The House on Clamoribus St

Chapter 3 - John

John

“Stupid cat.” I rubbed my head and groaned. Something under the hood of my car hissed like windshield fluid hitting the hot engine and the smell of mold almost made me vomit. Thick fog curled outside the car windows.

“Jamie, Starlight, are you guys alright?”

No response.

I rubbed my head again, took off my seatbelt, and got a better look at the car. Jamie and Starlight were gone. I tried to get a better look outside the car, but couldn’t see a thing through the fog.

I punched the steering wheel, causing the horn to honk. So stupid. Why would they leave? Wait, if they’re close, they will hear the horn! I hit the horn again and after two seconds of a clear blast, it gradually died out like a sad, deflating set of bagpipes. A light caught my eye and I snatched up my phone from the floorboard.

Still no signal. Facebook: nothing. Emergency numbers: nothing. I tried to text Jamie and then Starlight: nothing.

I put the phone in my pocket and, pressed the latches to open the hood and the trunk, then opened the car door. Tendrils of fog swirled inside, more like smoke than any fog I had ever seen. It invaded my car with great interest and smelled… Not like mold or mildew, but something else, like a thicker atmosphere like humidity. It felt like something out of nature, but no nature I had ever experienced. I moved to the front of my car, fog parting around me.

Part of the hood was caught on the tree we hit but after several heaves, I managed to get it up. Steam rose from the front of the car, fighting and losing against the fog. “I don’t know anything about cards, but this doesn’t look right,” I said, then closed the hood, muffling the hissing sounds. I looked back to the road and saw the outline of the bridge.

“I doubt you went that way. Bridge is out and I can’t see either of you attempting the stream. Nearest gas station was fifty miles away, anyway.” I turned the other way and saw a shadow of a tall house in the distance, like a suffering soul clawing its way out of the clutches of the dark trees around it. “I can’t really see you guys being thrilled about that way, either, but if there’s a phone, we might be in luck.”

I walked around the car and pulled the trunk open. Our luggage, costumes, and jackets were still in the car. “It’s chilly. Why did you leave without your jackets?” I pulled mine from the trunk and donned it. I pulled my phone out and placed it in my jacket’s chest pocket and turned the light on low to light my way. “Why am I talking to myself?”

I started toward the house, walking with hands in pockets. “Jamie! Starlight! It’s John!” Nothing. The house loomed in the distance, a dark coffin rising from the fog. It was further than I originally thought. I walked a lot longer than I felt like I should have. My shoes sloshed through the damp leaves and mud. My phone light beam pierced the fog only about seven feet before me, waving back and forth as I trod, trying not to slip and twist my ankle.

A woman screamed in the distance, somewhere by the house. I held my breath trying to hear, and then shouted, “Jamie! Starlight!” I ran toward the sound, disregarding the uneven ground and all attempts at keeping my pants dry. I ran until a man about my age appeared in the fog. I tried to dodge, and spun his shoulders as I rushed forward and tripped. I looked back and the man was gone. I got to my knees, feeling dampness through my jeans, and stood.

I looked around and then forward. I was on the grounds of the house now and could see it clearly now. A rusty street sign hung at an angle to my right. “Clamoribus Street?” I said, panting the foggy air. I had the sudden urge to spit. I could taste the foul-smelling fog, now.

A light caught my attention. Upper windows of the house had light. Not candlelight, but electrical lights. “Where are the power lines?” I said, looking around. I saw a shadow in the window, like someone moving around up there. “Jamie! Starlight!”

I ran for the front door, climbed the stairs and halted when I saw the door. It was made of old, damp, unfinished wood. A simple metal handle protruded halfway down the door, a little higher than the typical door handle placement. There was no bell or knocker and no keyhole.

Remembering the scream, I grabbed the handle and turned it. The door wouldn’t budge. I threw my shoulder against it, but nothing. How could such an old door, and one without a lock for that matter, be so strong?

I took several steps back and saw another upper window light up. I looked to the right and saw the man I ran into standing in the fog by the corner of the house. “Hey, hold up. I’m looking for my stepsister and her friend.” The man turned and walked around the side of the house. “Hey wait!” I ran down the stairs and around the house. The man was already turning the next corner. I perused. “Wait! My name is John! I’m sorry for running into you! Just hold on a second.”

I turned the next corner, now at the back of the house. An old cement porch and steps led to a dark, but ajar back door. I saw the man turn the next corner. I followed, deciding someone was better than nothing. I turned another corner and then another, and instead of finding the front of the house, I was at the back door again. I saw the man and chased him around the house again, every two turns ending up at the back door again. I stopped and bent over, panting as I looked around. “How many corners does this house have? Am I going crazy? Where’s the front door? Where’s the road to my car?”

I saw the man again, this time he entered the back door. I ran up the porch and entered the house. “Look man, I don’t know who you are, but I’m entering you into the tag world championship.” He was gone. I was alone in a small mudroom.

“Hide and Seek world championship, too, apparently.”