The Tale of the Carpenter's Curse
It's been a while. I've been having a creative dearth lately. But anyway, here we go. This is another work in progress, (as most of my works, it seems), but it can stand as it's own story. This is the Prologue to The 13 Guests, or "The Tale of the Carpenter's Curse."
***
"The Tale of the Carpenter's Curse"
by Matt Guion
If one were to ask a newcomer to Forrest Falls about the old Carpenter house on Florence Court, they would say it was empty. It was easy to see that just by looking at it. The dirty windows were always dark; the gutters were rusty and full of leaves; the front door looked as though it were ready to fall off its rusty hinges; the roof was a total loss, missing half its shingles; there was a rusty barbed wire fence surrounding the house, with a condemned sign; and if one were to go inside, they would probably encounter enough dust and cobwebs, just with the first step, to keep them sneezing for weeks. The house seemed to have an air of emptiness about it. No question about it; this house was empty.
If one were to ask a longtime resident of Forrest Falls about the same house, the response would be much the same, but with more certainty. A person who had lived in Forrest Falls for a long time had probably heard of Old Man Carpenter. They may have even seen him. They may have even met him personally, though this would not be something any longtime resident of Forrest Falls would want to admit. Old Man Carpenter had been an odd one indeed. Strange things tended to happen to people who encountered the man, even casually. But no one had encountered him, or even seen him for quite a while. It was safe to say that he would never be seen again. The police had condemned his property some time ago, and everyone could say with confidence that the old Carpenter house on Florence Court was quite empty.
It was for this reason, among others, that Samuel Hill decided to go into the house. Sam was known by most people as a real partier, someone who was always looking for a good time. He was known for throwing wild parties in one of two places: either where no one else would think of, or where no one else would risk. Sam was planning another such party, and needed a good location. His last party had taken place in the basement of a small shop . . . without the shop owner’s knowledge. Now he needed something to top it. His mind had shifted back to an old house in his hometown of Forrest Falls. The one that had used to belong to that crazy old man, before it was abandoned.. What could be better than having a party in the former house of a madman?
Sam carefully ducked under the barbed wire and looked around. When he was certain that the place was deserted, he waved for his friends. Two more people ducked under the fence. The first was his friend, Tom Smith. He had brought Tom along because he knew how to avoid any unwanted attention. Tom didn’t actually go to Coleman University, but he lived nearby. Tom Smith was known by most people as a criminal, and this was probably true, though Sam had never actually seen him committing any crime. He was an orphan, a high school dropout, and a tendency to be caught snooping around where he didn’t belong. Sam believed the police gave him a bad wrap.
The next person to duck under the fence was known by most people as Brit. Sam didn’t know what her last name was, and didn’t really care. After all, one name was all she really needed. Brit was along because she was Sam’s girlfriend and followed him everywhere. She was known by most people as a girl who had been around quite a bit. Sam now knew that they were right. Sam thought she adored him, but what he didn’t know was that Brit was getting bored with him. And this little trip wasn’t helping matters.
"This the place?" Tom asked quietly.
"Yeah, this is it. You sure we’re not being followed?"
"Don’t worry. There’s no one in the area. Besides, you said we were just checking it out. You wait ‘til the party; see how easy it is to keep people away."
"I’ll figure something out. Our police force isn’t on its toes much anyway. Not much happens in a town like Forrest Falls. C’mon." He walked up to the front porch.
Tom and Brit exchanged a glance, and followed him. To the people that knew him well, Sam was known as being more than a bit reckless. Tom was all for exploring condemned areas, but throwing parties at said areas tended to attract attention. And Brit just thought he was an idiot for bringing them out there in the first place.
"Careful Sam," Brit said. "That porch doesn’t look very sturdy."
"It’s fine. It held up this long." He stepped up on the porch. It groaned in protest, but held his weight. The other two followed him.
"How do we get in?" asked Brit.
"The door’s unlocked. The old man never locked it when he left, and no one could find a key. They’re having a locksmith find one that fits, but the lock’s so old he might have trouble. Plus, they’re not in a real big hurry to get it done. It’s not like there’s anything worth stealing in here, and no one goes near the house anymore anyway." He turned the handle, half expecting it to come off in his hand. The door actually seemed surprisingly sturdy considering how old it looked. Sam gave it push. It resisted, then yielded. They cautiously stepped inside.
The inside of the house was not what the three had been expecting. It should have been covered in dust and cobwebs. After all, the house had been empty for over a year. But the room they were standing in looked as though its owner had left it just yesterday rather than a year ago.
