The Chimes

I have to remind myself.

I don’t want to forget.

I can’t forget again.

For a while now I don’t even remember my own name from time to time, and I forget who my mom was. And my brother. I have to write down everything that happened before I go back there.

Back to The Chimes.

My name is Sam. My older brother was named Marcus.

It should’ve been a fun family day out, going to see a live band play in Central London. My brother was a huge The Prodigy fan. He even styled himself to look like Maxim, one of the band members.
He had asked for me and mom to come along. My mother wasn’t a particular fan of that type of music, but went along for my brother’s sake. We lived just outside of London, near Epping Forest, so the journey shouldn’t have been too long, but was instead very heavy with traffic.

Marcus insisted he drove his new car ahead of us, while I was driven by my mom. I was only seven at the time.

Ten years later, I still haven’t forgotten.

When that truck came by, running a red light at a cross junction, going by way too fast in such a damn hurry.

When it collided with my brother’s car, shredding it to pieces.

How my brother was stuck in the car as it caught on fire, and the emergency services were too late to help him before he was burnt to nothing but a smouldering heap of charred flesh.

My mom tried to shield me the best she could, but my little helpless eyes saw everything.

We both cried all the way to the hospital, where he was declared dead upon arrival.

Our lives haven’t been the same since then.

I’ll never forget that day. It has haunted me for all these years.

Ever since then, my mom had taken me to therapy and I had frequent visits with the school counsellors. They, my mom and my teacher said I had an obsession with fire, brought on by the trauma of witnessing my brother’s death.

I couldn’t help it. To me, fire is sort of comforting. It was like a way of seeing my brother again.

I liked to imagine his soul was still trapped in those flames. After all, fire is alive. It moves and breathes and has a need for fuel to sustain itself, like other living things. So who’s not to say that fire contains the souls of those that have passed.

I was told these ideas were silly and dangerous, and for a while I believed them.

But now? I don’t know. Every time I look at a flame, it just sparks something inside of me. Something hidden away…Anyway, that’s not important. What is important is the events that happened to me, and will happen to me.

The day was Halloween. My favourite time of the year.

There was something really satisfying when dressing up as something creepy and scaring the shit out of small kids when they came to get sweets from us. But this year was going to be different.

Me and two friends from school, Yasmin Gates and Norman Wilkinson, were going to stay overnight at a supposed haunted house in our neighbourhood.

The house was called The Chimes.

It was on the outskirts of town, near the edge of the woods. It was a rickety old-fashioned Victorian style house that used to be a holiday home of sorts, but then was just suddenly left seemingly without any reason, abandoned to rot. Stories circulated around about a guy that lived there that dragged people inside the house if you got too close, and cut you up with a hedge trimmer. But those were all just dumb stories to scare the neighbourhood kids.

When we were younger, we kids would dare one another to go into that house for a laugh, but everyone was too scared to do it. It then became a sort of tradition for older kids to go into that house each Halloween to screw around; drinking, smoking and other possibly illegal activities. It was practically trespassing, but who cares. To us in a particularly boring neighbourhood with nothing much to do, it sounded like risky fun. And now that my friends and I were older, it was our turn.

Now, I wasn’t a badly behaved kid at school. Far from it. I always got called out by my friend Norman for being a ‘goody two-shoes’ and not trying anything remotely daring or risky. Hell, he even chewed me out for not watching porn! I didn’t even know that was some kind of requirement at my age!

Aside from his sometimes ‘inappropriate’ behaviour, especially at school, Norman was an alright guy. He stood up to bullies for me when I first attended secondary school, and even helped me chat up a few girls.
One girl I was really interested in was Yasmin Gates. She had gorgeous long wavy red hair and these adorable freckles. I had the feeling Norman liked her as well, as he would always take off his glasses when passing her in a weird effort to look “cooler”. I guess he was self-conscious about his glasses or something.
After a while though, and after I gathered enough courage to actually talk to her, me and Yasmin became friends, and so did Norman, and despite having obvious feelings towards Yasmin that neither me nor Norman would express, we all got along just fine.

We had other friends aside from our circle of three, sure, but us three pretty much became inseparable in our many years of school, and as we hit Sixth Form, it was time we took part in a yearly tradition. A rite of passage, if you will.

After school finished for the day, we each went our separate ways back home and got ready for our night out. But as I headed down to my house and past the playground in the middle of our block, I spotted something really strange.

A tall, thin lanky white man in a black suit and tie, a bowler hat and carrying a black umbrella in his left hand. He was seated at a park bench, just outside the fence of the kids’ playground.

Now when I say ‘white’, I’m not trying to be racist, but he was literally pale like snow, like he was ill or had some kind of condition.

He just…sat there, staring off into space.

Aside from his complexion, his face was just odd. He seemed to be missing eyebrows, or any sort of hair on his head, and his expressionless face was gaunt with black rings around his eyes. I kind of thought he was a mime or something at the time.

But whatever he was, I didn’t like the look of him. He was sitting only a few feet away to where kids were playing. Had I paid attention at the time, I would’ve noticed that not one of those kids seemed to notice the strange tall man in the suit. That would’ve been my first sign that something was very wrong about this man, aside from his general appearance.

But at the time, I wanted to tell this possible creep to clear off, and leave the kids alone.

I approached him, trying to psyche myself up and look as aggressive as possible, but when I got up to his face, he didn’t even look up at me. He just continued to stare off into the distance.

Then suddenly his grey wide eyes stared right at me, and he spoke in a low, monotone voice.

“It will rain soon…”

I didn’t know what to say to that. And his piercing gaze startled me, made me shiver a little. He spoke again.

“How are you enjoying Greenhaven?”

“This…this isn’t Greenhaven.” I finally stammered out.

“Oh? I must have the time wrong.” He pulled out an old-fashioned pocket watch, inspecting it before putting it back into his pocket.

“I came here to congratulate you on a job well done.”

“Excuse me?”

He continued. “You did a remarkable job in dispersing those wretched interlopers. Burning down that cult was masterful work, cleansing them from our territory.”

I felt a little bad for the man. He was clearly insane. What freaked me out though was just how little to no emotion there was in his voice and tone. He just said everything so matter-of-factly to me, yet I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about.

But what he said next surprised me, and raised the hairs on the back of my neck.

“You’re going to The Chimes tonight, aren’t you? If I were you, I would stay away from that place.”

What the hell? Had he been stalking me? How did he know of our Halloween plans?

I stepped back a little from him, but the very next thing he said was even worse, and made me want to vomit from anxiety.

“I’m sorry about your brother. I watched the whole thing happen, you know.”

“How the fuck do you know about my brother?” I asked him, pretty bluntly.

“I told you, I watched the whole thing happen before me. I was there. I have always been there.”

That was it for me. I wasn’t a violent person, but I wanted to hit this man for daring to talk about Marcus. But instead I chose to immediately head back home, and call the police on a possible stalker.

When I arrived back at my house, I told mom everything and pointed outside my window towards the playground, expecting him to still be there, creepily staring into my house, but instead he had completely vanished.

I was on edge now. I had a strange man in a suit following me and who knew of my brother’s death. What if he was still out there? We called the police anyway, despite the man disappearing, but without any physical evidence like a photo or video of the man stalking us, the police couldn’t do much to help. Bloody useless cops.

I was still paranoid, watching from my window out into the playground for any sign of that man. But I didn’t want it to ruin my Halloween. I decided to still go out to The Chimes with my friends. I would arm myself with my phone and take a picture of that creep if he ever showed his face again. And with a group of friends, there was no way he would try anything.

I knew it was a dumb idea, but I just wanted to be with my friends and not worry about anything.

Soon evening came, and I was getting ready to go out. I told my mom we were going to a friend’s Halloween party from school. I originally wanted to dress up as The Candyman for Halloween, but decided against it. The effort to put together that costume would be too much for staying at a dusty old house, and besides I didn’t want my friends to know how much of a horror geek I was. So instead I decided to just throw on my red hoodie and black tracksuit trousers and wear an old latex pumpkin mask, one that I found lying on the ground around two years ago, on that year’s Halloween. I figured someone dropped it while trick-or-treating, but I wasn’t going to let such a cool looking mask go to waste. I liked its evil jagged grin. Reminded me of Jack Skellington from The Nightmare Before Christmas.

