The Hidden Room

by Woodruff Laputka

Allow me to impart to you the story of my late friend, Mr. Frank Patten.

It was, to memory, on the night of October the 24th that Patten bumbled his way up my doorstep and slopped his large hands against the front door. I was moderately resting my eyes in the parlor when I heard the clumsy rapping and then a shift of his attention to the front porch window, rattling is madly and for a moment attempting to pry it open. I opened the front door, half dazed and apathetic to any possible danger, turning the porch lamp on to cast a great shine on his chubby figure. He was covered from head to toe in mud and saud while his suit was ripped all over, and so perplexed was I upon seeing this that I could barley find the time to ask what had happened before he pushed his way inside my house and disappeared into my parlor, saying not a word and stumbling hazardously into the dark of the house. I closed the door and followed him to the couch, where, after several drinks, with me too disorganized by the sight of the man to inquire as to his situation, he began slowly to speak in the relaxed posture of my easy chair: There was a place I thought Diana and I could go to, where we could stay while she healed from her maladies. It was left to me by my grandfather, and never had I cared to venture there until now, nor did any of my remaining family members upon inquiry have any knowledge of the place. I cant say where it is, victor, as I dont ever wish to remember, or think of daring to go back, or dare I say, doom anyone with the knowledge of its location.

We had rented a car earlier in the week, driving through the countryside, Diana in the backseat, cloth over her face to protect from the pollen in the seasons air. I had heard the place described to be of quiet and solitude, and even her doctor suggested it be a good idea, himself having been in the area many times before and knowing the local towns quite well. So we decided to go.

He began to ball his hands into tight fists, staring off into the shadows and perspiring terribly. All was quiet. I leaned from my couch to calm him, only to be batted away with such fat fists and the muted mouthing of a shriek. I settled down on the couch again with amazement, Frank never being anything less than a pure gentleman. After a long pause, he continued: So we decided to meet with my grandfathers lawyer, a tall, cryptic grimace of a man who called himself Mr. Shandler, to obtain my rights to the house. Shandler seemed to be quite fond of my family, and spoke greatly of my grandfather and the times they had when the house had first been built. A great case, he told me, for the land on which it was built had once belonged to a well esteemed family of Portugal, whose stubborn ancestor had liquidated all his assets from his family accept the empty estate in the Americas. Shandler said that the family, in their pride, refused to sell the land, though for what good it was to them was never figured, and my grandfather and Shandler both swayed them through some months of lobbying, finally, to sell. Tthe locals had little interest in affiliating themselves wit it, though Shandler, once again very optimistic, said they were ignorant and knew little. He gave me the key to the house and bid me that if I needed anything at all regarding the it to contact him first. So, taking the map he drew for us, we set out with a travel trailer of our belongings into the wide open country roads that were specified. We passed across many the small romantic towns Dianas doctor had spoken of, and many other places that seemed wholly oblivious to the modern advancements of civilization. At one point, while Diana was asleep, I saw a long caravan of people walking along the road in hot mid day, everyone of them, including the children, carrying great bundle of wood and cloth upon their backs. When they glanced up at me, I saw that they had features of sick arrangement. Pure sign of lineal incest and chromosomal deformity. Something about those people made me shutter, the way they walked in stomping gait and the way they looked from deep-set eyes as the car road passed them, and it repulsed me. Then we turned off from the main road into a network of smaller roads still, and sure enough, far back past a high hill and unkept green did, we came to find the old place, well painted and welcoming he paused again, though only momentarily:

It set behind a large retention pond, some years out of use, and to the right of the yard you could even see the old pipe work far off in the distance, rusted and broken, half submerged in crystal clear water. Apple trees lined the outer walls and the entrance pass, carving a path to the front porch, which held two rocking chairs and an old, hand crafted butter-churn.

I used the key I was given by the lawyer to open the door, though I somehow lost it later pause we settled down quite well in the first few hours, Diana taking her medication on proper time and I looking through the house while she slept soundly on the small back porch that overlooked a massive weeping willow on the closer side of the pond. The house was, in all respects, well endowed, both with hot water and electricity, just as the lawyer had explained. Pluming was outstanding, and drinking water was to be collected from a well out back. This, being from the city, I found to be rather exciting, and with the phone, which also worked with nothing less then elegance, and called to the lawyer that I had lost the key, to which he apparently had in his possession, and to my utter distaste, a second copy. He said that I could pick it up at his office the next morning, though he would not be in, and would leave a note with his secretary to tend to me. Diana insisted I go and leave her to rest and to explore the house on her own. At first I hated leaving her there, but it was her wish, and what is a husband to do if not obey his wifes wishes? Frank began pouting then, though trying to keep it as unnoticeable as possible, he let too much out to be inconspicuous by the shield of his arm, and after a moment or two, completely began to cry loudly in my parlor. I feared he would wake Abigail, but I was too absorbed in the mans obvious pain to even consider stopping him. I let him cry.

After about a good 10 minutes, and two more drinks of Early Times, he receded back into the comfort of my reading chair, staring off with glazy eyes in the cold dark of the parlor, and continued his story.

