The Mannequin House

Two detectives chase after a deranged serial killer and find more than they bargained for.

    "Are you coming, Raphael?" Taylor asked, stopping on the seventh step of stairs. She looked back at me, but I didn't meet her gaze. I didn't want to see the look of disapproval in her gray eyes. "What, you scared?

            "Of course not," I argued, my hazel eyes widened in surprise. I ran a hand through my blond hair, grinned, and climbed the stairs to the front door, pushing my companion aside.

            When I reached the porch I saw that the door had been carved into. I squinted at it so I could see the carving better. It read:

THE MANNEQUIN HOUSE 

            Taylor whistled as she joined me on the porch; the wind had thrown her crimson hair into her eyes. "This one's a freak," she commented, folding her arms across her chest. "I wonder how many psychopaths we lock up in Utopia."

            "Too many to count, nor do we have the time. We gotta catch this guy before he hurts anyone else," I said.

            "Don't you think I know that? Don't get your briefs in a knot, Ralphie." She tried the door. Locked. "Story of my life," Taylor muttered, frustrated.

            The door swung open. Taylor and I exchanged glances before I suggested the theory of voice activating locks.

            "That's unlikely, I mean look at this place!" Taylor snorted abrasively.

            I stepped inside and my hand automatically went for my gun. We were dealing with a deranged serial killer who'd killed close to seven people in only seventeen hours. Caution and brains were some damn good allies in a situation like this.

            The house was empty, save for a fridge, a microwave, and other kitchen appliances. Not even television, though I doubted a guy like our killer stayed up watching horror films like Jason and Scream all night. Maybe that's where this guy gets his ideas, I wondered nastily.

            "Where the hell does this guy get the money for a house like this?" Taylor stepped into the house.

            "God knows," I replied gravely. "This house is freaky as hell." Even as I spoke a shiver rushed down my spine. This house was the stuff of nightmares.

            Taylor pursed her lips and went into a different room. I whispered, "Wait!" but her jacket already disappeared into another section of the house. I cussed and rain into the room, nearly slamming into a stupefied Taylor. She covered her mouth with her hands and I gagged.

            "It's an old man…" Taylor choked out finally. I heard squeaking. "Rats," she answered my question when I gave her a perplexed look.

            "My God...It's not his house after all," I said, backing out of the room and dragging Taylor back with me.

            "He's too good for jail. I'm gonna kill this sick son of a bit—"

            "Be quiet!" I snapped. "Do you hear that?"

            "Yeah…It sounds like…Breathing!"

            "Someone else is here!" I gasped.

            "Is it the killer?"

            I ignored her question and half-carried, half-dragged Taylor back into the room with the rats. Just as we made inside a shadow appeared, blocking out the light from the other room. A scratchy sound could be heard…Then it stopped.

            Alarmed, I threw open the door, raising my gun in defense. The door collided with our assailant and he crashed into the wall—it sounded like splintering wood. I stepped into the other room, gun pointing at…

            "It's a freaking mannequin!" Taylor hissed.

            "No way…" I breathed. "Maybe he really is a ventriloquist."

            "No friggin' duh!" Taylor said acidly, nostrils flaring. "We need backup, Ralph. Serious backup."

            "Why?" I asked, letting venom creep into my voice. "The Ventriloquist is like any other murderer we've encountered."

            My companion stared at me, bewildered. For a minute, I thought she was going to slap me in the face, but she just stood there. I was tempted to wave a hand in front of Taylor's face. Instead I holstered my weapon and bent down to examine the mannequin.

            "Raphael, let's search the rest of this place," Taylor murmured at last.

            "Yeah, OK," I acquiesced. "Watch out for living mannequins," I grinned at her.

            Her hand came up, hitting my cheek. I didn't taste blood, but the blow hurt. I smiled. I forgot she's not like the other soft and delicate female officers in the Utopia County police force. She smirked at me, "Don't joke around like that. We're working a case, not partying!" I expected another punch for emphasis, but nothing came. Taylor pushed me aside, drew her gun, and went upstairs.

            I grinned and went up after her, redrawing my own gun.

            "This door is either locked or jammed," Taylor cussed under her breath.

            "Maybe it'll just swing open again like before," I grinned, ducking under a forceful swat to the back of my head.

            "I'm gonna try another door," she told me.

            I nodded and watched as she headed down the hallway before kicking open the door. I nearly choked at what I saw. A little boy, dangling from a ceiling fan by strings; blood flowed from a large wound on his forehead.

