Short Story
Finn didn’t hear the footsteps approaching behind her, drowned out by the kinetic saxophone solo occurring on stage. But she did feel the tap on her shoulder. She swirled around to see her two best friends, standing hand-in-hand. The trio had been inseparable since high school, but Matt and Ange’s relationship had started entering unchartered territory earlier that year. Finn had no idea what the catalyst was for this new and blossoming romance, but she feared it had the potential to tear them all apart.
“We got the house!” Ange clapped her hands, jumping on the spot as though attached to a pogo stick. This news made Finn even more anxious.
They had all reached the age of 20, time to leave the nest. A seemingly impossible task given the current rental market in Adelaide, especially given Finn was a full-time student who only brought in around $200 a week in government study allowances. So Ange came up with the idea to share a house, spending weeks convincing Finn she wouldn’t be a third wheel. But Finn had other concerns - everyone knew that moving in together in the early stages of dating was like playing with fire, and now Finn would be sleeping, eating, and shitting right in the path of their flames.
“Wow, that’s great.” Finn feigned a smile.
“We can move in next Saturday, so start packing.”
Ange’s enthusiasm should’ve been contagious, but Finn was certain she saw a mirrored look of hesitation wash over Matt’s face. This house-share was a bad idea for a multitude of reasons, not all of which Ange was privy to.
They enjoyed the local band until 2am, dancing beneath the red cedar trees and festoon lights, drinking margaritas and café tequila shots - something that should never be done on a $200 per week budget. But as Ange kept reminding her, it was a celebration.
#
The double storey, timber slatted house was much larger than Ange had described. And far more isolated. The driveway alone separated them from the adjoining world by at least a one-minute ride and several dense thickets of trees. Finn eyed a sign to the left of the front door, letting out a one-syllabled laugh.
“Miles End. A noun, and an adjective,” she said.
“Stop,” drawled Ange.
“It’s true Ange, this place is in the middle of nowhere,” Matt said as he glanced around at the vacant expanse encircling them.
“I think they named the house that after their son, Miles, passed away.”
Matt raised his eyebrow, “What the actual fuck? Some kid died in this house?”
“I never said it happened in the house.”
“Ange, don’t believe everything everyone tells you. If that was true, don’t you think the parents would’ve named the house something a little less, on the nose?” said Finn. She suddenly remembered her favourite poem by Robert Frost, ′Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening’, and a brief wave of dread sank into her stomach.
“Miles End,” she whispered to herself as the others started inside, craning her neck to once more take in the imposing structure.
#
They decided on bedrooms - Finn agreeing to take the smaller room with a walk-in-wardrobe- and started unpacking their boxes. They sat in the backyard with dinner and a bottle of wine, discussing the joyful advantages and pitfalls of independence. Finn had never used a washing machine; Matt had never changed a lightbulb; Ange claimed to be well-prepared. Another bottle was opened. Then another.
Finn smiled at the American-style wrap around balcony, picturing herself reading the latest horror novel from a hanging swing-chair, occasionally glancing up to absorb the soft sunlight sifting through the oak and lemon trees that wrapped the property. Maybe she could get used to the peace that came with isolation.
She woke up the next morning in a far less favourable mood. The sound of the downstairs TV roared throughout the house.
“Guys, can you turn it down, I’m not feeling too great,” she called from her bedroom doorway.
No response.
“Guys?”
She stumbled downstairs, lowered the volume, and grabbed some painkillers from the kitchen medicine cabinet. She was filling up her glass from the tap when she heard Matt’s heavy footsteps race down the stairs, thudding on the solid floorboards behind her, then turning off the TV.
“Dude, you’re up. Guess I’m not the only one hungover,” she said, laughing. “Ange must’ve left it blaring -”
She turned around to an empty lounge room.
She stood, staring at the blank canvas on the TV. Then went back upstairs to knock on her friend’s door.
“Hello?” she sang as she opened the door and peered around the edge.
Empty room, bed made.
“I’m losin it.” She shook her head as she walked back to her room, resolving never to drink wine again.
#
She was back in bed when her friends returned home. They showed her the results of their shopping trip - standard pantry items, cookware, and (why not?) goldfish. They all dreamed of having a dog, but pets were a strict no-no in most rental properties. Ange reasoned that goldfish were a fair compromise. Finn had messaged them requesting Hydralite, but apparently the network in the house was as shoddy as her feeble, hungover body.
“This room has a weird vibe,” Ange said as she attempted to force the red cast-iron pot back into its original box. “It feels really heavy.”
Finn rolled her eyes. “It just doesn’t like you.”
