Within Walls
By William Mathews
The old house loomed like a granite monument against the ashen sky. A faded sign with what used to be red letters reading “Patterson’s B&B” stood posted by the equally faded front door. Katie looked over at Stephen’s appalled face inside their rented Honda. This was not what he had pictured when he had booked their room online. This trip to his birthplace had come after decades away; he had pictured quite the romantic, quiet vacation. This wasn’t the ideal landing spot he had in mind.
“It might be nicer on the inside, lots of these old houses are,” she suggested, as if reading his thoughts. He shrugged and looked back at the old stone Victorian. The faded paint was chipped and peeling, the asphalt-colored shutters leaned drunkenly against the frame. Had he really booked this online? Surprised this monolith had internet, he thought, “Yeah, it is probably nicer.” He opened the car door and stepped out into the cool October air.
They were in Troy, PA, located in the farther north central reaches of the state, which usually clocked in at about 60 degrees. For some strange reason, when Stephen stepped out of the sanctuary of the rental car, he had wished his coat was around his shoulders and not in their travel bag. The air seemed not only colder but heavy and oppressive. It seemed this entire old railroad town was enveloped in a gray overcast microclimate. Everything felt cold, damp, and gray.
Stephen took in the environment around them. The old home stood like an ancient sentinel across from a large scraggly fenced-in field. The grass was the color of straw with just a few patches of emerald embedded here and there. He could see the dark silhouettes of large cows grazing the distance with the hint of a barn a little farther behind.
He looked back down the street where they had driven. The closest neighbor lived in a quaint ranch-style home a half mile back. He could not remember seeing any children’s toys littering any of the lawns they had driven by, not this one, nor any of the others for miles, now that he thought about it. It all seemed devoid of any cheer; cold, damp, and gray.
Stephen grabbed their rolling travel bag out of the back seat and took the warmth of Katie’s hand in his as they made their way up to the B&B’s expansive front porch. When they got within reach of the front door—which at one time had probably been a dark olive tone but was now faded to a muddy gray and peeling—Stephen took a deep breath, held it, released, and pushed the doorbell. He could hear the echo of the chime-like tone inside.
Only a few seconds passed before he heard the patter of slippered feet approach the door. The slide of a bolt and chain, then the turn of a deadbolt and they were face-to-face with a small white-haired old woman. The wrinkles on her leathered face said she had once spent many summers in the sun, maybe working in a garden. The crown of her head held thick, relaxed curls of snow-like hair over deep blue sapphire eyes, unclouded by age.
“Hello?” she asked in a voice that was as soft and sweet as cotton candy.
“Uh-hello,” Stephen stammered. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting; a vampire, a golem, or an eight-foot-tall beast of some kind, but he found himself surprised from such a humble and kind looking old woman.
“Hello, we are the Mathises. We have a reservation.”
A large and welcoming smile appeared on the woman’s lips and her eyes sparkled in the gloom of the overcast light that was available. “Oh, yes, please come in,” she said cheerfully, opening the door wide and stepping aside to welcome them.
“Yes, I was expecting you, but it’s been a while since I’ve had patrons. This town doesn’t get a lot of visitors these days. The railroad doesn’t stop here as often anymore. Not really for the last ten or fifteen years unless its dropping wholesale grain and farming supplies for the co-ops. It’s just farms, lumber, and gas these days. That and old bats like me just hanging around in old family homes on social security. But listen to me just rambling on, what brings you all the way up here?”
Her sweet high voice and sudden excitement at their arrival had Stephen smiling and put him remarkably at ease. He felt welcomed, forgetting how foreboding everything had seemed just moments before.
“Oh, I was born here,” Stephen said, “but, I haven’t had a chance to come back to the old town since I was probably ten years old when me, Mom, and Dad moved away.”
“Oh. I thought the name Mathis seemed familiar. Your father wouldn’t happen to be Joe Mathis, would he?”
“Wow, yes he was.”
“Was? How is he? Is he well? I knew him in school, and you are just the spitting image of him.”
The sparkle in her eyes of recognition made it hard for Stephen to tell her what she must already suspect by his use of the word “was.”
“He passed away a year ago, heart attack. It’s kind of what made me want to come back to the old town.”
“That’s too bad,” she said while gazing out the window, as if remembering something before bringing her gaze back to Stephen.
“Well, I’m sure he is very proud of you and happy you returned to town to remember him better.”
Stephen smiled.” Thank you, ma’am. I appreciate it.”
