do you know she’ll still be in the club? More likely, she’ll be getting holed by some other fellow right now.”

Nigel looked at her with the sullen look that she’d seen on the face of him from the waking dream.

“I am a considerate lover, you know, babe. I can promise you a good time.”

“Finish dressing, Nigel. Let me worry about her.” She picked up her purse, opened it, and dropped ten pounds on the table. “That’s to cover our inconvenience,” she replied. “Now if you’re ready, let’s get out of here. The sooner we get back to Radfield, the quicker you can get back to the girl of your dreams.” Without prompting, Mavis took his hand. She held it up to her face and kissed the back. “You two will look so good together, you know. I’m telling you right now, Nigel, that you’d better prepare yourself. Trixie won’t let you out of her bed.”

His eyes widened. “Seriously?”

“Time to go.” Mavis hurried over to the door, now feeling like she was about to take an over-excitable dog for a walk. “And I’m really sorry for squeezing you so hard.” His bafflement only increased.

“I still don’t get why you want to leave, Mavis.” He giggled. “Not that I want to stay here any more, obviously.” He swiped the note from the table and pushed it into her other hand. “Look, whoever does own this place has more money than sense. He’ll probably see it as an insult. Believe me on this one.”

She only listened with half an ear. The hallway just beyond the open door took up most of her attention, particularly the painting hung opposite the door. She squinted, pulling the still jabbering man along. “Shut up a minute, Nigel and look at that.”

His whole body shuddered. “No fucking way,” he whispered, pushing past her body as he ran into the hallway. Nigel grabbed the frame and slowly shook his head. “How the fuck can a picture of me be on this wall?”

The situation would have knocked her sideways if she already hadn’t experienced one Twilight Zone episode tonight already. Yet he took it all in his stride, his voice never wavered. He sounded more curious than terrified. Her heart did start to hammer out a loud beat when Nigel’s fingers sank into the picture frame.

Crumbs of gold and white drifted to the floor, some sticking to Nigel’s wet clothes. “Okay, so I didn’t expect that to happen,” Nigel held out his hands, turning them around, his eyes looking at the thin layer of crumbs coating his thick fingers.

“Don’t do it!” she yelled.

Nigel grinned at Mavis, ignored her warning, and pushed two fingers into his mouth. “It tastes of cinnamon. It’s really nice.”

His gormless face showing no indication that cinnamon tasting picture frames was anything but normal.

“For crying out loud,” she shouted. “Isn’t there a single bell inside that thick skull, sounding out the general alarm?” Mavis took a deep breath. “Never mind, come on, we need to get out of here.” She paused. “Is that jam?”

Scraps of ragged bits of red jelly slid down both sides of his mouth.

“It tastes of cinnamon,” he repeated. “It’s really nice.”

Nigel dragged his hooked fingers down the side of the frame, his digging revealed thin white bones connected together and to the wall with purple and yellow tendons. That looked like raw meat. The man greedily pushed what he’d scraped out into his open mouth.

The other paintings had begun to change. Wood transformed to meat, hanging off the pictures like wet scarlet rag. Mavis ran up to Nigel, slapped the shredded flesh out of his fingers and grabbed his wrist, pulling his limp body towards the only door that remained open.

Through the choking gloom, worn grey stone steps led down towards absolute blackness. She slammed her hands hard against the door frame. Even with her options down to only this route, there was no way she was going down there. The stench lifting out of the darkness stripped the breath out of her throat. Mavis turned away, imagining that she just saw the entrance to hell.

Nigel’s milky eyes gave no indication that the mind was still in there. “Come on, there’ll be another route.” She pulled the man around, trying to remember through which door they found the towels. Her companion shadow followed her without prompting as she ran over to the next door on her left. She wrapped her shaking fingers around the handle, fear and frustration bubbling over when it failed to turn in either direction. “Fuck you! She screamed, smashing her boot against one of the lower door panels.

“He’s just a herd animal, Mavis.”

She spun around, her heart in her throat at the sight of a grey coated man framed in the open doorway. She instinctively grabbed Nigel’s wrist and pulled his body against her. The man turned his masked face, his black eye holes finding her terrified stare.

“Yet even the most placid of animals can show a streak of violence if pulled from their routine.”

Mavis kicked at the door again, crying out in triumph when she saw the panel crack. The stranger took a step away from the doorway; his movement gave her the first sight of a thick bladed weapon hanging from his waist. He chuckled whilst his fingers curled over the brown handle.

“Wake up, you big ape!” she gasped, violently shaking his arm. She felt like a dog with a rag doll in her mouth. “Fuck this!” Mavis saw the man take another step closer, the weapon now held in both hands. She pushed Nigel into the door. The wooden frame cracked just above the handle. She heard the masked man mutter a silent curse. A savage grin found a place on her face as she pulled Nigel away from the door and slammed his large body forward, a large cry leaving her mouth when the door flew open.

As she ran into the room, all she heard was an animal roar of anger from the hallway. Mavis pushed the door shut, holding it with both her hands. “Nigel, come on, please snap out of it, find something to protect ourselves.” No sounds slipped through the door; even so, she dare not move. “Please, wake up!”

“Cinnamon.”

A soft moan escaped her mouth. That word had not come from Nigel. She slowly turned, the light dimming, changing from white to soft red. Stonework pushed through patterned wallpaper, the stench of decay followed. Two figures faced her when her back fell against the wood.

The masked man’s gloved hand gripped Nigel’s hair, holding his head up, the weapon gently resting against Nigel’s neck. The walking slumber had left the big man. Mavis saw utter terror in Nigel’s eyes.

He was tied to a thick pole stretching from the stone floor up to the ceiling. Stone steps climbed up to a rectangle of white light behind the two men. “Let him go,” she growled, sliding to the floor, her hands searching through the detritus there in search of anything she could use to hurt their persecutor. “Don’t you dare hurt him!”

The man laughed out loud. He dropped the weapon, its clang drowning out the choked gasp from Nigel as the man chopped him in the neck with the edge of his hand. He lunged forward and grabbed the top of her blouse. “Fire that burns the brightest gives my spirit the most fuel.”

He threw her past Nigel’s slumped body, both her arms hitting the edge of the stairs. She clenched her jaw tight, not allowing him the pleasure of hearing her cry out. Mavis got on her shaking legs. Seeing the huge sword by Nigel’s feet, she staggered towards it, despite knowing she wouldn’t be able to even tighten her fingers around the handle, let alone lift it. She refused to give up though.

The man laughed again, marching over to her. Mavis shrank back, “Get away from me!”

He picked up the weapon by the handle, dragging the sword across the stone. “I might even save you until the last, Mavis. The wait will make you all the more sweeter to taste.”

Mavis reached the corner and shrieked when the wall opened up.  She fell backwards, landing in an untidy pile on soft green carpet.

The warm fire, thin chair, and Nigel’s shoes greeted her when she opened her eyes. There was no sign of either of them though. Mavis staggered over to the door, not surprised to discover it locked.

“Turn around, my pretty.”

Mavis spun and saw the walls lined with paintings, each one showing the same moving image of the scene from the cellar. Silently weeping, Mavis watched in horror as the masked man sliced Nigel open from chest to stomach  before sliding his hands inside the rent, his fingers clasping the flesh and pulling, the sound of the tearing even drowning out Nigel’s agonising shrieks.

Act Seven

Smothered in a blanket of dead emotion, Clarice pushed her back harder against the corner of the wall, wanting the stones to dissolve, giving her escape from this nightmare of lament, fury, accusations, and wretchedness.

They had yet to find Joshua. Her poor boyfriend was lost somewhere in this house of fucking madness. Clarice lifted her gaze from the heavily patterned carpet, watching the two brothers both unleashing anger and grief.

They stumbled over Barbra’s torn clothing a few minutes ago. There was no doubt in any of their minds that the girl had met the same fate as the hanging carcass upstairs.  Whoever had removed the material also peeled off her skin, dried blood gluing it to the inside of the dress.

Clarice hoped Joshua was still okay, and against all feelings, she hoped he’d stay away at least until Bryan had calmed down. That fucking moron had already convinced himself that her boyfriend had done the deed. His brother, the man’s only stabling influence crouched, unmoving, still holding the hem of Barbra’s top in both hands. He seemed oblivious to Bryan’s outspoken threats, each one bursting out in hard breaths as he paced the dining room.

She pushed her back harder against the wall as the big man stormed past her. Clarice wanted to close her eyes, only opening them once Josh had returned and he’d got them all out of here.

“Where the fuck is he?” Bryan turned around; he saw her as if for the first time. “Call his name, Clarice.” He paused. “No, fuck that shit. Yell out the bastard’s name as loud as you can. Me and him are having words.”

“No,” she whispered. “You’re going to hurt him.”

He smiled. Clarice saw those fine white teeth and shuddered, seeing a shark in human form. He wasn’t going to just hurt her boyfriend. This maniac intended to rip him apart, taking out their shared fear, sorrow, and frustrations on him.

“Wrong answer, bitch. You see, if you don’t start shouting like somebody is beating on you, somebody really is going to beat on you.”

Clarice got to her feet. “You lay one finger on me and I swear to God that I’ll…”

“You’ll what, shout for your weakling dickhead boyfriend to rescue you? Fuck, more likely he’s already found a way out of here and scurried back to the car.”

“Leave it alone, Bryan.” Tommy gazed at the pair of them. “I want to find Josh as well.” He caught his breath, gently laying the clothing behind him. “We need to stick together. I don’t want to lose any more of my friends.”

Bryan turned away, a disgusted sneer wiped across his face. The man stalked over to the large window, pressing his face against the glass. “I’m really sorry about your Barbra,” he muttered, staring through the window. “Trusting Joshua is going to be the worst decision that you ever make though. I’m sorry, but it’s true.”

“How do we know that you didn’t do it, Bryan?

“Are you having a fucking laugh?” he yelled, fury etched on his face. “Clarice, you really think that I’d murder my own brother’s woman, you twisted bitch?”

She carefully shrugged, attempting to keep her own temper in check. “Why not?  We were all apart from each other when Barbra disappeared.”

Tommy walked up to his brother and grabbed his arm. “Come here, Clarice,” he said softly.

She looked at both of them.  Bryan was a coiled spring, a torrent of violence ready to release. Could Tommy really keep him in check? “No,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, Tommy, I mean no disrespect, but that brother of yours needs caging.”

Before she could react he lunged forward, Tommy’s big hand folding over her wrist. He pulled her away from the wall.

“Your words, as distasteful as they are, shouldn’t be disregarded.”

“Have you lost your mind, Tom? Come on, it’s fucking obvious. He isn’t here, so it must be him. Wake up, man!”

Tommy sighed. “You yourself called him a weakling. Could a weakling do that to Barbra?” he looked into Bryan’s eyes. “It would take somebody of considerable strength.”

The insinuation took a moment to sink in.

Bryan struggled in his brother’s iron grip. “Wait, you ain’t going to do it.  Are you seriously suggesting that I murdered her? Christ, I’m your own brother; you must be as fruity as her to think that.”

“And Josh is my best friend.”

“The other man said there was a mask, whoever wore it was compelled to kill.”  She looked into Tommy’s eyes, wondering if it really was a good idea to repeat the man’s words, considering she had no chance to getting out of Tommy’s grip.

“So, this mask makes people kill? It’s not that original. Send your Daughter to the Grinder and Faceless Dismember both used that idea in their movies.”