            "He effing hung a kid!" I balled my free hand into a fist as a million thoughts raced through my mind. Thoughts that a serial killer would think.

            A scream intensified throughout the house. I ran from the room, sprinting down the hall like a bat out of hell.

            "Taylor, what the hell happened?"

            "They're everywhere," she managed to say. When I gave her a quizzical look she made a sweeping motion with her arm and I peered into the room. Freak. The word drifted through my mind.

            "Look," I pointed at the top of the door. "This one is labeled too!"

THE MANNEQUIN ROOM the door read.

            "Close the effing door, Raphael. I'm tired of looking at it."

            Before I managed to slam the door shut, a hand reached out and pulled me in! I heard Taylor load her gun and the familiar sound of a firing bullet reached my ears. The bullet struck my shoulder. I didn't blame her, firing at moving targets in a freak show situation like this and hitting the target was a difficult task. I reached for my own gun, but it wasn't there. What the hell is going on? I asked myself, immediately aiming a kick at one of the mannequins. I heard Taylor fired off another shot. This one hit a mannequin in the place where a human's heart would be. Unfortunately, the mannequin just stared at her with lifeless eyes and then lunged at the redhead.

            She aimed a kick at the dummy and its head snapped back. Her attack did nothing to deter the wooden figure. Instead it continued walking toward her with outstretched hands. I longed to help her, but the mannequins had surrounded me.

            "Son of a—" I broke off and charged toward the door. A bullet rushed past my ear. One of the mannequins had my gun! Well, at least I had found the weapon. I continued my charge toward the door, but when I reached it, the door shut, trapping me.

            Taylor and I had been separated.         

            Taylor heard the door close. The mannequin was still coming for her and she fired off another round of bullets. Again, they did nothing to stop her attacker. Taylor sprinted toward her enemy, knocking him aside and going for the door. When she reached it, however, there was no door. Not a knob, hinges, or any evidence that a door had even been there before. Just a wall. A hand touched her shoulder.

            "Friggin' mannequins!" Taylor whirled, delivering a spinning kick to her assailant. The mannequin's head fell off with a snap. She pointing her gun at him, but the mannequin just collapsed. I thought beheadings were only for vampires…I guess not. Taylor grinned. Finally, she had found their weakness. If only she had a way to get a message to Raphael. That mission seemed impossible at the moment. Taylor holstered her gun and went into another room. She gagged.

            There was blood everywhere. A message had been written on the wall in the crimson liquid:

I HAVE A PRESENT FOR YOU 

            Taylor looked around the room. There was a queen-sized bed, a closet and a computer desk without the computer. A rectangular box rested on the desk as if waiting for her to open it. There was a sticky note attached. It read:

            Hope you enjoy this oh-so terrifying present. It was…Shall we say…A voluntary gift. Let's hope it helps you out. Maybe you'll find Raphael. Or maybe you'll end up stranded like he is.

The Ventriloquist 

            She tore the lid off the box and found a lighter. Taylor took it and shoved it into her jacket pocket. There was another box. A box within a box, she thought and smiled grimly. Taylor opened this box as well and  backed away, retching. A gun lying on top of its holster. And on the trigger, fingers. Human fingers. A silver ring adorned one of those fingers. They belonged to Raphael. Taylor swore and looked at the ceiling. "I swear to God, when I find you, I'll kill you!" she shouted in vain.

            "Then kill me," a voice said from behind her.

            She whirled around, aiming her gun.

 

 

            The first thing I felt when I woke was anger. Then the pain kicked in. I placed a hand gingerly on my shoulder, only to find that the bullet wound had been bandaged. Something was missing though. I looked at my hands.

            "Oh," I said, realizing that there was a stump where my right hand should have been. I didn't scream; I didn't even blink. I just stared at the stump.

            "Hey, who the hell are you? Get outta the damn way! You're blocking my friggin' light!" an angered tone grunted from somewhere in the room.

            I turned to see who it was and a shaft of light found its way into the room, illuminating both of us dimly. The speaker was a pale-looking man. He had a patch of stubble on his face and his brown hair was disheveled. There was a brand of some sort on his arm, and he carried a crude-looking knife in his hands. He looked at me and I could see his sky blue eyes narrow. The man pointed the knife at me and did something unexpected. He smiled.

            "So, I see they got you, too."

            "Seems that way," I replied. "Are we the only ones here?"

            "Nah. There's a whole bunch of us here. How did you end up inside Mannequin House?"

            "I'm a cop. I was investigating a murderer who calls himself—"

            "The Ventriloquist, right? Yeah, I know the guy. He wasn't very twisted when we were younger."

