The chilling wind beats against Tyler’s face. It was the coldest fall he remembered. He left his friend Barry’s house, and hoped to get home before it got dark. He decided to take a short cut. He had forgotten that the HOUSE was on this street. The massive gothic looking mansion had been deserted since long before he was even born. His parents told him that whoever owned the property sold it to a developer. They planned to tear it down and turn it into condos.

Tyler and his friends thought it was haunted, and he was warned by his parents to never go near it. It was dangerous. Tyler always felt they knew something about the house they weren’t telling him. It was the way they looked at each other, like something bad happened they didn’t want Tyler to know about.
Brrrrr! It was so cold it had been warm enough for a light fall jacket that morning. Not now. He shivered as the sky got darker. As he passed the old house, he felt like someone was watching him. He looked at the house and saw a light in the window. A shadowed figure of a woman stood there looking out at him.
His heart jumped. Tyler saw her hand raise to beckon to him.

He wanted to run and get out of there, but he couldn’t move.

Tyler was cold and scared.

Why was this woman there? Who was she? Why did she motion for him to come over?

As terrified as he was, something compelled him to go to her.

The door was open. He went inside. With each step the creaking floorboards groaned. Tyler’s heart pounded in his chest.

She was standing at the top of the stairs.

Tyler swallowed. He had to be brave. ‘Who-ooo are you?”

No answer.

With chattering teeth, he asked, “Why-y did you call me here?”

She smiled and pointed to the wall to the right.

That smile, it somehow comforted him. It reminded him of his mother. He was no longer afraid. Tyler climbed the stairs. He stood by the old woman’s specter. She continued to point in the direction of the wall. There was an area on the wall that looked like it had fresher paint than the rest of the hall.

He nodded and with all his strength he kicked his booted foot through the wall. He kept going, urged by the spirit. Then he saw it. A red book lay in the gap between the walls. He lifted it up. The cover was written in calligraphy, The Journal of Harriette Stanfield, volume 85.

He turned; the spirit was gone. He left with the feeling he had to deliver the journal to his mother.
She opened the volume, with a mix of surprise and tears, she read, her hands shaking. “Carl?” she called to her husband. “We need to bring this to the police.” She showed him the diary.

She hugged Tyler. “Thank you, you have no idea what peace you have brought me”

“What did I do.” Tyler asked.

“She was innocent,” she said. “Your grandmother was innocent. She didn’t kill your grandfather. This book proves they had trusted this man. He is the developer who is now tearing the house down for condos. She caught him poisoning my father. He beat her and locked her in their bedroom. He forced her to leave everything to him in her will, or he would finish the job and kill father and her. He clearly did that anyhow. Because they both died. The papers and police called it a murder-suicide. Thankfully, it has taken years of red tape for this man to claim ownership of the property. It’s time this man was brought to justice. Thank you, my sweet Tyler. How in the world did you find this?”

“Grandma’s ghost showed me.”

His mother and father sat down, speechless. Behind Tyler they both saw the old woman’s spirit appear. They watched open-mouthed, Tyler turned and saw her too. She waved goodbye, blew a kiss and they saw her join Tyler’s grandfather. Then both disappeared, smiling. Her name had been cleared.

Everyone knew the house that I bought was haunted.

That's why I got it so cheap.

No, I never feel afraid.

Why should I fear ghosts?

They fear me.

I see the undead. I see their pain. I witness their secrets. I whisper their private terrors back to them. It unnerves them. Ghosts can't physically harm humans, their only attack is upon the heart. My heart is a void filled only by myself.

I'll sell the house for triple what I paid for it, if not more.

Disembodied spirits are pathetic. The specters always flee when they try to scare me.

This house will be no different.           

Happy anniversary, my darling.

Here is the pit that I dug just for you. It's beautiful. Perfect in its smooth sides, and almost flawless circle. Look at how dark it is. You can't see the bottom.

