It was easy to lose oneself within the maze of walls that interwove throughout the house. The strange thing was, you could lose more than your sense of direction, you could lose your mind as well. The house wasn't much for sportsmanship when it came to hunting its' prey. It preferred to kill the way humans used to. It would simply run them around until they were too tired to fight back.
The house could feel its prey as it moved aimlessly throughout its halls. It liked the ones that were alone the best. They were the easiest to terrify and lead astray. All they longed for was company, so that's exactly what it gave them. They would never have to spend another day suffering from loneliness.
While it could feel the joy of its plan coming to fruition, it also felt hatred build up for those who wished to derail it. The house had worked so long and hard to get to this point, it wasn't going to let anyone mess it up. Not even Charlie. Still, there was a backup plan in place for this eventuality. Being a lover of death itself, the house knew what its guests were capable of.
In preparation, it set up dominos that had already begun to fall around its unsuspecting food. It saw everything and its shingles shook with laughter.
"Who are you." Joe was quick to ask the question. It was only the beginning of the avalanche of queries he had brewing up inside his mind.
"A prisoner." The girl took a step forward. Her piercing green eyes never leaving his brown ones.
"I meant your name."
"Delphine."
"I'm Joe. Can you tell me how I got here, Delphine?"
"You died." Joe watched the girl as she turned her head away. Dead? How could he be dead? As the last word crossed his mind, he found himself flashing back to a memory of being upside down and barely able to breathe.
"H-how did I get here?"
"The house calls to its victims. We are its prisoners. Trophies for its walls." Delphine spat the words out. Pure hatred was present upon her once pretty face.
"I didn't die here though. I died in a car accident." It didn't make sense. How could he be a victim of the house when he wasn't even in it?
"You think that matters? The house takes us no matter where we are in the world. Even if you are lucky enough to never step foot in its rancid halls during life, it will always claim you in death." Tears sprung to her eyes now.
"But why?" It was a stupid question; one a toddler would ask when it was being insufferable. Yet, it was all he could muster.
"A reason? Why does there have to be a reason? No, you know what, I do know the reason. Hate. This house hates us because we have something that it never could. A life outside of these walls. It gives and gives only to turn around and take just because it can. It calls us here because deep within our souls we long to be miserable as much as we long to be happy." Delphine's already pale hands grew even more so as she clenched them into tight fists. The expression on her face was a mixture of rage and sadness.
Regret flooded through Joe. He wanted to help her, but he didn't know how. It wasn't like there was a guidebook for dealing with depressed ghosts.
"How long have you been here?"
"Not long and yet forever all at the same time." She swept away the tears streaming down her cheeks.
"Are the others dead too?" He needed to know if he was too late. More importantly, he needed to know if he had died for nothing.
"There are those who walk these halls with breath still within their chests. I wanted to help. I tried to warn them, we all did. No matter how many messages were sent, they proceeded to ignore us. The one with the blonde hair was so afraid." The last of her words were barely audible as she trailed off, her head turning away again. An image of the last girl he'd dropped off surfaced in his mind.
"Is she okay? The blonde girl." Urgency rang through in his voice. He needed to know this more than anything else.
"She will be fine. She has a mission." Delphine refused to look at him as she spoke.
"A mission to do what exactly?" Joe didn't know if he wanted the answer, but still the question came out and begged for it.
"Stop Charlie."
Jason was tired of following the unseen. Time seemed to be passing slower the deeper he went into the house. The lights were dimmer, and the shadows were longer. Each time he would pass an old photograph hanging loosely from the wall he would tip it onto the ground. The glass would splinter and break, but even such a trivial thing was unable to put a smile on his face.
His memories of killing the girl in the shed had begun to fade. He craved a new death, but the only one around was himself and he wasn't into suicide. Boredom crept into his body. What was the point of this place if there was no one to kill?
With a heavy sigh, Jason stopped walking. No point in going further, he thought to himself. With that, he placed his back against the ugly wall and slid down to the floor.
Greyson stumbled through the dark hallway. He had been halfway down it when the lights flickered out. He supposed that's what they got for using gas lamps instead of proper electricity. His search for Delphine had gone cold. He simply wanted to take a nap, but there was no way he was going to sleep in a house where the dead could supposedly talk to you.
The house seemed to lower in temperature as the sun went down and without the extra heat from the gas lamps, Greyson found that it was almost unbearably cold. He had tried to warm himself up with thoughts of fire, but he didn't dare try to start one. After all, he was in a really old house and one flame could start a full-blown inferno. He planned to leave, but first he needed to find Delphine and apologize. Even if she was the one who was lying, he still felt as though he owed it to her.
