Today, I met a lovely young man called Kevin.He works in the store in town that brings us our supplies.It’s a family business, owned by Nathaniel Hayes, a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair and a birthmark on his right cheek.His son, Kevin, does the local deliveries for him.Kevin doesn’t look like his father.His sandy hair and acne-marked skin must come from his mother’s side, but I’ve yet to see Mrs Hayes.I’m guessing Kevin is around twenty years old.The slight awkwardness around adults and the hesitation I see is what I remember being like when I was that age, not so long ago.
I’m sick of being in this house by myself and crave some company, so, after delivering the shopping, I invited Kevin in for tea.He seemed reluctant, but then I told him my husband had left for the day on some urgent business, which seemed to put him at ease.
He stepped into the house, taking his baseball cap from his head and holding it in both hands as if he were entering some holy place.His eyes roamed the walls, and I thought he was taking in the Gothic architecture, the dense fabrics, and the dark colours.But when he shivered, I knew he wasn’t admiring the décor but sensing something.
As we walked through the foyer, I admitted to hating the house.
He looked at me, not shocked at the statement, more surprised that I’d said it out loud.
I led him into the kitchen, where I put the kettle on to boil and assembled the tea things, and he asked me why I hated this place.I told him that I wasn’t sure why, but that from the minute I arrived, I could feel an oppression, a darkness that seemed to dwell here.
Kevin told me that I wasn’t the first person to not like the house.I wasn’t sure whether I was relieved to hear this or unnerved, and I was eager to find out if I was going mad or whether this house has some hidden past I was unaware of.
My skin prickled as Kevin described how one of the workmen died up here whilst the house was being built, which started off rumours about it being cursed.Maybe he saw my fear, because he then pointed out that this place is old, and that lonely houses at the top of mountains are always going to have some haunting backstory.If he’d said this to put me at ease, it didn’t work.
I had to know more.This house, the feeling I have here, the way the floor creaks, the walls listen, and I feel like I’m being watched.There must be something to the rumours, so I asked if he liked the house and his body froze, his eyes widened, and his lips parted before he admitted that he didn’t care for this house because of something that happened to his father here.I could barely hold my teacup, the matcha tea having gone cold, the smell of the ginger cake I’d served now repugnant.
It happened when Barrett was here on holiday with his second wife, Noa, and Kevin’s father had fallen and broke his wrist, which meant Kevin had to do all the deliveries.He told me he was nervous and knew what a big account Belial House was, but that his father told him not to worry, as it would be Noa who answered the door.
He said she seemed kind, a little quiet, was heavily pregnant with porcelain skin, and had wide dark eyes.I could picture her standing with the door open, welcoming him inside.I was sure that Kevin recalled this too, as his face was soft, a gentle smile on his mouth until he dropped his cup on the table with a clatter that made me jump.
It was a few weeks later that Kevin returned to Belial House.He told me he hadn’t been up to the house in a while, so he wasn’t surprised when a large order came through.
He’d expected Noa to answer the door but recalled his shock that my husband answered.I felt all of Kevin’s nerves as he described unpacking the order whilst Barrett observed.And just when he thought the job was done, Barrett had announced that the firelighters were missing.
Kevin’s voice had trembled along with my own hand as he described showing the invoice to Barrett and explaining that there were no firelighters on the order.And I could easily imagine the burning in my husband’s eyes, the way he would have stared at young Kevin with such anger at having the gall to question him.
So, Kevin had apologised and said he’d return with the firelighters immediately, which seemed to placate Barrett.
But when Kevin returned to the store and explained what had happened, his father wasn’t happy about Kevin going back to deal with an irate Barrett, so he took the firelighters himself, leaving Kevin behind.
This was the part I felt that Kevin had been working up to, as I could see the tension in his face, the way he became lost in his memories… the horror he must have felt.
He said his father had returned home a pale and haunted man, a mere shadow of his former self.
My first thought was, what had my husband done to him?What had he said?But no.It was nothing to do with Barrett, who’d actually been grateful for the firelighters, offering Kevin’s father a bottle of whisky for his trouble in returning.For once, Barrett was not to blame; instead, it was what Kevin’s father saw on the roadside whilst leaving the house.
He’d swung his car around on the driveway when he’d seen someone emerge from the trees.He said that she just appeared, and he had no idea who she was as it was too dark, so he slammed on the brakes, the headlights illuminating her against the black of the night.
His dad had climbed out of the car, ready to apologise for not seeing the woman and to check she was okay, but then he stopped, not a foot from her.He’d said she had dark hair and was holding a mask over the lower half of her face.His first thought had been that it was Noa, but then he noticed that she had no swollen stomach.This woman was not with child, and Noa had been very much pregnant when he last saw her.He then wondered if she’d brought friends with her or family, or if someone had been sent to keep her company whilst she was staying here—which I knew wouldn’t have been the case, as Barrett wouldn’t allow anyone the luxury of companionship.His world is a very secretive one.
His father had asked the woman if she was okay.She hadn’t replied, just stared at him until she asked him something, but he didn’t understand, as she was speaking in what he thought was Japanese.He said it sounded like “Watashi kirei.”
He told the woman he didn’t understand her, and so she repeated it, to which he held his hands up and said he didn’t speak Japanese and that he was sorry, but could he escort her back up to the house?But she didn’t move.She’d just stood there staring through vacant eyes.
My blood ran like ice-cold water imagining how frightened he must have been.She asked him something else, something different this time that sounded like “Kore demo.”Then she pulled the mask from her face and….
I’m not even sure I can write the words.I don’t want to see the image again as Kevin described what his father recalled, but I must.
He said her mouth was large and wide, as if it’d been cut from ear to ear, the gaping wound red and raw, her teeth sharp and pointy, and her face that of a madwoman.
I’d begun to shake, the aroma of the tea suddenly sour, the air frighteningly still, and the house eerily quiet, as if the walls were also listening.
I only heard snippets of what Kevin said afterwards, about his father making it home and then never wanting to talk about it again and how he only made deliveries to the house in daylight and with Barney, their other member of staff.
My throat had gone tight, my breathing shallow as I’d tried to apologise, offer my condolences to his father for having witnessed such a thing, but inside, I’d been terrified.The cold blood had frozen in my veins, and I couldn’t move.
Because this wasn’t new to me.This is a story I’ve heard before, but not in this context.This is an old story.A legend.A myth.A story we told one another as children to frighten us during the hours of darkness.This is a story from my homeland.