“Funny,” she sighed. “I’m going to put this stuff away.”
She left Matt in the room, looking over Finn in bed. “Do you want me to head back out and get some Hydralite?”
“No, I’ll be alright. I’ll just Hair-of-the-Dog it later.”
He turned to leave with a smirk.
“Did you guys leave the TV on this morning?”
“No,” he turned back. “You know me, I don’t watch TV until after dinner. And Ange spent most of the morning rearranging my stuff in the wardrobe,” he said with an uneasy smile. “Why?”
“No reason. I’m just going crazy.”
He turned back to leave, whispering over his shoulder, “You look good in satin, Crazy.”
#
They ate dinner at the local Italian restaurant that evening. If local includes establishments located 20kms away. The sweetness and spice of the pepperoni pizzas drizzled in honey, the gregarious atmosphere, the conversation with her oldest friends that was noticeably absent of its recent, ritual sarcasm. It was the best Finn had felt all day. Maybe all year. Ange announced she’d received a promotion at the bank, and that her and Matt were planning a trip to Indonesia next month to celebrate. Then the evening finished with a cocktail each, 4 for Finn (Hair of the Dog), before they took the long drive home.
“Who wants a wine?” Matt called from the fridge.
“God no, but I’ll have a vodka,” said Finn. She walked towards the glass cabinet before stopping in her tracks.
“What the fuck is that?”
Matt turned to see what Finn was looking at.
“Jesus,” his face scrunched in surprise as he leaned down to get a closer look. “Ange, did you do this?”
Ange practically skipped in from the lounge room, confident nothing could spoil her good mood.
“Oh Jesus, what the hell is that?”
Matt reached out to touch it before Finn grabbed his hand.
“Don’t touch it. We should call the police. Now.”
#
The police seemed to take photos from every angle. Every snap of the flash adding to Finn’s swelling headache.
“The back door is still locked from the inside,” Officer Jenkins re-stated the obvious. “Are you sure the front door was locked when you arrived home?”
“Yes, very sure,” Finn said, unable to hide her frustration at the insinuation.
“How much have you all had to drink tonight?”
“My partner and I only had one drink at dinner, Officer,” said Matt. “The front door was definitely locked.”
“Well, we’ve searched the house, and the grounds, no-one else is here. And judging from the lack of evidence outside, it seems no-one else was here earlier. But if you’re feeling uneasy, maybe you should go stay at a friend or relatives tonight?”
Finn knew that warning would go unheeded. This was their second night living away from home; crawling back to their parents would only prove them incapable. Matt and Ange did another search of the house and grounds after everyone left, concerned the police hadn’t taken the matter seriously. But Finn just sat in her room, staring at the photo. A photo she took for her own records before the police arrived.
On her phone screen was a snapshot of their sliding glass door. Inside the door was a mound of dirt. Completely dry, and yet completely stable. Finn was willing to bet the base of that mound would measure as a - scientifically improbable - perfect circle. To the left of the mound, leading further into the house, was a single footprint marked with that same dirt.
She started questioning the more subtle oddities of the mound. Yes: no-one knew how it got inside when all the doors were locked. Yes: no-one knew how dry, fine dirt could leave such a distinct, raised footprint. But Finn was most curious about the origin of the dirt. Their yard, and the land that surrounded them for miles, was covered with a reddy-brown soil. But the mound was made from sand-like material, so black it appeared volcanic.
She convinced herself it was a mystery, not a problem - maybe the owners had visited without notice. And brought a random pile of dirt with them. She lifted her hands above her head, reaching to the heavens in a pre-bed yoga stretch, when she glanced up into her walk-in-robe and saw it.
“Oh God, no.” Her lips trembled, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up as she froze in fear.
There, on the underside of the manhole, was a single dirty footprint.
#
Officer Jenkin’s advice was heeded. No-one stayed at the Miles End house that night.
The following evening they all stood in Finn’s walk-in-robe, armed with a step ladder. They’d found the ladder stashed behind an assortment of paint tins and cracked bathroom tiles in the under-stairs cupboard. But this wasn’t like the movies; most Australian houses don’t have attics. A roof space is just large enough to walk around, head ducked, walking the tightrope of trusses. Typically filled with dust, air-conditioning ducts, and unsurprisingly - snakes. Finn stepped into the space, finding two of those things. No snakes. Even better, no humans. But if Ange thought Finn’s bedroom was heavy, she would probably suffocate in the thick air that swarmed in that roof.
“There’s nothing up there.” She slowly stepped back down the ladder.
