The Blue House

​ The house across the street had always been mystifying by my standards; with its peeling blue walls and obviously decomposing front door. It was the only shriveled-looking house in the entire neighborhood, having existed much before I’d moved into my house 30 years ago. No one seemed to live there at all. Or ever. The roof was always dripping with rainwater and the garden overgrown with weeds. The battered “FOR RENTAL” sign still stood there, the words now almost unintelligible. No one went near there, for it was guarded by gruesome rumors. I’d always let the rumors enter one ear and out the other, though. There was no point in squandering the fragment of brain I’d salvaged for more important memories. They were only the typical neighborhood chatter anyway. Rumors came and went, most eventually fading after a couple of years. But there was one that stuck- the only one that managed to penetrate my frail little brain armor. In fact, much to my dismay, it was the only thing that I could think about in my elderly years. After all, I did live across the street from that little blue house and couldn’t avoid seeing it everyday. It was routine for me, a 60-year-old grandmother, to sit in my creaky rocking chair on my front porch, knitting a maroon blanket, and gazing upon the ugly house across the street just to ponder for the umpteenth time the only rumor that was rendered interesting enough to stick. Yes, I’d heard many things in my time here. Alien invasion, mafia campsite, and whatever else young people imagined. I’ve heard it all. But this one- this rumor- was, I’ve decided, closest to the truth. It was said that a young couple once lived here, a long time ago. They were a happy couple; as happy as they could be in a boring town such as this. But one day, the husband left to hunt and came home looking half-dead. He told the wife to get out of the house. They had argued. When she’d refused, he had snatched his hunting knife and stabbed her multiple times. The neighbors claimed that they had heard screaming, but no one knew what had happened. By the time the police arrived, the husband was fast asleep, perfectly sane when he was woken up, but died of a heart attack the next day. The house had been uninhabited since then. I’d watched as the occasional wrong-in-the-head thrill-seeker wandered into this neighborhood and into the house. I never saw them again.

Today was no different than all the others. I made myself some fried eggs for breakfast and hobbled to my rocking chair at exactly 9 in the morning.

“Good morning Mrs. Ivington!” Jonah Clark called from the house beside mine. Or was it Jonas? I smiled in reply and continued knitting. What a friendly gentleman he was. He even helped me around the house sometimes when Florence (my…maid was it?) wasn’t present. I could only remember her from her odd choice of hair tie color- hot pink. No one wore such…obnoxious colors in this gray town. Speaking of Florence, where was she? I wasn’t paying the girl for nothing. Floors needed to be mopped and bedsheets changed. I would chastise her for her lateness later. But Florence never showed up.

It was 8 in the evening but Florence still hadn’t come. I couldn’t say I wasn’t irritated, as that would be a lie.

“Where is that girl…?” I muttered as I grabbed my walking stick and rose from my chair, bones creaking. This behavior could not be tolerated. All the families in the neighborhood were dining together as usual, the window of each house lit up with distant sounds of laughter and clinking of cutlery. I sighed heavily. My own family lived in the heart of London, visiting me only on special occasions. Whatever. I didn’t like them very much anyway. Florence was the closest to family that I had. But that girl still failed to appear. 

Maybe I should go look for her at her house…

Indeed, that seemed like a wonderful idea. It wouldn’t be long- only a half an hour walk. It would be good for my health too. I sighed and managed to descend creaking stairs, unbothered by the unsettling shadows that the Blue House (as I liked to call it) cast upon the street. My bones ached as I shuffled down the steps; I hated being old. Hobble, hobble. The night air was off, the wind barely blowing and the birds deadly quiet. Hobble, hobble. I could barely see the road. The street lights needed fixing. Hobble, hobble. The lights flickered, and in a split second, they shut off completely. I was enveloped by darkness, yet again. These young fellows were seriously testing me with their irresponsibleness. I guess I could manage in the dark. Hobble. Crack! A twig? My hands flew into the air, my cane lost somewhere on the ground. I could feel the wind hit me in the face as I tumbled forward onto the rocky street. My hands landed first, taking on my full weight. Pain shot up my arm, and I crumbled to the ground. How embarrassing. I tried to lift myself up, the effort causing my muscles to burn and my bones to crackle. Oh, how I wish I weren’t 60. Suddenly, the lights flickered back on again. I grasped my cane tightly and attempted to haul myself up. Stupid tree branch. 

“Allow me to help you.” A soft voice spoke. I raised my head and squinted at the blurry figure before me. Without waiting for a response, the person grabbed both of my biceps and lifted me to my feet. Hmm. 

“Hmph.” I groaned. How dare they touch me? At least I was back on my feet. I wondered who it was. Jonas, perhaps? Or was his name Jonah?

“Are you alright, madam?”

“Yes. Thank you.” I said hoarsely. “And you are…?”

