The sun was setting on the small town of Willington, Boston as the leaves brewed around the feet of children’s light up tennis shoes. Costumes hugged their bodies and their hands have a death grip on their buckets full of candy that was worked hard for. It seemed just like every other October 31st, Halloween capturing the hearts of young ones willing to waddle around for treats. It seemed to be so.
As usual on Halloween, the Caymin house was quiet. No lights on to welcome trick-or-treaters onto their creaky old porch. Nobody ever dared to go there. Parents and grandparents alike all claim the house has something about it. The house always seemed to be leaking an eerie feeling from the windows and underneath the steps. On Halloween night, kids big and small sneak out to go see what will happen. They always expect ghosts and goblins, but year after year; nothing. Only the sound of heavy breathing coming from the cracked windows accompanied the children on their stake out.


What really happened in that house, no one knows. Urban myths come and fade with the old and new generations. Maybe a husband killed his wife or a murder that caused mass corruption? All possibilities, but not truth, old Mr. Wallis tells. Being the oldest gent in the neighborhood he knew anything and everything. According to him, the story was that Michael and Natalie Caymin were the first and last ones to buy the house. October 31st, 1991 is when it happened; the mysterious disappearing of the Caymins. No one knew them well enough to know why the disappeared or how. The only one who did went by the name of Jack Caine, who mysteriously disappeared a week later. No funerals or memorials were had for the missing persons, only a tall man in a long, black trench coat came to lock up the house for good.


