Infinity House

INFINITY HOUSE

© 2012 Shane McKenzie

Digital Edition

Published by

GALLOWS PRESS 2012

Moosup, Ct. 06354

Cover, Interior Design, and Typesetting

© Tom Moran

Editing

Liam Davies, Billie Moran, and Chris Hedges

This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidences are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. No part of this work may be copied, printed, or stored without written permission of the publisher.

www.gallowspress.com

“
What
you need, fool?” Mike squinted but couldn’t make out the face on the other side of the screen door.

“Let me get a zone.” Two twenties and a ten slid through the cut-out square in the screen, and Mike pulled it away, clicked the wooden door shut. He dashed across the room, lifted the loose plank from the floor, dug the pre-weighed Ziploc full of weed out, jogged back to the front door. He swung it open, went to slide the weed through the square hole, but it was blocked. By the barrel of a shotgun.

“If you slam this door, I’ll blow a hole through it, you feel me?”

“Fuck you, man. What the fuck you want?” Mike’s hand curled and uncurled, longing for the pistol that was tucked in his couch cushion behind him. But too far to make a grab for it.

“Nigga, you know what I want. Open this motherfuckin’ door ‘fore I get mad.”

Mike bit his lower lip, clenched his teeth. He opened the screen door.

The man shoved the door in, cocked the shotgun. He was Mexican, had a shaved head with tattoos all over his face and neck; he wore a baggy red hoodie and a backpack. He stomped across the room toward Mike, swung the butt of the shotgun and hit him in the side of the face. The impact brought Mike to his knees; his eyes watered and he bit his tongue, filling his mouth with blood.

“Where it at, homeboy?”

“Chill out, man. Shit.” Mike wiped his hand over his cheek, looked at the blood coating his palm.

“Oh, you got a mouth, huh?” He looked around the room, over his shoulder. “Maybe I’ll make you suck my dick ‘fore I leave. You like suckin’ dick, motherfucker?”

Mike’s eyes bulged from his face, ready to burst, as they swept from the intruder’s face to the couch. He wanted the pistol so bad, his hands shook. Then his eyes landed on the space in the floor, the plank lying on its side.

The man saw it too. “Oh, shit. That’s sloppy, homie.” He kept the shotgun on Mike as he rounded the couch, peered into the opening. “Yeah, that’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout.”

“That’s all I got, man. Come on,” Mike said. “Take the stash, leave me somethin’.”

The backpack hit him in the face.

“Fill that shit up. And if you leave anything out, I’ll paint your walls for you, you feel me?” He thrust the gun at Mike. “Hurry the fuck up.”

Mike glared into his hiding spot. He’d been filling it for years. It was all he had, everything. With every handful of cash he stuffed into the bag, he thought about James and Grand-mamma, thought about how the fuck he would feed them now. The old woman coughed from the other room, loud and wet, and Mike winced.

“Who the fuck is back there?”

“It ain’t nobody but my grandmamma,” Mike said. “She can’t even walk, man. Don’t fuck with—”

“Shut the fuck up,” the Mexican said. He jammed the barrel of the gun to the side of Mike’s head. “Come on, nigga. You got about another minute.”

Mike finished with the money, then grabbed the stash, tossed it into the bag.

“There, man. Now get the fuck outta my crib.” Mike’s voice cracked, and he swallowed the rest of his emotions down, held his breath to keep them there. The room blurred, but he blinked the tears away.

“You gonna cry, motherfucker? I can’t stand bitch-ass niggas like you.” He grabbed the backpack, slid it on. “You cry, I swear to god I’ll blow your fuckin’ head off.”

“Fuck you. Get the fuck out!”

The Mexican smiled. “Yeah, I’ll go. But I’ll be back to see about that mouth, you feel me?”

Mike wanted him to turn his back. If he did, Mike was going straight for the couch, straight for his 9mm. His dick got hard just thinking about pumping this motherfucker full of hot shit.

But the intruder just smiled, walked back-ward, kept the shotgun aimed.

Then the door swung open, bounced off the Mexican, and James flew in. The boy had a smile that looked too big for his face. And a wad of cash in his hand. He had it over his head, waving it around as he entered.

Mike jumped to his feet, put his hands out in surrender. “Don’t hurt him. Please don’t…”

The Mexican snatched the bills from James’s hand.

“Hey, that’s mine.” James swiped for it.

“Chill out, James. Shut your mouth.” Mike kept his eyes on the Mexican as he spoke. “All right, man. You got everything, now go.”

James crossed his arms, stuck out his lips. A tear slid down his face, then a matching one from the other side.

Where the hell did he get that money, Mike thought. What did he get into?

The Mexican pointed the shotgun at James, smiled. “Don’t think I don’t know you still got my fifty in your pocket, motherfucker. But you can keep it. My treat.” He backed out the door and disappeared into the night.

Mike shot for the couch, grabbed his piece, burst through the screen door with the pistol out in front of him. He checked left and right, but didn’t see the guy.

“Fuck!” He walked back in, slammed the door, locked it. He slid down the wood and crumpled on the floor. His elbows rested on his knees and his head hung like his neck had been broken. Grandmamma had another coughing fit; they were getting worse each day. Mike knew it was only a matter of time before she was gone.

“What’s going on, Mike?” James said.

Mike sniffled, wiped the snot away with his forearm. “He took everything.”

“What happened?”

