The House Where Death Lives by Alex Brown

Author:Alex Brown [Brown, Alex]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Page Street Publishing
Published: 2024-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

First Floor

LET’S PLAY A GAME

Shelly Page

Present

YOU CAN TELL THE HOUSE WAS BEAUTIFUL ONCE. THE RISING turrets, stained glass, and planted hedges plucked right from a fairy tale. It’s elegant in a way the other houses in the neighborhood are not. But time waged its war, turned the beauty into a beast. Now it mars the horizon like a splash of black paint on a crisp white canvas. Three stories of dilapidated siding; a dozen dusty, pooling windows; and a peeling roof. Forever dark. Forever melancholy.

I’ve always admired it. Something about it feels like a giant middle finger to the rest of this town, and I can get behind that. Especially after what happened.

Every night for the last month, the house has called my name, and tonight is no different.

Come find me, Jayde.

I startle out of a dream about an achingly beautiful, long-limbed monster with black diamond skin and sharp teeth. The voice is smooth and cooling like balm on a burn. It echoes across my darkened room. That I’ll hear that voice is the one sure thing in my life. Tonight, when it startles me awake, it comes from the house.

It sounds different tonight. Less like a plea and more like a demand. I have no choice but to obey.

The hardwood floor is cold against my feet as I make my way through our house. Dad’s asleep on the couch again, an empty beer can on the end table. Mom’s probably in her room, pillow stained from her tears. They’re getting divorced. I don’t want to think about what that will mean for me. I don’t want to think about applying to colleges in the fall or about Charlotte. I only want to find the owner of the voice.

My feet move on their own. I couldn’t stop if I tried. It takes me all of five minutes to walk the two blocks and enter the house. The inside is as old as the outside looks. Spiderwebs cling to the corners, dust piles in crevices and coats every surface. It’s deathly quiet. But there is also a timelessness to it, evident in the sturdy floors, grand mirrors, and the chandelier draping overhead. It was a home once.

A sudden gust of wind slams the front door shut behind me. The noise is so loud I should flinch, but strangely I am not afraid. The passageway to my left is filled with dusty, old computers. Weird. I climb the winding stairs. My bare feet collect dust as I trek down the hallway. A purple light seeps from beneath a closed door to my left. It flashes brightly, changing colors from purple to blue then back again.

“Hello?”

I try the door’s handle and it turns. Like a fool, I step inside.

Dozens of shiny games line the walls, all of them familiar. The Pac-Man machine is the same faded yellow. The James Bond pinball machine flashes its lights, begging to be played. When I pull the handle, the black rubber cap slips off just like the one does at my favorite arcade, ArCave.

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