"Good," Sam muttered under his breath. "I was afraid we would have to clean it out." Tom and Brit exchanged another glance. They both knew that someone must have been in the house recently to keep it clean, but Sam was slow to catch on to such things. Either that or he didn’t care.
They were standing in a large room, probably the living room. The furniture was still there: a sofa, a chair, a table. There was a staircase to the right leading upstairs to a balcony that overlooked the room, and another door straight ahead that lead to what was probably the kitchen.
"Anyone behind us Tom?" he asked.
"I told you there wasn’t," Tom said, exasperated.
"I thought I saw someone when we came in."
Tom checked outside. "There’s no one there. No one’s gonna take notice of three people. Now, fifty people on the other hand . . ."
Brit was looking around the room. "This is a nice house. Large room. Perfect."
"I told you," Sam said. "Tom, what do you think?"
"Must be ancient," he said, also looking around. "Wouldn’t mind living here myself."
"It’s been in this town since as long as I can remember. Never been inside it though. My parents always told me to stay away from it." He took a look around. "It is a nice house, isn’t it?"
"Yes, it is," a new voice said. "It’s also off limits. Fancy that." Sam turned. Standing in the doorway was a policeman. He did not look happy.
"No one there, eh Tom?" Sam muttered. Tom looked like he wanted to make a comment about the Forrest Falls Police Force not being on their toes, but stifled it.
"Officer," Sam said, "we . . . weren’t aware that this property was condemned."
"Oh, no? Well, that’s understandable. I can see how you could have missed the barbed wire fence and the condemned signs surrounding the house," said the cop, sardonically.
Smooth, Sam, Brit thought as Tom rolled his eyes.
"Anyone else here besides you three?" the cop asked.
"No, officer," Sam said, truthfully.
"Well, if you don’t mind, I’ll just check for myself." He closed the door. "If I hear this door open, I’ll be back down faster than you can say ‘Don’t shoot, officer.’" He pulled out a flashlight and started up the stairs.
"Oh, don’t worry officer. You can trust us," Sam said, causing Tom to roll his eyes again. The minute the cop was out of sight, Sam headed for the door. "Now, on the count of three, I open this door, and the three of us run like hell."
"You wanna say that a little louder, Sam?" Tom said. "I’m not sure the incompetent Forrest Falls Police Force heard you."
Sam ignored him and put his hand on the knob. "One . . . two . . . three!" He pulled at the door. It didn’t open. Sam ran into the still closed door. Tom looked up to the heavens in exasperation. All three held their breath, but there was no response from the policeman upstairs.
"Tom, give me a hand." Tom wondered briefly if it would just be better to be arrested, then came to the door. The two of them pulled together. Still nothing.
"What the hell is going on down there?" yelled the cop from the upstairs.
"Nothing sir!" Sam yelled up the stairs. "Just . . . stepping on cockroaches."
Tom sighed. "You’ve got to work on your stories, man. The most intelligent thing you’ve said to that cop tonight is ‘No, officer.’"
Sam gave him a look. "Never mind that! Why won’t this door open?" he hissed.
"How should we know?" hissed Brit. "Why don’t we just tell him the truth? He’ll probably go easy on us. We could say we didn’t see the sign. Technically we didn’t."
"No way," said Tom. "I’ve run into this guy a couple of times. It’s officer Katt. He’s been looking for a chance to bust me." Sam sighed. Officer Katt. He hadn’t seen him well in the darkness of the house. Sam had had a couple run-ins with this guy as well. Katt was known by most people as a bit of a joke. Oh, he did fine when he had the rest of the force behind him. But when he was by himself, he tended to bungle things. Already, he had made the mistake of leaving them alone downstairs. Not that it made much difference right now anyway.
"Must be humidity," Tom said. "Maybe if we all work at it, quietly," he added pointedly for Sam’s benefit, "we’ll be able to get it open."
They pulled at the door for the next few minutes, but to no avail. The door wouldn’t even shake within its doorway. This didn’t seem like a problem with humidity.
"What the hell are doing?" came Katt’s voice as he came down the stairs. "What’d you do, lock yourself in? Can’t even escape from the cops properly?" He sighed, as if wishing he’d been provided an adequate challenge. "Well, looks like you’re the only three. C’mon, I’m taking you to the station and teaching you how to break into a house. Let’s go." He tried the door, but it wouldn’t open for him either. "This door shouldn’t be too hard to open," he muttered to himself. But it still wouldn’t budge. He checked for a way to unlock it, but there was none. "Stand back." He pulled out his gun and fired a shot at the lock. Brit gave a little scream. She didn’t like loud noises. But the bullet didn’t even make a dent. They had all seen something come out of the gun, but none of them had seen anything hit the door. "I don’t understand this," Officer Katt muttered. He wasn’t the only one.