“He fuckin’ took everything, all right? We ain’t got shit.” He slammed his knuckles into the floor.

James tiptoed toward Mike, plopped down next to him. “Can I tell you something?”

Mike wiped his tears away, took a deep breath. “You better. Where the fuck you get that money?”

“Don’t get mad, okay?” James looked into his lap, fondled a loose string on his jeans.

“What’d you do, fool?” Mike’s temples throbbed and he dug his thumbs into them, closed his eyes.

“I found it. I didn’t do nothing.”

Mike rolled his eyes open and James was staring at him. When their eyes met, James dropped his gaze to the floor.

“Look, fool. I’m havin’ a shitty night,” Mike said. “Spit it the fuck out.”

“I found it at… at the house.”

Mike frowned, sat up straighter. “I know you ain’t talkin’ about—”

“I just wanted to see it. You’ve never let me see it.” James was on his feet now. His buck teeth pushed past his lips and his mouth hung open.

“That’s because you ain’t supposed to be over there. Mama said—”

“I know, it’s haunted,” James said. His eyes went from the floor to Mike’s face. “Do you think it’s really haunted?”

Mike thought back to all the times Mama forbade him from going there. Said it was pure evil, that the devil lived there. Grandmamma did too, back when she could still think straight. Hell, everybody in the Oak knew to stay away from it.

Mike stood up, walked past James until he was plopped down in the couch. He reached for the blunt roach balancing on his ashtray, lit it. “No, I don’t think it’s haunted.” He held the smoke in, let the high wash over him. “But some shit went down in that house for real.”

James sat next to Mike, wrinkled his nose as a plume of smoke filled the air. He dug something out of his pocket, looked at it in his cupped hands, then tossed it into Mike’s lap.

The weight knocked against Mike’s balls; he flinched, dropped the roach from his lips. “What the fuck is your pr—”

“I found that under the money. In the front yard, buried.”

Mike picked up the diamond necklace, wiped the coating of drool from his lower lip. A spiral of smoke twisted from the couch, and Mike brushed the roach onto the floor, stomped it out. “You found this…at the house?”

“Yep. You think there could be more?”

Don’t you do it, boy. Remember what I told you. Keep him safe, Mike.

But he knew Mama would understand. The stories about the house were… just stories. Everyone around the Oak believed them, but what neighborhood didn’t have a so-called haunted house? And Mike was doing just what he’d promised: taking care of his little brother and his grandmamma. But with no money and no weed to sell to get money, they were fucked.

Another round of coughing and the squeaking of bed springs.

Mike ran the necklace—heavy and sharp —through his fingers, bit his lip. “You can show me where you found this?”

“Yeah, I can.” James’s smile turned side-ways. “So, what happened at that house anyway?”

Mike kept his eyes on the necklace, watched the light sparkle off of it. “It was some shit happened back in the day.” An alarm went wild in Mike’s head, an alarm that sounded a lot like Mama’s voice. But he kept seeing that Mexican with the shotgun, kept glancing to the empty stash spot in the floor.

“Did Mama tell you about it?” James’s eyes landed on Mike’s and pinned him there like twin needles in a dead fly. “She wouldn’t talk to me about it.”

“Yeah,” Mike said. He rubbed the heels of his palms into his eyes, sat back, put his arm around James’s shoulders. “Lot of kids went missin’ back in the day. Mama was little, younger than you.”

James nodded, snuggled up against Mike. He fondled the loose string on the ripped knee of his jeans.

“She said there was an old man that lived there, used to give out cookies and shit to all the kids, said he was real friendly,” Mike said. “All the parents were trippin’ cuz kids kept disappearin’, then they started noticin’ the flies.” Mike widened his eyes when he said the last word.

“Flies?”

“Yep. Mama said everybody knew it was him, but by the time the police tried doin’ anything bout it, he was dead. Killed his self.”

“He did?” James stared at the ground, his arms crossed over his stomach.

“Yep. When they found him, he had maggots crawling all over him, flies all over the house. Musta been dead a long minute.”

James clicked his tongue, pushed away from Mike, looked at him. “Are you lying? Did Mama really say that?”

Mike remembered her warnings, had to hear them over and over. She and Grand-mamma had blamed the house for how bad the Oak had gotten over the years, said evil attracts evil. Kids still went missing, but it didn’t seem like anybody was trying to do anything about it. Grandmamma thought every missing kid was dead, murdered. She said their souls had been kidnapped by the evil and trapped in that house. But her mind had already started its decline at that point.

When Mike had found Mama raped and beaten outside of their house, she was barely clinging to life, was reduced to a quivering purple pile of meat. It was as if she hung on, even as death was tugging her into the afterlife, just to give Mike one last warning. It was that house. It caused this, caused everything. Keep him safe, Mike. Keep your brother safe. Mike nodded. “Yep. No bullshit.”

James’s doubting face loosened and hung from his skull. His bottom lip jumped as if he wanted to say something more, but all that came out was, “Wow.”

“She said there was dead kids all over the house, some of ‘em already bones. Said there were so many flies, the walls looked like they was moving. The floor was covered in maggots.”

Mike patted James on the back, rubbed his head. James just kept staring at the floor.

“That’s why you don’t go over there.” Mike set the necklace on the coffee table and the diamonds clinked together. “But we’re goin’ back tonight, and you gonna show me where you found this.”

James pursed his lips, wiped his palms on his jeans. “Come on, Mike. Can’t we go back during the day?”