Murder House Read online

  My eyes finally adjusted to the poor lighting and I could make out The Meditation Temple better. There was one car parked in the retired church’s lot. I spotted the sidewalk and followed the path to the main entrance of The Meditation Temple. The stained-glass of the two doors depicted a violent scene and seemed like a bizarre juxtaposition for a place promoting serenity. I pulled the handle of the door gently, expecting it to be locked regardless of what the pamphlet claimed, and found it opened easily and soundlessly. The place didn’t look dilapidated but I’d anticipated a loud groan of old hinges and a harried stare from someone attempting to meditate. Neither of which happened.

  I found an air-conditioned and empty room with a coat rack housing only bare coat hangers. The floor was covered in worn maroon carpet. To the left was a set of steps leading up to another set of doors and to the right was a hallway. The first door in the hallway had a ‘Ladies’ sign affixed to it at eye level. I turned toward the stairs and noticed a second set of steps descending beside them. I peered down the second set of stairs but there were no lights on down there and something about the darkness made me shiver. I told myself it was the air-conditioning and climbed the first set of steps.

  Before entering the doors I spotted a short table with a coffee can sitting on top of it. There were a few crumpled bills in the can. Dan had mentioned it was a ‘take or leave’ can. I thought about taking everything, cramming it in my pocket, and leaving, but I felt guilty taking all of it and decided I might take a dollar or two before leaving to make up for Brent’s grocery splurge.

  I pulled one of the doors open, anticipating a creak, but found this set as soundless as the first. There was no one in the room and there was a familiar scent I couldn’t quite place. The door made a deep knocking sound when it shut behind me.

  I’d entered the former sanctuary and the silence once the door was shut was a physical thing and was suffocating. I imagined the former church had soundproofed it. I wondered if all churches soundproofed the area where they held their sermons to keep from pissing off the neighbors. All the pews had been removed too. In their place were several large white pillows, the type one would use to sit on the floor, and their contrast against the maroon carpet appeared almost sickly. The pulpit was void of any furniture and there was a faint dusty outline of a cross up on the wall. There was something about the removal of such a vital religious item from the former church I found funny and had to stifle a laugh. The giggle fit made me realize exactly how tired and slap-happy I was.

  I strolled down the makeshift aisle, scanning the pillows, as if I were going to spot one that was any better or softer than the others by looking at them. They were all the same and I picked one at random before sliding my shoes off and sitting on it. My joints protested as I lowered myself to the ground and it was moments like this I knew I was getting old. I did what I could to get comfortable sitting but gave up quickly and grabbed two other pillows and lined them up before lying on my back. The pamphlet had recommended sitting in a lotus position but ultimately encouraged whichever position was most comfortable for the person.

  I folded my hands over my heart, closed my eyes, and focused on my breathing like the pamphlet had suggested. After a couple of minutes my body began to feel detached from the pillows I was lying on and I started having a sensation I was flipping end over end and suspended in weightlessness. I wasn’t sure if what I was doing was correct but I embraced the sensation of uncontrollability and let my body spin out of control and out into the universe, into the billions of stars and the void of everything. I became weightless. I became unthinking and receptive.

  I didn’t dwell on things that normally plagued me. Mainly death. And how I was going to die. Was that a palpitation? Death by heart attack. I hope it’s quick. Why does my side hurt? You get cancer. Where is Dr. Kevorkian when you need him. Is that bus going to hit me? Winner, winner, chicken dinner. You get to die in an accident. Quick and painless.

  It was all gone. No thoughts. No worries. Nothing. Nothing. Spinning and weightlessness and the void.

  I became the void.

  I am nothing.

  I am everything.

  I am a part of it all.

  I am a part of nothing.

  Deeper.

  Deeper.

  Dark.

  Darker.

  Black.

  Nothingness.

  Void.

  Spinning, spinning, spinning.

  Something pulled me back and I shot up to a sitting position, gasping for air. I was confused and disoriented and dizzy. My body was damp with perspiration. I wiped the sweat from my forehead and was struggling to assess whether I’d fallen asleep or not when I noticed I wasn’t the only person in the room.

  Dan, dressed in all black again, was sitting on a pillow near the door at the back of the room. He was sitting in a lotus position with his hand resting on his knees as if he’d been meditating. Apparently my outburst had disrupted him as he was staring at me with a crooked smile.

  My embarrassment did nothing to stanch my sweating. I pulled on my shoes and looked to the stained-glass windows to see if the sun had begun to rise yet. There appeared to be some faint sunlight outside but I couldn’t be completely sure. My knees popped when I rose to my feet and my hips and lower back felt stiff as hell. I did my best not to limp as I headed toward the door, avoiding making eye contact with Dan. I knew I needed to talk to him about a job but I was almost certain I’d fallen asleep and felt embarrassed. I didn’t want him to think I’d come down here to sleep like a homeless person. My lower back began to loosen up. The first ten or fifteen minutes after waking up were the only time I felt this stiff and since going off the antidepressants every ache and pain felt magnified by a hundred.

  Dan spoke up as I neared him. “Good morning.”

