The Last House

By Daniel Beers

After a surprise call from their realtor, Bryan and Julie Dylan look past their troubled marriage and agree to look at one last house. It doesn't take long before they decide that it is perfect for them. Just then, the front door slams shut, trapping them inside. The windows are sealed, the glass unbreakable. After a night of restlessness and bad dreams, they wake to find the once empty house to be furnished and the food stocked. Soon, remnants of their own troubled past begin to haunt them and their distrust for one another rises. Is this just a sick prank, or is something more sinister lurking beneath?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Daniel Beers
• Release date: Apr 24, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301288434

Daniel Beers

Daniel Beers lives with his wife and son in Tacoma, Washington.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Bryan and Julie Dylan were not talking to each other. Bryan sat in their spare bedroom that doubled as their computer room and aimlessly surfed the internet. He checked his email every ten minutes, watching each random video clip that caught his eye, sometimes just staring into the tiny pixels of the monitor. Through the paper thin walls of their apartment he could hear the low buzz of the television volume coming from the living room. He wondered if Julie was still awake or dozing. Not that it mattered either way to him. It was going to be a long night no matter what.

Bryan found himself clicking on the link to their realty company. It was more out of habit than anything. As usual, the houses posted on the main page were the same ones as yesterday. For a bad economy, there was still nothing decent on the market outside of Buffalo, New York. Bryan scoffed to himself and went back to check his email once more. Nothing new had come in.

Through the walls, he heard the staccato of voices, followed by brief moments of silence. Julie was definitely awake, arbitrarily changing channels in the same manner as he was clicking mouse buttons. A small amount of rage swept through him like a burst of warm air through a cold room. It was what she always did when she was bored, and it was nothing short of annoying when he was in the same room as her. There was no possible way for her to identify what was on each channel. It was just a bad habit.

He took a few well deserved moments to recollect exactly what it was that created that day's rift in communication. He couldn't quite put his finger on it. Hell, it could have been a whole lot of things. Maybe he didn't put his dinner plate in the dishwasher, maybe he didn't bother asking Julie if she wanted something to drink when he got up to get his own, maybe she was just being the stereotypical bitch on her period. The possibilities were endless.

The worst part was that when they got around to the actual crux of the problem, it was more than all that trivial nonsense. A lot more. The mere thought of the enormity of it brought about a dull ache in Bryan's stomach, a sharp pain to his forehead. It was different before. A lot different. There was a beautiful marriage in that bag of bullshit somewhere. But was it really worth it to sift through it all to find it?

A tinny version of Mozart's Dies Irae belted out of his pocket. The cell phone vibrated against his leg. He reached to his cell and glanced at the clock on his desktop. It read 8:17 pm. For some reason, it felt later for Bryan. Even so, he couldn't imagine who would be calling him this late in the evening.

Bryan touched the answer button on screen of his phone and uttered a half-interested Hello?

Bryan Dylan, a quick talking nasal voice nearly shouted. How are you doing this evening?

Bryan knew the voice right away. It was Marsha McDonald, his realtor. Her call was surprising. He hadn't heard from Marsha in well over a month. Bryan got the feeling that she pretty much gave up on them and their quest for the American dream. Marsha was young, ambitious, and by no means patient enough for a couple with decision making issues and a less than fantastic credit score.

Hi Marsha, Bryan answered in a voice that resonated the same sense of false politeness. What can I do for you?

Marsha laughed. It sounded like the rat-a-tat of a machine gun out of some old gangster film from the 1940's. It was shallow and flat, despite the volume. "Bryan, it's what I think I can do for you."

Bryan smiled in spite of himself. In another life Marsha McDonald was a used car salesman in one of those low budget commercials on daytime television. She positively reeked of dishonesty and it was obvious even to the most naïve that she would do just about anything to make a sale. Bryan let out a disinterested Oh?

What do you know of Warrenville? Marsha asked.

Warrenville? Bryan echoed. He knew of the town well enough, though he was sure he had never actually been there. It was another one of those old logging towns off the beaten path of any modern day roadway. The most Bryan heard about Warrenville was on the weather report, as the town generally got a little more snow than most. It was a small exit sign along the interstate, nothing more.

