The House on Cecil Avenue

In honor of Halloween, we're stepping away from the Trials of Astra for this week! Lets look at a modern twist on Victorian horror...

Upon my arrival at the house on Cecil Avenue, I was flushed with overwhelming grief. I parked my car on the curb and stared out the window. I had visited Cecil Ave. many times prior, though those times had long passed. The old woman who prided herself as being the neighborhood gardener gave me a cordial wave as I stepped out onto the lovely suburb street. The gardener approached me and expressed her sympathies before returning to her work at the nearby garden lot. The neighborhood was quiet - peaceful. 

The old man across the street - who was far too familiar with my childhood antics - sat on his porch with his granddaughter. She was a few years younger than myself - possibly her early 30s, though I never asked. She spoke with me in a hushed tone with a polite smile. Her grandfather didn’t seem to recognize my presence at all. I’ll admit, I was disappointed. I thought he may chastise me or remind me of the time I attempted to ring the doorbell and run back across the street. I chuckled to myself as I walked away, remembering how I didn’t even make it to the sidewalk before he had my arm in his hand and was dragging me the rest of the way to my aunt and uncle’s home.

I should’ve felt more at home, more safe here. I told my own children when I dropped them off at school that I was heading out of the city to visit my old stomping grounds. Now that I was here, it didn’t feel that way. Instead I was uncomfortable. It was quiet and everything felt too normal given the circumstances.

Outside my aunt’s home, the flowers wilted and gave off a sour scent. They were defying the oncoming chill, but I thought today may be their last day of defiance. I knew the frost was coming, and they wouldn’t make it long. I couldn't help but think about those flowers. Sure, the gardener could take care of them, but my aunt wouldn’t want that. She was too proud… they were her flowers after all. 

I hesitated to enter as I stood on the porch and thought about what brought me here. My uncle’s passing nearly six months ago was no surprise, but it was still difficult. He had the sickness - the kind they say was brought on by a spiritual decomposition. There were whispers amongst the family that if that were true, he would’ve died long ago. My aunt said it was as though a demon took hold of his lungs and played his alveoli like the church’s finest organs. Oh, the screams… I remember hearing them on a phone call. They became quiet, choked screams within a few days. They said he died suffocating in his own blood. Auntie hadn’t caught the plague that resided within the house, but she did pass peacefully last week. The EMT said death by broken heart wasn’t uncommon. They couldn't find any other cause, so that was what they claimed… even in her obituary.

“She just couldn’t bear to be without her husband of 43 years.” the obituary read.

Anyone who knew them knew how absurd that was. 

Uncle was a hateful abusive man. He took the belt to me for ringing the old man’s doorbell all those years ago. I was never privy to what happened between him and my auntie, but I know she spent many days with my parents and I to escape that wretched man. I was lucky I wasn’t put in the hospital by him like she was. The fact that no one did anything for all those years filled me with regret. I was fortunate not to share that fate, but I know he hated me for being a ‘half-breed.’

A disgusting man.

And yet… I always came back. I came back for auntie's home cooked meals, her endless love and adoration. Yes, this was a place that felt like a home, even though I knew it never could be one. Yes, I hated that horrid man who I called uncle, but I loved and adored my auntie… I knew she was always there for me. I missed that woman dearly… an amazing person… an amazing soul.

 That thought shook me out of my own mind and finally I stepped forward.

The grief that overflowed from me as I turned the key and opened the door to the house was quickly eclipsed by a horrid, rancid smell. I covered my nose and surveyed the ground floor. I couldn’t believe what it had become. It had been a few years, but I had trouble believing it had decayed so much in the time I had been away. Oh, the smell overtook me. Maybe it was the smell of death - though it was only a week ago, and this smell seemed almost ancient in its nature. 

The smell was a putrid reek that reminded me of a lichen soaked in a slow moving undertow where the dead would grow into mold and the ancients would snore. It was a sickening smell of a place I never knew in a world I never visited. I was surprised I didn’t see any pests scurrying around, basking in the stench. Nor did I see any signs of damage from rats or mites. It was a shame then that I had already called in an exterminator before arriving and he was supposed to be there later in the afternoon.

Looking about, I realized this was much the house I remembered, but it had lost the facade of the warm and welcoming home. The old fashioned wood trim upon the walls had been plastered in mold and the flower wallpaper was faded and yellow. The beautiful hardwood floors were impossible to see now as they were caked in old newspapers. The entire house felt like an abandoned rat’s nest. 

I thought the most important first step was to pull away the tattered curtains. They were stuck to the metal rungs with a slimy brown fungus - they must not have been opened in a long time. It didn’t take long to illuminate the house with the early afternoon sun. I had hoped opening the windows would help with the smell, but to my surprise the windows were all nailed shut in a sloppy fashion. I considered pulling them out with the hammer I had in the car, but something told me I shouldn’t dare. 

