Cabiling, Alaric / The Black House /

THE BLACK HOUSE

By Alaric Cabiling

Cutting through a rarely visited patch of woodland in Richlands, Virginia, Vinnie and his friends found a deserted cabin in shambles. A thick canopy of trees surrounded the cabin, and their gnarled branches in the winter looked like outstretched arms reaching out for the glossy moon. Vinnie heard that a family once lived in the cabin, and the two children, a brother, and sister were lovers and slaughtered their parents. Afterward, they disappeared.

Vinnie found tiny skeletons of animals and pools of dark tarn surrounding the cabin. Vinnie, 17, called out to his friends.

“There are bodies stuck down here,” he said. “These wetlands are like quicksand.”

He led his friends, Dez and Chubbs, through the maze of dark pools. “Careful,” he said. “Watch your step. I ain’t pullin’ you guys out!”

The place was called The Black House because of the thick, glossy black paint coating the walls. The three boys would also learn that the expression, The Black House, was loosely associated with slaughterhouses. The name served as a reference for the urban legend involving the murdered parents.

The boys heard that young people often ventured out to the Black House for kicks. They even heard that lovers would spend the night there. The Black House had become an unofficial landmark in Richlands, Virginia, due to its reputation.

It didn’t seem to matter to them that all of the crazy talk surrounding the cabin was said to have come from other bored teens and twenty-somethings. None of the elders in town believed in the stories themselves.

So, the place called the Black House would stay empty until the trio of mopy-haired Vinnie, scrawny, feisty Dez, and grunt, football player Chubbs called the place home. This is their story.

* * *

Vinnie, Dez and Chubbs met in Junior High Orchestra while learning to play music and were often compared to The Three Stooges by other kids in the Richlands area.

Vinnie was the oldest kid. He was lanky and liked cracking his knuckles a lot like he was always ready to start a fight. Vinnie started having big city dreams of making it in a rock band when he fell in love with obscure music. It all happened when he saw underground bands perform in dingy bars and clubs, and he was impressed.

It was often Vinnie’s quick thinking that saved the three guys from Juvenile Hall. Vinnie was a math genius in Richlands high school, but he dropped out because he couldn’t stand being in class. He often compared high school with voluntary incarceration.

Vinnie spent his time figuring out how to make it big outside the small club circuit in Richlands and the surrounding towns. He knew that his band would need an edge to make a breakthrough. He wanted more than what he and his two friends could offer musically—he wanted a reputation. He’d heard whispers of The Black House being vacant for some time, and it occurred to him that the place might have some use to them.

Dez was a nerdy kid who had anger issues. He wasn’t strong, but he usually grabbed the first thing he could whenever starting fights in malls, at bars, or just about anywhere. It was never clear what would set him off. Vinnie and Chubbs often loved watching Dez get his ass kicked instead of helping him.

Vinnie heard Dez play in band rehearsals in Junior High Orchestra and knew he had to persuade him to join. He secretly hated that Dez was special but needed a talented bassist.

Chubbs was Richlands High’s nose tackle. He was as strong as an ox, and he boasted being capable of dead-lifting three hundred and fifty pounds. He was expelled in his junior year after he started a locker room brawl with his football teammates. After that, he started hanging out with Vinnie and rarely came home. He often beat up kids that the other two guys couldn’t fight on their own.

They all lived in Vinnie’s basement.

When Vinnie brought up the idea that they start a band and live together in the Black House, the two other guys scoffed. “They say that place is cursed. Yeah, right!” Dez said to him, sneering. Chubbs stared out into space, refusing to even say anything.

Vinnie guessed that the two guys weren’t willing to leave their basement hangout, what with Vinnie’s Mom being so lenient and ignoring their loud music and drinking.

“Of course not,” Vinnie snapped back. “Geez, I didn’t know you was scared, Dez.”