Behind them a door opened. Out of the doorway came a tall man with straight dark hair. Most people didn’t know him.
"Who the hell is that?" Sam asked. "There shouldn’t be anyone else here!" Tom looked like he wanted to explain something to Sam, using small words and perhaps a slap across the face or two, but he was too overcome by the strangeness of the situation.
"Who’s there?" yelled the cop. "Halt or I’ll shoot!"
The strange man ignored him. "Hello. Welcome to the Carpenter’s house. I’m Phillip Drollinger, the butler. Mr. Carpenter will see you now."
***
By most children, she was known as Miss First. She was also known as "my favorite teacher." She was called that with good reason, though everyone else just called her April. She was one of the best teachers that had ever come to Samuel Springs Elementary. She was known by most people as a teacher who was both qualified and popular with students and parents at the same time. She appealed to her students because she was a fun teacher, not overly perky, and was only mean when someone misbehaved, which didn’t happen often. She appealed to the students’ parents, because she taught their children well, and was able to take care of them. She appealed to her employers because she didn’t do anything outrageously different, and kept the children in line.
The two people she did not appeal to, however, were her younger sisters.
She was known by most people as Ms. First. Her family and the few close friends she had called her May. May was the president of some big business corporation, though April couldn’t recall what this business did. May was known by most people as a rich, shrewd, and often cold businesswoman, performing her role as a woman in a man’s job very, very well. In addition, she didn’t think people like April had any importance, except as a consumer who helped her get money and helped her business thrive. She appealed to other businesses because of the money her business made every year. She appealed to investors because of the number of points the stocks went up.
But she didn’t appeal to her sisters either.
She was known by mostly people simply as June. Her last name was of little importance. June worked as a stripper at some bar, though she had never told anyone where it was. She was known by most people as a very sexy young woman, who was perfectly willing to strip naked in front of total strangers for profit. She claimed not to like her job, and that she was in it for the money. But April could think of better ways to make money. June appealed to young men. But she did not appeal, not only her sisters, but most of her entire family.
It was unusual to ever see these three together.
So if anyone knew about it, one would wonder why the three sisters were meeting in front of the old Carpenter house on Florence Court in Forrest Falls. But the only one who knew about the meeting was April, and that was only because she had arranged it. May thought she was meeting some client so she could make a business deal. June thought she was being hired out to work at a bachelor party. What was really happening, however, was that three sisters were going to be reunited. At least, April hoped so.
April arrived at the house first. She had picked the Carpenter place because no one came around it. There was some story about the place being haunted or something. About two years ago, a police car was found in front of the house, its motor still running. But the policeman was no where to be found. Rumor had it that no one, not even the police, had dared to look in the house. When asked about it, police had claimed to have searched the house thoroughly. But the house was abandoned, just as it had been since a year before, and as it was now. Three years altogether.
April pulled her coat more tightly around her, trying to keep out the cold January wind. The wind had grown stronger since she had arrived, and bits of frozen rain were starting to fly through the air, stinging April’s face. Shivering, she climbed back into her car for whatever warmth was available from it. She’d have to get the heater fixed soon. The winter was only going to get colder.
A pair of lights appeared at the entrance of the cul-de-sac. The car belonging to them pulled up behind April’s. The car was the newest model of car one could have, bright red of course, and expensive to the average consumer. The car belonged to May First. May was feeling very frustrated at the moment, because she had passed over Florence Court about three or four times before finally finding it. And now that she had, she was disappointed. She was meeting her client in a rundown old shack? What kind of a person was she?
May stepped out of her car, holding her fur coat around her. April stepped out at the same time.
"May!" May turned toward her sister, not recognizing her.
"Are you Mrs. Henderson? Because if you are, you need to pick some better meeting places."
"May, it’s me." May squinted, trying to get a better look. When she saw who it was, she was not pleased.
"April? What the hell are you doing here? You’re not my client, are you?"
"No. Well, yes. I–"
"Hold it," May interrupted. "Let’s at least go inside. It’s impossible to talk out here." It won’t be much better in there, she thought to herself. They ran to the abandoned house.
They stepped into a dimly lit room. April had not been inside it until now. Surprisingly enough, the room looked relatively clean, almost as if someone lived there.
"Oh. I see you came ahead and cleaned this place up." That was intended as an insult. May considered April to be a poor person, because of her job. But, although she wasn’t nearly as rich as either of her sisters, she was doing fairly well. April would have responded as such, but she was distracted by the clean house. This house had been empty for three years. Who had cleaned it? And where was the light coming from?
