The Road to Grandma's House

Allison stepped outside. The wind picked up her skirt and the drawstrings of her jacket. The weather was definitely changing. Brown and orange leaves were too wet to crunch under her shoes today, but it seemed only last week that she was shuffling across emerald lawns on her way to class. She drew up the jacket's zipper and plunged forward into the chilly breeze. Her backpack, though sagging heavily with the weight of over-priced textbooks, did help to block out the cold. She wished sincerely for time to stop by the coffee shop, get something hot in her hands and in her stomach, but she was already tardy to Biology.

By late afternoon, Allison was on her fourth class of the day and nearly done for the week. As professor Collins took yet another tangent to his lecture on the Napoleonic Wars, her mind drifted to weekend plans. She took out her phone and tried to hold it out of sight while she sent a quick text to Victoria. Surely Vikki would have something exciting planned. The girl was crazy about the whole month of October, each day building up to the best holiday of the year. She put her phone away in time to hear Collins announce the date of their midterm exam. Then, she was free for a night and two whole days.

Thankfully, campus was only fifteen minutes away from the house. Sure, sharing a house with three other people was a pain, but it beat having to stay in the dorms. Something about dining hall food and communal bathrooms made her shudder. Here, she at least had her own shower and access to a kitchen that was otherwise unused. The first thing she noticed as she crossed the threshold was the skunky odor of cheap pot. That would be Edison, she thought, who would never be able to get away with that in a dorm room.

"Light some incense or something, will you," she complained as she passed the couch where the slouching figure of her roommate reached for a game controller. He didn't reply, lost in a world of reefer.

She was halfway up the stairs when her phone buzzed in her back pocket. It was Victoria writing back. Apparently, she had spent the morning nursing a hangover instead of attending professor Middleton's lecture on the Critique of Pure Reason. Despite that, she was already at the bar/coffee shop the two of them frequented downtown, two pints into her end-of-week celebration. Allison envied her friend's ability to bounce back.

She tugged a cord connected to the bare bulb inside of her closet and illuminated what looked like the aftermath of a miniature F-4 tornado. An overflowing laundry basket dominated the disaster scene, obscuring a mound of shoes, and spilling across the carpet to a pile of abused notebooks and loose papers. Narrowing her eyes at what portion of her wardrobe still hung clean on its hangers, she tried to decide what was warm enough for fall weather but not winter-weather-bulky.

"Nice sweater," was the greeting she received when she arrived at Grimm's thirty minutes later.

The comment had come from Kristen; Vikki and Allison's best friend. She couldn't tell if she was being complimented on the garment's stitch pattern, the way the kelly green knit set off her strawberry-red hair, or the plunging neckline that exposed an ample portion of her milky pale chest. She and Vikki often joked that Kristen was a triple threat. But a year or two older, their bespectacled friend had dropped out of college simply because she was far too talented to waste her time and money in school. A keen eye for fashion and a knack for turning a ball of yarn into haute couture had enabled her to publish two books by the age of 20. They were both bestsellers and her knitting blog was well-known in the crafting world for both its patterns and its eclectic take on LGBTQ issues. It wasn't an odd mix if you knew Kristen, who was suddenly distracted by the shapely backside of a blonde sorority girl across the room.

"It's about time you arrived. Here, catch up," Victoria ordered as she slid a frosty pint of Guinness across the table.

"You expect me to chug Guinness," asked Allison incredulously.

"No, I expect you to do these shots and chug that Guinness."

Right on cue, a waitress arrived with a tray full of whiskey shots. She clinked shot glasses with the trio and downed one of them herself before returning to the bar to pick up a round of pints for another table.

An hour went by while they discussed what to do with their evening. Eventually, they settled on Allison's suggestion. The season's first haunted house had recently opened up in Libertyville and by all accounts, it was phenomenal. If they invited Lawrence, they could potentially chill at his place afterward and not have to make the drive back until morning. Since Kristen was now on her third pumpkin latte, they decided she would be the one to drive them the forty minutes to Lawrence's house.

When he opened the door, they all shouted, "Trick-or-treat!"

