The In-Between

I was just shy of 30 when I bought my first house. It was an old decrepit house. The porch had rotted planks, and the windows were stained over in a beige tint. The grass was vibrant and tall but it was an easily resolved issue. We found the house through an old friend whom once resided just a few homes down. It was an absolute steal, for its price it was in appearance something to build.

The house was nestled into a small forest of ever greens and shadows casted. Me and my wife began to unload the car in such haste we could feel the day wearing on us. The sun sneaking through the canopy, beaming down on us like a spot light. We couldn’t help but smile in excitement. The local movers had been busy hours before we got there unloading everything we owned into the house. A few of the men looked nervous but never failed to meet our eyes with a smile and nod.

I grabbed my last box from my car and began to approach the entry hall. It was open, the walls carved with intricate designs and the worn burgundy carpeting showed the age within the home. Every syllable muttered echoed through out the first floor. As I went to put my box down in the den. I couldn’t help but overhear two of the men talking. Their voices were shakey and the seemed worried. I cut the corner quietly acting as if I just happened to be there; after all it was officially our home.

Unlike the entire time we were there the men finally quit all eye contact. “Hey guys, why the long faces?” I asked curiously yet happily. They looked to eachother as if to concoct a lie. The man with blonde hair and glasses looked at me and began to inhale before he spoke,” No offense sir, but what do you know about this house?” He asked with a saddened tone. It was like he was afraid.

I took a moment and thought of anything I had heard, but nothing clicked. ” I guess I really only know what I have seen. Why do you ask?” I replied in worry. Once again they looked to eachother, the man with blonde hair patted the other on the shoulder and walked away with his hanging low. The other man was the crews lead. He took his hat off and gestured for me to take a seat.

Something about the air became heavy enough to cause a strain. The man sat before me just across the pine wood table. He brushed the sweat from his brow and after a few deep breaths he finally mustered up the nerves to speak to me. “Sir, Have you ever heard of

The Little Light?” He asked with a certain rasp to his voice. I took a moment to ponder losing my chin into my fist. Many thoughts occurred but none worth mentioning. “Nope, can’t say I have.” I stated in ignorance.

I could feel a story, a local legend coming along. He had that feel to him, like he wanted to tell me ghost stories. Maybe he wants to scare me away in an effort to take my house for cheaper. I shrugged it all off due to multiple people involved. I sat back to hear the man, the long wood legs of the chair creaking against my weight.

“Well ya see...a very long time ago this house was the site of a grizzly murder. It all started on a hot July evening, America was still new. This house was built as a hospital for war wounded. It was built to be a pathway to betterness; but it became a mad house.” He said as if it had been holding it in. I took a moment scratching my chin. “Sir, what happened here?” I didn’t want to offend the man but hear him out.

He began to shake, running his finger through his thick mustache. He peaked over his shoulder but No one was there. After a couple more seconds he started once more.

“A few months into this here place being here and running well, it happened. The downfall from Hell itself.” He said with depth in his voice.

“One day a patient had a hallucination of a monster, a creature of darkness, pure evil.It’s silhouette could cloak a man, it’s hand as big as a window. He began to attack the others, killing some. He would grab anything and use it. When they touched him, his evil, it transferred.” His voice began to show fear and scanning the room.

“The others began killing. After a few weeks the place had began to fall apart. The earth around the house died. The army finally came through and found a massacre. The surviving few had ate the others, using the bones to make totems. They attacked the soldiers, but overall the soldiers won. They burned the bodies, and the house became a study site.Just about 60 years ago the house was rebuilt as it is now. But the story still scares the locals.” He stated as an effort to end the tale.

I was in awe, if this was just a story this man really deserves a book. I, however had a question...one I feel I’d not like the answer to. “Sir, that’s a terrible story...but why is it called The Little Light?” I asked Leaning inward to hear him. His lips parted but only for a moment. His head began to tilt up, as if to look through the worn and discolored floorboards. He was looking to the attic.

Slowly I to began to look to it. I began to feel a pull, a calling, so angelic. He looked back to me and our eyes met, his were filled with sadness, and angst. “The whole thing began with a little light that came from the sky, it fell in the well...a poison. Those people became infected, monstrous, vicious things. Late at night you can see a little light through the attic window. No one knows what or who it is, people have tried but nothing came up.” He said gripping his finger onto the stable. His body said, I want to get out of here; but his eyes said I need to get out.

