It’s Halloween and no one gives a shit what I’m doing, tonight. My neighbor, Ryan, is about to host a party at the old Chesterfield house. It’s an old house near the Poinsett Bridge, just outside Greenville, South Carolina. It’s rumored to be cursed or condemned, or something.
The story goes that a group of children once played hide and seek in the abandoned Chesterfield house. During their game, someone else arrived. There are a few versions of the story. The most popular one is that an old, psychotic hermit had been squatting there. When he found all the children playing hide and seek, he took it upon himself to find all of the hiders and axe each one to death. As with most urban legends, there are other variations to this part of the story. In one variation, the hermit blows their heads off with a shotgun. In the most gruesome version, the hermit uses a sickle to castrate the young boys. If this urban legend is true, then there’s only one variation that can be true. I pray it isn’t the one with the sickle and the castration.
The Chesterfield house always seemed like a great place for a Halloween party. And so, Ryan, with his charm and wit, got a bunch of people to help him buy tons of weed and booze for the event.
***
I adjust my fake beard and wizard hat. I carry a staff in my left hand. I’m dressed as a warlock, but nobody cares. I trail behind Ryan—who’s dressed as a lumberjack—and a group of three. There’s Jay, he’s dressed as a cowboy. Coby is Mike Myers from Wayne’s World. Then there’s Nick, he wears a Nacho Libre wig, fake mustache, and cape. They walk ahead of me and drone on about college football; who’s gonna make the playoffs and who’s gonna win the AAC (or whatever it’s called) championship. Bunch of stuff that I don’t care about. Occasionally, one of them will glance back and look at me sideways. This time, it’s Jay, with his dumb painted-on beard and rancher hat.
“Reid,” he says, “are you some, like, Harry Potter character or some shit?”
“I guess,” I say. “I’m a warlock.”
“A what?” He thinks it’s cool to pretend not to know what a fucking warlock is.
“A warlock,” I say. “Like, a male witch.”
“That’s retarded,” Jay replies. “And you gotta drag that damn stick around?”
“Yeah, man. It’s my magic stick.”
“His magic stick!”
The guys laugh.
Coby chimes in. “Do you think he’ll get laid with his magic stick?”
“Yeah,” says Nick, “you gonna work some magic with that stick?”
They aren’t even original. Their jokes suck. I wonder why people like these guys, or ifthey even like them at all. What is it about them that garners respect? Is it the nice cars their parents buy them? I mean, I have a pretty nice car. Is it their machismo and their confidence? What is it, exactly? I don’t know. I’m just not seeing it. I don’t even like them. So why do I follow them around? Why do I still try and get them to like me?
“Who’s tryna play hide and seek at the Chesterfield house?” Ryan asks.
“Hell no,” says Jay. “I ain’t tryna fuckin’ die.”
“Jay thinks that shit is real,” says Coby, with a stupid laugh.
“Dude, look it up,” says Jay. “They found bodies.”
“Okay, like, so?” Coby asks. “Doesn’t mean some damn ghosts, like, hung around.”
“I ain’t tryna find out, dude.”
“Ah! He’s scared! You scared, bruh?”
Ugh. These guys are fucking obnoxious. I wonder why I care that they don’t like me all that much. That they don’t like me at all, rather.
We arrive at the Chesterfield house. It’s a two-story place made of white siding that is wooden and rotting. There’s a porch where the potheads smoke. The steady bump, bump, bump of heavy bass emanates from the speakers inside. Colorful lights flash. There’s the continuous walla-walla of partygoers. I won’t be surprised if the floor caves in by the end of the night, and everyone falls to their deaths. Wouldn’t be much of a loss. Bluish moonlight illuminates the place, but only slightly. There’s a long path of stone steps that lead up to the house. The path is surrounded by overgrown grass. The doorsteps creak loudly as we ascend.
We go inside and the old house has life in it for just this one night. The party is what I expected. No one really talks to me except to throw out a jab or a little insult. Ryan, of course, has a girl kissing on him within the first five minutes of our arrival. In the corner is a keg, which someone tries to assign me, wanting me to refill people’s drinks. I don’t feel like it. Sure, it probably beats standing around, but I don’t know.
Jenny walks up to me. She’s dressed as tinker bell and has green glitter on her face. She’s the girl that asks me for money every day at lunch.
“Hey, Reid,” she says. “Can I ask a favor?”
“What?” I say.
“Do you have a dollar I can have, for jello shots?”