Time passed, and the moving crew - who had taken to wearing hazard suits - came and took almost all of the furniture from the ground floor. I paid them extra to dispose of it - I had hoped to save some, but the smell protruded through all of it. They told me they’d be back later in the week to deal with the second floor. At their words, I realized I hadn’t gone up to the second floor yet. I stood at the landing and looked up. There was an anxious feeling deep in my stomach. There was a cold draft that flooded down the stairs that left goosebumps rolling up my arms. I stepped away rubbing them and went to speak with the exterminator who was preparing to leave just as quickly as he had came in. He approached me in his respirator, told me there were no signs of pests, left a bill and walked out the door. As he left, he walked away mumbling about demons and putting a hand to his chest.

I tried not to let his words get to me. Frankly, I was more upset that I had wasted the money.

My goal for the rest of the day was to dispose of any and all trash I could find. I wanted to try and make thinks look more presentable before the landlord arrived tomorrow. Cecil Ave. was quite far from my home, so I had resolved to stay here the rest of the week to handle things for my family. It was an expensive endeavor cleansing such a long lived in house, but I was not in poor financial standing. Part of tomorrow’s walkthrough with the landlord was to determine just what he would be willing to cover and what I would have to cover out of pocket. In many ways the house had been in both of our families for decades. We both wanted what was best for the house. In the end, I would make sure to honor my family however I could, and make sure the house was in order for the landlord to get it back on the market.

After disposal and cleaning, my final task would be recovering family heirlooms and dispersing them amongst cousins, siblings, and other family members who would value and treasure them… but first I’d need to go upstairs. Once again I stared up the steps…

I swear, I can’t be certain where the day went, but suddenly it was night and I was standing in the living room next to the only furniture left - a single lamp. I sat down amongst the newspapers that I had neglected to pick up as planned and rested my tired body against the wall by the lamp. How did I get here? Where had the day gone? I reached upwards and turned on the lamp, then brought my knees to my chest. The air was filled with a chill and I could hear the creaking floorboards as the house settled for the evening. My ears began to ring like they often did when I was alone, and I closed my eyes to block out the darkness of the empty room. The darkness ate at the silence and let no light pierce through the veil of night. My head danced with memories… the screaming arguments, the anger of a drunken fool, and cries for change that would never be… they became the sounds that haunted my dreams.

I awoke shivering, my body clinging to the lamp. I jumped as a weak knock rapped at the door. I got to my feet and ran to it. The afternoon sun was already illuminating the room and I couldn’t believe it when I looked at my phone and saw it was 1pm. I ran to the door, ignoring how disheveled I must’ve looked, and greeted the landlord. He had a clipboard in his hands covered in paperwork. He grunted to me,

“Nasty business this. Best tenets I ever had…” He trailed off as he looked past me into the house. I saw the moment the smell had hit him and his nostrils flared beyond normal proportions.

“Yeah… nasty business…” I replied. He stepped past me and took a note on his clipboard,

“I was here for repairs not six months ago…” He trailed off in disbelief.

“Mind fades fast I guess.” I replied, closing the door behind him. He looked me up and down,

“You were here overnight?” I nodded. “Brave soul…” Beyond that he didn’t question me. I think the house was too much to take in. Too unnerving. 

I understood.

Surveying the first floor was simple. We agreed to split the cost of everything down the middle. To my surprise, the kitchen was empty of food already and the only thing left was a cabinet of mixed spices and some old cookware. I decided to take those to my father - I knew they often bonded over their love of cooking. The bathroom plumbing was in great condition and the sitting room was much the same as the living room. With the inspection of the first floor complete, we made our way to the stairs. The landlord made it halfway up the steps before he turned around,

“Coming?” He asked.

“Well, of course I am.” I took an uncertain step onto the stairs. Every fiber of my being fought me to take even that single step. Another step past a freezing wind that blocked me from the second floor. An invisible force beat at my stomach like a drum and my ears began to ring again. The landlord gestured,

“After you then.” He said, a look of fear settling across his brow. I panicked and forced myself to sprint forward, running up the stairs past him. He followed me on weak legs. I must’ve looked silly to him, but I knew if I didn’t thunder my way up the steps I may never make it.

At the top of the stairs the smell was even worse. My stomach flipped end over end and I held back the urge to vomit. The air was humid - wet even. So wet that I could reach out and touch the air. The second floor was dark aside from a faint light that let out a glow from under the guest bedroom. My aunt liked to call that room mine, so when I saw the light, it reminded me briefly of visiting as a child. I pushed my way through the air, struggling across the moldy carpet that felt as though it was cracking and squeezing mold spores out from under my shoes. At least there was no newspaper on this floor… though I think I would’ve preferred it to the squelching carpet. 

I held my breath and pushed open the door to my room. I let out a sigh as my mind rested in relief. The room was exactly as I remembered it. There was a small twin bed in the corner, an old TV, and a flower covered quilt folded at the foot of the bed. The light breaking through was from the window. The sunlight broke through a tree with yellowing leaves, leaving a golden light dancing across the walls as the wind blew. The ethereal glow reminded me of what I loved about this place. 