She gazed open jawed at Bryan, seriously questioning if the man was beginning to lose a grip on reality. The built up aggression vanished like smoke, as if the opportunity to show off his film trivia overshadowed the fact that all that remained of Barbra was some tattered clothing with attached skin.

“You two are the only ones who went into the cellar.” The look she received from Tommy made her wish she had kept her mouth firmly shut. The menace she saw in those eyes had no place on the man’s usually calm face. He now looked just like Bryan.

“I think that was a very brave speech, young lady,” he replied. “It is considering your situation. If it helps at all, I saw no mask when I went down there, and if I didn’t see one, then how could Bryan be our killer?” He paused. “Who’s to say that it was even in the cellar?” He released the pair of them.

Bryan rubbed his wrist before hurrying over to the window. He pressed his face against the glass. “It’s dark outside,” he muttered. “How long have we been in here?”

His features still hadn’t regained the familiar snarl; to Clarice’s eyes, the lad was almost unrecognisable. “Let’s go find Josh,” keeping her voice low, not wanting Bryan’s hackles to rise again. “I don’t think he will be that far.”

“Who’s to say that the guy wasn’t just feeding us a line?” Bryan moved back from the window. “I know there’s been some pretty freaky things that have happened in here, like these fancy clothes and the house suddenly going back in time or something, but don’t you think it’s more likely that our scruffy pal is really the killer, or maybe there’s a few of them? That’s not beyond the realms of bullshit.”

Bryan left them standing and left the room; he peered around the door frame. “Are you two coming or what?”

Winding through Clarice like two serrated vines, unease and fear had already ripped apart any hope of staving off despair, but at least the consistency gave her a tenuous rock to cling to.

His charge into an ocean of surreal took even that away. Clarice numbly followed the brothers into the hallway, her eyes tracing Tommy’s rippling muscles beneath his sweat-soaked shirt. Somewhere else in this house a female scream overlaid the sound of their footsteps on the wooden floorboards. She dismissed it as just another sick illusion and from their reactions, both Tommy and Bryan felt the same. Odd how such a simple thing as a shared action could drastically turn around Clarice’s dire prediction of her immediate fate.

“Why do I feel as though we’re walking through multiple scenes from your horror movie collection, Tommy?”

His steps slowed down to a stop. Tommy turned, staring at Clarice, his eyes as flat as a still pond. “Teenagers in some reality changing house, unable to get out. Then add in a couple of extra characters, one to act as a convenient plot device, and the other to sow seeds of confusion?”

She nodded. “Like someone has gone through your minds, picking out a suitable scenario?”

His legs collapsed from under him, falling forward, crashing against the wall. She yelped and dropped down beside him, placing her hands under his chin, lifting his head off his chest.

“I want my Barbra back,” His whole body shuddered, and Tommy wept.

She held him tight, feeling his hot tears soak into her top. “Nothing in here is what it seems. Hold onto that thought. She might not really be dead, Tommy, just as these clothes might not really be here. Someone is screwing with our minds, making us doubt ourselves, our surroundings, even our sanity.” She placed her hand around his and squeezed. “We find Josh, we find Barbra, and we find a way out of this place. Nothing else matters. Agreed?”

A reluctant smile formed on his wet face. “If you say so.”

She nodded, returning the sentiment, yet deep down Clarice still felt that she couldn’t trust him, she couldn’t trust either of them, but what other choice did she have? Until Clarice was back in Joshua’s arms, she wouldn’t feel whole. She looked past Tommy’s head. “Wait, where’s Bryan?”

***

The oppressive shadows followed Joshua through every empty room he entered. Not once had he encountered resistance to his flight from Conner’s sprawled body. Yet the illusion of freedom gave him no comfort as he knew that it really was just that, one big fucking illusion. Like a hamster on its wheel he pressed on, finding more of the same in every part of the house his tired, aching feet took him. He only paused, finally stopping and deciding not to continue when he entered a large room, paintings showing the same torture scene lining all four walls. He cast his eyes down, not wanting to look at the grotesque images, shivering;  instinct telling him that what they displayed hadn’t been scraped out of an artist’s warped imagination.

This wasn’t the first time he had been in this room, only the last time the paintings assaulted his eyes, Joshua had been on the top floor. “No more bullshit,” he muttered, picking up a damp towel lying by his feet. This had been sprawled on the carpet too; he recognised the colour.

He sat on a thin chair and dropped the towel. Staring into the fire, Joshua attempted to control his breathing while considering his next move. He stared into the red and yellow flames licking the charred logs stacked at the base. “This hamster is not going to play any more. Whoever, whatever you are, you can go fuck yourself.”

His forced bravado got him nothing but silence. Joshua shut away the feeling of frustration, tension, and stress when he found that the house truly was silent. The clock hung on the wall, crunched up between two of the paintings, still moved but no longer ticked. The flame continued to consume the wood without noise. What concerned him more than either of those inexplicable events was that he no longer heard his heartbeat or his breathing. Joshua opened his mouth, no words came forth.

He discovered that only his head moved, everything under the neck refused to obey his commands. He was paralysed. His panic had no time to solidify as one sound did push through the blanket of quiet. Joshua jerked his head away from the flickering of colour and stared at the open door, the sound increasing in volume, becoming more recognisable, turning his guts to liquid as the noise signified that his fleeing had done him no good.

Joshua knew he was whimpering as his imagination filled in the blanks, painting a picture of what was heading towards the door, the noise now unmistakable as wet flesh slapping against floor, walls, and ceiling. The light cast from the lights beyond the room retreated as moving shadow reclaimed the patterns of the wall. He wanted to shut his eyes, knowing his imminent silent scream was likely to stop his heart, yet even his eyes now refused to move.

The sound outside the room stopped. His perception slowed down, the fire’s movement ceased. He saw two paintings, one at either side of the door, blur into a medley of blues, greens, and reds, but mainly reds, the swirling patterns losing their definition, slowing down and reforming. Two drawn faces screamed back at him. Joshua saw himself frozen in mid shriek, his flesh hanging down in ragged strips, thick blood filling his mouth.

The bubble of stillness burst apart, sound detonated through him. He heard himself screaming out, the noise only intensified as the picture to match the sounds slid around the door.

His frozen body watched as both Arnold and Conner, their flesh combined, fused together, climbed into the room; four arms, two fully fleshed, and the others stripped of skin clung onto the wall, their claw-like nails digging into the plaster.

“I’m sorry,” he shouted out, total fear gripping his heart in a cold grip, his eyes bulged out, still unable to move the rest of his body as the amalgamation of dead human meat dropped onto the floor, leaving puddles of gelatinous crimson mess as it neared Joshua, both its mouths opening, the lower jaws stretching down like hot toffee.

He moved backwards. His body was still paralysed, but he could see his location shifting. It took a moment for his terrified mind to catch up on events. Somebody was behind the chair moving him away from the monstrosity. “Oh God, thank you, thank you!” It had to be Clarice, who else could it be? His prospective attacker lunged forward, three arms whipping forward, the longest one catching his ankle. Joshua howled in agony as those long, black claws dug into his flesh, finding the wounds from his fall outside. He thought he was going to pass out from the pain, the ordeal made worse with him being unable to move away.

His rescuer performed that action for him, violently pulling the chair and his body away, the claws pulling out of his flesh, shreds of skin and material still sticking to the claws.

“Can you move anything?”

“No,” he replied, thinking that he’d just heard the voice of an angel. His weight shifted and he yelled out when the chair collapsed and he found his legs, body, and arms smashing into carpet while dozens of human bones fell on his head and chest. Joshua looked up, the light blocked by the face of a young woman. He had no idea who she was, nor did he care. She held out her arm and he grabbed it, whooping in joy when he found his legs now worked.

“Jump!”

He threw himself forward, kicking up his legs as two distorted heads whipped around, their jaws snapping on nothing but air. Holding on as tight as he could, Joshua allowed this vision to pull him out of that room.

***

The young bones bent down, forming a wide arc. She nodded to herself, holding the ends between her knees while her bloodied fingers expertly tied and knotted the thin strips of hide holding her latest additions in place. Already the piece had taken form. It needed more work; a full month of drying, followed by a light kiss in a few essential places with her scalpel before she could even start thinking of assembling all the completing pieces. Time didn’t matter, not for her. Once her last players were still and ready for processing, she could allow the true pleasure of creation to guide her fingers to compose whatever direction the spirit took.

She lay back, the rough bed made from the contents of the girl’s insides cushioned her against the stone floor. Those cooling organs felt so comforting against her naked skin. Wrapped in smooth, wet meat, she sighed in contentment. It had been much too long since she’d allowed herself to take comfort in the simple pleasures that work with the animals brought.

The forced containment had dried up her house, dried up her seed, and almost rendered her mask inoperative. No more would she take from beyond the confines of her territory. She brushed her fingers along the front of his mask, tracing the edge, vaguely wondering what dreams her host was enjoying whilst she used his body to disembowel this apparent abundance of food. This strong male body was blissfully unaware that she hid inside him, the way it should be always. Leaving the house before allowed her host to become aware; to share her enjoyment of the eating of the meat as well as the joy brought from her growing skill with the bones.

She’d been so close to joining her long gone sisters in the other place from where none of her kind could escape. Allowing a human to experience had been the height of her folly. Her host eventually dispensed the fine arts as triviality, only focusing on the kill, not caring the arts were why she took the lives, the brutal animal mind only craving for blood.

Enough with dwelling on past events, the lesson was learned. Right now, her guests needed a little more stimulation. It was time to up the game, to allow her two avatars a little more freedom. The house flesh-slaves could be remarkably inventive if she loosened their chains.

She sat up, sighing as coils of pipe slid off her skin, leaving a cold trail of jelly in its wake. Her preparations were already in place and in truth, there wasn’t much more she needed to do; even so, it didn’t hurt to verify.

With caution built in to her species, she traversed the cellar floor, dancing through piles of unused bones still inside their meat jackets, around pools of congealing gore, reaching the back wall with only the stain from the intestines drying on the host’s skin.

“You have to go back now, my pretty,” she murmured softly. “We need to keep up the pretence.” She looked into the only mirror in the house that didn’t contain any surprises. The strong face, his lines exacting the classical profile, so reminiscent of the times when she and her sisters filled the world with such magnificent buildings. Thousands of humans sacrificed for their art.

Those times would never return. Still, she was long way from joining her sisters, she’d learned her lesson; the compulsory hibernation denied the art from her, that could never happen again.

She pulled off the mask, her spirit staying with her artefact as the host stepped into the wall, its pliant material embracing the body, pushing the man back to where she took him. Until the trigger inside her host compelled him to don the mask again.

Act Eight

The comfortable weight of his find made Bryan feel complete. He’d caught sight of the thick two foot pole lying against the edge of the wall a few minutes ago. Looking at the two screw holes in one end, he guessed that this used to be part of a curtain assembly. Why it was just by his feet was anybody’s guess, but he was the last person to look a gift horse in the mouth. The smooth grain did slip in his wet palms, but a piece of material ripped from the bottom of his t-shirt took care of that little matter.

Suitably armed, he now believed he was ready to tackle anything that this fucked-up house would throw at him. Bryan would have preferred a sword, or even a large knife, but he had yet to find one of those. Come to think of it, he tried to remember if they had even found the kitchen.

