One November First morning the mailman knocked on her door to deliver a package, and the door opened to reveal Mother Hubbard, dangling naked from a rope in the middle of her living room. She hadn't written any kind of suicide note, and the police had noted that it would have been impossible for her to stand on anything that high up. The case remained open, even to this day, as they could not ascertain how anyone could have hung a rope from a fifteen foot high beam.

---

Author's note: This is my first attempt at a submission. Just a warning...there will be homophobic slurs, foul language, references to excrement, bad jokes, puns, sexual situations, Homo-erotic themes, horrific elements, blood, gore, lapses in judgment, poor budgeting techniques and more stuff that will probably offend someone somewhere. If these types of themes bug you or trigger unwanted feelings or emotions, then please move on to the next story...ye have been waarrned.

---

One Dark and Stormy Night
Chapter One
 
 
Dean Buckhold answered the door wearing jeans, steel-toed hiking boots and a tattered red-checked flannel shirt unbuttoned over a dirty t-shirt that might have been white at one point in time. "So we're really fucking gonna do this?"

I grinned. Me and Arnold Severence stood in the light of the entry way. "Yeah, we're really gonna do it."

"Unless you chicken out!" Arny piped in.

Dean motioned for us to enter. Shutting the door, he looked at Arny. "I ain't chickening out you pillow-munching butt-pirate."

I sighed. Ever since Arnold came out of the closet, Dean had been picking on him.

"At least I'm out of the closet," Arny said with a smile. "You still haven't come out, Darling? Be sure to let us know when you do."

"God I fucking hate it when you talk like that." Dean said, plopping down on a battered tan sofa in front of his television set. "You never talked like such a fucking fairy when you weren't sucking cocks."

Arny continued to smile, his eyes dancing in the dimly lit room. "And you weren't such a HEATHEN BASTARD, either!"

I could tell this was going no-where so I chose that moment to butt in. "Alright you two, take it easy. We're all friends here, so shut the fuck up and lets go to Old Mother Hubbard's."

"I still can't believe we're really going to do this." Dean said, reaching for a large metal flashlight that had been standing on the nearby coffee table. "Old Mother Hubbard is going scare the homo right out of you, Arny."

Arny laughed at that, and the tension in the room eased. "Let's go before hot-pants here get's too scared to move."

We stood up. I shouldered the backpack I always wore. I'd re-stocked it with everything we might need for our overnight excursion.

"What the fuck do you have for us tonight anyway, Steven?" Dean said as we left the house and walked down the darkened street. The wind was beginning to blow and the oak trees raised skeletal arms against a bright moon. The sun had long set on the sleepy town of Sedona Arizona, and we made our way up the lane.

"Oh, A little of this, a little of that," I said.

I could almost hear Dean's eyeballs rolling in his head. "You know, ever since we were in boy scouts in the fifth grade, you been carrying that fucking pack. Don't you think now that your thirty you can let go of the scout motto 'be prepared."

"Hey fucktard, this backpack has gotten all THREE of us out of many a jam, and you KNOW it."

Arny laughed. "You remember that time in the Grand Canyon and the whole rest of the troop ran out of tp? Jeezus, steven, how many do you have in there anyway?"

I chucked. "Just two rolls. I figure that will get us through."

Both of my friends laughed out loud.

"Well, they aren't very BIG rolls."

"Fuck, I don't think I'm gonna have to take a shit all night!" Dean said, a little too loudly as we walked into the deepening darkness.

After that we walked quietly, each left to our own thoughts as we drew nearer to what had always been known to be a haunted house. I began to shiver a little; I'd worn a fleece light jacket, but the wind bit at the exposed areas of my neck and wrists, causing a chill to run up my spine. Well, in actuality, I don't know if it was really the cold, or if I was scared witless for what we were about to do.

Brenda Hubbard had lived at the top of Oak street, in an enormous house in the older neighborhood of Sedona. She'd been a crystal-cruncher...what we in Sedona called people who came to the area for the more "spiritual" side of the community. Sedona was a nexus of spiritual type folks who were "Drawn" to the natural apex or whatever the fuck they were within the boundaries of the town. Mrs. Hubbard had been divorced and owned a small store near Telaquepaque, a ritzy fashion shopping place in the heart of Sedona. She sold crystals of all shapes and sizes for many many years, and no one had ever known her to take a lover, or have any kind of companion whatsoever.

We had trick-or-treated at the house when we were kids, and Mrs. Hubbard had answered the door wearing little more than a light yellow dress with her gray hair pulled back into a severe braid. I'd never known her to have any color at all in her hair, always grey, and her skin was wrinkled and sun-darkened by her long hours hunting for crystals in the canyons around the area. She had a broken voice, scratchy, as if she needed to cough, and always welcomed us by name no matter what costume we happened to be wearing.

Then one November First morning the mailman knocked on her door to deliver a package, and the door opened to reveal Mother Hubbard, dangling naked from a rope in the middle of her living room. She hadn't written any kind of suicide note, and the police had noted that it would have been impossible for her to stand on anything that high up. The case remained open, even to this day, as they could not ascertain how anyone could have hung a rope from a fifteen foot high beam.

