Hell Within -- Chapter Eight: The Becomming -- Scenes 3-5

-3-

Despite his better judgment, Ben found himself sitting in the master’s study with Shelly’s phone number in one hand and the other on the receiver of the phone. He’d been sitting there for better than an hour trying to summon the gall to call her. There was no good reason to keep things as they were.

But if Amy really was stepping out. . . .

He sighed and sat back in the overstuffed chair.

It was getting late in the day. The sunlight from the window behind him was growing dim. Pretty soon, he’d have to get up and turn on the light.

He’d given a great deal of thought to everything Rudy had told him about his mother -- that toward the end, she’d started talking to people who weren’t really there, seeing things, and accusing people of nonsense.

Was that what he was doing?

He didn’t know if any of the horrors he’d seen since he’d moved into the mansion were real, and the truth of the matter was that he was isolated. People do strange things in isolation.

And Amy was to blame.

He had to find out if she was really doing something behind his back, or if he was going nuts.

He picked up the phone and punched the number in. It rang twice before a gruff voice answered.

"Could I speak with Shelly, please?"

"May I ask who’s calling?"

"Ben Eaton."

"Hi Ben, how’s it going?"

"It’s going. I was just trying to round up my wife."

"Amy? I haven’t seen her."

Ben frowned and leaned forward. "That’s funny, she was supposed to be spending the weekend with Shelly. They were going to a concert or something."

"I don’t know where that’s coming from. Shelly’s been working all weekend, and she hasn’t said a word about Amy in over a month."

"Is Shelly working now?"

"Yeah."

"Thanks for everything."

"Hey, is everything okay?"

Ben shook his head. "I don’t know."

"Well, if you find her, let us know so we don’t worry."

"Absolutely."

Ben hung up and sat back. He didn’t know what to do now. He picked up the phone and dialed the number for Eckerd Drugs in Gainesville, and had them call Shelly to the phone. After a moment, she picked up.

"Pharmacy, this is Shelly."

"Shelly, this is Ben Eaton. I was wondering if you’d seen Amy this weekend?"

"Now that you mention it, yeah. It was weird, though."

Ben squinted. "How do you mean?"

"Well, I stopped by Publix on the way to work, and she was standing at the service desk talking to the store manager. The whole thing was really awkward."

"The store manager, Dick?"

"I don’t know what his name is."

"Skinny, clean-cut blond guy, medium height?"

"Something like that."

"When was the last time you and Amy went out?"

"Why?"

"Curiosity."

"I guess it’s been a month or two. What’s going on?"

Ben sat back in his chair. "Well, Amy was supposed to have gone to some kind of all-weekend concert with you, and she also stays gone all the time. She usually tells me that she’s going to see you."

"Oh, my god! I hope I haven’t gotten her in trouble."

Ben shook his head. "Don’t sweat it. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation."

"This is so weird."

"Well, don’t give it another thought. It’s not your problem."

"Okay. If I see her, I’ll call you and let you know."

"I would appreciate that."

Ben hung up.

Now he knew.

He leaned forward and buried his face in his hands, ran his fingers through his hair, and then sat back.

Now what?

-4-

After his conversation with Shelly, Ben drank himself into a stupor and fell asleep in the study. He came to sometime in the wee hours of the morning and quietly made his way through the fifth floor hallways to the master’s quarters, but as he reached the door, he noticed a strangeness about the house.

The telltale scent of ozone filled the air. An icy current of wind circulated the hallway -- so cold that ice sickles now hung off each of the candle sconces and doorknobs.

And a rumbling sound -- like that of distant thunder -- came from behind his bedroom door, and a blinding light beamed through the cracks around the doorjamb.

Ben couldn’t see him, but he felt him all around.

What does he want with me?

The thunder ceased, and the hallway went black. Ben looked around again to find that all of the ice was gone as well.

The bedroom door cracked open, and a dim electric light drifted out.

He pushed the door away from him and peered inside.

The room beyond was not his bedroom.

A standard plaster ceiling hovered over him, and the walls themselves were a pale green. Gold shag carpet covered the floor -- a style reminiscent of an earlier time in his life.

Ben stepped inside and scratched his head. And a creepy feeling came over him.

There was something about the boxy shape of the headboard on the king-sized bed, and the sharp corners on the table beside it that rang a bell.

Somewhere not far away he heard the sound of shower water beating the bottom of a tub.

He’d been here before.

He didn’t know when, perhaps only in a dream.

He took a step toward the bed and stopped as he caught a glimmer of motion over in the corner. He squinted, but he saw nothing.

And then he heard a whimper.

He slipped around the bed and closer to the corner. Then he saw him. A little boy was crouched in the corner with his legs drawn up to his chest, and his face buried in hands. And the boy’s pajamas, a pair not unlike some that he’d owned lay wadded on the floor at his feet.

Something in the shade and cut of the boy’s brown hair, the tone of his complexion, the shape of his feet and squareness of his toenails seemed all too familiar.

Ben looked at the boy’s feet and then back to his own.

Now he knew. He hadn’t been to his Uncle Rudy’s apartment in years, but as far as he knew, Rudy had never moved.

