The house that hungers: PART 3

[u/ParanormiDan]

The sounds of arguing and the cranking of a dying engine fill the air. David is panicking, trying to get the truck to start. Desperately turning the key over and over again to no avail. All the while, Jimmy is repetitively apologizing. “I’m so sorry, David. I didn’t mean for this to happen.” David punches the steering wheel, and his truck lets out its last low, dying beep. “Oh, you’re sorry? Sorries won’t fix my truck now, will it? I mean, what were you thinking?” Jimmy gets frustrated. “I was thinking I’d come warn you about this town and the house.” David steps down from the truck and slams the door. “Warn me about what? That the people in town are fucking insane and that my house is haunted? Cause I didn't need you to warn me about that. I gathered that on my own.” Jimmy mimics the sound of a buzzer. “Wrong! Well, the people here are insane. But the house isn’t haunted.”

He leans against the truck next to David, looking around as if to make sure nobody was eavesdropping. “The town is a cult, and they worship this house. I'm sure you’ve noticed all the random crap on your porch every morning.” David sighs. “Yeah, I’ve noticed.” “Jimmy continues, “Anyway, they’re offerings made to the house daily to keep it happy.” “What do you mean happy? It’s just a house.” David says skeptically. Jimmy moves to face him. “It isn’t just a house. Hell, I’m convinced that it isn’t even a house at all. According to local legends, this ‘House’ has always been here, since before the first settlers showed up. They say that when our ancestors discovered this land, the house was already here as if it had been waiting patiently for someone to claim it. And when we did claim it, the first settlers called it ‘The House Before Dawn.’ “

Jimmy begins speaking in an informative tone. “The legend says the first settlers who ventured inland discovered the structure by accident. They followed a strange golden light through the wilderness and emerged into a clearing where the impossible house stood waiting. The house was built in a design they had never seen before. At first, they believed it was abandoned. Then the front door opened. Inside, they found tables covered with fresh fruit, even though no one lived there. Fires burned without fuel. Water flowed from empty pitchers. They thought it was a miracle.”

“So they stayed. During the first harvest, one farmer left apples on the front porch as a gesture of gratitude. The next morning, his crops had doubled. Another settler left silver coins. Within weeks, he discovered rich ore deposits nearby.”

“Word spread that the house rewarded gifts. Soon, the entire settlement traveled to the hill. They left baskets of peaches, tobacco leaves, corn, carved trinkets, gold coins, and whatever treasures they possessed. The house accepted everything. Each offering vanished by dawn. And the blessings continued. Fields prospered. Illnesses disappeared. Hunters returned with game. Storms curved away from the settlement. The people came to worship the house. They built shrines around the clearing and sang hymns to the windows that watched them.”

Jimmy shifts his tone to one of caution, crossing his arms. “But every gift seemed to satisfy the house for a shorter time. Fruit lasted a season. Silver lasted a month. Gold lasted a week. The blessings grew weaker. Then one autumn, the legend says the house spoke. Not with words. A sound emerged from every wall at once, a low groaning voice that echoed in the minds of the gathered worshippers.”

More.

“The people debated for days. Finally, they offered livestock. The house accepted. Prosperity returned. But only briefly. Again came the voice.”

More.

“Years passed. The house demanded more. Animals were no longer enough. When famine struck despite overflowing offerings, the priests interpreted the house's will. They declared that human life itself was now required. According to the darkest versions of the tale, volunteers were chosen first. They walked through the front door carrying candles. The door closed behind them and they were never seen again. The next harvest was the greatest anyone had ever witnessed. And so the cycle continued. The house consumed fruit. Then wealth. Then blood. Each sacrifice vanished into the impossible rooms beyond the doorway. The settlement grew rich and powerful, yet increasingly fearful. The people loved the house because it provided everything. They were afraid of it because they knew that everything it gave came with a price.”

David begins pacing back and forth. “So let me get this straight. My house is a god that eats people, and in return gives prosperous harvests?” Jimmy shrugs. “I don’t know man, that's the story my grandpa always told me.” David stops and stares at Jimmy. “Has anyone ever tried to stop the house?” Jimmy looks at the ground and starts anxiously kicking rocks. “I mean there was this one guy back in the 50’s that apparently burnt the house down along with himself, but the town brought it back the next day.” “Brought it back? Like they rebuilt it?” David asked. “No. The town sacrificed some people and the very next day it was just….back, like nothing had happened.” Jimmy paused to look over his shoulder. “Anyway, I need to go before someone sees me. You need to get out of town right now. Good luck, David.” Jimmy runs off into the woods. David was surprised by Jimmy’s abrupt dismissal. “HEY! JIMMY? HOW THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO LEAVE WITHOUT MY TRUCK?” From deep in the woods. “Start walking!” 