The house stood empty ever since. Oh, it had been ravaged by scavengers of both the rodent and human varieties. The yard had gone to weed, the trees grown wild...but no one had ever shown up to claim the house, and for some reason the city had failed to reclaim it, so it had stood empty all these years...and of course, the stories grew.

"Jesus, fuck, I'm shivering." Dean said, as he pulled his flannel shirt tighter around him.

"I think you're scared," Arny said, in a high tight whisper.

"I'll admit I'm scared," I whispered back, looking at the distant house looming in the distance.

"The stories ain't true, we know that," Dean said.

I laughed. "Yeah? So how the hell did she die with her feet dangling ten feet off the ground with no ladder in sight?"

Arny nodded. "I'm scared too."

"Fucking pussies, the both of ya." Dean mumbled, but I knew he was scared too.

"So what's our plan?" Arny whispered, as we drew nearer to the house. The trick-or-treaters had long departed this area of the neighborhood, and the house stood silent sentinel against the looming grey rock of the nearby cliffs.

"We break in, and find a place to camp for the night in one of the bedrooms," I whispered back.

"Why the fuck are you two retards whispering?" Dean said in a too loud voice.

Arny and I both shushed him as we walked up the long gravel driveway. "Because, you dumbass," I said, hissing into the darkness. "We are still breaking and entering!"

Arny giggled slightly, and I hit him on the shoulder. His eyes were bright and he had a grin on his face so his white teeth could be seen very clearly. I hadn't seen him this happy since...well...in a long time.

Dean shook his head, and walked up the path, shoulders rolling. Arny and I both followed behind.

Dean was a large man, six feet four inches and weighed over two hundred and seventy pounds. He'd never been "Fat" per se, just very large with wide wrists and huge shoulders. He strode up the driveway, and into the back yard, pulling aside long strands of grass and weeds that had grown well over our heads. We made it to the back door, and Dean tried the knob.

"Locked," he said in a loud voice.

"Shh!" Arny and I both chorused.

"You got anything in your magic pack to open this bitch?" Dean said to me.

I nodded and unslung my pack. I'd known the doors would probably be locked and the windows long boarded up. I'd gone to several locksmiths shops in preparation and had found a smith's key, something that looked like a folding pocket knife, but had many steel picks for various sizes of locks. I'd also researched when the house had been built, and had practiced on an old antique lock I'd found in a thrift store so I knew I could open the lock without any trouble once I knew the pattern of the tumblers.

I took out the smith's key and peered down at the lock. I inserted a pic into the lock to feel for the tumblers. It took me two or three tries to find the right pic, but within a few minutes I had the unlocked the door.

"Bout fucking time," Dean said as he tried to open the door. The knob turned easily, but the door was jammed tight against the wood, probably from years of moisture forcing the wood to swell against the jam.

Dean leaned against the door, hard, trying to force it open, but it wouldn't budge.

"Fuck, I am not going to be stopped..." Dean heaved on the door, "by any" he heaved again, throwing his shoulder against it. "Fucking...." He kicked his booted foot against it and it began to budge.

"Door!" He threw himself into the door, and it finally opened about 6 inches.

"There's sand on the bottom!" I said, still whispering, though God knows why.

In the darkness I could see the door had jammed against the sand that had piled in around the joints and on the floor. I reached in with my fingers, and tried to push some of the sand away. I could feel stickers and broken glass as I scooted as much sand as I could away from the door. Dean pushed after each time I swept my fingers under the door jam, each time opening it a little wider until we could slip through.

"Think we should shut it?" I said after we had entered, whispering.

"Fuck no." Dean said in a loud voice. "Some fucking ghost wants to butt-rape me and I'm going through that door with our without you guys."

Arny tittered at that, his eyes still very wide in the darkness. Dean turned on his flashlight and we strode into the darknened hallway.

"So where are the fucking bedrooms?" Dean said, after we'd gone a few paces.

"Upstairs," I said, pointing.

"How the fuck you know they upstairs?" Dean said.

I took off my pack and reached into the pouch and pulled out three floor plans, handing them each one.

"See here? This back door is the servants entry. This hallway connects to the kitchen at the end there, and the dining room beyond. On the other side of the kitchen is the entry way and living room where Old Mother Hubbard dangled her last dance. Beyond the living room is the parlor and the stairs are on the far side. Upstairs there's four bedrooms, and the attic.

"Least there's no fucking basement for shit to come out of," Dean said.

"Steven, can I have my flashlight now?" Arny said in a nervous voice.

I handed him a black rubber flashlight, and took out my own.

"OLD MOTHERRRR HUBBBARRRD!!!" Dean called loudly striding down the hallway into the kitchen.

Arny tittered again, and I noticed he was pressing himself up tight to Dean, who didn't seem to mind one bit.

