Bentley Little - The House

Daniel bent down, looked closely.

Hair and lint.

In the shape of a small footprint.

From somewhere in the House came an echo of high laughter.

He had to get out of here. Whether that meant finding a legitimate exit or exorcisingDoneen or taking apart this fucking House board by board, he had to escape.

He had to extricate himself from this situation and get his butt back to Margot and Tony.

There had to be an answer or a clue or a hint or something behind one of these doors, and he walked over to the closest one, grabbed the handle, and yanked it open.

A mirror stared back at him, reflecting his own anguished face.

He strode down to the next door, pulled it open.

A linen closet. ''

The next: a library/.

He crossed the hall, pulled open a door on the opposite side.

And therewa & his mother's Victorian bedroom.

She was lying in bed, next to his father, and they were both alive, both young, younger than he was right now.

His father whispered something, and his mother laughed.

He had not heard her laugh since he was in grammar school, and the sound brought back an entire world to him. Chills passed through his body, chills not of fear but of pure raw emotion: love, longing, recognition, remembrance, discovery.

"Hey, Daniel." His father waved him over. "Come in.

Shut the door."

His mother smiled at him, and he smiled back.

He wanted to go in, wanted to jump on the bed the way he had as a child and snuggle between the two of them, but he was acutely aware of the fact that he was an adult, older than they were, and that they were probably naked under the heavy blankets.

Besides, what was this? A time tunnel? A vision? A

joke? His gut told him that these were his real parents and they were calling to him, but his mind could not quite buy it. He thought it was probably a trick of the House. They weren't seriously altered, the way Laurie and Stormy said their mothers had been in the House on the Other Side, and they didn't have the insubstantial forms of ghosts. They looked exactly the way they had thirty years ago, and that made Daniel suspicious.

His mother held out her arms. "Danny."

He closed the door on them.

He had the sense that he was doing something wrong, that he should be in there, talking to them, that taking this tack would not lead him where he wanted to go, but he had nothing he really wanted to say to his parents--if those figures were his parents--and he ignored that section of his mind and the nagging doubt lapsed into silence.

He moved on to the next door. Behind it was a small anteroom and yet another door. He walked in, opened the second door and was home, in Pennsylvania, in Tyler, in his kitchen. Tony was sitting at the dinner table doing his homework and Margot was stirring a pot on the stove.

He could smell the delicious aroma of beef stew, could feel the warmth from the stove. Outside it was raining, and the windows were fogged with condensation.

There was no doubt here, no suspicion in his mind.

This seemed completely real to him, on all levels, and he tried to rush over to Margot and hug her, but was stopped by what felt like a Plexiglas wall. He moved toward Tony, was stopped again.

He began pounding on the invisible barrier. "Margot!" he yelled at the top of his lungs. He started jumping up and down, waving his arms wildly. "Margot!

Tony!"

They couldn't see him or hear him.

Maybe he was a ghost.

Maybe they were the ghosts.

The thought sent a chill through his heart.

No. Most likely, the House had not transported him back home but was simply allowing him to see, to smell, to hear, to experience what was happening there.

But why?

He folded his arms, stood in place, watched, listened.

Tony looked up from his homework. "When's Dad coming back?" he asked.

He saw the look of worried concern that crossed Margot's face, and his heart ached for her. "I

don't know,"

she said.

"He didn't . . . leave us, did he?"

Margot turned around. "What made you think that?"

He shrugged. "I don't know."

"Of course not. I told you, your father's visiting his old house in Maine for a few days."

"How come he didn't take us?"

"Because I have to work and you have school."

"How come he doesn't call?"

"I don't know," Margot admitted.

"Maybe something happened to him."

"Don't even joke about something like that."

"I'm not joking."

Margot turned down the heat on the stove, her mouth tightening. "Put your books away," she told him. "And wash up. It's time to eat."

Tony folded his homework, put it in his history text book, picked up his pen and pencil, and carried everything back to his room. He returned a moment later, helped his mother set the table, poured himself a glass of milk, and the two of them sat down to eat.

Daniel walked around the table, periodically reaching out and trying to touch either his wife or his son, but the barrier was always there. Margot and Tony ate dinner in silence, the only noise the occasional clink of silverware against plate and the quiet sounds of chewing and swallowing.

The unspoken emotion between them was heartrending.

Tired, frustrated, Daniel sat down on the floor of the kitchen. He felt almost like crying, and it was only the fact that he had to keep his wits about him and remain sharp, ready for anything, that kept him from doing so.

Immediately after finishing his meal, Tony excused himself and went out to the living room to watch TV.

Margot sighed, stared down into her nearly empty bowl, pushed a piece of carrot around with her spoon.

Daniel concentrated hard. "Margot," he said, thought.

No response.

He kept trying as she cleared the table, washed the dishes, but there was no contact and he only ended up with a headache.

He walked out with her to the living room, and together he, his wife, and his son watched an old Humphrey Bogart movie.

Almost like a real family.

This time he did cry. He couldn't help it. Maybe that's what the House wanted, maybe he was falling right into the trap that had been set for him, but he didn't give a shit. He sat on the floor, next to the couch, and let the tears flow.

After the movie, both Margot and Tony went to bed.

It was early for Margot, past Tony's bedtime, but these obviously weren't ordinary circumstances, and Daniel walked with them, standing next to Margot as she watched Tony brush his teeth and then kissed him good night.

He followed her into the bedroom, watched her take off her clothes and then climb into bed, forgoing her usual shower. She pulled the covers up to her neck, clasped her hands.

Prayed.

That surprised him. To his knowledge, his wife had never been a religious woman, and he did not think he had ever seen her pray in all their years of marriage.

Had she always done so, hiding it from him, doing it when he was asleep or out of the room? Or had she only started recently, after his abrupt departure? Either way, he was oddly touched by her actions. He wished he could kiss her, even if it was just a simple peck on the forehead, but the barrier was still in place.

Margot had closed the bedroom door, and he walked over to see if he could open it. He could not, but it was as if the door were not there for him and he passed right through it. Could he walk through walls too? He tried it, got a bump on the head for his attempt.

His headache even worse now, he walked down the short hallway, passed through Tony's door.

His son was making another doll.

Daniel stared in horror as he watched the boy open the closet door, glance furtively around, and pull out a new doll. This one had a body made from a McDonald's sack tied with rubber bands. Its arms and legs were twigs, its head a scruffy and nearly bald tennis ball with carefully pasted string segments positioned into crudely simplistic facial features.