52nd Clifford St.

A man makes his way home. A horror mystery about a monster house and it's host.

52nd Clifford St.

I rub my head, sighing as I look out the window. The sun started setting and yet again it’s time for me to leave this small, damp tower and head to my home. Like normal, I’m the last of the team to leave. My boss, a green-eyed individual in his 50’s, soon rushes in. I’ve already slouched over the computer and have forgotten to look at him. Instead, I focus on the keyboard. Click, click, click.

“Brook, whataya still doing here?” He tilts his head, scratching his bald head. “Didn’t ya finish the work last night?”

“Well, I grabbed more from my fellow employees. Might be here a while longer.”

“I would say work yourself to the floor, but the big boss is coming.” He sighs as he looks to the floor. “I’m sorry, ya can’t stay up all night working again!”

My head shoots up from the screen. My brown eyes bloodshot, my voice struggling to spit out as I try to explain. “You don’t understand, I can’t go home.”

“Well I can’t afford to have my superiors realize you did most of the work this month! Why are ya refusing to leave anyway?”

“My house isn’t the best.“ I grip onto my pants, my fist turning white. “Please.”

He pauses for a moment, but shakes his head after. “I’m sorry, I REALLY can’t this time. Ya need to leave!” 

I know there isn't any use in fighting further. He’s always had the personality of a bull. I get up, pushing my chair out as hard as I can against the wood floor, creating a loud screeching sound. 

My boss grabs hold of his ringing hearing aid, wincing in pain. “That was uncalled for!”

“But it made me feel better,” I said, while stepping inside the elevator, leaving before he could talk again.

I stared at a cloud as I stumbled through town. A big, white, and fluffy cloud. Reminds me of cotton candy in its machine; swishing, swerving, and tearing itself apart. Once it fades, I quickly turn my head to the ground to see where I ended up. I stand on a gray road with cracks against it, spreading out like the webs of a spider. Bright yellow dandelions and grass grow from between. My eyes widen, and my heart sinks as I take a step back. I can’t have wandered in here, could I? Look to the left, the crumbling brick wall of the shop I used to frequent, and to the right, the forever damp bench. My heart rate speeds up, and I start to hyperventilate as sweat drips down to the floor. I hold onto both sides of my head, blocking my peripheral vision as I dash forward. I leave the narrow alleyway and continue to run until I reach my neighborhood, 52nd Clifford St. Laying my hands to rest, I look up at the house I stopped in front of. A wooden cottage, with a carrot garden out front. “Come in and tour! Call: 090-909-1909 to buy!”, got written on the sign in the middle. How could I end up here?

I can’t stop my legs from moving forward. The stairs seem to creak louder with every delicate tap. I grab hold of the cold doorknob, holding on for a second. Gazing at my reflection in the golden handle, I take a deep breath, and let the door squeak open. I step back, realizing the smell of rain that I grew used to has disappeared. Instead, gray, dried out orchids are left, lined to the end of the hallway. 

I wander to the end of the house, running my hand against the dead vines clinging to the wall. Soon I enter the kitchen, where my memory gets invaded with the haunting smell of a meal. Stuffed mushrooms, something I tried back when Miss. Alma lived here. She was always a vegetarian, but when I became a frequent visitor, she started storing bacon. But one day she told me if I wanted to keep coming over, I had to at least try her other food. I can’t help but laugh now as I remember my dread to try vegetables back then, knots turning in my stomach throughout that day. But when I entered her house and smelled the steam coming from the kitchen, my mouth wouldn’t stop watering. She stared intently as I took a bite of the mushroom, her blue eyes seeming to sparkle as she saw my smile. The juice exploded in my mouth and burnt my tongue, but that didn’t stop me from devouring the entire meal with a grin on my face. 

She laughed at me, “What do I always tell you?”

“Eat your leaves?”

“Yes, that! You should listen to me more.” We laughed back then, but my eyes seem to water up at her words now. I rush out of the house, the door almost flying off its hinges.

The sun begins to set as I walk down the street. Stars start to sprinkle across the sky and a few houses down, I finally arrived home; my gold painted craftsman, with a pool in the backyard, and a fish pond in front.  As I open the door, the blue light of the flat screen burns my eyes, making me step back a little. I slump down in the center of the pristine leather couch, tuning the radio next to me. I turn it up loudly, and let my ears rumble.

I stare into the glow as the lyrics sound off. “There is no way out of here. When you come in / you're in for good. There was no promise made / the part you played / the chance you took.”