Oh, of course there's a bottom to it. There is no such thing as a bottomless pit. However, I don't want to tell you exactly how deep it is. That would spoil the surprise when you hit the bottom. It'll be far more fun if you guess as you fall, wondering, just how much further it will be until you strike the ground.

Will you scream all the way down? That choice is yours.

Is there water in it?

You don't like surprises as much as I do.

Personally, I'm looking forward to hearing the impact you make.

This is my present to you.

When I was a kid, maybe seven years old, I saw an ad in a monster movie mag for some horror masks. They had a vampire, a Frankenstein monster, werewolf, and a few others. The one that I vividly remember the most was called, Villain Mask. Don't bother to research it, you won't find anything about it on the internet, I've tried, but it was real. You can still find copies of the magazine at flea markets and used bookstores. It was in an issue of Monster Dimension magazine with a ghost on the cover. I used to have a copy until there was a fire in my storage unit.

Back when I was a kid, of course I couldn't afford any of those masks. They were almost a hundred dollars each. They were for rich kids, or older monster fans with deep pockets.

The ad only ran once, but I'll never forget that disturbing mask. Skin that hung like melted wax, with a flesh tone that resembled grimy snow. There was no skin or hair on top of the head, just barren bumpy bone. Dark red rimmed eyes, with cleverly placed holes for the wearer to see through. Rotting fangs hung out of the slack mouth of the Villain. The affect of it all burned it into my consciousness.

I've been an adult for a long time. I still dream of that mask. The company that made them went out of business a few years after it ran that ad. There's no real information out there about them, other than their old office address, and the date of the business closing. No reason for the abrupt closing is available either.

I've met more than a few people who have seen the mask as kids and adults. Even met one guy who had it when he was a kid, but someone stole it. He doesn't have any pictures of it. All his childhood pictures are gone.

How much longer before I'm gone? How much longer before the Villain Mask comes for me and will I get to wear it?

To my mind, the most terrifying thing about this painting is the artist's purpose of chaotic perspective. Nothing is fully aligned or the right size in relation to other objects portrayed in the acrylics. That is something people forget about the cosmic terror of HP Lovecraft, the world itself that his god creations occupy, that is what they want to bring to us, a planet no longer bound by our scientific laws. A place where the changed angles can swallow more of you than just your physical form.

The painting is simply called, A Painting of Children. The two youths, who are somewhat in the center of the scene, are as emotionless as Victorian dolls. Their stare is so vacant that it reflects the empty places of your soul back upon you.

Still, it's the other worldly horror of it that unnerves me the most. The wooden head of a rocking horse is tiny beyond scale, objects suggest being in both the foreground, and the background simultaneously, and some parts of the piece are painted flat. This is why characters in Lovecraft's stories go mad. Seeing the things that cannot be. Law devolving to mad senseless chaos.

It's best if I burn this painting.

I plan to do it tonight, if the painting allows it. I know the angles of it do things when they're not being watched.

 

The bar at the Mexican restaurant was noisy. I sat in a booth waiting for my boyfriend Derek. He was late. I barely noticed the old couple shuffle in across the aisle until I heard the old man bellow above the din. He looked and sounded like an old sea captain with his booming voice and long gray hair and beard. He wore a dirty white knitted sweater three sizes too large. His wife or girlfriend was also quite the sight.

She had long black hair to her waist and wore a blue glittery top over black stretch pants with knee high brown leather boots. Her eyes were heavily lined in black with blue eyeshadow, her lips were full on red and her face pale as chaulk. She looked like a circus clown. Yikes, what a pair! It was the reason my eyes didn’t rest long on them.

There was a walker next to them, for which one I didn’t know. But I knew between the noisy drunks at the bar and the odd couple to my right, let’s call them the Abbies, I wasn't going to get a word in sideways with Derek. And speak of the devil, here he comes now, strolling in without a care. He sat down and the waitress came over and asked if we needed a drink. Boy, did I. We placed our orders. At least it would be quick, the place had really good food and fast service.

Derek smiled, paying no attention to the Abbies, but immediately complained about the noise. “Maybe we should get another seat,” he suggested, gesturing to the right.

