The Rage Inside

Darren stood for a moment and looked around the old house, certainly older than the others in the street. It was built in 1887; Victorian Second Empire apparently. Steeped in history he was told, a true fixer upper they said. Still he was grateful for his uncle who left it to him in his will. But as Darren looked at the photo from who knows when, even then its wooden frame, its dark aged slatted walls, sighed with the years.

It had sat unoccupied for a good five years before the will was read, due to Darren's uncle going missing. The investigation to find him had been thorough, but he was never found and the house had suffered from serious neglect in the meantime.

Darren decided that he would simply renovate the house and sell it; he had no interest in the family history. He started to move an old chest--one of the few remaining items in the house--and a photograph, paled and aged, dropped to the floor. He picked it up; it appeared to be a group of football players in a locker room. They where all holding up their fists proudly showing their championship rings. Darren remembered his uncle talking about the time the football team won the college tournament. He ran a finger across the faces, and smiled as he spotted his uncle; he hadn't seen him for almost twenty years now. He propped the photo on the chest and stood back wondering what cards fate had dealt his uncle.

The restoration was tough; he'd worked through the house room by room and was only half way done. He had only started working on the ground floor box room in the morning. It was a peculiar room with no windows and appeared to have no purpose. The wallpaper was dark and mottled with a pattern that seemed to shift if you stared at it too long.

Darren turned on the light and the switch crackled and sparked; the single bulb above his head flickered into life, then died. Darren mused that the electrics in the house appeared to have a mind of their own as he flicked the switch a couple more times before the bulb burst into life again.

As Darren stripped the wallpaper he quickly realised that it was concealing strange scrawls daubed on the walls. The markings appeared to interlock with each other; none of it made any sense to him. He continued ripping the paper from the walls and soon discovered a hollow space. He pulled at the boards and revealed a very large fireplace.

Suddenly, without warning the lights went out; not just in the box room but the whole house.

Darren scrambled around the floor to find his toolbox, and grabbed a torch. He flicked the switch. Nothing; shaking the torch didn't help either. He let out a sigh and felt his way around the room, knowing he'd have to go to the basement to check the fuses. In the hall an eerie orange light bathed the inside of the house, it was almost dusk outside.

In the kitchen Darren searched the cupboards for the candle he'd seen. Darren had no idea where it had come from but its squat body suggested it was old and well used; blobs of wax traced their way down its edges. Once lit, its warm yellow flame danced in the drafts of the old house.

The steps down to the basement were crooked and uneven. Darren's hand touched the walls: damp, rough bricks. The candle flickered, caught in a draft, and he held up a hand to protect the flame and stumbled down the last couple of steps. Darren fell to his knees and cursed as he dropped the candle; it went out as it rolled away. He fumbled around the floor in complete darkness and found the candle--flick, flick; the lighter finally lit and he touched it to the candles wick. The glow slowly illuminated the basement, and an eerie face with eyes like fire loomed up in front of him. He gasped and scuttled backwards; a sound, a crack from behind him and the lights came on again. He gasped and sighed, it was his own reflection staring back from a mirror propped up against a wall. Darren checked the fuses. They all appeared to be fine. "Crazy wiring" he mumbled under his breath.

As Darren slowly walked up the stairs of the basement he touched the walls; they were bone dry and smooth. He took a deep breath and shook his head.

He returned to the kitchen again and checked the torch. It still didn't work, but he remembered there was a small lantern in the trunk of the car. Outside, dusk was approaching and Darren wondered why he'd not been bugged by kids trick or treating; the large bowl of treats left by the porch remained untouched.

From the back of the car, Darren rummaged through the contents of the trunk and found the lantern. It flickered for a moment then shined bright; satisfied he turned it off again and walked back to the house. Tall fences erected by the neighbours cast deep shadows as the sun got low in the sky of the October evening. The path was long and narrow, and the once elegant trees were gnarled and dying. He glanced at the pumpkins: He'd only put them outside in the morning with some smiley faces carved into them, but their bright orange skins had aged. The fruit had sagged; browned and the cheery smiles transformed into grotesque sneers.

Darren turned in hearing a sound--a single child dressed in a cowboy costume. "Your pumpkins are evil," the cowboy said. Darren picked up the bowl of sweets and offered them to the child, but he saw a movement of shadows out of the corner of his eye and turned to see nothing. His gaze returned to the boy, who has been quickly joined by his mother. She glanced at Darren, fear in her eyes. She grabbed the arm of the child, and dragged him backwards. She said something into his ear, and his face screwed up and tears streamed from his eyes. A little shocked, Darren returned the sweets to the porch with a sigh.

The house seemed to groan as he opened the door and walked in. There was a weight in his step as he made his way back to the box room.

Inside the box room, he was grateful that the lights were still working as he glanced at the gaping throat of the fireplace. Darkness appeared to spill into the room from the opening as he went to investigate the discovery.

