House on the Hill

The night wanderer, Alexander, encounters a suspicious house on a dark, silent hill one night. He cannot resist investigating, as he has always fancied the unknown.

 Alexander wasn’t quite the average man. He was a hard worker; worked from six to six in the mines, but when men, who haven’t worked nearly as hard as him, were home, taking well-deserved rest, he was travelling. Sleep was just not his thing. He would travel mile upon mile on strange road, heading in unfamiliar direction, in the deep of the night. Nothing felt better to him, than landing his feet on unchartered soil. He also wasn’t too fussy about where or when he slept. Whenever he just couldn’t go on, his body would just shut down wherever it was forced to. Then, he would wake an hour or two later, and begin heading off to work.

                

On a chilly Friday night, early in the 1960’s, Alexander travelled around twice the distance he usually would. This wasn’t really his plan. His constant slipping in and out of awareness, due to hid tiredness, caused him to lose track of time. The dim headlight on the noisy pickup could barely pierce the thick darkness. He glanced at his watch. “Half Past six?” he asked himself. No doubt, the watch had stopped working. He convinced himself that no more than two hours had passed, and pressed on. Heavy clouds covered the quarter moon. The last sign of civilization Alexander had remembered seeing was an old, probably abandoned farmhouse, which was at least forty miles behind. Deathly-looking trees bent themselves over the narrowing, disappearing path. A look of puzzle stole the fifty year-old’s face, as the car came to a steady deceleration, and halted. It was only then he checked the dimly lit gas gauge, which explained the dilemma.

                

With hardly any amount of worry, or fearfulness, he calmly opened the door, and exited the vehicle. With the help of his flashlight, he checked and double-checked. He found no problem, no new problem at least. He realized that the distance he drove must have been enough to deplete his half tank of gasoline.

               

 “Well,” he sighed, then went back into the car, and took up his keg of cool water, and strapped it onto him. He shut the car off, and slammed the bonnet and the car door. Then, the flashlight went out. It was just then he leaned just how dark the night could be. He gave the flashlight a hard slap with his heavy palm, and it spat out a dull light. Guiding his vision with the dim light, he glanced around. He had just realized that there was no tar beneath him. All he saw were ancient looking trees and wild woodlands. A quick, shadowy movement made him spin suddenly. His heart promptly accelerated. Then, his eyes zoomed in on a vague path, made nearly invisible and overtaken by bush and rocks. He followed the trail with his light. The winding path led up to something. He looked at it carefully. “A house?” he wondered. The night’s objective was set.

               

The fearless Alexander Bolton headed to the foot of the path. Another swift, black movement made him glance up quickly. After staring at nothing but the lengthening path, he assumed that this mysterious thing was merely a black cat. The very thought of a black cat in such an eerie scenario would be enough to change the mind of the average person. Then again, the average person wouldn’t be planning on taking a hike up a rough path at this dark hour of night, alone, to only God knows where. Alexander wasn’t quite the average man.

                

In a minute, he found himself walking through tall grass. The night wind stung him so hard that he was tempted to turn back. Then, his head was flung to his left, as he was certain that he saw something run through the bush through the corner of his left eye. According to the abstract piece of sight, this thing was certainly no cat. Fear slowly crept into his mind as he looked around wildly, the flashlight dimly aiding him. He wanted to call out “Who’s there?!” but he found that he could not speak. Fright had barred the words from leaving his mouth. Then, he shook his head roughly, maybe trying to shake off the fear. He told himself, in his mind, that he had to see that house, or he wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

                

Alexander looked back in the direction of the faraway objective, and stepped off hurriedly. A ghastly chill swept over him, as he was sure he felt, even vaguely, a cold hand grip his right shoulder. With a racing heart, and a gasp, and wide eyes, he turned quickly, hoping to see nothing. He stumbled back, hearing his heart pump. He stared and stared, but all he saw was the winding path leading back from where he was coming. Then, puzzle enveloped his face as he couldn’t see his vehicle. There was no sign of it. Somehow, his curiosity subdued his sense of logic. He mustered up all his courage, and briskly walked on.