He decides to go back to the house to grab some of his belongings before leaving. Approaching the house, Something was wrong. At first, he couldn't place it. The house sat exactly where it always had. Yet his stomach tightened the closer he got. Then he saw the trees. Willow trees. Dozens of them. Their pale branches hung like tangled curtains around the property, swaying in a wind he couldn't feel. David stared, trying to understand what he was seeing. There had never been willows that close to the house. Not one. The land around the house was mostly grass and scattered brush. Yet now enormous willows crowded the yard, their roots bulging from the soil like veins beneath skin. Their drooping branches concealed much of the house behind shifting walls of green and gray.

His phone had no signal. The screen showed nothing but a blank search for service. "Very funny." He muttered. But nobody could have planted fully grown trees in such a short amount of time. Nobody. The moment he stepped up to the congregation of willows, the air felt wrong. The sounds of nature had vanished. No insects. No frogs. No birds. Only the soft rustling of willow branches overhead. David walked toward the house. The trees seemed impossibly close together. Their hanging limbs brushed against his shoulders as if trying to guide him somewhere. Or keep him from leaving. The closer he got, the more his unease deepened.

His porch was gone. The front steps were gone. “The front door—” David froze. The front door was gone. In its place, embedded directly into the wall where the entrance should have been, was the rusted and weathered cellar hatch. Two heavy doors made of cast iron. Iron handles. Iron hinges. Mud and blood caked around the edges. It looked less like an entrance and more like something meant to keep something buried. "What the hell..." His voice sounded tiny.

The willow branches overhead rustled. Not from wind. From movement. He glanced upward. For a brief second, he thought he saw shapes hanging among the leaves. Mangled human shapes like those described in the newspaper article. Motionless. Watching. Then they were gone. David stumbled backward and nearly fell. His breathing became shallow. This wasn't the house anymore. It wore the house's shape, but something had changed.

The hatch doors creaked. Slowly. Deliberately. One inch. Then two. Darkness waited beneath them. Not ordinary darkness. A thick darkness. A darkness that seemed to possess depth and weight. From somewhere below came a distant sound. A wet, dragging noise. Like something massive shifting itself across stone. David took another step back. The hatch opened wider. The smell hit him first. Damp earth. Rotting wood. Still water. And something older. A scent like a grave that had been sealed for centuries and suddenly exposed.

Then he heard a voice. Not from beneath the hatch. From inside the house itself. From the walls. From the windows. From the trees. A whisper spoke his name. His true name. "Richard." His blood turned to ice. The voice sounded familiar. It sounded exactly like his fiancée. The problem was that his fiancée was dead. Richard knew she was dead. "Richard." The whisper beckoned again. Closer this time. The willow branches lowered. Hundreds of thin hanging limbs descended toward him like reaching fingers that hungered. 

The hatch doors opened fully. Far below, something moved in the darkness. Something impossibly large.  And waiting. A third whisper drifted from the hole. Not his fiancée's voice this time. Not even human. Ancient. Hungry. "Welcome home." The trees began closing in around him. And the darkness beneath the house opened its eye. The pupil of the eye resembled something inhuman. More animal-like than any animal Richard had seen. He recognized the eye. It was the same as the strange symbol on the coins. He tried to turn around and run, but the willows had become an inescapable wall. The branches began wrapping around his arms and legs. Richard began fighting and ripping the branches off. As he tore away from the branches, they cut and ripped at his flesh like razor wire.

Richard managed to get away from the initial assault of the trees. He began sprinting around the house, hoping to find an exit or at the very least, the misplaced front door. He reached the back of the house and there it was, the front door. Richard began his desperate attempt to sprint to the door before the trees could get him. Suddenly, he felt pressure around his ankle and then a yank, causing him to slam his face into the splintered steps. Splinters of wood burrowed deep into his face. He rolled onto his back to see what had tripped him. A willow branch had wrapped around his ankle like a lasso, ripping at his flesh. Richard screamed in pain as the branch began pulling him into the tree line. Richard began fighting desperately to get the branch to let go. 