"Well, I guess we can talk in normal voices, " I said in a low tone. "If there's any ghosts here, they would be gone by now."

"You can't really believe all that shit, right Steven? I mean, how hard is it really going to fucking be to stay a night in the dump?"

I nodded as we entered the kitchen.

All the appliances had been taken away, leaving gaps and holes in the wall where rodent droppings lay on the tattered wooden floor. In one hole, some enterprising bum, or bums, had created a latrine and the stench of aged piss and shit wafted up to us as we peered down into the darkness.

"Guess we found a place we can defecate our excrement." Arny said in a high voice. I noticed he was gripping Dean's arm tightly, unconsciously, and Dean seemed oblivious to the action.

"Yeah, let's make this the latrine," Dean said. "Okay by you, Steven?"

I nodded in the darkness. "Yeah, I don't care." I reached into my backpack and pulled out a roll of toilet paper, and set it on the nearby counter.

"Groovy," Dean said as he left the kitchen and entered the dining room.

The house opened up here, but all the windows had been boarded up long ago. I raised my flashlight up to the ceiling and traced the beams. A couple of birds, disturbed by my lights, fluttered among the rafters and we all chuckled as we were startled by the sudden sound.

"Almost pissed my pants with that one," Dean said, and Arny tittered in response.

We followed the dining room and passed into the entry way, peering into the living room beyond.

"Think we should go in there?" I said, whispering again for some reason.

"Fuck no," Dean whispered beside me, and Arny crammed tight against the both of us.

We walked up the stairs, each step creaking loudly at our unaccustomed weight. The smell of dust, cedar, and shit mixed gently with another sweeter scent...one I couldn't identify. Almost like perfume.

"Sachet," Arny said as if reading my mind. "I smell Lavender sachet."

"Figures you'd know what the fuck it was, butt-pirate," Dean said in a low voice.

"My grandmother used to wear lavender sachet, asshole." Arny said, releasing Dean's arm as if suddenly realizing who he'd been hanging onto.

Dean rolled his eyes and shook his head, and we continued up the creaking stairs.

Upstairs, the rooms were arranged in a square with the bathroom midway between two doors, and the opening to the attic midway between the other two doors.

"Which one should we go into?" Arny said in a tight whisper.

Dean walked down the hallway..."Eany" he pounded the first door. "Meany" pounded the second door, "Miny" pounded the third door, then strolled to the last door around the square. "MOE" and he turned the knob suddenly, and opened the door with a flourish.

Arny gave a little scream as the door opened and birds fluttered out into our faces. My heart pounded in my ears and I could see spots before my eyes as I suddenly realized what they were. I laughed in response to my scare, and my friends laughed with me.

We entered a bare room. A mirror hung on the far wall. From the light of my flashlight I could see yellow walls with a flower patterned wallpaper that had given to mold around the seams.

We all walked around the room, each of us carefully avoiding looking into the mirror.

"It figures of all the fucking bedrooms in this house, you'd choose the one room with a mirror," I said in my normal voice.

"Want to go pick another one?" Dean said.

I glanced at Arny, remembering my fright of the birds fluttering out of the darkness and into our faces. "Nah."

"You know what I want to know?" Arny said, flashing his light on the floor of the room, then up to the ceiling where the triangular windows had been boarded up.

"What's that, ass-muncher?" Dean said.

"I want to know how those birds got in here."

At that we all scanned the room with our flashlights. I could not see any holes in the ceiling, or in the sides near the top of the room, and there didn't appear to be any bird droppings on the floor, although there were plenty of rodent droppings, and it looked like in one corner the roof had leaked as a dark stain had spread tendril fingers down from the ceiling, along the walls, and onto the floor.

"That is kind of strange," I said, still looking.

"Who gives a flying fuck?" Dean said. "I say we stay fucking put, right fucking here. We stay the night, and in the morning, we'll be able to see their roost, if that suits you two."

I nodded, and lowered my pack to the floor.

"So now what?" Dean said, sitting cross-legged on the floor, and pulling out a cigarette.

"Must you do that in here?" Arny said in a dismissive tone.

"Fuck yeah, I must."

Arny shook his head, and waved his hands in front of his face even though Dean had yet to actually light up. "You know, Dean, someday you're going to be in a bar, and people are going to be bragging about how long they've been smoking. The first guy will say, since I was 12, and the second guy will say since I was 8...and then they'll get to YOU, and YOU'LL have to tell them...since I was THIRTY. Who the hell STARTS to smoke when they are THIRTY YEARS OLD??"

I laughed loudly as Dean blatantly lit a cigarette and puffed on it, blowing a stream of smoke into Arny's face.

"Well, at least I'll only have been SMOKING since I was thirty. At least I didn't up and say, 'Hey everyone, I'm a butt pirate! After watching that fucking Cowboy movie. "

"Hey, that was a brilliant film," Arny said in a soft voice.