“It seems this room won’t be a problem.” The landlord announced with a beaming smile. I couldn’t find the words, but I nodded to him. “Let’s move on then.” He stepped away from the door and I closed it. We passed the old nursery - a long forgotten room set up for a baby who never grew out of the space. It always unsettled me, but auntie never found the will to clear it out. I’d like to think I was doing her a service since the moving crew would take care of it soon. She could rest well knowing the job was finally done. We glanced inside the dark, moldy nursery and agreed it was more of the same then closed the door. Though that room always unsettled me, I knew it was more sad than evil. Of course, the evil would be saved for the master bedroom. We both stopped outside of the door, but I got the first word in - shaky as it was, “After you…” I gestured to the door. The landlord grunted and pushed the door open.

The room was mostly empty other than a mirror, a bed that had collapsed through its frame, and an armoire whose hinges had broken, leaving it crumbled up on the floor. I stared in, and began to feel an unnerving terror that ate at me. Inside the armoire I saw a beautiful golden jewelry box. I stared at it with wonder, but I quickly became overwhelmed by the smell pulsating from the room, as though it was the center of all the horrors that lay inside the house. 

“Well, I believe this inspection is complete.” The landlord’s voice was trailing down the stairs. His distant voice and the creaking stairs snapped me back to attention and I realized he was practically running away. I ran to the stairs and watched him leave out of the front door. “Shall we split all fees 50/50?”

“50/50 sounds fine.” I responded as I ran down the steps after him.

“Very good. Oh and -” He was standing outside, his hand wrapped around the doorknob, “- Would you do something about this smell?” He didn’t give me time to reply before he slammed the door shut.

I spent the rest of the day packing away the kitchen supplies. I took the boxes outside and as I tried to come back in, I felt that same chilling force pushing me away from the front door. I was beginning to feel unwelcome in the house. I knew there was still so much to do, so I decided to get my flashlight from the car and push my way back inside. Tonight I would stay in my bedroom.

Once I fought my way through the chilling wall that now stood between myself and the house, I dragged myself to the second floor, ran into the bedroom and slammed the door shut. I turned the lock with the key that sat atop the nightstand by the bed and collapsed onto the bed. It smelled old and musty - a much more refreshing smell than the rest of the house. I don’t recall it even being sundown yet, but I remember closing my eyes and falling into a deep sleep.

I dreamed of hate and abuse I’m certain I never saw, and the growing sickness of decay spreading and leaking into my gaping mouth. Filth spread like a sickness inside of me and my lungs filled with disease and burst like balloons too full of water - too full of blood. I was tied to the bed, gasping for air. I couldn’t breath, couldn’t think, couldn’t run. The sickness spread across the floors, getting closer to my struggling form.

The house had taken hold of me -

I awoke to a loud bang. 

I checked my phone, it was just past twilight. What could that have been? If it was a thief, they’d be disappointed. They wouldn't find anything of value… unless there was something in that jewelry box. Oh, that jewelry box! What could be in there? Maybe an heirloom of my aunt’s.

I felt it’s draw. I felt it call to me, pulling me. I felt a strong desire - a need - to go and save it. Protect it.

I rushed from the bed and threw the door open. I averted my eyes from the stairs as I ran past. Something was on the first floor, of that I was certain. I felt its draw, something tried to pull me away from the box, calling me to the first floor. Was it an intruder? I wasn’t sure anymore, but something told me I couldn’t trust it. The jewelry box had to be protected. 

I pushed on.

I threw the door of the master bedroom open and pulled myself into the putrid horrid room. I reached into the armoire and pulled out the box. It was a simple aluminum box painted gold. The edges were warped, but clearly handled with care for countless years. I reached to open it, but a voice far behind me began to cry - wail. I hesitated, trying to make out what the voice was saying - what it wanted. Then the box began to glow. Somewhere deep inside, I saw a light coming to life

I needed to know.

It opened with a click on rusted hinges, and the wail came to a screaming head,. That was when I first recognized the voice.

My aunt.

Her voice bawled across the cold wind, begging me not to open the box.

I was too far now.

The room filled with light and the air ran cold. I couldn’t see what was in the box. My eyes began to burn from the intensity of the light. I squeezed them shut. My grip tightened around the box. I began to feel immense pain scraping across my back, as though jagged nails were digging deep into me. I heard the screams of my aunt far in the distance, but she couldn’t help me now.

I fell to my knees and the jewelry box collapsed to the ground. I felt a form wrapping around my body, a suffocating weight crawling across my skin as though countless tree roots were constricting me, feeding off me. When I opened my eyes, a single golden ring had tumbled out of the box and clattered across the hardwood floor. It was a man’s wedding ring. I tried to reach for it, but the crushing force atop me wrapped around my arms, climbing past me and grabbing the ring for itself. 

My vision became blurred, my breathing constricted. My head throbbed, and my entire body was in horrid pain. The only thing I knew was that the smell had overwhelmed me, becoming part of me. I was inside the center of a horrible storm. 

The light of the ring began to dim… I saw the snaking form of the heavy roots holding the ring, bringing it closer to me. Before my eyes drifted shut for the final time, I saw the ring taking shape upon my finger.