The Open Door (6 page)

With an appetite for horror, his viewing diet
consisted of mostly scary films. Never a dark child with even a
hint of malice; Scott was just a child who enjoyed a good scare
from time to time. Oddly, he never scared easy, so the fascination
with horror was more of an outlet for a side of him rarely
seen.

Art was a talent that presented itself in his
early drawings. Even in elementary school, Scott was accused of
tracing the images seen in his works. Images of cartoon witches,
goblins, vampires, and other various creatures of the night, flowed
from his number-two pencil with ease. Eventually, Scott was able to
look at paintings from his favorite fantasy artists, and sketch
their every detail with perfection.

Then there was music. Drawn to the guitar at
age sixteen; Scott quickly learned his way to mastery of the
fingerboard. Haunting classical pieces from the likes of Bach,
Beethoven, Vivaldi and Paganini, romanced Scott into his own dark
compositions. Harmonic minor would become his jewel for which to
vent his emotions.

Despite Scott’s obvious fascination with all
things dark, he was happy, moral, and a firm believer in God. Never
understanding his own intense interests, he never pondered the
question: “Why?” Rather, Scott accepted the fact that it was one of
many things that defined him. His soul is what it is, and he
embraced its very essence instead of fighting it.

After years of terrifying experiences, Scott
had been pushed over the edge when faced with a possessed woman—a
woman whose actions were so grotesquely inhuman—there was no doubt
that the supernatural existed. He had questioned and written off
past experiences as hallucinations or paranoia, but Scott now knew
they were all real, and he made it a priority to find out why he
was chosen.

Being at a point in his life where he worked
for himself, he was able to take time off to pursue his quest for
answers. After being a competitive kick-boxer for ten years, during
which time he acquired several certifications in nutrition and
physical fitness, Scott started up his own business. He mainly
taught clients self-defense and prepared diet and fitness programs
for them. Due to his expertise in the field & the national
recognition this resulted in, he was also brought into existing
schools and gyms for seminars.

Conservative in nature, Scott had saved most
of the money he earned by living a modest life. A small portion of
his savings would now be invested into whatever equipment was
needed to begin his investigation. First, Scott needed to rent or
buy several wireless digital cameras, a digital audio recorder, IR
thermometer, and an EMF detector for his new endeavor.

It was a difficult decision for him to spend
some of the hard earned savings for this endeavor. It was of some
consolation that he was able to rent most of the necessary
equipment. Being as he already owned camping gear and other items
for the trip, he was able to keep expenditures to a minimum.

Scott’s sarcastic and incredulous friend had
dropped by to visit while he got ready. “Better pack plenty of
clean underwear!” This was Cody Blanks—the man who always had
something smart to say & was rarely serious. At twenty-nine, he
was two years Scott’s junior, but you would swear he was fresh out
of puberty. Scott loved the man like a brother, but could only take
his company in small doses.

Cody relentlessly cracked jokes about Scott’s
desire to expose and prove that the spiritual world truly exists,
but he could see right through Cody’s facade. He was frightened,
hence the jokes about clean shorts, and so he pretended to not
believe in the spiritual world. He didn’t want to believe. Not
unlike many in today’s world, Cody would rather turn and look the
opposite direction than face reality.

The humor Cody displayed was an ill attempt
to mask his true emotions: fear, concern, and intense
curiosity.

“Better yet, why don’t you buy yourself some
disposables and a container of baby wipes? You’re gonna need ‘em!”
Cody said, with a Cheshire grin.

Ignoring Cody’s onslaught of immature jabs,
Scott continued working on his list of tools and equipment needed
for his research.

Scott didn’t have the heart to ask Cody to
leave, and besides . . . Cody was a form of entertainment and
really seemed interested in what he was doing. He would watch
intently as Scott scanned the Internet for equipment normally only
seen on off the wall Sci-Fi and horror shows.

Cody and Scott were polar opposites in every
way. Cody was short with the body of a panda bear—and his eyes were
so squinty that people sometimes wondered how he could peer through
those subtle slits well enough to see where he was walking.

Due to Scott’s tall athletic frame, they
looked like Laurel and Hardy when they stood side by side. Cody was
chatty, and Scott was more the silent type. Cody loathed the idea
of marriage, while Scott daydreamed about the future Mrs. Scott
Andrew. Cody was a bit of a slob, where Scott needed things to be
organized and sanitary. Somehow despite their differences, they
managed to be good friends, and his loyalty was a trait Scott
greatly admired.

“Cody, I can see that you are interested in
what I’m doing. You’re welcome to join me you know. After all, I
need an assistant to carry all of this equipment.”

“Gee Scott! That sounds like a heck of a
deal! I could also bathe you, feed you, and sing you to sleep. How
does that sound?”

“Hmmmmm . . . I’ll accept your offer on one
condition— and this may be a deal breaker for you. There will be no
bathing of one another. I like you, but not that much.” Scott
continued, “Your singing voice, as beautifully soothing as it is,
is not something I desire to go to sleep to. Ever. I’d let you feed
me, but I know where your hands have been, and I know you’re not
one to take personal hygiene seriously, so no thank you. You can
however, assist me in carrying and setting up the equipment. Who
knows? You might witness history in the making?”

“You had me at,
hmmmmm . . .
“ Cody
replied.

Scott had wanted Cody to join the mission
despite some of his annoying shortcomings. He was entering into the
unknown, while delving into his haunted past, so Scott wanted a
companion that would keep him balanced with humor and skepticism.
AND he needed help carrying all of the equipment.

Scott’s shipment of paranormal toys had
arrived, and in the time it took to reach its destination, he was
able to plan out his first mission.

The goal was to revisit his past, and figure
out why certain things had paid him an unwelcome visit.

