Bentley Little - The House

Probably the same way the Brady Bunch could afford their maid.

No. It was nothing so benign as that.

AndBillingsly had been much more than just a servant.

Daniel stood before his wife, adamant but ashamed, dead set on the course of action he'd chosen but embarrassed by the melodrama of its origin, the potboiler nature of its cause.

"I have to go," he said.

Margot simply stared at him.

"I know it sounds irrational. I know it sounds crazy, but trust me, that's what happened, and . . . whatever it was, it's starting again. And it's trying to involve Tony."

She was silent for a moment. "I believe you," she said finally. "That's the scary part."

He looked at her, stunned. "You do?"

"Well, not completely maybe. But enough so that I

trust your instincts." She paused. "Don't forget, I saw that doll, too. I know something's going on. And if you can somehow . . . exorcise this whatever-it-is and keep it away from Tony, well then I'm all for it."

Daniel stared at his wife. It wasn't supposed to work this way, it wasn't supposed to be this easy. In books and movies, things worked out like this, but in real life it was supposed to be tougher. No one believed in ghosts and demons and the supernatural, and they didn't just accept someone's word on something like that. He tried to imagine what he would do, how he would react if Margot came to him with some wild story about seeing a UFO or something. He wasn't sure he'd buy into it or even if he'd automatically be on her side. He'd probably agree with her for love's sake, but he'd figure out some way to test her--or some way for her to get help. He doubted that he would completely change his worldview and suddenly believe in things he had never believed in before merely on the word of someone else.

Even if that other person was Margot.

He understood for the first time how truly lucky he was to have this woman for his wife.

"It's in Maine," he said. "The town's called Matty Groves and I'm not even sure exactly where it is, but I know it's probably a day's drive from here. I know I shouldn't--"

She put a firm arm on his, looked into his eyes.

"Go," she told him.

It was indeed almost a day's drive, and Daniel reached MattyGroves just as the sun was setting. He should've left earlier--he'd set the alarm for five this morning-- but he hadn't wanted to part from Margot and Tony, and he'd ended up staying through breakfast.

He was filled with the absurd conviction that this was the last time he'd ever see them.

Although maybe, he thought as he approached the house, the idea wasn't so absurd.

Against its cheerful forested backdrop, the three storied building looked even gloomier and more gothic, like a stereotypical haunted mansion. Its slatted wooden walls were a dark gray; the trim, door, and shutters black. Even the glass in the windows seemed dusky, although that may just have been a trick of the dying light.

It was an imposing structure, with some of the same off putting air of impenetrability as a medieval fortress or cathedral, and Daniel stood in front of it, goose bumps on his arms. He had not seen the house since he and his father had fled, and had managed until now to block out all memory of it entirely, but once again he was here, and it was as though the house had been waiting for his return.

So it could punish him.

That was ridiculous.

Was it? Whatever it was, whatever lived here, whatever made this house its home, had found him, over distance, over time, and it had reached out to his son, to Tony, had introduced the boy to Billingsly and Doneen, had taught the boy how to make the doll.

It was crazy. All of it.

But there was nothing there he doubted.

He got out of the car, stared up at the dark building, taking it all in. The twin chimneys. The gables. The high window of his mother's corner bedroom. The wrap around porch where he and his friends had so often played, remaining always in the front because they were afraid of the sides and back of the house.

Where were his friends? he wondered. What had happened to them? What did they remember?

Something caught his eye. Movement in one of the lower windows. A dark face?

A dust doll?

He wanted to leave, wanted to turn tail and run, and if it had not been for Margot and Tony, he would have done exactly that. But he was not here only for himself.

He was here to find out what was infiltrating his life and put a stop to it, to intercept and end the supernatural harassment of his family.

Supernatural He hadn't thought of it in precisely those terms before, but that was exactly what was going on.

He supposed, on some level, he'd always been subtly aware that despite his comfortably normal mainstream existence, there was more to the universe than the material, physical world, that despite the life he had made for himself, there was something else that was somehow . . .

influencing him, guiding him. He'd repressed all memory of his childhood and had never seen any overt example or evidence of the supernatural, but all along there'd been small instances of deja vu, coincidences and coordinations that did not make any kind of logical sense but nonetheless bespoke Truth. It was as if he were a cog in a great machine and every once in a while he was allowed to glance over and see nearly identical cogs performing nearly identical functions. There were connections he could not understand but knew existed, and he knew now that it was all tied to whatever existed inside that house.

Another small dark face at another low window.

His entire body seemed to be covered with gooseflesh and his heart was pounding harder than he'd known it could, but Daniel steeled himself and pressed forward.

Night appeared to be falling quicker than usual, sundown and dusk fairly speeding by, and if he had learned that this was a phenomenon which only happened here, that the power within the house somehow had the ability to influence the sun, he would not have been surprised.

He walked up the porch steps, knocked on the heavy oak door.

It was opened instantly.

By Billingsly .

Daniel sucked in his breath at the sight of the man.

He was no longer a child and the servant an adult--they were both grown men of approximately the same size-- but the balance of power had not shifted in all these years, and Daniel instinctively stepped back. Billingsly was still a frighteningly intimidating figure, alien and unknowable in his proper attire, the blankness in his eyes impossible to read. He bowed, smiling enigmatically.

"You are the last."

"What?" Daniel said.

"I trust you had a pleasant trip?" The servant stepped aside, motioning him in.

Daniel stepped over the threshold, acutely aware of the symbolism of that simple act.

The door shut immediately behind him.

Mark He was scared shitless, but he tried not to let it show.

It was not merely the circumstances of his arrival c the air of menace that overhung the house which le:

him feeling so terrified, but the fact that he wasn't exactly a guest, wasn't exactly a prisoner, but seemed t be somewhere in-between--and he had no idea what t do about it.

Mark glanced nervously around the sitting room.

was strange being back, seeing the high-vaulted ceiling and the patterned hardwood floors, all of the familiar furniture in all of the familiar places, mileposts of his childhood that were indelibly ingrained in his memory It was the smell of the house that affected him most strongly, though, the familiar odors of old flowers am fireplace smoke and dust; scents of his past that lingered in the room and remained behind, present but invisible like ghosts.

Mark stared at Billings. What was he? Ghost"

Demon? Monster? None of them seemed to hit the mark, but they were all close, they were all within the ballpark.