Mr. Wallis’s story intrigued the only high school senior in the neighborhood, Nick. Oddly enough, Nick got a mission a little over a week before Halloween that came in the form of a dare. He had to accept, of course, or else he’d be pretty lame. Nick’s objective was to uncover the horrors of the abandoned Caymin house. A sense of obligation showered him, considering he would be the only one to venture into the house since the first to inhabit it. Nick faced the fact that he couldn’t neglect the assignment because he needed to put down the fears of those who lost sleep at night staring at the house.
Nick was a tall lanky kid, who knew he was built for running and getting through narrow spaces. Not the best, though, for fending off whatever kind of evil that lurked in the Caymin house. He used his wits and called up the person who gave him the dare, his best friend, Tim, a few nights before the infiltration date of October 31st. Nick was always somewhat jealous of Tim, being the star quarterback of their undefeated football team. He would be the muscle Nick needed to fend himself off. Well, if he had to, since he didn’t know if there was some psycho killer like the one in Friday the 13th. To Nick’s relief, Tim agreed. He knew that with one glance from a psycho killer he’d be gone. Well, if there was one, that is.
That night Nick began to prepare. What if Tim’s muscle isn’t enough to fight off whatever it is that’s in there? What if we need a weapon that goes long range? Nick thought about these things and remembered the machete his dad always leaves out on his dresser. Then he remembered the pistol he obtained for his 18th birthday. Nick grabbed his weapons and secured them in a Batman like belt. Few more things were needed such as a flashlight and food and water, but other than that, they were all set. Luckily Nick’s parents were out of town till tomorrow morning, so his mom wouldn’t worry about him going off on such a dangerous adventure. His mom never believed the stories told about the Caymin house, but it doesn’t mean she had to like it sitting there and staring down on the rest of the neighborhood, terrorizing little kids’ dreams.
In what seemed like a few minutes, Halloween had stormed in. Yet the school day burned down slowly and with every minute both friends’ heart beat increased a little bit more. The two met up after the final bell had rung at 2:45 and began to discuss their plan of attack. As he came to find out, Tim was horribly prepared. No plan or anything except to rely on his muscles. Such a stupid junior! But somehow he was Nick’s closest friend.
“It doesn’t matter about a plan, anymore,” began Tim, “We’ll just wing it I guess.”
“Come on, we need at least an escape plan.”
“No, we don’t. We’re fine without it!”
“Fine, don’t blame me though if we get eaten or torn apart or just plain out shot!” screamed Nick. And that was that. They planned to meet up at that night at trick-or-treat time, six o’clock.
No later than six did kids start coming around door to door begging for candy. Tim had arrived at Nick’s house only moments before. He put a bucket of candy out with a sign saying “Please take one” and then locked the newly painted white door to his house and put the key under the door mat. Nick nodded to Tim and they both slipped on their clown masks, the utility belts they prepared, black cloaks and took their leave. Luckily, their clown masks worked and nobody asked where they were going in the crowd of kids big and small gliding to one house or the other.
They reach the end of their street and look up from the cracked concrete to the rotting house. Two stories of boarded up windows and decaying life stared right back at them. Nick’s nerves were running high and the palms of his hand moistened but he kept reassuring himself, “I won’t get killed, I won’t get killed.” Tim on the other hand decided it was time to go. His legs propelled him up the steep gravel driveway leaving Nick to get his act together and race up the driveway to catch up.
“Dude, wait up!” cried Nick.
“C’mon! Keep up the pace here, we gotta house to visit!” retorted Tim, looking back at his friend, realizing this could possibly be their last adventure together. This made him pause a moment, but Nick caught up and the both of them made their way to the front porch.
“What‘d ya think is in there?” asked Tim.
“I don’t know,” said Nick, “But we’re gonna find out sooner or later.”
A little cobble stone path branched out from the drive way and over to the front porch steps. Green and black mold had splotched itself around the three decaying wood steps, so they made it a goal not to step on the mold. Hopefully that would be the most of their problems tonight. The porch only spread out about two yards and had no railing. The old door had green paint that’s been chipping off since anyone who lived there could remember. It was also locked with a huge padlock that was clipped around rusted chains that restricted the door. They were the kind of chains that were meant to hold some raging beast back. Nick took note of this, and then tried to figure out a way in. All the windows were blocked, so that wouldn’t do. They had nothing to break open the lock or chains but-
CLING! BAM! The chains fell off the door. Nick was paralyzed with fear for a moment, but then got the movement in his neck back to look over at Tim who was holding a freshly sharpened axe.
“Bu-wha-where?” was all that could come out of Nick’s mouth.
“I thought we’d need it,” said Tim and hid it back under his black cloak.
They looked at the unlocked door that was just beginning to feel the wind pushing on it, and now wanted to reveal its insides to them. They slowly entered the house and took off their creepy clown masks. The rotted wood creaked beneath their feet and a musty basement smell assaulted their noses. The sun was blocked out of the house only to making it harder to face whatever it is in the house. The door was still open when Nick and Tim reached the center of what seemed to be the living room. A green and now tainted white, circular carpet lay underneath their feet, a puke green couch sagged on the left side of the room and sat across from a particularly interesting painting. The drapes to the boarded out windows had holes running along the entire length of them. The fire place sat against the farthest wall to the left with a mouth as black as night. The brick bottom was covered with ashes from the last fire.


The last fire… Nick walked over to the fire place and stared at the ashes for a couple moments. Then it hit him; “These ashes are still warm!” His eyes widened as he jerked his head over where Tim was. Where was Tim? Wasn’t he over on the carpet? BAM! The front door slammed shut with anger. A high pitched scream bounced off the walls and into Nick’s ears.


“Tim! TIM!” cried Nick. He pulled his flashlight out of this belt and flicked it on. The beam of light pierced through the darkness to the other side of the room. Nothing but wall was caught in its ray. Nick heard a creak in the floor boards and thoughts began to bounce around in his mind. Was that Tim? And another. Who is that? They came closer. Am I going to die? And closer. Yep, I’m dead. A cold, white hand came down on Nick’s shoulder and grasped it tight. Nick jumped and hollered with no one to hear him. He shook like there was no tomorrow.


The last thing he heard was, “Gotchya.”


Well, he thought it was going to be the last thing he ever heard until he gathered his thoughts enough to slam whatever thing it was in the rib area with his elbow. The beast yelled with pain. Nick whipped around with his sword of light ready to blind the creature and readied his hand on the pistol. Heavy breaths choked and weighed him down when he saw the beast. It was laughing. As a matter of fact, it was even rolling on the floor.