He frowned; the past hour or so had blurred together. He’d been in so many rooms already he forgot which ones he’d already explored. Bryan ground to a halt. This house was large, yet he felt that he’d been in not a dozen rooms but hundreds. “That’s got to be bullshit,” he growled.

Whatever, none of that mattered. All he cared about was to find out where that weasel was hiding. Joshua was the one who’d killed Barbra. That fact was as obvious as the nose on the front of his face. The little shit had been trying to get into her panties for frigging years. He could see it right now. Those two all alone, him seeing the chance to take advantage that the girl was fucking terrified after seeing that skinned bloke, hung like a pig in a butcher’s shop. He must have put his arm around her neck and whispered a few sweet words of comfort in her ear.

Like she’d fall for any of that nonsense. He twisted his fist around the base of his improvised weapon, seeing the reaction as if he had been an invisible observer in that room.

The girl wasn’t a fucking idiot, she had already found her true love. That sad excuse for a man wasn’t fit to lick the shit off his brother’s boots. The lad was a class one dickhead, simple as. Bryan sighed, wishing that Clarice shared his opinion of her current boyfriend. Still, there was time enough for her to change her mind.

He ducked into the first open door that he came to, thinking about how to go about this. Oh, he was going to beat ten bells of crap out of Joshua as soon as he found the murdering bastard, but he still needed him to look recognisable as a human being. If he dragged a bloodied and battered mess of rags back to Tommy and Clarice then it wouldn’t matter what the fucker confessed to, all they’d see was a snivelling boy that Bryan had tortured.

He needed Joshua looking undamaged; just to watch their faces change when he admitted Barbra’s murder would be enough reward for him. Oh sure, the inevitable fallout would definitely be a popcorn event. Tommy would kill the slimy little fucker and Clarice would be his. He grinned to himself, knowing that this version of the future could well happen. He just needed to find out where the little shit had hidden away.

Bookcases stretching from floor to ceiling covered every wall in this room. He wandered over, resting his weapon on one of the dusty shelves while pulling out a thin volume. What looked like chicken marks scratched in dirt covered every sheet of the cracked, yellow parchment. Bryan dropped the book and picked up his weapon; this room would give him no clues to Joshua’s whereabouts.

He stopped in the middle of the room when his foot trod on a length of rope. “Hold the front press,” he said, smiling. “Maybe I was wrong, my quarry has been in here.” He bent down, his thick fingers wrapping around the end of the rope. The last time he’d seen this was when Bryan had passed the makeshift lead to Joshua, telling him not to let go under pain of death.

Could this mean that perhaps the stranger had killed Barbra? He shook his head. No, he couldn’t accept that theory. If Joshua was innocent then he’d never get Clarice. “Maybe they did the deed together?”

Yeah, that one damning thought struck a chord all right. That cowardly shit-stain wouldn’t have the guts to do anything like that himself. He darted his eyes along the lower bookshelves, noting not one of the books were missing or dislodged. It was obvious to him now that the two men hadn’t been fighting.

Bryan could see what must have happened. The stranger’s slimy voice, plying Joshua with suggestion after suggestion, had finally caused the chicken legs to stop right here where Bryan stood.

They must have agreed on a deal.

“That fucking little worm,” he snapped. Of course, how could he have not seen it from the start? The stranger had obviously wanted Barbra, for whatever his perverted purposes. Joshua had let him go on the proviso that the stranger would show him and him alone how to get out of this house.

His new pal might have been the one to do the deed, but the other’s would see that the freak was only the gun. It was Joshua who had pulled the trigger. He nodded to himself, satisfied that he now had all the answers. Bryan left the room, intending to track them down. He paused, his eyes squinting on the door opposite, specifically the length of rope wrapped around the handle. The other end was tied to a pipe on the floor. “Okay, so this is way beyond fucked up.” The rope was identical to the one he still held in his hands, right down to the dried blood coating the end.

“No, this has to be bollocks. That Joshua is just trying to throw me off the scent.” He turned away, not wanting to look at that offensive image any longer. He had his plan and the facts. The last thing he needed right now was his self doubt to eat into his head. “You can’t fool me, shithead,” he growled, marching along the hallway. “I’m coming for you and your pal.” Bryan tightened his grip around the thick wooden pole. “I’m going to wish you were never even born.”

Every light fitting along the hallway flickered, threatening to plunge him into total blackness. “Bring it on, bitch,” he whispered. Unlike those other fairies, Bryan had no problem in hunting down his quarry in the dark. Hell, he looked forward to it. He was a big lad, but he could move real silent, as quiet as the ghost. He stopped by the top of the stairs, keeping his eyes fixed to the lights directly above him, keeping his breathing shallow. No doubt the others in the house would be doing the same as him. Meaning that if they were close by and they started to panic like the frightened bunnies they were, he’d be able to use their squeaking to locate them.

The lights all flashed, flooding the house with intense red light before they all popped. Bryan blinked twice.  Although his eyes no longer functioned, he was confident enough to navigate through this house with ease. All he needed was some indication that they were close by.

He felt along the wall until his fingers found the banister. He gripped it tight and shuffled forward a couple of inches until the edge of his shoes found the first step. Bryan’s hearing gave him his first clue when a clatter broke the silence. To him, it sounded like something falling onto a hard surface. The object that fell didn’t matter. Bryan made his way down the steps, taking his time, making sure that he made no noise. Even his breathing sounded too loud. He told himself to stop fretting, guessing that his two little bunnies would have more important things to worry about.

Those fools were hiding in the kitchen; there were no other hard surfaces down on the ground floor. Oh, they had just made his job so much easier. He guessed that one of the clumsy idiots had probably knocked a spoon or fork onto the tiles. Bryan so wanted to grin like a loon as he glided across the hallway, his feet making no sound on the thick carpet, instinctively knowing that he was heading directly for the kitchen door.

All he needed was for one of them to utter an urgent whisper or sneeze for Bryan to know where to swing his sturdy wooden pole. At least one of them was about to see the light flashing in front of their eyes.

Bryan stopped by the door and waited, knowing that they couldn’t mask their presence forever. A light breeze brushed past his cheek followed by a low, inhuman moan. Every hair growing up Bryan’s back stood erect. He spun around, sensing movement behind him. The sound of heavy footsteps made him crouch, making himself into a smaller target. He leaned back against the wood, listening to his heart thud against the inside of his ribcage. There was something on the staircase, and by the sounds of those footsteps, it was twice the size of him. It moaned again, definitely sounding more animal than human.

Not daring to make a single sound, Bryan peeled his sweat-coated back off the frame and shuffled across the tiles, painfully afraid that the sound his shoes were making on the floor had already given away his position. He wanted to scream out in frustration. To change from hunter to hunted made his blood boil.

Whatever the fuck was out there growled, its noise travelling through Bryan’s bones. He reached out, desperately searching for the door. He had doubts that even this thick door would be able to keep that thing out, but there was no way he was going to lay down with his feet in the air and allow it to eat him like some doggy treat.

“Move out of the way, Bryan.”

He spun around lashing out at the owner of the strange voice. “Who the fuck is there?” Bryan had no idea who that unseen voice belonged to, nor was he in any mood to be asking questions. He felt penned in now, being attacked from both sides. Bryan swung the weapon again, determined to put the person out of commission before he did have a chance to do him any harm.

He cried out in shock and pain as he was violently thrown across the floor, his back crashing into a hard surface. A loud sigh followed by the sound of the door slamming shut pushed into his dazed mind. Bryan blinked, dropping the pole and slamming his hands against his eyes when blinding light speared into the back of his head.

“Relax, it can’t open doors. We’re safe in here, Bryan.”

Through opened fingers, Bryan moved his eyes from the panelled door across the light green wall until he found the source of that deep serene voice. He pulled his hands away and raised his head. A smiling mid-twenties man of medium height with short-cropped red hair matched his curious gaze.

“Who the fuck are you?” Finding they weren’t alone put another hole in his theory. Bryan didn’t want that at all. He got to his feet, sighing when he found he no longer possessed the wooden pole. It had rolled under a table close to where the stranger stood. Not that it mattered. Bryan outweighed the stranger by at least fifty pounds. He believed he’d be able to take the guy. The others wouldn’t have to know about this. Hell, they’d all suffered from a whole range of mind-fuck episodes. He pushed his racing mind into neutral. Hell, this could even be another one, meaning that the unseen thing beyond that door didn’t exist either. Fuck, there was nothing stopping him from walking right out of here.

“Are you real?” He remembered seeing some old movie as a kid about a road made from yellow bricks. The young lass in that went through a total drug trip as well. She got out by clicking her shoes together or something. Bryan massaged his forehead, watching this mirage seeming to ponder Bryan’s last question. He slammed his heels together three times.

“I’m Conner’s friend and colleague,” he replied. “Although I’m not sure the former label applies any more, not after the crimes that he’s committed tonight.” His smile widened and he extended his arm. “I’m Arnold, by the way.

Bryan shrank back from the hand. “No, you fucking can’t be. I saw your body. We all did. He gazed down at his own hand, seeing the rope held tight. He thought he’d dropped that on the stairs. What the fuck is going on here? His brain saw that precipice on the horizon; beyond that line lay insanity. The more this mirage spoke, the shorter that journey became.

“There’s no place like home,” he mumbled.

“You saw what he wanted you to see. Your friend wanted to take you to an abandoned house cast out in the middle of nowhere.” Arnold moved away from the door and climbed onto a bar stool. He placed his elbows onto the counter and sighed heavily. “Conner has this unique gift of sliding into people’s minds and moving stuff around. He can make you see exactly what you want to see. Me, well I’m immune to his mental distortions, Bryan.”

“So nothing has been real ever since we got in this house? So Barbra is not dead and we could leave at any time?”

He shook his head. “Sorry, Bryan, but no. That pretty girl really is brown bread, and there’s no way you lot will be able to leave this house, not alive anyway.” The man leaned closer. “You see, Conner has found himself another colleague, one that will do his bidding for him, including killing.”

“So I was right all along?”

“What’s in your hand?”

“A rope.” Bryan looked down, seeing a long, thick bladed sword. “Where did this come from?”

“It was lying on the top, just behind you. Don’t you remember picking it up, Bryan?”

A calmness flowed through him, smoothing off the jagged edges, pushing away any doubt. His screaming mind telling him that this was yet another trick, that he never saw any sword in here, that this man really was dead (if he even existed at all)  found no voices left, willing to listen to the protests.

Arnold climbed off the stool and walked over to him. “Look at you, Bryan. The weapon completes the look. You really are a warrior now. It’s time to slay the dragon, my friend. Kill the dragon and its pet to claim your prize.” He wrapped his hand around Bryan’s wrist, lifting the sword up into the air. “Clarice is already yours. You know that don’t you?”

Bryan closed his eyes, imagining the woman wrapping her arms around his waist, leaning forward, her warm lips pressed against his. Yes, he wanted that more than anything else. When he opened his eyes, the man had gone. The open kitchen door displayed an empty hallway. The only evidence that he’d had company at all was the evil looking weapon clasped in his hand.

His original intention to kill the other one and keep Joshua alive would need amending. Not to worry.  From what he’d just learned, Clarice and Tommy would understand. He left the kitchen, his fingers lovingly stoking his new toy, knowing that right now nothing stood in his way, not even the strange inhabitants of this house.

Bryan stopped by the foot of the stairs; he had decided to start from the top and work his way down. Now though, he wasn’t too sure. He frowned, gazing in confusion at the serrated blade held in his hands. Where did he pick this up from? Bryan felt a little strange. What was he supposed to be doing?