The place was packed. I wanted to leave but this was Derek’s favorite Mexican restaurant. Mine too, just not tonight. “Maybe go somewhere else.” Too late the waitress came with our margaritas. We ordered guacamole and queso dip and ate our free chips and salsa while perusing the menu.

I took several long sips of my drink hoping the liquid courage would help. I didn’t know what to say. . . well, yes, I did, but words don’t come easy when you’re about to drop a bombshell. After a while the bar began to to quiet down, but an eruption broke out across the aisle. The old man got up abruptly and announced he had to use the toilet. I think everyone heard him. “And don’t drink my beer while I’m gone,” he yelled, making a spectacle of himself. The woman didn’t pay any attention as he stomped toward the back. Guess he doesn’t need the walker.

“A little annoying,” don’t ya think?” Derek shouted.

“Yeah, he’s a bit gruff.”

“I mean the bar.” He nodded to his left. “It's still loud and the TV is blaring. I’m ready to go.” He groused. “I can’t think in here. Let’s eat our apps then leave.”

I agreed. I was losing my appetite anyway, though the tequila was going down nicely. His suggestion worked for me as I struggled how to end things between us. I hated ditching a good guy, but my recent encounter with a handsome stranger had left me bewildered. He had kissed me like I’ve never been kissed and aroused something inside me I’ve never felt. Pure perfection. I couldn’t stop thinking of him. I’ve only met him twice, at night in the park behind my condo. I’ve never done anything like it before, but he promised me things no man could. A life beyond this one. Sounds crazy, I know, but when I looked into his eyes, I saw the moon. And when I felt his luscious lips on my neck, I knew I would never be the same.

“I’m back,” yelled the old captain as he sat down with a thud. “Did you miss me?” The woman ignored him. I decided she must be his wife.

“Who would miss him,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“Who?”

“The old man over there. “He’s obnoxious.”

“What old man?” Derek asked, stuffing a chip in his mouth. The salsa dribbled on his chin.

I pointed to the table. “The old sea captain and his first mate.” I chuckled. It took my mind off of what was about to roll off my tongue.

Derek screwed up his face and wiped his chin. “Babe, there’s no one there. The table is empty.”

Huh? “What? No way.” I looked across the aisle, the couple sat eating their burritos. I shook my head. “They’re right there.” I pointed. He was stuffing his face like he hadn’t eaten in weeks.
The waitress came over and asked if everything was alright.

Derek complained about the noise.

“Oh, the bar is finally emptying out now,” she said. “It’ll get quieter in a few minutes. Just the local Friday night hangers on. Have you decided on anything or are you still looking?” She asked.

“We need a few minutes.” Derek replied.

“Hey missy,” the old man yelled, trying to get the waitress’s attention. She ignored him.

“I think the man over there wants something,” I said, pointing to the booth.

“What man?” She asked, looking over. “That table’s been empty all night, though I see a young couple heading over.”

“Babe, that margarita is stronger than you think.”

I leaned against the bench and glanced over at the old man. He caught my eye and smiled. “You can see us?” He asked, getting up and putting on a heavy winter coat. The woman got up and slid into the walker’s seat.

I nodded. “I thought everyone could.”

“No, very few people can see us.”

Huh?

“Who are you talking to,” Derek asked, looking confused.

I shook my head. I desperately needed an answer. Why was I so confused?

The old man grinned as he got behind the walker and pushed it toward the exit. The woman smiled, her glowing white teeth shinning like tiny beacons through ruby red lips. “Don’t worry, sweety, it'll soon be over.”

Huh? “Must be ghosts,” I whispered as the old man let out a sinister laugh. The young couple sat down in their place and the old couple moved through the door.  

“Hey, you want to order? It's quieter in here now.” Derek said.

