11

As Dean was preparing dinner for the inmates, the door to the Francis home creaked open and a shaft of light illuminated the entryway. Andrew stopped in the doorway and observed his surroundings. All the curtains on the windows had been drawn, but that didn’t quite explain the sheer intensity of the darkness that spread throughout the home. He pushed the front door all the way open, allowing as much sunlight as possible to enter the home. Still, the rest of the house remained pitch black.

Andrew pulled out his keychain and felt around for his department issued pocket flashlight. He found the edge and wrapped his fingers around the circular piece of plastic. His fingers brushed the “B.D.P” indentation on one side and used his thumb to press the small button on the other. A cone of light shot out of the small flashlight, revealing the kitchen entryway. Andrew could see the table and countertop, but the rest of the room appeared to be empty. There was no sign of a knife-rack or coffee maker, not even any dust where the refrigerator would have been concealing it for years. Aside from the table, the kitchen was a void of linoleum.

As the officer moved towards the curtained window, he began to feel a tightness in his chest and a shortening of his breath.

Christ, he thought to himself, am I having a heart attack? Panic spread through his body as he stood before the closed window. Did he dare try to open it? What would he see on the other side? Some ghastly face with gnashing teeth, or maybe the white face of Donald Francis, devoid of blood, staring back at him? Christ just fucking open it!

He did. And there was nothing there. Nothing at all. Not even the window itself.

The beige wallpaper continued smoothly over the spot where a window had once been. Andrew could have sworn he saw windows on the outside of the house earlier, in fact he was sure of it. But had he actually looked in the windows and seen what was inside? No, his dirty and bloodied hand had kept most of his attention; the bleeding had stopped but the pain was still there, reduced to a dull but constant stinging on his ring finger that was occasionally aggravated by the touch of his middle finger. The strange burst of fear and anxiety he felt when drawing back the blinds seemed to have overridden the pain, though, allowing the detective to be fully immersed in the bizarre nightmare he currently found himself in.

Seeing how his plan to investigate the home soured all too suddenly, Andrew felt that it would be best to leave the house as soon as possible and come back with a full team to conduct a thorough search. He closed the blinds where the window had once been, not wanting to stare at the ominous blankness of the wall, and turned back towards the entryway, only to find it once again covered in darkness. I left the door open though, he thought to himself. He briskly walked into the entryway and saw that the front door had closed somehow. There had been no wind, and the wooden door was not nearly heavy enough to swing back and close on its own. Andrew reached out and took hold of the brass doorknob, which had become shockingly cold, and turned.

He pulled open the door, revealing a continuation of the same beige wallpaper that had taken the place of the kitchen window. Andrew punched and pounded on the wall, hoping to break his way out, but wasn’t able to leave a single mark.

Anger, frustration, confusion, and fear simultaneously welled up inside the officer. His heart was beating rapidly and he felt his thoughts uncoupling themselves from his rational mind, overwhelming him with vicious waves of panic.

Then he felt a tap on his shoulder.

Suddenly, a powerful odor penetrated his nostrils; the stench of rotten meat. When he looked behind him, his eyes were met with a sight so horrible, not even his darkest night-terrors could have replicated it. Standing in front of him was the destroyed and decaying body of his sister, Bernice. Her torn and bloodied skin had started to rot away and recede from her face, revealing cracked and shattered bone beneath. Her eye sockets were empty voids that constantly wept blood and pus. A centipede dangled out of the hole where her nose should have been and crawled toward her open mouth. The flesh of her lips had been peeled away, leaving nothing to conceal her dead and yellowing teeth and bloated black tongue. Her rotting right arm was broken and twisted behind her back in horrible angles, leaving her fingerless hand dangling over her left shoulder, which ended in a swollen stump two inches before her elbow. Her tattered clothes hung like rags on her bony frame, revealing breasts pocked with small bloody holes where maggots had wormed their sinister paths into her body. Grey, loose meat clung to her legs, threatening to slide off of the bone given enough force. A bone was sticking out of her broken ankle that had twisted underneath her, giving her a tilted stance.

The sight made the bile in Andrew’s stomach shoot to his throat. In his mind he could imagine the terrible shrieks his sister had made on the night she died, while the ruined smoldering mass of a car crushed her body, pinning her to her deathbed. That same painful, primal scream rose into his throat as he pulled his gun out of its holster. Fear caused him to shoot prematurely, sending the bullet into her left kneecap, shattering it completely. The sudden change in pressure caused her other rotted leg to snap with a gut-wrenching sound, dropping her on her back. Both her legs crumbled to fine black ash. When she landed, the joints and bones in her arm cracked and shifted back into their proper place. The upper half of her body rolled over and began to drag itself towards the staircase while Andrew stood and watched in horror. As the living corpse clawed its way up the wooden staircase amidst a myriad of fleshy, cracking sounds, a deep pained moan seeped out of her decrepit mouth that made the officer fall to his knees in a fit of vomiting. It had said his name.

