• 1428
    By Theresa Vardanega
    ©Theresa Vardanega

    To the unknowing eye, it was just a house. But to those who knew, it was something much more sinister. To them the windows were eyes with a piercing gaze; the door was a cavernous mouth ready to engulf anyone who entered. Gnarled branches were the gruesome white bones of skeletal hands, reaching out to ensnare every bird and squirrel that’d happen to perch upon them. This was a house of pain, a house of horror and despair. It was THE house. The house that devoured the derelict that seek shelter. The house that had contained the screeches of pain and desperation. Its floors had felt the trample of terrorised feet as they tried in vain to escape. The walls had felt the spray of blood as junkies inside were viciously slain. This is the place where it all began, and ended. The house with horrors that stemmed from incestuous murder. The evil that was unleashed that ill-fated night was nothing short of hell sent. Only hours before, a young couple, we’ll call them Saul and Janet, drove into town.

    It had begun to rain as soon as they crossed the county line, like a scene from a bad horror movie. Fat, heavy drops of rain pelted the windscreen of the Buick like a thousand insects. Lightning flashed across the sky like a transformer box exploding and thunder rattled the windows and made the earth shake. An old Cadillac’s engine roared along the highway towards them. It’s pitch-black tires raced along the equally black bitumen. The headlights glared like ghostly eyes through the ever-flowing sheet of rain. The engine curled the wheels into a steady spin as it floated on the road surface. It was going fast. Too fast. It began to slide across the double lines. It was getting dangerous now. Saul didn’t know where the Cadillac was going.
    “What’s this jerk doing? Is he trying to kill som.. ? Where’d he go?”
    The Cadillac headlights had disappeared.
    “He must have turned off somewhere,” said Janet, “when are we going to be there? I’m bored and starving.”
    “I’ve told you already, we’ll be there when we get there. Geez woman, get off my back.”
    The car went silent again. All they could hear was the engine and the pelting rain. Suddenly, a blinding light lit up the entire highway. The Cadillac was back, and right in the path of the Buick. Over the crashing thunder and the roar of the rain, the scream of tyres and a horrific crash could be heard.

    They’d arrived. Janet woke in a sea of agony. With much difficulty she reached up and turned on the interior light in the car. When her eyes had become accustomed to the light, she screamed. Saul was a mess of blood and bone. Janet screamed his name over and over and shook him violently. Saul groaned softly. He was in excruciating pain. The stark white of his bone glowed in the yellow interior light as if a glow stick had been broken over it. His face was covered in bloody tears, which flowed from his hairline as small droplets dripped from his nose. Janet knew she needed to move, but she was transfixed. Janet eventually got out of the car, but as she closed the door Saul had taken his final breath. He was the house’s first victim on the warm July night.

    The house seemed pleased with itself. An ominous glow emitted from every crack. The branches of the trees creaked as if they were fingers flexing. The door seemed to stretch to allow Janet to walk in. She didn’t see the death and decay surrounding the house. 1428. That was the number on the door. To her, the numbers were bright and new but to anyone standing out of the house boundaries, they were tarnished and askew. Janet had only placed her hand slightly on the door when it swung open silently. She looked behind her to the car; Saul was sitting up, still bloody and bruised but alive. It was the deception of the house. Janet took a step into the foyer of the house and screamed. The door had slammed shut behind her as the room warped into its true form. The walls were covered in demonic symbols; words were scrawled in blood on the floors and ceilings. Janet turned around and screamed again. From the chandelier hung a mutilated body. Dressed only in a crude cape and crown, the body had been hanging for weeks; perhaps even months. Maggots crawled from the cuts in its face. Slashed in its chest were the numbers 4:3:26-27 and a name Hamlet. Janet didn’t want to go back out the front door. She had run further into the heart of the house when she came to a door. Janet had thought it was a door out of this hell house. She didn’t know that it was HIS door. The door to the room where all the pain and suffering stemmed from. Janet opened the door and ran inside. She saw nothing as she fell down the flight of stairs.

    Janet had finally woken up. She slowly snaked her hand up a pole and brought herself to her knees. She desperately looked around for a light. She struggled to her feet and felt a chain touch her head lightly. It was the light switch. She yanked on it with as much force as she could muster and light flickered into the room illuminating the most horrific things. Shelves upon shelves filled with jars of horror. Formaldehyde filled jugs surrounded Janet as she suppressed her screams and sickness with her hand. Implements of torture hung from the wall and lay on the tables. Gloves, knives any and every device imaginable was in the very room
    Janet was standing in. There was a sound behind her as Janet let out a sharp squeal. Something was in the house with her. A shadow fell across Janet, her body felt as if it had been drenched in ice water. An atrociously burnt hand stretched out as a glove flew from the shelf and slid onto it. Janet’s scream echoed through the night, a scream that was never heard.