            I stared at him dumbly. "What do you mean you know him?"

            "He's my little brother. By the way, my name's Hunter," he stuck out a hand.

            "Raphael," I said and shook his hand.

            "Like the artist from the Renaissance?" Hunter asked.

            "Yeah…Something like that." I stared at the weapon in his hand. "What's with the knife?"

            "Isn't it obvious? There's war going on here."

            "A war? Between whom?"

            "Between us and the Woodland People."

            "The who?" I shot him a perplexed glance and he shook his head.

            "The Woodland People. Or, the mannequins. My brother created them."

            "What do you mean he 'created' them?"

            Hunter ignored my question, and began sharpening his knife again. He swung once, twice, and placed it on the floor of the cell, satisfied. Then he turned to me. "It was an accident." That's all he said.

            I decided not to question him further. "Where are we?" I questioned finally.

            "Cell 285," Hunter murmured, pointing at the door. The number had been carved into the steel door. 

            "No, I meant where are we?"

            "Oh…" he trailed off and shrugged, “No idea, really. You could ask the Woodland People, but they'd probably kill you."

            "One of those freaks shot at me!”

            "Yeah," Hunter gave me a small smile as if it were some sort of joke. "They do that."

            "So, they're what…an advanced species?"

            "I suppose you could say that," he agreed. "Yeah, that description fits them well."

            "Who bandaged my shoulder?"

            "They did. They, uh…use us for stuff."

            "What kind of stuff?"

            "Games. Challenges. Duels. It's how these friggin' lunatics get their entertainment. By capturing humans."

            "And how long have you been here for?"

            "A few months. I was my brother's first victim. And before you ask any other questions, don't. Like I said, Ralph, there's war going on. I'm trying to keep myself alive, and maybe save a few peoples' skins in the process. Your probing questions aren't helping."

            "Sorry."

            "What's your profession?"

            "What?"

            "What do you do for a living?" Hunter repeated.

            "I'm a cop and somewhat of a negotiator."

            "Ah, good, because this is a civil war and I'm gonna need your help fighting it."

            "You want me to negotiate?"

            Hunter grinned at me. "Not that kind of civil war, my friend," and handed me the knife.

            "Who the hell are you?" Taylor asked, cocking her gun.

            "The Ventriloquist, apparently," the speaker said. His face was covered by a hood; she couldn't tell what he looked like.

            "You are under arrest."

            "For what? You've no proof that I've done anything wrong. Not that you'll need it because I'm not the one you're looking for."

            "Of course you are! You're covered in blood."

            "Doesn't mean I murdered anyone. How do you know I'm not a victim of the murderer you're looking for?"

            Taylor lowered the gun slightly, caught off guard. Damn, this guy is good. She thought. "How do I know you're not lying?" Taylor countered.

            The Ventriloquist smiled at her and she felt two wooden hands grab her arms. The gun was wrenched from her hand. "You don't." the Ventriloquist's grin grew even wider and she cursed herself for lowering her defense.

            "I swear to God I'll kill you!" Taylor shouted at him.

            He leaned over and whispered something to the mannequins. She caught the last few words. "...Cell 284."

            Taylor whirled suddenly, dislodging herself from both the mannequins and shoving them against the wall. She snatched her gun back, aimed it at the Ventriloquist and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. My gun is empty!  A cry tore from her lips and she pushed past the hooded man, sprinting down the stairs and out the door.

            "What the hell…" she trailed off as she reached the stairs.

            "You cannot escape. The town is gone. Now come."

            Taylor did so without question.

 

       I stared at the long line of mannequins as they walked down the halls, banging on the cell bars with metal poles. The last of the Woodland People peered into our cell and looked directly at me. I returned the glare, patting the knife beside me on the floor. Hunter didn't see the exchange of threats. He was too busy forging another weapon for himself. The Woodland Man continued to stare at me until another mannequin dragged him away from the cell. 

            "Don't worry about that one. I'll behead him soon enough."

            I looked at him. "You saw that?"

            Hunter grinned. "I could practically sense the tension in the room. Of course not! That one always glares in here. The last person that was in here nearly lit 'im on fire. It was quite a tragedy really."

            "Why?"

            "Because she's lying outside in the arena. A pile of bones and dust."

            I nearly retched. "They don't bury the bodies?"

            "Not any more. They just leave 'em in the arena—a gross reminder as to what happens if you lose a duel."

            "How do you plan on stopping these things? There's no way to defeat them."

