#fallowwings

Papa and Mama’s House

 The exterior glass door went black, and Birdie’s face disappeared.  Scotty slowed on the sidewalk, unsure of what he saw. A shocked yell thawed his befuddlement and propelled him forward. He rushed through the front door, knocking a pasty Mr. Harlow out of his office doorway.  Drying blood surrounded a grapefruit-sized mass on the office tile near the desk. The light blinked on and off from beyond the exterior door, but Birdie was nowhere to be seen.

One of the heels he’d slipped on her feet earlier that morning stood next to the mess. Bloody footprints lead the heel’s pair to lay across the threshold, keeping the door ajar. Scotty pushed the door open, picking up the shoe as he stepped through the doorway. A bobbing light from above blinked in rhythm with what sounded like a seatbelt alarm coming from inside. 

His boots crunched on the stiff fibers of a doormat where he was sure a sidewalk should be. 

As he looked down, he let go of the door, the sound cut out, and the blinking stopped. Looking up, a steadily shining orb of light floated near a pointed ceiling free of any stationary fixture. The orb floated down to rest above the forest green trim of a wooden door carved with an intricate tree design at its center. Scotty eyed the light suspiciously and turned back to where he’d come from. 

To his surprise, there was now an entirely different door.  An oddly-shaped clear glass pane set in the upper half of a solid oak door replaced the one he’d just stepped through. The wood grain of the door was covered in carved symbols. There were lacy-curtained windows on either side of the strange door. The view offered no further explanation. It was a sunny day on a lush green yard that rolled out to a tree line of tall pines in the distance. No parking lot.  

Scotty turned back to the tree door, scrutinizing the blood-stained gold handle. Pressing the lever at the top of the handle, it clicked open. The orb above the frame did not move as he gingerly pushed the door open with his fingertips. Sweeping his gaze across the room, he saw no one. There were drops of blood on the carpet and a puddle in front of the door. A trail ahead turned in front of the pathway of rear windows.   

As he walked through the door, a gust of air shoved him forward as the door slammed shut behind him. He staggered, yelping, and caught himself on the back of a sofa to his right. He looked over his shoulder and saw only a closed door. His gaze darted around furtively as he stood and straightened his jacket. Two bay windows were draped in the same lacy curtains on either side of the front door that had shut in such a rude manner. He stood between the backs of two sofas on a raised hardwood pathway. The carpet was a rug that exactly fit the capital “I” shape of the living room. 

An enormous hearth of misshapen stones stood in front of the sofa he’d broken his fall with. The mantle above was an ornately carved shelf that adorned the length of the wall. In the center sat a snowglobe flanked by two unnerving porcelain figurines, a jester on the right and a clown on the left. Two doorless doorways stood on either side of the stone wall, the only exits offered to the room’s right. 

The left side of the room contained an identical sofa facing a wall-lined floor to ceiling with shelves packed with books. An antique upright piano stood beside a classical guitar shining on a silver stand. Chest-high speakers on either side of an intimidating stereo took up most space along the wall. An empty doorway on the far side of the room led into a hallway he could not see down from where he stood. 

Floor-to-ceiling windows were shielded by a screened-in deck, accessed through glass french doors at the end of the carpeted pathway he stood on. Through the screen was a black metal fire pit in between the wings of the house. Out beyond the firepit stood a massive tree with its center ballooned out to the size of an entire house with windows but no door.  Beyond the treehouse was a lake. A gentle wind creating ripples in the water bent reeds lining the water’s edge, framing a sturdy wooden pier. Tied to the post at the end was a gondola, bobbing with the motion of the water.

He was staring out the back window when the lights went out in the room he stood in. Curtains of starlings in flight blotted out the view of the rear window. The winged curtains swept across the room. He turned to run as the curtained bay windows facing the green yard disappeared into shadow. A sob of relief escaped him as he saw light through the doorless entryway ahead. 

He ran into an island countertop that stood waist-high, knocking the air out of him. He wheezed and coughed, his eyes adjusting enough to see that he was in a kitchen. Cabinets and pantries surrounded an old-fashioned-looking stovetop and oven. An old-fashioned icebox stood near where the light was coming from. He crossed the honeycomb-tiled floor and looked down on a doorway in the floor. A stairway with a wooden railing led down to a burnt orange floor. A shadow moved across the corner of the floor and then disappeared just outside his line of sight.   

Scotty leaned down, descending the steps as quietly as possible. He looked down over the railing as soon as he could. Birdie was lying on a wooden table, covered with a sheet from the neck down. He jumped past the remaining stairs and rushed to her, his hands outstretched.

From the open shadows in front of him, a deep, sultry voice spoke his name in a sinister tone. 

Scotty was compelled to stop in his tracks and couldn’t move. Looking ahead of him into the shadows, the hairs on the back of his neck raised. He froze when he saw a pair of yellow, glowing lidless eyes. He watched them float slowly toward him from the darkness, their every motion creating visual reverberating waves of bright, mesmerizing colors. 

A towering silhouette emerged from the darkness, outlined by pointy bat ears at the top. Two rows of razor-sharp teeth adorned a joyous grin so infectious that Scotty smiled at the sight of it. He barely noticed the hot liquid soaking the seat of his pants and running down his legs as it filled the soles of his boots. 

A question Faustus had assumed the answer to for some time now finally presented the opportunity for a truthful answer,  “Scotty, did you kill Jess?” he asked.

Scotty stared up into the glowing eyes and watched the pink bifid tongue flick toward his nose. Half of his face began to droop, “Yes. I told Jess that his wife was pregnant with my baby. He charged at me. The dummy knows I open carry. I shot him in the parking lot outside the movie theater. While Birdie was still inside. I watched him hit the ground before I left,” his eyes were beginning to lose their luster, his face slightly slack-jawed as he finished. 

“Thank you for being truthful,” Faustus said, his eyes never leaving Scotty’s now red-rimmed, bulging sockets.  He cupped Scotty’s drool covered chin in his hand and drew him close enough for a lover’s kiss. Whispering, “From dust, you came, and unto dust, you shall return.”