He walked away from the other two like he did whenever he didn’t want any part of things. He went to a corner of the basement and picked up an old, battered guitar he purchased for cheap at a pawn shop and plucked at its strings. Next, he plugged the guitar into an effects pedal and into an amp and listened to the fuzz roar out of the speakers. Dez and Chubbs both heard the sound and looked up like they heard an ice cream truck. The three guys ended up packing their bags that same day for The Black House to use as their ‘rent-free’ lodging and band rehearsal space. They secretly loved the notoriety their band would get by jamming and writing their music there.

* * *

During the guys’ first night in the Black House, Dez and Chubbs got into it. Dez took exception when Chubbs refused to hand him something. Dez didn’t care that he was striding a fine line when he kept up the verbal taunting.

“Hey, Dumbo, a 747 wouldn’t have gotten off the ground with you on it. If you were an elephant with giant ears for wings, you would have been a dodo bird instead. You smile like Dumbo every time your Mom buys you a bucket of fried chicken, lazy-ass!”

Chubbs dug his fists into Dez’s face, smashing Dez’s molars and canines. Dez punched back, but his small fists merely bounced off Chubbs’s face without hurting him. Dez’s knuckles bled and splintered, and his wrists were sprained. He ended up in such bad shape that Vinnie had to tell Chubbs to put him in one of the rooms and check on him in the morning. That was, in case he wound up making it through the night.

Later, Vinnie and Chubbs started joking around again. “We’ll get by longer with our supply of fish and crackers from the nearby store now that Dez won’t be freeloading.” The supplies store was the closest place to get food if they weren’t driving all the way to town.

“Yeah,” Chubbs said to him. “It’s about goddamn time. Turdface needs to sleep with the fishes, not have them for lunch.”

Vinnie found Chubbs’s remark suitably dumb. He shrugged it off, like usual.

“He’s a dick anyway. Know what we’ll tell the cops?” Vinnie said while slapping Chubbs on the shoulder.

Chubbs nodded. Vinnie told him he knew the right place to dump Dez’s body.

“In the motherfucking swamp—with the others,” he said with emphasis, making a face—his best Chuckie impression.

“Dez will be the Black House’s latest. We’ll be legend!” Vinnie exclaimed.

* * *

Dez would manage to survive the brutal fight, though. Vinnie and Chubbs heard Dez stirring in his room, so Vinnie told Chubbs to serve him food and water until he got better. Dez would find leftovers on his plate. He also got slapped silly whenever Chubbs wasn’t in the mood. Dez would roll his eyes at Chubbs and laugh at him, and Chubbs would knock it off, or else Vinnie would get pissed. Dez would roll to his side and spit blood on the floor next to his plate of food, just a few feet away from Chubbs’s boot, provoking him.

Chubbs would glare at him, looking like he wanted to finish him off. Vinnie wasn’t sure what to do; a shovel propped up by the doorway might have caught his eye. He wasn’t scared of Chubbs, even though Chubbs looked like he might have had a chainsaw hidden somewhere. He looked at Chubbs like he was ready to go all-in if he’d have to.

Dez wasn’t scared of getting killed, but Vinnie and Chubbs let him off the hook anyway. At least, in the meantime.

When things settled down, Vinnie picked up the guitar, and Chubbs picked up drums while learning their favorite songs. They began figuring out the various chord and drum patterns after repeatedly listening to songs on tape, expanding on what they’d learned when doing their covers. Dez would holler at them both just to get on their nerves, so Vinnie would put his guitar down and kick him in the gut. After Dez recovered from all the beating, he picked up bass and tried to play the tunes Vinnie heard in his head through his bass guitar.

When Dez picked up bass again, Vinnie remembered how talented he was. Dez easily transcribed guitar melodies with his bass, sliding his left hand’s slender fingers on the frets while pairing it perfectly with his strumming and plucking using his right hand. He hard-staccato-plucked with precision and fervor, milking thick, clear basslines from his surprisingly nimble, powerful, small hands. Vinnie suppressed his newfound admiration and found it in his heart to quit kicking Dez around whenever it suited him, as Dez had some use to them, all of a sudden. He still shot a look at Dez whenever Dez showed him licks, secretly planning to improve at guitar and kick Dez out of the band for good once he got better.

