Infinity House (2 page)

“What, you scared now? You were already there and nothin’ happened.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t know an old man killed a bunch of kids there. I don’t wanna go back.” He stretched his eyes wide.

“Look,” Mike said. “Remember the guy with the shotgun? He took everything we had, James. I don’t know if you get that shit.”

“I know but—”

“No, you don’t know shit. I’ve been savin’. Been tryin’ to get us the fuck outta the Oak. I wanted to give you a chance, man. Not like the rest of the kids out here, not like me.”

James stayed quiet, tore the string from his jeans and wrapped his fingers in it.

“It’s like this was supposed to happen. You find this shit the same night we get jacked? We gotta go. This could be our chance.”

“But I don’t wanna go back there. Not tonight.”

Mike’s anger nearly overflowed, but he chewed it up and swallowed it, exhaled through his nose. “I can’t leave you here alone.”

“What about Grandmamma?”

Mike ran his hand over his face. “She…she’ll be all right.” He tossed the neck-lace to James. “Besides, I need you to show me where you found that.”

James tossed the necklace from hand to hand. He looked up and smiled. “You proud of me? I couldn’t wait to show you what I found.”

“Shit, if it wasn’t for you, we’d be at rock bottom. You know I’m proud of you, fool.”

“Okay, let’s go. I can show you exactly where I found it. You think we’ll be rich?”

Mike just laughed as he grabbed the 9mm from where he left it on the floor, made sure the magazine was full, tucked it into the waist of his jeans.

Keep him safe, Mike. You promise me you’ll keep him safe.

James smacked his lips. “What’s that for?”

“Just in case. Never know what’s up in there.” The gun was more for reassurance than anything, just felt good to have, to squeeze in his hand. If what Mama had said was true, bullets would be as useful as a pocketful of pebbles.

Mike stomped across the room, pulled two backpacks from the closet, tossed one at James.

James held up a finger, ran past Mike into the cramped kitchen. He pulled two plastic flashlights from under the sink. “Here you go, we’ll need these.” He handed one to Mike.

The bedroom door creaked open just as they were about to leave through the front. “N-no. Don’t g-go. E-ev… evil.”

“Grandmamma, what you doin’?” Mike ran back across the house as the decrepit old woman shuffled into the living room. Her hair looked like tangled fishing line and her face swung from her head. Her bathrobe hung open and the dark saggy flesh peeked out. Mike heard James whisper “ewww” behind him. Mike put his arm around her, turned her back toward the bedroom. A mixture of mildew, sweat, and breath wafted from her body. “Let’s get you back in bed.”

She struggled out of his hold, bared her two remaining teeth. Though the flesh of her face hung limp, her eyes stretched wide. “Don’t…d-don’t go.”

He managed to get her back into her bed where she drifted off to sleep. An expression of twisted panic still held her face as she snored, coughed, snored some more. Watching her laying there, her frantic mutterings still tickling his ear, Mike tried to tell himself she was just a crazy old woman, yet he couldn’t shake the chills running races over his spine.

He walked back out, met James at the front door. With his flashlight still out, he clicked it on and off. “Let’s go treasure huntin’.”

They
stood across the street from the house for a long time. Just stood there and stared at it, neither one saying a word. The house itself was a festering corpse. The wood looked diseased; all of the glassless windows resem-bled deep puncture wounds. Mike looked around at the surrounding neighborhood; all the other small houses were crammed next to one another, hardly an alley between them. But not this house. It stood alone, as if the other houses huddled together from fear.

The streets of the Oak were busy at all times of the day and night, always someone causing some shit, always some kind of drama going down. But around the house, it was quiet. Even the hardest thug crossed the street to avoid being too close to it.

Mike cocked his head, watched James as he stared in awe at the infamous haunted house. Mike didn’t want to get anywhere near the place, didn’t want to be in its shadow. He didn’t even like looking at it, but the newfound desperation that hung heavy in his gut cleared away his fear.

The night was still, not a single gust of wind. The familiar stench of piss, garbage and car exhaust floated in the air, and in the distance, Mike heard random arguments and police sirens, two quick gunshots: a normal night in the Oak.