  “Mornin’,” I said. I ran my hands through my hair nervously. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I couldn’t sleep and thought I’d give it a try.” I felt my face flush.

  He chuckled. “Happens to the best of us. No need to be embarrassed.” Dan rose to his feet. “Sorry, I don’t think I caught your name the first time we spoke.” He extended his hand.

  I shook his hand quickly. “Laura Dyer.”

  “Were you interested in the job?”

  “Cleaning?”

  “Yes.”

  I looked around the room, trying to assess what would need cleaning. The place was worn and a bit outdated but it didn’t look dirty.

  “It may seem like a big job but it’s not really. I run the vacuum late at night when no one is here, take out the bathroom trash daily and scrub them once a week, and I spritz the pillows with an essential oil spray twice a week.”

  I nodded, realizing the spray must’ve been what I smelled when I entered the room.

  “Sandalwood,” he said.

  “I was trying to put my finger on it.”

  “I used to use lavender but . . .”

  “Too many people fell asleep?”

  He smiled, tight-lipped, as if he were trying to hide his teeth. “Modern stresses take their toll on people. It’s not uncommon for someone to get so relaxed they fall asleep. Sleep can be the most relaxed state of mind one can be in provided they’re not troubled by nightmares. You can learn a lot about yourself in sleep.”

  “Like dream interpretation?”

  “Yes. Among other things. You can learn to control your dreams through lucid dreaming.”

  “What’s that?”

  He opened his mouth to say something but lifted a finger to his lips and tapped it in contemplation. He dropped his hand. “I have a book I’d like for you to have. Follow me.” He turned toward the door and looked back to me once he reached for the handle.

  I wasn’t thinking of much other than he was about to lead me somewhere more private and I wasn’t sure if I should follow him but something about my expression gave him pause.

  “It’s fine,” he said. “It’ll only take a minute. I’m sure your husband
won’t mind.”

  “Boyfriend.”

  Dan smiled and nodded. “I won’t keep you much longer.”

  I followed him.

  We left the former sanctuary and he turned to descend the dark stairs. I hesitated at the top and once he was halfway down he stopped to look up at me. Something about the complete darkness raised gooseflesh on my arms. Something about the shadows cast across Dan’s face made my heart race.

  He raised a hand to me. “Sorry, I don’t turn the lights on in the hall to deter people from exploring down here. I know the place like the back of my hand so I don’t need the light.”

  I took his hand reluctantly. It was warm and dry and felt stronger than he looked. After a few steps I did detect a slight tremor in his grasp and I couldn’t be sure if it was me or him.

  At the bottom of the stairs we walked forward about ten feet before turning left. I held onto Dan and ran my hand lightly along the wall to keep myself from feeling disoriented in the dark. I couldn’t judge the distance but in front of us I could see a sliver of light shining from a crack under a door.

  There was a vague odor I couldn’t put my finger on. Something familiar. The farther we walked the more pronounced the smell became. It wasn’t until we’d almost reached the door with the light that it dawned on me that the smell was exactly like the smell emanating from the hole in our basement. Once we reached the door Dan let go of my hand and opened it.

  He motioned for me to enter. I stepped into a studio basement apartment lit by a lone lamp with white walls and white bookshelves overflowing with books. Stacks of books lined the walls as well. There was a futon for seating, a small television, a record player with speakers and a couple of milkcrates with LPs. Nothing was hung on the walls and there was an overpowering smell of incense. A folding privacy screen did a poor job of hiding a full bed and dresser in one corner and on the opposite side of the room there was a kitchenette. I imagined the door beside the kitchenette was the bathroom.

  “Cozy,” I said.

  Dan passed me and headed straight for a tome in a stack on the floor. He retrieved a book and flipped it to the back before handing it to me. The book was titled The World of Lucid Dreaming. Brent would think the title dumb and I laughed.

  Dan gave me an uneasy smile. “Something wrong.”

  I waved dismissively. “Nothing. My boyfriend is an author and a little opinionated about books. I was imagining what his reaction to the title would be.”

  “An author?” He sounded excited. “That’s fantastic.”

  I made an uneasy sound. “It’s not as glamorous as you think. Most people’s perception of authors and how they live comes from outdated television shows and movies. There was a time when authors received ridiculous advances but now they’re lucky to get enough money to live off of for six months.”

  “Really?” He seemed genuinely shocked.

  “Yeah.” I flipped the book over to read the description.

  “Is the neuroticism the same as the movies?”

  I laughed a little too hard. “Like you wouldn’t believe.” I focused on the back cover again.

  He said, “Lucid dreaming is when the dreamer is aware they’re dreaming and can control what happens. They can even wake themselves up if they’re having a nightmare.”

  “Whoa. That’s crazy. Do you lucid dream?”

  He nodded. “I discovered it by mistake. I knew I was able to wake myself up if the dream became too frightening but I had no idea that it was something people tried to teach themselves until I discovered that book in my early twenties. Sleep paralysis, REM sleep disorders, Exploding Head Syndrome. They’re all things people strive for in order to discover things from their subconscious self.”

  “Exploding Head Syndrome? That sounds terrifying. Is that like a stroke?”

