Story length: approx. 2,300 words
Genre: Horror / Comedy
Trigger Warning(s): Explicit language; Drug references
It was raining when Arthur arrived at his uncle’s house. The setting sun hid behind dark clouds. He had to park far from the house; I’m going to get drenched, he thought as he wrenched his suitcase out of the car. Waddling up the path toward the front door, he looked at the overgrown lawn and weeds, shaking his head. As he placed his foot on the bottom step of the porch, the door creaked open a fraction, the chain still in place.
“Arthur? That you?” a man’s voice called out.
“Yeah,” Arthur replied, dragging his suitcase up the steps behind him. “Let me in.”
The chain loosened, and the door opened entirely. Uncle Stuart stood to the side to let Arthur through. Beneath Uncle Stuart’s eyes were dark circles. He wore pants ripped at the knee and a grey sweater. The sweater had pulled threads all over it and a hole in the front. Arthur leaned his suitcase on the wall at the bottom of the stairs and hung up his soaked overcoat.
“Sit by the fire, kid,” Uncle Stuart said. “Got some soup for you.”
“I’m alright, Stu,” Arthur replied as he followed him into the living room. “I’m not hungry—”
“Don’t call me that. Sit. If you hadn’t told me this morning that you’d be visiting, I would’ve prepared something nicer.”
Arthur did as he was told. “Sorry, Uncle. Soup’ll be great.”
Uncle Stuart returned from the kitchen carrying a tray with two cups of water and a bowl of soup. He set the tray on the coffee table and took one cup.
“How’s your mother?” he asked as he sat in the armchair beside Arthur, rubbing his temple.
“She’s alright.” Arthur took a sip from the other cup. “She’s going mad planning this wedding for Sarah.”
“That girl’ll probably leave him in a few years. Looks like the type.”
“The type to run out on her marriage?”
“No. He looks like the type to send her packing.”
Uncle Stuart gulped down the water and let out a loud burp. His eyes drifted to the stairs. His gaze lingered there for a full minute, unblinking, before turning his attention back to Arthur.
“So.” He folded his arms over his protruding belly. “Here you are.”
Arthur picked up the soup. “So, how’s the new place? It looks…”
The wallpaper was torn in many places; in others, there were what looked like mould marks. The light fitting on the ceiling above them was cracked on one side. The open door between the living room and foyer was hanging by a single hinge.
“Shit?” Uncle Stuart snorted. “Yeah, well, it’s just a house, Arthur. Now, don’t tell me you’ve come all this way just to tell me how shit my house looks. I already know.”
“I came to visit you. You know — spend some time with you.”
Uncle Stuart ran his fingertip around the rim of the cup. “Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, kid. I know why you’re here; do you?”
Arthur sighed and dropped the spoon into the bowl. “Mum told me to come. She really wants you to go to Sarah’s wedding. Ever since you moved here, we’ve hardly seen you or heard from you. She’s worried, you know. You’re her little brother. She thinks—”
“How old are you now? Eighteen? Twenty?”
“Twenty-two.”
“Still a young’un.”
The flames in the fireplace flickered as they licked the wood. At the edge of Arthur’s vision, a shadow moved near the broken-hinged door. When he looked over and saw nothing, the light fitting above them dimmed and brightened again. Uncle Stuart followed his gaze, staring again. Arthur looked back at him, and he snapped out of it.
“Listen to me, kid,” Uncle Stuart went on. “Do you think your sister cares about you right now? People only give a shit about their own shit. Don’t get a taste for anyone else’s. Otherwise, you’ll choke on it, and your breath will forever smell of shit. Got it?”
“Ah… yeah.” Arthur frowned at him. “Got it.”
“Good. Eat your soup.”
Upstairs, there was a small bedroom and an adjoining bathroom. Uncle Stuart said that he never went up there because he didn’t like climbing the wobbly stairs. It would be Arthur’s room for as long as he stayed.
In the bedroom was a single bed with no linen, a wonky dresser, and a ripped chair. Arthur unpacked a few shirts and a pair of jeans, throwing them on the chair. A thick layer of dust speckled across the top of the dresser. Half of a ripped curtain hung over the window. The metal bedframe creaked when Arthur sat on it, rattling back and forth on its rusted feet.