***

He laid the black shoe next to the other one on the top of the window shelf and stood back, dropping his eyes to the floor.

“Are you sure they belonged to her?”

Joshua nodded. “Yeah, I’m sure. Barbra loved those shoes.” He waited for the inevitable platitudes to spring forth, something along the lines that she might be still alive, even that the insides sticky with drying blood didn’t mean anything. Joshua turned around to discover she wasn’t even close by. She’d wandered over to another freaky painting and was running her fingers all the way around the frame.

From the little that she’d told him, he guessed that her optimism had taken a turn for the worst when her friend lost his life. She hadn’t really spoken much at all since her dramatic rescue. Not that he minded, the silence gave Joshua room to collect his own thoughts.

She had moved on to the next picture. Could she be just another illusion? After his last encounter, Joshua wasn’t going to rule anything out. Although her friend’s name did ring a bell; he was sure the guy used to go to the gym with both Tommy and Bryan. He dropped his jacket over the shoes and stepped back. With the absence of a body, this was the only way he thought of showing his respects to the girl that he’d known for over ten years.

“Poor Tommy must be beside himself with grief,” he muttered.

“I’m really sorry for your loss, Joshua.” Mavis rested her hand on his shoulder. “Look, we need to keep moving. The quicker we can find your friends, the better.”

His reflection gave him his first real look of the woman’s delicate features. Those soft curves betrayed a hardness that he had never seen in either Barbra or Clarice. This girl was a born survivor yet her fighting spirit obviously showed a degree of subtlety, evident from her statement. Joshua had already envisaged walking around the next corner and finding Clarice’s bloodied shoes lying on the carpet. He had no idea if any of them were still alive. The chances were that any of them could have met the same fate as Barbra or Mavis’s friend.

The lights in the room flickered. The woman gasped and grabbed his hand. “Oh hell, not again.” She pulled him out into the hallway, keeping her fingers tight over his as she raced up the stairs onto the top floor. Long shadows cast from the overhead fittings danced with their fleeing shapes that ran across the deep red carpet.

His heart was already in his mouth when an alien noise filtered through his harsh breathing. It wasn’t like the last time when he’d been unable to move, but since when was that a comfort? This house or whatever lived in here only seemed to have one goal, one purpose. It wasn’t going to stop torturing them until they’d all perished.

Mavis screeched, slammed on the brakes, and jumped to the side when a huge figure jumped out from behind an open door. He dropped to the floor and rolled towards her when something heavy crashed into the floor where his head used to be.

“There you are, chicken legs,” laughed Bryan, working his sword out of the floorboards. He jumped in front of them, hefting his weapon above his head. He glared at Mavis. “You really are a piece of work. Is this Clarice’s replacement?”

Joshua shuffled back but wasn’t quick enough to avoid the savage kick directed at his stomach. The blow forced the air out of his guts. He clutched his stomach, folding up like a broken deckchair, expecting that sword to strike him any moment.

“Were you going to kill her next or were you going to take me or Tommy out next? Good job I found you first.”

“For God’s sake, Bryan,” he said, every word feeling like he was ejecting barbed wire. “I don’t know what you mean. Put that thing down and stop…”

He booted him again. “Stop fucking talking!”

An inhuman scream took away every other sound. Through a cascade of intense agony, Joshua managed to force his eyes open, expecting to see that fusion of the two men slithering towards them, it’s two jaws open like set bear traps. The woman had jumped over his coiled body and dived on Bryan’s head, keeping her fingers curled in his hair as he over balanced, his heavy body smashing into the carpet.

The girl lifted Bryan’s head up as far as she could before slamming it hard against the floor. Her efforts only seemed to enrage him. He roared, bucking his thick body. The man raised his arm, intending to skewer her. She saw the movement and dived to the side, her agile body arching as the blade came within a hairs breadth of slicing through Mavis’ side. She stumbled as his fingers caught her ankle. Snarling, the woman kicked out, her other foot slamming into the top of his head.

Bryan groaned once before going limp. “Boy, you sure do have some pleasant friends, Joshua.” She stamped on Bryan’s hand then kicked the sword to the other side of the hallway. “I hope your other pals are a little more friendly.” Mavis took both of his wrists and dragged his aching form over the top of Bryan.

The paintings passed his eyes as the girl pulled him across the carpet. He so tried to block out the beatings that his body had suffered through since getting to this Godforsaken place, but the two kicks was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Unable to stop himself, his eyes closed as his body shut down. Her voice asking him if he was all right reverberated through the inside of his skull before the more pleasant sound of a female humming filled his head.

“Won’t you come and join me, Pelagia?”

The elusive tone of that sensual voice made the very marrow in his bones shudder with delight. He clambered over the smooth rocks, warm from the baking hot sun. So eager was Joshua to locate the owner of those beautiful words, he missed the dark stains coating the large stones, the surfaces growing wetter the closer he got.

He lifted his hand, a scream drying in his throat at the sight of the vivid red jelly covering his entire palm. Joshua lifted his head, blinking rapidly, seeing the same colour stretched from here to the horizon. An ocean of blood.

“Your face suggests confusion, sister.”

He tore his eyes from the grotesque sight to find the owner of that incredible voice walking towards him, her feet leaving crimson imprints in the golden sand. The vision of pure unadulterated heaven kicked a man’s severed bald head away from her as if it was no more than a forgotten piece of beach trash. She stopped in front of him. Joshua’s head spun as this perfect woman, her naked body, firm and full sending his hormones wild, lowered her head.

She tossed her shoulder-length ash-blonde hair out of her pale blue eyes and pressed her full lips against his, kissing him deep. The scent of sea, decay and exotic spice filled his nostrils.

“We have all missed you, Pelagia,” she murmured, pulling away after running the tip of her tongue across his lower lip. “You have missed all the celebrations.” The woman moved to the side, exposing his traumatized mind to utter horror.

Dozens of corpses lay half buried in the sand. Their bodies ripped open, exposing hearts, livers, intestines and kidneys, the organs glistening and steaming as the sun burned off moisture.

Kneeling beside every broken body, a young woman, bereft of clothes, tended the corpses. They bowed their heads, as if deep in prayer. Joshua felt the sorrow and the tragedy lifting from every girl. Had he strayed into the aftermath of some battle? That these poor women were all mourning the loss of some loved one?

“Now that you’re here though, the construction can begin.”

The woman danced back, keeping her hand gripped around his wrist. She laughed, her musical tones acting as a catalyst. Joshua stumbled, his hands and knees landing on the soft sand. He’d tripped over a cache of weapons: daggers, short swords, mixed with shields and shining helmets; dark blue plumes rose from the top of a helmet next to his knee.

“Come, my sister. Do not worry, none of these Pergomon dogs lived. We are safe from retribution, for now anyway. Come, do not allow your fleeting reservations to trouble you. We have the masks to protect us now.” The girl smiled, “Let’s join our fellow sisters. See? They start the work without us!”

His scream followed Joshua from the vision back to the present. He sat bolt upright, wrapping his cold arms around the warm female body straddling his thighs. “Oh fuck, Clarice,” sobbed Joshua. “I think I’m going mad.”

“Calm down,”

He yelped, jerking his arms away from Mavis. “Jesus, I’m so sorry, I thought …” Tears welled up, Joshua wiped the wetness away. “Shit.”

“You don’t have to apologise,” she replied, smiling. Mavis picked up his limp arms and put them back. “If it helps then you don’t have to stop.” She brushed his damp hair away from his forehead. “I know it’s helping me.” She embraced him, pulling Joshua tight against her chest. “You’re been out for ages, Josh. I can’t tell you how scared I’ve been.” Her voice cracked. “I didn’t think you were going to wake up.”

Joshua lowered his head, resting his face in her hair, filling his nostrils with the faint aroma of her shampoo. She pulled her head back, her lips finding his. He groaned as he kissed her hard, closing his eyes, feeling her soft hands run down the middle of his back, reaching his hips. He grew hard when she let go and pushed him down to the floor.  She hastily unfastened his trousers, allowing his rigid cock to spring out. Mavis lowered her head, her open mouth engulfing his shaft. Joshua bucked forward when she pulled away. He looked at her with pleading eyes, wanting her back. She stood up, removed her jeans and panties, then slowly dropped to her knees, straddling him, guiding his cock between her thighs. Her muscles gripped him tight. She grabbed his wrists, pressed Joshua’s hands over her breasts while she rode him, her movements matching his thrusts.

Joshua cried out, pushing his hips tight against her thighs as his orgasm ripped through his body. As intense pleasure deserted him, Joshua saw her gorgeous face smiling down at him, and he burst into tears. Mavis grabbed his arms tight, pinning them to the floor as she lowered her upper body until the girl’s face was an inch from his.

“Don’t even think about the guilt, the consequences, betrayal, or any of that fucking bullshit” She kissed him again. “We both needed that more than anything.”

“Sorry, Mavis. I didn’t mean to start crying.”

She placed a finger over his lips. “I know you didn’t, blame your body’s chemicals.” Mavis ran her tongue seductively across her lips. You do taste very nice, you know.” She grabbed the base of her top and pulled it over her head, then unclasped her bra, allowing her firm round breasts a little more freedom. “Oh yes, that’s so much better.” She took his head and lifted him, pushing his mouth towards her breasts. “I can feel you hardening, that’s good. Now I want to feel your teeth scraping over my nipples as I fuck you properly. It’s my turn to cum now.”

Joshua did exactly as she ordered, clamping her nipple between his teeth, flicking the bud as she rode him hard, slamming her body into his. He bit down, unable to help himself as he felt on the edge of another orgasm. Joshua tasted blood, yet his actions had only increased her movements, panting and moaning deep. Joshua  licked away her fluid, his fingers digging into her shoulders. She arched her back gripping his thick shaft tight and shuddered, crying out. Joshua pushed her down, holding her body tight against his when he climaxed.

Seconds passed, both unwilling to release each other. Mavis pulled her head back, tears drying on her cheeks. “You almost bit off my nipple.” She sighed in contentment. “Do you feel better now? I know I do.”

Joshua unpeeled his wet arms off her warm skin and lay back down, breathing deep and slow as she gently pulled herself up. When she turned to dress, Joshua pulled his trousers up, fastening the buttons, gazing in complete lust at the sight of her exposed rear. “You are absolutely divine.”

She giggled. “Thank you.” Fully dressed, the girl sat beside him, cross-legged. “Where did you go? You muttered as you slept, Joshua, most of it was intelligible but I caught the word ‘beach’ a couple of times.”

After that joyful experience, the last thing he wanted to discuss was his fucked up dream, or whatever it was. Yet those intense eyes dared him to speak of anything else. “You’re right, I found myself on the edge of a beach, behind a bank of huge pebbles. I saw over a dozen beautiful naked women, each one beside a dead man.” He reached out and wrapped his fingers around her hand. “Pretty much as you are now.” He took a deep breath. I think the men used to be soldiers, ancient Greek or probably Roman, I’m not sure. Thing is, these women were reaching inside these broken corpses, ripping out their skeletons.” He shook. “I woke before I found out why.” He turned on his side. “It’s just that I think it’s important to find out why they were performing those vile acts on those poor men. Another thing I remember. They all must have had the strength of bulls. Those bones came out without any resistance. Like us pulling apart a cooked chicken, straight out of the oven.”