As night came, I met my two friends in the park, just as kids and their parents came out to go trick-or-treating. Like me, my friends were wearing hoodies, and carrying bags with them full of “supplies”, which I assumed would be stuff like booze and weed. Yasmin had this cute smirk on her face when she saw me arrive, waving her bag at me like I was supposed to know what was inside. I was a little nervous, I’ll admit. I drank before, sure, but I never did any drugs.
I wondered what it would be like.

I walked with them to the old house, carrying my mask in my hand. I didn’t feel ‘cool’ enough to just put it on in front of my friends, since they weren’t wearing masks or any costume. I felt a little bad. Is this what being ‘grown-up’ is like? No costumes during Halloween? That sucks.

“Didn’t you guys bring masks or something?” I asked.

“Why bother?” Yasmin replied. “We’re gonna stay in the house all night anyway.”

“Aren’t your folks gonna be worried where you are?” Norman piped up. He jokingly leaned in behind her, acting all creepy.

“A young lass like you, staying with two boys? Won’t that worry them?” He smirked.

“No, I told my parents I was going for a sleepover with my friends after a party. I mean, it’s technically true.” She smirked back at Norman, nudging him away.

I wasn’t sure what to talk about. Norman was always good at sparking up the conversations between us, same with Yasmin, while I was always the quiet one. As we passed the playground, I decided to bring up what I saw earlier that day.

“I saw this creepy guy over there. He was wearing a suit and bowler hat and carrying an umbrella. He was sitting right outside the park where the kids were.”

“Sounds like a nonce to me.” Norman replied.

“What’s a nonce, again?” Yasmin asked.

“You know, a pedo. He was probably perving on those kids.” Norman stated. Then he laughed about it. I’m not sure what was so funny, but I didn’t question it. Norman was a little weird like that sometimes.

“Well, whatever, at least he’s gone now.” Said Yasmin, reassuringly to me. “Bet that creeped you out, huh?”

“Yeah, it did. But…that wasn’t the worst of it. He knew about my brother.”

My two friends fell silent, possibly feeling awkward at the mention of Marcus. I had told them before what happened to my brother, so they knew the whole story.

I broke the awkward silence and continued. “He said he knew my brother or something, and that he’s been watching us.”

“What a fucking creep!” Norman exclaimed. “Don’t worry, mate. If I see that guy again, I’ll knock his fucking lights out for ya!”

“Yeah, me too. Bloody creep.” Yasmin said. She gave me a warm smile and put an arm around my shoulder. I felt myself blush a little. I liked Yasmin a lot, but I always got the impression that she felt ‘bad’ for me rather than liking me in a more intimate way. Basically, she had me in the friendzone.

“Awww, look at the two lovebirds.” Norman teased as we headed down the forested pathway. Yasmin flipped him off playfully.
Yep, I was in the friendzone, alright.

When we arrived at the old two-story house situated just outside of our village, Norman jokingly knocked on the rotted old door, calling “Is anyone in?” Yasmin and I laughed nervously, and I was half expecting some creepy, decrepit old man to swing open the door as a response and beckon us in for ‘free candy’ or run at us with his infamous hedge trimmer, but of course there was no one answering.

Norman, showing off, kicked the door open wide to let me and Yasmin go inside.

“After you.” He gestured.

The inside of the house was just as worn and dusty as the outside; grey wooden panels made up the floor, as the walls were covered in grimy old floral wallpaper.
As we entered, we could see the staircase in front of us, leading up into darkness. On our left was either the living room or dining room. We weren’t sure. All that was in that room was a wooden table with four chairs, and a small object in the middle of the table. I got a closer look and realised it was a rusty old-fashioned key. As my friends headed upstairs with their flashlights, I secretly pocketed the key. I don’t know why I did that. I guess I just wanted to collect it as a token, like something to remember this night by.

I followed up the steps to find my friends, who were waiting for me in one of the bedrooms. Yasmin tried scaring me by leaning around the corner wearing this creepy looking doll-mannequin mask she bought. I admit it did give me the chills the first time I saw it, but I just laughed it off.

“I thought you said you didn’t bring a mask!”

She giggled maliciously. “Haha, I lied! Come on in, the fun’s about to begin.”

Norman, being the sourpuss that he was, didn’t even bring a mask. I guess he was just ‘too cool’ for that sort of thing. What he did bring though was a whole bag’s worth of Smirnoff vodka and Jack Daniels. As he unpacked the ‘goods’, Yasmin opened up her own backpack and pulled out a small bag of weed, as well as some roll-up paper. I gulped a little. I didn’t think I was really ready for this, but I’d do anything to look cool in front of my friends. I didn’t want to feel left out.

Yasmin rolled up the joint as I picked up the lighter. Norman smirked the moment I picked it up, telling me to be careful and not burn the house down.

I admit my heart sank a little. I knew he was just teasing me, but I trusted him not to tell anyone, not even Yasmin, of my little ‘incident’.

See, back at home, I had a habit of lighting things on fire. Not in the house itself, mind you, but outside in the back garden. I would put a bunch of paper in a metal bin and light it on fire, just to… well… watch the flames.

I didn’t see anything wrong with it. I was just fascinated by the flames, and all the stories I heard about fire, such as the myth of Prometheus and the fire of knowledge, or how ancient Aboriginal tribes would use fire to communicate with one another through great distances. I also loved the symbolic nature of fire, how it was both a symbol of life and death, as fire itself was like a living thing.

But my mom got scared. Said I had an obsession with it. She messaged the school who in return called in a firefighter to tell me the dangers of starting fires. He was a nice enough guy, but I felt really pandered to.
I knew the dangers, and didn’t need a lecture. I was careful enough. But still it gave me a reputation among the adults, especially my own mom. I didn’t want to be labelled as a ‘pyromaniac’, so I kept that firefighter lecture a secret, only trusting Norman with it, since I needed someone to talk to, and I was worried Yasmin would be freaked out by me if she knew.

And here he was, teasing me about burning the house down.

I felt ashamed.

Yasmin just laughed it off though as if it was just a normal joke, and handed me the joint. I looked at both her and Norman, feeling the pressure. I took a small drag, inhaling the smoke, and immediately coughed it back out. My friends laughed. I could feel my cheeks burning, as my mind already began to spin, feeling like I was caught in a bubble. I passed the joint around as my friends, and after everyone took their turn, the booze was passed around.

I wondered what the hell we’d be doing while in this house other than getting high and drunk. In my head, I thought about childish things like telling ghost stories or playing Truth Or Dare, but instead it was just drinking and talking about school stuff.

I admit, I was getting a little bored with the conversation, and maybe it was the weed getting to me, but I felt like I needed to lie down, or at least sit down in a more comfortable chair than just sitting on the floor. Lucky for me, there was an old armchair facing out of the bedside window, overlooking the pathway that led to the front door.

As I got up, I heard my friends calling to me from behind. I wasn’t really sure what they were saying, only that they were laughing about something.

I ignored them. My head felt like it was pulsating. I sat down on the chair and stared out of the window into the dark trees outside. Soon I felt tired, then overwhelmingly sleepy. Not sure if it was the effect of the drugs or not, I just went with it and slowly closed my eyes.

As I did, the sound of my friends talking was drowned out by this hazy ethereal sound that felt soothing to me. At first I thought it was just in my head, but then I could swear it was coming from somewhere within the house. It sounded like an otherworldly harp playing a soft melody, as if to lull me to sleep.
And it was working.
I could feel my eyes getting heavier as I sank into the dusty old armchair. And soon before I knew it, I had fallen fast asleep.

For how long, I wasn’t sure.

But soon I woke up, still in the chair, still in the old house.

Except when I looked around, my friends were gone.

