Horror Mansion: Short Stories

One - The Couple

The argument started in the morning.

The couple had a routine they followed - up by 6:30, breakfast by 7:00, and work by 8:30. Usually, the wife flaunted her new clothes and perfect figure for her husband. Usually, the husband styled his full head of black hair as his wife fixed his tie for him. Usually, they enjoyed themselves with their newborn daughter before commencing the rest of their day. But a certain mishap, one that surely did not account for the magnitude that the argument reached, initiated the couple's heated conversations. The wife didn't flaunt anything, the husband didn't care about his tie, and their daughter sat unnoticed in her playpen, watching her parents argue with her blue, bubbly, and unknowing eyes.

The husband departed for work with a heavy slam of the door, making his wife flinch and leaving the conflict unresolved. Upset and already dreading the return of her husband, she began her daily tasks angrily. She slammed drawers, dropped pots, and forcefully wiped plates. The infant, fenced inside her playpen in the living room, let out a number of mumbles and attempts at words. The wife listened until her locked jaw became loose and her clenched fists opened up, calmed by her baby's mellow tone.

Hesitantly, she took her phone out of her pocket and debated on whether or not she should call her husband. She dialed his number, but stopped. Perhaps it would be more meaningful if she surprised him with a filling dinner as an act of apology and love rather than calling. She set her phone down on the kitchen counter, a smirk on her face, and her heart lighter for her husband's arrival from work. She went about the rest of her morning in tranquil and later spent hours preparing her husband his favorite dish.

In the afternoon, the time of her husband's usual arrival drew close and the wife excitedly darted from the dinner table and the kitchen as she completed the remaining touches of her honey roasted chicken masterpiece. Afterwards, she changed out of her clothes and apron and slipped on a long, gorgeous red dress and applied minimal make-up on her face. 

Just like a date, she thought. She returned to the kitchen to have one final look at the dinner, making sure that the honey was well spread throughout the skin. Suddenly, her husband stumbled through the door of their home.

She turned and, unfazed by his entrance, smiled and said, "Welcome home." She approached him, and as her lips parted to speak her apology, her nose crunched from the scent of alcohol becoming stronger and stronger. 

The husband looked up from his drunken stupor and, at the sight of his wife, swung his left arm  in front of him. "Move," he said, "I don't want to talk to you." 

The wife froze and her brows furrowed, taking a breath, surprised by what she was met with. The entirety of her hardship, though it was only a dinner, was ruined just as she was, but the wife didn't just let him have his way.

In the living room they continued their argument for many minutes, bringing about past events from their two years of marriage and pointing fingers at one another. Their child once again watched them, and the volume of their voices made her frown and cry in response, yet again going unnoticed by her parents. 

Without much thought, the husband furiously yelled at his wife. "Shut up! I don't need this! I don't need anything from you!"

"Fine!" the wife fired back angrily. "If that's how you feel, then just leave!" The husband's eyes were wide, strained, brimming with alcohol fueled anger that gradually softened into a sober look of disbelief. The wife took a quick breath and realized what she said, though her pride kept her lips sealed. Instead she folded her arms, turned around, and made her way to the bedroom. Halfway through the hall, out of view from her husband, she stopped and listened to him scoff and open the front door. She heard him gasp, followed by some staggered breathing, then a minute of silence before the door closed. She covered her face and attempted to stop her own breath from shaking with cries. She thought about what she had said and how her husband must've been feeling during the muted intermission. She could only assume that he too tried to stop the tears.

The child let out a short giggle and the wife lifted her face from her hands. She wiped her mascara-stained cheeks and walked backed to the living room towards her baby.

"Stupid," she said to herself for almost leaving her child unattended. She carried her daughter by the armpits out of her playpen and paced back and forth. "Sorry about that, honey. You're okay, baby girl," the wife said, hugging her tightly. "At least you're not crying anymore like mommy, huh?" 

Still teary eyed, she wanted and needed something to clear her thoughts. She sat down on the couch nearest to the door and sat the baby on her lap, turned on the television, and flipped channels until she got to the news.

"-his morning a man named Jerome Hawkins, a former kindergarten teacher, escaped the prison he was being held at after he slipped past the guards on-duty during recess. His orange prison jumpsuit was found next to a nearby river, officials said. If this man is seen-" a picture of a wild, red-haired man with sharp cheekbones and empty hazel eyes appeared on the television screen- "please call the authorities right away. Hawkins was found guilty on multiple accounts of first degree murder and several more for rape, and was sentenced to serve one hundred and thirteen years in prison. This man should not be approached. This goes without saying, but this is a very, very dangerous individual. I repeat: please call the authorities right away if this man is seen."

The wife held her child a bit tighter and she sucked in her lips, worried about her lover. For a while, she again contemplated whether or not she should call her husband. But to be completely honest with herself, it wasn't that she was afraid some convict will find him, she was only looking for an excuse to actually call. Her pride was still in the way, but thought that if she could mask it somehow she could go from there. She quickly got up from the couch and set her child down back into her playpen. She walked over to the kitchen, grabbed her phone, and sat on top of the counter, hearing her child giggle several times behind her. She dialed her husband's number. With shaking eyes she stared at her phone and held it with fidgeting fingers, suddenly having second thoughts.

Should she actually call him with her real intentions hidden behind news coverage?

She turned around to look at her daughter, who seemed to have her attention focused on something, most likely a toy. The child wobbly crawled towards the edge of her playpen, her gaze never straying. The wife watched her daughter with a loving smile. With a single tear and a deep breath, she looked back in front of her and called her husband. Her fingers were still, her teeth were at rest, and her eyes remained calm. Before the phone initiated to ring, she was already pondering the thought of what she would say when, or if, her husband picked up his phone.

The phone rang a twice before, to the wife's surprise, she heard a familiar ringtone playing lowly behind her. With an eyebrow raised she turned around to scan the living room and noticed her husband's phone on the carpet floor. It was lying in between the door and the couch she got up from, across from her child. With a sigh, she turned back around thinking that her husband must have dropped his phone during their argument, or maybe when he went out. Her fingers slowly began to fidget again as she moved the phone away from her ear.

Then, a sudden pop of static came from the phone.

She tilted her head then put the phone next to her ear again, keeping herself hushed. Her heart gradually beat faster and faster against her chest. Still, she kept silent as she heard the car commercial on the television play through her phone. Then, the sound of air, like someone was breathing into it. 

Her jaw slightly dropped as her lips began to quiver, her breathing becoming low and staggered; her anxiety had transformed into fear. At that moment, she frantically thought about everything that has happened, especially the noiseless interval from the opening and closing of the front door.

In an unfamiliar, trembling voice, she heard someone speak both from her phone and from her living room.

"Hey, little buddy. You like my hair?"

The child began to giggle.