Where Demons Walk

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
When Clark Chesterton comes home from work, he sees a little girl watching him. He soon realizes something is very wrong, but it is too late.

Submitted: November 19, 2011

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Submitted: November 19, 2011

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Clark Chesterton was parking his car when he saw the girl staring at him from the shadows. He parked the car, killed the engine and got out. The girl was small, about five or six, Clark judged, and to the best of his knowledge, she was not from the neighborhood. He would ask his wife about her later, he thought. Helen has always had a way with kids. Maybe the girl is an orphan and she found her somewhere and brought her here. Yes, that would be it. He started walking toward her.

Suddenly he stopped walking and stared back at the girl. He noticed several unsettling things. If Helen brought the girl, surely, she would be in the house, warming up, getting something to eat . . . Then he noticed that the girl was not moving her eyes off him, and she wasn’t blinking. She didn’t blink a single goddamn time since I came here! Holy shit!

A fear, which he couldn’t quite explain, stole through him. He started approaching the girl more slowly this time, watching her closely. She just stood impassively, seeming to wait for something to happen. But what?

“Hi, little one. How you doin’?” he said when he was close enough to shake hands. He extended his hand and smiled his pleasant smile, but she just gazed at him with those unblinking eyes, and said, “Get in the car.” Clark Chesterton staggered and almost fell when he tried to step back. That voice. It was nothing like a girl of five should sound. It was inhuman, and harsh and scary and, what was worse, eerily compelling. He somehow resisted the urge to take the child by the hand and drive her wherever she wanted to go.

“Go home, kid,” he said and was dismayed to hear that his voice was unsteady. “You shouldn’t be here. Where are your parents?”

“Get in the car,” she repeated more forcefully this time. Clark took another step back.

“Well,” she said, “what are you waiting for?” He was suddenly scared very badly.

“Where’s my wife?” he asked. “What have you done to her?” The girl moved for the first time. She came up to Clark and seized him by the arm. If someone had told Clark something like this would happen only minutes ago, he would’ve laughed and thought no more of it. But the unbelievable was happening. A five-year-old girl was dragging him, literally dragging him, toward the car. He wasn’t a big man; he was thin and short, but still, a small kid dragging a full-grown man with no effort what so ever? . . . I’m losing it, he thought.

The girl opened the door of the car and sat behind the steering wheel. I’ve seen it all, he thought as she said, “Give me the keys.”

“Kid, you shouldn’t do this. You don’t know how to . . . “

“The keys.” He gave her the keys. Fuck it, he thought. Let her kill us.

She turned on the engine and drove off in the direction where Clark came from. It seemed like a long time to Clark that he’d finished work and drove home. He remembered he’d been thinking of Helen’s dinner. Helen would cook no dinner any more. He somehow knew that to be true, and it did nothing to raise his spirits. He shut his eyes; he didn’t want to know where they were headed.

A few minutes later the girl stopped the car and said to Clark, “Get out.” Clark got out and opened his eyes wide in shock. They had come to a place where nobody in their right mind ever came these days, not even kids when they wished to scare each other. It was the Mordon house.

The house had been deserted for quite some time. The last people who lived there were Mordons, a rich family who nobody liked very much. The story was the one every man in the town of Perkinsville had heard in their childhood, and been scared to death by it. It had given Clark himself more than a few sleepless nights.

One night, as Mordons were sleeping peacefully, an unknown man broke into their house and shot all of them to death. The bodies were never buried; anyone who took a single step inside the house after that fateful night never came out again. Moreover, sometimes in the small hours of the morning, strange noises came from the house: screams, crashes, moans, clanks . . . People of Perkinsville said that the ghosts of the Mordons were trapped in the house, and that the noises were their attempts to get out. The legend further explains that the ghosts killed the people who went in the house to avenge their deaths.

Clark stared transfixed at the house for what seemed like eternity until the girl pushed him roughly forward. That put him out of his trance. He knew for a certainty that he was in mortal danger and that the girl was not a normal child. He followed the girl into the dark and gloomy hall of the Mordon house. She closed the door behind them and they were in total darkness.