                

“What the…” He focused the dull beam on what seemed to be a sign. He walked up to it and examined it. It was just an arrow pointing back. He knitted his brows as he thought. Then, convincing himself that the sign had no meaning, he walked past it. He looked around, while passing through thick, tall, wet grass. As he progressed, he heard, maybe being forged from the sensible mind, a soft, but clear whispery voice. “Turn back…” He stopped dead in his tracks, He listened, and listened, but he heard not even a cricket, just the wind howling. Then, he turned around. Seeing nothing, he returned his attention to the objective. The objective, by now, was clearly a dilapidated house, and it wasn’t too far away.

                

As he rushed on towards the house, the bushes he moved through grew thicker and taller, till their height surpassed his, and he could barely see through them. Then, as he was almost running, he tripped over something hard, like concrete, and landed roughly on his hands. As he saw where he was, he got up hastily. Right beneath his feet, and immediately around him were several graves, all partially submerged in what seemed to be fresh mud. The graves wore long cracks and huge breaks. A dark chill run through his spine. He quickly proceeded, but couldn’t find the energy to run.

                

Finally, he cleared the bushes, and the old house was in plain sight. He breathed heavily and nervously, slowly nearing the house. Leafless trees filled the yard.  As he was even closer to the house, he was certainly sure that he heard a sound of exhalation. Then, he saw once more, through the corner of his left eye, a quick, shadowy movement. He quickly turned his head to the direction of the mysterious image. Again, nothing was there. Then, again, he heard the hellish voice speak. This time, it was clearer, and sounded more persistent, more warning, “turn back”.  Heart racing, hairs erect, the now terrified man spun quickly, then stood frozen. As he looked back down the path, it seemed ten times longer than it did while he was climbing it. Also, he saw around half a dozen of the downward pointing arrows. He slowly stepped off, ready to head back down. Then, he stopped. “To come this far,” he thought, “To not even glimpse inside the house… It’d be a real shame.”

                

His mustered up all the bravery he had left, and cracked his knuckles. He walked on to the well-aged house. Glancing over to one side of the yard, he noticed a few bending sugarcanes. Finally, he was upon the house. For some reason, he had thought that he was at the front of the house, but it seemed to him his thought was wrong, for there was no front door. Yet, there was a space there like a veranda. Also, there were two windows there, cracked all over, and made nearly opaque by age. Alexander peered through one of them at a time. While peering through the second, he the swift, shadowy movement again, rush across the window, and even across the other window. He was sure there was something in there, but he couldn’t see through the windows clearly.

                

The man just stood there, staring in through the windows, fighting himself to remember and reaccept his belief that ghosts and such things did not exist. “It must be someone,” he whispered to himself, “Maybe he is afraid.” He tried real hard to believe himself. He wanted to call out to whoever this person might have been, but he couldn’t. Again, the words were caged. “But how could someone live out here?” He thought, “So far away from anyone else… Who would be mad enough to build a house out here?” Well, seeing there was no front door, the curious man journeyed to another side of the house. Here seemed even darker, and gloomier. A huge tree overhead bent and blocked the bit of light the sky had to offer. Before Alexander was an old, wooden door, and no windows.

                