He looked down at James, and the boy was looking right at him. James scrunched his brow and shrugged. He trusts me, Mike thought. He trusts that I’ll take care of him.

“What are we doing?” James said. He shone the flashlight toward the house; its faint glow died before reaching the street.

“Show me where you found it.”

James nodded, skipped across the street toward the barren front yard. Tufts of weeds stuck out from the dirt here and there like the hands of buried monsters trying to dig their way out. Mike followed James until they were both standing in the yard, engulfed in the shadow of the house that blocked out the moon with its bulk. The shadows seemed darker there, a deep black like they were swimming in spilled ink, and suddenly, James’s flashlight seemed a bit stronger. He pointed it toward a small divot in the dirt.

“Right there. The money was sticking out and I grabbed it, went straight home. There could be a bazillion dollars here, Mike.”

Mike put his palm out. “Quiet down, fool. We don’t need nobody seein’ us out here. Let’s get this shit done.” He pointed toward the side of the house. “I’m gonna hit the back, you check the front,” he said. “And stay quiet.”

James nodded, trained his flashlight on the ground and squinted. Mike made his way around the side of the house.

Keep him safe, Mike.

Mike knew Mama would have killed him if she knew he had brought James to that house. It was the last place in the world she would have wanted her children spending time, but Mike didn’t know what else to do. They were already struggling as it was, but now they were back at square one, and getting a job was out of the question. Mike had tried that route before and it had led to nowhere. His hopelessness spoke louder than his fear, louder than Mama’s voice.

For James to have a chance, Mike knew they had to escape the Oak. But it seemed impossible. He saved money every chance he could, but it just wasn’t enough, would never be enough.

Sorry, Mama, he thought. Just one night. One night, and we’ll be out.

Just as the thought crept into his mind, the house groaned. Mike was beside it, almost to the back yard, and he jumped back, stared up at the looming wooden beast. Breathing. It sounded like a rattling breath, almost a cough.

And buzzing. He knew he heard buzzing.

He stood there, listened. His hand went to the handle of his pistol.

Nothing.

He looked back toward the front, saw the faint glow of James’s flashlight sweeping over the dirt and weeds.

He shook his head, chuckled at himself. He’d heard so many stories about this place, actually being in the presence of the legendary house was fucking with him. No matter how tough he tried to convince himself to be, his bones still rattled. He couldn’t stop glancing at the house as he rounded it, as if at any moment it would reach down and get him, swallow him whole into the hell of its stomach.

As he entered the yard, he stopped for a moment, pulled out his flashlight, and took in the scene. Even blacker than the front, the yard was a cemetery of children’s memories. A swingset sat there like the skeleton of some giant animal, the metal brown and orange. A single shoe lay beside it, caked in mud, the shoelaces still tied. Candy wrappers decorated the dirt, multi-colored lesions on the brown surface.

Mike wondered how any of that could still be there. Mama told him the man had died when she was a child, over thirty years ago. He guessed he and James weren’t the first to come snooping around the place. Generations of kids must have been curious, maybe dared each other to sit in the shadow of the house, maybe on Halloween, eating candy and trying not to run away.

Still, Mike was tempted to flee, scoop up his brother and never look back.

But then he saw it. Sticking out of the soil just in front of him. Bending down, he clawed at the dirt with his fingertips, pulled the wad of money out. When he blew on the bills and revealed Ben Franklin’s face, he nearly shouted.

How much fuckin’ money is out here? he thought. Why is it out here?

He pocketed the cash. The candy wrappers crinkled under his feet as he crept across the yard, looking for any objects emerging from the dirt.

His sneaker hit something and he nearly lost his footing. He examined it, couldn’t figure out what the hell it was. Kicked it a few times, but it stayed buried. Kneeling, he scooped away some of the surrounding dirt. It looked furry, thick. A bag of some kind maybe? He grabbed hold of it, yanked, put his back into it. It came loose with a tearing sound and Mike fell backward onto his ass.

A teddy bear, its flattened fur dread-locked and matted with dirt and…something moving.

“Shit.” Mike tossed the maggot covered bear away, wiped his hands on his shirt. The writhing white bodies exploded from the bear as it made contact with the ground like pale fireworks, and scurried across the dark dirt in all directions.