“It’s gotta be some asshole’s idea of a joke, right?” Matt said, sounding more like he was trying to convince himself than the girls. “I mean, the print was on the underside of the roof door -”
“Manhole.”
“Yeah, whatever Ange, the manhole then. So, unless the dude is Spiderman -”
“Doesn’t explain how they got into our house though.”
“Maybe we should all share a room tonight then?” Matt said courageously.
Finn could hear Ange’s teeth grinding into chalk following that suggestion.
“No, I’ll be fine. I’m not going to let this asshole chase me out of my own room,” she glanced back up to the roof. “Or my house.”
Ange and Matt went downstairs to start on dinner while Finn scrubbed away the dirty footprint. The rest of the evening lacked the weightless joy of the previous nights. There was a clear tension between Matt and Ange, their conversation peppered with sarcastic remarks and impatient undertones. Finn sat silently, watching the future she had so clearly predicted unfold before her. Here come the flames, she thought. She yawned, closing her eyes, briefly daydreaming herself away from the awkwardness. She opened them a second later, enveloped in darkness and a silence so loud it pounded in her ears.
She felt extremely uncomfortable - her muscles ached, her bones cracked as she moved. Something was digging into her lower back. And her ribs. And her calves, and ankles. She patted the ground around her, soon realising she was lying on the staircase.
“What the fuck?” she whispered.
She lifted herself up, wondering how long she’d been there. Her last memory was of dinner outside, listening to Ange and Matt argue over who left the bathroom fan on. That was around 6pm. Sunset wasn’t until 9. But there could’ve been more light in the depths of a black hole than what surrounded her now, so it must’ve been later than that. She also wondered why her lovely friends had left her passed out on the staircase.
“Surrounded by assholes," she muttered as she switched on the stairway light.
“Ohh,” she let out a small yelp, cupping her hands over her mouth.
Her friends were draped across the stairs below her, bodies contorted, moulding to the sharp angles of the steps. Their mouths gaped open revealing dark openings that looked like entrances to a long-forgotten crypt.
Finn ran to her friends, shaking them awake. No-one remembered how they got there.
After a while they sauntered back to their rooms, wiping the dried spittle from their faces. Acting like nothing strange had happened.
#
That was also the first night Finn saw it. After the initial stair incident. She was getting undressed in her room when she looked up and noticed the manhole cover was open a crack. 10cm of darkness. She told herself she’d forgotten to properly close it after scrubbing it earlier. Too tired to go downstairs and grab the ladder, she climbed into bed.
Rain tapped on the window as she read the latest offering from Stephen King - 11.22.63 (quickly becoming her favourite book), when something pulled her gaze back towards the open manhole. She leaned forward, focusing into the darkness. Reverberations from her racing heartbeat reached up into her throat, stifling any chance of a scream for help. There, through the open manhole, the shadow of a man was peering down at her.
Daylight smothered the horizon before Finn realised she’d not shifted her gaze from the shadow all night. The trance finally broken by the warmth of the sun’s rays on her face. She looked out the window at the vivid pinks and purples painted across the sky. She smiled, finding the courage to glance back at the manhole - no insidious dark figures. She grabbed the ladder, pulled the cover closed and left for Uni.
Throughout the day she reached for any logical explanation of the horrific night - she was exhausted, she’d been feeling anxious, jealous, she’d been feeling physically unwell lately - her mind was playing tricks. After all, how could a shadow exist in pure darkness? These reassurances were cyclic, regularly repeated inside her head in agonising detail, connecting cause to effect with fragile thread. The speed of her anxious heart directly influenced by how quickly she could convince herself of a positive explanation in each cycle. Her therapist called it catastrophic thinking. But by the time she’d arrived home she was feeling positive and confident.
10 hours of rationalising efforts unraveled later that night when she climbed into bed and saw the open manhole.
The shadow peering down at her.
Its smiling eyes much clearer that night. A dull red.
#
Things continued on like that at Miles End for a while.
Matt told of the time he was home alone and Finn’s radio turned on. As he went to turn it off, he watched the volume knob rotate to the right.
Noises could be heard most nights as they lay in bed. The next morning they’d come downstairs to find items moved, sometimes missing. One morning they came down and found the pots and cutlery stacked in the middle of the kitchen floor.
And every few days they’d awake on the stairs, hours of lost time, with no recollection of how they got there.
But they spoke of it through an air of separation, as though it was happening to someone else. Some amusing anecdote you tell at a dinner party about a friend of a friend who lived in a haunted house once.
Ange referred to it as ‘Miles’. Finn knew better.