Vinnie and Dez got to talking during practice once, and Dez told Vinnie that playing music was about the only thing he wanted to do.

“You’re good, Dez. That’s some mean-ass bass you’re playing. You know your shit, you know what I’m sayin’?” Vinnie told him.

“I don’t often say this. Not to most people. Especially Dumbo. But I fucking love that we’re putting this shit together, man. I love music. I’ve loved it since learning bass in junior high, and it beats working summers flipping burgers. I don’t want to go back to your Mom’s basement and eke a living serving fast food if you get my drift?”

That meant that Vinnie and Chubbs had to look the other way even if they still wanted to beat Dez senseless. Vinnie had to stop Chubbs from beating Dez silly again after Dez told Chubbs that he was terrible at drums. “You ought to smash your head against the wall,” Dez said to Chubbs while Chubbs was practicing. “It’ll sound better than your playing.”

Vinnie broke things up before it got ugly again.

All the animosity between the three teens did make sense when allegorized with the name, The Black House, calling to mind visions of disorder, hatred, and all-out violence.

The trio decided to call their band, The Black House for that same reason.

* * *

Vinnie, Dez and Chubbs played their first gig in front of a crowd of drunk deathers and stoner rock fans in a bar in nearby Roanoke. Vinnie sent word out about The Black House throughout the stoner rock scene, besides the sludge metallers who liked to mosh while drunk. Chubbs started off the performance with crossing hi-hat patterns and a thunderous drum roll, and Vinnie followed suit by letting loose a piercing guitar wail. Dez rounded out the intro by flooding fat, low-end bass throughout the room, slowly hard-staccato-plucking the huge bass strings with his bony-thin fingers.

Then, Vinnie nodded at the other guys, and they formally launched into a song. Heavy reverb echoed throughout the club as Vinnie sent fuzz out of the stacks of amplifiers. The sound filtered through every nook and cranny, even making its way outside into the parking lot. Vinnie slid his fingers across the frets and bent the strings to send wailing melodies and soaring bombastic riffs. Dez bopped to the beat while playing his bass. He followed the riffs then played off of the main riffs, so his lines stood out. Chubbs bashed and pummeled the snares and toms with brute force, the impact of his playing thudding hard against the feces-smeared, graffiti-covered walls of the club. Vinnie watched the audience bang their heads like cobras. Using his gravelly voice, he sang about rundown dives and gasoline stations and derelict cabins and legends of killings. Drunken eyes met his wild daze. Hair thrashed wildly in the neon-lit, smoky air, rife with the scent of beer and vomit.

The trio would receive praise after the gig and would welcome more and more gigs. The guys rewarded themselves by drinking a shit ton of beers, buying a small fridge so they could keep a stash. The guys would finally afford to eat at diners instead of buying frozen food, and Vinnie would buy beers at a liquor store to keep Dez from starting fights in bars. Things went smoothly until Dez started bragging to fans that Vinnie didn’t really write the riffs. Vinnie told Chubbs he’d use Dez as long as they needed him for the band.

* * *

Vinnie and Chubbs were hanging out backstage after a gig when Dez went to the bar to fetch their beers. He scanned the crowds for interesting faces, nodding at events organizers, roadies, and regulars in the Roanoke scene. A couple of guys from other local bands came over and gave him high-fives. He felt like a celebrity. None of it felt like anything back in Richlands High.

Suddenly, a girl walked up to him. He recognized her as a groupie type who liked local frontmen. He expected her to warm up to Vinnie’s type, but she lingered unnecessarily at the bar next to him, smiling. He guessed that she wasn’t out of reach.

