Murder House Read online

  He said, “I assume you’re looking for something full-time but if you ever need a few dollars I sure could use someone to tidy up the temple and my living quarters once or twice a week.”

  I nodded. “I’ll keep you mind.”

  He smiled. “Good. Well, maybe I’ll see you around.” He turned and exited the porch without ceremony.

  I closed the door and made sure to lock it before heading toward the kitchen. I sat the basket on the table and headed toward the window. The curtains were sheer and I watched as he walked toward the old church. There was an air of confidence in his stride but also a bit of awkwardness. His pallor appeared less sickly in the sunlight and I found something I couldn’t quite pinpoint stirring within me.

  Intrigue?

  Maybe.

  Attraction?

  I felt ashamed to have even considered I might be slightly attracted to Dan. No, I thought, you’re not allowed to be attracted to him. Forget him.

  The thought, for some reason, excited me and I found myself hoping he’d turn around and find me watching him. Maybe I wanted anyone who wasn’t an asshole or a sleaze bag to pay me a bit of attention. Maybe I needed to try harder to be a better partner to Brent. I felt something vague but familiar surging to the surface of my muddled brain and it brought a bit of clairvoyance. It was like getting a glass full of ice water thrown in your face. That surge of adrenaline. A heaviness in my chest. The teenage longing of lust.

  Moments ago I was ready to scream rape and slam the door in this guy’s face and now I was pondering my feelings for a complete stranger. What was wrong with me?

  I shook my head, as if the motion would clear away my absurd thoughts, and backed away from the window. I turned and spotted the pamphlet protruding from the basket on the table.

  NINE

  I’D FINISHED HEATING some canned soup on the stove when Brent pulled in the driveway. It wasn’t as if I’d slaved over the meal but running the stove had made the kitchen stifling and I pulled the hem of my shirt up to blot the sweat on my face before assembling two peanut butter sandwiches. I’d begun to ladle the soup into bowls and placing everything on the table as he entered the house.

  He dumped his notebook and pen on top of his closed laptop and dropped a plastic sack on the table before collapsing onto the chair in front of his meal. I pawed around in the bag he’d brought home and found a handful of battery-powered touch lights, batteries, and another cheap flashlight. I wondered if he was going to place the lights in the basement of if he expected me to do it. I decided to do it after eating even though I loathed the basement. His attention landed on the basket in the middle of the table as I finished looking at what he’d bought.

  Brent nodded at the basket. “What’s this?”

  “A guy from the church down the road dropped it off.”

  He made a sound halfway between a laugh and a sound of disgust before plucking the pamphlet from the basket. He mumbled something about god and flipped the booklet over to read the back cover.

  “I guess it’s not really a church. It’s a meditation center.”

  “Oh,” he said, raising his eyebrows and feigning interest without taking his eyes off the text. “Even better.” He flipped through the pamphlet and gave a smug laugh at some of the text. He laid the booklet on the table and kept turning the pages and began to eat the soup.

  Once I noticed he’d reached the area about depression in the pamphlet I spoke up. “He offered me a job.”

  He kept his head down but lifted his eyes to me. “Doing what? Meditating?”

  “His name is Dan. I was looking for a job when he stopped by and I told him, hoping he might be able to point me in the right direction.” Actually, I didn’t know why I’d mentioned the job search to Dan but the more I talked about the guy the guiltier I was beginning to feel and for some reason I wanted to justify my interaction with Dan to Brent. “He said he could use someone to clean a couple times a week.”

  “How much does it pay?”

  I shrugged. “Not sure. I didn’t ask and he didn’t offer but it’s better than nothing until I can find something else. And I don’t need the car to get there so that’s a plus.”

  Brent tossed the pamphlet back in the basket and took a bite of his sandwich. He made no attempt to acknowledge me, what I’d said, or to give his approval or disapproval of the offer, which meant I should do whatever it was I wanted as far as I knew. I thought about asking him what he thought but knew it would be met with the snarky remark of ‘do whatever you want.’

