The House

by Brian C. Petroziello

conclusion

“Do you wear the same uniforms?” shot Minelli quickly, hoping to get a rise from Reison.

Mojo feigned a nasty look. “A psychic, some technicians and high tech equipment. Spend a night or two there. That type of team.”

“How about a seance?” asked Mulhearn.

“Not yet!” countered Reison. “We don’t want to do that until we have a better idea of what we’re dealing with. We don’t want to open the door to something we can’t control. Besides, I really don’t thing we’re dealing with a simple spirit of some sort.”

Minelli and Mulhearn both nodded their agreement, although they were not sure they really understood what Reison was talking about, in spite of everything they had come across recently.

“I’m sure we can arrange it,” said Minelli. “I can get the keys from the family. When did you want to get started?” he asked.

“If possible, tomorrow evening — say seven pm. Did you want to join us? It could prove very interesting,” said Mojo. “I always welcome protection by the police.”

“Just get me something solid to shoot at,” said Minelli.

They arrived at the precinct house around six pm the next evening. There was a white envelope on Mulhearn’s desk. It was from Officer Whitfield, and contained the keys to the Johnson house. There was also a short note thanking them for looking into the matter. Under the envelope was a fax from Brian Peters at the crime lab. Mulhearn leafed through it.

“More scientific stuff, Vince,” he said.

By this time Minelli was looking over his shoulder. “It says to call. I think we should,” responded Minelli.

Mulhearn lifted the receiver and punched in the number on the fax. Peters answered after two rings.

“Hey Brendan. Did you get my fax?” he said.

“Yes,” replied Mulhearn. “But I’m not sure I understand it.”

“If you did, I’d be worried. You didn’t mix anything up with the sample did you?”

“No,” answered Mulhearn. “I bagged it myself, and we drove straight to the lab.”

“OK, the bottom line is that this substance is weird. In addition to the traces of wood, and plaster, there was DNA in there. If I didn’t know better I would say it was some sort of crude blood.”

“I didn’t cut myself,” said Mulhearn. “Unless Vince used his pocket knife to shave with, the blade was clean. Although that would explain his five o’clock shadow.”

“Oh, it’s not human blood,” responded Peters. “In fact it doesn’t match anything that’s ever been catalogued so far. I think you’ve discovered a new species. Other than that, I’m stumped. I do wish you’d call me when you solve this one — if you do! You’ve really got my curiosity up.”

Mulhearn hung up the receiver, and picked up the keys. “Let’s go meet Professor Reison. I’ll fill you in on the way.”

They pulled up in front of the Johnson’s house. There were two vans in the driveway. They joined Doc Reison, who was standing behind the open door of the second van, talking to a technician.

Professor Reison found the results of Brian Peters’ testing very interesting. “That fits in with some things I have been thinking about,” he said. He did not elaborate. Instead he motioned to the back of the van. “How about grabbing a few things?” he asked and disappeared into the house carrying some electronic gadgets in both hands.

Minelli and Mulhearn tried to stay out of the way as the members of Doc Reison’s team set up their gear. There were six men in all, counting the Doc. Occasionally they were called upon to steady some equipment, or to carry some things upstairs. It took about an hour to set things up.

As they congregated in the small parlor where Minelli and Mulhearn had first talked to Mrs. Johnson, Minelli asked, “What’s the first thing we do, Doc?”

“The really important stuff is next.” He unhooked his cell phone from his belt. “What do you want on your pizza?” he asked.

Everyone checked and calibrated the equipment while waiting for the pizza. After they devoured several pies, they went back to checking the equipment.

“Look at this!” yelled one of the techs as he stared at the printout from the machine. He unrolled the graph paper and pointed to the printed lines on the graph paper. “This is a steady rhythm. It’s more than just background noise. It’s steady, and it pulses. I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

“What are the temperature readings?” asked Reison. Another of the team members looked at the printouts from another machine that sat on the kitchen table. Wires ran from the back of the machine in all directions.

“It’s a pretty even 67 degrees everywhere. There’s no more than a degree or two difference anywhere in the house. I can’t find any cold spots anywhere,” the technician replied.

“What about the motion sensors?” Reison continued.

“No movement except for us,” answered another of the team members. Earlier he had passed out tiny transmitters so that he could separate their movements from anything unusual.

They ran through the readouts from several of the other machines without getting any results out of the ordinary.

Finally, Minelli, spoke up, “when we were here before, nothing happened when we were just walking around. It wasn’t until Bren cut through the wall that anything happened. Maybe we need to get the house mad,” he said.

“I agree,” said Doc Reison. “Jim, I think we need that high tech piece of equipment we brought,” he grinned, and Jim grinned back.

“Aye, Aye, Cap’n,” he answered, making a mock salute as he did. He reached under the kitchen table and pulled out a canvas bag. From this he produced a small maul.

“Pick a spot!” said Reison.

Jim went over to the wall next to the steps to the second floor. He braced his legs and swung the maul against the wall. The wall fairly exploded. Plaster and lath showered the kitchen floor. It was as if an earthquake struck at the same exact moment. The house moved back and forth, the floors shook and the walls trembled. The men had trouble steadying themselves. Red lights blinked in alarm on many of the machines.

Even though it seemed like minutes, the motion actually stopped within seconds. Through it all there was a sound, yet not a sound, not something that was heard by the ear, but was felt deep inside. It was like a scream, followed by a long moan.

Mulhearn pushed himself up from the couch where he was thrown by the force of the tremors. He looked in the direction of the gaping hole in the kitchen wall. The red ichor was gushing from the hole, the same kind of gooey red liquid that Mulhearn had sampled just days before.

The technician that Reison identified as Jim was leaning over one of the machines. “Look at these readings, Professor!” he screamed. “They’re off the charts!”