I left the next morning, as she wished me to, leaving her in her bed, resting soundly and promising her I would be home in a few hours, well with in the limits of her regular prescription routine. Traffic, however, was unexpectedly dense in the city, and I was a few hours late returning with the signed copies of the deed. Of course, I knew how to schedule my time properly, and arrived no less then a full hour before she needed her medicines. I parked the car near a large oak in the front yard, opening the door soundly as not to make much noise. Diana would naturally be resting in the lower bedroom where I left her. He paused again, and I realized that the man was utterly shaken by something of his thought:

I took up the medicine, placing it as usual on a small platter, which I had easily unpacked from a box in the back of the trunk, and took it to the room where she was restingI opened the door, and- he suddenly went cold. I was lighting a dire by this point, no longer able to tolerate the dim cold of the setting moon light through the parlor windows. Turning, I saw his eyes and gasped, for they were ore bloodshot then anything I had ever witnessed in my years. Such stress was there in his gaze towards the end table next to my reading chair, that only the most horrible of fears could ever provoke in such a man as my good friend, Mr. Frank Patten:

Arthur, there was absolutely nothing I had to do with it, I tell you. I dropped the platter, stumbling over my own heels and fell into the floor of the hallway, able to do nothing but stare in horror. Slowly I felt a pull of something wicked in my instincts, forcing me to turn myself over and crawl to the back porch where the door stood open, mockingly. Then, I was commanded to stand, to push my way through the open porch door and than the outside door. Then I started to run. I could do nothing but run. I looked back but once, and in that one glance was filled with more terror then any man should ever endure in all the lifetimes of humanityI stole a car and drove here as fast as I could..I didnt think of calling the police, for never could they believe me like I knew you would- he was trembling, his voice shaking. I stared intently, afraid more then anything of what he was going to say, but wholly curious of what his next words were to be. I knew to say nothing to him, and set quietly on my couch, strangely repelled by the posture of the perspiring, dirty man. The fire was crackling in the Victorian fireplace, setting an eerie, almost malicious glow over my dark parlor. The moon had set, and the dimness of the new dawn began to rise dimly in the windows. But these things I did not see; only the face of Frank Patten as he raised it to me, caught half in fire light, half in utter darkness, with bloody eyes more terrified then all the damned could muster. My mouth was gaped, and my skin tightened in fear.

Arthur he said, I did not kill Diana. It was he gasped, looking at the windows as if noticing something which filled him with pure dread. itwasthe..other..up there in that house! That house had something wrong with it! We were sold a place already owned by another. It butchered her. Tore her to shreds, then returned to some dark room I didnt find in my first look over, boarded up and kept away.. The window on the far end of the house was new to me, hidden by the great willow when I first looked upon the back end. That window held a dark complexion as I ran, barley noticeable, save for the faintness of the figure of a man with one great, terrible eye in the mid day sun, staring at me from indefinable depths of absolute horror-

He stopped, looking suddenly again at the large den window with a look that mortified me into submissive fear of him, for indeed did he see something, though I could not place at all what it was he saw. He leapt up from the chair, mad with fear and crying madly to me, groping my shoulders as if I was the last safe post for him from some unnamable terror which stocked him so. YouYou must help me, Arthur! Let me stay here for the night! Just the Night! I dare not go outside while the sun is still gone,! Please, I beg..You! I could only nod as his demonstration of paralyzed fear brought concern to me that was past all pity, absolutely convinced from the way the man spoke that there was, in fact, something hunting him, and in compassion did I consent to his stay in my upper guest room, away from the ground floor, planning, ofcourse, to call the authorities once I had decided what was to be done with the poor man. I waited with him until 7 in the morning to my clock, walking him to his room and guaranteeing him that he would be safe. He thanked me greatly, biding me a good day and turning to bed, locking his door from the inside.

I awoke to commotion and that eventual gun shot in the later afternoon, having not gained much sleep the past night and took to a nap in bed about mid morning. My wife was at the door of our guestroom upstairs, yelling to Frank if he was alright. She told me that she had heard nothing all morning, then suddenly alarmed by terrible screaming from the room before a sudden inarticulate noise and yet followed by the great, slamming and splintering noise which woke me from my nap, then all going quiet. She tried the lock, but it would not open. I bade her to get the skeleton key from my bureau while I phoned the police. I had so fondly taken to my nap, forgetting the odd stories of the night before and for but a moment leaving behind the concerns of Franks situation. But now it was certain that my worry for his sake had to be dealt with. My wife scurried up the stairs and to the door with the key, turning it hard and swinging the door open. I watched, coming from the phone as I saw her around the corner, jump back in terror, screaming horribly and then crying down the stairs and out the front door. I approached the room quickly, turning into the doorframe to witness what lie with in the warm, quiet room.

I gasped, afraid now more then ever at the accusations my dear friend, the late Frank Patten made about that hidden house. The door was locked. I tried it myself before leaving him be. There was no fire escape that lead to the only window the room possessed, or tree which was remotely near it. Yet, there it was replaced by a massive whole of burst splintered wood and broken glass, the remnants of shredded red curtains, beaming warm light from the mid-afternoon sun into the small room and upon a large black shape to the wall far from the bed. There on the bed was a of large, indefinable contortion of splintered bones and dark patches of hair, the bed sitting on the floor, splintered through its legs by what must have been some terribly great weight. A poignant stench lingered about the room maliciously, and the smell of fresh gunpowder set like smoke to the ceiling.

I stood there for sometime before the police came, staring at the great chunks of meat and bone that caused the officers to gasp with contorted faces and turn from the scene. I stood there and looked at the remains of a hand gripping a pistol, half a face still holding an expression of terror with one glazed eye fixed on the other side of the room. My eyes followed slowly, and I look at the other mass which set dead against the wall in the shadow. It was large, barrel bodied and covered in dark black fur, a pair of great barbed talons, yellow and blotted with blood lay limp on the stained floor atop some newly formed puddle of thick crimson liquid. Tucked away in its mass from the light of the afternoon sun leered a great, shimmering eye, peaking through the bend of one of those fiendish arms. It stared deeply into me, and back did I look, for the thing was most certainly shot dead.