Which was all true. After watching "The Movie" Arny associated so strongly with the characters that he went home and told his wife and kids that he was really and truly homosexual and had been for a long time. Then he came over to my house and lived with me for the next three years. I'd never actually known him to take a lover, but his speech pattern gradually shifted to a more effeminate style and he began holding himself much different, dressing different...hell...it didn't bother me any, to each his own.

"Aren't you going to at least offer us one?" Arny said, glaring at Dean and the cigarette he was holding.

Dean blinked. "You guys don't smoke."

He took out the pack and offered it to me first, and I shook my head, frowning. Arny took a cigarette from the packet, sliding it out real slow, kind of like a girl would, then holding it between his knuckles pointed straight up at the ceiling. Then he placed it between his lips and fluttered his eyelashes at Dean leaning toward him, who promptly dug out the lighter and tossed it to him.

Arny gasped in mock indignation, but lit his own cigarette somehow making the entire act a flamboyant effeminate affair.

Dean looked at me. "So?"

"So what?"

"So let's get to playing, meathead."

I laughed. "Okay, okay. Let me get everything out."

As I pulled out the compendium and my Dungeon Master score sheets, notes, and script I'd prepared for the evening, Dean chatted.

"I been looking forward to this all week. We haven't played D&D since Graduation Night, You guys remember that campaign?"

I rolled my eyes. "Remember it, I still have all the sheets."

"You're shitting me!" Dean said. "Let me see them!"

I shook my head. "I didn't bring them *with* me tonight, but I still have them in my campaign book."

"Aww, man. That was the best ever!"

I chuckled. "Well, I've aged some, and I've published some, so you two are in for a treat tonight. I've been working on this for weeks."

Dean rubbed his hands together. Both of my friends eyes were lit up like jack-o-lanterns in anticipation of the night's fun.

***

We didn't need to roll up characters. I had a dozen character sheets from a variety of past campaigns, and I selected the two I thought would benefit my friends the most.

"Kiri FastLucious and Gar Hammon", I said handing my two freinds their sheets.

Dean laughed. "Kiri! It's been too long darlin'!" He grabbed the character sheet and placed it in front of him. Arny took Gar Hammon, grinning, his effeminate gestures briefly forgotten.

"Gar wanted to fuck Kiri in the worst way," Arny said, staring down at the sheet.

"And Kiri would have none of Gar's dark good looks. She's a tough bitch, you can't just jump in the hay with her, you twit."

I took out the dice and we began our campaign.

I'd set up a small portable card table and we all sat on the floor and crowded around it. I had brought a small electric lantern with spare batteries. We had spent many a night in various places in our campaigns, but the crowning achievement was to spend a night in Old Mother Hubbard's House. We'd never been brave enough to do it as kids, so when Dean had called us a month ago to invite us, we both jumped at the chance.

As the campaign started, I could hear the wind beginning to blow. The nearby towering oaks creaked and we could hear loose ceiling tiles flapping up and down as the breeze intensified.

The first couple of hours passed uneventfully, but as night drew closer to midnight, we all felt the chill of the house deepen.

"Fuck, I'm getting cold," Dean said after getting Kiri out of a particularly nasty combat scene with a couple of Orcs.

"Warm your hands on the lantern," Arny said and laughed. He had nearly dropped all his effeminate charms over the past couple of hours, and it was almost like old times.

"Should have brought a heavier jacket, I s'pose." Dean said, standing up.

We all stood, stretching after being hunched over in our intense campaign. "This is fucking great, Steven, you always know how to keep us entertained. I think I could play one of your campaigns non-stop for a month and not get fucking bored."

"Me too!" Arny said.

"Thanks guys. It's nice to know we can still be old farts and able to share a good campaign. Is always better when you have good players."

Dean stepped over to the mirror, standing sideways to it, and gazing into it's silvered and dusty surface. "You guys think it's strange for the mirror to still be here after all these years? I mean, it's not even cracked or broken."

I shrugged at that, walking over to stand next to him.

Arny licked a finger and drew a happy face in the dust.

Dean modified the happy face into a demon with a giant pecker.

"You fucktard," Arny said, laughing at the line drawing on the mirror.

Something about the image bothered me, like we were desecrating something rare, so I pulled a car shammy out of my backpack and wiped off the rest of the dust.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Steven."

"What?"

Dean shook his head. "Only you would have a proper tool in your fucking bag to clean a 50 year old mirror. I bet that thing hasn't been cleaned in decades."

"I like to be prepared," I said, trying to steam the surface of the mirror a little with my breath to get rid of some streaks. The shammy squeaked as I pressed harder on the surface.

"There," I said, stepping back to admire my handiwork. "Clean."

Dean rolled his eyes. We all gazed into the perfectly mirrored surface.

"It is strange," Arny said as we stared.

I nodded. It was almost hypnotic. The room was perfectly reflected in the surface of the mirror; the small card table, the electric lantern, my GM screen, the dice, the rafters...all of it. And us of course, standing, Dean the tallest, then me, then Arny...three in a row in front of a mirror in a haunted house.

"This is the part where the ghost of Old Mother Hubbard comes back from the dead to snatch our living souls to hell." Dean grinned as he spoke.