Did you know that Warrenville has one of the lowest property taxes in New York? Marsha continued without bothering to hear an actual answer from Bryan. He could tell she had prepared this speech before calling him. He imagined her practicing it in front of her bathroom mirror as she applied an extensive amount of makeup for the phone call.

I did not know that, Bryan answered.

Well, it's true. Not only that, the school district is in the top five percent. It's a paradise for families.

It's pretty far away from everything.

Another machine gun fire of laughter. Yes, it is rather rural. But it's only five miles from the Thruway and forty miles from Buffalo. You couldn't ask for a better location. I just found the perfect house for you two. We haven't even posted it on the website yet. But when I saw it, I thought of you two immediately.

Bryan didn't say anything. He doubted Julie would ever go for living way out in Warrenville. She worked as a fourth grade teacher in the Buffalo City school district. In the winter when the snow gets piled on, forty miles could easily be several hours of commute time if the plows weren't prepared for it.

Now I know what you're going to say, Marsha said. It's too far away and it's in the middle of nowhere. I would say the same thing and wouldn't even consider you two for this house, but you won't believe the deal. I could barely believe it myself.

So tell me about it.

Well, it's a three-story Victorian on a three acre lot. I hear it's one of the first houses ever built there.

Three-story Victorian, Bryan thought. Sounds expensive. Why does she keep showing us what we can't afford?

And before you say anything about what they want for it, I can assure you it's well within your price range. In fact, I think we can talk them down. Trust me Bryan; this is one of those deals that come around once every twenty years. You're going to be blown away when you see it.

Bryan sighed. He had heard this type of speech from her before. While she never minced words about the price, she did little less than lie through her teeth about the house itself. A three-story Victorian on a three acre lot could mean a two bedroom ranch on a cement slab on the corner of a busy intersection. A garage meant a shed on the edge of the property with the roof caving in and a hobo squatting in it.

I've got another client in Olean that I need to visit tomorrow. So I was thinking I could run my errand, and then meet you two at the house? Trust me; you'll have to see it to believe it.

I doubt my wife is going to want to go to Warrenville for a house she hasn't even seen before. Do you have a picture that you can send me?

Machine gun fire laughter. Bryan found it grating on his nerves. I certainly do. Let me email it to you and you can talk to your wife about it. If you're interested, why don't you call me back? Call at any time. I'm going to be up for a while.

All right. I'll talk to her and let you know.

Great! And remember, Bryan, this is the deal of a lifetime. I could not be more serious about it.

Bryan thanked her and hung up. He clicked refresh on his email account and saw no new mail. He decided it might be a good idea to wait and see the house for himself before breaking the uneasy cease-fire of the living room.

Chapter 2

Julie Dylan was flipping channels faster than her eyes could see what was on. It didn't matter anyway. She had gone through the gauntlet of channels at least ten times already and she hadn't been able to find anything spellbinding enough to keep her short attention span. Plus, it was another fifteen minutes before 8:30 and nothing new was about to start. Her eyes glazed over at the constant flashing of the screen. She was probably going to fall asleep soon. She was wrapped up with an afghan Bryan's mother had made for them as a Christmas present a few years back. It was almost a guarantee she was going to sleep all night on the couch. She reached the top of the channels and started over again. She sighed.

She wanted a cigarette. Boring times like these always brought that out in her. She had quit cold turkey almost two years ago. Actually, one year, ten months, two weeks, three days, and two hours. As she blew the last bit of smoke out of her mouth and mashed the butt on the makeshift ashtray (which originated as a Maxwell House coffee can that sat off the back stoop of their apartment), she told herself that it was all over. The party had ended. Time to be a responsible adult now. After all, you can't smoke when you're pregnant…

The first few days were rough, but nothing she couldn't handle. The physical cravings were brutal, but she found ways to get her mind off of them. She chewed the gum, wore the patch, wrapped a rubber band around her wrist to snap the cravings away. After a week, they were pretty much non-existent. The only thing left was the habit, the act of smoking, the savage satisfaction of taking in a drag, of feeling the smoke fill her lungs, of blowing it back out again. And sometimes, like times such as these, the mental craving was almost too overbearing to ignore. She felt edgy, as if she had forgotten something important to do.