“Say, you’re a regular at the gigs here, right? I’ve seen you around. I’m Dez from The Black House. We’re new to the scene. Want to have a beer with me?” he said, not sure what she’d say. When she turned to face him and had a certain look on her face, he knew that she was fair game. He smiled back at her.

“Yeah. I heard about you guys,” she responded, grinning. “What’s goin’ down?”

Dez thought that she meant to cut right to the chase. He gestured at the bartender to hold their drinks—Vinnie and Chubbs’s drinks, at least.

Before long, Vinnie grew impatient. Vinnie searched the bar for Dez and found no sign of him. Vinnie went to ask the bartender, and the bartender told him that he saw Dez leave with a girl—Vinnie knew which one. He planned on hitting her up before the ride back.

Vinnie took a peek in the men’s room to see if Dez took the groupie there. When he listened in and heard groaning and saw two pairs of shoes through the bottom section of the stall (recognizing one pair as Dez’s sneakers), he pulled Chubbs backstage and ordered him to pack up their gear.

“Hurry!” he said. “I want that dickhead to find out that we’ve left him here!”

Chubbs happily did as he was told. “Turdface gonna get his share of the money?” Chubbs asked Vinnie, and Vinnie shook his head. Vinnie took a sip of his beer and wiped his mouth with his shirt sleeve.

* * *

Vinnie finally decided to kick Dez to the curb. Vinnie and Chubbs got in their truck and headed back home to Richlands without taking Dez along or giving him his share of the gig money.

Dez went out looking for them, though, showing up at the cabin after hitchhiking with a bunch of truckers.

“You fuckers leave me to my wit’s end after I fuck some whore and told her I’d written all the music! You have no idea how hard it is to get a ride nowadays! I fuckin’ sucked dick to get truckers to let me sit out in their cargo! You dicks better pay me my part of the gig money!”

Vinnie and Chubbs walked out to meet him.

The weeping willows stood above the three boys like a burial shroud, shielding the full moon’s pale light. Vinnie’s eyes bled malice, and shadows stretched taut across Dez’s face. Vinnie smiled at Dez, and Dez went at him. Vinnie and Dez rolled in the dirt, jockeying for position while throwing punches, pulling at each other’s shirts. Vinnie landed some clean blows and took control of the skirmish by finally getting on top of Dez. Then, he ground and pounded Dez’s face to a bloody pulp. After he was done, he gestured for Chubbs to drag Dez inside and lock him up in one of the rooms. After Chubbs did as he was told and dropped Dez’s head on the floor with a thud, Vinnie shrugged his shoulders and let his fists drip blood onto the cabin’s deck.

“Leave him there,” he told Chubbs, smiling. “We’ll figure out what to do with him later.”

* * *

The next day, Vinnie had to do his best to play the riffs without anyone transcribing them, figuring out how to use tablature so he wouldn’t just forget the riffs. Chubbs, meanwhile, continued to get better at the drums. In between practice sessions, he checked on Dez by lifting his head from the floor by his hair. He would leave a little food and drink beside Dez’s mattress in case Dez would survive the beatdown.

Vinnie decided that they would audition some prospective bassists in Roanoke the next time they went shopping for supplies.

* * *

Dez awakened in his room. He tried kicking the door down, but the door was locked from the outside with a heavy bolt lock. He finally gave up after shoving at it for a few hours. He collapsed into a corner of the room and fell asleep.

His dreams were vivid. He saw himself in his room. His throat was slit open, and his blood was gushing in between his fingers. In fact, the walls were also bleeding. The blood streamed down from the junctures in the walls where the walls met the ceiling.

He woke up in a cold sweat—the sweat drenching his shirt and jeans. His heart was racing, and he was breathing hard. The first thing he noticed was that the door had mysteriously opened.

Dez quickly got to his feet and ran out to the living room, but he didn’t find the guys outside, waiting. Instead, he found a teenage girl in a nightie, crying. She asked him for help. “Help,” she kept saying to Dez. “Help me, please. My Mom’s really sick.”