"No, it's the part where we notice something in the mirror that's not quite right...not reflected as it should be," I said in response.

I could feel chills rolling up and down my back as we continued to stare.

"Nope," Arny said. "It's just a stupid mirror. I have to go to the restroom."

Dean and I both laughed at that. "You know where it is," I said.

"Someone go with me?"

"You're kidding, right?" Dean said. "You're a grown man, Arny, no matter what."

I was taken a little aback at that. For once Dean did not come back with a homophobic slur.

"I know, but it's dark and I'll have trouble holding the flashlight." He looked at me in the mirror. "Please, Steven?"

For once Dean didn't argue. "Go ahead. I'll just peek at your GM sheets while you're gone."

I chuckled, this was an age old joke. "You know you won't."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Go on already, hurry up. Kiri is wasting her time in that tavern trying to seduce a warrior into revealing the location of the dungeon."

We all laughed in response as Arny and I headed out of the room and down the stairs.

We made it to the kitchen with little problem, the both of us carefully avoiding looking into the living room where the woman had died. Arny squatted over the hole and did his business, while I shone my flashlight around the rest of the kitchen looking at what was left.

There was very little left in the house of any value at all. All the appliances were gone, all the cupboards had been smashed, or the doors were removed and hanging askew. Dust hung thick in the air with spider webs attached to the few remaining areas. A thick layer of sand coated the floor, and I could see our footsteps from when we had entered.

"Ummm...Steven?"

"Hm?"

Didn't you leave a roll here?"

"Yeah it's on the cabinet to your left."

A pause as I looked into some other cupboards. Roaches, crickets, beetles and other bugs skittered away from the light.

"Steven?"

"Hm?"

"It's not here."

I blinked. "Of course it is...you must have knocked it onto the floor."

"I don't think I did. And it's not in the hole...I can't find it anywhere."

I moved my flashlight to where Arny was still somewhat squatting over the hole in the floor. I let it play on the cabinets and over the floorboards, and even down into the hole where Arny had recently conducted his business.

"That is weird," I said.

"What can I use?"

I shook my head. Okay, no one would have been prepared for this eventuality, I'd left my pack back in the room. "I have another roll in my pack. I'll go get it."

"Okay, hurry." Arny's voice sounded high and kind of thin. I knew he was a little scared, he didn't like horror movies, or scary carnival rides. We'd had to convince him to do this.

I jogged through the house and pounded up the stairs. I ran to the room and over to my pack where I pulled out another roll of TP.

I stood up. "Arny lost the Tp..." my voice trailed off as I realized I was alone. "Dean?" I said in a loud voice."

My little table still stood where we'd left it, my GM screen, the dice, the papers, all of it. The mirror glimmered in the reflected light of my flashlight, but Dean was no where to be found.

"Cut the crap asshole, where are you?"

I waited for an answer, and received none.

"God, you are such a fucktard."

I ran back out of the room and down the stairs. I tripped on the last one and nearly fell on my face, but was able to turn at the last moment and my shoulder took the brunt of the fall.

"Oww, fuck!" I said loudly, rubbing my shoulder.

I got up and brushed myself off, then walked through the hallway and through the kitchen.

I approached the place where the hole was in the floor. I could see my footprints in the dust where I'd been here previously, and the other roll of toilet paper sat in the exact same spot I'd put it when we'd walked in. I shone my flashlight around the area, and down...into the unsoiled pit where Arny had conducted his business.

It was empty--sans excrement. And so was the room.

My friends were gone.

I was alone.

---

 
To Be Continued...

I performed a thorough search of the house. I even went into the living room, thinking maybe if I was in time, or if they appeared hanging by the neck maybe I could save them and to prepare for such an occurrence, I had retrieved my Gerber multi-tool from my backpack and extricated the blade in case of wayward friends suddenly appearing with a hangman's noose around their neck.

 

---

Author's note: This is my first attempt at a submission. Just a warning...there will be homophobic slurs, foul language, references to excrement, bad jokes, puns, sexual situations, Homo-erotic themes, horrific elements, blood, gore, lapses in judgment, poor budgeting techniques and more stuff that will probably offend someone somewhere. If these types of themes bug you or trigger unwanted feelings or emotions, then please move on to the next story...ye have been waarrned.

---

One Dark and Stormy Night
Chapter Two

I performed a thorough search of the house. I even went into the living room, thinking maybe if I was in time, or if they appeared hanging by the neck maybe I could save them and to prepare for such an occurrence, I had retrieved my Gerber multi-tool from my backpack and extricated the blade in case of wayward friends suddenly appearing with a hangman's noose around their neck.

I wanted to go home. I didn't want to be in the house, alone, my friends gone, with all these fucking birds.

Up and down the stairs I went. I yelled for them, calling. I'd decided they were playing a prank so I went back to the bedroom and sat looking at the campaign notes, pretending to be cool as a cucumber in case they popped back into the room saying "Surprise!"

But no such occurrence happened.