Did I leave the stove on? No, I just want a cigarette. Did I lock the deadbolt? No, I'm just jonesing for a smoke. Did I waste my youth? Well, maybe, but a butt sounds great right about now.

In the distance, she could hear Bryan's cell phone go off. That awful tinny Mozart music was muffled, but still just as annoying as it would be if she was sitting right next to it. She instinctively took another glance at the clock on the cable box. 8:17. Who on earth would be calling this late? Family? Some distant relation died maybe? Surely not friends. As far as Julie knew, Bryan didn't have many friends. Sure, there were some from high school and college, but they had all moved away and Bryan only got in touch with them during the holidays. And even that was rare. No, Bryan didn't have the panache to make new friends. He was too quiet, too reserved, too much of an inward soul to develop kinships with others. It was odd because he had not always been like that. There was something that changed within him in a time long ago. Before, he was very outgoing, cheerful, eager to meet people. How long ago was that?

She clicked the mute button on the remote and tried to listen in. She could hear Bryan's voice but no actual words. Every once in a while she thought she could catch a glimpse of a sentence, then it would flow back into a monotonous incoherent drone. Giving up, she pressed the mute button once again to hear the television.

For some strange reason Julie could not identify, she started to feel guilty. Was it because she wanted a cigarette? No, that couldn't be it. Those cravings came and went like gusts of wind. It was something else. She recalled earlier in the day she made that sniffley little Roger Deacon cry when she told him he had to go to the principal's office for shooting spitballs at the girls. Was that it? She felt bad, sure, but when she thought of it, the ache didn't subside. There was something else. Something she just couldn't quite put her little finger on.

And then it hit her like an elbow to the gut. Bryan. She felt guilty because of Bryan. He didn't deserve her bitterness today. There was nothing he did that made her snap at him. It was her doing alone that made him want to leave the room for the rest of the night, to creep into bed after she had fallen asleep, to avoid another pointless argument over trivial nonsense. In a way, she wanted to go into the office and put her arms around his shoulders and hug him tight against her chest, with the hopes that a little physical contact (especially her breasts) against him would imply the apology she was not willing to say quite yet. She imagined reluctance at first from his part. His ego was bruised and he would have to show that to her with his rigidity. He would pretend that he was looking at something much more important, show her that he didn't need her, that he didn't want what she was about to give him. Then eventually, as the primal instinct of male sexuality got into second gear, he would just allow it. He would accept any apology she was willing to give, even it was half-hearted or unspoken. They would probably make love right then and there, clothes strewn on the floor, a little carpet rash for both of them, and a look in each other's eye that cries out Why don't we do this more!? That whole scenario was hers for the taking if she wanted it.

But then again, she supposed, maybe there was another reason why he was in there and she was where she was. She moved her hand down to her stomach and gently dug her nails into it. It still felt different even after that life-changing night. It felt like she was touching someone else's stomach, that even the now rubbery skin itself was foreign to her.

What an awful night, she mused to herself as her eyes glazed over, her vision still directed at the television though she was not even aware of what she was watching anymore. Awful was too simple of a word. It was the worst night of her life. She had never felt more pain, more anger, more depression, more—

Relief?

Another pang of guilt hit her. It was powerful enough to make her sit up and readjust how she was lounging. She couldn't even bear to think about it anymore. She snapped her eyes to attention once more and began her ritualistic clicking of the channels. She was glad she didn't go in the office after all. It would have made her sick, more than likely. It would have been more than she could possibly stomach. It was even possible she might throw up all over him. Then she would have some explaining to do.

The very thought made her readjust once again.

Just don't think about it, she thought. It isn't worth you thinking about anymore.

She pressed mute once more. Bryan was off the phone, but he hadn't come out yet. That was all well and good. She wasn't sure she was ready to talk to him quite yet.

But God damn, she really could have used a cigarette. She fumbled an invisible one in her hands, made the ash flick movement. Then slowly, she was back to relative peace.