She lifted him off the floor and brushed him down, her hand lingering on Joshua’s thighs. Mavis looked into his eyes. “Are you ready to see if we can find your friends now? It’s possible that they might have some answers to what is happening in here.”

“Have you heard anything at all while I was out of it?” Joshua felt his heart sink when shook her head.

“Just the occasional murderous howl, creaking floorboards, and random knocking from inside these walls. You know, the sort of crap that you’re likely to hear in some low budget horror movie.”

Cold fingers of déjà vu caressed Joshua’s spine. His admiration for this girl went through the roof. How this girl could make light of her experience while he was out of it knocked him for six. He tried to imagine himself in her place, hiding out in some terrifying house, unable to get out, with some half dead stranger for company. Joshua would have lost his marbles within the first five minutes. “Mavis, what happened just now?”

“What happened between us had to be done, Josh. Apart from it being fucking incredible, our coupling made us stronger. It gave us a resilience to help us fight this thing.”

“Jesus, you make it sound so clinical.”

Mavis pulled him over to the door and pulled it open, resting her hand on the edge. Her grip on his hand hurt but he kept quiet.

“Believe me, Joshua, we are both going to need that strength more than anything if we expect to get out of here in one piece. Tell me what you see out there.”

Her out of the blue question caught Joshua on the back foot. Was this some kind of test? “I don’t get what you mean. What am I supposed to be seeing?” He sighed heavily. “I don’t know, a bunch of closed doors, a lot more of those freaky paintings, a few bits of furniture, and some stairs at the end of the hallway leading down to the next floor.”

She nodded. “So you agree that we’re on the top floor?”

“Yeah, I’d say so.”

She held his gaze steady, still gripping the door and keeping a firm grip on his hand. “Mavis, you don’t have to hold on so tight, you know.”

“Yes, I do,” she sighed. “You see, the room that I dropped your sleeping body was on the floor below, and the last time I opened this door I saw the kitchen directly opposite.”

“Oh great, so the rooms keep moving about.” He gently pulled her fingers off the edge of the door and pulled her back into the room. “And you think that if that door shuts between us, we might never see each other again?”

“We need to go.” Mavis pulled him into the hallway, jumping as the door slammed shut behind her.

He took her other hand, wondering what he’d just said. She was acting as though they’d just met again, as if that door really had shut between them. “Mavis, what’s wrong?”

She grabbed the door handle and pushed open the door. He blinked, looking into a completely different room.

Mavis looked down at their coupled hands. “Isn’t it obvious, Josh?”

He shook his head, not having a clue what she was talking about.

“Jesus, you can be thick. You want to find your Clarice more than anything else. Then let’s get the hell out of here. Just how do you think she’d react if she saw me and you holding hands?” She moaned softly.  “No, scratch that, it’s me who’s an idiot. I haven’t thought this through.”

“Stop it, Mavis. I’m not going to leave you, no matter what happens.”

“It isn’t your decision to make though, Joshua. Don’t you see? This house wants us to be alone so it can pick us off one by one. As soon as you let me go, it’ll do everything to put a door between us.”

She fell against his chest and wept. “It isn’t fair. I don’t want…” Mavis slammed her jaw shut.

He gently stroked her hair. “We’re all going to get out of here. Nobody else is going to get hurt.”

“Listen to me, whining like a bitch. So much for being strong.” She closed her eyes. “God, how embarrassing.”

Despite so enjoying her proximity, Joshua gently pushed her warm body off him and stepped back. “Let’s go try the front door again,” he suggested, looking past her head at both walls, following the lines down to where the banister started. The atmosphere felt different, calmer, not as volatile. He thought back to his vision, remembering the last few moments; he hadn’t told Mavis everything about what he saw, deciding to keep the images of the sculptures to himself.

The beautiful women pulling those bones out from those corpses weren’t doing it for no reason, they were all collecting construction material. Mavis had already told him how her male friend had died and the moments preceding his death.

He walked over to the nearest painting, placing his hands on the frame, not surprised to find what he felt didn’t match what his eyes showed him. His fingers traced along contours of dips and rises, even though the frame looked smooth. Joshua dropped to one knee and performed the same action on the skirting board with the same result.

Everything in here was made from bones, and he believed that the only reason why his touch revealed as much was because the owner, one of those women, must be resting. Perhaps when he was out of it he somehow tapped into her dreams. As crazy as it sounded, it did make sense.

“Come on,” he whispered, walking past her. “Let’s get down to the ground floor.” He turned around. “Try not to talk, calm your thoughts, and watch where you step.” Joshua leaned forward and gently kissed her. “I think that our host is asleep.”

She shot him a quizzical look, but kept quiet.

Joshua could almost read her mind. She wanted to know why he appeared to be deserting his friends. He made his way down the stairs, keeping his eyes fixed ahead and his ears alert for any sounds other than their shallow breathing. The house still felt empty, very close to how he felt when they first entered the place. If she really was sleeping then this had to be their best chance to get out of here.

They reached the next floor. He leaned over the banister, a smile splitting his mouth at the sight of the outer door. A fan of bright daylight showed the reception hall’s true colours. From where he stood, Joshua saw creepers, nettles, dock leaves, and dandelions covering the forgotten garden.

“The door is wide open!”

“Yes, just like I left it.” He raced down the stairs, holding on to her wrist. “Listen to me. I need you to stay in the garden keeping that fucking door open while I go look for the others, and keep quiet!”

His dad’s files had pictures of the house, both interior and exterior.  Although in those photographs the rooms were as they looked when they first got here, he still believed that he’d be able to match this false vision of opulence to the faded, peeling, and neglect shown in the photos that his dad took. With three floors and ten rooms per floor it shouldn’t take him longer than ten minutes to check each room. Joshua reached the outer door, turned around, placed his hands on her shoulders, and kissed her once. “Please, don’t leave me here. I promise I won’t be long.”

She nodded, her face wet. Joshua didn’t want to imagine what she was thinking this time, in case they matched his doubts. Mavis stayed quiet, just stroking the back of his hand with her index finger. He walked back into the house, keeping her lovely form in view, framed against that beautiful blue sky.

The silhouette ran forward, a single unarticulated cry leaving her mouth. Mavis dived forward, her body crashing into his. They both fell hard onto the carpet. She climbed off him before reaching for the chair next to the grandfather clock. She picked it up and threw it over Joshua’s head. He turned to see it smash into Bryan’s body.

Mavis grabbed his hand, pulling him back onto his feet. “The bastard was waiting for you; one more step and he’d have rammed that sword straight through your back!”

“Where’s he gone?”

“Who fucking cares!” she growled, pulling him over to the outer door. I’m getting out of here and you’re coming with me this time.”

Joshua reached out and grabbed the banister. “I can’t leave them in here,” he cried. “They’ll both end up part of the house if I go.”

“Come on!” screamed Mavis. “Haven’t you worked it out yet? They’re already dead. We are the only ones left. If we don’t go now we’ll never get out of here.” The girl turned her head, an anguished moan leaving her.

He watched in horror as the door began to close. “Save yourself, Mavis, leave now.”

“I can’t, Joshua. I love you!”

With a heavy thud that echoed through the very woodwork the door slammed shut, banishing natural light, replacing it with its own vile yellow illumination. Joshua felt her grip loosen and Mavis dropped to her knees. Her quiet moans pulling his heart down a cheese grater. The rent only widened when she lifted her head, those dull eyes devoid of any hope.

“What are we going to do now?”

Joshua shook his head, he dropped down in front of the girl, wrapping his arms around her back. “I don’t know any more.” The malevolence had returned, he felt the sickness seeping through the walls and the floor, its foulness wanting to suffocate the pair of them. He stood up and lifted her onto her feet. “Mavis, we almost made it, meaning that it isn’t impossible to get out. Come on, we’ll find another way out.”

“There is no other way.”

“Yes, there is. Everything you see is an illusion. This place is just a tumbledown ruin.”

Joshua steadied himself when the floor shook. He grinned. “What’s wrong, bitch?” He yelled. “Don’t you like folk calling your home a fucked up shithole, just like you?”

A deep roar blasted out from every open door. He slammed his hands over his ears, feeling his insides vibrating. “Fuck you, bitch!” he snarled. “You cheap tart, you ugly cow, haggard fishwife.” The noise stopped, leaving him shaking like a leaf in a gentle breeze. Joshua, opening his eyes, saw Mavis shivering. He crawled over to the girl, almost falling back when she threw herself at him, wrapping her arms tight around his back. He followed suit, holding her.

“I love you, Joshua”

Her declaration echoed through the structure, only the echo grew in volume with each passing second. Joshua whimpered, pressing his face deeper into her soft hair, feeling as if he really was losing his sanity. He shut his eyes, wanting the noise to cease.

“Joshua?”

He blinked, finding himself sat cross-legged in the middle of the reception hall. Mavis lay sleeping on his lap while his fingers were intertwined in her hair. The voice came from above him. Joshua turned his head and saw Clarice standing on the stairs, leaning over the banister with Tommy behind her.

“I thought you were dead,” he stammered.

“Who the fuck is that?”

Her accusing eyes drilled into his skull. The girl in his lap stirred, stretching out, her arms reaching up and finding his. Joshua moaned softly, not sure what to do.

“Answer me!”

Tommy took a step closer then stopped, his head jerking back. Joshua’s cry dried in his mouth at the sight of that familiar blade sliding along Tommy’s throat. Clarice shrieked, spinning around and falling back, the wall saving her from tumbling down the stairs.

Mavis’ head slipped onto the carpet when Joshua scrambled backwards.  Jumping up and racing over to the bottom of the stairs, he saw the huge figure standing behind Tommy hook two fingers and push them into Tommy’s eye sockets, dragging the juddering figure backwards, Tommy’s feet slamming on the carpet, the only sound as the thick-set man pulled Tommy out of sight.

Clarice released a single mournful cry. Joshua looked at her terrified form shaking against the stairway before his eyes settled on Mavis, lying slumped against the grandfather clock below him.

Act Nine

His lower jawbone eased away from the skull, like a foot pulled from thick mud. She sighed in delight when she found the dimensions were exactly right. The woven back rest lying on the work surface vibrated, filling the cellar with a low hum as she flicked the thick forefinger across the dozens of thin ribs tied at each end with dried gut. Constructing a chair to replace the one that the girl had destroyed seemed like such a waste of material, but the bones she’d used in the chair destroyed were hundreds of years old, brittle, and weak. She wouldn’t be able to repair it; besides, once a piece was broken its magic was gone forever. As for wasting material, perhaps she should change her thinking. From what she had learned since awakening, the world beyond the house had become even more overcrowded. There was so much material available; she’d probably be able to replace every piece within a few years. Now that prospect did excite her.

She pulled out Tommy’s teeth before fixing the jaw in place at the base. She intended to use this as the key-bone, holding the entire structure in place.

She settled back in her own chair, running her critical gaze along her main construction slowly taking shape in the corner of the cellar. This piece would be her finest achievement. When she’d dispensed with the rest of the players, she’d have more than enough material to complete it. The only decision to make after she’d polished the bones to perfection was where to display it.

It seemed fitting that the bones inside this host should contribute to this masterpiece too. After all, the body was coming to the end of its use. Already she felt the earlier pliant mind beginning to question, to throw out rebellious thoughts, and attempt to regain control. Not that any of this was much of a surprise, they all showed signs of rejection after an extensive period of use, and she had used this host way beyond its tolerance.

