In The Dark, Dark House...

by Dead Heavenly

In a dark, dark wood there was a dark, dark house.
And in the dark, dark house there was a dark, dark room.
And in the dark, dark room there was a dark, dark chest.
And in the dark, dark chest there was a dark, dark shelf.
And on the dark, dark shelf there was a dark, dark box.
And in the dark, dark box there was...

For some reason, that stupid poem kept running through my head. Do you know the one? You probably heard it at a sleepover or something. In the dark,dark wood there was a dark,dark house and in the dark,dark house there was a dark,dark room, and so on, until the person gets to the end and shouts "A Ghost!" at the top of their lungs. Well, here I was in the dark,dark house.

If I took the time to be scared, I probably would be, but I was too distracted. I was trying to snap pictures of everything, barely bothering to adjust the camera settings because I just wanted to capture. I could filter and edit on my laptop later. Len had told me I would get some amazing shots here, and he was right. The stately house, abandoned in the middle of the woods, that was a picture right there. Paint peeling, windows boarded up or just empty frames, it still had dignity, like a gray old lady standing strong. The leaves that had blown inside and were making their way up the staircase, another great picture. A flower vase, dirty but otherwise intact, sitting perfectly straight on a window sill.

Snap, snap, snap.

I was losing my light to the sunset, it really was about to become a dark dark house. I wasn't worried about the house itself, but the path my car had followed to get here could only be referred to as a path if you were feeling really generous. I would need to leave soon, but I wanted to see what was upstairs...

Empty rooms. A bathroom with long dark stains trailing towards the drain of the tub. The outlines on the walls where pictures had hung. A staircase with steps missing like pages torn out of a book. I'd have to come back tomorrow with more film. I should go, now, but there was just one more room...

My fingers touched the doorknob and turned it, letting me step inside the last bedroom. It was not as bare as the others. A ratty blanket was thrown on the floor. It had been blue once but now...

Snap. Another picture.

A steamer trunk under the window, which was not boarded shut but had another blanket, the same faded not-blue, tacked over it. Snap. Picture.

In the corner of the room there was a chair. It had once been something expensive but now, like everything else here, it was little better than trash. It wasn't as dusty as everything else but someone had mended it with duct tape, all but covering the arms that looked like real leather. Next to the chair there was a stack of books. Maybe someone was staying here? The weather was warm right now but in the dead of winter this might be a cozy shelter.

Except Len had told me no one ever came here, not even horny kids. There wasn't really a homeless problem to speak of around here, so I couldn't image who these books could belong to. I ventured closer, setting down my camera on the seat of the chair to pick up the top book on the stack.

The Great Gatsby.

Well, at least the mystery hermit had good taste. I smiled and set the book back down where I had gotten it from and my hand reached for my camera...

And then I was against the wall. Something had knocked the wind out of me and pinned me there. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move. What had just happened?

I tried to move again and found I could flex my hands but my wrists were kept firmly in place, both of them pressed in to the wall next to my head. I could move my feet and tried to kick rather uselessly while my torso was also held immobile.

"You shouldn't touch things that don't belong to you."

Oh god.

It was a man. A man was holding me against the wall and I couldn't get him to budge an inch. My foot made contact with something but he didn't even flinch. In the dim light, I could see long blond hair, light skin and eyes...his eyes were golden yellow, like an animal's. People don't have eyes like that. . I whimpered. That made him smile.

He brought his head close to mine and then buried his face in my neck, breathing deeply while I cried out again. My feet continued to lash out but I wasn't hurting him enough to make a difference. "You smell good enough to eat." He told me in a whisper, his breath sending ice right into my heart. "And I. Am. Starving."

His head dipped just enough for him to be able to dart his tongue out of his mouth and lick a line along my neck, right over where my pulse was hammering. I had to get out of here. I had to... I kicked again and the hand that had been pining my body moved down, fingers pressing against my shirt and the top of my jeans before it stopped to hold my knees in the same way the other hand gripped my wrist.

"Stop fighting. You're just making it worse for yourself."

He was going to kill me. Or rape me. Or rape and then kill me. Hopefully in that order. Maybe if I could pretend I was game, he would put down his guard enough for me to run or do some real damage to him. The trunk was too heavy to move but maybe if I hit him just right with one of those books. That's what a hero in a book would do. Any tough cop in a detective novel, because she wouldn't allow herself to be pushed around just because she was a woman. She would use her sexuality as another tool in her arsenal and get free, then run and call for help.

Yeah right. Then I'd sprout wings and fly my ass out of here.

"I can feel your fear." My captor was saying. "It's dripping off you like water. A person who just walks in to someone's house and touches their things shouldn't scare so easily."

I felt his teeth graze my skin and I started to cry. Not a little sniffle but a huge sobbing gasp. "Please." I begged. "I'm sorry I came in to your house. I didn't know anyone lived here. I'll go, and I won't tell anyone you're here. I promise. I won't say anything. Please, I don't want to die."

He paused in his ministrations. "You're going to. If it's not me, it will be something else."

Sob. Gasp. "I don't want to die today. You don't have to do this."

"Why not?"

My mind whirled. I needed something good. I didn't know his pathology, or whatever. I didn't know if he wanted to rape me or if he was going to kill me because I reminded him of his mother or maybe he was just crazy. But he hadn't killed me yet, so I could still get out of this. I tried desperately to remember every self defense class I had taken and every book I had read on surviving. I remembered from somewhere that killers depersonalized their victims. They didn't see them as people, just things, and that made the act of murder easier.

Fuck, I read that in Silence of the Lambs.

But it was worth a shot.

"Please." I started again. "My name is Sara. I'm starting art school in the fall and I just wanted to take some pictures for my portfolio. I didn't know anyone lived here. I wouldn't have come here if I knew. This is completely my fault. I'm Sara."

"Sara." he repeated back to me. "Who told you to come here?"

"A friend." He squeezed at my wrists and I gasped. "He told me no one had lived here in forever and nobody ever came this way so I could get some great pictures of the house, and nature..." I trailed off.

I felt like I couldn't breathe.

His teeth were back on my neck. I felt them press in to my skin, my flesh starting to give way. I closed my eyes, not watching to watch myself die.

My brain did not immediately make sense of it when he let me go. One second his body was against mine, the next I was sitting on my ass on the floor, looking up at him. I couldn't quite believe it.

He had his eyes closed now. He was standing still as a statue, not even breathing. His lips barely moved when he spoke to me.

"Sara. You need to leave now."

I didn't need to be told twice. As soon as I could make my legs work, I ran.