Manchester House (7 page)

“Hey, we should eat something,” Kyle murmured, kissing his wife, gently nibbling her bottom lip. “It’s going to be a long day.”

Cindy was tired and only wanted to kiss. “Why don’t you cook breakfast today?”

Kyle started to explore his wife’s breasts. “Sure, why not.”

This last action caused Cindy to break out in an innocent wave of laughter. Both kissed for a long and loving time, and then Cindy got up, exiting the kitchen. As she did, she gave her husband a devilishly evil grin.

“Perhaps after breakfast we can go back to bed?” she teased.

“Don’t hear me arguing.”

Kyle knew what was going on here. Cindy was never really a good cook. She blamed her lack of this skill on her mother, who had become an avid “modern woman” during the seventies. Too involved in protesting to teach her young daughter how to cook. If it wasn’t a TV dinner, Cindy couldn’t cook it. When she asked her mother to teach her, her mother refused, claiming she was “freeing her from womanly bondage.”

Cindy had only one thing going for her, and that was Kyle.

Kyle, on the other hand, could care less if the woman of his dreams could cook. Being from a large family and having to fend for himself most of the time, he loved to cook. In fact, he was so damn good at the craft he almost became a chef. It was his cooking, Kyle often said, that won his woman’s heart.

Chivalry aside, at the moment all Kyle wanted was a good omelet-and sex.

“Don’t hear me arguing,” Kyle repeated, smiling.

Kyle got out a skillet, opened the refrigerator, pulled out both the bacon and the eggs, and started to cook a small breakfast.

* * *

While Kyle was preparing his breakfast, he was not aware of certain actions taking place at the mansion’s door leading to the basement. Kyle could not see the doorknob slowly turn, stop, and the door pop open by itself.

Clicking away at the stove, Kyle could not hear the subtle sound of escaping air coming from the basement-almost like the sound of a vacuum seal being broken.

Kyle was never aware of the fact that the house had become aware.

Kyle only found out when it became much too late.

* * *

Kyle was focused on making his breakfast and the love of his wife and all the promise of happiness both had to offer. He kept his eyes on the two eggs that he dropped into an ordinary skillet and watched them as they slowly started to cook. The sounds of their crackling, popping, and cooking seemed to magnify with the sounds of the house around him.

For a brief moment, Kyle had the distinct feeling that he was being watched. That he was no longer alone.

As Kyle continued cooking his eggs, from the corner of his eye he saw a Shape quickly dart from one side of the kitchen door to the other.

“Cindy?” Kyle asked, somewhat alarmed. “Is that you?”

No answer.

Kyle paused. He started to shake off an uneasy feeling. What was it that he had seen? He thought that it was his wife. The Shape certainly looked like that of a woman’s. Was it Cindy? No. It appeared to be that of a little girl. Younger. Smaller. Still, there was anger about the actions of this wraith that Kyle could not seem to understand.

Was it all in his head?

Was he just hungry and horny?

“Kyle, stop thinking so much and just cook,” was all that he could bring himself to say, focusing on his task.

Kyle soon noticed that there was something wrong with one of the eggs he was cooking.

Inside one of the eggs, brought out so by the rising heat in the skillet, was an underdeveloped chicken embryo. He had purchased these particular eggs from a farmer’s market in town and knew that there was a chance of this happening. Growing up on a farm himself, he knew of this and was thankful that it was he who encountered the embryo and not his wife. Being from the city, it would have driven her to sickness staring at the sight. Swirling around in the cooking oil and the rest of the popping meal, Kyle saw blood leaving the center of the yolk.

“Gross.”

It was the last independent thought he would ever have.

Startled and disgusted, all Kyle could do was look at the abomination frying in his skillet. He started to step away from the stove.

:She’s cheating on you. All she ever loved you for was your money, and the money that your parents will leave you when they are dead and rotting in the ground. When you’re not home, she has extra dick and uses it for her enjoyment. You are nothing to her, you poor sick bastard.:

The kitchen lights blinked on, startling Kyle.

:She does not love you.:

The lights started to flicker.