“I got you so good! You should’ve seen your face when you turned around!” laughed Tim.


“You… Are such… An asshole,” said Nick in between breathes. But he had to admit, Tim did a pretty good job with the prank.


Nick regained his breath enough to wrestle Tim, who was still in a laughing fit, up. He gave Tim a glare of hatred, but then the both broke the silence with laughter at their own stupidity.
When they finally gained their composure, Tim asked, “So where to next?”
“Let’s look around the kitchen, it’s the only place left on this floor , ” Said Nick, thinking it would be the most logical choice.
As they walked over to the kitchen entryway, Nick caught a glimpse of the particularly interesting painting. It was of a man with a beard in uniform. It must have been centuries old. He passed over the face and that was when he saw the eyes. They were moving with the two friends and Nick knew it wasn’t the dark playing tricks on him. The eyes were very much alive and moving. Nick shined his torch on the face and the eyes blinked and opened, their jet black pupils dilated but kept on staring at the friends. Tim looked back and froze as the eyes seemed to pierce his soul. It was strange though, they were just eyes. No human or thing came out from behind the wall, they were just eyes.
“I say we keep moving, shall we?” nervously voted Tim. Nick nodded in agreement as the eyes followed them into the kitchen. It had old linoleum checkered tile that reached out to a Sears refrigerator and dishwasher. The sink was clouded silver on a stained yellow Formica counter that spread from the middle of the far wall onto the left wall. The cabinet doors hung loosely on their hinges, some were even missing. Tim guided his light over to the east side of the kitchen. There was a little card table, a ceiling high pantry and a couple of chairs that had been knocked over. There was something else over there that caught his eye. Something had left a big stain the wall and as he got closer to investigate, a horrible stench clenched his nose. At first it smelt like a dumpster had been emptied upstairs. Tim let it waver a bit longer till the odor revealed its true nature.


“Hey Nick… Nick… Nick!” yelled Tim, getting panicked.


“What?!”


“Come’ere, will ya?”


Nick walked over to where Tim was and followed his finger that was pointing toward the crimson stain.


“Blood… Well isn’t that just lovely?” said a very sarcastic Nick. At this point, he’d lost all fear of the unknown. Tim’s prank was bad enough, the eyes were just the icing on top and the blood stains on the wall were an extra dose of color. A slit in the wall was placed in the middle of the uneven circle of blood that had smeared down to the floor.


“It looks like-“began Nick, but was cut off.


“Like murder,” finished Tim, who was wide eyed.


Both just stared at the blood stain trying to take all of it in. When they regained their ability to focus on their mission, Nick had been leaning on the fridge in awe. This meant that old Mr. Wallis’s story was true. There was a tall man in a black trench coat, there had to be. That explains why either Mr. or Mrs. Caymin had gone missing. But there was only one question left to explain; what happened to the other half of the Caymin couple and Jack Caine?


Tim looked at his phone and the blue screen told him that it was only seven-thirty. To be honest, he thought they’d be dead by now, so the time was something that boosted his determination to drive farther into the house’s mystery. Nick peered over his shoulder to check the time with him and was in the same astonishment of how little time they’d been in there and both were still alive.


The moment left staring at the wall was interrupted by moaning that came from the rooms above. Nick shot a look over at Tim that told him to go upstairs first. They crept out of the kitchen back over to front of the living room where the stairs were. Nick looked back over to the painting to find that its eyes were gone. Panic struck Nick in the heart with its sharp end, but fear kept its distance. He felt that Tim didn’t need to know this little piece of information because he assumed he would find out soon enough.