  I knew what I should do and what I would do were two different things. And I had to decide if I was willing to be the kamikaze pilot that would destroy everything and everyone around me. You only live once and who wants to be miserable the whole time.

  TEN

  I CONVINCED BRENT to help me pull the mattress up the stairs and place it in one of the bedrooms so I wouldn’t bother him while he wrote and his pecking at the keyboard, his frustrated sighing, and mumbling while he worked wouldn’t keep me up at night. But Brent wasn’t the only thing that bothered me while trying to sleep. The basement gave me the willies. Even with the door shut. I was certain it was giving me nightmares. Ones where I felt trapped or attacked and helpless with no place to run and no one to help me. I wanted to move the bed as far away from the basement door as possible.

  Once the bed was upstairs and I tried to actually sleep I found it was probably a bad idea to move it up there. It was hot even with the windows open and the fan on high. I tossed and turned and found myself fantasizing about Dan, which wasn’t bad. For some odd reason thinking about sex sometimes lulled me to sleep. As if counting thrusts was more effective than counting sheep. I wasn’t sure what time it was when Brent finally came to bed. I’d dozed off at some point but woke up horny and only tentatively tried to provoke sex from him. He didn’t seem interested and I gave up quickly. I waited a few minutes until he began to snore lightly and slid my hand into my panties. Quietly, and with as little motion as possible, I masturbated. I thought about fucking Dan while I did it. There was something dark and mysterious about him and the fantasy somehow morphed into me being fucked on a church altar. The orgasm was so intense it was a struggle to remain still and not yelp with pleasure. Since the hysterectomy, everything had become so sensitive, each orgasm was nearly a whole-body convulsion.

  Afterward I lay with my hand still on my cunt and began to slowly drift off to sleep. But once the orgasm had subsided I realized I had to pee. I knew if I didn’t go now I’d wake in an hour and really have to go. So I wiped my come-covered fingers on the inside of my underwear and pulled on my discarded tank top and shorts. I felt around in the dark until I found my shoes. The last thing I wanted was a splinter in my foot in the middle of the night. Or for someone to pass the house and happen to spot me walking around topless since some of the windows didn’t have any covering and the ones that did had sheer curtains. Although the chances of anyone passing the house and spotting me were nearly null since I hadn’t recalled ever seeing a car on our street. I hadn’t even seen a car pass to go to The Meditation Center since we’d been in the house.

  I guess there was more than the heat upstairs that made it inconvenient for sleeping up there. The only bathroom in the house was located on the first floor. It seemed like any house with a second story would at least have a half bath upstairs.

  I slipped out of the bedroom and partially shut the door behind me so I wouldn’t disturb Brent. The light above the kitchen sink downstairs cast a faint light up the staircase and I slowly made my way down them, trying not to elicit too many loud pops and squeaks from the old wood.

  Once I was on the ground floor I noticed the basement door was open and the touch light I’d placed on the wall inside the door was on. I approached the door cautiously. The basement scared me and made me feel childish. I wasn’t sure what it was that set me on edge about it. All I could think of was the darkness and the hole in the wall. It felt like a void and a vacuum. There was
an overwhelming sense of being sucked into it and never being able to come back. As I got closer to the basement door I could see down the stairs and noticed another light I’d placed at the bottom of the stairs was lit too. From what I could tell, it appeared all of the other lights I’d placed around the basement were on.

  I cursed Brent’s forgetfulness and knew I had to shut them off. They were battery operated and we couldn’t afford to keep replacing the batteries. If I didn’t go down there and turn them off I was certain somehow Brent would flip the responsibility on me. Especially if he knew I’d noticed them and didn’t do anything about it even though he was the one who left them on. I told myself there wasn’t anything to be afraid of and started down the stairs.

