There is an empty house across the street from my home. Empty
but not abandoned. Not exactly. There are never any vehicles parked
in the driveway. And there are never any lights in the windows. The
yard is mowed just often enough to prevent the city from issuing a
citation, but I’ve never seen anyone pushing a mower. The porch is
collapsed and a few windows are broken, but it’s not condemned.
I’ve been curious
about the place since I moved in here about four years ago. I’ve
never seen any yard decorations. No Christmas lights. I never hear
music from the place. Never hear laughing squealing children. There’s
no dog crap in the yard, so I don’t think there are any pets. The
stray cats that congregate under the collapsed porch can’t count as
pets.
I’ve been curious
so today I decided to investigate. I don’t know why the urge came
over me… I walked up and down the sidewalk staring up at the house,
seeing the places where the siding’s come loose and started to fall
away, seeing the seedlings growing in the gutters, seeing the falling
soffits. From the sidewalk I could see a single set of human
footprints in the snow (unshoveled from the walk and driveway…) led
to the front door and, presumably, entered the house. No prints
exited or led away from the house. At least not from the font door.
So I walked around the corner and back up to the house through the
alleyway behind the house. No footprints at the back door either.
Just a small mound of snow covered, discarded appliances.
Call me a snoop.
Call me a sneak. You’re probably right.
I went back around
to the front of the house, steeled up my nerve, and approached the
house. Climbing carefully over the collapsed porch, I stood at the
door and knocked. “Behold, I stand at the door and knock.” The
words of scripture came inappropriately to mind and I chuckled. I
knocked again. But there was no answer. After waiting a few minutes
and watching cars drive up and down the street, I knocked on the door
once more.
The front door sagged on its hinges and
collapsed inward. The topmost hinge pulled away from the frame and
fell downward. It then swung open, limping on the bottom hinge.
“Hello?” I
called into the house. “Um.. I’m sorry about your door.” I
could hear my voice echoing around inside the empty, silent house.
“Hello?” I stepped inside and called out again. “I knocked and
your door... it sorta collapsed.”
The air inside the
house was warm (but I couldn’t hear any noise from a furnace) and
had the antiseptic, phenol smell of old time Bandaids. I took another
step into the house. Call me a snoop. Call me a sneak. You can add
trespasser too, I guess. Just then a jump-scare cat yowled and leaped
down from somewhere unseen and I nearly screamed. The cat ran past me
and out the door.
Fully inside now I
could hear something new – the sound of running water. From the
basement, perhaps. A slow churning. Ancient and deep. A border, a
boundary dividing order from chaos and life from death. The power of
water is untamed. Hard. Strong. Rivers and dragons. “Sounds like
someone’s left the bath running,” I called out, but there was no
answer.
I turned back to
the door and swung it back towards closed. Broken as it was, it
didn’t catch, but I closed it enough to keep out at least some of
the winter wind. Committed to my intrusion now, I shrugged off my
coat and hung it on a hook on the wall. “Forgive us our
trespasses,” I muttered.
I wandered further
into the house. Living room, hallway, closet, kitchen. All the rooms
of an ordinary house laid out in the ordinary way. All empty. No
furniture. No photos. No plants.
Strange,
discomforting thoughts entered my mind. The spirit does not die after
the death of the body. It persists. It lingers long in a dismal
existence. Distressed and murdered souls in the basement. Is this
Asphodel? Or the Pit of Tartarus? Gloomy wandering in and out of the
ethereal plane. Incurably damned.
The windows were
obscured with some sort of yellow-gray grime. The light filtering
through was uneven and unpleasant. Dust hung slowly in the air.
Immortality will be granted at a future time under certain
conditions. Attracting unwanted attention. The dust will return.
Every time.
I shook my head to
clear the nonsense. But the thoughts continued. There is an
increasing demand for narcotics and revenge. Who has woe? Who has
sorrow? Contentions? Complaints? Wounds without cause? Who had
redness of the eye? Your eyes will see strange things. Your heart
will hear perversions.
“Hello?” I
called out again. That’s when I saw the stairway door – down to
the basement. A light switch was mounted there on the wall at the top
of the stairs. I flicked it and light from somewhere appeared.
“Hello?” I no longer expected an answer, but still I called.
And then I decided
to see what was in the basement. Stupid decision, I know. I’ve seen
the horror movies. I’ve listened to the true crime podcasts. I know
how these things go. I know what happens, but still I began to
descend the stairs.
But two or three
steps down I halted. Frozen. Suddenly afraid.
‘I cannot be
cowardly here,’ I said to myself. ‘I will go down the unbelieving
stairs.’ I moved again. Slower. ‘What went on in this house, what
abominable secrets are in the basement.’ another step. ‘Murder?
Sexual assault?’ Another stop. ‘Some sort of sorcery with black
candles and circles drawn with salt?’ Down the stairs, one step at
a time. ‘There are idols down here.’ I could feel it, every step.
Closer. Deeper into the lie. God, it was getting hotter
The basement was
empty and unfinished. Bare walls, exposed concrete. Nothing. No
furnace. No ducts. Why was it so hot in there? I wiped the beaded
sweat from my forehead with my sleeve. “Hell…” I started to
call out once more, but my voice choked.
In the uncanny
light of the empty basement I saw four doors, framed directly into
the far wall. Massive, solid doors. And strung across each door were
heavy, iron chains secured with filigreed padlocks. Curious, I took a
step toward them.
That’s when the
jump-scare cat stepped out of a shadow and mewed at me. At least I
think it was the same cat that frighted me at the front door. I
didn’t have a chance to look at it closely as it ran out the door.
But here it was again in the basement, blocking my path.
“Hey there,
little guy.” I said. “Are you the only one here?” The cat
looked at me quizzically but said nothing. Why would he? He licked
his paw and cleaned his ear.
I took another step
toward the chained doors and reached to examine one of the locks. And
suddenly the jump-scare cat was joined by a great company of cats.
Mewling, yowling, stretching, pawing, clawing cats with flicking
tails and proud whiskers.
“What the…” I
began to say. The cats swarmed at my feet, rubbing themselves against
my ankles, clawing lightly at my jeans. “What’s going on here?”
I reached down to pet a black and white mottled cat with slightly
crossed eyes. “What is this?” The cat allowed me to stroke his
head a few times but then nipped at my fingers with his teeth. A
warning? But of what?
What was locked
behind those doors? What mystery? What horror? Where did those doors
lead? To some mystic, windswept valley in the light of a garish
colored sunset. Did I hear the sound of long-haired Tibetan warriors
mounted on horseback?
Suddenly, as I
stared at the doors, I heard the sound of a far distant trumpet, a
ram horn shofar blown across the great expanse of the sky and the
chains barring those four doors began to rattle. The cats scattered into shadow and I fled the house,
staggering incautiously up the stairs, and bursting through the
broken door.