“Oh dear. You must be tired. Let me show you to your room. It’s this way.”
The house was large and warm. Old wood construction with lovely soft, yellow wallpaper. Katie had been right. It was very nice on the inside. There were several paintings depicting children playing, flying kites, and families on picnics. Happy scenes.
“Are you married, have children?” Stephen asked, but already suspected the answer since he didn’t see anyone else around.
“I was married,” she said. “But Mr. Patterson went to Heaven years ago,” She answered while leading them up a flight of stairs to the second floor. “We had four wonderful children together, and they still stop by from time to time.”
“That’s good, children should spend time with their mother.”
She nodded subtly in agreement and led them to a room at the top of the stairs. “The bathroom is across the hall and my room is at the end. If you need anything don’t hesitate to ask.” Their room was spacious with pale yellow walls and a large queen size bed with fresh sky-blue linens neatly dressing it. Everything was cast in a warm glow by the late evening sunset bleeding through the window. The room overlooked the backyard. Stephen could see that the plot was fenced in, and beyond it was the beginning of what looked like dense woods. The leaves on the maples and oaks were various shades of browns and reds. They seemed to blaze in the fading light.
“I bet you see can a lot of deer early in the day. Do they ever try to get in your backyard?
“Oh, there are all kinds of animals that you can see from time to time, but they generally keep to themselves.” She answered gazing out the window in thought. “When Robert was still around, they learned to keep away.”
“Quite the hunter, was he?”
She smiled. “Yes he was an amazing hunter. He would take the boys with him often; they are very good hunters as well.”
Katie yawned which reminded Stephen of how tired he was as well. Ms. Patterson met his gaze. “Well now, you must be tired after such a long trip. I’ll step out and let you all settle in and rest.”
“Thank you, Ms. Patterson.”
“Dorothy, please.”
“Thank you, Dorothy.”
The sound of soft crying awoke Stephen. He wasn’t sure what time it was but there was virtually no light coming through the window, so it must have been very late. Soft cries and the sound of a muffled voice could be heard, but he couldn’t make out what was being said. He looked at the soft glow of his watch face. 2:42 a.m. Stephen tried to roll over and get comfortable, but the ache in his bladder wouldn’t let him. He swung his legs out from under the covers and padded his way to the door to the hall.
He heard another soft cry that sounded like a small child but slightly off, like the whimpering of a dog and a child in unison, followed by the soft sound of Dorothy whispering. He could make out a few words “. . .it’s not time. . . not yet.”
“Weird,” he thought. “It’s really late for another guest to arrive. Maybe they were supposed to arrive later on; but a young child so tired would cry being awake this late. It’s a really weird sounding cry.”
These thoughts moved sluggishly through Stephens exhausted mind.
“Really weird, he thought.”
He went to the bathroom to relieve his bladder. He heard the closing of a heavy oak door downstairs and the sound of slippered feet climbing the stairs. Stephen washed his hands, stepped out, and killed the light. Ms. Patterson stood to his left at the top of the stairs studying his tired face. He felt like he should say something.
“Late visitors? He croaked.
“Yes, wrong address.” she answered. Her features were scarcely visible in the dark hallway, but the glint of her pale blue eyes could just be seen in through the shadows.
“Oh. . . well goodnight, ma’am.”
“Goodnight, Stephen.” She answered as he headed back to his room and closed the door. He heard her door close just a moment after.
As Stephen lay there waiting for the fog of sleep to envelop him, he couldn’t help thinking how strange what just happened seemed. It just felt off somehow and the sound of what must have been a small child that's over-tired sounded so weird. These thoughts collided and played over. . . and over. . . until sleep took him again.
After showering, Stephen and Katie slowly made their way down the stairs to a brightly lit dining room. There, the smell of bacon and eggs rising from lovely arranged and expecting plates greeted them. Stephen sat down, famished. As he took a sip of warm coffee Ms. Patterson walked in from outside, a newspaper in her hand.
“Good morning,” she greeted them. Her voice had a warmth and enthusiasm that only morning people, like Katie could appreciate this time of the day. Appropriately, it was Katie that returned the greeting with equal gusto.
“Good morning, Ms. Patterson.”
“Please, Dorothy,” she reminded her as she walked past the stairs and toward the head of the dining table to join them. As she did, one of her slippered feet clanked against a metal bowl by the cellar door, which was slightly recessed under the stairs. The sound of the clang compelled Stephen to look at the somewhat large metal basin before Dorothy pushed it into a corner, out of the way. Brown stains crusted the inside of the bowl.