Reison joined him. Jim was pointing wildly at the tracings made by the pens. “Look at how the pulse speeded up. It’s like a pulse racing. It slowed down again.”

“I think it was mad enough, Doc,” yelled Minelli.

Reison examined the hole and the seepage. Jim and another technician ran up the steps to check the machinery upstairs. Mulhearn leapt after them. “Don’t!” he shouted, but he was too late.

Jim had already reached the top of the stairs. He was about to turn down the hallway when the door to the linen closet came flying open. It caught Jim square in the face.

Jim started bleeding profusely from his nose, which now jutted at an odd angle, obviously broken. The force of the blow had driven him back into the technician who was following behind him. Both men tumbled down the stairs, landing at Mulhearn’s feet.

“I don’t think we ought to go roaming around,” Mulhearn said, as he knelt over the men.

He turned to Professor Reison. “Well, Doc, if you had some ideas about what’s going on, this would seem to be a good time to share them,” he said.

“I think Mr. Peters was right. You’ve found a new species. House or home or dwelling. I think this house is alive! And it is wounded, and I think that is a dangerous combination.”

“How can that be?” asked Minelli. “Is this one of those Indian burial ground things?”

“This is way beyond Indian burial grounds, ghosts or poltergeists. I don’t have an explanation. Just the theory.” responded Reison. “But that would explain the DNA in the fluid, the heartbeat and the screaming.”

Mulhearn helped Jim and the other technician to their feet. The second man was doubled over, clutching his ribs. “We need to get these two to the hospital. And we need to consider getting the rest of us out of here.”

Reison motioned to a third technician, and tossed him the keys to one of the vans. “Ralph, take them to the hospital.”

Jim held a handkerchief to his nose to stem the bleeding. He and Ralph were holding up the other technician who had tumbled down the stairs, badly bruising his ribs. They hobbled toward the door. They tried the knob, and the door which had been previously unlocked refused to open. They pushed against it.

Another of Reison’s team leaned against the stove to get his bearings. All of a sudden, the burners came to life. Flames erupted. His sleeve was too close to the front burner and burst into flames. The oven door flew open violently, knocking him to the floor.

Mulhearn sprang into the kitchen and started to beat out the flames with his trademark black blazer. Oh no, here goes another one! he thought as the flames subsided.

Professor Reison had joined his colleagues at the door, but it still would not budge. Minelli took the maul from the kitchen table, and headed toward the door. As the men moved out of his way, Minelli swung the sledge hammer in a great arc until it slammed against the wooden door close to the lock. The door splintered and the glass in the panel exploded outward. The house shook and shuddered anew. They could feel that same scream deep inside them, but the door still held.

Reison struck another mighty blow. This time the door splintered and was thrust forward. Reison helped the other three team members through the door. Minelli turned and motioned to his partner and the man he was helping to his feet.

“Bren, hurry!” he yelled.

Mulhearn escorted the burned man to the door. “We still have one man missing!” he said as he handed over the badly burned technician to Minelli. “Get him out of here.”

“I thought I saw him go in to the basement, Bren,” replied Minelli.

Brendan Mulhearn unholstered his weapon, although he was unsure what good it would be. He carefully pulled opened the door. The dim light emitted by the bare bulb at the bottom of the stairs illuminated the prone figure of the last team member. Mulhearn could make out the faint stream of blood flowing from just under his hairline.

Mulhearn hit every other step on his way down. It probably saved his life, as the step treads began coming loose on the stairs. The tech was just coming to. He was groggy but otherwise apparently all right. Mulhearn helped him to his feet. He looked up to see the outline of Minelli at the top of the stairs.

“Vince get him out. I’ll create a diversion.” The tech started up the wobbly stairs. Minelli reached down to make sure he made the last few steps. Mulhearn turned and fired his weapon at one of the heating ducts. It fell down. The house trembled. Pipes began to burst and scalding water shot in Mulhearn’s direction. He sidestepped the spray and clambered up what was left of the steps as the house tried to take the boards out from under him.

He scrambled to the top of the stairs and slid across the kitchen. He was leaning against the wall, under the drapes. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a book of matches. It took a couple of passes against the striker, but he managed to get one lit. He held it against the drape until flames started climbing toward the ceiling. He went quickly to the other window and repeated the procedure.

Minelli came back into the house. “Vince, we need to get out now!” he yelled. Mulhearn looked up to see the flames crossing the ceiling. The house screamed. The floor moved back and forth in earthquake fashion. Mulhearn looked like a drunken man as he ran to the door. Minelli grabbed him and yanked him onto the porch. Both men leapt to the ground.

Even though they were outside, they could still feel the screaming. The house appeared to be writhing in pain. They could see the walls swaying back and forth. Flames were now shooting out of the roof.

As Minelli called for ambulances for the injured team members, Mulhearn called for fire equipment, but it seemed to take him an awful long time to dial the number. By the time the fire fighters arrived, the house was engulfed. Soon after, they could no longer feel the screaming, and the walls collapsed in on themselves.

The fire fighters probably thought it strange when Minelli walked up to a fire truck, and asked to borrow an axe. He went over to the smoldering ruin and swung a mighty blow through the scorched wood. He leaned forward with his hand to his ear, and satisfied that he could hear nothing, he handed the axe back to the puzzled fireman, and rejoined Mulhearn.

A crowd had gathered to watch the finale. Minelli noticed a reporter from the New York Inquisitor taking pictures and talking to Professor Reison.

“I guess Mojo will take the heat off us with the Inquisitor,” said Minelli. “It will be nice for a change if the Captain doesn’t see us at the checkout counter.”

“Oh, by the way, Mrs. Johnson said that they did have insurance on the house,” said Mulhearn.

“Was that homeowner’s or life insurance?” asked Minelli with a wry grin.