Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ The Mansion ❯ The Mansion ( Chapter 1 )

The Mansion

 

`The old Smythers mansion's haunted.'

 

`No, it's not!'

 

`Yes, it is! I was riding my bike past it the other day and I saw a ghost in the window!'

 

`Jack, you told us that story last Saturday. You were so drunk you tried to hit on me.'

 

`If you'd just cut your hair, that wouldn't happen. I know what I saw. In fact, I bet you fifty bucks you won't stay the night in the Smythers mansion.'

 

`Done. Better get that money together tonight, Jack. I'll be coming for it in the morning.'

 

`Not so fast. I want witnesses to make sure you don't just spend the night at Sarah's house or something. Stan, Josh, you'll do it, right?'

 

`S-s-sure -`

 

`Twenty bucks. Each. If David gets paid to stay there, we're getting paid, too.'

 

 

And so Stan, Josh, and I stood clutching our sleeping bags outside the old mansion at nightfall. Our parents believed we were camping in the woods with Jack and the others. The Smythers had been a rich family a long time ago, but the last member of that family died before I was born. Their mouldering two-story mansion still stood on Morton Drive, a blind sentinel standing guard over two acres of overgrown woods.

 

I opened the gate after checking that no one was watching us. Josh and Stan followed me onto the rotting wooden porch through waist-high grass laced with thin-vined brambles. The paint was peeling and one of the windows was broken, but I wasn't scared. It was just a house, after all.

 

`I've heard that old Wynton Smythers could talk to the devil and raise the dead,' Josh began before Stan cut him off.

 

`Do you really believe that? If you chicken out now, Jack'll never pay us.' Stan always was the more ruthless of Jack's two lackeys. Small, quick, and dark to Josh's lumbering gold, the two made quite a team. The doorknob shocked me when I grabbed it, which wasn't unusual for the dry weather. The fact that it opened easily unsettled me, though. The mansion had supposedly been abandoned for almost twenty years.

 

`Coming, boys?' I stepped through while the two cowered outside. The inside was dusty and full of cobwebs, but I'd seen worse in summer camp. At least there was no sign of roaches or rats. `We'd better find a room at the back of the house if we want a light or fire for cooking. We don't need some curious cop coming up to kick us out.'

 

Stan agreed and we split up to search for a good camping spot. I went to the left, where I found the kitchen. The appliances were long gone and the room looked like a mouth with missing teeth. Still, it did face the overgrown backyard, which would hide us from the road. Back in the foyer, Josh reported that the living room was uninhabitable. It not only faced the road, but several boards had rotted through, forming a pit in the center. Stan had found a parlour at the back of the house, behind the living room. It still had a pair of faded couches left behind when the Smythers heirs had split up the estate. There was even a liquor cabinet with several full bottles!

 

The parlour made me uneasy as soon as I stepped into it. It had no windows and the yellowed wallpaper peeled in long strips. Strange stains marred the pale wood floor and the liquor cabinet's carvings looked downright sinister in the fading light. Demons and goblins leered from every corner, but turned into grinning clowns and buffoons when I took a closer look. The bottles were tightly capped, but dusty, and I couldn't make out the labels.

 

I made dinner over a small stove, bacon and toast with pan-fried potatoes and SPAM. Josh had brought along a small watermelon and we shared that out after the sun went down. `So far so good, right?' Josh asked as he spit seeds into one corner. `At this rate, Jack will be out ninety dollars when the sun comes up.'

 

`Everyone knows ghosts only come out at night,' I pointed out. `I'm not spending that money until it's in my hand.'

 

`Speaking of money, anyone up for poker?' Stan pulled a deck from his pocket. He had a very good poker face, but Lady Luck hated him-I'd never seen him show anything higher than two pair. Josh, on the other hand, bet large and loud no matter what he drew. Whether he had full house or eight high, he called every bet with wild abandon until he went dry.

 

Since none of us had brought any money, we played with our winnings from Jack. Josh went out first, the big guy going wildly up and down until he chased a straight that didn't come through. Stan played cautiously and neither of us won much. I threw my cards down after half an hour of small pots. `I've had enough. Poker's no good with just the two of us. I think I'll turn in now; it's getting late.'

 

`Yeah. Can't see ghosts if I'm asleep,' Josh concurred and began to unroll his sleeping bag.

 

`C'mon, you two. The night is young and there's plenty of booze. Drink up and forget the ghosts.' Stan thrust a bottle into our faces.

 

`I'm not thirsty.' I mistrusted everything about the place. If even a quarter of the stories about the Smythers were true, I wanted nothing to do with their drinks. People didn't just leave bottles of liquor behind when they move.

 

The two shrugged. `More for us, then. Cheers!' Stan splashed liquor into their cups and they choked down the burning liquor. `Wow. That's strong stuff!'

 

`You always were a lightweight, Stan.'

 

`Says the one who falls under the table after two beers!'

 

`You think you can outdrink me? Bring it on!' I sighed. Josh and Stan were unbelievably competitive in the silliest things.

 

`I'm going to go check out the rest of the house,' I announced to no one in particular. There was no talking to those two once they started a contest. I took a small flashlight with me; the power had been cut off, probably when the house was abandoned. There was nothing interesting on the first floor, just empty, dusty rooms. I found stairs going up, but a rotted patch about halfway up kept me from exploring the second floor. I didn't bother trying the cellar stairs in the kitchen.

 

After a while, I found a set of French doors that opened on a small patio. The bricks were cold, but I didn't mind much. I sat there, propped against the door, gazing at the full moon and thinking of the stupidity of the bet, about Sarah, and a thousand other things.

 

I must've dozed off outside. I woke to find the moon hiding behind the trees and my watch reading midnight. I shook myself groggily and went indoors. It was a warm night, but I'd sleep better in my bag. A sudden scream jolted me awake; it sounded like Josh. As I got closer to the parlour, I could make out two voices arguing.

 

`Call me lightweight, will you, you lumbering ox?'

 

`I'll call you whatever I want, you little shrimp!' Josh's retort faded off into inarticulate screaming. I threw open the parlour door to find Stan sitting on top of his giant partner, methodically peeling the flesh off his leg with a pocketknife. Josh's arms hung limply, broken or hamstrung.

 

`Well, well, someone else to join our little game.' Stan leered and licked the blood from his knife. The lantern light broke on his teeth and they seemed longer, sharper, than they had been a few hours earlier. I dodged his first charge, drew my own knife, and we danced in the dim light. Stan pushed me from the door, never coming within reach of my knife while I waited for a second attack.

 

I slipped on blood- probably Josh's- and Stan was on me in an instant. He knocked the knife from my hand and raised his high for the final blow. I kneed him between the legs and groped for a weapon on the floor.

 

My hand closed on a bottleneck and I swung it at Stan's head. The glass shattered and the boy went down. He knocked the stove over when he fell and fuel spilled all over the floor. The dust and dry wood caught fire and I ran for the door. Stan followed, but I jabbed the broken bottle in his face and forced him back into the flames. I slammed the doors behind me as I ran.

 

The whole house was soon a towering inferno with no sign of either Josh or Stan making their way outside. I could hear the fire engines' sirens coming up the road and braced myself for questioning. The firelight caught the bottle and I noticed that some spilled liquor must've cleaned the label a little. I could make out the makers' name curling around the top: Asmodeous Distillery, Dis, Sixth Circle.