            "Fires or beheadings. Since we don't have matches or lighters, I decided to forge knives."

            "Do these things even cut people?"

            Hunter took his unfinished knife and drew the blade across his arm. When he withdrew the blade there was a line of blood on it. "Any more questions, Raphael?"

            I threw up my hands in defeat. "I'm good."

            "OK then. Let's go." He stood and slid the makeshift knife into his pocket.

            "Go where? We're trapped in this cell!" I said.

            Hunter crossed the room, and craned his head as he looked through the bars. "Good, those freaks are gone." He went to the wall and kicked at it with his shoe. A section of the wall crumbled apart; there was just enough space to crawl through the hole.

            "Where the hell does this lead to?" I asked, kneeling down to look into the tunnel. Pitch black.

            "Cell 284."

            "Who's there?" I questioned.

            "Oh, a friend of mine."

            I shrugged my shoulders and followed Hunter through the hole. When we entered, I found that the hole was much more spacious than I had previously imagined. The tunnel wasn't damp and dank, but clean and apparently cared for. I wondered in my head who had taken the time to clean it out. We went further and further down the tunnel, and I soon discovered that more tunnels existed other than this one.

            "Hunter, where are you?" I called.

            "Follow the sound of my voice, Raphael," he replied. He had gone down the left tunnel.

            When I caught up to him again he smiled. "Sorry there's no lights in this place. My friend and I didn't think to install them."

            "Who is this friend you keep mentioning?" I asked, desperate for answers. I wanted to draw my knife for further emphasis, but Hunter—from the way he was twirling his knife in his hands—looked like a master using the weapon.

            "Hold on." Hunter knocked on something six times and then backed up. The section of the wall crumbled down, revealing another tunnel. He crawled through it. Still desperate for answers, I scurried after him.

            We found ourselves in a room just like Cell 285. Someone—a man by the looks of it—was sitting in the corner with his knees drawn up to his chest and his head down. Hunter muttered a "hey" before taking a seat in the center of the room.

            "Welcome to Cell 284, Raphael," Hunter said with a wide grin. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the other stand.

            "Hunter is a bit…bouncy," he said. His voice cracked with every word. "My name is James." He turned to us and greeted Hunter. I could see he was wearing a hood over his head.

            "I'm Raphael," I said, stepping into the room. I could feel my hand instinctively tighten around the hilt of the knife.

            James stuck out his hand and I gasped as the hand was illuminated in the meager light of the cell. James's hand was wooden.

 

            Taylor peeked out the window with a bewildered look on her face. I don't get it, she thought. When I left the house the town was gone, but I see it in the window. The thought opened up a new range of ideas that spawned in the back of her brain.

            "What are you thinking, Taylor?" the Ventriloquist stepped into the room and a crooked smile crossed his face.

            "Is it real? Was it real? Or was I just a lab rat to be experimented on?" Taylor turned to face him, placing her hands on her hips.

            The Ventriloquist moved toward her, still wearing that crooked smile, and stroked her cheek. She shoved his hand away and scowled. He laughed.

            "My dear, do you think it was real? You've lived in this county all your life. You went to grade school here, high school, college. You had friends, a boyfriend or two, and then you met Raphael."

            Taylor stared at him when he mentioned Raphael's name. "Was it real? Was he real?"

            "I don't know, Taylor. You're the one with the overactive imagination, not me!" The Ventriloquist ripped off his hood and she gasped.

            The man behind the hood was her partner: Raphael. 

            I stared mournfully at James's wooden hand before turning to Hunter, "You betrayed me!"

            Hunter looked away. "I didn't betray you, Raphael. Don't be a fool. Obviously I would not have brought you here if I was going to betray you. I could have stabbed you to death back in our own cell."

            "He's right, you know," James broke in, putting away his disfigured hand.

            "Nobody asked you!" I shouted.

            "You're here to know the truth, Raphael." Hunter told me.

            "What truth?" I asked as James said, "He's not ready!"

            "James, we have to tell him!" Hunter argued.

            "Tell me what?!" I drew my knife and held it to James's throat.

            "That won't do much good," Hunter muttered.

            "Tell me what?" I repeated.

            "You built this place. And the mannequins. You're the Ventriloquist, my friend."

            "Which means…" Raphael trailed off as the realization hit home.

            "Yeah. We're brothers."

            "What about Taylor?"

            "She's real," Hunter answered.

            "And what about Utopia?"

            "Also real."

            I looked at Hunter, studied his face, then did the same with James. "I don't understand," I said. "How did I end up here?"