No-one ever discussed leaving.
And Finn never discussed her shadow.
#
“Jesus, Finn. You look terrible. When was the last time you weighed yourself?”
“Thanks Ange. Love a confidence booster first thing in the morning.” Finn walked past the kitchen table where her friends sat, and poured herself a coffee from the pre-made pot.
Silence.
“Ugh, fine. 40kg,” Finn ignored the look of horror that washed over Ange and Matt’s face. “This is the first time I’ve been able to leave the bed in nearly a week. I can barely drink water, let alone keep food down.”
“Honey, you’ve not been well since we moved here, and you just seem to be getting worse every day. Maybe we should cancel the holiday?” Ange directed the question at Matt.
“No! Don’t be ridiculous, you’ve been so excited about this holiday. And I think I’m finally kicking this flu anyway. Go! Have fun. Send pics!” She smiled and sipped at her coffee, instantly feeling it threaten to slide back up.
“Ok, if you’re sure?”
Finn nodded with a comical eye roll.
“I’m going to go up and finish packing then. We need to leave in 30 minutes baby.”
Matt joined Finn in nodding. “I’m ready to go when you are.”
Finn could feel Matt’s eyes on her after Ange left. She was too afraid to return his look, unwilling to see the vision of herself reflected in his facial expression. She was also trying to suppress the sting she felt from hearing the pet name ‘baby’. This was a new sign of affection between the two of them, further signaling the end for her and Matt.
“You really don’t look well,” he reached across and grabbed her hand, rubbing her thumb with his.
She wanted to cry. She felt every aspect of her world leaving her behind, and she was too weak to even lift a hand to wave goodbye to it.
“Maybe you should ask someone to come check on you sometimes while we’re away?”
“I already have.” She hadn’t.
They sat in silence, listening to the thudding of feet and yells of hurried frustration coming from upstairs. Then Finn asked the question that had cursed her mind for months.
“Why wasn’t it me?”
That question would remain unanswered.
#
To: Finn Maddox
From: Angelina Anstead
Subject: Bali photos! xoxoxoxox
Date: Thursday, 26 April 2012
Hey Finny!
How’s life in Oz? It’s so amazing here, not at all what I expected. Our villa is about an hours drive out of the main city of Bali, but we actually prefer it here. It has that super laid back surfer lifestyle. Yesterday we took surfing lessons, then spent the evening drinking cocktails at this bar overlooking the ocean. I never want to leave lol.
I hope you’re feeling better? Your mum emailed me today, asking if I’d spoken to you. I think she’s stressin.
Anyways, we’ll be back next week. Can’t wait to see you <3
xo Ange
Oooh, and check out the photos :)
#
To: Finn Maddox
From: Angelina Anstead
Subject: Everything ok?
Date: Sunday, 29 April 2012
No reply hey? ;) Are you angry at me? I got this weird vibe when we were leaving but Matt said I’m being paranoid.
Oh, and your mum emailed us again. She said she’s tried to call you like 20 times. And she’s even gone round and knocked on the door a couple of times? Maybe just give her a quick call to put her out of her misery lol!
xo Ange
#
To: Finn Maddox
From: Angelina Anstead
Subject: FW: Everything ok?
Date: Day Monday, 30 April 2012
Your mum actually called us on Whatsapp lol! We told her you probs weren’t answering because you’re still sick. Sorry :-/ I didn’t know you were keeping it from her. You really need to call her now, coz she’s losing her mind.
Anyways, we’re home on Wednesday!!! Can’t wait to see you.
xo Ange
#
Sally Maddox rapped on the front door of the Miles End house. No-one answered. But this time she came prepared. On her way there she had driven past Matt’s parent’s house to pick up the only spare key. She opened the door, calling out into the great open plan hall.
“Finn? Finn, honey, it’s your Mum.”
She was met with silence.
“Finn, I just wanted to come around and check on you. No-one’s heard from you in a week.”
When she still received no response, she checked around downstairs, opening the back door and glancing into the backyard. Rain beat down on the galvanised iron roof like a thousand firecrackers on New Years Eve, flashes of light igniting the sky in waves. The roar of thunder coming in a close second.
Then she headed upstairs, calling out one last time.
“Finn, it’s your Mother.” Knocking, then sliding open the bedroom door, “Are you in here, honey?”
#
Miles End (adjective and noun) was isolated. The nearest house was located over 2km away; so, no neighbours reported the tormented scream tearing through their property that night. Police were called to the scene of Miles End on Monday, 30 April at 7.53pm. The body of Finn Maddox, found by her mother, lay emaciated in bed. The state of decomposition suggested she’d been dead almost a month, but reports from friends and family, University lecturers, and even bank statements contradicted this finding.