“Have a pet, Dorothy?”
She looked up from the bowl toward Stephen, her bright sunshine smile had faded to a solemn look like she had been caught with something shameful, or painful.
“I did, but Arthur is gone now. I just can’t bear to part with a small part of him. At least not yet.”
Her normally warm gaze had an edge of iciness about it, as if she found his questions intrusive. Stephen didn’t like it and looked back down at his coffee. Dorothy completed her walk to the table and sat down to her own awaiting mug. She sipped it slowly, savoring its warmth. After a moment she looked up at her guests, her cheer seemingly restored.
“So, what are you going to do today? First big day of exploration.”
“Oh, we’re not sure. Stephan usually likes to improvise and just go with the flow,” Katie answered. “I'm sure we will visit his old family home and neighborhood in the valley. Maybe check out the county historical center, some restaurants, and some of the local businesses.”
“That sounds lovely, always good to support the local businesses. Please visit Ralph’s deli for your lunch, a town favorite.”
“OK, we certainly will,” Katie said.
Stephen nodded in agreement while taking another sip. He couldn’t help feeling a tension in the air between himself and Dorothy. He wondered if Katie sensed it. Maybe after today they should cut their stay short and finish out their vacation as a staycation back home in Tennessee. He finished his coffee and rose to get ready for their day. He felt Dorthy’s gaze but didn’t look up. There was definitely a kind of tension.
The tour of the town certainly built an appetite. They decided to take up Dorothy on her recommendation of Ralph’s Deli for dinner. The diner was semi-empty with just a few older locals propped in scattered booths with gleaming chrome trim and gaudy crimson padding. The aesthetic would have been chic in the 1980s. The food offered on the menu appealed to their growling stomachs.
A bubbly middle-aged woman with jet black hair and heavy makeup took their order back to the kitchen, allowing Stephen to quiz Katie on their adventures of the day instead of her distracting herself on her phone.
“What was your favorite part of today?” he asked.
“Oh, I don’t know it’s all been very interesting and fun.”
“Maybe. . . the shopping?”
“Yeah, that was fun, but I guess the cultural and historical center. For a small town it does have a lot of interesting history.”
“Yeah. A lot of interactions with the Algonquin tribes in the area. I remember hearing as a kid that the land was cursed. I believed for years that was why we moved, of course I know better now.”
“So, you don’t think it’s cursed?”
“I don’t believe in curses.”
Just then, the waitress came back with their food. Stephen couldn’t wait to dig in. He picked up his Philly and began to take a bite but, the waitress, Samantha, her tag read, wanted to chat.
“Well, I don’t believe I've seen you here before.”
Katie, who can talk to anyone, indulged her the conversation.
“No, we are visiting. He was born here,” she said, nodding in Stephen’s direction.
“Well, welcome back, local!” Samantha said cheerfully.
“I hate to ask but I can’t help it,” Katie began. Stephen pleaded with his eyes as he chewed; he knew what was coming.
“We were at the historical center earlier and apparently there’s some kind of legend about a curse on the town. What’s up with that?”
Samantha gave an obliging laugh. “Oh, that nonsense. Well, the story goes that the tribe medicine man cursed the land because of the raw deals the settlers gave them and the diseases that ravaged the tribe in the time after their interaction with the settlers.”
“What kind of a curse?”
“Katieee,” Stephen pleaded.
“What, I’m curious that’s all.”
“It’s fine really, this is kids’ stuff, the sort of things boys would tell over campfires. Anyway, they say that the land was cursed with a wendigo.”
“A what?” Katie asked.
“A wendigo. A flesh-eating monster that looks like a tall, skinny human with razor sharp teeth and glowing eyes. Supposedly, the curse would have the wendigo roam the hills picking off people over centuries, slowly wasting the town away.”
“That’s a good campfire story.”
“Oh yes, a good story but. . . every now and then you wonder.”
“What do you wonder about?”
“Well of course some of the old folks say they hear things in the woods when they are hunting. Some even claim to see things, but that’s typically taken with a huge grain of salt. Like bigfoot sightings or the Loch Ness Monster. But, when people go missing or when a family is here one day and gone the next, like they moved but left all their stuff, that’s strange.”
“Does this happen a lot?”
“No, it’s just a story. But things like this have happened over the years. But logically they probably just moved.”
