UNRISEN, CHAPTER THREE
We have learned Trina, census taker, is taking liberties by roaming deeper into a residence without the presence of a host. Her story continues…
Trina had to leave. She had overstayed her welcome.
No door to door census is worth this!
She turned around to race toward the front door when the hallway closed itself off, restricting her exit.
“Who did that! Hey, let me out!”
From somewhere in this house, music started to play. It sounded like it was coming from inside the partially opened room down the hallway behind her.
“Dammit. I gotta get out of here!”
She oriented herself against the dimly lit hallway with a firm grip on the wood walls and felt the vibration of sound getting stronger under her right palm. Her curiosity animated her hands to search along the wall for a handle or opening.
The nail she broke hung lazily off deeply etched designs on the wooden wall. A splinter the size of a toothpick stuck straight out from the center of her finger, just below the fingernail bed.
“Son of a b…!”
The wall opened up slowly, as if pulled by a small child on the opposite side.
She held her hand like it had been bitten by a wild animal.
Her gaze caught itself between the awe of the yawning wall and her minor injury. She took a deep breath and yanked the splinter out, letting a yelp escape her lips. Once the blood squirted, she quickly slipped her finger in her mouth, containing the bloody mess and entered the mysterious hidden room.
An old turntable spun with a vinyl record, issuing musical resonance.
The speaker sported a large round open yawn, like that of a tuba before reducing itself into a gradual smaller cone attaching itself to the side of the turntable.
The music was unrecognizable, unlike anything she had ever heard before.
(PRESS PLAY TO LISTEN AS YOU READ)
What is this place?
She turned around and intended to cease her adventure, except the wall which momentarily represented an entrance no longer gave indication of passage. Her hands searched for a way out. She knocked on it with white-knuckle intensity.
The solid wall stood, mocking her and accusing her of acute stupidity.
“I want out, now!”
Once the needle reached the end of the odd grooved track it clicked from the bumping back and forth against the center papered circle.
Up to this point, she could make no connection between anything she had seen. Her imagination could try and create a story in this manor so far, but it lacked characters, people and emotion. This whole experience was void of all of it, except her growing anxiousness.
Maybe that was the reason, her mind guessed.
Confusing and conquering remained an age-old tactic to trap people into unfortunate situations and force them to make irrational decisions and snap judgments.
“You have shown interest in my residence,” a deep voice finally rang out.
“Hello? Will you please come out? Or better yet, don’t. I’m here to count one person living here and I will go quietly. After all, I am doing my job and am not on some scavenger hunt!”
“After all, you say?”
“You said, “after all and so doing your job.” This means what to you?”
“I don’t even know who I am talking with! At least show yourself like a decent host so I can excuse myself!”
“If I may entertain just one question.”
Her response was swallowed up inside her deep breathing.
“What makes you think you can leave, young lady?”
Her blood chilled to her feet and a cold sensation iced her spine.
“I…I…am just doing a job. You’re kidding, yes. You’re kidding. I can’t find you though. You’re kidding around, aren’t you?”
The edges of the room seem to move inward on her. Her vision narrowed even though her eyes were wide open.
She stumbled over her own feet and clamored toward the windowsill; she realized the window was too high from the ground below to even make an attempt at freedom.
Even if she did escape, how many injuries would she deal with, if she survived the fall? She never really cared to explore her dare-devil side; she now wished she had.
“I know who you are, Trina.”
Trina’s whole body went pale.
“I never told you my name. Why do you want me? And for what?”
“Oh it isn’t for what or even a question of why you in particular.”
The sunshine inside the room suddenly blackened into a fierce cloud of dark fog.
“I need you to take a seat in the most important chair in the whole place, Trina.”
Her clouded vision became more blocked off with each precarious step she took.
“Who are you? Tell ME!”
“That detail is so unimportant, dear girl. Sit!”
“I can’t see anything.”
A hidden force made her legs bend into a squat.
When her small backside lowered completely onto a grand chair, her hands and forearms met the solid wooden structure of finely crafted etched oak.
The shadow she couldn’t see bore a pleased look upon its unseen countenance.
It whispered, “Feeding time once again.”
(Read Part Four Here)
Bill D. Bistak, Author, Producer of Bestshorthorrorstories.com & Founder of Friedrich Imagines, Ltd. a media production company