  He gave me a crooked smile. “No. Some people will hear a loud noise as they’re drifting off or right as they wake up. A bang or clang or, in my case, a loud electrical zap.”

  “Terrifying.”

  “I guess one’s self could be terrifying to some.”

  I waved the book at him. “Thanks for the book. I’ll bring it back once I’m done.”

  “No problem.”

  We both stared at each other awkwardly. I could feel my face begin to flush again and my eyes began to dart around the room, trying to avoid looking at him. A twinge of arousal pulled at my sex.

  He said, “Would you like a bottle of water? It’s not tap water.”

  “No. I’m fine,” I said. “Yeah. The tap water is gross.”

  His expression became grave. “Don’t drink the tap water. Don’t ever drink the tap water.”

  His sudden change in demeanor was unsettling. “Okay. Yeah.”

  “The pollution from Zug Island has settled into the ground and the water is contaminated.”

  Oh, god. A conspiracy theorist, I thought. Great. I didn’t have much patience for conspiracy theorists. I would humor them but I couldn’t buy into whatever mental disorder they had that made them paranoid and delusional about things that clearly didn’t exist. Did this guy really believe the drinking water was polluted and the city or government hadn’t done anything to fix it? Who could afford to buy water when it was free from the tap? Or at least free from the tap because the publisher was paying for our utilities.

  “Okay,” I said.

  His expression softened and he thankfully didn’t pursue the topic any more.

  “Well, I should get home.” I started to say ‘before Brent wakes up’ but found I didn’t want to bring up Brent in front of Dan anymore. I wanted to pretend Brent didn’t exist around him. My brain was screaming ‘You idiot! What are you doing? You can’t do what you want to do! Forget about him!’ but there was an undeniable pull when Dan was around.

  “Sure,” he said. “So are you interested in the job?”

  “Oh, umm . . .”

  No! No! No! Don’t take the job. This is bad. You know it’s bad. You’re going to want to fuck him and it’s all going to end badly because you have no impulse control and especially when you’re off your meds.

  But we need the money and no one has responded to my emails or applications.

  That’s a poor excuse. You know something will come along. Just give it some time. Don’t you love Brent? You know where this will lead.

  Are you kidding me? This doesn’t have anything to do with needing a job, does it?

  I need a job. We need money.

  We?

  Yes.

  But you really don’t give a fuck about Brent.

  How can you say that?

  Because if you truly cared about him you wouldn’t even consider putting yourself in a situation in which you KNOW you will want and at least attempt to be unfaithful to him.

  Unfaithful? That sounds religious. I’m not religious.

  You don’t have to be religious in order to care whether or not you break someone’s heart. Someone you love.

  “Laura?” Dan looked concerned.

  “Yeah? Sorry, just thinking.”

  “Were you interested in the job?”

  TWELVE

  THE SUN WAS barely hidden beyond the horizon when I left The Meditation Temple. The birds had begun to sing and a few of the stars were still visible. I found myself humming and without prompt I sung a few lines in a whisper.

  “And I’m floating in a most peculiar way. And the stars look very different today.”

  I continued to hum as I walked back to the house, thinking, I’m digging my own grave and happy as a lark. What the fuck is wrong with me?

  But reality came crashing back down on my head as soon as I took a step onto the porch. And the clarity of my situation slapped me in the face once I was in the house and headed toward the kitchen.

  Brent was sitting nude at the kitchen table, typing furiously. A cigarette was perched in the corner of his mouth and he had one eye squinted against the smoke as he typed. Something with a sickly yellow hue was smeared across his
chest and a second later the stench hit me and my stomach rolled. Under normal circumstances I would leave him alone. Normally if I interrupted him while he was writing it would end in an argument. But this wasn’t normal. Brent quit smoking almost ten years ago. He’d never written in the nude. And by the putrid smell filling the kitchen and competing with the cigarette smoke I was certain the yellow sludge smeared on his chest was bile.

  “Brent,” I said timidly.

  He didn’t stop or acknowledge me.

  “Brent,” I said with more confidence.

  Still no response.

  I approached the table, stood beside him, spoke his name again, and he still feverishly typed away. I took the opportunity to read what he was writing:

  And then I vomited. She has to be poisoning me. I will only be eating food I prepare from now on. Something about this house has changed her. There is an overwhelming presence I can’t explain but I know it’s here and it has infected her thinking. She disappeared in the night and I believe she’s being absorbed into the house and feeding off its malevolence or possibly feeding it by committing evil acts.

  I’d read enough. I slammed the book Dan had given me on the table and barked, “Brent!”

  He started and the cigarette fell from his lips and landed in his bare crotch. Brent shot to his feet, knocking the chair over, and began swatting at his penis while shouting incoherently. Once he spotted the smoldering cigarette on the floor he retrieved it and extinguished it in a cereal bowl on the table which I hadn’t noticed before but was filled with at least a half a pack of butts. How long had he been at this?

  Brent glared at me with his finger still smashed against the dead cigarette.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “What are you doing?” he responded.

  “I couldn’t sleep so I decided to check out The Meditation Temple. Thought it might help relax me. Might help since I’m out of antidepressants.”

  He guffawed. “Yeah. You need a lot of help.”