“Get some sheets from the cupboard down here,” Uncle Stuart called from the bottom of the stairs. “And I’d leave your door open tonight so the heat can get up there.”
“Thanks, Uncle,” Arthur called back from the doorway.
He took his toiletries bag into the bathroom and unpacked it. In the mirror’s reflection, a shadow moved in the bedroom behind him. He spun around. The single bulb above the bathroom mirror flickered then died out. Arthur didn’t even turn it on.
“You got something wrong with the power here?” Arthur called out, and when he didn’t answer, he called out again.
“Power’s fine,” Uncle Stuart called back. “Go to sleep.”
“Now? It’s early.”
Uncle Stuart didn’t answer. Arthur shrugged and went downstairs, hearing his bedroom door close. The cotton sheets he found for the single bed were covered in yellow flowers, and the duvet was white but stained. The first pillow he found smelled of mould but the second didn’t. He took everything upstairs, made the bed, then called his mother.
“Is he acting strangely?” she asked him.
He paced back and forth across the room, chewing on his fingernail.
“Arty?” She sighed. “You better not be chewing on your nails—”
“Mum, I really don’t know why you made me come here,” Arthur said, spitting out a piece of fingernail. “He’s not gonna go to the wedding.”
“Forget the wedding for now. Just tell me if he’s alright.”
Arthur glanced over at the opened door of the bedroom. Movement — as though a figure moved to the side out of sight. He walked over, but no one was there.
“Arty?”
“Yeah,” Arthur said, “everything’s fine here.”
A message on Arthur’s phone woke him at 2:07 AM. He grunted and yawned, having slept rather heavily for about four hours. Silence filled the house except for quiet creaks and dripping taps. He curled his back in an awkward stretch to relieve the ache in his spine from the lumpy mattress. Rolling onto his side, facing the wall, he checked his phone.
| ROBBIE | Dude! Where you at? |
| ARTHUR | Why the hell are you texting me at 2am? I’m at my uncle’s place, what do you want? |
| ROBBIE | Just stalking you dude That’s the kind of friend I am LOL Found your location Weird town your in |
| ARTHUR | *You’re Why’s that? |
| ROBBIE | Some creepy shit like 50 yrs ago Found some dead kid with his mouth like shut up with ducking string *Ducking *FUCKING |
| ARTHUR | What? You high? |
| ROBBIE | Obviously LOL Nah but for real dude This kid’s mouth |
Robbie sent him a blurry image. It depicted the corpse of a young boy no older than twelve laying on the ground. His skin, smooth like porcelain, contrasted his lifeless eyes, sunken in their sockets. But his mouth… it was sewn shut.
| ARTHUR | Thread, you dick, not string That’s gross Why did you send this to me? |
| ROBBIE | Smarty Arty, that’s my boy Always looking for weird shot, you know me *Shit Thought you would like it |
| ARTHUR | Nah Rob |
The light bulb above Arthur flickered, then it dimmed until it was barely on. As he rolled his head back to look up at it, the bedroom door closed with a soft click. He jolted upright.
“Uncle Stuart?” He called, and no reply came. “Stu?”
He walked to the door. The light brightened again. Turning the doorknob, he took a step out into the darkness. No one was there. He looked to the left where the mezzanine ended, seeing something on the floor. Turning on the flashlight function on his phone, he left the door open and walked to it. Uncle Stuart’s pill container. He picked it up, glancing at the end of the mezzanine.
Standing against the wall, motionless like a statue, was a boy with porcelain skin. His black eyes were sunken into his sockets. There was smooth skin where his mouth should be.
Arthur gasped and darted back toward the bedroom, smashing right into the now-closed door. The impact sent the container flying out of his hand, pills cascading across the floor like broken, coloured glass. He left it there and yanked open the bedroom door. Throwing his clothes off the chair, he closed the door and wedged the chair beneath the doorknob.
| ARTHUR | Quit messing with me you prick |
| ROBBIE | What? |
| ARTHUR | That fucking dead kid Playing tricks on my mind now |
| ROBBIE | Art dude I swear to the gods I ain’t messing with you |
| ARTHUR | There’s only one God Swear to Him and maybe I’ll believe you |
| ROBBIE | There’s more than one but I ain’t getting into it right now Seriously I got that pic from some site This kid with his mouth shut up with string They found him in the attic dude |
| ARTHUR | THREAD, ROBERT |
| ROBBIE | WHATEVER, ARTHUR |
He placed his hand over chest. His heartbeat thumped against his shaky fingers. Above him, in the attic, came muffled scratching.