“Mr. Fruit. Solomon Fruit. It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Ivington.” Solomon answered quietly. “Allow me to bring you some tea and possibly clean up that scratch on your hand. It must hurt.”

“Alright.” What could possibly go wrong? Mr. Solomon Fruit seemed nice enough. As it turns out, I was very wrong.

He led me to the entrance of his house, I could not see which one as it was very dark. But a chill fell upon me…the first since I was still a youngster. How odd. 

“Careful, Mrs. Ivington.” Solomon said soothingly. I hobbled slowly up the creaking steps, each one groaning under our weight. Old. Very old. Standing there, on Solomon’s front porch, it felt like I had entered a whole new world. And not a pleasant one. It smelled oddly metallic, yet with a tint of rotting- much like an animal had died somewhere there. I scrunched my nose and hoped the smell would pass. I did not comment on the odd smell. His front porch was very cool, even though it was mid summer. It felt as if I were in one of those freezing gadgets. What were they called? Refrigerators? I involuntarily shivered at the cold and the funny feeling that had settled on me. My spine felt tingly and my sweat glands seemed especially excited. Interesting. I heard a soft click and realized that I could see better. Solomon had turned on the lights. I didn’t register much of my environment, just that the walls were a faded shade of blue, the wooden door looked like it had been through a lot, and the ceiling was lined with spiderwebs. I turned around to get a better look at Solomon. He was wearing a dark robe that stretched all the way down to his toes. His face was mostly covered by his snake-like hair, but his eyes…they really stood out. Two maroon colored eyes stared back at me from sunken sockets. They reflected the light like how I imagined my kitchen knives did. What a startling appearance. His pale lips were pulled back in a tight smile that seemed to be their limit. It was more monstrous than human, but I wasn’t about to comment about my host’s funny smile. He was rather beautiful, yes, but in an unsettling way.

“You grew up here?” I decided to ask Solomon as he guided me through the creaking doorway.

“Yes. Do you prefer floral or black tea?”

“Floral, please.” I answered with a smile. What a kind gentlemen. He helped me into one of the many sofas in the vintage living room and headed toward what looked like an old pantry to make tea. I folded my hands in my lap and looked around. There was a big fireplace with a dark stairwell next to it. Tea cups sat on the fireplace, probably once beautiful. There were figures propped everywhere, too. They looked very realistic- the meerkat on the fireplace looked like it was alive. He had a rather decent taste for furniture and antiques. Take it from an old woman. I heard the soft sound of the fire crackling as Solomon heated up the water.

“Very fine figurines, these.” I commented, nodding at the different animals that were propped all over the room.

“Thanks. I made them.”

“Oh?”

“Taxidermy.” He stated casually, as if it explained everything. It did not.

“You…hunt?”

“Of course. How else would I get my food?”

“You ate these?” I studied the taxidermic cat next to the sofa…Wait. HE ATE THESE?

“No, no. I don’t eat all that I hunt. The prettier catches get turned into taxidermy. It’s not often that you get such rare animals.” He chuckled fondly. What an interesting man. His work was seriously neat, but personally, knowing that these animals were once alive made me quite queasy.

“Are these all?” I asked curiously, studying the albino mouse in an apron that was propped on the tea table.

“Nope. I keep the more valuable finds upstairs. Those are larger too. I can show you, if you’d like.” I didn’t answer him. I was curious, but climbing stairs had proven to be an arduous task multiple times. A second later, a marble tea cup was set before  me on the tea table. I picked it up and sniffed it. The pink liquid inside smelled like a botanic garden jumbled in a single cup. I took a hesitant sip. It was sweet, too. I rather enjoyed the taste.

“What’s in this?” I questioned, taking another sip.

“It’s my secret recipe.”

“Where’d you get these flowers?”

“I picked them from the forest near here, where I go hunting.” I nodded in approval. Solomon sat down on the sofa across from me and picked up his steaming tea. Now, in much more light, I could see him more clearly. He had tied his dark hair back into a ponytail, which revealed his gaunt face. His eyeballs seemed to be threatening to pop out of their sockets as they constantly darted around the room. I took another sip of my tea as Solomon stared at me intently. Suddenly, he smiled. Not the tight smile he’d offered before. A wolfish smile that for once, reached his eyes. His white teeth were slightly pointy, I realized. What an odd man. I thought, offensively, that he looked much like the zombies they put in children’s stories to scare them.

“May I…show you my collection of taxidermies?” I could not resist such an eager young man’s request. I was impressed by his sudden excitement to introduce me to his passion. He was practically exploding with excitement. So I agreed and he carefully led me to the stairs after I finished my floral tea. With his help, climbing stairs was much easier. He wore black gloves, I noticed, when he held my arm to lead me up. What a funny man.

