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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1997633-Happenings-at-a-Haunted-House
by Jimbo
Rated: 18+ · Short Story · Mystery · #1997633
Two boys try to solve a mystery at an abandoned old house.
1998 words


Dalton waived his hand past his face to shoo away the fly that was buzzing around him. The dank hot summer air caused beads of sweat to roll down his back. The only concern the fourteen year old had at that moment however, was the bobber floating on top of the water. It had bounced just a little, causing minute ripples across the glassy surface.

“That’s it,” he whispered, “come and get it.” Suddenly, and without warning, he found himself face first in the dirt.

“Kneel before Zod, you pansy.”

“Jeff, what the hell?” he said, rolling over to see his so-called best friend belly laughing at him.

“Man, you should see your face. I think you got dirt up your nose,” said Jeff, holding his gut as he laughed.

“I’m gonna kill you, Jeff,” yelled Dalton, bracing himself to leap up and make his friend pay for what he did. Then his mind returned to the fish that teased his line. He quickly grabbed his cane-pole, half of which was submerged. Pulling it up, he gazed at a shiny and wormless hook. “See what you did?” he yelled.

“Aww, don’t cry about it. You should be used to not catching fish by now,” taunted Jeff. “Besides, it will be dark soon. We need to get going.”

“I’ll get you back,” said Dalton as he wrapped the line around the pole and headed down the trail with Jeff. As the setting sun begun to drop below the cypress, they reached Dalton’s house. He needed to put up is pole and grab some gear. “You sure about this?” he said to Jeff.

“Of course I’m sure. I heard the sheriff talking to Deputy Sanchez when they were at the Diner. Old Man Flannery told him he seen lights out at the Moreau Mansion.”

“Maybe it’s swamp gas,” said Dalton.

“It’s not,” said Jeff. “He said he saw lights in the windows, said he heard chanting too.”

“Mrs. Montgomery told the class once that they used to torture slaves in the basement,” said Dalton. “It makes sense that it would be haunted."

“It’s Satanists,” insisted Jeff. “If we catch them we might even get a reward.”

“Or get sacrificed and sent straight to hell,” replied Dalton.

“Stop being a chicken turd. You in or out?”

“I’m in,” Dalton said reluctantly, “but I get half the reward. Are you sure you want to go tonight?”

“We have to, tomorrow’s Halloween. Of course I don’t mind going tomorrow, if you don’t,” grinned Jeff

With an irritated glance at Jeff, Dalton threw a small canvas bag over his neck, and the two strode off towards the Moreau place.

After nearly an hour long hike, they made it to the outer gate of the property on the outskirts of their small town. The wrought iron gate was chained and padlocked. Jeff went over behind an overgrown bush near the gate and beckoned for Dalton to follow. One of the iron bars had been rusted through at the base and pulled to the side. Jeff squeezed through it, and Dalton followed.

The driveway went about a hundred yards then looped itself around a fountain in front of the house. They took cover behind the algae stained basin as they gazed at the structure in fear.

“That’s the scariest house I’ve ever seen,” said Dalton.

“Mom said it’s a Queen Anne style, whatever that means,” whispered Jeff.

The building stood three stories tall with a wide set of stairs leading to a porch that wrapped around the right side. Along the left side of the house ascended a round corner tower that stood as the tallest point, besides the chimney which jutted out from the rear. A circular roof that came to a steep point topped the tower, only adding to its eeriness.

“It means big and scary,” said Dalton. “How does your mom know what it’s called?”

“She took that remodeling class out at the community college, remember?”

“I thought that was just to pick up guys,” chided Dalton. Jeff punched him in the arm and Dalton hollered.

“Shh!” exclaimed Jeff, giving him an angered look. “Come on. There’s a cemetery around the side. With that, Jeff jumped to his feet and trotted around the corner of the building.

The small plot stood away from the house and weeds had long since taken it over. As the two approached they were overwhelmed with a sickly stench.

“What is that stink?” said Dalton, trying to whisper, but failing.

The two strode over to one of the headstones. Dalton reached into his bag and pulled out a mini-flashlight. Shining it onto a grave, he was taken aback.

“It’s a dead cat,” he exclaimed. The corpse of the creature laid on its back, its mouth twisted exposing its fangs. It had been gutted and a swarm of flies were darting in and out of the wound.

“Look,” pointed Jeff. Across the marker draped a string of entrails, and a pentagram had been painted on it in red. “I told you it was Satanists.”

“I think we should go,” said Dalton. “I don’t like this.”

“Quiet,” said Jeff, moving to a squat and staring at the upper floors of the house.

Dalton immediately turned off his flashlight and hunched down. From the upper window shined a light. It moved past the window, followed by another one, then yet another. Dalton felt his bladder loosen and his lap get warm.

“Who’s there?” yelled a voice.

Startled, the two looked towards the rear of the house where the voice came from. A shadow appeared turning the corner and lumbering in their direction. Dalton was through with it all. He bolted back around the front of the house and down the long driveway, the terror triggered adrenalin pushing him the whole way. He didn’t bother to look back until he reached the gate, relieved to see Jeff right behind him.

“Still think it’s swamp gas?” exclaimed Jeff.

‘Shut up.” said Dalton.