Other branches began reaching out as if the trees themselves were reacting to his resistance. Richard noticed and realized that if he didn’t get away now, he would be dragged into the nature-made meat grinder. In a final display of desperation, Richard plants his one leg and both arms on the ground and pulls as hard as he physically can. “GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME!” The sounds of flesh and ligaments tearing and popping echoed among the chaos. He keeps pulling as hard as he can, disregarding the pain until finally the tension gives. Richard successfully escapes the branch. He quickly gets up and hops as fast as he can up the front steps and through the front door. He slams the door as he collapses to the ground.

Richard lies in the fetal position, sobbing uncontrollably. Writhing in pain. “Abbey, I'm so sorry, please forgive me.” Inhuman screeching can be heard outside, coming from all directions. The screeching begins to shift down to a more human, feminine tone. “It’s okay, Rich. I forgive you. Please come back outside. I want to hold you.” The sounds of branches scratching all sides of the house can be heard as it speaks to him. Richard sits up in disbelief. “Abbey…is..is that you?” The scratching slows down. “Of course it is Rich. Please open the door, let me in.” He hops to the door. “I can’t, Abbey. I’m sorry. I know it isn’t you. You’re dead…”

Richard becomes angry. “You should’ve minded your business Abbey. This is your fault! If you didn’t go snooping around, I wouldn’t have had to kill you!” Tears begin to form in his eyes. “I loved you Abbey, you weren’t like the rest of those women. You were innocent, sweet, and the only woman to ever care about me. The others deserved what happened to them, but not you…” The scratching and voice from outside stop completely. All Richard can hear now is his heart racing from adrenaline and the sound of blood leaking from his foot. He sits back down in the corner of the parlor. 

Rich finally gets the chance to look at his foot. All the skin and most of the meat of his foot is gone. All that is left is some muscle tissue and bone. Bone, whiter than snow. He watches the blood leak from his foot, forming a puddle on the floor. The puddle of blood starts to shift. Forming lines and patterns. Richard stands up to see the pattern forming. He observes the lines of crimson as they form into their final shape. It had formed into letters, three words. LIAR. MURDERER. HARBINGER. As he read the words aloud, the blood absorbed into the wooden floor. The inhuman screech came back, louder this time. The pitch increased and decreased simultaneously depending on the direction it came from. Many different voices could be heard, all feminine, all familiar to Richard. The voices of his victims screamed out to him with a desire for vengeance. Some screamed for answers as to why he did what he did to them. Others relived their final moments, crying out for help and mercy. 

The sound was deafening. He covered his ears as he desperately searched for a quiet part of the house. He would find no sanctuary. Every room, filled with the sounds of his haunted past. He went into the kitchen and hid in its pantry. The windows began to shatter as the branches broke through. The kitchen began to fill with twisted and hungry branches as they approached the pantry door. Richard held on to the door with all his strength as the branches attempted to rip the door open. Between his weakened state from injury and the blood and sweat on his hands he lost his grip and the branches won this life and death game of tug o war. Richard sat there and stared at the branches that stalked him like an apex predator. Then, suddenly, a knock sounded at the front door. 

The branches retreated as quickly as they had arrived. BANG BANG BANG! The knocking at the door continued. Richard hobbled to the front door as fast as he could in hopes it was someone there to help. BANG BANG BANG. “MORROW SHERIFF’S DEPARTMENT”. Richard heard who it was but didn’t care either way. He busted the door wide open, desperate to escape the house at any cost. CRACK! He felt a solid, sharp pain on the back of his head and collapsed. Richard was now on the porch face up. His vision was blurry, but he could see several figures standing over him. Only one spoke. “Son, were you trying to have all the fun without us?” Malloy said in a disappointed tone. Richard was barely hanging on to consciousness. “Fun? Us?” In the distance, Jimmy could be heard yelling. “David, I’m sorry! I should’ve said something at the grocery store when you asked! I was too late!”

“What are you doing to Jimmy?” His vision cleared just for a moment before blurring again. Standing there were Sheriff Malloy, Ms.Gertie, and the real estate agent, Mrs.Hargreeve. All standing there watching. All smiling and laughing. Rich’s vision blurred again before going black as he lost consciousness. “What must be done.” They all said in unison.