“I don’t have anything on me. Sorry.”
“Please?” she begs drunkenly.
“I really don’t have anything.” I was lying, but fuck her.
“Reid,” says Jenny, “I’ll suck your dick if you get me a jello shot.”
The sad part is that I actually considered this for a brief moment. Then, I thought of how pathetic that would be. How she probably wouldn’t hold up her end of the deal. How she would spread the rumor around school, the rumor that Crusty Redhead Reid offered a dollar for a blowjob.
“Pretty sure that’s prostitution,” I say.
“What?” Jenny yells over the loud music.
“I said, I’m pretty sure that’s prostitution.”
“No, prostitution’s when you pay for it! I’m spending the money on jello shots!”
“I don’t think that’s how it works.”
“What?” says Jenny.
“I don’t think that’s –
“Ugh, never mind.”
Jenny walks away and goes back to a group of friends. She’ll likely be all over Ryan in a little bit. I go to the kitchen and fill a solo cup with beer and stand there and sip. I see some people—Jay and Ryan it looks like—heading up the stairs. Ryan has his arm around a girl. They’re either going up there to tag-team her, or they’re going to look for ghosts. Whatever. I decide to follow.
I get to the top of the creaky stairs. There’s a long, dark hallway. Each side of the hallway has two doors. At the end of the hall is a window from which a beam of moonlight floods in. Ryan, Jay, and the girl, Anna, walk around at the end of the hall and check the rooms. They don’t know I’m here, yet.
“Boo!” I shout.
The three turn to look at me. Their heads turn the way a little kid’s might when his grandfather clears his throat disgustingly.
“Oo, I’m scared,” Jay says.
“Good try,” says Ryan.
I head down the hall, toward them.
“Go back downstairs, Reid,” says Jay.
“Why?” I ask.
“Because.”
There’s a void in his response, of course. None of these guys ever have the balls to say what’s really on their minds.
Anna’s dressed up as Madonna. She’s all over Ryan. She’ll probably be on top of him, later. Meanwhile, I’ll go home at around 2 when everyone starts to get real drunk and mean and honest about how they really feel about me. Any girl that goes home with me would become the laughing stock of the school. That’s why none of them come home with me. Ever.
“Check this room out,” says Jay. He enters a room at the end of the hall.
We walk in. The room is trashed from decades of squatters and vandals. There is broken glass everywhere, and things like GOOD VIBES ONLY and SUCK DICK spray painted on the walls. Cobwebs hang from the ceiling. You’d think they were Halloween decorations, but the irony is that they are real, huge and thick from the abandoned homes of hundreds of spiders.
“Hey, look at this,” says Ryan.
He points to a patch of wall that has a spray-painted message. DARE: PLAY HIDE & SEEK ON SECOND FLOOR.
Ryan shrugs. “It’s a dare. We gotta do it, now.”
“Hell no,” says Jay. “This place is condemned.”
“We’re already here,” Ryan replies. “Nothing’s happening. Everyone’s downstairs, partying their faces off. Come on, let’s do it! I’m bored. The party sucks.”
“Yeah, let’s do it,” I say.
“Shut up, Reid,” says Jay. “No one cares what you think.”
“No one cares what you think, motherfucker.”
“Oh, nice. I’ll have to fuckin’ remember that one.”
“Guys, shut up,” says Ryan. “Okay, Reid, you’re it. Start counting.”
“Why’s he it?” Jay asks.
“It makes sense,” Ryan replies. “We’re always avoiding him, anyway.”
The three chortle. Anna is drunk off her ass and would laugh at anything, at this point. I let out a fake laugh, embarrassed. I then turn my back to them.
“I’ll count to twenty,” I say. I begin to count. “One… Two… Three…”
I glance over my shoulder to see Ryan, Jay, and Anna look at one another mischievously and then run out of the room to hide. I know I should keep looking over my shoulder. But, in the interest of fairness, I keep my back turned and place my hands over my eyes. When I get to the count of ten, the door slams. I startle. The slamming sound is followed by the ghoulish giggles of Ryan, Jay, and Anna outside the door.
“Guys?” I call out. “What are you doing?”
I walk to the door and place my hand on the knob and push. The door doesn’t open. Their giggles continue. It’s one of those doors that opens outward. They must’ve wedged a chair against the knob.
“Guys, stop,” I say. “Let me out!”
Their laughing has gone hysterical now. And then, their laughter begins to fade as they trot down the hall.
