The House Won't Let You Out

The sun dragged its lazy ass across the dewy morning grass. It was early in Popafohka Falls, the kind of early writers think everybody loves to hear described in tired old ways.

State Trooper Kemp DuhFarge drove up to the empty old Victorian House and stopped his car. It was a routine call, even if the house was supposed to be haunted, like all the kids in the neighborhood said, even that one kind of strange kid that seemed to be in touch with a dark indescribable force. But that kind of talk was for kids, and Kemp DuhFarge was a grown-up—a full-grown State Trooper with a gun and flashlight that were standard issue in this old fictional New England town.

Kemp knocked on the door, "shave and a haircut". He waited, but no one answered, so he naturally opened the door and went inside without being invited. "Hello?" he called out, hearing no response in return. "Hello?" he repeated, without any further response. "Hello!" he demanded, but no greeting was issued.

"This is Kemp DuhFarge of the State Police. I found a dead man without a head a mile down the road and came to see if anyone here saw anything or might have been involved in some fashion. It made a lot of sense, but now I feel a bit awkward seeing as how I don't even know who lives here and have yet to hear a response. Listen to me, acting all weird and justifying myself to you—who the hell do you think you are? I don't have to answer your questions. It's police business. So do you know something or not?"

But there was no answer.

Suddenly, the door swung open swiftly and the last thing Kemp saw before falling backwards was the shine of silver on a well-sharpened ax blade. Terror!

Kemp went to draw his gun, but he would have been dead had the ax blade been wielded by an otherworldly creature who wanted to murder him. Instead the ax was held by the smallish weird boy described a little earlier. Kemp realized there was no danger, and the author realized he had blown his horror load quickly and allowed himself another 40 pages of creeping suspense before the monster had to appear.

"Boy, what are you doing here?" asked Kemp, taking the ax from the boy.

"Leave quickly. They know you're here," the boy said in a soft, boyish voice.

"You scared the hell out of me," Kemp stated matter-of-factly. The boy appeared frightened and white, even for a white boy. "What's the matter with you? You look like you seen a ghost."

The boy said something cryptic to the effect that maybe he possibly had, though I'm not exactly sure how to phrase it.

"A ghost?" repeated Kemp. "What horseshit."

The door suddenly slammed shut and locked itself. The windows locked themselves and the glass became unbreakable through mystical means. Kemp the State Trooper drew a deep breath and asked aloud who was there, who else was in the house with him and the boy, stupidly neglecting the information about the ghost he had just been exposed to.

"It's no use now," said the boy, running up the stairs for unclear reasons. "They know you're here. You can't leave!"

Kemp chased the boy upstairs, wishing he had shot him when he jumped out with the ax like that guy in the department who killed the kid with the toy gun. But he had disappeared. He was nowhere to be seen and Kemp was here, alone, trapped in the inescapable house with something I haven't quite defined the nature of.

French Prick
I smoked a thin cigarette quickly in one puff. It was what I do. I'm currently unemployed. From the end of the beach I could see the shaky man coming, walking his dog. The shaky man is called that, by me, because of his never-ending addict... (6/24/02)

The Negative Sum of Numbers
There was something disappointing about going home from New York Art College. A depression set in as soon as Smythe drove his middle-class luxury car across the borders of his old California hometown, Burnt Pines. He was here to spend a few weeks of... (6/10/02)

The Heist Planned Over Coffee
"Listen, you fruits!" grumbly Rufus Dent barked to his motley crew. He was beginning the plan, as all the fruits assembled immediately understood with the order, "Listen, you fruits!" In the crowd was Dickie Dicks; Eddie "Lumbar" Kickenback;... (5/27/02)

An American in Tijuana
He strolled through the courtyard of this small Mexican villa like the town was his own. He didn't really own it, not in the sense of actually holding property rights over every square foot of land in the town or anything, but really no one person... (5/13/02)