Ten minutes later she saw Bryan walk into the room.

Chapter 3

Bryan saw Julie sitting exactly where he had left her, the same exact look on her face, doing the same exact thing. Her blonde hair, short now after The Incident, was bunched up in the back. No more than a couple years ago, she would have been so embarrassed about having a screwed up do. He remembered her checking the mirror every time she walked by one, double checking to see if her part was straight, if there were too much hair to one side. Now it didn't seem like she cared about much of anything. Shaving her legs was a bi-weekly excursion at best. Being home meant sweatpants and a T-shirt, her hair tied up awkwardly. A droplet of rage, like nausea, swept up to the back of his throat. Was this what she was going to do for the rest of her life? Watch television and dwell on something that wasn't even her fault? And, perhaps worst of all, have the nerve to blame him for the whole thing? How could she possibly live her life with such disregard for her husband? For herself?

Julie looked over at Bryan, impatiently waiting for him to talk. She gestured to him, as if asking Well asshole? You got something to say already? The look made him want to strike her with the back of his hand. He envisioned it so vividly in his mind. He wondered if it would echo like it did in the movies. Would she bruise right up?

Bryan rubbed his knuckles as he walked over to sit on the couch. Julie made no motion of giving up any space for him to sit down. Finally, he sat on the arm rest, knowing full well doing so was one more thing to piss her off. There was no reason for her disregard for his choice of seat. The couch was plenty strong enough to bear his weight. She just seemed to enjoy being in control of every fucking thing in his life.

You won't believe who just called me, Bryan began, looking at the television as a buffer to not have to look at Julie directly.

He heard a disinterested Who?

Our friend and realtor, Marsha McDonald.

Julie let out a false laugh. Wow. Are we even still clients of hers? I thought our card must have fallen out of her little rolodex.

Bryan smiled. He did actually enjoy Julie's sarcasm. It was one of those traits that made him fall in love with her in the first place. She had the perfect tone, the most savage of ways to say something snidely. She had a gift of crushing the life out of words and toying with them for her own sick amusement. As long as it wasn't him on the sharp end of her barbs, it was actually quite enjoyable.

Bryan waved his hand in the air, taking in the sarcasm, thankful the ruthlessness was pointed elsewhere. Apparently. She says she has a house for us. One of those 'deal of a lifetime' situations that we can't pass up. Three-story Victorian, good neighborhood, top five percent school districts.

Julie set the remote down on the table. Oh I bet. Where is it?

In Warrensville.

Julie scoffed. Bryan knew what was coming before she even opened her mouth. He could tell she was looking at him, and he chose to keep his eyes on the television. Eye contact was only going to make the situation worse. If he saw the heat and fury in her eyes, he would have to leave the room for fear of losing his temper. And if he lost it, they would never get a chance to look at the house. He took a slow breath and allowed her the chance to vent her initial reaction. He would have to be patient. Some of her ravings could go on for an hour or more. Best to just let the steam out all at once and see if there was any water left.

Warrensville? You've got to be kidding. I don't want to live way the hell out in the middle of nowhere. It's going to be a fifty mile commute for me, most of it back roads.

Forty, Bryan corrected.

Whatever, it's going to feel like fifty. Julie sighed and brought her attention back to the television.

Bryan stood back up and stretched. He was surprised at how short her rant was. It seemed she had gone soft. It was only a few moments before she asked the real question.

How much do they want for it?

You won't believe it if I told you.

Julie's left eyebrow raised. Come on, how much?

Less than a hundred.

Ha! Julie blurted, though Bryan could see something of a smile on her face that she was desperately trying to hide. It wasn't a sarcastic one, but one of curiosity. What's wrong with it?

I don't know. Judging by the picture, not much.

Julie stood up at once. You have it up?

Bryan began walking back into the office. Yeah, you really should check it out.

Bryan left the picture sitting on the desktop, knowing that Julie would eventually want to see what the house looked like regardless of where it was located. She always had to look, even if the house was unobtainable. He motioned for her to sit down in the office chair, while he looked over her shoulder. He could sense she