I sighed and shook my head, thinking they were playing a joke on me again. But I couldn’t be asked to get out of the seat. My body felt so heavy. I decided to not pay attention to them and just sit back in the chair and wait for them to come back. But the moment I turned back around to face the window, I felt my heart in my throat and the urge to scream when I saw what lurked just outside the glass pane.

Kids. Pale faced eyeless kids, staring right back at me through the darkness, their hands pressed against the window. There must’ve been about twenty of them, all somehow standing right outside the window despite it being on the second floor. Their empty eye sockets oozed a black, tar-like sludge that dripped over their cheeks.

I wanted to scream, but I felt my throat seize, as these ghostly children just stared right at me. I tried closing my eyes, begging them to go away. And when I opened my eyes again, they did.

The windows just peered into empty darkness, save for a few tree branches tapping at the window. Was it a dream? Or a bad drug trip?

I pulled myself up from the chair, the heavy feeling gone from my body. I felt awake, finally.

But looking back round from the chair, I saw that my friends were still missing.

Where had they gone to? Were they still planning to pull a prank on me, and jump out at me when I least expected it?

I was about to go outside of the bedroom, anticipating getting the crap scared out of me by my friends, until I heard a noise outside the window. The sound of footsteps on the dry leaves.

I hesitated to look back, but forced myself to go to the window to see what or who it was. I peered out of the window, holding my breath.

Luckily, not pale eyeless children staring back at me.

Instead I saw someone walking up the pathway.

It was a person, wearing a dark red hoodie and black trousers, wearing a pumpkin mask.

The exact same one I had.

What the hell was going on, I thought. Who was this person? Why were they wearing the same clothes I was wearing, and my Halloween mask?

I knew this had to be some sort of prank. Either Norman or Yasmin were dressing up as me to mess with my head after smoking weed. I guess they got spare clothes from my mom’s house? And they must’ve taken my mask, since I couldn’t find it when I looked back at the bedroom floor.

Then I heard whoever was dressed as me knock on the door.

I frowned and sighed. I guess they were expecting me to open the door and get freaked out at seeing myself. I decided to play along for the hell of it.

As I walked downstairs, for some reason my mind came back to that strange man in the suit. Perhaps it was the paranoia I felt all night, amplified by the weed, but I could never shake the idea out of my head that that strange man was following me, watching me. Now, I could have imagined the whole thing. After all, he wasn’t there when my mom came to look, so maybe I had some kind of “episode” of talking to someone that wasn’t there.

I honestly hoped that wasn’t the case. I didn’t think I was crazy. But then again, I’ve basically been labelled as a pyromaniac by my teachers and my own mom.

Maybe I was finally going insane.

But I shook those thoughts out of my head. I didn’t want to think about them anymore, they were too confusing.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

The knocking came again at the door. Well, I figured I would give them a bit of a show, I thought. Pretend to freak out and faint or something just to entertain my friends.

I grabbed the door handle, and pulled it open.

And immediately, I cried out at the horrifying sight before me, stun-locked in place, unable to move, unable to do anything but scream.

It was him.

The man in the suit.

Only, he had no face.

No face at all.

Just a white pulpy veil of flesh where his face should be.
And I could swear that by the second I started at this horrific image, the tall skinny man in the suit began to grow taller and taller. I could hear bones creaking and snapping like branches as it contorted his body, his head violently twitching and vibrating, as if its skull was a nest of angry hornets. It reached into the house, grabbing the door frame with long bony fingers as it bent lower to pull itself inside the hallway, towards me.

I stumbled back, nearly falling down back onto the steps. I continued to scream, as this lanky faceless creature lurched towards me, its twitching head seemingly sizing me up as it leaned closer, reaching out with a white skeletal hand with long, curled fingers.

I could only find myself staring up at the white void of a face staring at me, a shrill, ungodly ringing sound blasting in my ears, but I was too afraid to move my hands to cover them up, until finally, out of a sheer adrenaline rush, I was able to move my rigid body, and bolted up the steps, certain that that faceless thing was right behind me, hellbent on dragging me into whatever hell it came from.

I could feel my heart pounding against my chest as I charged up the steps, but the staircase itself seemed so much longer than it was. Or maybe it was. Because every step I took the more disorientated I felt, and the further I seemed to be from the landing. The loud ringing still rattled my ears. I turned behind me to see the tall thin faceless man ascend the staircase, clawing its way towards me. I could see shadows cast around it, revealing multiple dark hands snaking their way across the walls and ceiling, like crawling tendrils.

I continued to run, wishing I hadn’t looked back. But as I continued to climb the stairs, I felt as though they were spinning along with the horrible sensation in my head. I felt sick to my stomach. The stairs…it’s as if they were alive. They moved and swayed like a violently rocking ship, stretching out longer and longer. I fell and stumbled, trying to keep my grip onto the bannister, but my head was already spinning along with the stairs. I could only go forward, but the more I fell, the more I looked up to where the landing should be by now, it was just too far.

I tried to go up… I couldn’t tell which way was up anymore.
Everything was spinning.
I could only climb, but I felt at any moment I could just slip and fall, fall into the grasp of whatever the hell was chasing me. I didn’t dare look back again. I just climbed. I had to get away.

My hand finally slammed down onto the landing on the steps above me, and I pulled myself up. I didn’t have time to think. I ran and hid back inside the bedroom. Everything had stopped spinning, but the ringing was still there. I could feel the bile rising in my stomach. As soon as I was behind the closed door, I pulled the mouldy, flea-ridden bed over to the door to barricade it.

Then my mind couldn’t take the ringing anymore. I doubled over and retched. Nothing came out.

“I’m having a bad trip.” I said to myself. “I’m just having a really bad trip. What the hell did Yasmin put in that roll-up?”

I tried to rationalise this to myself. It would explain everything. Seeing myself outside, the eyeless children, the faceless man, just how I was feeling so dizzy and messed up in general.

I gathered up my courage and peered through the keyhole of the bedroom door.

Nothing there. No faceless man to be seen.

Still, I wasn’t going to take any chances. If my friends did come back and found me barricaded inside this room, I’ll just explain to them what happened. I’d tell them straight up, no more drugs for me. They messed with my brain and now I was seeing things. I’m sure they’d call me all sorts of things, but right now I didn’t care.

I sat back down in the armchair by the window and waited. Waited for my so-called friends to come back. Waited for this horrible trip to be over.

In the back of my mind, I could swear that I heard the ringing slowly come to a stop. Was it over? Had the buzz worn off?

Still paranoid, I looked out of the window.

No one there.

I looked around the room.

Again, no one.

I started to get worried. Where were Yasmin and Norman? What happened to those two while I was asleep?

They had left their bags here still. I was tempted to look through them, but decided against it. Instead I took out my phone and called Norman.

I waited for a few seconds before it started ringing. But then came a sound from Norman’s bag. It was his phone.

He had left his phone.

What the hell was going on?

I called Yasmin’s phone next, the same thing happened, except it was coming from inside her bag this time. They had both just left everything and disappeared.

Now I was getting worried. Worried that they had been taken, or something worse had happened to them. Did that man in the suit have something to do with it? Was he really stalking us?

I knew it was a mistake to come here, but I didn’t listen to my gut feelings. Instead I tagged along because I wanted to impress my friends and seem like one of the cool kids.

Now I was stuck in a mouldy old bedroom in a haunted house, no friends and no way to call them.

After a while of just sitting there, twiddling my thumbs and waiting for something to happen, I decided to have a look in their bags. I’m not sure why. I guess I figured there had to be some sort of clue where they were. Maybe if this was a prank, one of them must’ve drawn up plans or something. It was a long shot, and probably a really dumb assumption, but what did I have to lose by just having a look.

I zipped open Yasmin’s bag first.

Nothing there but a few small bottles of vodka, the bag of weed, her phone and that creepy mannequin mask she brought.

I checked the smaller pockets. Just a few pencils and pens from school.

I went over to check Norman’s bag next, amongst the unopened bottles of whiskey and vodka. I carefully unzipped the bag and opened it up.

And the first thing I found shocked me.

I was totally speechless.

