The House With No Address
Horror Short Story: A “happy” couple on a "perfect" vacation
“You’re fucking lost, aren’t you?” My wife of fifteen years screeched into my ears. Arms crossed, gazing out of the car window towards the pines that tried to pierce through the grey sky.
This woman, I swear.
“For the tenth time...honey,” I talked through my teeth. “The host sent directions, the listing didn’t have an address.”
“Some vacation, Henry,” she kicked her bare feet up on the dashboard, reminding me of our first date to the beach. Remembering the ankle bracelets she use to wear, shoulders loosening at the memory.
“Whitney,” I teased.
“Henry,” her eyes stuck watching the pines blurring past.
“Look, babe,” I offered my hand. “Kids are back home. When’s the last time it’s just been the two of us?”
Whitney let out a slow breath, then grabbed my hand with both of hers, leaning into my arm. I thought back at the instructions in the email, as strange as they were. Like some sort of fairytale.
Follow the mountainside, take a left at the red log, and follow the dirt road until the pines block the sun.
I rubbed my forehead, trying to stay awake. We continued on the dirt road with the music low, red log feeling days behind us, even with the sun never setting. The further we drove the pines grew tighter, more ancient.
“Shit!”
I slammed on my brakes, stopping just in front of a wild dog that stared me down. Challenging me to drive the car right over him. The dog suddenly turned its head at something. Sniffed and bolted away from the disturbance.
“Jesus Henry, what the hell happened?” Whitney woke from her nap, rubbing her eyes and stretching out like a cat. “We’re really in the backwoods. You said a nice cabin in the mountains, not out here in Deliverance country.”
I lit up a cigarette and handed it over like a peace offering. “Let’s not fight, it’s nice and quiet out here.”
Quiet.
I let the word linger behind my tongue and started driving again.
Someplace I can finish my damn story.
“Sure, if you like getting killed by some hillbillies in the woods. Let me guess, you’re planning on putting that into one of your stories,” She blew a cloud of Smoke out the window, then waved the stubborn parts out the crack. “Why couldn’t we just go to Cabo like Lily and Joe?”
“Joe has the money for it.”
“Must be nice,” she side-eyed me, knowing she’d gotten under my skin. “Shoulda kept your job instead of–”
“We’re here.” The brakes eased, crushing gravel below.
“I wasn’t expecting this,” Whitney chirped as I pulled luggage out of the SUV “We got this whole place to ourselves?”
“Just as surprised as you, honey, It’s bigger in person.”
Each log was freshly stained, as if it didn’t belong to the rotten forest around the clearing.
“Where’s the key?” She wiggled the doorknob.
“You see a mailbox?”
We both looked around the cabin.
No mailbox.
No address or box on the wall.
“Here, I’ll check the email again.” I pulled out my phone. “To get in, go to the front door.” I did. “Grab the doorknob.” I gripped it. “Then...”
“Then what, babe?”
“It’s a typo.”
“Tell me what it says.”
“Fine,” I squint and look closer. “Mars. Apart, Uh.”
“Let me see that,” she grabbed my phone, then let out a snort. “Seriously, babe? It’s–”
Mors Aperta
The words echoed from her throat, whispered through the creaks of the pine trees. Carried by the barks of crows. The air shifted, and I felt nauseated, forcing myself steady until my eardrums popped. My body abruptly recentered itself.
Click.
The forest faded into a hush.
I turned the doorknob slowly, expecting resistance, surprised by the brass’s smoothness. The door opened, revealing the warm glow inside.
“Babe,” She dropped her bags. “It’s gorgeous,” she skipped to the kitchen, and glided her hand along the island. “Quartzite?”
“Yeah, the place is pretty nice.” I looked around, surprised at the lack of cobwebs.
If she finds out I didn’t use the app to rent this place, she’s going to kill me.
