House of the Depraved Ch. 02

October 31st

Logan cursed himself. He was blazing down the dirt road in his Sierra pickup, trying his damnedest not to skid out into the wall of trees on his left, or fall off the embankment on his right. He was running late. It wasn't the first time he'd fallen asleep fishing Silver Creek; nor the first time he woke up, sun-burnt with a horrendous tan line around his sunglasses. He looked to the clock. 4:15. There was time, but only if he hurried. He took a chug of his beer and roared the engine up an incline, spraying pebbles and fallen leaves in its wake. The trees were absolutely asunder in color: reds, yellows, orange, and the sunlight filtering through lit his windshield like a prism. He'd swear it was just about the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. But no, actually that wasn't true. He'd been down these roads before a different autumn nearly 14 years back. Unbidden, the memories came flooding back.

***

He was six, riding in the bed of his daddy's pickup under a tunnel of autumn trees, not so unlike the canopy he was driving under just then. His daddy was up front. The silver can of his PBR reflecting the sunlight like some kind of brilliant diamond. Coy was sitting up front too, and he'd occasionally tap the glass of the rear window and a make a face at Logan just to make him giggle. The thing he remembered most about that day was just how so free and happy he was. They were going to see the freakshow; his dad had been promising for months and now they finally would. Logan was old enough now. Finally. He loved riding in the back of the pickup, how the wind whistled through his hair and how if he sat in just the right spot near the wheel wells, every bump would send him flying, like he was riding in the very last seat of a wood roller coaster. It was warm that day and the chirping insects were so loud and out in such force, he felt like he was driving through some desolate jungle. It was an adventure. The world he lived in was benevolent and beautiful and endless, and Halloween was only a few weeks away. Life was good and getting better.

When the pickup lurched over a final rise, he saw it then: The house of the freaks. It seemed small at first, but as they neared it kept growing and growing, until it loomed several stories over the dirt road and extended back further than he could see. Even at that young age, he knew the design was strange. The top half seemed like the upper stories of a classic Victorian mansion, but the ground floor was old, tightly packed stone. The wooden upper-story was freshly painted a pale lavender, and at its highest point there was one semi-circular window, with a small balcony. This was the only window that was open; all the others had their drapes pulled shut and the bottom story had none at all. The building was longer than it was wide and the grounds were well-kept, elaborate topiary in the shape of the two prowling wolves, extending their paws out to make an arch before the entryway. When they pulled into the dirt parking lot along side of the building, Logan noticed he still couldn't tell how big the building was. It's back half disappeared into a tightly gnarled overhang of old boles and oaks, making the building itself look like some kind of trapped creature half free from the forest, half ensnarled.

He hadn't realized he'd been staring at it apprehensively, but then his daddy was there, hands bracing him under his arms to lift him out of the pickup bed. Then they were walking, but in a different direction than the house.

"I thought we were gonna see the freaks?"

"We are Logan," his dad said with a hearty chuckle. "That's just where they sleep. C'mon the big tent is up this way. Sure enough, there in an open field surrounded by the trees sat a large red and white circus tent. Outside there were clowns with balloons, and unicyclists and cotton candy vendors, and he only then noticed the smell of funnel cake and popcorn and hot dogs. He hadn't realized but he'd been holding his breath and he didn't know why. His eyes had gone wide with excitement and the apprehension was forgotten, replaced by wonder. Butterflies had been doing jumping jacks in the pit of his stomach. His dad bought him and Coy a root beer and a hot dog each, and picked up the tickets from a man wearing a top hat and a fake mustache. He watched the tendrils of light illuminate the man's face as he walked by, and how the man tilted his head just so, an old world greeting, and how as he did so, the shadow of the circus tent came over him.

***

And strangely his memories stopped, like a projectionist forgot to switch reels. But he realized he'd pulled over to the side of the room and was sweating profusely. It was just a memory. Why was he so riled up from it? Besides he couldn't remember the rest. How frightening could it have been?

He pulled off the dirt road and onto route 50, following the line directly into the setting sun. It would be a warm night, just like it was a warm day then. He wondered if the insects would be out in the same numbers as last time. It didn't bear thinking. He still had a ways to go. The rest of rest of the ride, he decided to focus only on the road ahead and the beer in his hand. It wouldn't be long now.