"Come back in about two weeks," he said, and pretended to shut the door in their faces.

Unlike Allison, Lawrence had a house all to himself. It was one of the perks of being the only child of wealthy parents. His father was an artist, not well-known locally, but a big hit overseas. A painting he had sold last week had fetched nearly half a million dollars. Lawrence was following in his father's footsteps, as evidenced by the studio filled with easels and crumpled paint tubes right off of the den. The girls stood in the doorway between the two rooms and tried to get a peek at their friend's latest canvas while he put on his shoes and coat. Victoria was reaching out to pull the sheet off of one piece of artwork when Lawrence appeared out of nowhere and smacked her hand.

"Don't you dare," he warned, "you know I never show my work before it's finished."

Vikki stuck her tongue out at him, "Let's get out of here then. What are we waiting for?"

It was only ten minutes before they pulled into the parking lot at the haunted house. The line was already an intimidating length, but they were committed. The four of them added themselves to the tail end of it and took turns playing Would You Rather until had inched their way up to the ticket booth. After they paid the entrance fee, a scruffy-looking teen doused in fake blood fastened them with neon wristbands and they went in.

Just inside the doorway, they found a hall that steered them immediately to their right. Everything inside was painted black and the only light came in rapid pulses from a strobe in the ceiling. The group of friends drew closer together; Vikki and Kristen clutching Lawrence's coat sleeves and Allison bringing up the rear. They turned another corner. More of the same seizure-inducing lighting and bare walls. As they crept forward, expecting ghouls to jump out at them from the next corner up ahead, they were startled by the sound of a chainsaw revving behind them. Allison whipped her head around and was confronted by a maniacal clown rushing toward the group, waving the growling weapon over his head. All four of them screamed and dashed forward, making for the bend in the hallway. As they made their way around it, bandaged hands popped out of a panel in the wall and clawed the air in front of them. They all screamed in unison again and flattened themselves against the opposite wall so they could scoot by without being molested.

After a few more twists and turns, they found that the confines of the narrow hallway opened out into a medium-sized room, also dim, but absent of flashing lights. There were two lounge chairs inside and a rectangular rug of indeterminate color laid between them on the floor. The only discernible means of egress appeared to be a set of elevator doors, next to which stood the figure of a man in a bellhop uniform. The only light source was directly over it, forcing its face into a grotesque contrast of pitch and glare. Lawrence lead the tentative creep toward the bellhop figure, which was perfectly still and silent. As the four friends were wondering if they were approaching a mannequin, it snapped to life.

"Greetings, guests, and welcome to The Charles Perault Hotel! If you'll step right this way." He pressed a button mounted to the wall and the elevator doors slid open.

Allison, Kristen, Victoria, and Lawrence all looked at one another. They joined hands and bravely stepped past the doors onto a shifting metal platform. The bellhop joined them and pressed another button that prompted the elevator to close. Underneath them, the floor began to vibrate and sway. A glow peeking through the crack between the doors moved up from the ground to the ceiling. Then another followed. It appeared that they were headed down.

"It's been some time since we had visitors to our fine establishment. Ever since the murders, business hasn't been the same," mused the uniformed stranger. "Shame they never caught that maniac. Don't worry though, the hotel is perfectly safe. We've hired extra security."

As he finished his comment, the vibrations underneath them stopped. The bellhop wrinkled his brow, "that's strange, this isn't the right floor." He punched at the control buttons.

Even though the cluster of friends knew it was an act, three of the four of them nearly wet themselves when the elevator slid open to reveal an axe-wielding hulk who roared at them from behind a silicon mask. Behind them, another set of doors they hadn't noticed before swung apart and they turned to escape through them. Panicked though they were, they were unable to run, because the floor of the newly-revealed hallway was strewn with what looked like body parts. Allison peered down as she cautiously stepped over a severed torso. It wore a khaki shirt with a patch sewn onto the shoulder. The patch read, Atlas Security Systems.

She was afraid that one of the bloody limbs would spring up and coil around her ankles. About halfway along the gruesome corridor, she peeked forward in time to see a pair of double doors swing shut behind her friends.

"Wait up," she pleaded, but they didn't look back.