Cautiously he ran his hand around its interior; the outer surface appeared to be a heavy cast iron and was unusually large but the back appeared to be some other material. He used a claw hammer to tap around the surface and the back just crumbled. Using the claw of the hammer he pulled at the small hole he'd created.

It wasn't long before a hole large enough to crawl through had appeared. He switched on the lantern and held it up to the opening. He squinted into the receding darkness. It looked like another small room behind the fireplace.

He passed the lantern into the room and squeezed through the fireplace. The inside felt tight and oppressive, like a heavy weight bearing down on him. The light from the lamp dimmed and struggled to light any of the rooms corners.

He moved the lantern, tracing its interior; the walls where daubed with the same strange symbols. There was a black stain across one of the walls, and the light from the lantern reflected off its shiny surface. In the gloom Darren reached out and touched the stain. It was warm and sticky. As he pulled his finger away it clung and stretched out into long sinews, almost unwilling to release its grasp. Finally it relinquished its grip and snapped back; it bubbled a little as it returned to the wall.

He moved the lantern around the small space and jumped when he discovered a skeleton jammed into one of the corners. It was brown, almost charred; its surface ruptured with blemishes.

With more confidence he moved the lantern closer, inspecting it--with a gulp he recognised a championship ring on one of its fingers; Darren's memory snapped back to the picture, his uncle had one just the same as that.

Edging from the shadows, Darren noticed the black stain had moved, it was now hanging over the skeleton. The black substance blistered and dropped onto the skeleton's shoulder, more of it oozed over the bones and down the arm to the hand.

Darren jumped as the ooze-covered bones jerked. His eyes where fixed as it gained momentum and formed a tight bond to the bones. This time the whole arm shot out making a grab at Darren. Its grip was firm around Darren's wrist, but he pulled free and scrambled backwards through the opening in the wall, only pausing to glance back. The ooze had covered what was left of the skeleton completely, and it was moving in Darren's direction.

Outside, the light above Darren's head struggled to remain alight; it flashed spasmodically giving only snapshots of what was going on, like an old movie. He watched the fireplace intently as the creature emerged; its movements where awkward and unnatural, limbs bending in directions they shouldn't.

It stood, rolling its shoulders, gruesome cracks and snaps echoed around the room as it rose to its full height. It rocked its head, and ripples of crimson matted across its surface, it was changing its form. Darren blinked; it was his uncle, but something was wrong. It was the image of his uncle but from twenty years ago, the last time he'd seen him. He frowned: this couldn't be him, but he recognised the ring that glinted in the light.

It edged forward, and cautiously Darren took a step back.

"It's me boy," it said in a controlled voice. "There is nothing to be afraid of."

Darren glanced at the tools on the floor and snatched for a screwdriver.

It held up its hands. "Trust me son, I wouldn't hurt you," it smiled, its grin crammed with an unnatural number of teeth. Without warning it made a lunge at Darren, but he protected himself with the screwdriver, and it caught the creatures face. Scrambling backwards Darren watched the tear in its cheek; below was the same dark shiny substance from the smaller room.

The creatures eye's narrowed as it pulled at the loose flap of skin. "Stupid, and pointless," it sneered. "This form," it gestured at its body, "is just temporary. It's you I want as a permanent vessel."

Darren gasped and he took a step back, his eyes darted around the room and spotted the open toolbox on the floor. He raised the screwdriver, "I'm not FUCKING scared of you!" He edged towards the creature, and a grin peeled across its face. He made a lunge at it and pushed hard; surprised the creature stumbled backwards and tripped over the toolbox.

Darren turned and ran. He glanced left and right, and saw the front door ajar, and stormed towards it. Just out of reach, it slammed shut--he tried the handle but it was jammed and refused to budge. Behind him the creature, let out a deep throaty resonance of a growl.

The lights flickered again, and he bolted for the stairs. The creature grasped at Darren from the doorway but he side-stepped past, and as he raced up the stairs two at a time a angry roar echoed around the house.

Darren's eyes whipped between each of the doors, and he dived into the master bedroom, for it had a small balcony that sat above the garage: a possible escape.

Darren carefully closed the door, breathing heavily, gulping for air. He slid his head against the door but all he could hear was the rush of blood in his ears--then silence. Moments later he heard the front door open with a creak and then slam shut. Darren frowned as he concentrated on the sounds; a squeal and a thud, then silence again.

There was a shout from the stairs, "Darren?"

He gasped. It was his mother. "Mom?" He clapped his hand over his mouth.

"Darren where are you? I'm scared," she replied

He gulped, and listened. "Darren, I'm really scared. I think there is something in the house."

There was a scream, and something fell to the ground. "Mom?"

A quiet groan drifted up the stairs. "Darren, h-help me."

Darren bit his lip and edged towards the door. "Mom, where are you?" He whispered, there was silence apart from a gentle sob.