***

He arrived at the designated meeting spot, the front stoop of Kinser House, a few minutes before 6 PM. Dusk was descending fast, just a reddish glow over the distant mountains and the moon was out early. Logan saw that Jayce had been the first to arrive. He was leaned up against the side of the wall, sipping from a beer bottle, looking both relaxed and bored. Jayce was decked out in purple and black bell-bottoms with a cheesy matching disco jacket, gold chains and a black afro placed against the wall by his platform shoes.

Logan chuckled at Jayce's get up. "What is up, brother? You John Travolta?"

"The sixth member of the Jackson 5," Jayce clinked his beer bottle against Logan's with an amiable smile. Logan was amused that Jayce brought a bottle of beer as well. He was pleased not to be the only raging alcoholic in the group. Jayce appraised Logan's get-up. "Nice makeup, Logue."

He'd gone as a vampire-cowboy. He'd wanted to go just as a cowboy, but Whitney wasn't having any of it. She said that was what he wore anyway, and there's no way in hell he was getting with just that. So he'd gone with the usual: Jeans, flannel, Stetson hat, but he threw in some plastic fangs and black mascara for his eyes, and white makeup for rest of his face and neck. He was actually kind of proud of how it turned out. He tipped the rim of his hat to Jayce, "Thank you, sir."

"Lookie, lookie," Logan could hear wonder in Jayce's voice. He was looking behind the cowboy. Logan turned. His jaw dropped.

Lane and Jaime were approaching and showing far more skin than Logan had ever seen. As promised Lane was a country girl. She wasn't an especially tall girl, only about 5'7", but the daisy dukes she wore were clearly meant for a girl much shorter. They barely reached mid-thigh and exposed the entire creamy length of her legs down to her sandals. She was wearing a flannel shirt of her own that was unbuttoned nice and low, exposing the swell of her cleavage and tied at her midriff baring the flat line of her stomach. She went all out clearly: her chestnut brown hair flowed loose, teased to a feathery Farrah Fawcett look. Unbidden, Logan felt a swell in his jeans; he'd never seen Lane look this good. "Oh sweet mercy," he heard Jayce whisper.

He would've been unable to turn away had Jaime not been there. She'd been promising the guys she'd wear the catholic school girl outfit she'd worn through high school and it did not disappoint. She wore black church shoes, and her white socks were pulled up nearly to her knees. There was a tanned expanse of knee and thigh visible, giving way to the blue and green plaid flannel skirt. She wore a tight virginial, fabric-thin, long-sleeved white shirt that conformed to every curve of her body beautifully. Her sleeves were pulled all the way up to her shoulders and bunched there, contrasting sweetly with the tanned, exposed flesh of her arms and neck. Around her neck, she wore the same tight black choker as always and she was actually wearing blush, lipstick and eyeliner: a rarity for Jaime. Her golden hair was tied back from her face in a high ponytail that bobbed as she walked. She was smiling at the expression on the guy's faces. "Logan, you're going to catch flies in there," she chided, approaching to hug him warmly. "Y'look good."

He slid a strong arm around her small waist. "Look who's talking. God, you sure you don't want to leave Camden for me?"

She giggled and leaned back against the opposite wall. "If he doesn't hurry up, I just might."

Logan noticed that Lane had approached Jayce smoothly, pressing her fingertips against his chest, as he encircled his arms around her. He leaned in and kissed her deeply, oblivious to world beyond her. He'd seen the doe eyes they'd given each other before, but actually viewing them as an item would take some getting used to. He'd known that Jayce had been head over heels for months now, obsessing about everything she did, everything she said. Apparently he must've worn her down or something because they were as thick as thieves. Jaime saw him watching the couple: "Weird to see, huh?"

"Yeah, really is."

She shrugged amiably, taking the half-empty beer bottle from him and drawing a swig. "Sometimes opposites attract."

"You should listen to her Logan," it was Alex. He hadn't heard him approach. "The girl knows what she's talking about. She's with Camden after all." Alex was decked out in loose, flared red leather pants and a hipster-style satin button-down shirt, complete with a repeating huggy-bear design over the front. His hair was spiked up and he was wearing makeup to make it look like he had a bruise around his eye, and a cut lip. Logan knew exactly who he was and it made him grin.

He gave Alex a bear-hug lifting him off the ground as he laughed. "Awesome, man. You pulled it off."