I had no idea what to make of it, or why Norman would have this in his bag.

It was a foldable hatchet.

I didn’t want to think of the worse case scenario as to why the fuck Norman had a bloody hatchet in his bag. Maybe it was a camping accessory or something, I tried to rationalise.

Now my morbid curiosity had peaked. I wondered what other strange stuff Norman had in his bag.

I took out the hatchet and dug deeper into the back.

I pulled out an aerosol can, a small scrapbook that seemed to be full of old polaroid photos, and a lighter.

I hated to think what the aerosol can and the lighter was meant for, as well as the hatchet, but my eyes were kept on the small scrapbook. Why did he bring that with him? He wasn’t studying photography or anything like that, and he definitely didn’t have an old polaroid camera. At least, from what I know of him.

I picked up the book and looked through it.

I wished I hadn’t.

Every photo in that book was more confusing and unnerving than the last;

The first one was a picture of The Chimes itself, taken just outside the front.

Then a series of photos showing mannequins in different rooms of what I assumed was inside The Chimes, places like one of the bedrooms and the bathroom. Places that we hadn’t explored in the house yet.

Then came a series of what looked like black plastic bags inside a dark room, possibly the house’s basement, lying on the floor and filled with…something. It wasn’t until I looked closer and saw a pair of pale white legs poking out the bottom of the bags that I realised the horror. They were full of bodies.

But maybe they were fake, I tried reassuring myself. Maybe it was the mannequins I saw in the earlier photos that filled up these bags. But the legs were twisted and contorted in such a way that was impossible for a stiff mannequin leg to be positioned in. I shook the thoughts from my head and continued through the photos, but each one showed a possible body in a black bin bag, all with arms or legs poking out from them. I was beginning to feel sick, realising that these might actually be real bodies. Was this Norman’s doing?

But it was the last photo that made me want to finally throw up.

It was an old photo of the playground in our neighbourhood.

In the centre of the photograph…was me. Me as my seven year old self, being pushed on the swings by my older brother, Marcus.

I didn’t recognise any of the other kids, and I wondered who the hell took this photo?

I don’t remember this day at all, and I’m pretty sure my mom didn’t have a polaroid camera back then.

And what the hell was this photo doing with Norman’s stuff?

It wasn’t until I got a closer look that I finally lost it. My nerves got the better of me, and with sweaty palms, I dropped the scrapbook and vomited on the floor.

I saw… him.

The man in the suit, carrying his umbrella, right in the background of the photo. It was like he was watching us.

I remembered what he said when I met him at the playground earlier that day.

“I was there. I have always been there.”

Who the hell was this man? Why is he stalking me? What the hell happened to my friends? Had he taken them?

I vomited again, my whole body was shaking with fear and anxiety. I didn’t know what to do.

It was then that I heard a noise outside. The sound of footsteps on dry leaves.

I looked out of the window, and saw someone walking up the pathway.

It was a person, wearing a dark red hoodie and black trousers, wearing a pumpkin mask.

The exact same one I had.

Only this time, he was carrying a hatchet. A black, foldable hatchet, just like the one I found in Norman’s bag.

Needless to say, I flipped my shit at this moment. Why was I seeing this again?

I panicked, looking around at what to do.

Knock knock knock.

There came the knocking at the front door, just like last time.

I decided to just stay put and hide in the bedroom. And perhaps call the police. But what do I even tell them? How do I explain my situation?

Maybe this was all still part of the insane drug trip, but everything felt so… real. I couldn’t explain it, but I knew my head was clear. I felt real and grounded.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

The knocking got louder this time. Out of instinct, I picked up the foldable hatchet and unlocked it, flipping it open and gripping it tightly. I didn’t dare look out of the window again.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

The person outside, whoever they were, was now banging on the door, practically trying to bash the door down at this point. I readied myself for whatever was going to happen, my sweaty hands barely holding onto the axe in my hand. Until suddenly I heard the downstairs door swing open with a loud BANG.

Then slowly, very slowly, I heard the person, my apparent doppelganger, climb the stairs.

I waited.
It was all I could do.
Waited by the door with the axe. Waiting to defend myself. I hoped it was my friends that were just pulling a fast one on me. I hoped it was a hallucination. I hoped that thing would just go away and leave me alone to figure out what was happening.

Part of me was tempted to climb out of the window and run back home. I didn’t know if these rusty old windows would even open, but it was worth a try to escape, I thought.

If the worst comes to it, I’ll just have to break the windows and climb out that way.

But what if this was all in my head, I thought. What if I injure myself or worse, break my neck attempting to jump from a two-story building?

I was stuck. All I could do was wait for this clone of myself to reach my room, break down the door and confront me. I still had the edge of the bed propped up against the door. Hopefully that would stall him for some time, maybe even make him give up. At least give me enough time to figure out how to get out of this situation.

That was when I heard a soft knock come from behind the bedroom door. Slow and deliberate, like he was taunting me.

That was the last straw for me. I didn’t care about hurting myself, I just wanted to get out of this place.

I ran to the window and tried to pull it open, but it wouldn’t budge.

After a few more attempts, I decided to break the glass with the hatchet.

But as I readied myself to smash the glass, that was when I really took notice of what was outside the window.

It wasn’t facing the front of the house anymore.

Instead, it looked like it was facing the backyard.

Confused, I looked around and found out I was somehow in a completely different room at the back of the house, overlooking the garden.

What the fuck? I thought.

How did I end up here? Maybe I blacked out at some point and just wondered in here. Or someone dragged me into this room for some reason? It was all just fruitless guessing at this point. This house was messing with me.

No, no it was just all in my head, I kept telling myself.

CRASH.

The sound of smashing glass and metal right outside the window nearly made me jump out of my skin. Startled, I looked back out of the window to see what made that noise.

Once again, I felt my heart in my throat.

It was a smashed up, burning wreck of a car that had just seemingly appeared in the middle of the back garden. The smouldering fumes wafted up into the night air as the flames licked about the hood of the car.

Then came the sound of muffled banging from within the driver’s side. I felt my blood run cold as something burst open the door from within, and crawled out on all fours, screaming in sheer agony as flames covered them, burning away at their blackened, molten skin.

I don’t know what possessed me to run out that door. Perhaps at the moment I had simply forgotten about the masked doppelganger just outside, or perhaps it was sheer primal instinct to just run away from the “danger” I felt just watching that person, or whatever was left of them, climb out of that wreckage. Whatever it was, I was terrified of that sight, and wanted to get away from it as far as possible. But even when I left the room, I could still smell the smoke. The scent of burning oil and flesh.

After a moment of nearly throwing up once more, I bolted down the stairs, axe still in hand in case someone or something awaited me, as I headed for the front door. I was going to go straight home, tell my mom what happened and call the police. If that creep in the suit has them, then I was going to make damn sure he’d get caught and locked up. I just hoped my friends were okay.

I reached the door handle and violently swung it open, running outside.

At least, I thought I would be running outside.

But instead, the moment I opened the door and ran through it, I didn’t end up in the small woods outside my neighbourhood, but instead… I was back in the house!

What the hell was going on here?

No, no this can’t be happening, I thought to myself.

Now I was scared. Was there no way to escape from this nightmare?

I closed the door, waited for a few moments, then opened it again. It still led back into the house somehow.

I turned around to look behind me, but I was still in the house.

All I could think was, ‘what the fuck?’

I collapsed onto the first step, holding my head. I swear I could feel the ringing again, vibrating between my ears. I felt tears well up in my eyes as I was well and truly freaking out.

There was no way I could rationalise this without resorting to the whole drug-trip excuse. Even if that spliff was spiked with something, there’s no way it could produce something like this, could it?

I could think rationally, I told myself. At least, I feel like I could.

I tried the doors again, and this time stepped through into the opposite house it led into.

Maybe I was really outside, I thought. If I kept going, maybe the illusion would wear off.

Or maybe I should just stay put, and wait for all of this to go away.