 I roll my eyes, turning off the radio, and leaning against the couch. I stare into the screen. Click, click, click, the pop-up screen flashes. The clock flies and stars appear in the millions. But I don’t look away to notice, as the TV continues to play nothing. But then I hear a growl from upstairs. I look up at where it's coming from, my heart beating faster. 

I start to go upstairs, stopping next to the brown, splintered door. Across sits a freezer, stretched to the ceiling, with a purple glow from the back inviting me to open it. My hand shakes as I grab onto the handle, letting icey smoke flow out, and cover the floor in a sheet of white. I can’t stop myself from gagging as the smell of rotten flesh invades my nose. I look inside and see the severed body parts of my victims, wrapped up in burlap. There’s only heads left, I’m gonna have to see the face of one again. I grab one, trying my best not to pay attention to how cold, how squishy, before I unwrap the cloth. I see those sparkling blue eyes and can no longer prevent my tears from flowing. Poor, poor Miss. Alma. I cling the head close to my chest and fall to my knees.

Afterwards I stand to face the bedroom door. I hold the head under my arm as I open the room, entering with my eyes shut. I rest my hand against the wall for a guide and I can’t help but recoil at the slimy, cold, steak-like veins spread across the room. As I reach the closet, I open my eyes to enter. Inside lies a pile of meat, with a giant hole in the center, teeth lining the walls of the throat that lead into the room below. Slowly moving in and out, up and down. It’s the creature's mouth; breathing, eating, and speaking. I toss Alma's head into the hole, letting it wriggle and squirm its way down. The throat closes, her head getting crushed down into a gel, and squirting loudly in its throat. I collapse next to the ridge of the mouth, catching my breath. 

“I had… a day.”

“You meant two days? Been a second since I saw you, it's been so BORING.”

“Yeah I got slammed at work,” Looks into the hole. “I also wanted to avoid you.”

“So, where’d you sleep this time? Same alley you were first found in?” The creature laughs, the walls shaking.

“No, I forgot about there.” Turns my head away from the hole, not able to stare for too long. “May I rant?”

“Of cooooo-urse~” 

“I ended up in Alma’s house.”

“Who?”

“Alma Green,” I take a deep breath as I lower my gaze. “The old lady's head you just swallowed?”

“Ohhhhh, I don’t know her. Wanna hear a poem?”

“A what?” 

“A poem. It’ll make you feel better.” The creature giggles, its sound reverberating across the walls. 

“Um, sure?”

“Ahem… Little Brookie 18 and left out on the street, was always in need of the next treat. Yet she wouldn’t ask, wouldn’t it make her seem weak? So instead he stayed out in that alleyway, where he would soon have to pay. I placed a worm into her brain, one that would whisper and train. When the time came for her to take that life, she would do it with a smile and a knife.” 

The creature burst into another fit of laughter. I stand up, looking down at the creature as he continues.

 “Met me in this room where he made a deal, one she could not believe was real. A free house, fit for the mouse. The type that would feed me her friend, the ones she wanted to believe would leave in the end.”

“You don't know anything about me!” I’m approaching the door, getting ready to leave.

“Oh come on, there’s only one verse left! In the end when I run out of food, you will absolutely be doomed.” 

The creature's laughter roars louder as I leave the closet. The vines against the walls spring off, whipping around the bedroom, and creating more holes in the crumbling foundations. I sprint out as it launches towards me, trying to coil around my ankles. I break free and lock the door behind me, with my hands struggling to stay still. 

Once I arrive back in the living room I turn the music on again. I let There’s No Way Out of Here make the walls shake, and my ears bleed. I go down to the boiler room, and there sits a large, rusted over metal door. I force my way in, ripping up the floorboards. Inside sits Its stomach; a lump of meat with an orange glow from the center illuminating the room, and a tube leading up to its mouth. The food funnels down like a laundry chute which the stomach acid dissolves, warming up the house. I tried stabbing, but the knife broke in two. So for future use I put out three gas lanterns and a flare. 

I plug the first lamp into the boiler room, shattering the lightbulb and letting gas fill the room. I set the next one in the middle of the living room and the final one upstairs next to the creature's door. I move out into the lawn, where I sit down on the grass and aim. Click, click, click goes the lighter, as I set the flare off. I toss it inside the house, causing the ground to shake. While orange and yellow create a tower of fire, I can see the monster's room engulfed through the window. The tentacles writhe in agony as they get consumed in inferno, becoming black and charred. The screams, similar to a rat getting its tail ripped off.

The noise finally started to stop. I pull out my phone and call Alma’s retail number. “Hello? I saw the place on 52nd Clifford was available and was looking to buy? Yeah, I can be there tomorrow morning.” I hang up the phone and lay on my back, letting the warmth surround me as the smoke rises into the star filled night.