“Ah. I’m not sure,” I gulped, suddenly seeing my handsome stranger appear at the entrance as the Abbies vanished. He extended his hand in a motion for me to join him as his dark gaze found mine. My hand went to the back of my neck and for the first time I felt two tiny puncture wounds. “Oh shit.” I said, realizing my fate was sealed. I would soon be joining the Abbies.

Twelve-year-old Andy stood outside the old caboose in the abandoned railyard. He and his friends had scaled the fence. It wasn’t hard since everyone had been doing it for years, even his own father when he was a boy. But of course, he wasn’t supposed to be here. “’It’s dangerous’” his father had warned many times. Yet here he was with his best buddy Pete and Tyler, the new kid.

The boys wanted to explore the caboose which was supposedly haunted. Andy didn’t think so but as they stood looking at the rusting hulk with peeling red paint, chocked by tall grass and weeds, it was creepy. It stood by itself, off to the side and no longer on the track. Other cars had been removed, but the caboose seemed a lonely old soul destined to remain in the steel graveyard forever. Unless the rumors were true that someone had bought it and planned to convert it into a tiny home. That would be cool.

“I’m going in,” Tyler announced, turning his baseball cap backward on his head. Andy thought Tyler the daring kind. He wasn’t afraid of anything.

We’ll see, thought Andy. After all he knew more about the train since his grandfather had once been the conductor before the caboose and his grandfather were retired in the late eighties.  

Tyler was the first to climb the old steel steps that led to the platform where the door was ajar. Pete followed and both boys pushed on the handle. The door budged slightly making a grinding sound. Andy stood on the ground not sure if he wanted to go inside. It’s dangerous, his father’s words echoed in his head.  The great red beast made of steel and wood certainly looked hazardous with all the rust. He yelled to his friends to be careful.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tyler waved him off. The boys squeezed in through the door. Andy moved up the stairs slowly, watching his friends cautiously go inside the dark hull.

Andy poked his head in and looked around the grey steel compartment. He saw a long bench to his left with a ripped cushion. It was his grandfather’s sleeping quarters. Above he saw two seating areas or cupolas for viewing ahead of the train. He knew the conductor could spot trouble like smoke coming from the axles or something on the tracks and surrounding landscape. The conductor’s job wasn’t easy and often the trip took days across countless states in all kinds of weather. His father had often told him stories passed down to him. Andy didn’t remember his grandfather, he had died when Andy was two, but he saw photos of the old man.

The boys walked ahead commenting on the dilapidated condition. “So old and gross,” Tyler snarled. “Who cares about stuff like this anymore. Imagine living in such tight quarters with only a tiny toilet and sink.”

“I think it’s cool,” Pete said. Tyler dismissed him as he made his way through the musty train and was about to exit when something stirred beneath him. He yelled, tripping over his own two feet and fell backward down the steps landing on the ground.

“Nothing but a mouse,” Pete laughed as he ventured out to see if Tyler needed help.

“I’m not going back in that rat trap train,” Tyler snarled.

“Guess we’re done Andy.” Pete called. Andy ignored him as he slowly walked through the car feeling a sudden burst of cold air. He turned to go back the way he came when he caught sight of the conductor standing not four feet away.

Andy knew at once it was his grandfather. “Nothing spooky about this old caboose,” the old man conveyed to him. “It’s only the passage of time that has rendered it a relic. One we should not forget. Those who do not appreciate the past can never fully embrace the future. Your friend was right. No one cares anymore.”

Andy nodded. “I care. I hope it’s true about someone buying this and turning it into a tiny home.”

“It is. It’s someone from the old rail line. He appreciates the past and will preserve it.”

“Come on Andy,” Pete shouted from below the stairs. “Tyler’s had it. He wants to go home. Says he saw a ghost in the train. Now he’s really spooked.” Pete laughed.

Andy smiled. “Thanks grandpa. I’ll remember what you said.”

“I know you will,” he winked and said, “watch this,” then he disappeared as the caboose roared to life shaking and puffing smoke from the undercarriage, scaring the boys so badly, they ran toward the fence. Tyler was screaming.

"It really is haunted." Andy laughed hysterically.