Intending to gauge her chances of outrunning the madman from the elevator, she turned her head, only to discover that the rear doors were shut once more. Alone, she tried to fight the rising panic in her chest.

"It's not real," the voice in her head reminded her. She filled her lungs with air, held her breath, and then let it rush out again.

At last, Allison had picked her way through the gore to the exit where she had last seen Victoria, Lawrence, and Kristen. She forced the doors aside to find herself in an entirely new setting.

It was a forest, or made to look like one at any rate. Several plyboard cutouts had been set up, shaped and painted to resemble trees. A blacklight made them glow in unnatural hues. Between the trees, here and there, mirrors had been placed, which lent the forest a depth it did not possess. This room was cooler than the others and nearly silent. Allison could no longer hear the muffled shrieks of the haunted attraction's other patrons. She took a few uncertain steps, thinking she may have glimpsed the way forward. Instead of an exit, she ran into a polished pane of glass. Maybe by skirting the edge, she hoped, she would encounter an opening in the maze.

As she crept along, wondering how her friends could abandon her, she began to feel as if she were being watched. The mirrors around her revealed nothing but her own anxious face.

"Lost, little girl?"

It was only a whisper, so subtle she wasn't positive she had heard it at all. The voice was accompanied by a light breeze, almost as negligible. She stopped in her tracks and listened closely to the shifting air around her. The only sound her ears picked up was the pounding of her own heart. It's my imagination, it's the adrenaline, she tried to convince herself and resumed the task of picking her way through the false trees and reflections. At last, there was an opening. She stepped through the vacant space and found more two-dimensional woodland. Was this the way out at last, or merely another trick? Trusting her hands more than her eyes, Allison felt along the wall, alternately brushing course boards and icy reflections with her fingertips.

"You're getting warmer."

That time, she knew it wasn't her paranoid imaginings. Her feet suddenly refused to obey, frozen in place. Fine hairs rose on the nape of her neck. There was someone behind her. She checked her reflection, but there was a blind spot the mirrors could not reach. Part of her wanted to turn around, confront the shadows, and the other part wanted to dash screaming in all directions. She forced one foot forward, and then the other, shaking, eventually followed. In this fashion, she steadily progressed, until, at last, a red neon sign that proclaimed, "EXIT" revealed itself and she walked out into a busy parking lot and the sudden cacophony of a crowd.

Kristen, Victoria, and Lawrence were waiting a few yards away. Their anxious faces relaxed when they made eye contact with Allison. She walked over to them, having forgotten for the moment that they had left her inside to fend for herself. The sound of that eerie voice lingered in her mind.

In from the cold, cradling mugs of cocoa, and huddling up under afghans in Lawrence's house, the small group of friends teased one another.

"You should have seen your face," Vikki managed, between fits of laughter, "when that guy with the axe showed up." She was pointing a mocking finger at Lawrence, eyes watering.

"Me? You nearly fell flat on your face trying to get out of the elevator," Lawrence retorted.

Allison recounted her experience in the forest room. Nobody else had heard strange whispers on their way through.

"To be honest," Vikki confessed, "I got out of there as fast as I could. That place scared the crap out of me."

That prompted Kristen to join in, poking fun at Victoria for being such a sissy. Eventually, the mutual harassment subsided and one by one, they dropped off to sleep.

...........................

In the morning, Allison staggered groggily out of the guest room, drawn by the aroma of fresh coffee. She sunk into the couch in the den, next to Kristen, who was busy with a tangle of yarn.

"Whatcha making," she asked her friend, as she accepted a fresh cup of cappuccino from Lawrence.

"Mmfrfr," was the response, until the girl took the stitch markers out of her mouth. "A sweater."

It was amazing to Allison, how someone could turn a ball of string into something wearable, warm, and comfortable. That was a talent she certainly did not possess. Her creative talent manifested in other ways, like baking. She often boasted that she had never in her life burnt a sheet of cookies and there was more than one student organization at school who came to her to supply their bake sales. Her plan for the afternoon, in fact, was to spend most of the day in the kitchen, working up a new batch of goodies. That was, of course, assuming that Vikki ever got up.

