Writings On The Wall

A new house all to himself. He sniffed in the fresh paint’s smell with gratification, and almost puked. A new house was nice and all, but the smell of paint still turned his stomach. It was inhuman. Just plain yuk. With a screwed up face and the bag in his right hand, he almost stormed to the backdoor to open it up wide.

“There,” He said to himself and dropped the bag, then planted his hands on his hips. He looked around, inspecting everything. This was actually the first time he saw it all finished up. He’d been away all this time while they were decorating his house – out on tour with the band. But who cared? It looked fantastic, just how he imagined it to be. A cheeky smile curled around the corners of his mouth, thoughts ran through his brain, and suddenly he jumped in the air, punching it with his hand as he did so.

A house to himself made him feel as free as a bird, his own place where he could do whatever he wanted to do. The fact that this old house had a history for being haunted by a girl who’d disappeared at a young age, did him nothing. It were just stories. And besides, ghosts don’t exist. According to Matt anyway. He’d never seen one and therefore they didn’t exist. That was his theory.

“You did a great job, I love it.” Matt exclaimed the next day when the architect was round his house. The old man wearing a black suit fiddled with his fingers and looked around the living room. “Something wrong, Mr. Johansson?” The man looked at Matt with pure fear in his eyes. He then looked away, perfectly aware of how he’d looked at Matt. He shook his head.

“No, no, nothing’s wrong, Mr. Willis. I agree, it looks really nice. We worked hard for this result, as well.” He stammered and picked up his black leather suitcase. He turned to the front door, stopped in his tracks and turned around on his heels. “Mr. Willis, we did hear some strange noises late at night while the men were working upstairs in the bedrooms.” He said. Matt raised an eyebrow.

“And? It’s an old house. It’s supposed to make noises, that’s why I love it so much!” He smiled broadly and spread his arms.

“Just… …be careful.” The man said earnestly, an ice cold looked followed and the man went out the door without looking back. Matt noticed his hasted pace to the dark Mercedes. Insane, he thought and shrugged.

A few nights had passed, when on a Wednesday night, Matt woke up by someone screaming. His eyes shot open as he lay on his side in the double bed. Alone. The sweat on his back made him shiver. He’d only dreamt it. He rubbed his face with his hands and sat up straight. He sighed. This was the umpteenth nightmare he had had since he moved in. He crawled back under the duvet and pulled it over his head. The squeaking sounds of the house had gotten on his nerves and it wouldn’t give him much rest. He gritted his teeth and shut his eyes firmly closed, probably trying too hard to sleep. Another scream. His eyes shot open once again.

“Fucking kids…” He muttered under his breath as he threw the duvet with power off of his body and stepped out of the bed. He looked at the alarm clock; 3:21 stared back at him in red, blinking numbers. He walked over to the window, pulled the Venetian blinds up and looked out on the streets. No one was there. It was deserted. Not even a passing car. He screwed his face up. Had he left the TV on downstairs? He couldn’t think of any other way. Only that he might have been going insane.

A check-up downstairs told him that he had turned off the TV. The house was quiet again, aside from the occasional creaking and squeaking. You’re hearing things that aren’t there, Matt.

Matt hadn’t been in the house for about two and half weeks, when he came home with two packed, blue suitcases. He’d been over at Charlie’s for a few nights intentionally, which turned out to be two and half weeks, because he’d get much more sleep at Charlie’s than he’d get at his own house. He had to go home eventually though, he couldn’t stay at Charlie’s place forever, could he? He couldn’t really get on with Camilla anyway, he was driving her nuts. Maybe even more than the creaking sounds of the house.

The feeling of getting home made him smile. His own house. He owned it. His name was on it. The reason why he’d left in the first place didn’t even cross his mind, he just had to get away from Camilla. No more telling off, no more ‘clean up your junk after your arse, Matt!’, no more whining. He dragged the suitcases up the stairs and threw them on the bed. He sighed and started undressing himself. The thought of running through the house naked crossed his mind, but he shook it off quickly and turned to the bathroom with a soft, white towel that he could wrap around himself possibly three or four times if he really wanted to.

He closed the door of the shower cubicle and turned on the shower. Hot water ran down his spine and chest. He started soaping himself in with some nice smelling shower gel. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the hot water warming him up. He turned from facing the shower wall as his eye fell on the glass shower door. He cocked his head to the side and turned his eyes to slits. A weird, sick making feeling filled his stomach when he inspected the hand prints pressed in the steamed glass.  

His heart skipped a beat when he saw more hand prints forming on the glass, then soft tapping, that turned to right bonking on the glass within seconds. The glass door was shaking in its frame. Matt closed his eyes and clamped himself onto the handle. As quickly as the tapping had begun, the bonking faded away. He opened the glass door, grabbed the towel with haste and wrapped it around his wet, naked body. Running to the bedroom with his heart attending a horse race, he dialled the number of Charlie’s house. It didn’t ring. It didn’t do anything, not even the monotonous sound that it’s supposed to make. He didn’t know how quickly he had to get dressed, and ran downstairs, fear pumping through his veins.

The phone in the living room was cut off as well. Mobile phone. He searched, and searched, until he realised he left it at Charlie’s place. How convenient. The thought of a horror movie ran through his brain. They never have computers connected to the internet in horror movies, he thought, but I have. And walked over to the computer to switch it on. To his disappointment, it didn’t react. No one could’ve cut down the power; the lights were still on. He followed the wire that went from the computer to the socket. Halfway there, he stumbled upon the end of the wire – chewed off. He stood up straight, a smirk on his face. I could always just walk out of the door. His genius hadn’t left him then. With a bounce in his step, he walked in the hallway, his hand reaching out for the door knob, as he heard a click. His index finger touched the knob first, to be overcome with an intense heat. He jumped back and checked his finger.