When all the bile had left his stomach, Andrew shakily stood up. His eyes followed the trail of bloody pus the creature had left behind, which disappeared over the top of the stairs. Andrew gagged at the sight and smell, then began to climb the steps, gun still in hand. The same chilling terror he had felt underneath the house began to seep its way through his body again, causing him to break out in a cold sweat.

As his foot left the seventh step he heard the sound of something heavy crashing onto the floor upstairs. Andrew stood in place, afraid to even move. He climbed two more steps then braced himself again as he heard the sound of tapping coming from further upstairs.

What the hell have I gotten himself into, he thought, what the fuck was the Francis family been up to before they died?

“You won’t know by standing here.”

The thought ran through his mind, but it was not his. Nevertheless, it spoke the truth..

Andrew stood silently in the darkness at the top of the staircase, unsure if he had the will to proceed. A path of blood and pus stretched into the infinite darkness of the doorway; it looked like the mouth of a sick and terrible beast, welcoming him to enter its maw. The heavy sound of tapping emanating from the room sounded like the chomping teeth. The low and unsyncopated nature of the sound caused him to flinch every time he heard it.

With slow and even steps, the officer cautiously approached the doorway and peeked inside with his pocket flashlight. The disgusting path of bodily waste wormed its way behind the desk, which had been pushed at an odd angle. The typewriter that had one sat proudly on it was no longer there; the cause of the loud crash, Andrew presumed, and also the source of the tapping. He tiptoed around the clean side of the desk, not wanting to follow the putrid trail any longer, and saw the edge of the typewriter that had fallen on its side.The detective took in a breath, braced himself for whatever he was going to see, and swiveled around the desk.

The hand of the creature that was his sister was fumbling over the machine, covering it in blood and grime. When Andrew came around the desk the creature looked up, weakly tried to grasp at him, and said, “An…..drew…” The creature’s fat black tongue lolled out of its mouth, dripping black saliva onto the floor.

The sight made him immediately want to vomit again, but his fear held his stomach tightly. In this moment, all love and affection he had towards his sister was gone and replaced with horror, hatred, and absolute disgust. He felt no apprehension for what he must do, but was still pained by the thought. “I’m sorry, Bernie.” Andrew said softly. He raised his gun and fired into the thing’s skull, shattering it and spraying black and brown blood onto the carpet behind it. Its arm and remaining bits of skull fell limply to the ground and soon dissolved into a slimy black puddle of blood that left the room smelling like rotting death.

Andrew stumbled backwards, fell against a bookcase and slid to the ground, spilling a few books on his sides. He dropped his head into his hands and began to weep salty tears that stung his face. He had just killed his sister. She was dead, but he killed her again. Oddly enough, he felt rather calm about it. When her body went limp, all of the fear and hatred he had felt were gone, though the love and admiration he had once felt did not appear either. Now, the only emotions he had towards her were those of pity and sadness. He felt as if he had done her a service. She was nothing more than a decomposing corpse of a woman who had once been young and vibrant and beautiful.

It wasn't actually her, the officer decided, only something using her body like a macabre shell. He had helped her escape from the living hell she was suffering. She is better off, he thought to himself. Nobody should have to live in a world as awful as hers. I saved her..

When he raised his head, Andrew saw that the typewriter’s carriage was not centered. He crawled to where it lay and saw what had been typed, one long string of repeating letters. He set the machine upright and removed the parchment. At the top was the letter Donald Francis had been writing to his friend. Below that was written:

bedroombedroombedroombedroombedroombedroombedroombedroombe

Andrew set the paper face down with a horrified look; he didn’t want to see whatever that thing had left for him in the bedroom. But he was trapped, unable to escape and most likely unable to be rescued; whatever evil had sealed him in would surely be able to keep others out. He looked at the gun in his hands and thought about putting it to his temple and pulling the trigger then and there, becoming the third person to kill themselves under the influence of the sinister home.

“Is that what Bernice would want? What any of your family would want?”

Again, thoughts that did not seem to be entirely his own swept into Andrew’s mind. Were these thoughts that the house had put into his mind? If so, why were they so calm and sensible? Why would the source of his torment be giving him reassurance and comfort? The detective decided that whether or not these thoughts were projections of the evil force in the home, they had spoken truthfully once again. He put his gun back in its holster, stood, and made his way out of the room.

In the shadows, the dark wood beams that made up the doorframe to the Francis’ bedroom looked like a black stone archway leading to the site of some unholy ritual, scarred by the claws of some horrible beast. Through the darkness Andrew could see the form of a bed pushed against the center of the wall, the only object in the windowless room. Not a bed, he thought, an altar. Some sacrificial slab to a detestable being. As he approached the bed, he felt the familiar presence of terror rise in his chest. What monstrous thing had once lain here? What ghastly thing had the Francis family summoned into this world? Andrew wondered how long Donald and Angeline had kept this secret, and if it could have gone back even further than them. Maybe they were only the current bearers of some curse passed down through a line of eldritch priests that dated back to the founding of the town, maybe even before that. The path to hell is paved with good intentions, and Evil wasn’t grown in a day. The rational part of Andrew’s mind emphasized all the maybe’s that were coursing through his addled psyche, but a deeper part of him knew there was some truth to these primal thoughts.