When we finally got to the second floor, which I was surprised to see was lacking a door, we were immediately met with a giant bear. It had its paws held high, its teeth bared and ready to bite. I gasped and put a hand to my chest. Was this how my miserable little life was going to end?

“Mrs. Ivington! It’s alright- it’s just a taxidermy.” Solomon quickly assured me. I breathed hard. However, I did not miss the flicker of…some other emotion in his face as he’d said that. I might’ve had failing eyesight, but my quick observation skills were as good as they were back then. It briefly occurred to me that Solomon might be hiding something. For some unfathomable reason, my memory drew me back to what I had noticed about the house when I had first entered. Something seemed oddly familiar. Hmm.

“I’m alright. Go on.” I quickly dismissed it. We continued walking, with Solomon guiding me around the giant room. Every inch of the room seemed to be filled with taxidermy. I marveled at the beautiful work.

“How long did it take you to make this one?” I asked, gesturing toward the tiger that he introduced as a Sumatran tiger.

“About a year.”

“Remind your old lady, how many animals do you have up here again?”

“Just about 242. There are some currently in the making.” I nodded my head in approval. This man was seriously talented. But as we continued through the collection, my head started to throb. It got worse. I could hear my heart beating with every step, gradually increasing as well. My legs started to feel numb, like they weren’t a part of me, and I struggled to walk. It was late, after all. Maybe I was simply tired. I didn't know if I could make it back the way we came. This showroom seemed to extend on forever.

“And this one I killed very cleanly…” Badump. Badump. Badump. “...with a 300x shotgun.” Badump. Badump. Badump. Yet again, I found myself thinking about those oddly familiar blue walls. I had seen them somewhere before…My racing heart wasn’t helping either; if anything, it was just making my condition worse. Of course! My maid…what was her name? Franky? She hadn’t shown up this morning with my daily heart medications. That girl was going to cause the death of me!

“Solomon. May we stop here? I am not feeling well and think I should go home. Perhaps you can continue showing me the rest another day.” I finally managed to say. I felt really bad for sweet Solomon, but I really was feeling sick.

“But we’re very close to the end!”

“I’m really sorry, my sweet Solomon. But I am old and cannot last very long.”

“Can I at least show you my favorite collection?” He seemed so much like a kid. I couldn’t reject a kid. Except for that wolfish grin of his…

“Alright. And what may that be?” I asked tiredly, my head pounding. Badump. Badump. Badump.

“The Homo Sapien collection.” He smiled pleasantly. But one second later, he went from begging child to…I didn’t even know how to describe it. He smiled murderously at me, his eyes turning even redder. Perhaps it was just the tiredness…Badump. Badump. Badump. Wait. Human collection…?

“My dear Solomon,” I said shakily. Something was wrong. Seriously wrong. BADUMP. 

Blue walls. 

The house across the street.

“I’m afraid I really cannot continue. I must take a rest.” My head felt lighter, the only feeling left was the throbbing in it. As if my heart had replaced my brain. Solomon’s face was becoming blurry. I struggled to look at him straight. His face wasn’t right…Badump. BADUMP. 

“Oh, but you won’t be going anywhere, old lady.” His face was suddenly in front of mine. His smile…it was no longer sweet. His eyes…Badump. Badump. Badump.

“Solomon.” I snapped sternly. I had to stop this madness. Solomon had to bring me home.

“Have you aspired to join my wonderful collection?” He asked sweetly, his breath in my face. It smelled of rotten meat and cigarettes.

“Excuse me?” I shrieked. How dare he? My brain felt like it was slowly disintegrating as it ran for its life.

“Ivington. Such a curious name. A new name to add to my collection.” He suddenly gripped my shoulders harder. BADUMP. BADUMP. BADUMP.

“Unhand me this instant!”

“I think not. Welcome to your day of judgement.” He giggled. My blood boiled. What foolish joke was this? I tried to hobble, but my legs refused to move. Suddenly, I was suspended mid air. It finally occurred to me that Solomon had swept me off my feet and was carrying me to…Oh no. No, no, no! That’s when I saw them. Even with my failing eyesight and extra-blurry vision, I could make them out. Oh no. No. The outlines of them…clear as day.

Bodies.

“Have you aspired to join my wonderful collection?” Solomon’s words finally made clearer sense.

I looked around, searching for…I didn’t even know. Something caught my eye. A hot pink hair tie… Badump. Badump. Badump. Standing up. Half stitched on what looked like an operation table. Oh, that face rang a bell. I could sort of recall…

“Florence?” I croaked.

I could not move. My eyes darted around desperately. Oh no. The traveler that disappeared. He was there. Staring at me. Eyes bulging. In a human-sized jar. Badump. BADUMP. BADUMP. No. I couldn’t breathe. Suffocating. BADUMP. BADUMP. BA…

“Did you enjoy my floral tea?”