A cold, tight grip took his arm, and he screamed, turned with a raised fist.

“It’s me, it’s me,” James said. His hands out in surrender, he smiled up at Mike.

“Don’t fuckin’ sneak up on me. Shit.”

“Sorry,” James said. “You find anything?”

Mike pulled out the money, waved it in front of James’s face. “How 'bout you?”

“No.” He kicked the dirt, shoved his hands into his pockets. “I just found garbage, lots of old-looking candy and stuff.” He looked around the backyard. “Where did all this come from?”

“Don’t know. Probably kids fuckin’ around,” he said. “Look, we could be out here all night, for weeks lookin’ for buried money.”

“But you found some. You wanna give up already?”

Mike swung his flashlight toward the teddy bear. “You see that? Who knows what other nasty shit is buried out here.”

“We can’t give up. We can’t,” James said. He stomped his feet; the whites of his eyes looked neon in the blackness of the night. “There’s got to be more somewhere, there has to be. I’m not leaving, Mike.”

“Relax, fool,” Mike said. He stepped toward his brother, grabbed hold of the back of his neck, squeezed gently. “We ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

“We’re not?”

Keep him safe.

“We’re goin’ inside.”

Mike
stood at the locked back door, kicked it. The rotted wood caved in and his foot disappeared into it. He yanked it back out, his shoe and jeans covered in warped splinters; the door swung open. He peered into the house, saw nothing but a cavernous void.

“Why, Mike?” James said. He tugged on Mike’s shirt. “Why do we have to go inside? There’s money out here.”

Mike grabbed James’s wrist, pulled his shirt from the small fingers. “I told you. We can’t spend all fuckin’ night out there diggin’ shit up,” he said. “Just think of what might be inside this place. Be a lot easier to search the house than to dig in the fuckin’ dirt.”

“But I don’t wanna go in there.” His voice was whiny, almost feminine.

“It won’t be long. If there’s nothin’ in there, we leave, come back tomorrow with shovels. Okay?” Mike didn’t want to go into the house any more than James did, but he sucked it up.

James stuck out his lips and crossed his arms. The moonlight twinkled off the crooked wet lines running down his cheeks.

Mike could hear Mama’s furious cries inside his head, begging him to leave, to take his little brother home where it was safe. Where the devil couldn’t get them.

But Mike was sick of it. Where it was safe? It was never safe in the Oak, on their street, in their tiny house barely big enough for the three of them, infested with rats and cockroaches, ready to crumble in on itself at any given moment. Crackheads and prostitutes roamed around the streets like the living dead.

Safe? He knew it was only a matter of time before things got worse, and he didn’t want to be around when that happened. James deserved better, deserved a chance. He knew he had to do something drastic, had to make a move, even if it didn’t seem like the right move at the time.

The devil lives there.

Mike told himself he didn’t believe any of that shit. That they were just ghost stories, told throughout the years, embellished by every passing generation like a game of telephone. This was his chance, he could feel it. This was their ride out of town.

You’ll see, Mama. I won’t let anything happen to him.

“Get your flashlight ready,” Mike said. “We’ll make this quick.”

James wiped his face with the collar of his shirt, nodded. He clicked on the light and got behind Mike.

Mike crept inside, his brother’s hands clutch-ing at his shirt again. The pistol was out and he pointed it into the house as they entered. He was more worried about crackheads than ghosts and devils at the moment.

As they entered the house, the air became thick, like trying to breathe yogurt. The smell was a mixture of rotting wood and old news-paper… and something else. Something dead. Sweat beaded over Mike’s body, rolled down his skin.

James coughed. “I can’t breathe in here.”

Mike turned, shone his light onto James’s face. “Be quiet. You—”

Buzzing. It vibrated the air from somewhere behind him. Mike turned toward the vast darkness, pointed his flashlight and gun into it.

“What?”

“Shh.” Mike aimed the light at the ceiling, saw only cracked paint and swollen wood. The sound ceased, faded away into nothing. Mike swung the flashlight back in front of him.

A face floated in the blackness, pale as corpse flesh. Its mouth opened, wider than should be possible, and hundreds of tiny black bodies scurried and zigzagged out, blacking out the face, blending it back into the darkness.