I decided to sit down on the floor in an almost meditative position, crossing my legs like I was at an assembly hall at primary school. All there was for it now was just to sit and wait for everything to fix itself, and whatever noise or sight, or even smell that caught my attention, I’d just tell myself “it’s all in my head”, and close my eyes until it goes away.

I thought this would work. I thought I could ignore my surroundings.

That was until I heard the soft, repeated banging of something, somewhere in the house.

It wasn’t knocking on a door this time. It sounded like something, or someone moving about. It took me a while to realise that it was coming from downstairs. Down in the basement.

I sat still for a moment, trying to ignore it. Until I heard something that sounded like a muffled cry, like someone was shouting up from the basement.

They sounded hurt.

What if it was Yasmin, or Norman? I questioned myself.

What if it was actually them this time, and they were in real danger or were hurt somehow?

I sighed, getting up slowly from the floor, hatchet still in my grip, as I walked step by step to the back of the hallway, towards one of two closed doors.

The first door I opened up led into a grimy kitchen, who’s window looked out into the backyard. I stared briefly out of the window.

No car was there, nor a burning body.

I knew it. It was just a hallucination, I told myself.

I came back out of the kitchen and tried the other door.

It was locked.

I tried the handle again and again, hoping the door would budge. I slammed my shoulder against it, but nothing happened. I then remembered something. The key I picked up from the table. Was it the key to the basement?

I guess there was only one way to find out.

I pulled out the rusty old key from my pocket and slid it into the lock, turning it. The door slowly creaked open.

I sighed with relief, plucking up my courage to venture downstairs into the basement.

Using my phone’s flashlight, I illuminated the darkness and descended down the creaking wooden steps. I heard the muffled cries become clearer and louder with each step I took.

As I reached the bottom, I lit up the basement’s floor ahead of me, and saw it.

A large black plastic bag with something inside it. A body. It had to be. Just like in those photos I saw.

I could see a pair of bare white legs protruding from the bag, writhing about on the floor as a female voice called out from within. I couldn’t make out any words, but I recognised the voice straight away.

“Yasmin?” I cried out.

I rushed over to her, frantically trying to tear the bag open, but it was sealed shut with strong industrial tape. Yasmin kept squirming inside the bag, becoming more manic as I tried to break her free.

“Please, stop moving! I’ll get you out of here, but you gotta stay still or you’ll hurt yourself!”

She didn’t respond to my plea, she just kept moving about and crying.

I took the hatchet in my hand and as carefully as I could, used the blade to slice away at the tape. At this point, I couldn’t even pause to think as to why Yasmin was down here, nor did I even consider that perhaps Norman did this. These were just fleeting thoughts as I struggled to set Yasmin free.

I finally managed to cut the tape, pulling the plastic bag open to reveal…mannequin parts.

“What?!” I exclaimed to myself.

I looked down at the bare legs I was sure were Yasmin’s, or at least made of flesh and bone, but instead they were mannequin legs.

I looked back into the bag, with the plastic, lifeless face staring up at me. I couldn’t help but be reminded of Yasmin’s Halloween mask. I rifled through the bag. Perhaps Yasmin was buried underneath all this? But it was useless. And I knew it.

Was it just another illusion that I fell for? Or was it something else?

An elaborate prank. Or… for some reason it felt like a trap.

I’m not sure why that thought crossed my mind, but in hindsight it was the perfect explanation.

Especially when all too late, I felt the presence of someone else in the room with me. All too late I heard the footsteps right behind me, and all too late I failed to turn around before something hard and metallic smacked me in the back of the head.

I don’t know how long I was out, but I woke up with a searing headache, still dazed and confused as to what the hell just happened to me.

I tried sitting up, but my legs had become numb, as did the rest of my body. As I sat there in a daze, I tried to remember what the hell happened. Had something hit me?

Then after a few seconds of my memories coming back to me, I remembered.

Someone attacked me.

And now I found myself in one of the bedrooms, propped up against the wall. When I could finally move my arms, I felt the back of my head. It felt wet. I feared the worst, and pulled my hand away to see that yes, I was bleeding. Badly.

I needed to get out of here. I needed help. I reached into my pocket for my phone, but it was gone.

No, not gone. Taken.

All I could think to do now was attempt to stand up and walk towards the door, and try to get out of there. I figured whoever did this to me would be around somewhere, but whoever they were, they weren’t exactly professional kidnappers. After all, they left me in a room and didn’t even bother to tie me up or anything. Maybe they thought I was dead?

As I approached the door and reached for the handle, my ears caught the sounds of a conversation in the opposite bedroom. I recognised the two voices straight away. My friends. Or…were they? After all…had they planned this out on me? Why?

It all suddenly clicked in my head. It all made sense now!

They drugged me with some hallucinogenic crap and attacked me while I was out of it!

Was this some Halloween prank that went too far, or were they genuinely trying to kill me?

I decided to let go of the door handle and listen in to the conversation between Norman and Yasmin. Perhaps whatever they were saying would give me some kind of clue to their intentions. I listened closely.T

his was what I heard:

“I don’t get it, Norman. What did he even do?”

“He’s trying to get to us, Yasmin. That’s why he took us to this house in the first place! It was him who suggested it. Don’t you think that’s a bit odd?”

“You’re…you’re lying, Norman. You always lie about shit like this. Fuck you!”

“Oh come on, do you really care that much about that black bastard? He’s the one who trapped us here, and set that faceless motherfucker after us. He’s the cause of all this!”

“Fuck…I just want to go home.”

“And we can go home. You just have to trust me. Do you trust me?”

“I…I don’t-”

“Do you fucking trust me, Yasmin? Yes or no?”

“Norman, you’re scaring me!”

“Don’t you trust me to protect you? I’ll always look after you, you know that, right?”

“Don’t touch me!”

“Fuck you then, ya cold bitch! I did this for you, and I can get you out of here! All you have to do is fucking trust me!”

“Let go of me! HELP!”

A new feeling overtook me as I listened. My fear was replaced by boiling, seething anger. Hearing Norman’s voice made me want to split his skull open with my bare fists. And now he was attacking Yasmin. Whether she was in on this whole thing or not, I couldn’t let Norman hurt anyone else, no matter what condition I was in. I was ready to fight this fucking creep.

With all the strength I could muster, I barged open the wooden door, and ran into the opposite bedroom, my head still throbbing but I didn’t care. I had to rescue Yasmin.

I saw Norman grappling with a nude figure in the bedroom the moment I kicked the door down. He turned to face me. My eyes widened at his face, or rather what he wore on his face.

It was an unsettling white pale mask with a hinged jaw, sporting oversized narrow teeth and what appeared to be his glasses that looked like they were taped over the eyes. The lenses were gone, and instead replaced with mirrors, staring right at me, reflecting my horrified, wide-eyed face.

I screamed at him. It was all I could do to let my sheer anger out at the person who betrayed me and Yasmin.

He turned all the way to look at me more, dropping the figure onto the floor.

It wasn’t Yasmin at all.

It was a mannequin.

“Looking for me, asshole?” He growled at me, the bottom jaw of his mask moving as he spoke.

I noticed he had the hatchet in his hand.

I was stunned, not knowing what to do now, as he slowly approached me with the axe in hand, before suddenly swinging at me.

I ducked out of the way, as the axe embedded itself into the wooden doorframe.

“Hold still, you prick!” He yelled after me as I ran for my life.

I ran downstairs back through the front door, only to end up back inside the fucking house again!

Damnit! I thought! It’s still happening! How do I escape?

Then thought came to mind. The back door.

What if I went out through there, into the garden and climbed over the fence. Or would the door just lead me back to the front of the house again? Only one way to be sure.

I charged through the kitchen and smashed open the flimsy backdoor with my shoulder.

I was outside. Finally.

There was no time to lose though. I ran over to the fence, ready to climb over and get the hell out of here.

An axe flew through the air and smacked into the wooden fence right next to me.

Then I felt unusually strong hands grab hold of me and throw me back onto the ground.

I landed hard on the ground, my head knocked back right on the wound. I felt faint, but my eyes were able to stay open and focused on Norman, now standing over me, axe in hand and wearing that mocking, grinning mask.