They squeezed through the bars and hurried back the way they came.


====

“You are out of your mother-lovin’ mind if you think I’m going back there,” said Dalton as he fiddled putting on his Halloween costume; a slip-on skeleton suit and mask.

“Come on,” exclaimed Jeff. He wore ripped up clothing and had his face painted like a zombie. “Don’t you want to know what’s going on there?”

“Nope,” Dalton said flatly.

“All right then,” Jeff relented. Dalton shot him questioning look. He didn’t like Jeff’s tone. “I guess I’ll have to let everyone know you pissed your pants last night.”

“You wouldn’t!” yelled Dalton.

“Of course, if you came with me…” Jeff looked away from Dalton’s steely gaze.

“Fine. But if I find out you told anyone…”

“Relax. I won’t.” said Jeff with a sly grin.

Dalton shoved the small flashlight from the night before into his shorts pocket, under the costume. “Let’s go,” he said angrily and took off into the night.

====

“Do you think it’s that new kid?” asked Dalton as they walked down the moonlit dirt road.

“You mean that emo-kid? Naw, I seen Chuck Harper fight him at lunch. He yelled something about being a pacifist.”

“What’s a pacifist?” Dalton asked.

“Someone who doesn’t fight back when getting the crap beat out of ‘em, apparently. I think it’s Roche,” said Jeff.

“Mayor Roche? Why would you think that?”

“Don’t you watch TV? It’s always someone you least expect.”

“Well then,” said Dalton, I think its Gail Richards.”

“The fat waitress from the diner?” asked Jeff. “What made you pick her?”

“Because she’s the last person I would think of,” replied Dalton.

“Except you just did, dumb-butt.”

“Shut up.”

They continued on until they reached the mansion, taking refuge once again behind the fountain.

“What now?” asked Dalton, sliding the skeleton mask to the top of his head.

“There’s an entrance to the basement around the other side. We can break-in there,” said Jeff, producing a small crowbar.

“Where did you get that?” exclaimed Dalton.

“I had it slid down my pants leg. Stop gawkin’ and come on.”

The entrance composed of two inclined wooden doors set against the house. Jeff slipped the crowbar under the hasp. The lock seemed new against the rotted wood. He easily popped off the hasp without a sound. He pulled one side open and gestured towards Dalton’s pocket. Dalton had to pull his hand out of the sleeve first, in order to get to the flashlight he placed there. Handing it over to Jeff, they ventured down the stairs into the basement.

The room had a strong musty odor and about a half an inch of water on the floor. Other than that it was empty, not a single torture device in sight. That didn’t make Dalton any less nervous about it. Jeff moved to the other side of the room where the stairs leading into the house were located. Silently, they climbed the stairs and went through the door.

The mustiness followed them through the door as they found themselves in a hallway. Solid wood floors, lacking even a rug, lay under their feet, and peeling old wallpaper hung about them. The two looked in every direction, trying to decide which way to go when the choice became all too clear. They could hear chanting from down the hall.

Moving to the end of the hall, they found themselves at the foot of a large staircase. The sound came from upstairs and in a language Dalton had never heard before.

“What’s that they’re saying?” he whispered. Jeff just shook his head and proceeded upwards. Dalton, determined to hold his urine in this time, went after him.

The noise seemed to be coming from the third floor and the two boys kept climbing until they reached the platform. The house didn’t seem to have any furniture or decorations of any kind. Whoever moved out of the place the last time seemed to have taken everything that wasn’t nailed down.

At the end of the lengthy hall, a slit of light shown through a cracked door. Dalton and Jeff looked at each other. They were both sweaty and Jeff’s makeup streaked down his face. After a moment, Jeff smiled and nodded at his friend. Dalton nodded back and slid the skeleton mask back over his face. Stealthily they moved towards the light.

With every step, the chants volume seemed to double. By the time they reached the door, the chanting became a dull roar. It reminded Dalton of when the last time he went to church with his grandma and old lady Canfield caught the Holy Ghost. There was nothing holy about the sounds he heard now though.

Without warning the boys were thrust through the door and landed in a pile on the floor. As they tried to scurry to a corner they each bumped into something, actually somebody. They cowered back to back as they saw they were surrounded by hooded and robed figures, each chanting harmoniously.

One by one, they each pulled back the hoods to reveal their faces. Dalton was shocked at what his eyes beheld. Mayor Roche held what looked like some sort of evil hymnal and grinned at him. Sheriff Gross was there, and Deputy Sanchez as well. He was looking upon people he had known his entire life. George the postman, what’s her name – the PTA lady, Gail Richards the fat waitress, and even that emo-kid!

Mayor Roche slid an ornately decorated blade from his sleeve. Handing the book to Deputy Sanchez, he leaned over and pulled Jeff onto his feet. He handed Jeff the blade. Jeff, smiling big, turned and looked at Dalton.

“Your first one is special,” said Sheriff Gross, nodding at Jeff. “You will always remember your first.”

Jeff held the knife in front of him with both hands as if it were a sword. Stepping towards Dalton he said, “I told you it was Satanists.”

Dalton let his bladder go.



© Copyright 2014 Jimbo (sixgun at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1997633-Happenings-at-a-Haunted-House