He promptly got up from his seat, nodded to me and finished his job. The house was finally settled in, me and my fiance were standing in our new home eating out first meal. The air felt heavy, the room felt caged. I tossed it off to nerves, due to the man’s story. As we sat on the couch watching old TV shows, she smiled at me and leaned her head into my shoulder. The very moment her head touched me...I was home, but not home. It was dark, loud like thunder, and it smelled like death. I looked to my right at her and she was just a husk of a person. A loud screech filled the air when I was back at my real home. She looked at me and asked if I was okay? I told her I was but I couldn’t tell her what I just saw.

The shows kept playing and we had well past dinner, and the TV was playing the reruns of shows we watched as kids. The night finally came, and with it more oddities. From time to time I would be taken to that same place. A home only it was dead. It was as if the world went dark and a bomb dropped. I’ve only seen that hellhole 3 times now. Three times too many, yet it only made me curious. As our shows ended we began to clean up, and head for a shower and some much needed rest.

With each creak of the old chipped and stained wood my journey upstairs was daunting. I was constantly going from home to hell. I was at my home only it...it was cold, and decimated. My wife had to help me to bed, bombarding me with questions. ARE YOU OKAY? Are you feeling okay? Do you need something? While I found her care astounding, there was no way I was going to ruin our evening with this. “Babe, I’m fine, I’m just exhausted from the move. She doubted me for a moment; atleast that's what her face said. She kissed my forehead and went off to shower, I followed shortly after.

The walk across the room had me on edge. My nerves were shocked and I was hunched slightly, creeping across to the bathroom. With each cursed step I was met with nothing. Not a feeling, a vision, nothing. I undressed and joined my wife in the shower. I could feel the individual drops of fallen water hit me. Every time my eyes closed the world became completely detailed. The putrid aromas that shouted decay, the dry breeze that cut through me, even the water on my skin was noticed.

A part of me was overwhelmed by the curiosity, yet the rest of me kept pulling me from it. My wife’s wet hair would sling and whip me from time to time bringing me back to reality. The usual apologies were stated and laughs exchanged. The time passed by as if time itself was fleeting, and we got out, dried off and into bed. I was beginning to feel a calm cascade over me as if it was a warm silk sheet.

We smiled once more as we turned to eachother and gave our goodnight spills.

She quickly fell fast asleep and I was stranded to examine the room until I drifted off. The warm sensation seemed to be infinite, the dark of the room seemed familiar. I was at peace, until the clock downstairs gave out a loud chime. As soon as I could look towards the sound I was there once more. I wasn’t in my home liked I have been. This place...it was a nightmare yet that same feeling covered me. The sky was a broken black and purple. The lightning never cut through the clouds, and the ground was barren and cracked.

There were darkened and burnt trees. The few blades of grass were crunchy, and I could see a house ahead of me. It was nestled between the trees and had a thin stone trail to it. I was bewildered by its sight and I had to know more about whatever this was. I wanted to believe it was a hallucination caused by stress, but with every moment I was thinking how wrong I might be. As I was encroaching the home, a new feeling emerged from my gut. It was the feeling you get when you...want. I was just another hobo being pulled by the pie on the window sill I needed to see what lied behind those walls.

I reached the door and saw myself turning the doorknob. The door went from ajar to open within a heartbeat. The room opened up and it was warm, not at all like the place outside. The walls were aged, the floor a beaten lumber, and the fire was crackling. I scanned the room wall to wall. My eyes caught sights between the flickering of the fire. I saw a person in the chair in front of the fire. It's hand was all I could see, it’s skin was a hellish red hue. It looked dead, flayed almost. I took a step inside and the floor creaked deeply, it became an echo in the room. I heard another creak and saw the figure in the chair had moved.

A breath weighed on the room and I was forced to look up. It was floating in the darkness of the ceiling between the large horizontal wooden beams, it was vaguely lit by the light from outside bleeding in. It was looking right at me I could feel it. I suddenly was hit with a wave of fear, and a voice slithered into my head. ” You, you are finally here. We have been waiting for quite some time. Take a seat, fret not on the questions I am assured you have.” He said reminding me of a snake. From time to time I would peak over my shoulder, only to be met with a snarl. It asked if I was hungry, or thirsty but I nodded no.

“You may ask me one question, but I shall ask one in return.” It said as I could feel him moving the air in the room. ” Where am I? Is this real? I asked staring into the fire. I heard it cackle sharply. “That’s two questions, which one shall I answer?” It retorted with a humorous tone. Before I could answer he spoke. ” Yes, this is all very much so real. It’s a place between places. It’s the home you will know, and has always been here. It is the hell purgatory spit out.” It said with each breath getting deeper. I turned to look to it and I woke up to a roll over. I was shaking, was it all a dream? Is it real? I wanted something concrete, perhaps the movers story just got to me.