The shelves weren’t empty, they were crowded with antique trinkets and carved wooden statues. Most statues of dogs, similar in breed to the mutt I saw earlier. All noses pointed towards a small, statue in the center of the wall. It reminded me of an old tiki doll. Four feminine heads facing in different directions like a compass, eyes represented by black jewels. I felt myself drawn to it and wanted to hold it in my hands. Getting sucked into the darkness of their eyes, feeling my throat vibrate. Like a dog getting ready to howl. I started to reach for it, until—
“Babe, this place is a dream,” she said, embracing me, staring into me with her ocean eyes. The ones that always melted my heart. “Take a look around, then we can check out the shower when you’re ready.” She got on tiptoes for a kiss, winked, then exaggerated the swing of her hips while walking away. She always knew how to get me going, pulling my strings like a marionette.
I pulled up my joggers, legs seizing as they rubbed my manhood. Muscles melted into jelly.
The shower faucet squeaked shut.
“That was fun,” Whitney moaned with only a towel wrapped around her head. “How’d you find a place with a French Country bedroom, too?”
Why’s everything so perfect? I thought, forgetting to respond to her.
My body felt great. It was the first time in years we were able to be as loud as we wanted. Or try out that many positions. For Whitney to do “that thing.” She wasn’t nagging me for once. Even so, something kept me from enjoying the night. The feeling was primal. Nameless.
Even if everything was–
Perfect.
“Thanks for doing all this, Henry,” she said as she sprawled out on the chair in her nightgown. Leaving a man-sized opening next to her. “It’s a dream come true.”
“Of course, babe.”
“Aww, this is cute,” Whitney pulled a photo album off the coffee table. I scooted in beside her. Taking in the warmth of her skin and the softness of the silk she wore.
She opened it, and a pit formed in my stomach. A photo of our first date, acne on my face, and all.
How did–
“Baby, you put this together for me?”
My heartbeat drowned out her voice.
Photos of Whitney, posed in black lingerie.
“I still have that one, you know?” She grinned, nudging me with her shoulder. “Maybe I’ll pull it out later for you.”
She flipped to our engagement photo at Niagara Falls.
Our wedding.
The children.
“We need to go,” I ripped the album from her hands and tossed it on the floor.
“Henry,” she tried to free her arm from my grip. “What the fuck’s gotten into you?”
“I don’t know, it’s—“ I tried to find the words, my eyes on the door. “We need to leave. Now.”
“What are you talking about?” She broke free from my grip. “For the first time in God knows how long, everything’s perfect.”
I stood in front of her, eyes burning in a way she only saw a few times in our marriage.
“I didn’t put that album there.”
“But–” Whitney stammered and looked at the album, messy on the floor. She covered her breasts with her arms, eyes meeting mine. “Then how did they get pictures of me in—“
I had no answer.
She nodded.
We left what we could, grabbing essentials and only slowing down as I passed the statue.
Fuck you and your creepy ass eyes.
With a flick, it tumbled off the shelf and cracked against the hardwood floor.
I tossed the bags into the SUV. Hopped into the driver’s seat and cranked the engine on.
Thud.
Whitney, with a jacket over her nightgown, hair still wet, leaped into the passenger’s seat as I popped the shifter into reverse, tires spitting gravel. We didn’t look back. I just drove, knuckles white on the wheel, holding my breath. As the pines started to open, fog crept in, making the road hard to see past a few feet, but I kept my foot on the gas. I let out a manic laugh.
Thank God, we made it out in one piece.
I looked over at my wife, the mother of my children, at how beautiful she was in this moment, how I’d buy her flowers when we got back. Maybe save up for Cabo.
“Eyes on the road,” she commanded.
Fog started to melt, and the red log revealed itself. I let out a long, dragged-out breath, taking it all in. I pressed the brake, ready to turn and never look back, and it went straight to the floor.
I pressed it brake again.
Nothing.
“Babe, slow down.” Whitney gripped whatever she could.
