19/02/09 Rachael Bryant

Short story-The Boy in the Building

It all began with the curious new boy.

I remember when it happened way back in the dark year.

It was 1998 in a small town on an island off the coast of Australia. Antisa was a very quiet place with a handful of houses (scattered across the South-West corner of the island), a small shop with joining house and post office, a small park and an old, odd shaped building from which no one knew its origin and a school which was an extremely well kept building. On a cool summer evening the town gathered in the small park, with rotting tables, flaky-paint benches and the sounds of the waves crashing on the rocks in the background, as is their summer tradition.

The town gossip, Mrs Yandie with her very unwanted gossip, spoke up and said "I heard from my cousin Brenda in Melbourne today." The town waited impatiently for this sounded very important. "Carry on, carry on" spoke Mr Span (the spokesperson for Antisa). She says a new family is moving into the shop house and they are going to take on the shop and post office for Old George and, his bitter, ill-tempered wife, May." Mrs Yandie finished. The adults were left wondering how Mrs Yandies' cousin Brenda knows all this information.

The entire town helped out in cleaning the shop house for the new occupants when they arrived sometime that week. Everyone was impatient with the wonder at which the arrivals could be because Antisa was such a small town hardly ever did someone come and go. The children were preparing the school because it had been left in a poor state at the end of the school year. They were overly excited about the school age boy coming and tried to imagine what he was going to look like.

The day of arrival finally came. The town was tense and nervous and worried all at the same time and the kids didn't see what the problem was-they were getting a new playmate and that is all that mattered to them.

It had happened like this. The boy became more and more curious as the days went by. He wasn't satisfied with the island boys. They were boring and he wanted excitement. He was an unruly boy with unkempt hair and messy appearance, dirty and rude, wild and insatiable. The island was a bore he would exclaim whenever I came upon him. I saw his eyes straying towards the old building. He had many warnings but that boy never did listen.

Mr and Mrs Vanchip were always in despair, forever asking for help. It went on and on 'til months later when the school boys became tired and disheartened when all their attempts of mateship failed badly. The boy had been trouble, sneaking out to walk up to the old building, always holding back.

He had finally decided to do it. After all the warnings that he had taken no heed to, He was going to ignore them, ignore them all. He was a big boy, he was not scared, not frightened at all (according to him).

Finally it came. The day was here. The trap set. The boy was lured. The boy was enchanted. The early hours of the new day was only the start. The building nearly submerged in fog. It was tall and old, standing there. It had a dark interior with old, fraying, rotting white curtains blowing in a freezing wind. The only light a small lamp he had grabbed on the way out. The darkness was only broken by the winter moon.

He had stood on the path before the house, as he had done many times before, but this time he was going in. I had heard the door screech, and the floor boards creak, and the door blew shut behind us. I heard a small gasp, 'what was that!' and I saw him shelter the light as it nearly blew out, carefully moving forwards. There was a grandfather clock, maybe some old heirloom, trophies and plaques on a shelf. Little did he know, he was not alone. As I followed, seeing it as my duty to see no harm came upon him, he thought out loud saying 'This is hardly scary, this town is imagining things'.

We had gone through a door and found a bedroom complete with necessary furniture but they were a bit out-dated. I had stood near the door just watching, waiting. Then, suddenly, he fell. His scream could be heard from where I was and it echoed through the rooms below. As I had looked down I realised that his light had gone out and all became dark. I couldn't do any more. I had failed. Failed him, failed his family, and failed the town.

I was doing it. I was actually walking inside. I had imagined this so many times before. The door screeched as it opened and the floor boards creaked. The door blew shut; I sheltered the light and looked around almost fearfully letting out a small gasp as I did. Looking around I saw that there was only a couple of old ornaments and other things. This was bull; there was nothing exciting at all. I explored the hall; I saw a door and decided I wasn't ready to leave yet and so I entered and found a bedroom equally as drab as the hall. I stepped over towards the bed and I stood on some rotten floor boards and fell. Letting out a scream I knew no one would hear, my lamp blew out and now I was truly scared. Beginning to panic a crawled around in a futile search to find something to help. Reaching one wall I found some stairs. I fumbled up the stairs in the dark finding another corridor. Checking my watch, I choked, seeing the time was nearly seven o'clock! I had already been gone for two hours and couldn't figure out where the time had gone. Now the sun was just rising allowing me to see the rest of the way. When, I reached the corner, there was a horrific sight. The old occupants had never been buried; but they were submerged in a strange liquid. Being the curious boy I was I crept over to look in at the skeletons of that poor family. Then I slipped.

I waited at the end of the path, and I waited. I left after some time but kept an eye on the house when hours later he finally came out. He was white, beach sand white. Soaked through to his bones in a greenish coloured liquid; he was shivering madly for it was still cold. He was running, running away from the building as though something evil from that house was following.

No one truly knew what had happened in the house that morning. But the next day the family had gone. Packed and left by mid-morning. We were all left wondering.

Present times

I still live in Antisa but the house has been pulled down, heirlooms sold. Mrs Yandie is still gossiping about the Vanchips and where they had gone and even her and her cousin Brenda had no information to give. From their departure onwards nothing as exciting as the Vanchip family's story has come upon quiet old Antisa.