I took stock of the situation, pulling out a notebook and making a list of things I knew.

A: I was alone in the house.

Something I never liked being in the most generous of circumstances, but here in this house on this night, alone in the dark with the wind blowing...and from the look of the sky it looked like a real storm brewing. I hated being alone.

Hated

Being

Alone

B: No trace of Arny and Dean.

I looked at our footprints...and they were just my footprints now. I didn't see the flashlights I'd brought them, and the player sheets for Gar Hammon and Kiri were still in my backpack and looked like they hadn't been played...

C: I hadn't searched the attic

D: As far as I could tell, there was nothing remarkable about the house in the slightest. Except for the mirror.

E: There was that attic...

F: And birds.

I stared at my list. The alone thing wasn't something I could do anything about at the moment. I didn't want to call the cops...because I didn't know how to explain the fact that I had two missing friends, and only one set of footprints leading to the house. I also didn't want to *leave* the house for fear the night of Old Mother Hubbard's death was repeating itself and somehow my friends would reappear with new neckties.

I really really tried to find a trace of Arny or Dean. I searched the hole Arny had crapped in...the bums dried old excrement was down there but I could see no trace of anything new. No footprints, no character sheets, no discarded flannel shirt, no hairs, nothing to show that I had arrived at this damn house with anyone other than good old me, myself, and I. I even pulled out my cellphone and stared at my contacts list, over and over again I searched but their phone numbers were no longer lodged in it's tiny memory banks...even my cellphone had forgotten my two best friends. For the life of me, I could not remember their actual phone numbers...and at first I was startled at this, but then I realized it could have been natural because I didn't really remember *anyones* cellphone number once I had entered them into the list.

The rain started. I could hear it hitting the roof. I could smell the moisture in the air, the smell of damp earth. I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply the aroma of rain and that faint tang of lavender sachet...

The attic. Yes, we'd come back to that one.

The mirror. I stood and stared into it's surface. I made faced at it, and everything reflected perfectly and in sync. I touched it slightly, and it didn't shimmer or burble, or suck my finger into it's silvered surface to the mirrorworld beyond my imagination to comprehend.

The birds....ugh, there were dozens of them. I didn't really recognize the breed...they were, you know, birds. Brown and small feathered bodies. They were strangely silent in the house, and there were a LOT of them..more than I think would have entered the house naturally over the years. I'd seen a thing on the nature channel a few years back that said to watch birds to see where and what they eat for a general idea of where and what *I* could eat when I was lost and alone in the forest. I tried to watch one bird, it was up in the corner sitting on a decorative molding that arched up into the darkness. The bird's eyes reddened at the glint of my flashlight...and it sat...and sat...and sat...and when I stood it fluttered away to mix with the other dozen birds in the house...and I gave up trying to pin one down.

The attic...damn.

I went back to the mirror. The rain was causing the moisture level in the room to rise. The mirror was fogging slightly as a result...and...

As I peered closer, I breathed onto the mirror.

Drawn, perfectly rendered in it's surface...was the demon with the giant pecker that Arny and Dean had created a few hours earlier.

"Arny!!! Deaannn!!" I yelled again, my impetus renewed.

I ran around the house, down the stairs, into the living room. "Arnyyy, Deannn!!!"

I shone my flashlight up into the rafters hoping against hope that maybe they were there, maybe they had been released by...whatever it was...or were back from wherever they went.

Nothing. Running back into the kitchen, I yelled again, then into the dining room, down the hallway, into the foyer, and up the stairs. The birds were the only things disturbed by my continual running and again I wondered...where had they come from?

Enough. The Attic.

The stairs to the attic folded down from an entry in the top level hallway. I pulled it down and shone my light up into the arid darkness above.

"It's just a fucking room," I said. "Who the fuck cares if you accidentally got locked in the attic when you were a kid? It can't happen here, there's no lock on the door, there's no way you can get stuck up there."

My heart was pounding as I slowly mounted the stairs, my mind still remembering the time as a 12 year old little boy I had stupidly crawled up into the crawlspace above our house playing hide-n-seek and the ceiling entry had accidentally slid sideways sealing me for hours in the hot darkness. My dad had found me, dusty and crying. I'd clung to him as he pulled me down from the crawlspace, not wanting to ever let go.

"Arnyyyy, Deannn."

My voice got softer and softer as I ascended the stairs. I poked my head above ceiling level and shone my flashlight into the darkness, letting it play around on the covered shapes.

The rain pelted the roof, and I could see many areas that were leaking. I knew it wouldn't be safe going in there, knew I could easily fall through the ceiling and at least part of the area was above the Living room where the drop would be a killer.

My body shaking in fear, I slowly walked into the attic, hunched over to clear my head of the slanted roof. The "floor" beneath me was wet in some places, and I carefully tried to step on wooden slats spreading my weight as evenly as I could. Some steps created alarming snaps and creaks as I walked further and further into the darkness...my beam playing along the surface of the floor.