Jaime was bewildered. "What is he?"

"Don't you know Tyler Durden when you see him, Jaime?" Logan could see she was still confused. "Remember, from Fight Club?"

She nodded then, a slow smile spreading across her features. "Well done, A-lex!" It was Jayce. He had an arm draped over Lane's shoulders and was grinning appreciatively at the getup.

Alex did a little step-twist dance move and sidled up next to Jaime. "Mmm, looking good, baby. You're like what, 15, 16 years old?" She rolled her eyes and gave him a hard shove.

"Careful there, Alex," Logan said with a bit of a smile. "School-girls bite." She slapped him. "Abusive too."

Alex caught her wrist before she could slap Logan again. "Hey, Jaime, where's your boy?"

"Yeah, where he is?" Lane piped up. "This was his deal after all."

"Give him some time," Jaime sighed, smoothing out a wrinkle in her skirt. "You know how he is. He likes to make an entrance."

Logan turned then to see Whitney running up the walkway. Seeing her friends were still there, she slowed to a dignified walk. He could see why. She was dressed in a modest brown business suit and skirt, stockings and dress shoes. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun and her glasses gave an air of sophistication, especially when she walked smoothly, swaying her hips and pursing her lips just so. As she approached, Logan could see she wasn't entirely the picture of erudition, her shirt was cut dangerously low and the slit along the side of her skirt ran high. "Well?" She stepped up before the group, posing with a hand on her hip.

Logan and Alex exchanged a glance. "Sexy....lawyer," they said at the exact same moment, causing Jayce to break out laughing.

"Close enough," Whitney sashayed next to Logan and gave him a hip bump. "Let's get this party started, mm?"

"Still waiting on the conductor," Logan said, sliding an arm over her shoulders as he swigged the last of his beer and tossed it behind him in the bushes.

"You shouldn't litter, Logan." Logan turned to see a man approaching in a smart black pin-stripe suit with a vest, cufflinks and a purple and gold tie. Behind him was parked an old-fashioned light blue Cadillac with fins, fenders and all the rest. A beautiful car; Logan could never say he'd seen it's like before. The man's features were obscured by a 40s style rimmed fedora, and his hands were gloved. The look was of a classic film noir gumshoe detective. He looked up, with a gleam in his dark eyes. It was Camden. "Just isn't nice."

"Wow," Jaime said slowly. She hadn't recognized him approaching either but seemed stunned by this, well, to be honest, this stranger among them. His thin smile and dark eyes were classically Camden, but something about the way he carried himself, the way he eyed the group gave Logan the distinct impression of someone different, someone older, perhaps even colder. Whitney's eyes were following his every move, and Logan could see that even Lane's lips were parted slightly, eyes tracing his approach. Camden lifted the fedora off his head before smoothing it back down over his inky black strands.

He approached Jaime and kissed her cheek turning his eyes over the assembled as he calmly removed his gloves and pocketed them. "Glad y'all made it. Was wonderin' if I was gonna end up findin' you here, or would arrive to find an empty porch. It's good to see," a satisfied smile curled his lips. "And my, my, my...look at you girls. Mm. Ain't you the prettiest things?" He took his sweet time looking each of the girls up and down, seemingly finding them to his satisfaction. He winked at Jayce, turning to the guys. "Boys, looking debonair as always. Who's ready to go for a little ride?"

Whitney smiled sweetly. "Hells yes." Nods of assent and apprehensive smiles abounded among the group.

Camden laughed with genuine amusement at the group's reaction. "Well, there's no time like the present," he said smoothly turning on a heel back to the car, expecting the group to follow suit. He'd taken his gloves out of his pocket as he walked, and with an almost refined ease, he languorously slid them over his fingers. He turned back to his friends with a dark smile, his eyes hidden beneath the rim of his hat. "And there ain't no turning back now." ***

Sitting in the backseat snug between Whitney and Jaime, Logan found his thoughts once again turning back to the last time he'd been down this dirt road. The Cadillac hummed like a sleeping lion, but it absorbed the bumps so completely that it felt like they were driving on a highway. With the top down, he found himself watching the canopy of trees pass overhead. He knew the stars were out but the foliage was so thick and tangled that the only light came from the car's headlamps, like they were driving through a tunnel and were the only car in existence. Everyone was unusually quiet, even Alex seemed subdued. He could see Lane's head on Jayce's shoulder. He wondered idly if she was sleeping.