They had made it to the top of the spiral staircase and onto the landing of a long but wide hallway. Their flashlights struck both sides to reveal three doors on each side just waiting to share their treasures with them. They decided to try the first door on the right first. The white trim of the door was surrounded by cheap 80’s wallpaper that sent out an eerie vibe that both of the boys picked up immediately. Nick grasped the door handle and turned it slowly, as if he was trying not to wake a sleeping bear. Tim passed his flashlight to his opposite hand so he could unhook his axe and gripped the handle like a toddler grips a lollipop. Nick opened the door and inch by inch all they could see was darkness. Tim had his axe raised to shoulder level and carefully approached the room. His flashlight shined over the room. At first they both thought it ran out of batteries, because all they could see was black. Tim shook it enough that it slipped right out of his hands and rolled into the room.


“Dude, really?” asked Nick.


“Well sorry! Those damn batteries of yours ran out of juice!”


“Just go get your flashlight.”


Tim stomped over to where he thought he saw the flashlight roll to and felt around the floor. Something fuzzy crossed his hand. Then scratched it. He yelped and scrambled back onto his knees. Something rustled by his ear. Nick heard it too and shined his light over to where Tim was. All he saw was Tim and then blackness. Something moved in the dark and looked up with beady eyes. Tim looked back at his friend and they both knew what was coming. The creatures of the night took off in chaotic flight after Nick and Tim who darted out of the room. The bats swirled around their heads and got in their faces. This time fear gripped Nick’s heart as the mini terrors blocked their sense of vision with their spastic flying. They ran to the door next to the room. Locked. Then to the door across from them. Also locked. They tried the same thing with every door in the hallway with the same results. They reached the end of the hallways and began pounding on the wall screaming. The bats kept on pounding their coarse bodies against them. Everything was a blur from then on till the bats emptied out a little after seven.


The boys sat there panting for about fifteen minutes after the bats had found some way out. They looked at each other, and realized the other’s face reflected their own; bloodied, cut and bruised. Tim reached for his axe but found it not to be on his belt. Thunder boomed and shook the house. He told Nick about his weapon and had him flash his light down the hallway. The thunder reared its ugly head again.


The found the axe as it was swinging back and forth to the rhythm of the black leather glove that held it. The hand was attached to an arm that bulged out of its leather trench coat that masked the rest of the mysterious figure’s body. Nick didn’t bother to find out more about the character and started banging his fist against the wall. The figure started toward them with elephant like footsteps. Nick and Tim struggled even more frantically which only made the figure roar with laughter. It had a deep, booming, projecting voice which only made them fight harder against the nonmoving wall. As the figure got closer, the swinging axe picked up speed. The boys screamed with no one to hear them but then silence came over them as the butt of the axe handle cuffed the side of their heads. The world went even blacker than before.


Hours past, maybe even days from what Nick could tell. The room was a blur when his eyes finally opened. He kicked is feet and tossed his head but chains restrained him from pulling up more than a foot. Nick’s throat became sore and blood began to trickle down it from the yelling that protruded from its inner most depth. From what he could tell, he was in some place cold and concrete that reeked of sewer smell. He couldn’t see Tim anywhere, it was too dark. This made Nick kick and scream even more until he heard another voice in the lonely void.


“It’s no use!” cried an old, raspy woman’s voice.


“Who’s there?”


The only shred of light in the empty space was from the window placed at the ceiling. That meant it had to be morning. That also meant Nick’s parents were going to be home in maybe a few hours. He had to get out of there, but he froze when he saw another person standing in the light. Silver frizzy hair had passed her shoulders that had white, flakey skin just layered over bone. Her face was sagging but defined by her skull that bulged underneath her pained face. She looked at Nick with sad yet fierce eyes, like she knew something that might be valuable to their survival.


“There’s no use in struggling so stop it before you cut your wrists,” said the nameless lady.


“Who are you?” asked Nick.


“Natalie. Natalie Caymin.”


Nick must have had his mouth open while he was in awe because Natalie told him to shut it. He had so many questions to ask her. Where was her husband? What happened? How long had she been down here? How had he gotten down here? He opened his mouth to ask one but she told him to save his questions, they had work to do.


“See that hair pin over there?” asked Natalie, nodding her head toward his dirtied feet. “Grab it.”


