I bring a loose roof beam down onto her skull and she drops like a broken doll to the earth. Her light is thrown aside, rolls over once, illuminating nothing.
She tries to stand, and I fell another beam, slam it down across her back, pinning her.
I could bring the roof down on her head if I wanted, but there are other considerations. Others who need sustenance. I’m many things, but selfish? I think not.
I wait a moment, wait until the soil beneath her body begins to churn, shifting and bubbling like boiling water. The worms have come, as have the mites and the millipedes; the red ants flow in from the corners. Humming a broken melody, I walk to the stairs and sit for a few minutes, watch as she begins to sink into the chaos of the churning earth. Into them. She tries to call out, to scream for help, for mercy, but they find the opening and fill it, seek her throat and what lies within.
I give them their feast, thinking of you.
When she’s gone, I stand shakily, walk young Brad’s legs up one final set of stairs to find you. Finally, my sweet cherub, your wait is over.
It’s time.
BRAD’S BODY IS FAILING QUICKLY.
But I don’t wish to abandon him yet. Not yet.
First, I must find you, am I right? Hide and Seek is still in play.
We must finish the game.
Yes, of course, of course. I know precisely where you are. It doesn’t take away from the fun.
You are in the closet that is not a closet.
You are in the closet that is a mouth.
“I’m coming!” I bellow, not knowing if the words are decipherable. The muscles of this body are stiffening, the organs shriveling; the skin flakes to fine powder, as if the boy had walked through a sandstorm to reach this hallway, this deep throat of mine.
Still, you wait. Huddled in the dark at the end of this tunnel crafted of rotting wood, stripped, sagging floorboards, cracked plaster walls. I’m old, you see. Old and tired. But visitors! They are always welcome, always helpful, yes. Fresh meat hardens my beams, fresh blood fills the swelling veins behind my facade. New souls energize my spirit.
Not to mention, all those delicious feelings.
Lust, fear, anger, regret, despair.
All of it goes into the stew, and I swallow it down, yes, I do! I swallow it down in great big gulps!
And so, as I limp toward you, I am grateful for the sustenance your friends have brought.
But you, my dearest. You are special.
I have something unique in mind for you, turtledove. And I am coming… coming as well as I’m able.
But I am also changing. And that, I think, is just fine. Yes, I think you’ll love me just as I am, won’t you? Even now, I feel the thick roots sprouting from the gums where teeth once snugly sat. As the hard kernels come free, I spit them out like spent candies. The roots fill the gaps quickly, long and sharp, puncturing the fleshy lips and cheeks. I laugh, somewhat hysterically, as the face I wear is cut to ribbons.
The sounds I make must be awful for you. Yes, I sense your confusion. Your growing fear.
But I’m close now.
I’m just outside the door.
“Knock knock,” I say, but there is so little of the mouth left I doubt you hear anything but snapping wood, the last, dying gurgles from the torn flesh of young Brad’s throat.
You push open the door and look into my eyes.
Silently, you study the long splinters of my teeth, the cracked plaster of my skin, the empty windows of my eyes. To your everlasting credit, you don’t scream. When I reach for you, your eyelids flutter like butterfly wings, and you simply droop, like a plucked flower, into my outstretched arms.
Gently, I push you back, back into the closet that is not a closet. The door closes behind me and I rock you in my stiffening arms; I embrace you, pull you in close.
Finally, the last of the flesh falls away, and now there is only me as I truly am. Empty rooms and a damp, stony heart. Hard knobs for elbows, coarse brick in the place of bones, brittle shingles smeared like wind-blown grass across my skull. Inside my mouth is a rotted, sun-bleached plank of a tongue surrounded by twisted wooden daggers instead of teeth. My eyes are nothing more than weathered panes of glass, sided with worn shutters.
Look upon me in my true form, my love. Look at my deranged body that is both a prison and a castle. A fortress, and a tomb.
I kiss you, in my own way, and pull the light from you slowly. When it comes, the windows of my eyes burn with it, pulse with it… SHINE with it! Look at you! So beautiful; basking in the warm yellow of my feverish consumption.
I push you back even further, past the walls which slide away, past the frailties of my body, into the shadows. Together, as one, we fall through the dark, floating forever downward; two twisted leaves plucked by the wind from a dead autumn tree.
I pull you tight as we spin and dance. I pierce every inch of you, and each gasp of your pain thrills me.
And now, in this sacred space, as we continue to tumble and fall through the blessed dark, I bring my mouth to your ear, and I tell you a story.
It’s the story of a haunted house, and it’s the last one you’re ever going to hear.