His mirror glasses reflected in the moonlight, shining with utter malice.

He raised his axe.

Acting fast, I kicked his legs, making him lose balance and dropping his weapon. I clambered onto him and began hitting him over and over again. I wanted this motherfucker to feel pain.

“How could you, you son of a bitch?” I yelled at him as I punched his head and throat. “What have you done with Yasmin?”

As a response, he sent a fist flying across my face, knocking me to one side, before turning to reach his axe. I regained my composure and tackled him face down, grabbing the axe before he could. I smashed his face hard into the ground, but the creep just began to laugh like a mad man. I was hitting him as hard as I could, yet it was like he didn’t feel any pain.

“Is that all you got, you fucking loser?” He snarled up at me after spitting out some dirt from his mask’s open jaw.

My blood boiled with fury. I felt myself acting on impulse now, like a demon possessing me. My hands seemed to move on their own accord, raising the axe above my head just as Norman had done moments ago.

What was I doing? I asked myself.

Was I really going to kill my own friend?

Stop! I tried calling out to my own body to stop moving, but it really was like I was possessed, like someone else in the back of my head was pulling the strings.

Suddenly, Norman pushed me clean off of him and lunged at me, arms outstretched and reaching hands like the claws of a wild animal.

I screamed in panic, and brought the axe down into my friend’s head.

It should have split in two. It should have sprayed me with blood and bits of skull and brain matter, but instead of what I expected, his head shattered. Shattered like a broken mirror.

In fact, his whole body did.

I stared down at the reflective shards, seeing hundreds of faces staring back at me. My own face.

Looking down at those broken faces, I could feel eyes in the back of my head, like I was being watched from all sides, all around me. The chill crept down my spine as I turned to look around. My hunch was correct. I was being watched.

There must’ve been dozens of them. Men in suits and hats, but their faces were strange and mangled. They didn’t look like human faces at all, but like the knotted bark of ancient trees, with hollowed out openings for mouths and eyes. What looked like dark, thin branches protruded from their backs, and as one of them raised its hands toward me, I could see gnarled twisted long fingers.

Then it began to slowly clap.

Followed by another.

Then another.

Then soon the entire legion of twisted-faced suited men began clapping in unison. Clapping… for me.

I backed away, but they slowly followed my steps, clapping harder and faster. Along with the sounds of clapping came that god awful ringing sound again. And I could see him. The tall faceless man with the umbrella among the legion of men in suits, towering over them all, standing motionless and staring at me with its featureless face. I spun around and ran for the kitchen door, slamming it shut behind me.

When I looked at my surroundings, I expected to be back inside the house, trapped there once again. But instead, I was out in the woods, at the front of the house.

Had I finally made it out?

I didn’t stick around any longer to find out. I ran for it.

Screw my friends, I thought, and especially screw Norman. If that’s really the way he felt about me and Yasmin, he could rot in Hell for all I cared. I had to get away.

I made it to the centre of my neighbourhood. Home at last.

But something felt… off.

Like I wasn’t out of the woods yet.

It was night, so obviously everything would be dark. But the colours of the lights illuminating the once orange and red bricks of the houses around me felt muted. Like the colour was drained from them. I felt as if I had walked into an old black-and-white film.

Looking down at my own red hoodie, I could see that the colour had faded as well, now only showing up as a dark grey.

Maybe it was just my eyes playing tricks, I thought, and walked on ahead into my small neighbourhood.

There wasn’t a sign of life anywhere in the streets, no people, no kids trick-or-treating. It must’ve been pretty late, I thought.

But it still felt like something was wrong.

There wasn’t a single sound from within the houses, no noisy neighbours with their blaring TVs, no kids messing about, not even a single dog bark or other nocturnal animal noise.

All I could hear was the sound of the wind whistling through the trees, gently rustling the Autumn leaves.

I didn’t care though. I had had enough of this night, and just wanted to get home.

All the while back, I could feel eyes burning in the back of my head.

I knew I was being watched, but I didn’t turn around to look.

Still, the temptation was there, but I felt as though something horrible would happen if I did turn back.

I passed by the playground. Still, the wind whistled through the leaves, and the street was deathly silent, devoid of any life.

My paranoia spiked. I could still feel eyes on me as I walked to my house.

Who was it that was watching me? Did I dare even turn around to find out?

For some reason, my feelings of unease came from the kids’ playground, right in the centre of the neighbourhood. I knew if I looked I’d probably lose my sanity.

I felt like a deer being stalked by a hungry predator, looming constantly over my shoulder.

I knew once I’d get to the safety of my home, everything will be better.

I’ll let my mom know what happened, and call the police to come over and tell them what Norman did. But… had I really killed him?

What if I get in trouble instead?

I had to explain why there was a body there in that house. I’ll just say it was self-defence, which is pretty much the truth anyway.

As I found my house keys to open up my front door, I couldn’t shake that feeling of being watched, even more so than ever now. The feeling was malicious, like whatever was right behind me, staring at me, was enjoying my torment.

But now anymore, all I had to do was push open this door and the nightmare would be over, I told myself.

How wrong I was.

I pushed open the door.

I fell to my knees and cried. Cried for the first time in years.

I was back in The Chimes.

No, no, no, I kept saying to myself over and over again through heavy breaths.

Is there no escape from this horrible dream? Was it even a dream at this point?

I was stuck.

I didn’t know what to do.

I just sat there and sobbed. I was missing my mom, my home, the friends I once knew before turning on me.

“Why me?” I asked the empty space around me. What did I even do to deserve being trapped in here? Was tonight a step too far? Were there other forces at play here?

In the back of my mind, I figured that man in the suit was to blame. He had to have done something to me. He had to.

Did he drug me somehow? That’s one logical explanation.

The Illogical explanation is… all of this is real. And that man in the suit is some supernatural entity that somehow knows about me and is able to warp reality around me. But why? For what purpose?

I sat there, questioning everything that was happening to me that night, until I noticed something that made me shiver throughout my body.

I wasn’t alone.

In the living room to my left, was the old wooden table.

And seated at the table were three figures. All staring at me, as if waiting for me.

There was Yasmin, seated to the left. She wore her creepy mannequin-esque mask except this time, her eyes were covered in black tape, forming ‘X’s’ over her eyes.

Then there was Norman, seated on the right. He also wore a mask, the same creepy white mask with the oversized teeth, hinged lower jaw and mirror-lensed glasses over his eyes. Only the mirrors were now shattered, and the mask looked like it had a large crack in the centre of the forehead. The same place where I brought the axe down.

And right in the middle of the two sat… me. Or at least, I assumed it was me. It wore the same clothes as me, the same latex pumpkin mask as I had.

All three of them were looking at me, like they were silently beckoning me towards the table.

There was one last chair at the table. A chair for me.

They wanted me to sit down with them.

So I complied. I slowly walked over to the table. Not sure why. I guess I figured there was nothing else to do but play by the house’s rules this time.

Maybe if I didn’t fight against it or tried to run away, I’d get some sort of answer to all this.

So I did as I was told, or at least what I assumed the powers that be wanted me to do, and sat down at the table, facing the three masked individuals before me.

In the centre of the table was a key. The old rusty key that was there before, in fact.

I didn’t have the key on me. I felt around in my pockets, before remembering how I left it in the basement door.

I suppose this was the same key.

I looked up at the other three opposite me. They were silent, save for heavy, muffled breathing behind their masks. Their hands were flat on the edge of the table, as if they were hesitant to reach for the key in front of them. I wondered if they were silently decided who should take it first.

I thought about reaching for the key myself, just as some sort of hidden compulsion gripped me, telling me the key was important, or at least had some kind of significance.

Finally, one of them moved.

It was Yasmin. She reached for the key and snatched it off the table. The moment she took it, something happened that nearly made me jump in surprise.

Another key appeared, right out of thin air.

It just materialised in the same spot the first key had previously been in.

As I just stared at this anomaly before me, Yasmin got up, slowly walking around the table until she exited the room, heading for the front door. I heard it unlock, then shut behind her, as Yasmin was ‘gone’ from the house.