Nick did as he was told without hesitation and reached with his toes, pinched the hair pin between them and slowly reached up with his leg to try to get it to his lips. His leg stopped abruptly with the shortened length of the chain. Nick strained to push his upper body up with the backs of his wrist to get near to his feet. He was almost had it, so… Close… The hallow clomping of a stair step rung throughout the dark chasm. Nick froze in place. Natalie urged him to try and get it in his mouth with a pleading look that stressed across her face. His palms started to sweat rapidly as he strained to get it in his pale and chapped lips. The same gurgling amusement from the figure in the hallway resided with every step.


“Who is that?!” squeaked Nick.


“That doesn’t matter! Get that in your mouth!” Natalie screamed in a whisper.


Nick pressed on with his task, trying not to shake so much that the hair pin would wiggle out of his toes. Natalie’s frustration grew with every step the figure took and she mouth at Nick to pick up his pace. The pin was only a pinkie’s width away from this face when the hollowness of the stairs ended and the clacks of heeled boots began. Click clack, click clack was all that the basement had to offer to their ears. Nick quickly lowered his foot down as the creature with the trench coat exposed himself to the captives’ eyes with the flick of a switch. The basement illuminated with light that was much too bright for Nick’s eyes to handle and he cringed with the sting of light.


“I’m sorry, is that too bright?” asked a sly, greasy voice.


“I bet not as much as your smiling face,” retorted Natalie.


When Nick finally opened his eyes, he saw that the figure was a burly man, maybe around the same age as Natalie, built for man handling, which he demonstrated. He took Natalie’s face in one of his giant gloved hands and turned it toward his face full of stubby grey and white whiskers. He grazed his thick bottom lip over her cheek while she struggled to turn away, but his hand forced her lips into a perverted kiss. His hand moved up her body and slowly onto her breast. Natalie was frantic in her movements this time. She pulled against all the chains that restricted her and reached to all parts of her body to find whatever energy was left to shake him off her body, but nothing would work. Now all of his muscled body was pressing into Natalie and his tongue assaulted her mouth. Nick had to think fast.


“Hey, dickhead, what do I call you? Ya know, besides insulting names that you kinda deserve,” called Nick.


He stopped molesting Natalie and spun around and walked over to Nick with an unusual quick pace. He stopped next to Nick, drug on foot back on the concrete and jolted it forward into Nick’s side. He screamed with agony as the unnamed man knelt down and lowered his bourbon reeking face into Nick’s.


“You will address me as Sir, and if you do otherwise,” Sir paused and flashed a knife hid under his coat, “Well, you can figure the rest out.” Sir got up and walked over to Natalie and whispered something that Nick assumed was nasty, then turned to walk back up the stairs.


“Wait! What happened to my friend?” asked Nick. Sir looked at Nick with the same eyes from the painting, and strode over to a closet, twisted the handle and let the door swing open on its own. A limp body stumbled out of the closet and smacked the floor. Fresh blood seeped through the clothes he was wearing.


“TIM!” screamed Nick. He lashed out with all the power that was left in his being. He struggled with the chains that sliced his wrists and ankles with their cold hands. Tim’s body just lay there with no reaction to his friend’s devastation.


“Oh, and before I forget,” said Sir, “Don’t try and escape. Unless you wish for a… surprise.”


Nick opened his mouth to say something but Natalie hushed him with a loud “Shhh!” and he closed the gaping hole right away. As soon as a door at the top of the stairs closed, Natalie asked, “Do you have the hair pin?”


“My best friend is DEAD and all you can think about is a stupid hair pin?!”


“It’s the only way that will get us out of here! Now do you have the hair pin?” asked Natalie with that look in her eyes she had the first time he saw her; sorrowed, but knowing. Nick wiggled his tongue around and poked the pin out of his lips.


“Good, now spit it over to me.”


