What Happened at East Houston Street

Chapter 12

Stephanie opened the door of the antique kitchen only to be faced with a brick wall. She was sure only moments ago that she would fling the back door open and finally be able to race to her freedom away from this eerie house and out of the grasp of the foreboding man, who she was certain was the one who had branded the name into her arm. She knew that he meant her harm and, from her early years of survival after her mother's death, had developed a strong gut instinct. She was perceptive to the ways of manipulative men. Her gut instinct was telling her to run away fast.

Stephanie was faced with a brick wall and footsteps sounding heavier with each passing second. She turned around, scanning the room for other escape routes. She rushed to the door that was closest to her, opening it to find a food pantry, filled with cans of soup and boxes of pasta. She ran to a door on the opposite wall, which turned out to be a broom closet full of empty buckets and cleaning products.

"Looking for something?"

She turned to face the older man from upstairs, who was now approaching her quickly with a determined look in his pale blue eyes. He held a fireplace poker in his hand.

"I...I just want to leave. Just let me leave," she pleaded, holding her hands up in surrender, her eyes flicking down to the poker in his hand.

"Why do I still have to deal with you?" he questioned accusingly while shaking his head.

Stephanie, confused by his statement, knew that this man was obviously dangerous, but now she wondered if he was mentally ill. Not wanting to anger him into an attack, she didn't say a word, keeping her hands up, standing by the broom closet.

"Why couldn't you just stay away?" He continued his random accusations, gritting his teeth more and more with each word, twirling the fireplace poker in his hand.

Stephanie was baffled by what he was saying. This guy is fucking crazy, she thought. Maybe he thinks I'm someone else, she wondered for a moment, until she remembered the wound that now marked her arm. No, he knows me. Why else would he put her name on me?

She had to think fast. He was getting angrier by the second and hurling insinuations at her like grenades. She didn't know how to respond, but she couldn't stay silent. She needed more time to think of a plan. "Umm, I'm sorry," she started, "but I truly don't know you. I wish I did, but I honestly don't know what you want from me." She prayed that her words would somehow calm the irate man in front of her.

His pale blue eyes turned into ice as he eyed her. Her last statement lit the angry fire in him even more. He stepped closer to the girl and said, "He made me bring you here 17 years ago, but of course you don't remember. All you did was cry the whole time and you're still causing trouble now. I thought I was done with you!" On his final statement he lunged toward her.

Stephanie, with panicked breath and shaking hands, reached into the broom closet and grabbed the first thing she could find. Her hand found a spray bottle of cleaning solution and she hurriedly turned back around to the older man, who was now within an arm's length of her. She held the spray bottle up in his direction and she squeezed the trigger as tightly as she could. A stream of blue chemical liquid shot out into his eyes, causing him to stumble back into the stove, sounding a clanging noise throughout the room. He furiously rubbed at his eyes, dropping the fireplace poker in the process. Stephanie continued to squeeze the bottle's trigger over and over again, inching closer with each spray, getting as much burning liquid onto the man's face as she could.

Shouting and flailing one arm in her direction, he was rubbing his eyes with his other hand. Soon the spray bottle was empty, no longer providing a protective barrier between Stephanie and the now angry older man. Taking advantage of the pause in her attack, he clumsily made his way over to the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of milk. Stephanie went back to the broom closet to find something else to continue her attack. He was now pouring the milk directly into his stinging eyes. There were no other spray bottles to be found, only a mop with a long handle and a few empty plastic buckets. She chose the mop with the long handle and approached him again. He was now standing between her and the staircase that led back to the upper floor.

The man had regained some composure now, the milk having eased the burning in his eyes somewhat. He lunged toward her, one eye still closed. Stephanie jerked her body to the side, causing him to miss. She ran to the staircase and jumped up the winding steps as fast as he could, dropping the mop in her ascent. She heard angry shouts and rapid movement from the kitchen. She made it to the hallway in the upper floor and stopped to look around the room for a possible escape route. She ran down the hallway and found what she guessed was the front door of the home. As soon as she gripped the handle to turn the knob, a strong hand jerked her shoulder and spun her around. She was now faced again with the older man, who was holding the handle of the mop that she had just earlier found in the closet downstairs. Wild with rage, he rushed his shoulder into her stomach, causing her to lurch forward and then back, sliding down the front door. She gripped her abdomen in pain. He stood over Stephanie, looking down at her with one open angry eye.

"What are you doing to me?" she asked in a panic, breathless from the blow to her stomach.

"I'm keeping up my end of the bargain," was the last thing she heard before the room went black.