Ben now stood in Rudy’s bedroom as it had been years ago when he lived there, and the boy. . . .

"This never happened," he said.

He backed away from the boy. He’d never talked to anyone about this, not even Amy.

He looked over his shoulder and down the short hallway past the bedroom. The door on the left had led to his bedroom, and the door on the right was cracked open slightly with steam from the shower billowing out.

He turned around toward the hallway and took a deep breath.

And then he crept toward the partially opened door.

He pushed the door to the bathroom open, and Henry Lancaster stood before the tub. He pointed a bony finger at the lid of the commode where a bloody butcher knife sat.

Ben gave him an innocent look.

"We protect our children."

Ben stared at the knife, and then looked back at Henry.

Henry peered into his eyes. "Now you see it in a way you haven’t before."

Then he disappeared. The only thing left in the room was him, the knife sitting on the lid of the commode, and the lime green tub with a white shower curtain drawn over it.

Ben stepped toward the tub, and ripped the curtain back.

And his stomach heaved.

Rudy’s dead eyes were aimed straight up at the ceiling, and his blue lips were frozen open.

And there was a long, jagged gash in his skin from the base of his neck all the way down to his groin with his intestines partially exposed.

This never happened.

But the feeling in the pit of his stomach told him otherwise. The way the body was situated, the way he, himself was crouched in the bedroom.

It was all true.

But it couldn’t be.

He’d just gone fishing with Rudy this morning. Somewhere in the back of his mind he heard Rudy recounting that Ben’s mother, before she’d finally lost it completely had a habit of talking to people who did not exist.

Ben’s knees gave way and he sank to the bathroom floor in terror.

-5-

Amy Eaton hesitated just outside the grand entrance to the mansion. Things were so strange here lately. Ben had receded into his own world. Even when she was at home, he didn’t seem to notice her. When they were on speaking terms, Ben was distant and moody -- more so than normal.

When she was being especially honest with herself, she’d say that she didn’t love him anymore. The only thing that kept her with him was pity and money.

He was not the man she’d married. Their marriage had ended long ago in the parking lot of a Winn Dixie grocery store when Ben had a rather unfortunate conversation with a girl he had a class with. Later, he told her that he’d had an affair with her.

And Ben had never been a great lover. The only emotion he was ever good at expressing was anger, and in intimate situations, he was always bulky. The other man in her life wasn’t that way at all, but she didn’t quite know how to end it with Ben. It would almost be easier if Ben ended it.

After this weekend, she was sure that Dick, despite his ego problem and pushy ways, did love her. She’d forgotten how it felt to be in love -- wonderful and terrible at the same time. Coming back to Ben now, was like going back to work after a wonderful vacation.

She opened one of the four doors and stepped inside, and then she turned her back to the foyer to lock the door behind herself.

"Have you ever met my Uncle Rudy?"

She jumped and spun around. At first, she saw no one. And just as she was about to turn back around she noticed a shadow just inside the main hallway. He stood so still that she wasn’t quite sure that it was him.

"What?"

"Have you ever met my Uncle Rudy?" Ben repeated.

She frowned and tucked her keys back in her purse. -- It took that long for it to register exactly what the hell he was asking.

"Your Uncle, Rudy Eaton?"

"Yeah," he said, stepping into the foyer so she could see him.

His hair was tangled with a cowlick in the back as though he’d been sleeping, and he was wearing the same clothes he had been wearing when she left. And his eyes were red, as they always were after a hard night of drinking.

"What’s going on with you?"

Ben didn’t reply. He just stared at her dumbly as though he didn’t understand the question.

She looked away from him. "The last time you started that nonsense was when you were laid up in the hospital with alcohol poisoning."

"It’s a simple question."

She shook her head. "I haven’t been asleep for the last twenty years. I know all about Rudy Eaton."

Ben’s entire body seemed to sigh, and something washed over him at that moment that she didn’t quite understand. It looked a little like relief.

"I had a fucked up dream. I thought. . . ."

She squinted at him, and he shook his head.

"It doesn’t matter."

And he turned and started down the hallway.

"Ben?"

He turned around and gave her a tired look.

"You’ve never talked to me about that."

He scratched his head. "About what?"

She stepped toward him and then stopped just in the mouth of the hallway.

"Your Grandpa told my Dad about the thing with Rudy just before you moved in with your grandparents. That’s why Dad never trusted you."

Ben looked as though she’d punched him in the gut.

"What are you talking about?"

She looked down. "How you were locked inside his apartment with the corpse for two days after he killed himself."

Something funny flickered behind his eyes. It looked like helplessness. His eyes glazed over and he stared through the floor at her feet.

"What’s wrong?"

He looked up at her and gazed for a long moment as if he were looking inside himself rather than at her. And finally, after a long staring contest, he looked past her into the foyer and said, "I don’t feel so good. I think I’d better lay down for a while."

And he turned and headed back up the hallway. She started to follow him, but she stopped herself after a step. It was futile to try to pull something out of him that he didn’t want known.

(Continue to Scenes 6-8)