I didn’t question it anymore. What else could I even think about this? All I could do was sit back and feel my heart sink in my chest, and felt more tears welling up in the corners of my eyes. I had the feeling this was the house’s way of telling me that I would never see Yasmin again.

As I choked back sour tears, Norman slowly reached for the second key on the table. And again, just like the last, another key just materialised into its place on the centre of the table.

Norman abruptly got up from the table, nearly knocking his chair over, and left the same way Yasmin did; through the front door.

I thought about doing something to Norman as he passed me, like tackle him, trip him, or Hell, just ask him what the flying fuck was going on and what he did. But I didn’t do any of that.

Instead I just sat there passively, letting him go right by me.

Then it was my masked doppelganger’s turn to take the key.

But he just sat there, looking down and staring at it, before staring back at me.

“Are you going to take it?” I asked him. I’m not sure how I gathered up the courage to talk to this entity in front of me.

It said nothing.

“Can’t you talk?” I asked, half-jokingly. I even felt myself cracking a little smile.

I stopped smiling as soon as the masked double in front of me reached out suddenly and grabbed my hand tightly, yanking me almost across the table with one hand. He forced my palm upright and took the key in his other hand, before gently placing it in my palm. He then closed my hand up, as if telling me to take good care of the key, before turning his head to the left.

I followed his gaze to the wall behind me. Nothing except for mouldy old wallpaper.

Was there something on it? Or behind it?

I stood up and immediately got to work stripping the putrid paper off of the walls, revealing cracked white walls. But nothing. No cryptic pictures, no messages in blood, nothing. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting really, but turning back to the table to look for more answers, I saw that my doppelganger had vanished.

To hell with this, I thought. I had the key, time to leave like the others.

I ran to the front door, and jammed the key into the lock.

It worked!

It fitted perfectly, as I turned it and opened the door.

I was hit by the sweet night air as the door opened into the woods outside the house.

It was still silent however, but for a while I listened. Listening for the slightest indication that this was really outside.

Then, after a few seconds of standing completely still, I heard it.

Cricket chirps.

That was all the proof I needed to determine that this was the way back home.

But… something still didn’t feel right.

Something felt incomplete.

In the back of my subconscious thoughts, a little voice was telling me that I missed something out.

It was only when I turned back into the house, looking down the hallway to the door on the far end, remembering what the key was originally for and on top of that, remembering where the pumpkin-headed doppelganger was looking, it finally clicked. He wasn’t looking at the wall, he was looking at the direction of the basement door.

The basement.

I didn’t check the basement.

Not properly, anyway.

I found myself walking towards the ominous door leading into the depths of the house once again.

I hoped to God it was leading me to Yasmin this time, or at least some sort of answer to what this house is. What the man in the suit was. I just had to know.

The key fitted in the lock, same as the front door.

I opened it.

The air was musty and damp, a far cry from the sweet night time air from outside. But I had to do this. I just knew I had to do this.

I instinctively reached into my pocket for my phone before remembering that Norman had taken it, until my fingertips brushed up against something smooth in my pockets.
I pulled it out.
My phone! Somehow it was back in my possession. I didn’t bother questioning it. I was just grateful.
I turned on its flashlight and once again descended the steps into the dark basement. I shone the light on the floor, expecting to find the bag I had opened up to free Yasmin, or a pool of my own blood from where Norman had hit me in the back of the head.

But instead I found the floor was littered with mannequin parts, scattered about the floor like a mutilated murder victim.

I walked across the floor, watching my step, not wanting to trip on any of the severed limbs and make a sound. I still didn’t feel safe in the place, but something was telling me, digging in the back of my mind, that this was important and I needed to see something. But what?

Then I found it.

What I’d apparently been looking for.

It looked like a sort of shrine against the far wall of the basement. Dozens of melted candles lined the table’s edge and even a strange-looking white faceless doll was hanging by a piece string dangling from the ceiling. Littered among the table were dozens of empty to half empty orange pill bottles. I took medication myself for my anxiety problems, but I didn’t recognise this particular medication.

I read the label: ‘Neurontin’.

Whose were they?

I decided to push the question of the pills out of my mind and kept searching about the shrine. And came across the most disturbing aspect of it.

The photos.

More photos taken of seemingly random people, that was until I came across a photo of a little boy I took some time to recognise, but when I remembered who this boy was, I felt sick to my stomach, especially considering there was a black “X” through the photo, like it had been marked off.

A few years ago, a young boy had gone missing from the next town over, and the parents hung up multiple missing posters across several towns and villages in hopes of finding their boy. And if this crossed-out photo is anything to go by, I think I knew what happened to him. At least, I had a pretty good and sickening idea of what happened to him.

I also came across other photos that seemed to be insignificant at first, until I took a closer look at them;

There were all of Norman. I had known him from primary school, and I recognised his younger face with thick glasses and goofy smile. But in every picture taken, every outdoor birthday party or day at the park depicted in these photos showed someone standing in the background, always watching.
The tall man in the suit.
Sometimes he was faceless, sometimes something would cover his face., such as a leaf in the foreground Sometimes he had his hat and umbrella, sometimes he didn’t, and seemed to vary in height between each photo, but was always tall and slender.

He was always there.

Always in the background. Always watching.

CREAK.

I heard the floorboards creak behind me, and one of the mannequin legs getting kicked across the floor. I spun around and shone the light on the figure approaching behind me.

Norman.

With his splintered, shattered mask with grinning teeth, and axe firmly grasped in hand, he stood there, watching me, his body subtly rose and fell with each heavy breath.

“Did you do all this?” I practically screamed at him, my former best friend, now a psychotic killer. Or had he always been, all this time that I knew him?

He didn’t answer. He just stood there, swaying slightly, as if his body was dangling on a string.

“Why did you do it? What the hell have you done with Yasmin?” I cried out.

Still, nothing.

I knew this time there was no escape. No weapon to use. And from the looks of things, I couldn’t even reason with him. All I could do was stare at my former friend, as he slowly began to lumber forward. His arms and neck twitched and convulsed, as he dragged his feet painfully slowly. It reminded me of an old string puppet being made to walk. Then that damn ringing sound grew in rapid volume and echoed throughout the basement, this time sounding like white noise or radio static. I held my ears as I continued to watch Norman, who was now heaving and coughing as his head violently twitched and vibrated, much like how the tall man’s head twitched and vibrated when he chased me up the staircase.

Then came the blood. Thick, black tar-like blood that came pouring from the nose holes and bottom jaw of the mask, as Norman coughed and sputtered as he inched closer towards me.

He was moving so slowly, that had my body not been firmly rooted to the ground by sheer fear mixed with the unbearable noise of the ringing, I would’ve made a run for it.

Luckily, I didn’t need to.

The moment Norman was just a foot away from me, and was raising his axe above his head to swing down and kill me, ANOTHER axe fell instead.
Right into the back of Norman’s skull.

He collapsed onto the floor in a heap. Was he dead for sure? I didn’t know, but I was glad he was downed by whoever had saved me at the last minute.

I shone my light in the shadows to see who saved me, half-expecting it to be my doppelganger.

But it wasn’t him, and I wished I hadn’t shone my light at my saviour, and revealed their horrific, traumatic form to me.

It was a walking hunk of charred flesh, skeletal in appearance from what little there was on its bones. Its body was totally dark and featureless, save for the blood-stained eyes and wide, grinning exposed teeth, much like Norman’s mask.

I recognised this creature as the burning man from the backyard, the one that burst out of the fiery car wreck. I took a deep breath, feeling hot tears running down my cheeks as I finally realised who this burnt man standing before me was.

“M-Marcus?”

The burnt man slowly nodded in reply. I didn’t know what to do with that response. Part of me wanted to run up and hug him, but I was horrified by his appearance, and didn’t know if this version of my brother was some kind of creature sent to torment me further.

But as I stood there, shaking and crying, my brother, my long-deceased brother who after all these long years was still looking out for me, pulled out two objects from behind his back.

They were two items from Norman’s bag.