The building came into view over the same rise just like he remembered. It started small and grew larger, but so much had changed. The basic design was the same, but everything had gone to ruin. Ivy and weeds grew insinuated itself along the stone of the ground floor, and the wood of the upper stories seemed to be rotting. The drapes were across all the windows, even the highest one, but they all looked torn and ratty. Even the majestic topiary wolves were missing. It seemed like Whitney right, the place looked gone to ruin.

However as Camden pulled up next to the building along a bare, grassy knoll, Logan noticed one thing remained the same. It was just as big as he remembered.

***

The night air was cool but musty, the chirping of cicadas a neverending cacophony that was beating into Logan's skull. The forest behind the house was blacker than sin and so overgrown and primal that he couldn't even hear the roar of the car's engine over his own beating heart. What was wrong with him? He wasn't the type to jump at shadows.

Camden opened the trunk of the Caddy pulling out a dull silver canteen. He handed it to Jaime. "Try some liquid courage, darlin', I think we'll all need some of it." She opened the top and sniffed the inside, and deciding it agreed with her, she quaffed a long sip, wiping her lips afterwards as Camden smiled. It got passed among the group, each indulging in a brief sip. Logan thought it tasted strange, like the licorice flavor of Jagermeister mixed with something sweeter. Camden chugged last, emptying it with a flourish before throwing it into the back seat of his car.

"Stay here," Camden commanded. He sauntered over to a dimly lit carnival booth placed back up against the forest. Logan figured it must be the ticket booth. Nervous smiles were exchanged among the group, and Jaime had crossed her arms over her chest in a self-conscious gesture. Whitney was just staring intently at the upper windows of the house as though she could pierce its inky blackness through sheer force of will. Any haunted house Logan had ever been to had a line of excited revelers out front waiting to get in. That's what was bugging him.

It was a ghost town, no sign of anyone but them, and even queerer no signs from the house liked it sucked up all the sound in its vicinity. No chainsaws or screaming woman or spooky music. If it was for the dimly lit booth, Logan would've sworn the place was abandoned.

Camden returned to hand out pale purple ticket stubs. "Don't lose these," he cautioned. "It's your ticket in," A pause, "and out." Nervous laughter. "Well, let's not keep 'em waiting." Without another word, he turned on heel and stepped up onto the veranda. The group could only follow suit. Loudly, Camden banged the iron knocker on the thick oaken, iron hinged door. A narrow slit opened, but Logan couldn't see the eyes behind the door. Camden held up his ticket, and the slit slammed shut, but the door opened just a creak. Camden turned back and met Logan's gaze, amused smile creasing his lips. Logan steadied his breathing some. That kind of flourish was more what he'd expect from a haunted place. Always dramatic, Camden kicked the door open and it swung wildly inwards. Camden stepped through the void followed by Logan. He peered in.

The room appeared at first glance to be similar to a hospital waiting area, chairs and small tables up against the walls, a flickering, dim florescent bulb overhead. That was more than passing queer; to step into a Victorian house and feel like the entry foyer is a waiting room. There were two doors along the back wall and one along the left wall, but strangest of all was that whoever the soul was who'd opened the outer door was nowhere to be seen. Not even a trace of the person lingered. The room was empty and bare and clinical.

"Um, what now?" Alex said as he stepped through, bemused gaze flickering over the emptiness.

"Now we choose," Camden said smoothly, walking over to the doors along the back wall, toying with the knobs as though there was a fire in the house and he was checking to see if it was hot behind the door. "They're all unlocked. Which way do we go?" He posed hypothetically, lyrically. No one spoke up.

"Here's what I think," Logan said, feeling like as the biggest of the guys, he should be asserting himself more. "We take the door on the right. That's the best way I can think of to ensure that if we ever get split apart from each other, we always take the door on the right, and eventually we'll all be following the same path." Nods of assent all around. It made sense. Hearing the strength in his own voice calmed his nerves a little. What could a guy like Logan have to fear from a kiddy-haunted house?

"Well then after you, cowboy," Camden gestured languidly to the rightmost door along the back wall. Logan nodded and crossed the room. The door was stuck. The door handle turned but he had to really pull to jam it open.