Nick decided not to question Natalie’s sanity and tried his best to spit the pin the six feet that separated them. He made it only five. Nick hung his head in shame and cried. He cried for his dead friend, for Natalie, for Mr. Caymin, for Jack Caine, and for the stupid hair pin that didn’t make it across the room. Nick looked up through his tears and saw Natalie with no sad expression on her face, only determined. She stretched out her leg so that her toes hovered right over the pin. She plucked the pin from the ground and bent her foot to touch her hand and grabbed it from her toes. Before he knew it, Natalie had unlocked her cuffs and worked her magic on Nick’s.


The second Natalie unlocked him was the second Nick gave a burst of speed towards Tim. He turned Tim over on his back and shook him by the shoulders. Sobs escaped Nick’s throat as he slapped, shook and yelled at Tim to wake up. But nothing would bring him back from the spell the gap in his heart put him through. Natalie nudged Nick and told him it was time to go; there was time for grieving later. Nick would soon get his vengeance. Nick reached for his pistol but it was gone along with his whole belt. Sir must have taken it. Natalie saw his frantic searching and disappeared into a dark corner, then came back out with a gun and knife.


“Where’d you get this? And how’d you know there was going to be a bobby pin there?” he asked.


“I’ve been down here long enough to know where he keeps his goodies. And it was there for the longest time, I just needed someone to get locked up with me,” said Natalie.


She gave Nick the gun and took lead up the stair case. When they got to the top of the stairs, Natalie gave him a hand and pressed her ear against the door. She nodded and opened it with a loud creak. She looked from side to side and motioned Nick out first. The door let out in the opposite side of the kitchen from the murder stain. They tip toed out of the kitchen and Nick made sure to look for the eyes in the painting. They didn’t follow him this time. Sir was there in the room with them, though, that he was sure of. Nick looked back ahead to find Natalie in a choking grasp from Sir.


“Now what did I just tell you?” asked Sir.


“Let her go!”


“Never,” said Sir, who started stroking Natalie’s hair. “You see,” began Sir, “I can’t just let you go. I can’t let either of you go. You know too much. About the murders. About everything. Oh no, you’re not getting out of here.”


“I said. Let. Her. Go!” threatened Nick. He had unknowingly taken aim at Sir’s shoulder that had stuck out away from Natalie’s body. His finger pulled the trigger. Sir staggered back and let go of Natalie to cradle his wounded arm. Instead of running away, Natalie walked over to her captor, spit on him, and then plunged her knife into Sir’s abdomen not caring if blood splattered and soaked her tattered clothes. Several times it was repeated until Sir was on the floor dead. Just like Tim. Probably just like Mr. Caymin and Jack Caine.


“Bastard,” was the only thing Natalie had left to say to Sir. She went to kick front door open, but a hand grabbed her ankle and dragged down. Sir wrestled her underneath him and sat on her, staring with disgust and lust. He was about to raise his hand to Natalie’s face when Nick’s foot made contact with Sir’s head. Nothing happened. A demented laugh churned in Sir’s throat as he got off of Natalie and faced Nick. He lingered in place for a moment, but with his elephant like steps he made his way toward Nick.
“How are you not dead?!” urgently questioned Nick.
He took aim at Sir’s head and fired, but no bullet came out. The gun was empty with no bullets to spare. This made Sir shout with joy as he rushed over to Nick to give his neck a tight hug. He tackled Nick to the ground and said, “Not this time. Not ever!” The world began to turn blurry with the weight of Sir’s hands compassing around Nick’s neck. He thought his life was over when all of the sudden, he got the ability to breathe back. Nick scramble to sit up with his new found breath. There he saw Natalie with blood splattered all over her from Sir’s decapitated head. It rolled over to the stairs and left a trail of hot, thick blood on the floor. She looked at Nick with heavy breaths and helped him up.
He could tell Natalie was done with this house, and led her over to the door. She stepped into her first outside world since 1991. Nick followed her out into the open. Police cars had surrounded the house with cops just standing around there waiting for something to happen. They must have heard the gun shot that rung through the house.


“Come on kid, we have a lot of explaining to do.”