I stomp down again, foot going numb, cursing God, losing all blood from my knuckles. If I kept going, there was only a cliff. I jerk the wheel, praying we can land on the highway.
Tires squealed, the smell of burnt rubber filled the cab as an eighteen-wheeler’s horn blared. I turned my head, blinded by the headlights.
“HENR–”
The smell of bacon filled the room. I forced out a groan as I stretched up to heaven.
“Good morning, handsome,” my wife glided into the bedroom with a tray filled with biscuits, bacon, eggs, and toast. She even prepared berries and orange slices. Her sundress was the same shade as the one she had when they first met.
Or was it the same dress?
“Morning,” My stomach growled impatiently.
“Enjoy,” She grinned, red lipstick thick on her lips, some bled into her bone-white teeth. “You deserve it.”
“Thanks,” I said, before it clicked.
We’re back in the cabin.
I looked around the room again, my head foggy and throbbing.
“Eat, Henry” She strutted to the bathroom, sundress only covering half her ass. “I’m going to freshen up.”
I waited for the bathroom door to click shut before moving the tray to the side.
What happened last night?
It felt like a dream that got further from my grasp the harder I tried to remember. The photo album sat on the coffee table neatly, like it never fell. A knot formed in my throat as I reached for it. Opening to a random page.
What the fuck?
Photos of our kids, eyes scratched out. Aggressive enough to cut through. I kept flipping.
Every image of my children scratched out.
Wait–
I stop. Some have more than two kids in the photos. Clothes from different decades. Photos in different qualities.
Those aren’t my kids.
The same scratches over each face.
I flipped back to the pictures of my wife in black lingerie. I smell permanent marker. Black ink dotting her eyes, bleeding on the page. More women. Different colors. Different eras.
“What are you looking at, Henry?” My wife leaned against the doorframe, exposing curves and skin through black lingerie, just like the photographs. Slowly, she slithered towards me. My heart a hammer trying to crack open my chest. I tried to slow my breath, my blood move down to my groin.
Without a word, she took the album from my hands and placed it on an arm of the chair. With a shove, she threw me onto my back. Her strength disorienting me. She leaned in, kissing my neck, started licking up to my ear, and whispered.
Mors Aperta.
The air shifted, the same feeling when we arrived at the cabin. I heard the trees whispering, crows barking, the click of the doorknob. Nauseated, I held in bile, forcing my eyes open until the room settled.
I pushed her off, scooting back into the cushions of the chair. She recovered, leaned back in, moving close enough for me to smell the sourness of her breath. Nowhere for me to go, I looked into her eyes. The darkness drew me in. Black as jet. My mind flashed back to the statue, to the sockets filled with those same impossible eyes.
I wanted to taste her.
My hands ripped open her lace, accidentally knocking the album onto the floor. My throat vibrated like a dog’s, hunger primal as I stared into the blacks of her eyes.
I kissed every piece of exposed flesh, the taste of salt on my lips.
“Good boy,” her voice was the sound of a thousand wives, as she ran her nails through my hair.
I didn’t look up when I started licking her skin, unable to slow down, snarling through the pools of drool. Her nails grew longer, perfect for getting that spot behind my ear. My leg kicked on hedonistic pleasure. Howls surrounded us, my throat vibrated in response.
The cabin faded until all that remained was dirt and pine. My back lay on a flat stone, vibrations pulsed from it in waves. Whitney straddled over me fully exposed, I loved the way all of her heads look in the torchlight. How the black of her eyes drove me crazy. Thousands of howls grew manic. I clenched my jaw, holding back my shouts, vibrations turning into electric shocks.
“It’s okay, Henry, let it out,” She scratched my chest with her claws, my jawline softened at the sensation., chest lifted to the moon. I let my jaw loose, opening my throat to the earth.
AWOOOO!
Next time, just use the damn app…
-Mat
What’s your “perfect” vacation?
Very well done! Definitely gave me the creeps! The atmosphere was just exquisite!
Very good!!!!!! 🥶