"Arrnnyyy, Deannnn." I said, my voice barely above a harsh whisper in fright.

The sachet smell was much stronger up here, and I realized some of the covered shapes must have held clothes belonging to the Dearly Departed. I didn't really want to lift any of the coversheets, but I angled my light around each on carefully, hoping against hope that maybe my friends were still playing some kind of elaborate prank.

I could see the far wall of the attic. Furniture sat silently in this part of the room, all of it covered in dusty white sheets. I coughed after bumping into an overstuffed chair that created a cloud of dust to float over me.

"Arnyyy," I played my light along the back wall...to some more covered furniture..."Dea..."

I never finished that word as the name of my friend died on my lips...

Because...in the far corner of the attic...

One of the pieces of "furniture" appeared to be moving.
 

---

 
To Be Continued...
 

I grit my teeth against the terror I felt. Whatever it was, was writhing about 10 feet in front of me. I moved closer, the flashlight beam shining straight and shaking like a leaf in a hailstorm.

One Dark and Stormy Night
Chapter Three

From the roof, a hole allowed water to sluice downward, trickling through the darkness to fall on large covered object. The dirty cover moved with the action of the water, hence creating the illusion of something writhing from farther away.

I felt stupid as hell, as I flung the cover off the piece of furniture...

A grandfather clock. It had long ago stopped. The wood had seen better days, obviously it had been wet at one time. The wood had warped a bit, but the head of the clock was largely undamaged and I could see the dial and the Grecian numbers.

I have this thing about jigsaw puzzles. If there's an unfinished jigsaw puzzle sitting on a table in a room and I happen to know about it, I will seek out said puzzle and finish the damned thing with single-minded determination. It's a glitch I have, almost savant-like, and I have completed many puzzles that did not need to be completed.

Coming next in my savant-like mania is unwound clocks...

I opened the door of the Grandfather clock, and pulled the winding chains 10 or 12 times until I felt a resistance. I tapped the pendulum, and the second hand started to move with a soft click. I carefully set the time on the clock to my cellphone time which was set to the U.S Naval Observatory (no this wasn't a leap year).

No creature. No ghosts, goblins, devils, gremlins, or other dark creatures of the night. Just fluttering birds, and a piece of fabric that was moving with the dripping rain.

I exhaled softly, feeling a little more relaxed. Two minutes to midnight. It seemed like it should be later. Dean and Arny had been gone less than an hour.

Birds fluttered nearby, and I pointed my flashlight up toward the hole. It wasn't really wide enough for birds to enter and leave, so I didn't think the bird mystery had been solved as of yet.

I sat down against the wall, facing the large clock. It was nice to see a true grandfather clock in the day of LED accuracy. I wondered why all the furnishings had been left to age up here, obviously there was some decent items covered.

I leaned my head back against the wall, closing my eyes, trying to relax just a little. "Arnyyyy, Deannnn."

Sighing, I stood up. They obviously weren't going to find themselves, and I walked back toward the stairway entrance.

I spied a couple of birds perched on some funishings...their eyes, glinting red in the darkness...and I remembered snipe hunting.

A snipe was a fictitious bird. Every boy scout on their first camp-out from time immemorial has probably been suckered into a snipe hunt. The older boys of a troop will take the younger ones out into the forest where they are told to hold a bag between their legs with a flashlight shining within . They are then told that the older boys would go into the bushes, and scare the snipes toward the younger boys, and all they have to do is close their bags when they hear the snipe enter it. Sometimes they are told to make some silly call...goootch gootchgootchgootch..etc. The older boys then head back to the campfire for some fun and frivolity while the younger scouts wait in the forest for a bird that never comes.

I had waited until dawn...

I wondered, briefly, if this was some type of grand snipe hunt. Dean and Arny waiting for me at home, laughing, while I wander around the house terrified out of my wits. In fact, I made up my mind that was *just* what was happening...after all, Dean was a computer genious and could have easily blanked their numbers from my cellphone while I had been with Arny...and Arny could have quickly covered up all but my tracks with a whisk brook and picked up what was probably a plastic-covered dime store doo-doo pile out of the pit.

The more I thought about it..the more sense it made...much more sense then them actually disappearing due to some heinous spirit in this old house. The house was just old, I was a sucker, and we'd all laugh when I got home.

I shook my head at my gullibility, grinning, and was just about to step on the stair leading downward to the second floor landing...

...when said stair abruptly swung upwards on it's own accord, slamming shut.

"Nooooo!" The little boy inside me who had been trapped in the crawlspace came roaring to the surface...I quelled his terror, and jumped up and down on the stairs, knowing this was a stupid move if said stairs suddenly opened. I would spill down them, possibly injuring myself in the process, but at that point I didn't care, I just wanted out Out OUT!

The stairs remained steadfast in their resolve.

I jumped some more, hoping futilely that the stairs would open, yet they were stuck fast, appearing as if they were part of the ceiling.

The hole in the ceiling. I ran back to the far side of the attic. Perhaps I could pull some of the shingles loose and widen that hole and at least call for help. As I passed the clock...It began to chime midnight.