“Fuck.” He sucked his finger and slid down the door to sit on the welcome mat. I’m locked in my own house, with strange noises and ghosts. He sighed. Just. Fucking. Great.  

He must’ve fallen asleep, because when he got awoken by loud noises coming from the kitchen, he found himself on the floor, in front of the front door. He stood up. He noticed his trembling hands and tried to hide them from himself by putting them in the pockets of his jeans. With lead in his legs, he walked through the hallway, into the living room, to the kitchen. The crashing sounds had stopped, but the floor was littered with pots and pans. The cupboards were all wide open, the drawers were pulled open, knives were spread on the kitchen sink. He leaned against the sink with his hands, and felt something falling onto his right hand. He pulled it to his body to see what it was. Red. A drop. He turned and saw another drop falling down from one of the cupboards. He closed the cupboard, to find a sign on it. It looked more like a letter, however. He kicked some pans out of the way and closed another cupboard. He wrinkled his forehead and closed the other cupboards, to reveal a series of signs in no particular order. He breathed heavily. This time fear had really overtaken him. There was no one in his house that he knew of. Just him… He brought his hands up to his face to cup it. He rubbed his eyes and looked at the letters, signs, whatever it were. It didn’t make any sense. At all.

“WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO TELL ME? JUST FUCKING TELL ME WHAT YOU’RE TRYING TO SAY!” He yelled, which followed by a lonely pan flying through the kitchen and hitting one of the cupboards. Matt jumped. There was something with those letters. He knew that. He only had to figure out what exactly. He grabbed a pen and a piece of paper out of one of the drawers and began writing the letters down.

“Em dnif?” He whispered. He mixed the letters, but came up with nothing that made sense. His eyes scanned the room, and rested them in the garden. The cupboards were mirrored blurrily in the glass of the enormous window. His eyes fixed on the cupboards, only to find the letters were mirrored on the cupboards. “Find me. So I have to find you?” He murmured more to himself, because quite frankly, he didn’t know who he was going to be looking for at all. Or where to start looking.

“Please give me clue.” He said, looking around. The window through which he had been looking earlier, caught his attention again. An unbearable scratching sound was heard throughout the whole house, but with a purpose. There were words scratched into the glass. Matt just looked in awe. ‘I will not rest until you find me’, it said, with underneath an arrow that pointed downwards.  Matt looked rather confused and puzzled at that moment. For one he wasn’t aware that there could possibly be anything under his house and two, well, no one told him about it either.

The lights in the garden suddenly switched on, followed by the back door flying open. The wind blew about the trees, and Matt could swear he heard the wind whispering, ‘Down here’.

His feet lead him into the garden, that was mostly covered in grass, aside from a gravel path that wind through the garden. The sound of something getting dragged through the gravel indicated where Matt should be going.

Somewhere half way the path, the dragging sounds stopped, making Matt halt as well. Not really sure what to do, he bent through his knees and looked around. Something made the gravel which was in front of him getting thrown around. When it stopped again, Matt thought he’d gotten the hint and started digging hopelessly himself. His knees hurt from sitting on the gravel, and his hands got cut open here and there, but he didn’t care. He knew someone was crying out for help.

After a good fifteen minutes of digging through the gravel, sand and even more gravel, he stumbled upon wood. Wooden planks that hid something. They were all loose, nicely placed to cover up a hole.

“What in God’s name…” he muttered and sat staring at the planks for a very short second, before digging his nails in the planks and trying with all his might to move them. And to avail. The planks moved, and Matt ripped them out, only to reveal indeed, a black hole. The lights in the garden weren’t very helpful, though he could distinct a ladder from the darkness. He hesitated for a moment or two, then made his first step down the ladder. Joined his other leg and climbed the ladder down the first three steps. He felt hands around his ankles and he got pulled down the ladder, to fall down onto a concrete floor with a bash. A small light switched on, a scream escaped from Matt’s lips when he saw the figure that had pulled him by his legs down the ladder.

It took him a minute to take in what he’d just seen. His eyes adjusted to the light and darkness, seeing the figure correctly this time. A helpless young girl stared back at him with mud smeared all over her face. Her long hair was thick and looked as if she had dreads. She fell down on her knees and hugged Matt’s legs, sniffing softly.

“You found me. Thank you so much.” Matt sat up, taking the girl’s hands and placing them around his neck, hugging her and stroking her back lovingly, even though he did not know this girl, he knew she must’ve been locked in this hole for ages, seeing her state; skinny, dirty, and most likely dehydrated as well.

“Matt!”  Someone was calling his name from outside in the garden. The girl shivered and clung herself onto Matt.

“Yeah, I’m here!”  He shouted back, in the hope that someone could hear him. The face of Charlie appeared above the hole. He had a torch in his hand and shone in the hole, right in Matt’s face.

“What the hell…” Charlie whispered, but soon stuck out his hand to help both people out of the hole.

The whole house was closed off, every single room packed with police men. Matt was sat on the couch, answering some questions for a detective. One of the police men came up to him, holding an envelope.

“Sir, I believe this is yours.” He handed him the envelope, which had written his name on it.

“Where did you find it?” Matt asked, obviously never seen the envelope before.

“It was in the hole where you found the girl, sir.” The man informed Matt and turned to continue whatever he was doing. Matt put it on the back pocket of his jeans.

Weeks later, Matt found the envelope again, in one of the boxes that had his belongings in. He had just moved houses again, this time to a small apartment that he shared with one of his mates. He’d thrown the envelope on his bed and didn’t think about it until he went to bed. The envelope was opened, the piece of paper unfolded.

‘Thank you.’

A shiver went down his spine as the window blew open and the wind took the piece of paper outside. He closed the window, and leaned against it.

“Anytime,”