* * *

Cindy, feeling the need for her husband and remembering his excitement minutes before, wanted to amplify the joy by trying on some new nightclothes they bought together days before. Dressed in an attractive nightgown and stockings, she trotted down the staircase, into the main hall, heading toward the kitchen. She started to shiver-the house had become rather cold.

The smell of rot was still in the air, but she knew that would soon be a thing of the past. Kyle was good with his hands. She smiled. Very good.

“Honey,” Cindy mused, gently rubbing her hands over her breasts, noticing that her nipples were starting to peak. “I think that you should consider taping up the house for winter. You know these old houses. Heating bills will soon make us wish that we were dead.”

The kitchen was silent.

All Cindy heard was the crackling of the cooking eggs.

“What’s going on here?” she mused, smelling smoke. “Kyle, are you burning the eggs?”

Something caught Cindy’s attention.

As Cindy walked toward the kitchen, she saw a Shape peeking out at her from behind the shadows of the staircase. Quick and scary, The Shape disappeared just as fast. Was it a young girl? How did she get in the house? Then, nothing.

Cindy rubbed her eyes. Looking back at the staircase, she saw only wood and shadows.

The feeling for lovemaking was gone.

:He is not worth the time. He sees you only as a good fuck. Do you not know that?:

* * *

Standing over the stove, Kyle appeared to be frozen, looking down at his eggs as they cooked. As much as he wanted to move or look away, he couldn’t.

“Kyle, is something wrong?” he heard Cindy say out in the hall. He couldn’t respond.

Kyle tried to reply, opening his mouth, but was cut off before a sound could come out. Kyle continued to stare at his eggs.

The kitchen was slowly filling up with smoke.

:Look at me!:

Kyle’s muscles started to tighten as he tried to break away from whatever unknown force was controlling him, but he was just too weak. He started to realize that there was a hidden evil here, making him watch the frying embryo in the skillet. An evil that could not be controlled, but rather was controlling the moment.

Kyle started to fear the worst.

Suddenly, to Kyle’s horror, the chicken embryo’s eyes opened. It stared up at him, squirming in its bubbling bath of cooking oil. These were not the dead eyes of a half-cooked under-developed creature. These were the eyes of intelligent evil. They were quite aware of Kyle. And they were certainly aware of the fact that Kyle, a recently retired stockbroker from Boston, was scared to death of it.

The chicken embryo screamed in agony as it moved in the skillet, fighting its way out of the surrounding reddish yellow yolk, and flopping out into the bubbling cooking oil. Flapping its bald wings, it tried to fly away from its crackling hell.

:LOOK AT ME!:

An uncontrolled anger Kyle could not understand started to grow inside of him. A rage more powerful than he had ever known. He grabbed a butcher knife.

The kitchen light exploded, causing the bulb to burst apart into a million pieces.

The room started to fill with a thick black smoke.

“Kyle? What’s going on here?” Cindy said, entering the kitchen. Breathing in the thick smoke, the young woman began to both gag and cough. Innocently she waved a hand in front of her face, trying to push away the smoke, never realizing that it would be the last thing she would ever do.

:Take her!:

Cindy was suddenly enveloped in the blackness of the smoke.

The kitchen became the sounds of a body hitting the floor, crackling burning eggs, and the sounds of rustling plastic.

:Turn off the stove. Good job.:

* * *

One week later&

Kyle left the kitchen in the best mood and state of mind he had ever been in for ages. God! He felt so alive. The unusual incident in the kitchen had seemed to pass without notice-just something to talk about later.

There was a change in the house, however.

Kyle trotted down the main hall humming a childhood song.

A few plastic tarps were seen hanging from the walls helter-skelter, with no pattern or logic to them whatsoever. The entire house’s furniture had been placed in a pile in the middle of the room.

Kyle started pulling off long pieces of duct tape, whistling a nervous little song. He was almost frantic in his happiness, which appeared to be forced upon him. He started talking. He seemed to be addressing Cindy but, strangely, she was nowhere to be seen. Nowhere at all.

“Honey,” Kyle said, biting off a piece of duct tape. “You really are going to love what I have to do to the place. There is so much to do&so much to do.”

