First published on Vocal.media in 2022
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My mother told me that certain buildings have “personalities,” and that a lucky few are able to feel them. I was once grateful to be able to pick up on those feelings. When my husband and I first moved into the green-paneled house at 1306 Marina Way the feeling was strong, so strong that it took my breath away. Henry was the only one to see the house until we were ready to move in, and he assured me that I would love it. From the outside I did, but as soon as I entered the foyer I felt claustrophobic. One step inside and a hundred hands materialized and touched my skin. They were tender, cold, and I could feel the despair at their fingertips. Henry looked at me with an enormous smile, “So, what do you think?” I could tell by the look in his eyes that he was excited for me to love it as much as he did, they shimmered in the same way as the night when he asked me to marry him three years ago. Although, instead of a ring, this time he gave me a beautiful home that filled me with fear.
The foyer was laid with marble and the walls were painted white. Silver sconces presented warm candle bulbs and a large chandelier decorated with jewels hung above us. Running up the left wall and darting to the right was a marble staircase with a velvet runner. A beautiful bloody waterfall flowing from the second floor. The house was magnificent, and I hadn’t expected Henry to purchase such a thing even though I knew that he could afford it. As a younger man, he made a small fortune in a division of his father’s company that he built himself. On the other hand, I was lucky enough to land a position as an editor for a semi-popular fashion magazine and I was lucky to have met Henry in a coffee shop. Luckier still that he asked me to dinner the following evening. He was charming but didn’t flaunt his wealth, dressing modestly but always in style. For these reasons I thought that he and I would stay in our little apartment living humbly and comfortably, enjoying not what we could buy but the simplicity of each others’ presence. But Henry wanted to make a home, saying that I deserved my own space, a place with enough beauty to match my own. Then, when we discovered that I was pregnant, I started to like the idea of having a place that was undeniably ours.
I looked back at Henry and said that I loved it, despite wanting to run out the door and bawl my eyes out. The personality I felt within this house was malicious. The hands that touched me were no doubt the hands of those who had experienced heartache and suffering at the mercy of the house. He embraced me and we kissed. He said “I love you” and I said it in return, hoping that he wouldn’t notice the nervousness creeping up to the surface. Henry took my hand to show me the rest of the house, leading me through the door to the right of the foyer. It took us to the living room, the walls were the same color as the carpet lining the stairs and dotted with framed pictures of forests and lakes. The room was furnished with pieces lovely to look at but hardly comfortable. As we walked through the room I felt the cold touch of those hands follow my every step. They grabbed at my clothing, begging me to leave, but could only caress me in a way that was also somehow urgent. I felt nauseous but shook it off when I saw the look on Henry’s face. He was so happy, and I could tell he wanted me to be happy too, and for everything that he had given me I could at least give him that.
The dining room attached to the living room and the kitchen at the corner of the house, each threshold built with double doors paned with glass that hadn’t been cleaned in ages. The entire room felt trapped in a thick fog. The room’s perpetual darkness gave way to restlessness, something unstable clogging the already stuffy atmosphere. I no longer felt the hands, save for a few at my legs, as if most of them never dared to venture in there. As if those that left had given up hope on us. The floor here was a dark-colored hardwood, and before long I realized the restlessness was inching toward us from the room attached at the other end.
Henry pulled me into the kitchen, the air was heavy and stale, I could have collapsed at any moment.
“Henry, do you smell that?” I said, no doubt with an alarming look in my eyes. He looked back at me and assured me that it was nothing, or at least he couldn’t smell anything out of the ordinary. One look around showed this room was out of place, elegance had been forgotten altogether. The cabinets had a tacky wood finish and the counters were off-white, riddled with chips and scratches. The china cabinet on the far wall was painted maroon but chipped and revealing a grey rotted wood underneath. What frightened me was the floor. It was linoleum with a pattern of flowers with golden centers and red and blue petals, each flower framed with a design of those same three colors. The tile’s background was somewhere between tan and off-white, but the worst part were the stains. The stains were dull but unmistakably caused by the smearing of blood. Henry reminded me that the kitchen needed work, and he wasn’t sure why it looked this way but told me that he would have it fixed first.
“What are those stains there? Is that blood?” He sensed the panic in my voice and held me close. He assured me that whatever it was would be gone in a few days, but until then they had to deal with it. I took my eyes away from the floor, first to the windows; however, they offered no escape from that terrible feeling. Even though it was just after noon I could feel a darkness coming in through the glass. Amidst the darkness were sets of eyes, ones that I could not see, but feel. They were burning holes through our skulls, watching and waiting for the right moment. My eyes drifted to the far end of the kitchen to an old door, painted white and peeling in the same way as the china cabinet. The door had a brass handle with what looked like some kind of face on it. From this distance, I couldn’t tell and I did not want to move closer to find out. Above the handle were two locks, one an old deadbolt that looked good for nothing and the other a tad newer, a latch with a Master Lock on it. I fidgeted back and forth, and Henry noticed. Something was wrong here and he knew that I could feel it. I did everything I could to put those feelings away, for his sake. After all, he did this for me.
“Eve, I know it isn’t perfect, but like I said we’ll have this fixed up in no time,” he said this in his most calm and comforting voice, the one he knew I liked so well. I complied but asked him to show me the rest of the house. Anything to get out of that kitchen.