She enjoyed this body though, the strong muscles and pleasing exterior made her feel so good. But she wasn’t that attached; she knew this body would fully reject her spirit sooner or later. It was better to leave on her terms than his.

It was ironic that through this host’s rebellious actions, her next host had stood out like a beacon. She wanted to inhabit a female body next. She so missed having the flesh to match her spirit, but allowing Joshua to peek through the window of her beginning and his subsequent actions had made the decision for her.

She reached down and picked up Tommy’s severed head, looking into the bloodied eye pits. “You have such an impressive bone structure,” she said, running her fingers across the cartilage, remembering how she felt when Joshua did the same on her picture frames. Those intense feelings she experienced watching the human’s rutting were still running through her system when Joshua caressed the bone, igniting a passion she thought had long since burnt out.

As she peeled the flesh away from the skull, those old passions grew stronger, remembering how her species used to so enjoy allowing the men from that ancient land to ravage them, crying out in utter joy as the men’s moans turned into screams of agony as they tore into their bodies at the height of the act. The only downside to the performance was they ruined the bodies in their excitement. Bones were broken and crushed, a complete waste of effort.

She dropped the waste skin, muscle and hair beside her, holding the skull, glistening in gore, in front of her face. This skull would sit opposite Barbra’s. She only needed two more skulls, meaning there would be spare.

“Perhaps it is still possible to relive the old times.” She stood up, placing the skull next to the lower jaw. “It has been many, many years since I have fucked a human to death.” She undressed, ripping away the bloodied clothing until her host stood naked and proud, his thick penis already responding to the thoughts of sex. She gazed past the heavily muscled body, nodding in approval at the rigid shaft. She wrapped her fingers around it, gently masturbating; it would certainly be pleasurable for her anyway.

The two lucky enough not to engage in her little game would need alternate entertainment to stop them from interrupting her.  She activated the house avatars, and fed them enough instructions to suitably distract the players. Now the real fun would commence.

***

Joshua’s fingers dug into the edge of the dresser, trying to halt his momentum. His digits sunk through the illusion of polished, dark wood.  He pushed away disturbing images of crushing snail shells with their dead owners inside and crouched down in front of Clarice’s fallen body, wiping his fingers down the side of his top.

“Are you okay?” he asked, holding out his hand. They’d managed to lose their pursuers on the floor below, but he didn’t think it would take those two freaky fuckers long to work out they weren’t travelling via the stairways any more. “Let me help you up, honey.”

She turned her back on him. Clarice lifted her head as another shadow passed over the both of them. Mavis bent over her, grabbed Clarice’s outstretched arm, and pulled her off the carpet.

“Can you walk?”

Clarice nodded. “Yeah, I’m okay,” she replied to Mavis. “I just tripped over my own feet, no harm done.”

Mavis looked past Clarice, rolling her eyes when she caught his attention. Joshua mentally shrugged, putting a little more distance between him and them. In the greater scheme of things her feelings of betrayal could wait, at least until they’d found another way out of this fucking slaughterhouse.

He turned around, watching the bank of paintings hanging on the blood coloured walls to his left. Each one now showed a different picture, starting with the masked man binding Tommy’s wrists and hanging him from a ceiling hook, followed by slicing a line around his chest. The paintings, each one a progression like a film reel, continued with showing his cut away flesh hanging over his stomach, looking like curtains of torn, bloodied rags of meat. The next gruesome painting displayed Tommy’s exposed stomach with the flesh scraped back from the bones of his ribcage, the white line cutting through the glistening shades of red.  Joshua averted his gaze, unable to continue as that fucker peeled his best friend like a piece of fruit.

He heard Clarice’s furtive whisper, her words not clear, only the intent prominent. Joshua felt his temper leaping past every other emotion. He spun around, wrapping his fingers tight around her wrist.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

It took effort to stop himself from breaking out in a fit of harsh laughter. “So now you speak to me. That’s nice.” Joshua pulled her in front of the last painting, spun her around and gripped her shoulders. “Look at it, Clarice. Drink in the exquisite detail.” The last image, the one he couldn’t face, showed the masked murderer holding up Tommy’s flayed flesh in his right hand. The poor man must have died when this fucker punched his fingers deep into his brain, certainly before he started to detach his skin, but in this painting, Tommy’s eyes were intact, his jaw stretched, muscles taut, his agonised shriek filling the blood spattered room.

“I don’t want you to see me in one of these disgusting paintings, Clarice.” He wrapped his arms tight around her stomach. “And if I lost you again, I would rather kill myself than see you like that.”

“But you fucking deserted me!”

“No, he didn’t,” whispered Mavis. “We found a way out.  The only reason why we’re still in here is because he came back for you and Tommy; it was me who was convinced you had perished, not him. Don’t take it out on Joshua, he’s done nothing wrong.”

He felt some of the tension leave her body. She rested her hands over his. “The only way we’re going to get out of here is by being stronger than him.” It seemed capricious to repeat Mavis’ words, but it felt like the right thing to say. “There are three of us and three of them now, but I think that it’s only Bryan who we have to worry about.”

“You’re suggesting that we fight back?”

He turned to Mavis and nodded. He released Clarice, keeping hold of her hand. He reached out and took Mavis’ hand too. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m suggesting. It’s only Bryan who’s killed anyone; I bet the other two are incapable of hurting us. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I’m convinced that they just part of the furniture and about as dangerous as this disgusting painting.”

“So we wait for them to come to us?” said Clarice.

“Yeah, why not. Look, Bryan’s not invulnerable; a few well placed blows to his bollocks and he’ll be as helpless as a newborn baby.”

“He’s got a sword, Josh!”

He nodded, “Yeah, I did notice that. It’s not like he brought that bloody thing with him though. That fat clown must have found it in the house, meaning there could be more. Even if there isn’t, there’s bound to be something in here we can use.”

“He’s right,” said Mavis. “If we keep running through this moving maze, he’ll catch us and slaughter us one by one.”

Clarice looked down at Joshua’s hands noticing as if for the first time that he held them both. “You do know that if any part of Bryan is left inside that killing machine, he’ll be after you next, Joshua. You’re the one who stole his girl off him.”

“What?”

“He’s been after me for years, way before we got together.” She squeezed his hand. “He’s the one that I lost my cherry to, back when I was only fourteen. Oh, we were both drunk on cider that I stole from my dad, but, even now, I still look back on that time with fondness.”

“Why are you telling me this, Clarice?”

“Because I want you to feel the hurt that I’m feeling right now!” she yelled. “Because I want you to know that if we do get out of here, it’s over with.” She pulled her hand away. “It’s finished between me and you.”

“For crying out loud,” said Mavis. “Do you really think that this is the right time to have a domestic?”

“This has nothing to do with you.”

“Seriously?” Mavis laughed out. “Bullshit. You’ve just insinuated that I’m trying to steal your boyfriend.”

“Look, all I wanted to do was to clear the air.”

Paint peel, patches of black mould and wooden slats now showed through the blood red walls. The more he stared, the clearer the genuine state of the house appeared through the false veneer. Joshua could even see where the real window was, the ghostly image of Tommy’s broken hung up corpse competed with a flock of birds dancing from one branch to another. Their voices continued to flow, harsh accusations flowed freely.  He found himself just listening to the rhythm, ignoring the content, silently encouraging them to continue arguing. With each outburst, the nightmare world faded down one more hue, allowing the grey rot of reality to show through.

Two black clouds of matter with no defining shape neared the room. Joshua blinked in confusion as they struck the now transparent door, their mass flattening like two slabs of raw dough beneath a chopping board.

He backed away from the door, pulling Clarice with him, watching those two shapes now seeping through. Joshua had no idea what he was looking at; whatever it was, he didn’t think they meant to hand out ice creams. He moaned softly as the nightmare room regained its previous solidity, banishing reality and that beautiful window, hiding it behind that vile painting.

“Do you really want to see him up there, Clarice? No, I didn’t think so.” Mavis shook with fury. “You need to grow up.”

He shook away the sensation of dizziness, not sure of what had just happened to him; whatever it was, he knew he was the only one affected. Joshua spun around, seeing only a solid wooden door behind him, no sign of those jellyfish type creatures. “Look, lets just be friends, if only until we find a way out.” Joshua looked at the pair of them before he found his eyes drawn to the painting above Clarice’s head. Tommy was now missing in this one. The picture now showed the head and naked torso of their masked killer. He frowned.  Apart from the obvious difference, the body looked different now, older.

Why had the house started to revert? It must be something to do with the way they were acting, it was the only thing that made sense.

A violent scream erupted from both Clarice and Mavis. He yelped himself when he saw the painting come to life, the killer was leaning out of the painting and pulling Clarice’s struggling body through the rectangle. He jumped up, trying to grab her ankle, but all he received for his effort was a handful of dried paint.

He reached up and ripped the painting off the wall. Mavis wrapped her arms around his. Causing him to drop the frame.

“Calm down,” she said, “She’s not in there any more.”

“What am I going to do now!” he cried. “Where the fuck has that animal taken her?”

“The cellar,” she replied. “Where else could she be?”

“Then that’s where we go, right now.” Joshua clenched his fists. “We can find something on our way there. It shouldn’t be that hard to get to; after all, it’s the only room in the house that’s never moved.”

He turned and jumped back at the sight of the two men blocking the door. Both Conner and Arnold were now whole, both dressed in their original black tuxedos, both holding a length of thick copper piping.

“Our mistress wants some time alone,” said Conner. “You do understand that, Joshua.” He smiled at Mavis. “After all, it’s not like you need Clarice any more, is it.”

Joshua screamed out.  Lunging forward, he dropped under his clumsy swing and brought his tight fist up, striking below his chin. The man dropped like a sack of potatoes. Mavis jumped on Arnold’s back, her fingers wrapped around his copper piping, stopping him from striking Joshua.

“Get out of my fucking way” Joshua booted the man hard in the ribs, gaining immense satisfaction at the sound of his bones cracking. Conner groaned and curled up into a tight ball, rolling against the door, blocking their way out of the room. “You bastard!” He screamed, stooping to pick up the piping. Joshua’s scream turned to utter shock as the piping softened before whipping around. Bright red eyes glared at him, a jaw sprung open, and four fangs sunk into Joshua’s wrist.

He shouted in shock and ripped the thing off him, grimacing at the sharp pain running up his arm before slamming the writhing creature against the wall.  Its skin split open and covered the surface with foul smelling lumps of the grey matter.

Mavis joined him. She grabbed the man’s foot and pulled him away from the door as if he weighed no more than a bag of feathers. “Time to go!” she said, pulling the door open. “Oh god, this is all my fault!”

Joshua raced out of the dark room, catching up to the fleeing girl, noticing her hands wet with blood. It wasn’t hers. Joshua cast a glance behind him. The long shadows obscured most of the interior, but there was enough light bleeding in from the hallway to see that the creature that had attacked Mavis was lying just behind Conner. Were his eyes playing tricks on him? From where he stood, the man looked like a huge worked over mound of crimson clay.

His guts rolled over, imagining the force of violence she must have used on him; what the fuck had she used? He averted his gaze, wondering why he even cared about the man’s fate. Hell, it wasn’t even a man anyway. For all he knew, resembling a butchered carcass could be its natural form.

“I don’t believe this,” he murmured, realising that the door had led them out onto the ground floor.