The teenage girl didn’t look lost. In fact, something was up. Dez knew that there were no other cabins close to the Black House, so the girl’s claims didn’t make any sense. The only thing that occurred to him was that the girl might have been a groupie that Vinnie had brought back from a gig and loaded up before the ride back.

After thinking about it, he eased up and smiled as though he realized he’d just landed a golden egg.

“Why, what’s your name? Where is your Mom? Why don’t you show me where she is?” Dez said to the girl, sneering.

He thought that Vinnie and Chubbs must have already sampled her, owing to how confused she was, so he acted dumb and tried to look concerned.

“I’m Mindy. My Mom’s over there,” the girl said in reply, her expression still blank like she was high. Mindy pointed towards his room.

No shit, there ain’t no one inside, Dez thought to himself, grinning, but Mindy insisted. “Help me. Help me,” she said with a flat tone. “My sick Mom won’t last another night.”

Dez suppressed a laugh. “Okay, Mindy. Take me to her. Maybe, I can help,” he said to her.

“Do you promise, mister?” Mindy answered.

Mindy didn’t wait for Dez to answer. Mindy walked inside, and Dez prepared to walk in on her, not expecting her to put up a fight. “Here it comes, girlie,” he muttered while unbuckling and dropping his pants. He was shocked to find that Mindy had disappeared.

* * *

The Black House’s new bassist would be another guy their age named Tommy. Vinnie and Chubbs met Tommy at a gig, so they looked for Tommy to ask if he could audition for a spot in the band. Vinnie found Tommy hanging out at the bar by himself. Vinnie and Chubbs asked Tommy to accompany them backstage.

“You checked out our shows?”

“Sure. Not just one time. I watched all your shows," Tommy answered. Tommy told the guys that he played bass and guitar and was actually new to jamming with guys in a band setting. "I’m used to playing more complex arrangements, more genres outside of sludge. I really loved the bassists growing up; there’s Les Claypool of Primus, Geezer Butler of Black Sabbath."

“That’s interesting,” Vinnie remarked while raising his brow. He glanced over at Chubbs and shrugged his shoulders, indicating he wasn’t sure they’d use him. Vinnie was skeptical, as usual.

Vinnie smiled at Tommy to signal the start of the audition.

“Play this riff,” Vinnie said to him. To Tommy’s surprise, Vinnie began to hum the riff instead of playing it on his guitar.

Tommy didn’t scoff. He took his bass guitar and plugged it into his amp like a vet. He did a little soundcheck and then closed his eyes like he imagined the music in his head. He began playing the riff with his eyes still closed, extending it—doing an improv—a Cliff Burton-like solo, albeit abridged.

Vinnie didn’t react. He listened intently and waited for Tommy to signal that he was done. On the other hand, Chubbs stared wide-eyed throughout the entire performance. He looked like Vinnie had just gotten him his favorite Buffalo Hot Wings from back at Richlands.

Tommy ended the performance by doing another short bass solo. He shoved his hair aside. Then, he bowed his head and smiled to signal that he was done.

“Fantastic stuff!” Vinnie exclaimed, cheering exuberantly. Chubbs clapped loudly with his big hands and smiled like a toddler receiving candy.

“You’re in,” Vinnie told Tommy with a slap on the shoulder. “YOU...ARE...IN!” he repeated with emphasis. Tommy didn’t rejoice. He unstrapped the guitar from his shoulder and set it aside. Then, he took a seat and took a can of beer that Chubbs handed to him and took a sip. His smile would disappear in an instant.

Tommy decided to hit the road and shack up with the guys in Richlands, so he got in the truck with the guys to head back to start rehearsing. Chubbs was content to drive while Vinnie kept up the conversation.

* * *

Tommy looked surprised to know that Vinnie and Chubbs lived in the infamous Black House in Richlands.

“That place is haunted!” he said to the two. “I heard the brother and sister killed their parents and were actually lovers, you know? The brother and sister conspired to kill the Mom and Dad B.T.K. style. No joke!”