| ARTHUR | Robbie This place is haunted AF |
Arthur stayed in the bedroom until 2:36 AM. Through messages, Robbie insisted that Arthur go back out to face the mouthless boy, or that he at least check out the attic. Arthur argued back, picturing what he thought he saw at the end of the mezzanine. It’s just a house, he kept telling himself. It’s just an old house with mice scratching around in the attic. It’s just the eeriness that comes in the early hours of morning. But Robbie was relentless.
| ARTHUR | Fuck it, I’m gonna go see if I can find the hatch |
| ROBBIE | Hatch? |
| ARTHUR | The door you pull down to get into the attic |
| ROBBIE | Smarty Arty strikes again LOL Should of had you do all my final exams senior year But dude that’s probably where the ghost lives, in the attic You’re *hatching* a plan here dude LOL |
| ARTHUR | Are you high again? |
| ROBBIE | When am I not |
He used the flashlight function on his phone again and removed the chair wedged under the doorknob. The door opened slowly with a creak. Pointing the light to the floor in front of him, he took a step out onto the mezzanine. His bare feet crunched the scattered pills as he moved slowly forward.
His hands trembled as he walked. The beam of light trembled with him. He stopped near the end and held his breath. In one smooth motion, he raised the light in front of him. It shone directly onto the wall. Nothing was there. Maybe he wasn’t there to begin with, he thought. He released his breath, bringing the light higher to look at the ceiling.
| ARTHUR | Found it I’m going in |
| ROBBIE | Duuuuuuude This is gonna be SICK Get me a pic of the ghost |
| ARTHUR | There’s no ghost Robbie FFS |
As Arthur opened the hatch, the scratching stopped. He tugged on the light cord, but the bulb was blown. Shining the phone light, he caught a glimpse of a figure. He jumped back, but then he made out the rather overweight shape it formed.
“Uncle Stuart?” he said with a crack in his voice, stepping toward him. “Stu, you alright? I thought you said you never come up here…”
Uncle Stuart’s eyes stared, unblinking. He raised his hand and scratched his bleeding fingernails across the wall.
“Stu?” Arthur said louder, right into his ear.
Uncle Stuart didn’t respond. Across the walls, marked by his fingernails, were scribblings and blood. Most of what was written was covered over by other scribblings. One phrase stood out clearly, written in fresh blood: DO NOT LOOK AT HIM.
| ROBBIE | Did you find the ghost Art ARTHUR |
Heart racing, Arthur shoved Uncle Stuart and shouted in his ear. Uncle Stuart stayed in the trance. Scratching. Scratching.
| ARTHUR | Robbie I don’t feel safe here I gotta get out NOW |
Arthur tumbled out of the attic, leaving the hatch open. His hands trembling, he turned around. The beam of light stopped on the mouthless boy. Instinctively, Arthur looked at his black, sunken eyes. His own widened, and he couldn’t move his limbs. His phone vibrates in his hand as Robbie’s messages came through. He released the phone, and with a soft thud, it fell onto the carpet of the mezzanine.
The boy spoke without moving his mouth… Wait, he doesn’t have a mouth, Arthur heard himself think, as though not a conscious thought of his own. A thousand or more voices spoke at once in words that he couldn’t comprehend. There was no movement across the smoothness beneath the boy’s nose, but Arthur could hear those voices. They started in whispers and proceeded to screams, echoing limitlessly in his head…
| ROBBIE | Oh shit dude What happened??? GET THE HELL OUT OF THERE NOW This site says 6 people went mad Claiming they saw him and heard him Like WTF that’s creepy AF How can you hear him when his mouth is shut up with string? Thread WHATEVER So this kid’s parents claimed he was possessed Kept screaming in like demon talk So they shut up his mouth Then he died mysteriously in the attic *Mysteriously* LOL no this is serious!!! Apparently there’s some like moth about him though *Myth LOL he’s not a moth, ducking autocorrect If you look at him you go mad ART DON’T LOOK AT HIM DUDE Art? Art??? ARTHUR??? |