Kyle continued to “plastic up” the house. He started to question his sanity as he took a plastic sheet and started to cover up the pile of furniture in the middle of the room. What the hell was he doing? If he wasn’t insane, this was something that if he was just remodeling or painting he shouldn’t have to touch or tape down.

Still, realizing this, he continued working and talking to himself-to Cindy-in an almost controlled way.

“So much to do, dear,” Kyle repeated, inspecting his work.

Kyle approached a corner of the hallway leading to the basement door and started taping away on a plastic column which appeared to have just been placed there. Kyle mumbled to himself, wondering where the damn thing came from. It was hollow and appeared to have something inside it. Kyle couldn’t bring himself to look at the object lying within.

No. He couldn’t do that.

“I know&I know!” Kyle said to no one. “But you said that&you said&” Kyle started to cry, realizing, screaming-a mad man. “Of course I am. I’m a happy man.”

Kyle was forced to look into the hollow column.

His eyes filled with awareness and tears.

He strained to keep the smile on his face.

Inside the thing, Kyle saw the remains of his wife Cindy. Her hands seemed to be frozen, clawing away at the plastic tomb she was encased in, giving him the impression that she had been buried alive. Her fingers, bloody stubs of insane panic, stuck helplessly to the plastic. Kyle gasped, noticing that she had been violently stabbed, her throat was cut, and her eyes had been removed.

“So that was what I put in the kitchen skillet,” Kyle remarked, referring to Cindy’s missing eyes.

Kyle couldn’t control himself any longer. He started to laugh uncontrollably.

He was mad.

“Everything’s all right now,” Kyle stated, tapping on the plastic, playing with Cindy’s dead body. “Remember, honey? Remember what they said?” He paused, staring off into space as if witness to a movement or shadow no one else was privy to. “I’m a very happy man!”

Overcome with an urge to keep moving, Kyle started to hang up another row of plastic tarps.

He reached for a new roll of duct tape.

* * *

One month later&

Several weeks had passed and no one had seen Kyle or Cindy and people were starting to get worried. They were both warned about purchasing Manchester House, but to no avail. They were not native to the town and the townies hadn’t taken to either of them rather well.

It was only after Kyle’s friends had demanded that Lt. Wells take some people out to the house to see if all was okay that anyone discovered what had happened.

“Going to scrape up another poor bastard at the mansion, Al?” someone had joked as he went to his patrol car.

Lt. Wells said nothing. He was only thankful for the fact that, at least this time, the call to go to the mansion had come before he had a chance to eat dinner.

“They should tear that damn place down to the ground, then burn the ground,” was all Wells could bring himself to say.

Approaching the mansion, all looked normal. It always did.

Wells entered the mansion with the set of keys the Atchison Police had always kept on hand. Both Kyle and Cindy had been informed that the City Council would not sell the property to them unless this last was agreed to. He and his accompanying detective inspected several rooms of Manchester House. The entire house was covered with plastic. Empty rolls of duct tape could be seen littering the floor as the detective and his man passed everything.

There was no sign of life.

“Mr. Peters?” Wells said, almost in a whisper. The quiet of the place had caused his voice to magnify and carry. “AtchisonPolice. Some of your friends had been concerned&” He trailed off, never expecting an answer.

Wells spotted his patrolman looking toward the mansion’s staircase. The young man’s hand went toward his gun’s handle. Something was terrifying the man.

“What’s the matter, son?” Wells swallowed hard and joined his fellow law officer.

Both Wells and his partner finally found Kyle Peters. He was a living skeleton.

“Sweet Jesus on a twisted crutch,” the young patrolman stated as he made the sign of the cross.

Kyle Peters was lying on the floor near the bottom of the staircase in a pile of his own excrement. Bloated flies buzzed about the pale man, feasting off both him and his remains. Kyle was looking up at the ceiling, fighting for each breath he was taking. A hollow gurgling sound was heard rising in his mouth, letting both Wells and his partner know of the agony he was in.

“He’s still alive,” the patrolman said, amazed.

“Barely.”

Wells bent down to inspect the horrid sight of Manchester House’s latest victim, hoping to whatever tired god who cared, that this man was the last body he would have to carry out of this cursed place. Wells prayed, but he knew that it would do no good. There would be more bodies, of that he was sure.