Mrs Maddox had found her daughter’s body almost melted into the mattress. The skin was peeling back, revealing rotting flesh the colour of a deep bruise, causing her eyes to bulge forth like that of someone struck with absolute terror. Her mouth did nothing to counteract this appearance, hanging open as if mid-scream. If Finn had been able to see herself, she’d say it looked exactly like her friends mouths that night on the stairs.
Investigators recorded the position of the body upon arrival - the victim lay on her back, head tilted to the right. Appearing to face the direction of the wardrobe ceiling.
#
“Let’s be quick. I really don’t want to be here.”
“I don’t either, Matt.” Ange fiddled with the key in the lock.
The stress of Finn’s passing had caused an irreparable rip between the two. The intimacy had withered, taking the friendship right along with it.
They stepped into Miles End for the first time in months as authorities had secured the house for the period of the investigation. An investigation that would eventually be closed without resolution. The guilt of this ate away at Matt like a virus - another answer Finn would be denied.
They had been allowed one day (supervised) to pack up essential belongings shortly after they returned from their overseas trip. They now returned for the remainder. They packed up the items in the living room and kitchen, Ange remembering the excitement and hope she had felt when she bought the new stone cookware. When the sun started to set, they went upstairs to finish packing the bedroom.
“Do you know Finn’s mum hasn’t left the house since they closed the investigation? I went around to see her yesterday but it’s like she’s not even there anymore. Like her body’s there, but she’s stopped existing.”
“I think I know how she feels,” Matt mumbled, looking down at a photo of the three of them at high school graduation. “I’m just going to see her room, quickly.”
“What? Don’t go in there Matt. Finn’s family is going to come pack it up.”
“I just need to see it. Everything feels so... unfinished.”
“You won’t find any answers in there,” she said, showing care and sympathy for the first time since the split.
Matt ignored this and walked across the hall into Finn’s room. Ange was right, the room was heavy. He was struggling to breathe but reminded himself that could be from anxiety. An infliction that had near crippled him in recent months.
He heard a click behind him, turning to see Ange shadowed by the light from the other bedroom.
“Light’s not working,” she said, trying the switch another three times.
“It never did. She always used the bedside lamp.”
Matt walked over to turn on the lamp. They wandered around the room looking at photos, an impressive collection of books in various states of dog-earedness, awards (athletic and scholarly). Evidence of a warm and promising life, stolen.
“Oh God, that bloody footprint. I thought Finn got rid of that,” she said in disgust.
Matt darted around to face the wardrobe. There it was - black, seemingly larger now than when they first spotted it. Mocking them.
“She did.”
He walked over to the footprint, quickly noticing something beside it - the manhole cover was slightly ajar.
“What is that?” he squinted up into the darkness.
“Matt, can you get away from there. Let’s go. I want to go.”
Matt appeared transfixed, frozen in place. Staring up into that crack.
“Matt,” she yelled, grabbing at his arm firm enough to leave a bruise. “Let’s go, please. I want to go!”
#
POLICE BAFFLED BY SERIES OF HORRIFIC EVENTS AT MILES END HOUSE
by Jesse Michaels. Thursday, 16 August 2012
Angelina Anstead (20) and Matt Spooner (21) were reported missing by their parents yesterday. The young couple have been the subject of media attention recently due to their relationship with Finn Maddox - the 20-year-old University student found in a deep state of decomposition in her bed, despite findings she’d been deceased less than a week. The three young adults moved into the now infamous Miles End house in Southern Adelaide in early March, where Miss Maddox would later be found by her mother.
The investigation into Maddox’s death was closed last week after police were unable to determine cause of death; however, the coroner did deliver a ruling of death by apparent natural causes. Maddox’s autopsy revealed no alcohol, drugs, or poisons in her system, and despite friends claiming she was suffering from the flu, there was no evidence of viral infections.
Anstead and Spooner told their parents that they’d be visiting the Miles End house around 10am on Sunday to pack up some items, following the closure of the Finn Maddox investigation and subsequent release of the property. Findings at the house corroborate this: Anstead’s car was parked in the driveway; her keys were discovered, mysteriously, in the roof of the property; and numerous boxes were found packed with their items. No further evidence of the pair’s whereabouts has been uncovered and they have not been heard from since.
South Australian police are urging the public to come forward with any information about the whereabouts of Angelina Anstead and Matt Spooner as soon as possible.
THE END
