The truck stopped
right in front of the old building where the boy wanted to go. The evening was
starting to fall and the light of the moon gave it an even eerier look.
“This has to be it,”
Tommy told the boy.
“Looks just like in
the articles I read,” the boy said.
“Fucking creepy
looking place,” Tommy thought.
“You think?”
“Well, don’t you? Oh
shit, sorry… Never mind,” Tommy said, blushing.
“It’s okay. Thanks a
lot for the ride.”
“Yeah, sure. It’s been
interesting meeting you, dude. Be careful,” Tommy said.
“No worries,” the boy
said and left the truck.
The truck drove off,
the boy giving a wave before he walked to the Kingsbury building. He took a
walk around the house, taking it all in and looking for a logical way in. He
noticed there was an open window. To be sure though, he tried to go for the
easy way in and just tried the door. It was locked. He figured he’d be able to
pick the old lock easily enough. He’d picked up some lock-picking skills as for
some time he’d figured maybe doing some breaking and entering would be scary.
Unfortunately the idea of getting caught and entering strange houses without
any idea what was behind the doors whose locks he picked didn’t do anything to
him. After inspecting the look he decided to go in through the window.
He walked over to the
window, standing on tiptoes, jumping to reach it. He couldn’t quite make it
though. For a minute he thought about going back to the door. Then he noticed
the tree that was pretty close to the house. That might be just what he needed
to get closer to the window.
With ease he climbed
the tree, not minding the gusts of wind that shook its branches while he
climbed his way up. When he was high enough he climbed to the end of a branch.
He gripped it tight, swinging from it, thrusting his legs forward and back
until he was sure enough he had the momentum he needed and then just catapulted
himself to the window.
He covered his face
with his crossed arms as he went through it. He landed inside the house, rolled
on the floor and got up again. He had a look at the room. It looked like it had
just been abandoned, instead of decades ago. This had to be the bedroom of the
children, as there were two beds that had porcelain dolls and stuffed animals
on them. He picked up one of the dolls and stared in its glass eyes. He knew
those kind of dolls gave some people the creeps. One of those fears he had
never understood. Why fear a lifeless toy? He threw it back on the bed and
walked around the room. He still had enough light from outside, coming through to
navigate around it.
He wondered about how
hard it must have been for the kids to have lost their father at a young age. While
he did not fear the death of his parents and had left them without much trouble
to go on his search for fear he did love them and didn’t want anything bad to
happen to them. The owner of this place, writer Bryan Kingsbury had taken his
own life when they were just ten and seven. The boy had read all about
Kingsbury’s life. In fact, he’d read all of Kingsbury’s books. The subject of
his books had fascinated him as they were all full of stories of cosmic horrors.
Although fascinating reading it had never given him goosebumps. Some people
thought Kingsbury’s own work had made him insane, thus prompting him to blow
out his brains with a shotgun in his study. The urban legend had it Kingsbury’s
ghost still haunted this building. The legend had been strong enough for the
house to be left unsold ever since his death, more than forty years ago. There
had been some tries to get it sold, at very low prices. Each time potential
buyers had felt so ill at ease in the place they refrained from it. The boy had
read stories that people swore they could actually feel the cold presence of
death and its stink in the abandoned old building. So far the boy could
neither, though.
He walked out of the
children’s room and ended up in a hallway. He thought about going through the
rooms there but decided it would perhaps be more logical to start at the beginning,
downstairs. He walked down the stairs, being careful not to make a misstep as
the light outside was fading. He wasn’t afraid of falling, but he wasn’t stupid
either.
The stairs took him to
the very large living room. There was a huge couch, some tables, a fireplace
and a red plush carpet. The wall was decorated with a boar’s head, two crossed
swords and some paintings. One was of Bryan Kingsbury himself. The boy walked
closer to it so he could inspect it. On the painting Kingsbury was wearing some
kind of fancy suit with a pocket watch on a chain. Kingsbury was a gaunt man
with a bush black beard and piercing eyes. He exuded pain and darkness like his
stories did.
The boy walked to the
adjacent door and found himself in the kitchen. He opened some of the cabinets,
discovering there were still pots and pans in them. He sat down on the kitchen
counter, just taking it all in. Trying to feel something that could be seen as
dread or fear. He felt neither, so he jumped off and walked back to the living
room. There was another door there which he opened and walked through.
He found himself
standing in the study. The exact place where Bryan Kingsbury had taken his own
life. It had gotten darker outside, so the light from the window was hardly
sufficient to look around. The boy took out his phone and used the flashlight
app from it to guide his way through the room. There was a huge library full of
books with subjects like the occult, mythology and the like. It was clear where
Kingsbury had gotten his inspiration from.
There was the desk
where not only Kingsbury had written those dark and horrific books of
otherworldly horror but had also sat when he’d pulled the trigger of the
shotgun that had ended his life. The boy sat down in the chair where Kingsbury
had been in. He closed his eyes. He imagined his finger around the trigger, the
gun between his legs. Pictured the cold steel of a shotgun against his chin.
Had Kingsbury feared the appending death that the gun promised him? In his mind’s
eye he saw the splattering of Kingsbury’s brain matter across as the shotgun
blast destroyed his cranium with a loud BANG!
What was that sound?
Was that coming from upstairs? Was he just imagining things? Was this maybe the
effect fear had on a normal human being? Then there was another banging sound
coming from upstairs. He got excited. Cool! Was he really about to see some
kind of ghost perhaps. He jumped up from the chair and ran to the living room,
up the stairs as fast as he could.
