XVIII: In Which A House Has Guests

The cement drive was uneven in places, long cracks growing weeds crossing it at intervals.  Trees lined both sides. Xander’s van crept slowly up, shuddering with each bump. No one spoke, not even Steve.  As they rounded what turned out to be the final curve, the house loomed before them. Three stories tall, with gabled windows, and a large half-walled porch jutting off the front.

Xander reached over and pushed the cassette tape that had been sticking out of the radio into the slot, and turned it on.  The tape whirred to life.

“Scooby Dooby Doo, Where are you?  We’ve got some work to do now.”

Colin leaned forward, resting his face in his palm.  He wondered briefly if this was going to become his default posture.  With this group? Probably.

Xander’s van, their ersatz Mystery Machine, squeaked to a halt in the circle drive in front of the door.  Everyone silently piled out and stood in a close group, looking up at the place.

“That’s weird.”  Steve said, breaking the silence.

“Yeah, the whole situation’s weird.” Selena said back.

“No, not that.  All the windows are there, there’s no graffiti, no litter like beer bottles.  The door’s closed, no scratch marks from being jimmied open, nobody’s been out here.”

“What’s so weird about that,”  Sam asked “We’re out in the woods.”

“Out in the woods, at a house that’s been abandoned for, like seventy years, a fifteen minute drive from a college town.  Do you really think people wouldn’t come out here?”

“Maybe all the graffiti’s on the inside.”  Suggested Alex.

“We’ll never know, standing out here.  Let’s go knock.” Xander strode off toward the door.

Everyone followed him up onto the landing as he walked up to the large oak door, grabbed the large brass knocker and actually knocked.  Three quick raps.

They waited.

Nothing.

“I don’t think anyone’s going to answer.  Nobody’s here.” Jane said.

“Someone has to be here.  We got the invitation.” Sam said.

“Probably a prank.  Send the freaks on a wild goose chase and laugh at them.”  Colin said.

“No, this place has energy.  Something keeps the vandals away, something invited us here.  It will reveal itself when it chooses.” Ron said, then raised his voice, addressing the door.  “You have called and we have answered. Both sides bound by this contract, we enter!”

He grasped the brass knob, turned and pushed.  Surprisingly, it turned easily and the door opened with a quiet groan.  Dust motes kicked up by their entry danced in the faint light that filtered through the heavy curtains and doorway.  Dust covered the hardwood floor of the large entry hall in an even sheet, unbroken by anything but the arc of the door opening.  

The entry hall was a fairly large room with doors leading off to the sides and the far wall.  The walls themselves were covered in maroon wallpaper patterned with gold florals raised in velvet, above gilded flowers on dark oak wainscotting.  Finely painted still lifes hung at tasteful intervals between the door frames. On one side of the entry door stood a brass umbrella stand, on the other, a maroon velvet wing back chair and a small, circular oak table holding a stationery pad, pencil and crystal vase containing dried, dead flowers.  Central to the room were wide stairs, ascending into darkness.

“See, nobody here.” Jane said, her voice echoing slightly off the walls. She pointed to the floor.  “No footprints in the dust. Nobody’s been here in a long time.”

“You’re assuming whatever invited us here has feet.”  Ron said.

“That’s very reassuring.  Thank you.” Selena rolled her eyes.

“Okay…”  Xander started, but Steve cut him off.

“No.”

“No, what?” Xander asked.

“You were about to say ‘Okay, gang, let’s split up.’  F**k that, Freddie. We stick together or I’m waiting in the damn van.”

Any retort Xander may have had died on his lips as the muffled sounds of music drifted to their ears.

“Jazz noir, on an old Victrola.”  Selena whispered. “It’s coming from upstairs.”

“Do we go up or do we listen to the Screaming Audience and get the hell out of here?”  Steve asked, pointing to the fourth wall.

“The music’s probably to guide us to whoever sent the invitation.” Ron said, walking toward the stairs.

“Besides, “ Jane clapped Steve on the shoulder.  “Do you really want to be telling this story in a bar five years from now and have to say ‘Then we heard creepy music so we left.’?”

“If it means I’m alive to tell the story…  Fine, f**k it, let’s go get eaten.”

When everyone reached the second floor landing, they all grouped up.  The music seemed to be coming from a room off to the left. They approached warily.

“Do come in. You have been invited, after all.”  A distinct masculine voice carried through the door.  Everyone froze. There were still no footprints other than their own in the dust.

Steve moved first, stepping up and turning the handle.  The door swung in soundlessly. The room on the other side was spotless.  Dark oak panelled walls matched the varnished and polished end tables which held their brightly colored Tiffany lamps proudly in the corners of the room. The lighter colored wooden floorboards peeked out around the edges of a floor dominated by a large, lush rug; red and gold paisley with gold fringe around the edge and tassels at the corners.

The left wall held a brick fireplace, now cold and dark, but stacked with logs ready to be lit.  The source of the music stood alongside; an actual gramophone, spinning its jazz record beneath its needle.  Facing it, the opposite wall was one large bookcase full of old expensive-looking hardcovers filling every shelf but the topmost which was incongruously packed with what seemed to be dimestore pulp paperbacks.

In the center of the far wall stood a pair of French doors opening, presumably, onto a balcony.  Between the group and those doors was a semi-circle of furniture; loveseats, wing-backed chairs, a chesterfield or possibly a davenport; all existing in that grey area between vintage and antique.

Very little of this actually registered for any of them, however, because in the center chair sat a man.