“Don’t question providence,” she replied, pulling him into the kitchen. She ran over to the drawers, ripping them open, moaning in frustration as each one held nothing but dust. “What kind of a kitchen is this?”

He pushed past her, dropped to the floor and smiled at the sight of silver, hidden under the dining table. He reached under, the tips of his fingers finding a smooth handle. Joshua pulled out his find, a five inch cooks knife. Compared to that thing that Bryan had found, it looked about as deadly as a potato peeler, but it was better than nothing at all.

“I don’t know what you did to that other guy, but do it again to Bryan,” he growled, running towards the kitchen door. He paused and turned. “And no, it wasn’t your fault. We’re stronger together, Mavis. Remember that.”

Act Ten

The cloying darkness denied her the ability to inspect her tiny cell. She was glad of that. From what her fingers and toes had felt when that bastard pushed her in here, the less she saw the better she’d feel.

Clarice pushed her naked, filthy body tighter against the corner, her skin and the metal reaching equal temperatures. She heard noises in here, scuttling, and scurrying. She imagined rats pushing through the mess of clothing, white bones, and other unidentifiable items that she caught sight of whilst that bastard carried, dragged, and pulled her along the floor of the cellar. Somehow, Clarice believed that rats were the least of her problems.

She held back the tears of desolation, still not allowing herself the luxury of giving up and hoping her death would not hurt. Clarice wasn’t going to give up, not without a fight. There was still time for Joshua to find where she was being held; he would never give up on her.

Clarice lifted her head, catching the sound of footsteps and shallow breathing. She cried out in shock as the room exploded in deep blue light, filling her vision with images of stars, moons, and rocket ships. The faint smell of polish mixed with a strong citrus scent filled her nostrils. Tentatively, Clarice opened her eyes, blinking in bafflement. What was going on? She was no longer in that filthy cage that smelled of animal decay. She took her eyes off the children’s wallpaper and turned around, seeing a small bed in the corner of this familiar bedroom.  Next to it she saw a wooden dresser with a Mickey Mouse alarm clock showing the time of half past seven. The citrus smell came from the bed sheets.

For the first time, Clarice found voices making their way through the carpets. Somewhere in this house a television was on. Why did this bedroom look so familiar? She sighed loudly, walking over to the window. The curtains were drawn; they too displayed pictures of moons and stars. She pulled them open, her own naked body reflected back at her. Clarice leaned forward, pressing her face against the glass. She saw nothing but blackness.

“Oh, Jesus, please, what is going on here, what has happened to me?” She staggered away from the window, tripping up and falling on the carpet. Clarice curled up into a tight ball and shivered while sounds from a distant television found their way into her ears. It all felt so real.  The carpet fibres pressed against her cold skin and those mellow sounds of two people talking about the state of the economy continued to travel through her mind. Her dreaming state had never conjured up anything so detailed. “Am I dead?”

The very real possibility that she really had passed over to the other side began to firm. Clarice only remembered him pushing her into that cage, with fragmented snippets of feeling cold, as well as deep dread suffocating her heart.

She crawled over to the bed, pulled off the top sheet and wrapped it around her body, then sat up, leaning against the dresser. The steady ticking from the clock helping her to pull out just enough calm from turmoil to allow her to plan what to do next. Considering the nightmare she had endured, climaxing in being thrown into the cage to await her torture, Clarice felt remarkably calm.

That oasis of tranquillity dramatically shrunk to a pinpoint when she saw the blackness beyond that window now seeping through the glass, the window frame, then the curtains vanishing into the abyss of dark. Clarice pushed herself against the bed, picking up the alarm clock, getting ready to throw it.

The black mass shrank, its form coalescing, taking shape, turning from smoke to flesh. The dread returned with a passion, a moan of despair leaving her dry mouth as her captor stood in front of her shivering body, the mask in still in place, but his hands devoid of any weapon.

“Bryan, please. Don’t hurt me.”

The masked man reached forward and gently picked her off the floor, the sheet falling away. He ran his calloused fingers down her spine before pulling her against his hard body. She smelled citrus again, this time coming from him.

He grabbed her wrist, pulling it down to his hips. She struggled but found him too strong. His other hand was now snaking up her inner thighs. Clarice gasped out when one of his fingers entered her. Coldness spread out through her torso like a web of ice, filling her, reaching into her arms, legs, and neck. She found her movements slowing, taking ages to move her head. The coldness now filled every part of her body.

What Clarice saw when she looked past her breasts to his moving fingers caused a deep shriek to bubble up through her freezing system, her jaw opening in slow motion, the noise of utter terror leaving Clarice’s mouth, and with it a mixture of semi-solid blood, slush, and bile, the stuff spattering the man’s naked chest.

She wanted to close her eyes, yet her eyelids refused to move, forcing her to watch him continue to push his fingers inside her while the thorns covering his digits ripped her sensitive area into flesh confetti.

He pulled out, dug his gore-filled fingers under her chin and pushed up her head until her eyes found those two black entrances to her own personal version of hell. She saw her father marching into this bedroom, the sight of his enraged expression setting off dozens of triggers to other suppressed memories. This room was where her older brother used to sleep, the boy whom her father had killed back when she was just a baby.

Clarice watched him rip the covers back, reach down, and pull the sleeping boy up, his huge hands tight around the boy’s frail neck, holding him at arms length as his son’s body spasmed, his legs kicking out whilst the boy’s slim hands found and lost purchase on the back of the man’s hands.

She screamed and shrieked as the mask sank into the man’s flesh, revealing the snarling face of the man she never knew, of her father, the man who’s own life was taken several years ago by an armed robber and a gang member whom the guard had sneaked into the man’s cell.

The man grinned, displaying a mouth full of sharp teeth. He walked backwards, throwing her naked body onto the bed, blood from between her legs soaking the sheets.

Her very bones now felt like Antarctic rocks, and the numbness was complete, the aesthetic effect making every pain receptor resistant to any violation he could inflict upon Clarice’s tortured body. The man now knelt between her legs, his thick penis limp, lying against her thigh, leaking pale yellow fluid from the tip.

The agonized memories from her forgotten childhood continued to batter her as this vile facsimile of her long dead father pulled those serrated digits down her thighs, ripping through skin and muscle. She saw her mother through the crack between the bedroom door and the wall, naked, bent over the bed while a strange man cracked a thick leather belt across her back, both adults crying out in ecstasy with every contact. Clarice remembered several burly policemen crashing through their house as she sat in the corner with her two favourite crayons whilst her mother, dressed in two week old clothes, pushed needles into three strangers, two men and a woman. She saw the faces of a clean shaven man lifting her off the floor and carrying her past her mother who lay face down, her mouth crushed into their stained carpet. The man smelled strongly of oranges.

Through eyes blurred with tears, she gazed at the face of the huge figure on top of her, his fingers, now devoid of those thorns, pinning her arms tight against the bed with his thick shaft, now solid, pressing against the shredded flesh at the top of her legs. Her drained mind now felt as numb as the rest of her body. It didn’t matter what this monster did to her now, she could feel nothing; this fiend had broken her spirit as well as her mind.

The full spectrum of agony slammed into her body, the raw pain scraping along every single nerve in her arched back as the monster held her while he pushed himself inside her. Her mouth stretched as she shrieked and shrieked, his body restricting her writhing.

The full spectrum of utter agony slammed into her body, driving out the numbness. Raw pain scraping across every nerve cell as the monster entered her, his huge shaft tearing through even more tissue as it stretched and expanded, the organ pushing further into the girl’s torso.

Her screaming intensified when his fingers formed hard claws, the points breaking through the skin and muscle, digging down, reaching the bones in her arm. Clarice saw the bedroom dissolving away, showing walls streaked with blood, dry and wet.

The creature let out one long roar before volcano heat detonated inside her guts. Clarice’s last view of the monster before finally leaving this realm was of him pulling his fingers out from inside her flesh and reaching for his blade.

***

The sound of his girlfriend’s scream tore right through him. His legs collapsed and only the intervention of Mavis grabbing his waist stopped him from tumbling down the cellar steps.

He looked up into the woman’s alarmed eyes, feeling as if a part of him had just withered and died, leaving Joshua incomplete. They were too late. That bastard had already done his worst. He’d killed Clarice. Joshua growled low in his throat. He held the knife tight, making his way slowly down the remainder of the stairs, drawing on strength born from intense fury. No more would they run from this monster, no more lives would this bastard snuff out. Bryan had come to the end of his own life.

“Please, wait for me,” she hissed.

Joshua paused just enough for her to reach him before climbing down the rest of the stairs. Mavis took his hand, holding him tight as he peered around the edge of the damp stone wall. Joshua heard her start but ignored her protest, too intent on locating his quarry.

Her other hand moved up, separating the side of his head from the wall. “That’s not water you have your hair in, Joshua.”

He shrugged it off as irrelevant, already knowing these walls were seeping blood. It was just another fucking illusion sent by him to confuse and disorientate. Well fuck him. Joshua stepped out into the open, his vision finding the wooden pole; he breathed a sigh when he saw it empty. Then his stress heightened at the thought of what else that bastard could have done to her, an activity that required her to be lying down.

The cellar stretched across the length of the building, empty of everything save for a stone slab held up by white columns. His girlfriend lay across the rough surface, Clarice’s head lying back, her accusing eyes drilling into him. Joshua could almost hear the words of betrayal spitting out of her mouth. He caught his breath, standing stock still, unable to move, the knife in his hand so wanting to cut out that monster’s eyes for defiling his beautiful girl.

His entire body shook violently when he finally saw what he had done to Clarice.  The last fragment of strength deserted him. Joshua dropped to the floor, seeing Mavis run across and cover the body with her top before his eyes closed.

“Come on, Joshua, don’t you fail me now.” She pulled him back up, leaning his limp body on hers while she placed her hands on his face. “Look at me, Josh. It’s not over yet. We still have to finish this. Not just for our sakes, but for all of those whom he’s killed.”

He heard her words yet no matter how hard he tried, Joshua couldn’t find any more strength to reply; he was completely drained, he felt like a block of wood covered in a thin layer of skin. All the anger, grief, and suffering had vanished, leaving him feeling totally numb and so very tired.

“Come on!” she yelled. Mavis pulled back her hand and slapped his left cheek, “Don’t you dare fucking give up on me. Clarice has gone to a better place, but believe me, I don’t want to fucking join her.” She slapped him again. “If you don’t start showing some signs of life, then so help me, I’ll fucking end you myself.”

His eyes flickered, the sharp pain from her two blows stripping off layers of lethargy, reigniting his rage. Joshua looked past Mavis, registering for the first time that apart from the pair of them and Clarice’s body, there was nobody else down here. “Wait, where is that monster? There’s no other way out of here.”

Mavis walked in front of him, blocking his view of Clarice. She gently placed her hands on his shoulders, clenched her fingers, and began to walk backwards, pulling him along.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s called closure, Joshua. You have to say goodbye to her while she’s…” Mavis swallowed hard. “While she’s still recognisable.” She moved out of the way, allowing him to approach the stone slab.

She had only covered Clarice’s head, torso, and the top of her thighs. He looked away from her ruined legs, feeling that fire grow hotter. Mavis took hold of the top of her coat.

“Are you ready?”

He nodded.

Mavis pulled back the coat, revealing her serene features. The girl only looked like she was taking a nap. Gone was the look of terror etched deep in her face.