I stopped, staring at the clock, the face reflecting my flashlight beam. It chimed one, two, three...

Two birds lit on a nearby chair as the clock was chiming. I ran to the hole, moving a chair underneath, yelling for help, okay, screaming as loud as I possibly could scream. I stuck my hands up into the darkness and could feel rain. I hauled on the sides of the hole, could feel the old tar squish between my fingers. Water sluiced down my face from the rainstorm outside. I was able to get both hands up into the hole, and I pulled, dangling from my fingers....pressing my mouth up to the hole and yelling as loud as I could..."Helllp!!!!"

Behind me, the clock stopped chiming.

Panting, I turned...and the two birds in a cold explosion of light became Arnold Severence and Dean Buckhold.

"Where the hell have you guys been?" I yelled, for the moment not registering the avian transformation.

Eyes shone in terror, the whites completely encircling their pupils. Bother heads turned in unison, looking back into the darkness.

From somewhere in front of me I could hear someone chuckling...low and throaty...and very very feminine.

"Ohhh, Steven!" The voice approached. "You don't know how long I've *waited* for someone like you."

I've read novels about bowels loosening and terror gripping and all the convenient adverbial and adjectival clauses to help describe utter terror. It felt like butterflies exploding in my belly after being shot from a cannon at close range.

"RUN!" Dean said in a low loud whisper. Arny nodded quickly, his head bobbing up and down.

I wish I could have run. I wish I'd had somewhere to run *to.*

"We have soooo much to talk about, you and I."

I could barely make out a figure walking toward me. I could hear her feet, no shoes, gently padding toward me as she walked into the circle of my light.

For a dead person, Mrs. Hubbard looked damn good for her age.

"RUNNNN." Dean hissed again.

But I couldn't. Petrified, I shone my flashlight full upon what had once been Brenda Hubbard.

She had developed curves in the years she'd been among the dead. Her breasts were full and firm, her skin slightly pale, but full of color. Dark of hair ruby of lips which were wide with mirth. Her yellow dress clung strategically to all the right places and I briefly wondered what had truly happened to her.

"Well? Aren't you going to say anything, my dear dear boy?"

Dean's hand gripped me then, gripping me hard. This time I didn't resist, I allowed myself to be pulled in his direction, around...Mrs. Hubbard, and toward the stair.

We ran, all three of us.

"Ohhh, dear. My new pets have decided to be very naughty." Her voice was full in my ears, even though we ran across the attic to the stair.

We got to the stair. "That's what I was going to tell you, somehow she sealed it and we can't..."

Dean pounced onto the stair with all his might. As if in shock, the stair opened, spilling him down, Arny and me running after him.

Down the hall we ran, Dean limping from his tumble. We didn't even think about the bedroom with my pack, we tore through the upper landing, and down the stairs.

Through the entry, into the Dining room, and into the kitchen we ran, Dean's hand clamped firmly on my shoulder. We got to the door, and Dean pulled up short.

"Run home, and don't turn back."

I looked at him, then at Arny who was nodding, a look of misery on his face.

"I'm not *leaving* you guys, you can come with me."

"We can't." Arny was crying. "She's got us, Steven. But not you. All these birds are children she has taken over the years, the singles. You don't know what she *did* to them Steven, she ATE them!"

"What?" I still hadn't processed what they were saying, but I could hear...whoever it was...approaching. "No! Come with me!"

Dean looked at Arny who shrugged. They stepped forward.

I opened the door, ready to run into the wet night with my two friends...but just as I crossed the threshhold and out into the yard, there was that silent Flash again, and my friends were gone. Two birds fluttered around my head.

"No!" I yelled, stopping.

"Yessss," came the voice, her voice.

"Let them go!" I said turning to face her. Rain fell in huge droplets pelted by the wind.

In the doorway she stood, making a pinup pose. "Come in, and let's talk about it."

"What do you want from me?" I said, crying fully now, tears mixing in the rain. I was cold and wet and tired and shaking from fear.

"Very little, I assure you Steven. You were soooo kind to wash my mirror. You are *exactly* what I've been looking for all these long years and I *promise* your friends will be allowed to go with you after we have reached our agreement."

"Will they be human? Or will they still be..." I waved my arms at the fluttering above use.

"Yes, I promise. They will be human. Now, come inside. I will make us something mmmmmm warmmm, to eat and drink. And we shall have a little chat. And then your friends can go home with you if you decide to take my offer."

I looked behind me. It wasn't much of a choice. Either go back and agree to...whatever it was...this woman wanted, or turn around, walk home, and forget all about the friends I had left behind.

Then I thought about my pack...still in the room above. And I thought about my little secret that I hadn't shared with Arny, or with Dean. I felt a little glimmer of hope as I nodded.

"Okay, but no funny business." I said, and I followed her back into her haunted house.

Brenda Hubbard...the creature that used to be Brenda Hubbard..gave a low feminine chuckle as she shut the door behind us.