House Down the Hill, Part 7

While Catherine is away at class—which I opt not to attend today—I prepare a bag of supplies for that night. I find a hammer and a heavy monkey wrench in the toolkit in my car. After searching a while, I’m able to locate the flashlight in my backseat as well. It all goes into a little shoulder bag with my camera. Back in my room, it takes me some time to find a suitable outfit for the night, something all in black. It makes me feel like I’m in a movie, which makes the whole ordeal seem less real. I know it very much is real and my sanity relies on proving it. I’m not sure I can take the rest of the semester waking up to someone screaming bloody murder all night or someone pounding on the door again. I’m not crazy and I’m going to prove it.

My heart is racing the entire time I’m lying in bed, staring blankly up at the ceiling. Catherine is snoring tonight; I think she’s coming down with a bug. I’m waiting for the screaming to start because it means the figure is inside the house and not outside my door. It starts about 12:30, as shrill as ever. I jump from my bed, swing the bag over my shoulder and head out. Shaking and scared or not, this ends tonight.

The walk to the house is eerie. Clouds hide the moon and stars while streetlights cast the trees as long spindly shadows. There is no one around, no parties raging on at the fraternities further down the hill, and no one shouting or playing on any of the athletic fields nearby. It seems even the residents of the apartment building have all turned in early, leaving the night desolate, with no one else to hear the screaming and pleading coming from within those mismatched walls.

All of the stories seem to suggest the psychopath uses the back and side doors. I’m hoping that means the front will be clear. With my size and the height of the windows, it also makes the most sense if I’m breaking in—uh, investigating. The screams are so loud standing on the porch, I want to cover my ears and cower in my fort. But I can’t; not if I want to prove to everyone I’m not insane.

I take out the hammer and wait for the scream to be loudest before swinging at the plywood. It takes quite a while, but eventually the wood gives way to a dark and dusty room. The hammer returns to my bag and I replace it in my hands with the flashlight and monkey wrench. My flashlight illuminates the sparsely furnished place. A few wooden chairs dot the room, all of them tipped over. An old faded carpet sits heavy in the middle of the floor, the tassels still a beige color showing through here and there from underneath the grime. There’s an end table with the remains of a lamp near a doorway with a fridge visible just beyond.

The screaming hasn’t yet stopped, so I hope if I’m less than graceful, my noise will be covered up. I swing a leg over the window sill, steadying myself as I bring the other one over and twist to face the interior. A shadow appears in the corner of my eye, causing me to almost fall backward through the window. I shine my flashlight in that direction, only to find a rocking chair with a coat draped over the back. Sighing, I slowly slip into the room.

The screaming sounds like it’s coming from the basement. As soon as I realize this, it stops. My heart is pounding in my chest and I’m sure the shadowy figure can hear it. He hears it and he’ll come bounding up the stairs any moment now to silence it. I push the thought out of my mind and begin to move towards the kitchen, walking along the outside of the room. It always seems the stairs to the basement are in the kitchen, especially in horror movies.