The House at the Center of the Worlds by Scott Reeves

Author:Scott Reeves
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Peter Straub, Dean Koontz, H.P. Lovecraft, haunted house, Richard Matheson, ghost story, the dark tower
Publisher: Scott Reeves
Published: 2014-08-26T00:00:00+00:00

The Pond

The night was long and uneventful, a lonely stretch of darkness in which he listened to the sound of the wind sighing outside the house, and the far off, wooden creaks and groans of the house settling. As he had the previous night, he sat in the chair in the library, and by the flickering light of an oil lamp, gazed across the room at the portrait of the long dead or perhaps imaginary woman who had, for some bizarre reason he still could not quite fathom, captured his heart, until finally he fell asleep as the nearly full moon’s silvery light seeped in around the edges of the drapes.

Later, he jerked spasmodically into consciousness with the groggy awareness that someone had loudly called out his name. Through the doorway across from him, he saw movement as someone or something just disappeared from view.

He jumped up and raced out into the entrance hall, looking to the right, toward the front door. The door was closed; he saw no one, no thing. Had he imagined he’d heard his name, the same way he was sometimes awakened by a single phantom bang? He’d been diagnosed with exploding head syndrome years earlier, so it could merely have been that which had awakened him. But the movement? It was now early morning, judging by the wan sunlight streaming in through the windows, so he couldn’t have seen merely the flickering of shadows cast by the oil lamp. His imagination then, his still groggy mind playing tricks upon him?

No. The explanation was not so mundane. The spirit haunting this place had decided he’d slept long enough, and had manifested long enough to awaken him. The woman in the painting was impatient for him to complete the Key of the Ancients. After the events of yesterday, how could he have any doubts?

He cast a last look around the entrance hall. Still nothing. A search of the dining room revealed the same.

Figuring that the woman would at least give him long enough to eat a decent breakfast, he sorted through the MREs on the table, looking for something appropriate. But the meals were all dinner items, not breakfast.

Deciding to brave the skeleton in the pantry, he went into the kitchen and opened the pantry door. The skeleton still lay in deathly repose upon the floor precisely as he’d last seen it. At least it wasn’t shambling about the house; he doubted if he could tolerate that level of supernatural behavior without breaking down into gibbering terror.

He located a meal labeled “Sausage and Eggs,” which he took to the dining room and quickly consumed. Then he went out onto the porch, where he stood at the bannister and surveyed the meadow.

The sky was a clear, cloudless blue. The grass glistened wetly with morning dew. A few birds wheeled overhead. The distant trees rustled in a light breeze.

There was no sign of the blank woman.

He thrummed his fingers on the bannister’s edge. What to do now? What was the next step in the puzzle?

He had climbed up the attic shaft and come out of the garden gate.

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