She seemed unperturbed by the lack of light. In fact, it seemed to have improved her vision. She moved faster and faster down the dark hall, she broke into a fast walk, she ran. Clark had an idea that if he turned back and went away, she would not notice him leaving at all. It was his only chance, and so he put the idea to the test. He turned his back on the fast-moving shadow and walked a few experimental paces. It worked! The girl kept on running. He quickened his strides and, just as he was congratulating himself on his cleverness, something cold and damp came out of the darkness and touched his neck.

His scream echoed off the bare walls and ceiling of the Mordon house. The thing which had grabbed him now slithered off his neck and he sank onto the stone floor and tried to work up the courage to get going again. If he could just run away before the girl comes . . . But the girl was already coming back. In that moment, Clark Chesterton gave up the fight completely. He knew there was no possible way of escaping this house. He just wished two things. First, that it would be quick and without much pain (yeah sure, he thought, maybe if you didn’t try to escape), and second, he hoped he would be reunited with Helen and their kids after . . . well, whatever came after death. It wasn’t quick and without much pain, however. It was just the opposite.

The girl seized him by the scruff of his neck and pulled him up into a standing position. She dragged him deeper into the darkness through labyrinthine passages until he was dizzy from all those turns. He felt absurdly like he was a child and she a monster from his nightmares. That struck his funny bone and he began to laugh hysterically. She paid no heed to his laughter.

His eyes had accustomed to the dark and he saw that she was leading him toward a heavy, wooden door at the end of a narrow corridor. The walls were hung with empty torch brackets, and cobwebs were everywhere. He was dimly aware that the whole house was crawling with spiders, and mice, and rats, and God knew what other foul things.

The girl opened the door and led Clark into a small, dark, rectangular room. The door closed behind them and Clark heard a click, which meant that they were locked inside. So that’s that, thought Clark, it’s over.

The room was completely empty. There was no sign that anybody had lived here at all. Clark supposed that all the rooms in this house looked something like this, and yet, he had a feeling that this one was something special, that there was a reason why the girl chose this place to kill him. There was something evil here.

“Come on over here,” said the girl in that rasping, not-at-all-girly voice and pointed to a space in the middle of the room that looked no different from the rest of it. He stepped slowly forward.

Ropes appeared out of thin air and snaked up his legs, his arms, his whole body. He staggered and sat down hard. And still, he was laughing. Despite the fact that he could barely breathe because of the rope wound tightly around his middle, he was still laughing. Sudden light made his eyes water and he blinked. A blazing torch had appeared in the girl’s hand. She knelt down beside Clark and moved the torch dangerously close to his right eye. His laughter turned into a scream of agony. She would burn his eyes out! He wished she’d just kill him and get it over with, but apparently, that was not how she worked.

The old Clark Chesterton (Clark Chesterton before he met the murderous girl) would have thought he was not her first victim. The new Clark Chesterton knew he was the first, and the only one. He knew that the same way he had known his wife was dead. But if he was the girl’s first victim, who had killed his wife?

He had no time for thinking, however. The pain was unbearable, excruciating. His screams mingled with his laugh and made a terrible death song. His eye (what was left of it, anyway) was flowing down his face, which in turn started to burn. It was pain beyond pain, agony of the most unimaginable. Through all that, Clark thought he heard someone cackling. It sounded like a man’s laugh - deep, and dark, and mysterious. He managed to get a glance at the girl with the corner of his other eye, and, sure enough, the man’s laugh was coming from the girl’s mouth.

The right side of Clark’s face was now an unrecognizable charred pulp. The girl seemed to be satisfied with that, because she moved the torch to his left eye. And just before he passed out, Clark had another of those flashes of understanding. He finally knew why the girl had chosen just this place to torture and kill him. The Mordon’s were killed in this room, and on this particular spot fell Garry Mordon, the patriarch of the house.


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