A lighter, and an aerosol can.

And as he reached out his thin, blackened arms to hand me these items, he finally spoke, in a harsh, raspy voice that sounded like it pained him to utter each word at me.

All he said were three words.

And they were all the words I needed to hear.

“BURN…IT…DOWN.”

And with that, he vanished back into the shadows.

That was the last time I ever saw my brother. But I would not disappoint him.

It was time to finally bring this nightmare to an end, and destroy this place. Starting with that shrine.

I flicked open the lighter, armed the can and sprayed, burning all the wretched photos into cinders. I couldn’t help but smile.

After I was done with the shrine, I ran upstairs and started to torch the walls. I found myself laughing with utter glee and satisfaction with burning the place down.
Screw fire safety, I thought to myself, this is amazing!

I charged upstairs, burning all the garish wallpaper and old wooden furnishings as I went. I watched the flames grow higher and higher. I torched the bathroom and the bedroom overlooking the back garden.

I was having the time of my life, taking revenge on this wretched house that tortured me all night!

I was finally going to get out of here, as I sent this house back to Hell.

But then I realised something. In the midst of the fun, I had forgotten where I was. The top floor.

Shit! I thought to myself. How am I supposed to reach the front door now?

I looked all around me as the pale orange flames grew more and more. I ran into the one room that I hadn’t torched yet; the bedroom where it all started.

I saw Yasmin’s and Norman’s bags still lying on the floor. And I saw my pumpkin mask, lying down with its face looking up at me. That hateful, grinning, mocking face.

I know it didn’t make sense to do it, and it was a stupid thing to do regardless, but I wanted to destroy that mask. Destroy all that was left of this house and the events that took place here.

So I aimed my makeshift flamethrower at the thing, and burned it.

Now all that was left was to get out of here, and I had to be quick, as the fire was spreading quickly now, thanks to the alcohol bottles that had shattered and spilled their contents all over the floor.

There was only one way out now.

I rammed against the window, trying to get it to break, but nothing happened.

I then spotted the axe lying on the window sill, as if someone had placed it there for me.

I could feel the intense heat down the back of my neck as the flames surrounded me, igniting the walls and floor. I watched as the old armchair I had sat in began to catch fire right next to me.

Using all my strength, I brought the axe down onto the window. I made a large crack in the glass.

One more should do it, I told myself.

Again, I swung the axe, and the glass shattered. I used the axe to knock away any loose and jagged pieces of glass from the frame, as I finally managed to climb out, saying a silent prayer to myself, before jumping two stories to the ground below.

Sharp, shearing pain rattled through my legs and ribcage as I landed on the ground. Landing on the broken glass, I could feel sides bleeding, and my head throbbing. I couldn’t describe the pain, but as I lay there, a broken heap in front of a burning house, I was just glad to be alive.
Alive and free.

Then the ringing came once again. Ringing so loud I thought my ears were about to burst. I felt the noise penetrate my body, making me heave and vomit.

What came out was black, sticky tar-like ooze, the same liquid that came from Norman’s mouth. I coughed, and kept coughing, feeling my lungs grow heavy as I kept coughing up more and more black ooze onto the ground.

I felt like I was going to pass out, with the combination of the pain, the ringing and this new unnatural sickness I was feeling. I looked up at the night sky, and saw the full moon.

Only…it wasn’t the moon at all.

It was HIS head, pale and featureless, his dark suit half-hidden in the shadows of the trees, as black, jagged tendrils protruded from his back like tree branches, his head rapidly twitching as it glared down at me, before reaching towards me with long, bony fingers.

Then before I could scream or cry out for help, everything went silent.

Silent and dark.

I woke up to the familiar smell of cooking waffles.

I slowly opened my eyes, and to my utter shock and surprise, I found myself back in my room. It was morning.

I heard my mom calling downstairs that breakfast was nearly ready.

Was it all really just a dream? I asked myself.

But… everything felt so real. The pain was real, everything I felt and experienced was so real.

My mind was already getting used to the idea that it was a dream. When I got out of bed, I realised that for some reason I had been asleep in my clothes.

Must’ve been some night, I thought.

Now it was all making sense to me. I figured out what had happened.

Me, Yasmin and Norman were at The Chimes, and they drugged me with some powerful sedative for some reason, possibly as a joke that went too far. Then after having a delirious episode, I somehow found myself back at my house. Maybe Yasmin and Norman took me back?

I wondered if I’d see them again at school. But after what had happened, I wasn’t exactly looking forward to seeing them again, especially if they drugged me on purpose, and especially after the things Norman had said and done in my dream or delusion or whatever you want to call it. I don’t think I could look at him the same way again.

I took off my hoodie and shirt, preparing to get changed into new clothes, when I felt very…uncomfortable. Like a pinching and stinging sensation all over my body that for some reason took this long to register.

I looked in my mirror.

My body was covered in deep cuts and bruises.

What the hell happened last night?

For some reason, I had the idea to find my Halloween pumpkin mask, to prove I was dreaming. But no matter how hard I looked, I couldn’t find it.

Maybe I just lost it, I thought.

Yeah.

I just lost it.

The morning routine continued as normal. I greeted mom, ate breakfast as she sat down to watch TV, and I was about to go back upstairs to play some video games and chill out when my mom called up to me.

“Where are you going? Aren’t you going to school today?”

“Huh?” I replied from the top of the stairs. “It’s Saturday though, isn’t it?”

“No, you silly man-cub” my mom affectionately called up to me. “It’s Friday, Halloween! I thought you of all people wouldn’t have forgotten about Halloween.”

“But…Halloween was yesterday. Wasn’t it?”

“No,” She replied. “Sam, are you feeling okay?”

I wasn’t sure myself. Had I dreamt up an entire day?

On my way to school, I didn’t meet Norman or Yasmin. There was no sign of them at all, not even in the classes. I had all the same classes that I had dreamed up having from a day that I apparently haven’t lived through yet, and I could practically predict all of the teacher’s speeches like reading lines from a play.

I thought maybe Norman and Yasmin were ill from hangovers, but it wasn’t until later on that day that the teachers started getting phone calls from their families that I began to get worried. The teachers kept it quiet to the rest of the class, but brought me out to question me, since I was the closest one to them. But I didn’t have any answers to give. Not ones that would make sense anyway. The police were even involved, and tried to get any sort of answers from me.
All I could think to tell them was “Have you searched the old Chimes house? That’s where I last saw them.”

It was all I could think of to say. The only thing that made any kind of sense to me, since it was true. But, the events that took place there were all just a dream… wasn’t it?

I stayed after school and helped out the best I could with the police and the worried parents, and even my own mom got involved as she phoned around the neighbourhood, trying to get answers from someone, anyone.

Then it was finally time for me to go home after the lengthy questioning.

I walked along the familiar road and down the familiar pathway down into my neighbourhood.

But it wasn’t until I passed by that kids’ playground that I noticed something on the path ahead of me. Something orange and rubbery.

It was my pumpkin mask. Just left there for me to find.

It wasn’t burnt. In fact, aside from a few smudges of dirt from the pathway, it was in good condition.

I picked it up, and immediately heard a shrill, high-pitched ringing sound coming from all around. I dropped the mask in horror and confusion, as I looked on at the trees.

I saw him.

The man in the suit, standing there with his umbrella, watching me.

Then it began to rain.

It rained hard.

I heard all the kids screaming from the playground as they ran to their parents, wanting to go home and get out of the rain.

Not me though.

I just stood there, letting the raindrops fall on me and looked down at the hateful orange mask staring up at me, my ears ringing from the high-pitched static noise.

I once again picked up the mask, and felt my lungs seize. I began choking, before coughing up a splatter of black liquid onto the floor. My coughing and spluttering turned to manic laughter.

I couldn’t help myself. I just kept laughing.

Everything was finally making sense now.

I mustn’t forget. I can’t forget.

I laughed and I laughed and I laughed.

I looked up at the man in the suit, laughing and crying as I held tightly onto the mask and realised what I must do.

I had to go back to that house.

Back to The Chimes.