“And left all their stuff?” Stephen could tell that Katie was into this. She loved the Twilight Zone, Supernatural, and Tales From the Unexplained, so this monster talk was thrilling her.
Samantha shrugged. “Stranger things have happened. I don’t know, but I doubt a monster came by and ate them, of course.”
“But the curse?”
“The creepiest thing to me that makes me even possibly consider it is the slow drying up of this town. There are less and less families here. Mostly it’s just the older folks now. Fewer kids are here, and even fewer stay. The primary and middle schools are now combined, and the senior classes are getting smaller every year. It’s a sad situation, but that has more to do with the railroad not being as prominent as it used to be. It’s more money than monster.”
“Wow, that’s still creepy in a way.”
“Where are you staying in town?” she asked.
“We have a room at Dorothy Patterson’s at the edge of town.”
“I didn’t know she was still renting. I haven’t seen her around town in quite a while. I guess she just keeps to herself these days, like most.”
It was Stephen who contributed this time. “She says her children visit every now and then. Have you ever met them?”
Samantha’s eyebrows furrowed as if confused by the question.
“Hmmm I didn’t know she had any children. Then again, she has quite a few years on me, but I’ve never heard them mentioned.”
“What about her husband? She says he’s passed on now, but I didn’t get the impression it was that long ago.”
She seemed bewildered at this as well. “No, I didn’t know she was married. I’ve only ever known her as a single woman who lived alone and ran a B&B. Almost a recluse. I never knew of any husband or children.”
Stephen and Katie looked at each other, and their faces told a story of puzzlement.
“Oh, don’t worry guys, she’s probably just trying to make herself seem more relatable and interesting. Either that or she’s just slipping a bit in her old age.” She smiled as she pointed to her head and spun her hand in the comical “crazy” reference. Just then old man in a tan jacket entered the diner.
“Oh my, I must be getting back to being busy. It was pleasure talking with you.”
“Same,” Stephen answered.
“Likewise,” Katie added as Samantha scurried off to her next patron.
They looked up at each other both wondering about the woman whose company and home were sharing. Was she “slipping?”
On the ride back to the Patterson B&B, Stephen and Katie had a lot to mull over and even more to discuss. Was Samantha correct in Dorothy not being married and having no children? If so, why did she lie? Does it really matter? Do they feel safe staying in a house with someone “slipping?” In the end they decided that it would probably best to head back home tomorrow and finish the last remaining days of their vacation as a staycation back in Tennessee.
“Stephen—Stephen wake up.”
Stephen opened his sleep-encrusted eyes to Katie’s wide open frightened ones.
“What? What’s wrong.”
“Listen.”
He did. It was that crying again, the one from the night before. That strange crying.
“What the hell is that, Stephen?”
“I don’t know. Do you hear Dorothy? Is she dealing with it?”
“No, I don’t hear anyone else, and I can’t sleep with that noise. I need to check it out.”
“No, I don’t think—”
“I have to, or I'll lose my mind.”
“OK, OK, but what are you going to do if you find this kid—”
“I don’t know Stephen, but I’ll figure it out.”
“Alright, alright.”
Katie padded to the door and opened it, Stephen at her heels. Both of them were hypervigilant, trying to find where the sound was coming from. Stephen was hoping that they wouldn’t run into Dorothy. Yet at the same time, was kind of hoping they would so maybe she could shed some light on the crying. He looked back down the hall. Dorothy’s door was closed, and he could see no light from under the door. Katie had the flashlight on her cell phone switched on and they listened as they walked.
The crying sounded like a child in pain, but there was something strange about it. Like there was a high-pitched whine in the throat, almost metallic in nature, if the sound had a feel. It seemed to come from below them. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, they listened. The sound had stopped just for a moment before beginning again. This time there was a word in the wail.
“Ma- mama.”
“Mama?” Katie whispered. “A child missing its mother?”
“Where is it coming from?” Stephen whispered.
They listened to the sound repeat itself. “Mama. . . mama want you.”
“It sounds like it’s coming from there.” Katie said, pointing to the door under the stairs.
“What the hell?” Stephen said.
Katie pushed forward, grabbed the old metal knob, and turned.
The stairs behind the door led down to a dirt floor basement. When they reached the landing, they flashed the light around looking for the source of the crying. It was loud but still sounded a bit muffled.
They heard it from a corner of the room.
There stood what looked like a very large wooden double door cabinet. Heavy and dark. It had large metal turn handles on its face in the corner.