He was close enough to touch the comforter of the bed, a lush deep blue thing with traces of white stitching throughout. Getting on his hands and knees, Andrew took a shaky breath and prepared to lift the bed skirt. As he did, terror exploded in his heart, making him feel as if it might simply explode out of his chest. He grabbed the edge of the bed skirt with a tightly clenched fist and lifted. When no decrepit limb or unearthly appendage came shooting out, he carefully lowered his head to peek under the bed. A thing that looked like a wide bowl was resting directly beneath the bed, just within arm’s reach. Seeing that it was simply an object waiting for him, rather than some unseen attacker or other monstrosity, eased Andrew’s nerves.

With his confidence returning, he grabbed the cool metal rim of the bowl, and slowly dragged it out from beneath the bed. It appeared to be full of water, but the room’s darkness made him unsure. He stared at the bowl for a couple minutes, waiting for some apparition or message to appear in the water, and became anxious and confused when nothing happened. After contemplating and hesitating on his next action, Andrew slowly placed a finger into the water and swirled it around. He removed his finger, which did not feel wet, and watched as the ripples clashed against each other and the rim of the basin, slowly easing and dissipating. Once the surface of the basin was still, a small ripple formed in the middle of the water and stayed there. Andrew saw it suddenly shoot towards the bottom of the basin, and watched as the ripple went much deeper than the dimensions of the basin would suggest was possible. Looking into the water, Andrew felt as if he were looking into the void of an ocean, unable to fathom how truly deep it was or imagine what could be lying in its depths.

Eventually he lost sight of the ripple as it became smaller and smaller, winking out of sight. Again, he was left with the all-encompassing darkness of the basin. Then, a speck appeared deep within the inky blackness. Slowly it grew, emitting a dim light that illuminated through the infinite darkness surrounding it. As the light eased and pierced the darkness within the basin, so did it ease and pierce the painful feelings in his mind. The dread and anxiety that had soaked its way into his bones was receding and being replaced by peace and a sense of great understanding. He wanted to reach in and try to touch the light, but as he did, as if responding to his wishes, it came closer. When it appeared to be the size of a grain of sand, the light split into two, both continuing to rise to the surface. Andrew peered deeper into the bowl and became lost in its cosmic depth. The bottom of the basin was not an inch and half deep as the outside shape implied, but much, much deeper. If he reached his hand into the water, he was sure it would sink all the way up to his shoulder, even further if he tried. But he dared not, afraid of what it might do to the lights.

The luminescent orbs continued to rise, quickly now it seemed, from the incomprehensible depths of the basin, leaving dark ripples in the water behind them; it appeared as if they were dragging something along through the water. Now the two split into four, creating a dancing circle of lights. Faster they swam through the basin, actually causing the surface to ripple from the force of their ascension. A fifth light appeared in the center of the circle, the now pea-sized balls of luminescence shifted into a new formation; it resembled the letter “U” with angular tips. As it neared the surface, Andrew began to see what was trailing behind the lights, or rather, trailing with the lights. The glowing orbs were set in a curved black band, which stretched back and grew into a form that was incomprehensible within the tenebrous water. Suddenly another shape came rushing forward ahead of the lack band, a dark mass with four long appendages stretching from its center. When the lights had almost reached the surface, realization and that sick familiar feeling of horror exploded in Andrew’s heart and head; this was the shape he had seen in his dreams.

At the sight of the long, sinewy fingers of the creature within the water, the officer staggered and fell backwards, bouncing his head on the hardwood floor. He blinked the stars out of his eyes and held the back of his head in his hands, slowly coming to his knees. When the pain had slightly subsided, Andrew looked up and saw the basin in front of him. As he stared, he felt a sharp pang in his heart as it skipped a beat. At first he felt that he must be insane, and that the sudden and complete decomposition of his mind would surely kill him. On the contrary, he felt like he was incredibly sane, painfully sane. The sureness of his sanity at this sight made Andrew wish he had pulled the trigger on himself in Donald’s office; the water from the basin had begun to slowly drip upwards.

A single thought rang in his mind in a tongue that was completely unknown to him, one that had not been spoken on the Earth in centuries, but one he could understand completely. It said, “Go to Hestova”.

Dean pulled up to the curb of the Francis house in a police cruiser and looked out at the driveway, where a black Buick Regal was parked. A pained look spread across his face when Rufus asked, “That his car?”

“No.” He sat looking back and forth between the car and the house

“Then what’re we waiting for? Get to the lake, s’ the only other place he’s like to be.”

Dean cast one last longing look at the car and the house, then drove North to the lake. To Andrew.