There were so many unanswered questions: what
exactly was trying to communicate with him? Why he was able to see
and experience things so few people ever do?

One thing was for certain; whatever it was
made him feel uneasy, so Scott knew it wasn’t anything good.

If he could take all of the pieces, and put
them together like a puzzle, everything would become clear. He
needed to know what haunted him all those years, and why.

Whirling winds accompanied Scott and Cody
during the long drive to Scott’s childhood home—the home where the
apocalyptic horse stared him down with only death in its eyes.

Many years had gone by since Scott had seen
the place he called home. Seventeen years to be exact. Not knowing
what to expect, the nerves in his stomach started to awaken, as if
he had eaten a bowl of tacks. The closer they got to the house, the
more his stomach knotted up and the harder his grip on the steering
wheel.

Entering the neighborhood, there was a
feeling of inertness. The paint on the barely standing structures
was faded and peeling off, windows were almost nonexistent, and
doors were hanging by their hinges. It was as if they had entered a
ghost town.

Scott remembered the homes being archaic
while growing up, and half of the homes were vacant, but he never
expected the decay that assaulted his senses as he drove through
what was once his happy neighborhood.

Recognizing certain landmarks, such as the
old red school house that still sat in the middle of a field just
off Raven Street, told Scott that they were just blocks away from
their destination.

Cape Way, the street where his old home still
rested, was in site. Turning left on to the street, Scott could see
his house off in the distance. Not as decrepit as some of the other
homes, but still severely weathered, as if it had been sitting
unoccupied for a hundred years.

Staring in the front window as he pulled up,
Scott tried to detect any signs of life; he wasn’t certain if the
home was abandoned like the rest, and he wanted to be sure before
possibly trespassing.

Dust settled around his silver ’68 Plymouth
Roadrunner after coming to a stop in front of 1300 Cape Way.

Parked adjacent to the house, Cody and Scott
continued to gaze into the windows for signs of movement, or
instability within the anatomy of the lifeless cold structure.

Only slivers of the once new and shiny coat
of snow-white paint remained on the grey, warped, splintered wood
that creaked each time the slightest breeze brushed against it.
Windows were still intact minus cracks and the occasional hole
where a shard of glass had worked its way loose. Shingles clacked
against an unstable roof like castanets. The chimney remained
intact minus a few bricks missing from the top. Hinges on the
screen door creaked loudly—the rusted spring moaned as it inhaled
and exhaled with each movement the door made.

Dead, cold, and seemingly abandoned; the
house still seemed to carry a life of its own.

Withered, gnarled, thorny rose bushes stood
at attention on both sides, as Scott and Cody walked up the
crumbling cement path that led to the front entrance. Amber light
fell over them, as dusk settled in, giving everything in its path a
radiant but eerie glow.

When they approached the screen door, it
seemed to creak louder and slam more violently, as the wind picked
up its pace. Finally the moment had arrived: they stood before the
door, filled with hesitancy, fear, and curiosity.

Will it look the same? Will I find
anything left behind by my father or me? May his soul be with
God,
Scott thought.

Reaching out for a hole in the metal frame of
the door where a handle once was, Scott caught the inside of the
rusted gap, and pulled the screen door open. Suddenly, the main
door cracked open slightly, as if something was peeking out to see
who was there. Then the door slowly creaked its way open. They
watched anxiously, poised to turn and run. Dust from the whirling
wind moved across the floor like a slithering sidewinder. Nothing
else was present.

Taking his first step inside, Scott could
hear the hard wood floor moan as if it ached from old age. It
seemed to give a little, feeling more like a springboard than a
solid foundation.

To his right was the red brick fireplace that
enveloped the entire south wall of the living room. Howling winds
echoed through the chimney causing the metal chain mail to sway
side by side in front of the fireplace.

Continuing to enter the home with caution,
they proceeded past the living room, and into the dining area.
Making a left into the kitchen, Scott could see his father opening
the oven to remove the baked stuffed peppers he had prepared for
dinner. His father was a man of many talents, and cooking was one
of them.

“Hey! What’s wrong? See something?” Cody
forcefully whispered.

“No, everything is fine.” Scott replied,
after coming back to reality.

Being in his old home was more difficult than
Scott expected; memories of his father manifested throughout the
painfully deplorable framework.

They walked back into the dining room and
walked down the hallway that led to his old bedroom.

To the left, a spare room containing workout
equipment. Scott’s father had made him a gym after he turned
sixteen. A little further down was his father’s room. Not yet ready
to travel down that memory, Scott went right for his room, which
was to the right of his father’s. The door was ajar. He gently
pushed on the center of the door, exposing the room where he spent
most his childhood.

Memories again flooded Scott’s mind; all were
positive except for one: the horse that creped out from the depths
of Hell, and paid him a visit on the darkest of nights.

They hesitated, and then entered the
room.

“Small room for such a big guy,” Cody
murmured.

“I was fourteen.”

“Is that where the floating head entered?”
Said Cody—pointing at the window.

“That’s where.”

Scott walked over to the window, and glanced
outside. It was just how he remembered it, only dead. Bleak.

Scott turned and looked at where his bed had
been. He envisioned himself sitting up with the book. He was close
to the level where the horse’s head first entered, and began
watching him. The perspective sent chills down Scott’s spine, as he
realized how vulnerable he was, seventeen years prior.

Had his father not entered when he did, who
knows what might have happened?

Wanting to conclude the search, they
continued, quickly peaking in Scott’s father’s room.

“Empty. Now let’s move along.”

“Why the rush? Don’t you want to look
around?” Maybe see if your dad left anything behind?”

“Maybe later. I’m going to check out the
basement—make sure there are no vagrants hiding out down
there.”