Darkhouse (Experiment in Terror 1)

“Of course, I can handle this. What was the point of talking about all that stuff this morning? We decided that this is what we’re going to do, so this is what we’re going to do. Just because I saw something in the water doesn’t mean I’m not stable enough to keep going. We had a deal!”

“All right, it’s OK. Calm down,” he said, reaching over for my shoulder.

I inched it out of the way. The nerve of him telling me to calm down.

“It’s just that you almost fell into the ocean, and your cousins here are talking about how you used to go to a shrink. I know, it was the drugs or whatever unfortunate thing you were into as a teenager, but you know some knowledge about this would have been nice before we started.”

I let out a sarcastic guffaw. “Oh, so now the fact that we don’t know each other that well is becoming a problem. I see.”

He knew I was right. I had been trying to get nothing but information out of him this whole weekend, and now that the tables were turned, it was a problem for him.

“OK, kiddo. Just checking,” he said, and started reviewing the footage he had shot, as if nothing had happened.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

It was getting darker by the minute when we returned to the marina and headed back to Al’s. He wasn’t all too happy we left and turned an angry shade of purple when the twins told him about going on Whiz’s boat. Thankfully, the beef he had was just with the twins. He left Dex and me alone to do our own thing, though I could sense Uncle Al knew something was up with me.

Obviously, I was more on edge than ever before. I tried to push the incident on the boat out of my mind, but every so often the image of myself in the water, reaching for me, jolted into my brainwaves like a subliminal message.

For better or worse, I really didn’t have the luxury of dwelling on it. We had a job to do and as afraid as I was, I was far too stubborn to back down. Especially now. We had a show to shoot and it wasn’t going to film itself.

By the time the sky turned a resolute shade of charcoal, Dex and I were ready to go.

It had grown dizzyingly wild outside in the last hour, with the wind coming from all directions, but it was nowhere near as chaotic as last night. We wanted to be as prepared as possible this time, so I wore Dex’s black cargo jacket on top of the rest of my clothes. It wasn’t camera-friendly like he had hoped, but he also didn’t want me to get pneumonia.

I didn’t mind. I figured all black would possibly hide me from all the ghosts. Plus, it smelled like him...really nice.

We stood outside the back door, side by side, watching the distant waves catch the yellow light projected from the house. Dex seemed to be deep in thought, with his camera hoisted up on his shoulder. I didn’t want to think about what we were about to do until I absolutely had to.

Finally, he turned to me; his face shadowed by the light and glistening from the light rain.

“Are you ready for this?” he asked gravely.

“As ready as I’m going to ever be,” I answered.

He reached over, picked up my hand with his and held it in front of us. “I’m not letting go of you this time.”

His voice was gruff. I knew he meant it.

I nodded. He squeezed my hand. It felt warm and strong. I squeezed back, hoping I never had to let go. I wanted him to put his arms around me and make everything OK.

Instead he nodded. “Let’s go shoot some ghosts.”

He walked off, pulling me along by the hand, and soon we were on the beach heading south with determined strides. I felt like we were heading into battle. I could almost hear dramatic WWII music in my head. That, and the theme song from The Matrix.

We made it through the dunes and up the embankment without much fuss, aside from me slipping at a point or two. Dex held on to me every time. In fact, his grip tightened after each near miss so that by the time we actually found ourselves in front of the lighthouse, my hand was numb.

I didn’t know if the third time would be a charm or not. I didn’t see any crazy lamps in the forest, no bloated dead guys on my trail, and Dex was in my sight and within my grasp the entire time.

But that didn’t stop the sight of the “darkhouse” from taking my breath away. It felt like the fear was bringing tears to my eyes.

Dex looked up at it, taking it all in. He slowly let go of my hand, which responded with pins and needles, and took his camera off his shoulder. He began to adjust it and shot me a sympathetic smile.

“I’m not leaving your side. Jell-O, remember?”

I smiled bravely for him, appreciating how normal he could be when he wanted.

He brought the key out of his pocket and got it ready in one hand. With the other he flicked on the camera light.

I winced at the brightness and shielded my face with my hand.

“Sorry,” he said. “You’ll have to get used to it. Ready to roll?”

Not at all, but I nodded just the same. I almost felt like I had stage fright on top of everything, but realized I should embrace it with open arms. It was a lot easier to deal with than death fright, for lack of a better phrase.

Dex hit the record button and gave me the countdown with his fingers. Go.

“We are standing in front of the Rocky Point Lighthouse,” I said loudly, “about to make the first journey inside with a professional camera crew, hoping to capture on film any traces of Old Roddy or any other terrifying spirits who may inhabit these ocean-battered walls.”