Tommy’s hair fell in clusters as though the strands were wet. His face was bony-thin, and his features were chiseled, like a bird’s. He slurred the word joke, somewhat giving the impression that it was difficult to say.

Chubbs laughed, and Vinnie followed suit. Tommy didn’t see what was funny. “Why are you guys laughing?” he said to them. “It’s fucking tragic! I hear the two siblings were abused.”

Instead of feeling remorseful, Vinnie and Chubbs began to laugh hysterically.

“No, shit?” Vinnie said to Tommy. “Hear that, Chubbs! Mommy and Daddy used to spank them, kids!” Vinnie slapped Chubbs at the shoulder and hee-hawed like he was used to doing.

Tommy shook his head and looked out the window. Then, the ride went quiet. He dug out a cigarette from his pocket and lit up. Vinnie glanced at him and wondered what was wrong. He thought that even Chubbs had found the whole thing hilarious, damn it. What the fuck’s Tommy’s problem, Vinnie thought.

“How did the two kids get back at their parents, Tommy?” Vinnie asked, his voice suddenly serious. He craned his neck towards the back of the truck where Tommy was sitting.

Tommy looked annoyed at first, but he perked up, smiled at Vinnie, and began narrating the story.

“They poisoned their Mom while their Dad was away on a hunting trip with his buddies. When their Dad got back, they told him that their Mom was sick, and they lured him into one of the rooms. They bound and tortured both of them for days until they finally got sick of it all and killed them. They slit their throats—from ear to ear. The scene was brutal. The walls were supposedly dripping wet with their parents’ blood.”

This time, Vinnie and Chubbs couldn’t laugh, and Tommy would resume his gloating. Vinnie took out a beer from the cooler and gave it to Tommy, but Tommy didn’t want it. Vinnie looked at him disapprovingly. He was starting to resent Tommy like he resented Dez.

Still, he continued to press Tommy on the love story between the siblings. Vinnie was thrilled about the idea that the murder might have really taken place there. He anticipated that all the stories circling the Black House would only bode well for their band.

“What’s this girl like? Why did she and her brother not run away from the goddamn place? I mean, torture their parents? Were they like, nuts, or something?”

Tommy shook his head again. He took a big puff of his cigarette.

“The Dad was a sicko. The Mom was even worse. The Dad did stuff to the girl, and the Mom, well, she took it out on her instead of the Dad.”

Vinnie stared at Tommy. “Seems bogus to me. Like, don’t a lot of girls say stuff like that when they hate their mommies and daddies or something?” He slapped Chubbs along the arm and forced the hee-hawing.

“What do you think, Tommy? Do you think big brother should have fallen in line behind daddy instead of helping little sis kill the family?”

Vinnie began laughing hysterically again. Chubbs remained quiet. It occurred to Vinnie that he was specifically laughing at Tommy since Tommy wasn’t taking any of it well. He was still busy laughing and slapping Chubbs at the shoulder when something would come out of nowhere on the deserted stretch of road.

The three guys saw a girl standing in the middle of the road, wearing only a nightie. Chubbs yanked at the wheel sharply, causing the truck to careen down the side of the road into a deep ravine. The truck toppled over and over until it came to a stop in a murky ditch.

The truck’s lights were still on when the rescue vehicles arrived. They found Chubbs dead at the wheel with his head split open, blood flowing from the crater in his skull into the cooler. The police extricated each beer can from the cooler while tiny clumps of Chubbs’ brain matter fell off. Vinnie watched them with a dumb look on his face. His vision was blurred by a similar wound on his head, requiring him to be transported to the nearest hospital via chopper.

* * *

At the Black House, Dez raided Vinnie’s room for whatever valuables he could find: cash, cheap jewelry, anything. He rummaged through a bag and found a small pack of condoms that he stuffed in his pocket. “This could come in handy,” he said while chuckling.