  When my foot hit the third stair the wood groaned and a large shadow darted across the dirty floor and was accompanied by a scuttling sound. My heart leapt into my throat, and even if I wanted to scream, the fear strangled my vocal cords. The terror froze me in place. They say the natural defense mechanism to a threat is flight or fight. Not me. I always froze up like a statue. I had an opossum defense. I shut down at the first sign of conflict. This also held true to verbal confrontations. My friends used to call me ‘the door mat.’

  I only realized I’d been holding my breath once I started to see black dots swimming in my periphery. Slowly, I let out the breath I was holding and took another, trying not to make a sound. I listened but didn’t hear anything. I wasn’t sure what to do. I didn’t want to go down there but I also knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep if I didn’t make sure no one was in the basement. The best solution was to arm myself before descending into the basement and hoping, if there was a person down there, they didn’t have a gun. For a moment I thought of waking Brent but deep down I knew I was being paranoid and the last thing I wanted was to be scolded in the middle of the night for ‘imagining things’ and having the situation blamed on not taking my medication.

  I quietly retrieved a knife from the kitchen and began to descend the stairs slowly. The stairs popped and creaked and I knew there was no way I’d be able to keep silent. The house was too old and rickety to attempt to be stealthy. Once I passed the clearing of the upper floor I ducked down and leaned my head over the stairs to get a look at the basement. There was no one down there. I stared at the hole in the wall for at least a minute, waiting to see if anything emerged. I don’t know what I was expecting but nothing happened. The fear of what may or may not be down in the basement put more pressure on my already full bladder and it was becoming painful. I stilled my nerves and dashed down the stairs. As quickly as possible I shut off all the lights and ran back up the steps, shutting the stair lights off as I went. I had to stop myself from slamming the basement door once I reached the first floor.

  When we first arrived I’d noticed the sliding lock on the outside of the basement door and found it peculiar. Why would anyone ever feel the need to lock the basement door in such a fashion? Did someone need to restrain someone in the basement? But now, as I stood bracing the door shut against an invisible threat, I knew why. I flipped the lock and wondered who else had been terrified of the basement.

  I took a step back from the door and felt slightly safer. I started to wonder if my mind wasn’t running full force with my fears. I swore a shuffling sound came from the other side of the door.

  My bladder couldn’t take any more.

  I dashed to the bathroom with the knife still in my hand and dropped it on the counter. I hadn’t noticed I’d been sweating profusely until I tried to shimmy my shorts down. I dropped my shorts in time for my bladder to let go. A half groan escaped me involuntarily as I urinated. When I was finished and done washing my hands I splashed some cool water on my face and stared at my features. The bags under my eyes were dark and my eyes seemed expressionless. I looked dead inside. I dried my face with a towel and vowed to avoid looking at myself as much as I could help it.

  I felt exhausted and my mouth was dry. I cautiously opened the door and started toward the kitchen, unable to take my eyes off the basement door, listening for any sound. I didn’t hear anything else and headed toward the sink. I grabbed a glass from the cabinet and was about to turn the tap on but thought better of it. I hated the way the tap water tasted and knew the gross taste of sleep in my mouth would only make it worse. I had purchased some juice the other day and thought it a better option.

  It took a few seconds for my mind to register what I was seeing after I opened the refrigerator door. I dropped the glass and it shattered on the kitchen floor. I was glad I’d voided my bladder as I would’ve pissed my pants had I seen this before.

  A hunk of unwrapped meat sat on a plate in the middle of the refrigerator. Meat I hadn’t purchased. Meat that bizarrely looked like a heart. It was sitting in a puddle of blood and the coppery and menstrual stench of the blood made me want to gag. My mind raced to put it all together. Why would Brent go and buy such a thing? What was he thinking? There was no way in hell I was eating it and there was no way in hell I was going to cook it. Who the fuck eats hearts? What kind of animal was it from? It looked big. Like a pig heart or something.