“It’s very important that you remember Clarice like this, Joshua. This has got to be your final memory of the woman.” She re-covered her. “Now is it not time that we finished this? Bryan has to die for what he’s done to you and to me.” Mavis gently embraced him. “There’s only the two of us left now.” She kissed him lightly on the lips. “Please, help me find closure too.  Avenge their deaths.”

“Why do I now feel that you know more than you should?”

She shrugged, taking both of his hands. “Only enough to figure out what to do next, Joshua, and only because my emotions have already been through the grinder. I’ve just had time to adapt, to come out through the other side. My path is darker but at least he can’t play with my feelings, not any more.” She kissed him hard, “But that will soon change if he comes back and rips you out of my arms, Josh.”

“What do we do now, how the fuck can we kill something that can disappear into the walls?”

“By taking away what he needs.” She placed his hand on Clarice’s arm, her flesh still warm even through the material. “Bryan will come back for her body, so we don’t let him get it. Bryan is only human. Don’t you get it yet? The bastard can’t walk through walls, how could he? It’s impossible”

He stood in front of the stone slab, silently wishing that Clarice wasn’t dead under this coat and that she really was only sleeping. It felt like a complete travesty to see such a beautiful girl, both inside and out, end her young life being left on this slab

“The bastard has just left Clarice here for me to find, hasn’t he. The bastard gets a kick out of torturing and humiliating his victims, mentally and physically.”

He’d tossed her aside like thrown litter.  It just wasn’t right, not after the pain and tragedy she had already lived through.

His father wasn’t the only detective in their family. Using police equipment with his dad’s knowledge, Joshua had pieced together Clarice’s history, right back to her father’s arrest, all the way to her adoption and move into their home town.  He had never told anyone of what he had found, least of all Clarice, partly because he wasn’t sure about just how much she knew herself. The girl was a fighter all the way through her short lived life. Tears ran down his cheeks.

“He hasn’t forgotten about her, Josh. The bastard will be coming back. I can guarantee it. We need to take her with us. Look at me, Joshua.”

He looked up, into her face. “Tell me how he walked through the wall.”

“I think you have almost figured out the answer to that question, Josh. I don’t think that there even was a house here. Most of what you see, from the walls, floors, stairs and furniture is just some twisted dream made reality by some twisted and evil bitch thrown out from hell. The only bits that are real are the bones which she has collected from Christ knows how many poor bastards that have ended up trapped inside this vile place.”

“She isn’t touching my Clarice,” he growled, lifting her off the stone slab.

“The three of us are the only ones left now. Bryan is still as human as us; the only advantage is that mask he wears. It’s her conduit, giving her control over your friend. We kill him, we get out of here. It’s that simple.”

He felt her arms slide around his waist. “Hold her tight, my darling,” she whispered into his ear. “Let’s get back above ground, back to the main door.” Mavis placed her mouth over the bottom of his ear, clenched the lobe between her teeth, running her tongue along the flesh.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Be quiet, Joshua. Hold her tighter.” She spun around and strolled across the stone floor, only turning around when she reached the bottom of the steps. “Come on, we don’t want to stay down here. This is where he’s strongest.”

Joshua followed the woman as she disappeared around the corner, his mind reeling, not totally sure what had just happened. He lowered his head, pressing his nose against Clarice’s soft hair, breathing in her scent, smelling something else too; he lowered his lips to hers, detecting oranges on her breath.

He jolted to a sudden halt; the muscles in his arms losing cohesion as the body held tight against his chest snapped open her eyes. She looked up at him. Joshua shrieked, dropping the body onto the floor, watching in horror as the dead girl sank into the floor like a stone dropped into quicksand. Those black eyes that caused him to release her blinked once before her head disappeared, leaving the scent of citrus hanging in the air.

“I told you to keep hold of her, you dumb fuck!”

Joshua fell to the floor, smashing his fists against the stone, feeling the unyielding material cutting into his flesh and not caring. He glared at the woman running towards him, her own face a picture of fury. How dare she accuse him of anything!

“Unless you want me to use these fists on your pretty face, I suggest that you stay the fuck away from me,” he growled, watching her continue to approach him, not paying the slightest bit of attention to his warning.

He reached for her, finding the woman already holding him tight, her arms wrapped around his body. Mavis pressed her lips tight against his, kissing him deep. Joshua ripped her arms off of him. “What the hell are you playing at?” he cried.

Mavis took her wrist. “Come on, we still need to get up these steps before he comes back for one of us.” She half dragged his now limp body up the stone stairs, emerging into the reception hall. He shrugged off her fingers and leaned against the door frame, looking in terror at the figure standing directly in front of the main door.

“Are you now ready to dance?” said Bryan, lifting his huge sword.

Act Eleven

From the relative safety of the banister, Conner watched Bryan charge forward, swinging the sword from left to right. Joshua dived to the side, rolling into the kitchen. The man followed, roaring like an enraged beast. Conner had to lean over the banister in order to see. A figure below looked up. Conner waved, but his greeting wasn’t returned.  He shook his head at her rudeness, the ungrateful bitch. He sincerely hoped that Bryan would come back after dispatching the brat and stick that sword through her neck. That’ll teach her for ignoring him.

He doubted that would happen though, his mistress had invested too much time into her scenario to throw it all away. Then again, what did he know?  She’d kept him totally in the dark regarding her plans for the remaining players.  He thought this was most unfair considering he had a stake in the outcome as well. He might only be an extension of her, but Conner still had some degree of freedom, and after all these centuries, he felt almost as independent as the creatures that his mistress hunted.

One thing he did sense was that she would soon be moving to a new host, and as the players dwindled, it became easier to guess whom the lucky recipient would be to inherit such a revered role.

Conner sure hoped that the new owner of the mask would help to influence his mistress to perhaps show him a greater degree of freedom. How fantastic would it be to see the outside world beyond the confines of the house again? He so missed leaving her territory to explore and drink in the sights and smells that this wonderful new world had to offer.

The fighting continued in that kitchen. Joshua had taken temporary refuge under the table, rolling between the legs as Bryan smashed the table into matchwood. The smaller man raced out of the room towards his companion. It so amused him to see the players acting out scenes already performed throughout the eras by countless other actors, some performing their allotted parts better than others. Conner stifled a yawn, not all that surprised to find Joshua now had a weapon, no doubt mysteriously appearing leaning against the grandfather clock. It was the usual place that his mistress left the great equaliser.

The two players continued to battle, their swords clashing, shouts, cries, pleas, and cursing filled the reception hall. Conner settled back, leaning his back against the wall. From their movements, he didn’t think it would be long now before the final act would be upon them all. Personally, he couldn’t wait. The mistress had tested the pair of them to the limit on this occasion.

***

Joshua felt the sword fall from his numb hand when Bryan threw a kitchen stool at him, the leg striking his wrist. The man charged him, holding his own sword above his head, closing in for the kill. Sweat poured out of Bryan’s body, flowing along the creases made from his thick muscles. The excursion seemingly had no effect on the man’s stamina. He dived under the man’s legs, desperate to get back his sword.  His action failed spectacularly since,  unlike Bryan, his body wasn’t built for long periods of intense activity.

The man above him sensed victory within his grasp and closed his legs, trapping Joshua’s stomach. The man squeezed tight, constricting his guts. He couldn’t move. Bryan arched his back, turning his head. Madness showed in those dark orbs, showing no recognition at all. The man brought the weapon down, resting the razor sharp blade against Joshua’s throat.

He punched up, both fists slamming into Bryan’s genitals. The sword slipped out of the man‘s hand, landing across Joshua’s chest. He didn’t wait for the man to recover; Joshua punched him again in the same place before squeezing out from between his thick legs.

Joshua crawled away, his fingers folding around his own sword. It felt too heavy to even lift.

“Finish him!” screamed Mavis.

He used the blade to get onto his feet, then limped back towards the other man, rolled up in a tight ball. Bryan gazed up into Joshua’s face.  All he saw in those eyes now was sorrow, confusion, and fear.

“Where the hell are we, Josh?” he whispered. Bryan curled up, groaning. “Oh, fuck me, that hurts. I think something down there is well and truly broken.” The man looked in confusion at the large sword Joshua rested on. “What the hell is going on? Where are the others. Where’s Tommy?”

That baffled looking expression showed no sense of malignant intent. All Joshua saw looking up at him was the dozy brother of his best mate, a guy with a quick temper but wouldn’t purposely harm anyone, let alone murder them. He turned around, looking at Mavis, not knowing what to do.

Her face changed from fury to terror. The blood drained from the woman’s face. “Look out!” she cried.

Joshua spun around expecting to see Bryan charging at him, but instead he saw another man, this one wearing a plain, dark blue mask rushing out from the cellar entrance. His clawed hands found Bryan’s ears and he yanked him backwards, his sharp fingernails digging into the side of Bryan’s head.

His friend’s jaw opened wide, an inhuman high pitched scream leaving his mouth as the killer pushed his fingers deeper into his head. Like a puppet with its strings cut, Bryan’s muscles went limp. Joshua heard the sound of a sharp crack as the rest of his fingers disappeared inside Bryan’s head.

Joshua growled deep, he picked up the sword and ran at him. “You bastard,” he shouted. “I’ll kill you!”

The killer pulled out his fingers, and the body slid to the floor. Thick, blood streaked grey matter dripped off his flesh. Yet he didn’t retreat nor did he prepare to defend himself. Instead, the masked man raised both his hands and gripped the edge of the mask and pulled it forward. The sound it made similar to when he removed his fingers from Bryan’s head.

Joshua felt the weapon fall to the floor when the killer lowered the mask. “Oh Jesus, no, not you.”

“Hello there, son.” whispered his dad. The man ran his tongue around both lips. “You’re the last one left.”

Joshua felt a pair of hands on his shoulders and watched as Mavis walked past him. She took the mask out of his father’s hand. The woman’s face melted like boiling wax, the features swiftly reshaping, until the face of the other house avatar took form.

“You didn’t expect that, I see,” said Arnold. “I took special care of the girl back when you were both instructed not to leave. Oh, don’t look so upset, my future master. The house is taking good care of what you gave her.” He smiled at him, reshaping into the form of the girl.  “Don’t worry. I’ll soon be yours to do as you please.”

Joshua tore his eyes off them, sensing movement behind him. “Why are you doing this to me,” he whimpered, watching Conner reshape, taking the form of Clarice.

His father strode over the body of his friend and stood inches from Joshua. He placed his hands around Joshua’s and lifted them. “You are now hers, my son. The house avatars will guide you, and she will ensure you come to no harm.” The man sighed. The workshop is crying for you, Josh, don’t ignore the cries.”

“I don’t want any of this!”

“You have no other choice,” he said, pushing the mask onto Joshua’s face. “Oh, I’m going to be your first kill.”

The mask fused onto the skin.

You are so beautiful. Together we will fill this world with our structures. Together, we shall create more of our kind, more sisters to enjoy the flesh we part.

Two floors above, the lump of bloodied meat that was Mavis Longheart split from one end to the other. The ragged tear opening wider as a pair of rat-sized claws emerged from the hole. It pulled its spindly skeletal frame up, sliding down the side of the wet meat, landing in a thick pool of congealing blood. It lowered its head down to greedily lap at the fluid, only pausing to watch as another of its kind crawled out from the bloated corpse. It coughed once, then giggled when its companion lost its footing and fell back into the hole.

The End.

Thank you for reading.

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