As he slowly stepped towards the door, he noticed a mat there. On the mat was an arrow pointing away from the door. “Hmmm…” Alexander pondered, then looked back up at the door before him. He came too far, and braved too much to let a mat prevent him from exploring this odd, suspicious house. He grabbed the rusty knob. It was so cold. It made him shiver. He heard the wind howl a warning behind him, but he ignored it. He turned the knob and pushed the door. The door creaked loudly as it opened slowly. Inside was swarmed with thick, cold darkness, except for where Alexander’s dim light could reach. Not moving from where he was, he explored the place. With the light guiding his eyes, he saw long chains of web hang down from the roof, some even touching the floor. Strangely, though, he didn’t notice even one spider. Also, there were three chandeliers. He walked slowly. The flashlight showed him a small dining table, and there was only one chair around it. Web had enveloped everything, but no spiders were there. There were no paintings or pictures hanging on the wall. Slowly walking, he focused the beam of light on what appeared to be a well-made box. Suddenly, as his brain clicked, he jolted back with a gasp. His heart beat even harder. He had just noticed it was a coffin. Never before had he been frightened by or afraid of any such thing. He even remembered falling asleep in a graveyard one tired night. But this coffin frightened him, but he wouldn’t let himself believe that. So, he slowly walked up towards the well-made box, staring down at it. He felt his head expand. This feeling had never overtaken him before. He wondered about the coffin. Something was certainly wrong. It wasn’t exactly shiny, or new-looking, but it had no visible dust on it. Slowly, with trembling, he rested his left palm on it, and moved it along the wood. There was no dust. He looked at his trembling hand.

                

For at least two minutes, he held his position. Then, with a sudden jolt of bravery, he flung the coffin open, expecting a frightening, ghastly encounter. Le leapt back quickly, accidentally releasing the flashlight. It was taken apart by the fall. Batteries, bulb, glass disc, were all separated. He found himself shivering in a corner, balled up, shaking coldly in a lethal kind of fear. He looked around the room. He was almost sure he had wet himself, but he hadn’t the time to confirm that. Long, scary seconds passed. Seconds turned to minutes, and Alexander realized he was being ridiculous. Slowly, he crawled out of his corner, feeling around for the parts of his tool, still staring into the vicinity of the opened coffin. With heavy breathing, he somehow fitted the flashlight together. The light came on much brighter than before, and his pupils relaxed, and sighed. He rose to his feet, and walked over to the box, shining the light down into it nervously. Inside it was quite clean, and didn’t have that deathly reek he had expected. Something, though, stirred his mind, and made bumps appeared all over his flesh, His head swelled up again. There was a small, frilly, white pillow at one end of the coffin. This thing sent dark, eerie, frightful thoughts rushing through Alexander’s mind. Suddenly, the flashlight went out. He slapped the tool hard with his palms no less than a dozen times, before a dull light, that dull light he was used to returned.

                

He turned from the coffin and faced another door. He stared at it for a little while. As his mind was swept over by fearful thoughts, he spun around quickly, gasping with wide eyes. He stared and stared. There was nothing there, nothing he hadn’t seen before. He turned back towards the door, and slowly moved to it. He grabbed on to the knob. It was cold, but probably not as cold as the first. This door wasn’t creaky. It slowly and smoothly went ajar, then it was fully open. Before Alexander was a strange-looking room, with no more doors.

                

What caught his attention most was a rocking chair. He focused the dim beam on it. It was rocking, and not slightly, not the kind of movement the wind, or even a cat could cause. His eyes and the beam roamed the room quickly. All he saw there aside from the chair was a table at a far end, leaning on a wall. Again, the light went out. He blasted it and blasted, one, two three, four, ten, maybe twenty times, but the light could not be resurrected. He shook it. It was dead. He slowly placed it on the floor, and stared before him. He was thankful that there were no more doors, so he just had to explore this little table, then he could leave.

                

He stood there and waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Soon, he could see a little. His eyesight was exceptional for his age. He neared the table. On it, he saw dolls, eyes wide open, and creepy, smiling faces. He looked at him closely, wondering what to think of them. Then, he gasped and stepped back suddenly, as he was sure he had just seen one of them wink an eye at him. He stared at the dolls with a growing head, and a fiercely pumping heart. Then, he hurriedly grabbed the dolls, tow by two, and placed them on their bellies. He had just noticed a mirror on the table that reflected only the webbed roof. Slowly, he gripped the frameless mirror, and for whatever reason, held it up to his face. He took a heart rendering gasp, as his eyes widened, and he stared back at the ghastly figure. The mirror fell from him, and was shattered.