  I knew, whatever the reasoning was for him purchasing it, that he’d spent money on it and it was a waste. But for some reason I became angry. I snatched the plate from the shelf and stormed toward the back door. I had half a mind to take it upstairs and dump it on his head while he slept in order to wake him up so I could tear into him about wasting our money on some pointless food item I would neither cook for him nor eat.

  When I reached the back door I had to slam my hip into it while trying to balance the slippery organ on the plate before the door finally flew open and slammed into the side of the house. I tossed the organ out into the dry, brown grass of the backyard, spilling blood all over my hands and forearms, which made me even angrier with Brent.

  I returned to the kitchen and washed the plate and my hands while I fumed. I cleaned up the broken glass and I couldn’t wait until the morning when Brent noticed the damn meat thing was gone.

  At that point I was no longer tired. I had no idea what time it was as the phone was plugged in upstairs. I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep if I returned to bed and I found myself in the kitchen, mindlessly searching the food in the fridge and the cabinets, looking for any other surprises Brent might’ve ran out and bought while I was asleep.

  I turned from the fridge and cabinets and spotted the meditation pamphlet lying on the table. I retrieved it and spotted the bold box declaring ‘open 24/7’ and dropped it back on the table.

  ELEVEN

  THE NIGHT AIR felt thick and damp against my skin. There was no breeze and the insects were singing their hearts out and the sound was almost deafening.

  I checked the sky for any sign of morning light but there was nothing. No moon. No clouds. Only a speckling of stars one could see amidst the light pollution of the city. There were no working street lights on our road and I wondered if I would be able to see the stars at all if they’d been working.

  I remembered the stars from my childhood as I stared at the night sky. When I was eight my parents drove me to Vermont to stay with my aunt and uncle over summer vacation. My aunt was a homemaker and didn’t mind the company and it was a way for my parents to enjoy their summer without me around and to not have to find or pay a sitter. My aunt and uncle lived in a tiny cabin on the side of a mountain, miles away from any city. Uncle Jonathan would come home late in the evening and sit outside on the deck after dinner and drink beer and smoke cigarettes. My aunt would extinguish most of the cabin’s lights and retreat to the sitting room located on the opposite side of the cabin to work on her knitting. I would join Jonathan and the both of us would watch the night sky, occasionally catching a shooting star. It was the first time in my life I realized how many stars there really were and how small I was in comparison to life in general. Without the light pollution the night was pitch black and it was as if you could see the whole universe.

  A dog barked in
the distance and snapped me out of my reverie. A mosquito buzzed in my ear and I swatted it away before I started toward the meditation center. Although there were not street lights on our road there was a light at the intersection to the main road. It was dim and barely cast any light down the street. I took to walking down the middle of the road as I couldn’t recall if the sidewalk ran all the way to The Meditation Temple or not.

  A soft glow came from the stained-glass windows of the transformed church, a mashup of blue, green, yellow, and orange. It wasn’t clear from this distance what images were meant to be displayed but it didn’t matter. Even if I could see the images clearly I didn’t know anything about Christianity and wouldn’t be able to identify what was depicted in the glass.

  For some reason I began to feel anxious as I approached the building. My vision began to swim some and it wasn’t until I was hit with a bit of dizziness that I realized I was holding my breath. I took a few deep breaths and tried to collect myself. Why was I getting so nervous about entering The Meditation Temple? Because of Dan? No, I thought, you’re not coming down here because of Dan. Get that out of your head right now. You need a job. You need to try meditation as a medication replacement. There is nothing nefarious about your visit. You’re mad at Brent and you need to calm down.

  I thought about turning around and heading home but some contrarian part of me refused to stop or go back. I had the same mindset as a teenager. Always stubborn. Always refusing to relent. I thought of the murder house as if it were my childhood home. I couldn’t go back there. I was on my own now. Just like the first day after moving out from my parents’ house. Occasionally I’d drop back in for a visit and it was awkward and I had the sense I wasn’t welcome there anymore. The feeling never went away. Even after they both died and me and my brothers were forced to clean out their house. The murder house didn’t want me there either and I knew it.