“Mama, mama want you.”
It sounded like it was coming from inside. Katie reached forward, grabbed one of the metal handles, and looked at Stephen. His eyes were wide in bewilderment as were her own in the dark. She turned and opened the door.
“Oh, my God.”
“Oh, Jesus.”
There, inside the cabinet, at the very back, was a false wooden wall with circular holes in the back. Behind this wall and visible through the holes were dirty fingers and bright blue eyes. Eyes belonging to children. At the site of the door being opened, they all started crying in unison.
“Please, please, we’re so hungry, please,” they cried.
Stephen leaned forward to try and help, but his toe caught something hard. It clanged.
He looked down and saw the silver dirty pet bowl from this morning. It was matted with something brown and red. He reached down to pick it up. Katie was banging on the wall trying to get it to move. His fingers touched the greasy film on the inside, and he brought it closer to the dim light of his phone. It was red and sticky.
“What are they eati—?”
Just then, he felt himself falling forward. A piercing pain shot through his back, and he and Katie were suddenly inside the cabinet, the doors being shut behind them. He heard a click. A lock.
He stood up. The children had grown silent. Then the voice from outside.
“Hi, babies. It’s mommy.”
It was Dorothy.
“Ms. Patterson, please let us out!” Katie screamed.
Stephen pushed the inside of the heavy doors. Nothing. They didn’t budge.
“Ms. Patterson, please,” she begged again. Stephen flashed his light back toward the holes. The children had retreated back into whatever room was behind the false wall. He could feel cold coming from within. He could make out their eyes in the shadows behind the small portholes. The way the light from the phone caught them, they seemed to radiate a deep shade of blue. Something yearned in their eyes.
“Oh, Mr. and Ms. Mathis, I am terribly sorry, but I am afraid you won’t be leaving.”
Katie pounded on the door. “Why? What did we do?”
“Ms. Mathis, you didn’t do anything wrong. Please don’t blame yourself. You see, my children, the wonderful children that Robert and I had together are so very special. While they are amazing hunters, they love coming home to visit mommy, and mommy always gives them a treat. I had been giving them steer from the farm, but special children like them deserve something rarer and more unique.”
The eyes had retreated farther into the darkness, away from the range of the light. In spite of it, the eyes burned through the dark with a hellish intensity.
“You see, they crave a certain kind of meat. One that is part of their nature, part of their calling to hunt and consume, and those hunting opportunities have been a bit lean lately. You don’t want to get too overzealous. So here you are, just ripe for the pickings.”
Although Stephen couldn’t see Dorothy's face, there was a smile painted on her mouth.
“Please, please. Ms. Patterson, let us out.”
Katie's hand slapped the heavy wood. Stephen’s eyes were transfixed on the blue flames in the dark beyond the wall. He slumped down in a near fetal position.
My God, the curse. Wendigos, it’s true.
“I’m sorry Ms. Mathis but my babies are hungry, and a mother will do anything for her babies.”
Stephen heard a click from overhead and another in the corner below it. Then the wall separating the “children” from them began to slide slowly to the left and away. Soon, they were faced with that resembling the inside of a cave mouth, probably so the children could come and go as they pleased.
The light in his hands wouldn’t stay still. His hands were shaking. The children came into the range of light. There were four of them resembling lanky male children. They wore no clothes and were gaunt in appearance. Their flesh was caked in dark rust-colored liquids the consistency of mud in places. Stephen understood this now to be congealed blood. The hair on their heads was so blond it appeared white, and he could now see this hair covered legs and forearms like a fine carpet. Their mouths and jaws protruded slightly.
They gazed at Stephen and Katie intensely as they advanced slowly like cats stalking their prey, leaning forward, closer and closer.
Katie was shaking. She dropped her phone, cutting away half of the dim light they had. One of the children pulled back his lips revealing rows of razor-sharp serrated teeth. It reminded Stephen of a shark. Stephen turned his head toward Katie’s, who had buried her face in his chest. She was shaking uncontrollably. He buried his face in the crown of her head and let go of his phone, his last vestige of light. The final conscious fragment of this world that came to him was the sound of their screams mixing into the ether.
William Mathews is a writer from the foothills of the majestic and Mysterious Great Smoky Mountains of east Tennessee. Growing up with these misty peaks forming his back drop left William with a fascination for the mysteries of nature and the wonders that it holds. These wonders helped inspire and continue to inspire William through times of joy and hardship.