“Hey!” I yell. “Guys, let me out! Come back! Don’t do this!”
I pound and pound on the door. I shout for the next few minutes, but they’ve gone. I tire and turn around with my back to the door. I stare into the darkness of the room, which is dimly lit by the moon. I gaze into the dark corner. I squint. I think I see something.
There’s a figure, there.
It’s just barely visible, real fuzzy in the midnight murk. It’s transparent, too. At least, I think it is. It looks like an old man with a disheveled beard. I think he’s a hobo. I recall the story about the hobo that murdered those kids in this very house. I wonder if I’m next.
“I-I can’t leave,” I say. “Otherwise I would.”
The figure does not respond. I gaze at him and look into his eyes. They aren’t malevolent. They are sad, actually. These eyes know isolation very well. They know what it’s like to be cast out like some sort of leper.
A long moment passes. The old man then lifts his arm and points to the side of the room. The rest of his body is frozen. I peel my eyes away and look to see what he points at. In the corner of the room, sticking out from beneath a pile of junk, is an axe handle. I had not noticed it, before. I walk over to it and remove the junk from on top. I look up. The old man is gone. I pick up the axe.
I walk to the door and raise the axe and swing it into one of the panels. The weak wood gives and there’s now a big hole in the door. I reach my arm through. Sure enough, there’s a chair propped against the knob. I yank on it and remove it. I open the door. I step into the hall.
The party is still bumping, downstairs. I look around the hallway. I notice that one of the doors are closed. I walk to the door and press my ear to it. Two people are fucking inside. I can tell from the moans that it’s Ryan. They locked me up and then just went into a room to have sex. Unbelievable. Something comes over me. Is it me? Or is it that specter, I just saw? I don’t know, but I start to get real mad. I remember all the shit these people have done. How shitty of a friend Ryan is. How he’s not really a friend at all. How people like this need to be taught a lesson.
Axe in hand, I grab the doorknob. I turn it real slow. I enter the room. Ryan has his back to the doorway. He stands and has Anna pressed against the wall. She faces the doorway, but her eyes are shut. She’s too preoccupied to notice me. I tiptoe toward the two of them. Then, I raise the axe. Fuck it.
Just as I raise the axe, Anna’s eyes open. She sees me. Her moans become confused grunts. Before she can say a word, I swing the axe down into Ryan’s bare upper back.
Blood gushes as Ryan shouts with shock and pain. He slumps to the floor. I peel the axe from his body. Anna is now curled in a fetal position against the wall, naked and terrified, totally exposed and vulnerable. I raise the axe and bring it down into her head. There’s a crack as the rusty metal breaks her skull, and then a squelch as it crushes the soft tissue of her brain. Every muscle in her face freezes. She drops to the floor. I place my foot on her shoulder and wiggle the axe around to try and remove it. Ryan is still on the floor. He groans in agony. Even if he were able to scream, it would not matter. His party, downstairs, is too rowdy.
I hold the axe in my hands. I stare down at Ryan. He lies there on the floor, blood pooling from the wound in his back. He looks up at me, eyes wide and confused.
“Ruh… Ruh… Reid,” he groans.
I raise the axe. I plunge it into his face, which splits like melon. Blood and brain matter splash this way and that. As I remove the axe from Ryan’s face, I hear footsteps coming up the stairs.
“Yo!” That’s Jay’s voice. “You let him out, already? Why?”
I hide by the doorway and wait. Jay enters the room. He squints into the darkness, his back to me. I wait for him to realize what has happened.
“What are y’all doing?” he asks. He does not realize he’s talking to corpses. He looks closer. “Oh… oh my god. Ryan?”
I swing the axe into the back of Jay’s leg, right into his hamstring. He lets out a weasely whine as he drops to his knees. He rolls to his back. As he looks up at me, I swing the axe down into his shin. He screams as I repeat this several times. One last crunch, and his right leg is removed from the knee down. He is beside himself with pain, now. He can no longer muster a scream.
I am about to finish the job. I glance to the side and see the old man’s specter, again. He stands in the corner of the room, bathed in shadow. He points to a shabby old night stand. I approach the night stand. There is nothing on it. The old man continues to point. I open the drawer.
Inside is a sickle.
I reach into the drawer and grab it. The old man is gone, again. I gaze at the rusty, curved blade as I recall the other, grislier version of the Chesterfield urban legend. I suppose there’s a bit of truth in everything.
Jay lies on the floor and groans, defenseless.
I approach, sickle in hand.