            "You put yourself here," James shrugged.

            "So what are you saying…I'm a clone?"

            "Exactly."

            "Then who's the real me, Hunter?"

            "That's what we're going to figure out," James said. Using his good hand, he drew a knife from his pocket.

*** 

            "You don't want to do that." Raphael wagged his finger at her.

            "How do you know that?" Taylor reloaded the gun and pointed the weapon at him using the barrel as an accusing finger.

            "Because if I die the man you love dies."

            "What do you mean?" Taylor asked.

            "If you kill me, what do you think will happen to my clone?"

            "We'll see when I kill you," the redhead said, and shot.

            Something was wrong. I could tell when my hands began to illuminate with a blue-white glow. James backed away from me uneasily, dropping the knife. Hunter remained motionless, crossing his arms over his chest.

            "Why are you standing there?! Grab him!" James shouted, going at me again without the knife. In a flash, I saw Hunter move and a blur of hands came across James's neck.

 

            "You're the real deal, I suppose," he said as the cell walls became blurry. James's corpse was disappearing and I shut my eyes tightly. Hunter's hands were fastened to my shoulders. I knew one thing and one thing only 

            My brother and I were returning home.

            She watched as Raphael crumpled to the floor and became nothing but dust. A bright light filled the room and Taylor saw two bodies emerge from the brilliant whiteness.

            "Hello?" she called, raising the gun again.

            "Damn, it's good to be home," an unfamiliar voice said and a blue-eyed man with brown hair emerged from the light.

            "Hell yeah," Raphael's voice broke through the light. Taylor grinned.

            "Hiya, boys," she said, dropping the gun. "Who's the scrub?"

            "My brother."

            "You guys look nothing alike."

            "Want a blood test?" Hunter said.

            "Sure. What's your name?"

            "Hunter," he replied.

            "So, what the hell happened to you, Ralphie?" Taylor questioned.

            "I went to…A place I had built."

            "You, or the clone?"

            "The clone," Hunter filled in. "I assume you shot the clone?"

            Taylor nodded, saying nothing. "What about the mannequins? Are they gone, too?"

            "No," Hunter said. "I'm sure Ralphie here can destroy them, though. Isn't that right, Ralphie?" he added, putting emphasis on my pet name.

            "Don't be an a*s, Hunter," I said heatedly, scratching my head. "So, those cells…What was that?"

            "An alternate dimension of some sort. Figments of your wild imagination."

            "It seemed like a trip to the damn Twilight Zone. Hell, I need a friggin' vacation," I said.

            "How about New York?" Taylor suggested.

            "The Big Apple? Fun place," Hunter said. "We were born there." He answered my confusing look.

            "I had no clue…" I said, startled.

            "OK, time to get out of this freak show house," Hunter muttered.

            "It's called the Mannequin House, actually," I corrected.

            "Yeah, well I hate mannequins," my companions said simultaneously.

            "Well I hate my clone for being such a freak."

            Taylor grinned as Hunter laughed loudly. "He wasn't all that bad. Just a few rough patches." Taylor said.

            "Can we please get the hell out of here?" Hunter asked. "This place is giving me the creeps. I've been locked up in this place for months."

            "Yeah, let's go," Taylor said, dragging Hunter along and down the stairs. I didn't follow. When they noticed my reluctance, Hunter spun around and stared at me.

            "You comin', bro?"

            I looked back at my brother. "Go on ahead. I'll catch up later, alright?"

            "Yeah, sure…" Taylor trailed off and then led a reluctant Hunter toward the door. "Your brother will be fine" I heard her say before the door opened and they disappeared through the entryway. The door slammed shut behind them.

            I stood at the top of the stairs, scowling. If I had built this place, I could tear it down. The only thing that plagued my mind was how to do that. I turned around and inspected the "room" where I had been dragged into by the Woodland People. My clone had entitled it the Mannequin Room. I was eager to go back.

            Drawing the knife Hunter had forged for me, I headed into the Mannequin Room and found…Nothing. It was empty. Bare white walls. No mannequins. Not even a splinter of wood in sight. My cell phone vibrated in my pocket. It took me a few moments to answer it.

            "Raphael, it's me," Taylor's voice drifted through the receiver. "Is everything OK?"

            "Everything's fine, Taylor," I reassured her. "But I have to tell you something."

            "What is it?"

            I closed the cellular device and hurled it at the wall. The phone smashed into myriad pieces and I grinned and spoke at the white wall in front of me.

            "You shot the wrong clone."