It was times like these that he really wished he had been a boy scout. What was there motto? Something about preparation. He had only briefly heard something about it when an American boy was enrolled at his school. Either way, he still kicked himself for not packing a flashlight. He knew that cellphones carried a built in one but seeing as his parents discarded him and he didn't really have any money to his name, he could never afford one. If he had been able to see the future, he definitely would have set some money aside. He chuckled a bit at this notion. No one could see the future.
Greyson finally reached the end of the hall except it didn't appear to be the same one he had started in. With the help of the moonlight that was streaming in through a grime covered window, he could barely make out one of the images on the wall. Instead of seeing yet another framed photograph, he found what looked like an oil painting. It was of a man he had never seen before. He hadn't been portrayed in any of the pictures that he'd examined during his wandering. The man wore a black suit, but it didn't stop there. There was something dark about him. Greyson couldn't quite put his finger on it, but the look in his eyes seemed evil. The onyx hue used to paint them seemed to dance as if they were made of black flames instead of whatever human eyes were made of.
The urge to reach out and touch the image was strong. Unable to resist, Greyson found his hand reaching for the portrait. His pulse increased as his arm brought his fingers closer and closer. At the precise moment his skin would have met the oil, the gas lamps shot back to life at full force. Flames burst from the glass and melted the wallpaper as they spread. Greyson jumped back before a nearby flame set him ablaze as well.
Holding his slightly charred hand, Greyson stared as the oil painting melted under the flames. The last thing to burn away was the man's eyes which seemed as though they were laughing at him.
"Well, isn't this a cute scene." Charlie spit the words at Karen. Rage flooded within him. He wanted nothing more than to kill both of them. He could already picture his hands buried deep within their flesh. Yes, he would roll around in their intestines as he held her head up to the sun. Light would glint of her crimson filled locks as he stared into her dead green eyes.
"What are you doing Charlie?" The maggot known as Wyatt spoke his name as if they knew each other. He would enjoy cutting out his wretched tongue.
"Charlie, why do you have an axe?" Her voice was like a sweet melody, but he couldn't sing along. Not this time anyway. She had betrayed him. Fallen in with this pitiful excuse for a human. No, he could not forgive her for this. She was supposed to be his. He was going to let her into his world, but now, now he would settle for taking her out of this one.
"Do you know why the house brought you here?" He paused as if waiting for an answer. Instead all he got was two scared and confused expressions. "Don't worry, I'll show you. After all, it is why the house brought me." Without bothering with anymore words, Charlie rushed at them axe placed firmly in both hands.
Wyatt, with Karen still in his arms, dove to the side and through an open doorway. Charlie stumbled over his feet while trying to come to a stop. It was in that moment that Wyatt, still on the ground, kicked the door shut behind him.
Karen watched from the ground as Wyatt scrambled to put as many heavy things as he could find in front of the door. Outside, she could hear Charlie pounding on the door with his bloody axe. Her mind raced. How had she ended up in this nightmare? Paul's death was still fresh on her mind, but she couldn't think about that right now. There was another matter to deal with. Charlie had apparently gone off the deep end and was now out to kill her and Wyatt.
Out of stamina and furniture, Wyatt bent over Karen. "Are you alright? You didn't get hurt when I landed on you right?" Karen gave herself a mental assessment before answering.
"No, I think I'm alright." Wyatt offered her his hand. She took it without resistance. Karen looked around the semi-dark room. The floor was littered with old boxes and broken picture frames. At least it's not another bedroom, Karen thought to herself.
"We can't stay here. He will get through eventually and when he does, he will kill us." Wyatt was right. A wooden door didn't stand a chance against an axe. The only problem was, they were like caged rats in this room. The only other way out was through the window, but they were on the third floor.
"I know, but where are we supposed to go?" It was a bad situation and there didn't seem to be anything that they could do to change or get out of it.
Greyson raced through the smoke-filled hallways in search of an escape. The fire had consumed everything behind him and was threatening to take him along with it. This was exactly what he had been afraid of. Every thought was of freedom. His lungs craved clean air, but the house offered none.
In the distance, above the crackling roar of the fire, Greyson could hear banging. His first thought was that someone was trapped. His second, that that someone was Delphine. He pushed his feet to go faster. He didn't have time to worry about the burning in his joints, he was too focused on the flames that licked at his heels.
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