He hurriedly took out his lighter, lit Vinnie’s tablatures, and dumped the burning sheets in the fireplace.

He was on his way out when it occurred to him that he was being watched. He turned around to find Mindy standing by the hallway, watching him, this time with blood on her nightie. He freaked out.

He ran out the back door carrying his loot in a duffel bag, but a shovel somehow smashed into his face before he managed to get out. A boy threw down the shovel on the ground and dragged Dez inside the house where his sister was waiting.

The two teens started kissing passionately. After that, they both slowly lurched towards Dez as he began to stir. Dez backed into a corner and raised a hand to his face, begging for his life. Blood filled the insides of his mouth, and he could not speak. He knew that it was no use. The two teens approached Dez while making awkward spasmodic movements along the neck, shoulders, and elbows, looking demonically possessed. The boy took hold of Dez’s hair and stared into his eyes. Then, he slit Dez’s throat with a knife. The boy and girl stood back and smiled as they watched Dez’s arms and legs shake. Blood ran down the walls, starting from the junctures in the walls where they met the ceiling and settling in pools along the floor. Dez’s eyes frantically moved side to side—oscillating; he grasped at his throat as blood sputtered between his fingers. The two teens watched Dez suffer his death throes, and when he was dead, they both stopped smiling almost immediately.

They turned around and disappeared together. Blood stopped pouring down the walls and would disappear entirely, …but for how long?

* * *

No one was believed to have set foot in the Black House after the incident. Vinnie was recovering in the hospital when the cops approached him.

“There’s this guy. His name was Tommy. Like I told the first responders, he was with us that night. He told Chubbs and me about the family living in our cabin in Richlands—the Black House. He told us that the story about the murders was real.”

The cops listened. They weren’t convinced. Vinnie could tell even though the detectives refrained from reacting.

“Tommy was acting weird. Like he sympathized with the siblings in his story. It was supposed to be a convenient cover for our band.” Vinnie stopped short of saying what he was really thinking.

The detectives frowned after hearing Vinnie’s side. The lead detective in the case spoke up.

“No one fitting the boy’s description turned up near the scene of the accident—this Tommy, you say,” the detective said as Vinnie’s hands began lightly quaking.

“In fact,” the detective continued. “We’ve yet to hear from any witnesses who saw this boy at your gigs.”

“No one saw him?” Vinnie asked.

“Absolutely no one.”

Vinnie didn’t feel the need to tell them about the girl standing in the middle of the road, putting two and two together, convinced that she and Tommy had something to do with the accident and that the cops weren’t going to believe his wild story.

“Oh, and we didn’t find your friend back at the cabin either,” the second detective told Vinnie.

“We did find a bloodstain on the floor of his room.”

That could have been Dez spitting out blood after those beatdowns he took, Vinnie thought. He scrambled for an explanation.

Vinnie believed that Dez actually met a worse fate. Vinnie imagined Dez working at the burger joint, wearing an apron instead of a smile going from ear to ear. He imagined Chubbs having his head in one piece, enjoying the beer from their cooler without his brain cells all over the cans. Vinnie realized that the cops might have been right about Tommy and the girl on the road and that he could have imagined everything that night—that he and Chubbs were drunk and got caught in an accident, and Dez might have simply slipped out and was actually alive somewhere. He realized he was too foggy to know for sure.

He wouldn’t get the chance to find out. He suffered a seizure the following night and died of respiratory arrest. The doctors and nurses couldn’t help him in time after finding him flatlining, his arms and legs thrashing wildly, and his eyes oscillating. After that, the three teens who lived in the Black House were either dead or presumed missing—Dez’s fate, though more or less unofficial, was interpreted by the greater community at Richlands as nothing short of trivial and expected.

The fact of the matter was, was that people knew that the place was cursed. It didn’t matter whether the stories were true. No one wanted to know. And they felt that Vinnie, Chubbs, and Dez should have left it that way.

THE END

Next Chapter: Fourth Story: A Prison of Mirrors