Darren looked over the banisters to the hall below, he saw what looked like his mom slumped against the wall. He quietly called her and she looked up with tears in her eyes. He cautiously edged down the stairs, but the tears of his mother were so strong he disregarded his own safety and helped her to her feet. She appeared shaken and bruised holding on to him tightly.

"S-Something grabbed at me," he held up a finger hushing her, and she continued in a low voice. "It was clawing at my arm but I struggled free!" She pointed a shaky finger at the box room, where a grey light bled from the room.

Darren knew it was foolhardy, but something tugged at him, telling him to return to the box room. He edged towards the darkness, his mother close behind him with a strong hand on his shoulder.

He slowly edged in; he felt the hand on his shoulder tighten even further. Looking around, it appeared that the light above his head was struggling as it flickered and dimmed only casting a small pool of light into the middle of the room.

He flicked the light switch a couple of times and for a moment, light flooded into the room; there was a figure crouched in the far corner. "William?" Darren's mother called from over Darren's shoulder.

It turned, its hand covered its cheek. "Yes, help me please," it begged. Darren's mother tried to push past but he held her back.

"Keep behind me," he said under his breath.

He watched carefully as it struggled to get to its feet; it traced the strange figures and shapes painted on the walls with its finger, "Trapped within these spells, trapped within these walls," it hissed, "I need you to escape the..." The room appeared to twist and flex; the symbols seemed to move on their own.

The creature made a lunge and Darren's arm instinctively swung out pushing his mother to safety. He was shocked as his mother almost flew out of the door, and he jumped as the door slammed behind him. The creature appeared weakened as it stumbled and fell to its knees.

It was still in the guise of Darren's uncle and looked up with a sneer of contempt on its face. "You will be mine," it croaked as it sprang to its feet, grabbing his shoulder. Darren screamed as heat seared through his body as it pushed its thumb into Darren's flesh. It blinked and it tipped its head. "Mine," it smiled

He gasped, and groaned as the heat started to burn, deep within the core of his body. Darren's eyes popped open, and he realised the creature had released its grip and taken a couple of steps backwards, not taking its eyes off him.

Darren screamed, deep within his very soul, and his whole body went into spasm, and his muscles tightened, locking him to the spot. Darren's vision blurred, and the light in the room took on a orange-like cast.

Beads of sweat poured down his face. Deep within Darren something wanted to escape, and his shoulders pulled back and his chest looked like it was going to explode. He let out an involuntary roar as something pulled itself out of his body.

Hot blistering flames licked around the new figure; now released, Darren brought his hands up to his face protecting himself from the heat and stumbled backwards crumpling to the floor.

The flaming-figure turned and looked at Darren, and he saw the same burning flames in its eyes as he did in his own reflection in the basement.

The creature backed away from the heat, but the flaming-figure only stepped closer.

The creature tried to escape past the flaming-figure, but it raised a hand and a ball of fire mushroomed from its hand blocking the creatures exit. Flinching from the heat, the creature darted the other way, and the flaming-figure gestured again and another ball of fire blasted past the creature; it was trapped with only the fireplace as sanctuary from the heat.

The creature slowly backed towards the gaping fireplace. Crouching it crawled back into the space, and without warning the flaming-figure pointed both hands at the creature and a thick stream of fire blasted into the fireplace, pushing the creature deep within the hidden room.

The flaming-figure continued throwing fireballs at the cast iron fireplace, which started to blister and bubble. It glowed red, then white, and sagged, sealing the opening.

The flames around the room quickly extinguished; Darren's eyes soon become used to the gloom again and he looked around expecting to see the room burnt to a crisp, but the only visible damage was the molten, misshapen fireplace.

The fierce heat from the figure quickly died. The figured turned, and Darren blinked. It was his uncle.

He held out a hand, but Darren pulled back. "It's OK, I'm the good guy honestly," he said. He took his hand, and pulled Darren to his feet. "Sorry about hitching a ride with you in the basement, like that creature," he nodded at the fireplace, "I was trapped in the basement and needed a lift to get out of there."

"B-But I thought that was you?" Darren stuttered

"Yeah, an old trick. It can't move around by itself, it needs to use something physical like a wall, a floor," he sighed, "or my skeleton."

With a gulp Darren reached out and touched his uncle, but his fingers almost passed through him, "Yup," he says, "that was me. The only way I could trap him in there was to use myself as bait."

"So what now?" Darren asked.

"The creature will be trapped in there for a while now, but this house cannot fall into the wrong hands," he rested a hand on Darren's chest. "You'll need to stay here and be the new guardian--my time is nearly up."

"But how?"

"It's all in the basement, you'll know where to find it."

Darren felt a warmth pass into his chest, "This will help you, it was passed to me; the power to protect the world."

The warmth subsided and Darren looked up at his uncle.

"It's up to you now boy. Do the family proud," he slowly faded, and vanished.

Darren jumped when his mother burst through the door, and hugged him.

"Oh Darren--I was so scared--the noises, the screams," she whispered

Darren held her close, as he considered the cards that fate had dealt him.