A real life horror story

By Janet Baldey

‘Piss-arse.’   Jamie screamed, his face fiery.   ‘I hate you…..’

His brother turned, his eyes wide, his mouth a comical ‘o’ of surprise.  ‘Language Jamie’, Ben wagged his finger.  ‘I won’t be long.  Just stay in the house.  Read a book – you can borrow one of my Stephen King’s if you like.’

         ‘I’ll tell Mum…’  The ultimate threat, but both boys knew he wouldn’t.   Ben was charged with looking after him while his parents were at work and if he was grounded, Jamie would have to stay in with him and being cooped up with a sulky teenager was a fate far worse than death?  

         ‘Read a book!’  Jamie clenched his hands into two small rocks.  It was high summer, the sky was blue, birds shrilled and a soft breeze beckoned.  It was no day to say inside. Anyway, Stephen King books were scary.

He watched as Ben’s skinny figure vanished into the distance to where his mates were waiting.  He knew what they were going to do.  They were going to play the ‘Wall of Death’ game at the local quarry - the game that Ben said was too dangerous for Jamie.  ‘I hope you break your neck,’ he yelled although he knew his brother couldn’t hear.  Anyway, his fingers were crossed so it didn’t count.  He quite liked his brother sometimes, especially when he played computer games with him.

He didn’t know what to do.  None of his friends were around, they were either on holiday or not available, but suddenly he had an idea.  He’d do something that would make his brother jealous, something that would prove he was brave and not the wuss that Ben believed.  He’d explore the old Manson House, or at least sneak inside, maybe take something away to prove he’d been there.  Even Ben didn’t dare do that.  Left derelict since before Jamie had been born, the house had a bad history and was slowly decaying as ivy crawled over its walls and grime screened its windows.

Stiffening his small body, Jamie turned and trotted away from his home, up the street and away down a narrow lane. His footsteps slowed as he neared its end where the old house loomed.  A cloud slipped across the face of the sun draining all colour out of the day, the wind dropped and the birds stopped singing.   A shiver crawling down his back, Jamie forced himself forward, through the stone gateway and up the drive but just as he neared the front step, he tripped and fell flat on his face.  As he lay on the ground biting the dirt, he felt a sharp stinging pain in both knees.  His eyes flooded and he opened his mouth, preparing to bawl even though there was no-one to hear him.

‘Ups a daisy.’  Two strong arms gripped him firmly and hauled him to his feet.  Through his tears, Jamie saw that his rescuer was a boy with rosy cheeks and a mass of golden curls. He seemed to be not much older than his brother.  

‘Hi there,’ the boy grinned.  My name’s George.  Right, let’s see the damage.’  Jamie felt his clothes being brushed down, dust flying in all directions.  ‘Hm, grazed your knees.  Think we should give them a bit of a wash, let’s get you inside.’

‘Inside’, wide-eyed, Jamie stared at the boy, ‘inside there’.  

‘Sure.  It’s where I live. I know it doesn’t look much on the outside, but that’s just to keep folk away.  Inside, it’s okay.’

‘You live there?’ Jamie repeated, bug-eyed.

‘Sure, why not?’   Jamie couldn’t think of an answer but as he stared at the boy, he noticed something, something that made him uneasy.  The boy’s skin was no longer peachy smooth, in fact, it looked distinctly stubbly, almost as if he was growing a beard.  What was more, the boy’s grip on his arms had hardened.  Jamie tried to wriggle free but couldn’t.

‘Come on.   You’ll feel better once you’re inside.   I promise.  In fact, you may never want to leave.’

The boy’s voice had roughened and suddenly Jamie wanted to get away very much indeed.   What did the boy mean?  Never want to leave – that would mean he’d never see his family again.  This time he didn’t try to hide the tears that rained down his cheeks.  He wanted to feel his Mother’s arms around him, play football in the garden with Dad or wrestle with Ben, even though Ben always won.  

‘Come on. Don’t be scared. The house is waiting for you. It needs a new little boy to play with.  It needs fresh blood.’   The boy/man tugged him towards the house and as he did Jamie smelled him for the first time.  It was an acrid stench and the nearer to the front door they got, the more feral it became.

Fighting an urge to vomit, Jamie twisted and as he did he caught another glimpse of his captor.  A torrent of iced water swept through his veins.   No longer a golden-haired boy, he was a man who aged visibly the longer Jamie looked at him.   His stubble thickened into a full beard then greyed and withered into straggly wisps.   His skin wrinkled then thinned and sagged like melted wax while his eyes disappeared into craters surrounded by a maze of lines.

‘I was once a boy like you.  Just like you, in fact.  But now my time is nigh and the house needs a fresh guardian.   No need to worry.   It will take care of you.’

As he spoke his yellow teeth stirred in his gums.

‘Help me.’ Jamie prayed but then he discovered something and his heart leapt.  The crone was weakening as its muscles wasted.  Gathering all his strength, Jamie burst out of its grasp and without once looking back streaked away out of the drive and down the lane, not stopping until he reached his house.

A few minutes afterwards Ben bounded through the door, his eyes shining with excitement.   Stopping abruptly, he eyed his brother.

         ‘Hi kid.  You look pale.  Been reading a horror story?’  Jamie didn’t answer.   Fiction would never frighten him again.

Copyright Janet Baldey