We exited through the doorway that led to the foyer. That cold feeling, the touch of those hands, was back now but instead of grabbing at me they pushed me toward the front door. Each push was futile, passing through at each attempt. I wanted to listen to the push of those hands but I did not want to have Henry think that I was unappreciative of his gift. Henry led me upstairs and showed me the guest rooms, the bathrooms, and the master bedroom. The master bedroom was big and beautiful, like almost every other room in the house. The bed sat on the right wall, directly in the center with two white nightstands on each side. It was enclosed in a see-through curtain with a musty-looking white comforter and a myriad of pillows. On the left wall was a desk and chair for reading, a matching set, dark mahogany with plush seats made from some kind of pastel fabric. The room had plenty of light but felt dark, like a shadow encased the entire room. Something was different, my feelings of nausea and nervousness were replaced by pure terror. I looked at Henry with eyes that displayed an utmost sense of panic and he asked what was wrong.
“I’m sorry, Henry I can’t stay here, something isn’t right,” I said with tears running down my cheeks and a lump in my throat. He embraced me again and began shushing me gently as I continued to weep.
“If you really can’t stay here tonight you can stay with my parents in the city. I don’t mind dear, I know this house may take some getting used to but you’ll come to love it.” This was the man I married. He was understanding and always willing to make me as comfortable as possible. I loved him so much.
We walked out the front door to the car. Henry handed me the keys and said to come back in the morning if I wanted to, by then he would be helping the contractors rip apart the kitchen to get ready for its remodeling. He said that I could help destroy that awful room.
“You aren’t staying with me?” I asked. He said no, that the contractors were coming early and the drive to the city was an hour and a half. Easier to stay the night here and wake up at a reasonable hour rather than wake up earlier. I gave him a worried look and told him to come, that we could just go to bed as soon as we got to his parent’s place.
“That probably won’t happen, you know how my parents will want to stay up. Trust me, Eve, I’ll be okay,” Henry said this with as much confidence as ever, which made me feel better, but still uneasy.
“I’ll bring you breakfast in the morning, but I won’t go inside the house. I’m sorry Henry.” I tried to say this with as much sympathy as I could but it wasn’t necessary. Henry looked at me and smiled, he said “I love you” and I said it in return. He closed the door to the car and I drove away, thankful those cold hands no longer surrounded me.
I woke up the next morning and vomited. Mrs. McBell, Henry’s mother, heard me and asked what was wrong. Henry and I hadn’t told anyone about the baby but at this point, I thought it was impossible to hide any longer. His mother cried and called for Henry’s father.
“Oh, Johnathan isn’t it wonderful? We’re going to be grandparents!” Henry’s mother was so excited, and I was surprised to see a woman of her age rushing down the stairs with such enthusiasm. Henry’s father was always a stoic man, but tears rolled down his eyes at the news. They embraced me and told me to bring Henry back home that evening for dinner. I agreed and was excited to go tell Henry that his parents knew about their growing family. When I finished getting ready I packed a lunch for Henry and headed out the door. The sun was bright and the air was warm. I hoped that when I got to the house the feelings I had the previous day were gone, and that it was just an episode of nervous anxiety.
The car door shut behind me and I felt something new as I stood on the stone walkway that led to the front door. There was an emptiness that was almost serene, like something had since left the house. My heart cleared and I knew that whatever it was I felt the previous day was gone now. I knew that Henry and I could start our family in a home as safe as any. I burst through the front door holding Henry’s lunch, “Henry! Honey I’m here and I brought you-” my heart sank, the bag holding his lunch hit the floor. I felt the cold touch of those hands once more, but stronger and more real. A spread of dust covered the foyer floor and led to the kitchen. Debris could be seen through the doorway and the second floor sagged aggressively. I called out Henry’s name and ran across the marble floor of the foyer. The ceiling had collapsed and the second-floor guest bedroom now lay in a mess in the kitchen. There was no sign of Henry, only a pile of debris and a cloud of low-hanging dust glowing amber from the work lights stationed at the door. I called Henry’s name over and over, all the while frantically throwing whatever I could off the pile. I stopped when I saw still-drying blood on the remains of the destroyed guest bedroom floor.
The eyes from beyond the windows were amused and focused on me and my dead husband. Amidst my weeping, I heard a knock from inside the cellar door at the other end of the kitchen. The eyes from the windows snapped over to the door and shied away.
A voice, deep and cryptic, whispered close to my ear, “Thank you, Eve, it has been so long since I had company.” I managed to get to my feet but stumbled backwards, almost tripping over the pile of debris that had crushed Henry.
“Would you like to join us down here? I’m sure your husband would love to see you and the baby.” I was paralyzed with fear and fell to my knees. My mind raced and I could say nothing, let alone scream for help. That didn’t matter, though; no one would be able to hear me scream anyway. The knock from behind the door became an aggressive banging that caused the Master Lock to fall to the floor. It hit with a clank and the door rattled until a soft click came from the doorknob. My body weighed a ton, I couldn’t even lift my hands. The rattling continued, intensified, ceased. The deadbolt, the last lock holding the door shut, slowly turned away from the door. The cellar door creaked open and I could see pure darkness start to seep out, like a smoke machine spewing black vapor. I knew that once the door fully opened I would be dead. My attempts to move were in vain, something in that kitchen held me down. My eyes stayed locked on the darkness, the door was now a quarter of the way open. In my mind I saw Henry, I saw the day we met and I felt the first time we kissed. I felt the first time we made love and I saw the day he proposed to me. “Henry, I love you,” I whispered. They would be my last words.
The door swung open and Eve knew she would be consumed by whatever lay behind the darkness. However, just before that, she thought she felt one last touch from a singular cold pair of phantom hands; but this touch was different. It was stronger, more real, and held her shoulders in a way that only Henry McBell knew how. She could have sworn that just before the moment she was taken by that house she heard a voice whisper, lovingly and apologetically, in her ear that said, “I’m sorry, dear.”
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