We decided to have very little narration on film and fill in all the historical facts with voiceovers afterward. Dex just wanted me to explore naturally and react to what we saw. I immediately knew I was going to look like the biggest chickenshit. I felt hypocritical for calling Dex one earlier.

He passed me the key and took the camera behind me. The key was cold, long and slimy in my hand. It felt unnaturally heavy.

I slowly walked to the door and inserted the key into the lock. It clicked; the sound was powerful, even in the howling wind.

I put it in my pocket, turned the rusty handle and pushed the door open.

It opened halfway, as the groan and creak of the hinges echoed across the dense room. Dex’s light shone forward, illuminating the dust particles in a greenish haze and casting the blackest shadows to either side of me.

I know Dex wanted me to walk into the room. But I couldn’t. I still had time to run away. I didn’t have to go back inside this place, which had become larger than legend in my life. A place that held everything I ever feared and didn’t know I feared yet.

I’d experienced a lot this last week. It felt like it was more than I had ever been through in my entire young life. But at this moment, standing at the threshold of a dead, evil place, it felt like I was at the gates of hell. Hell with an ocean view.

Dex cleared his throat behind me. It grounded me somewhat. He had said he wouldn’t leave me. I had to bet my life that he wasn’t lying.

I stepped into the room and opened the door the rest of the way.

My boots thudded against the wood floor with each step. I stared at my feet. It was interesting that even though we had been in the room the day before, our footprints were already gone, covered up by a thick layer of dust like we had imagined the whole thing.

I looked at the camera. “So much dust. Is that normal?”

Because of the light I couldn’t see Dex’s expression, so I knew this would be the start of me asking the camera lots of stupid, unanswered questions.

I walked into the middle of the room by the large solid table and looked around, breathing into the sleeve of the coat and trying to avoid the musty air.

SLAM!

The door, suddenly agile, swung shut. The event almost ruptured my anxious heart, as the impact rattled the paintings on the wall. There was a metallic clatter and I spun to see two pots and pans falling off of the stove and onto the floor. The noise was deafening.

I looked at Dex by way of the camera so he could see how frightened I was. I didn’t like how I couldn’t see his face but there wasn’t much I could do about that.

The dust around the pans began to settle. I had a strange urge to put them away neatly, but the idea was absurd. Might as well start vacuuming too.

Our plan had been to walk around the room and explore it for any cold spots or weird objects. After that, we would go into the hallway, ascend the stairs to the second floor and poke around the unexplored room above us. Then we’d move to the dreaded bedroom I was locked in last week, and finally all the way up the winding staircase to the tower top that used to hold the “cursed” light, the soul of this very station.

I kept all of this in mind, using it as a sort of script to follow, which made me focus more on the technical task at hand instead of the potential pant-shitting scenario.

Speaking of the task at hand, I had been staring motionless at the fallen pots and pans long enough, totally ignoring the fact that the camera was rolling. Dex was probably going to have to edit the shit out of the footage when we finished.

I inhaled long and slow through my nose and walked over to the darkness on my left. Dex followed me with the camera, lighting my way until I reached the armoire that I had seen yesterday.

It was tall and made of solid wood that matched the table. I opened the doors and hoped a dead body wouldn’t fall out.

All I saw inside were a pair of rubber boots and a hooded jacket, the type a fisherman might wear. But even though the jacket looked old and the threads were coming loose in several places, it was free of dust, as were the boots. I didn’t know if was worth mentioning or not.

“Looks like they’ve been used recently,” Dex said, his voice echoing rough and emotionless in the room. Guess it was worth mentioning.

I nodded. “Yeah, no dust.”

It was weird, but I wasn’t about to start thinking that they actually had been used recently. I know Dex said that for dramatic effect. I hoped it was for dramatic effect.

“Can you light up the rest of the room?” I asked, pointing into the void.

Dex aimed the camera and light at the walls and ceiling. Everything looked menacing in the grainy beam; even the chairs stacked up in the corner resembled a horrific scarecrow to my impressionable eyes. I didn’t find anything else too interesting in this room. It remained dead and quiet.

The light came back to my face and then moved slowly over to the door, which led into the hallway. I went over and opened it. Slowly. For effect.

It was just as I remembered. The room across from us (where I busted in the window) was closed, but I knew it wasn’t worth a look. Dex stepped into the hallway beside me and lowered the camera. It felt nice to feel his body against my shoulder. I felt so disconnected when he was in filmmaker mode.

“You’re doing good,” he whispered.

“Thanks,” I said, looking at him even though I couldn’t see anything with the light pointing the other direction.

“Let’s go upstairs. Go slowly, though. With the light coming from behind you probably won’t be able to see where your feet are stepping.”

I turned to the staircase as he put the camera back on his shoulder and shone it my way.

“OK. Just promise you’ll stay right behind me. I don’t want a repeat of last week,” I pleaded.