When her friend finally joined the rest of them for bagels, Kristen's project was far enough along that nobody had to ask what it was going to be.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Sleeping Beauty." Lawrence topped off a cup of espresso with foam and handed it to Victoria.

"Hey, don't blame me," was Vikki's grouchy response. "Allison kept me up all night, thrashing around."

"What?" Allison was incredulous. "I'm usually a sound sleeper."

"Not last night."

Allison tried to remember the night before. She had finished her cocoa, said goodnight to Lawrence, and went to join Vikki in the guest room. As soon as she began to wonder if she'd had any disturbing dreams, a feeling of dread washed over her. No details came to mind, but she was sure her dreams were to blame for any wild behavior she had exhibited in her sleep.

After Kristen dropped her off at home, Allison make a b-line for the shower. Once she had dressed and finished blow-drying her hair, she went downstairs to started baking. Her t-shirt and half of her jeans were coated with flour when Becca entered the room.

"More cookies," inquired her roommate with the sunny disposition.

"Yeah. These are almond thumbprints with apricot preserves."

"Sounds yummy! Any chance there'll be some left?"

Allison chuckled, "I'll try to leave some, but you're going to have to get to them before Edison does."

After all of the cookies had been pulled from the oven, and cooled to room temperature, they were packed into a tin for her grandmother. It was Allison's routine every Saturday to bring gifts to the old woman, who was housebound. Each week, she packed up a fresh batch of cookies and whatever else she could find to please her grandma. Once she had brought a pair of mittens contributed by Kristen, another time there were blueberries from the farmer's market, and this week's present was a bottle of perfume called Délicieuse. It was grandma's favorite fragrance and it reminded Allison of gingerbread; sweet and spicy.

She had gotten off to a later start than she had hoped, due to Victoria's lazy morning. By the time Allison had packed up her car and pulled out of the driveway, it was nearly dusk. A half hour later, she pulled off of the road and onto the stretch of gravel that functioned as her grandmother's parking lot. Although a dirt road existed that lead the rest of the way through the woods and up to the house, it was too pitted and uneven for Allison's small car to conquer. Nothing but her dad's heavy-duty truck could make that drive. She walked around to the passenger side of her car and removed the bag full of cookies and perfume. Twilight was in full effect and she chastised herself for not bringing a flashlight with her.

Just past the last turn before her grandmother's house came into view, Allison stumbled. Her foot went into a pothole and she pitched forward, spilling the bag of goodies. She saw moonlight sparkle off of the glass bottle of perfume, as it rolled off of the road and down the slope into the trees. Allison cursed. Now she was going to have to leave the road and venture into the forest, which her grandma had cautioned her never to do, especially in the dark. Trappers had used the forest a long time ago and some of their rusty equipment still lay scattered around, waiting to snap shut on unsuspecting ankles.

She put the tin of cookies back into the bag and left it on the road as she stepped into the underbrush. Taking slow steps, being careful not to slide, Allison made her way down the slope, trying to spot the small bottle. Then, she remembered that her phone had a flashlight function. Reaching into her back pocket, she pulled the phone out to check its battery life. The indicator was in the red and tiny numbers on the display told her that she had a mere ten percent before the phone would become a useless brick. It had better not take long to find the perfume.

Using the narrow beam pointed at the forest floor, she searched among the leaf litter and debris. It can't have gone very far, Allison was thinking, when she heard rustling close by. She straightened her spine and maneuvered the phone so that its light was cast in front of her, illuminating the bark of the trees. Slowly, Allison rotated to her right, scanning the darkness for what she suspected was a deer or a large raccoon. Suddenly, a figure appeared in her field of view, tall with square shoulders. The light hit its face and two shiny eyes reflected it back. She started and dropped her phone.

"Have you lost something, my dear," inquired the dark figure, in a deep but playful tone. It was a voice Allison recognized, from a scene not unlike this one.

"W-what," the girl stammered, "what are you doing here?"

"Me? Why, I live here of course. What are you doing here, little girl?"

"Who are you?"

"Now, now. Play fair. I've answered one of your questions and now you must answer one of mine."