"So, what’s this all about April?" May asked. "And it had better be good, because I had a hell of a time getting up here."
Now April responded. April had expected this sort of reaction, but she was angry nonetheless. After all the trouble she had gone through getting her here in the first place . . . "Oh, sorry," she said, using a tone she usually reserved for her second graders. "You probably had to drive under the speed limit the whole way, you poor thing."
"Hey. Just because your car doesn’t go any faster than–" But she was cut off by a knocking at the door. April tried to open it, but it was stuck. She tugged at it, doing her best to ignore May’s sighs behind her and the incessant knocking before her. Just as she was beginning to grow curious about this too, the door opened on its own. The person on the other side was a young girl in a trench coat. She was shivering because she was wearing very little underneath the coat. This was June.
"Oh, excuse me," she said, looking embarrassed. "I must have the wrong house. Can you tell me where house number 24 is?"
"Oh, don’t tell me you invited her too!" May exclaimed. "I understand what’s going on now. You put your sunny, elementary school optimism to work, and thought that you could us to resolve our differences, and get back together!"
"That was the plan, yes," April said, tightly. Which was working very nicely, she thought sarcastically.
"April?" June said, recognizing her, and no more pleased then May had been. "What’s going on?"
"June, come in here." June entered the house, and April closed the door.
"What’s going on?" June asked.
"June, there is no bachelor party. That was my call.
"You tricked me into coming here?"
"A bachelor party!" May exclaimed. "I should’ve known! How else to get the slut in to see us!"
"Slut? Slut?!" June shouted, indignantly. And they were off in another argument about taste and money, and how much sex June actually had. April stayed out of it, knowing from experience that if she interrupted, they would immediately turn on her, and get on her back about having a poor-paying job. April didn’t know why she thought this would work. The sisters had been fighting for over ten years, and it didn’t look like there was going to be a resolution any time soon. But one could hope.
Actually, April had been perfectly willing to let things be. April, May, and June had had a falling out shortly after June, the youngest, had graduated. Family reunions had been abandoned, and they always visited their parents in shifts. It was probably better that way. The thing that had driven April to try this crazy thing was one of her second graders, Kris Almond. She was a new student this year, and was known by most people as being stupid. But April knew that she was just a little slow, but was very intelligent, and had the potential to be a writer. The young girl had mentioned in passing that families should be together for Christmas. April had thought about that, and decided it was time for this family to get back together.
But now it was all falling apart, if it had ever been together in the first place, and April was ducking out the door, just like always. She reached the door, and opened it. Or tried. The door was still stuck. April turned around and tried to force it open, but it refused to budge. Must be frozen shut, she thought to herself. How had June managed to open it? Maybe it had been the combined force of April’s pulling and June’s pushing. At any rate, they wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while.
April turned back into the room. Her sisters had stopped arguing, the sounds of an angry argument contuned. This one came from upstairs, and it sounded like a man and a woman. There were others in this house? April started up the stairs. Her sisters followed. The voices grew louder as they climbed, and not just because they were getting closer to the source. They reached the top of the stairs, and found the room where the voices were coming from. What they saw astonished them . . .
***
Ron Way looked up at the house, a little disoriented from the . . . well, Ron couldn’t remember what, but there was something he was usually disoriented by. The house was largely avoided, because it was thought to be haunted. At one time it had been owned by a madman named Carpenter. Then he had disappeared. Then about seven years ago, a policeman went missing near the Carpenter house. He was never found. According to Forrest Falls legend, their ghosts were all still in the house somewhere, trying to get out.
All ridiculous, of course. But it was for these reasons that Ron was standing in front of the old Carpenter house. He was going into the house on a dare, to find out if the ghosts really were in there.
The house hadn’t been cared for, as was obvious from the overgrown lawn and driveway. But surprisingly, the house looked like it was in pretty good condition. Ron hoped it really was in good condition, and wouldn’t collapse on him.
He approached the house nervously. He kept telling himself that he didn’t have to do this, but something drove him on. He became more apprehensive with every step he took, but he didn’t turn back. If he turned back, he knew he would lose his nerve. And if he lost his nerve, he would never go near the house again. Whether he would regret it or not, he didn’t know. For all he knew, he would regret it if he went into the house. But thinking like that would get him to turn back.
The stairs were as rickety as they looked, and barely seemed to support his weight. The porch was almost as bad, with several boards missing. This seemed to be a good indication of what the inside of the house looked like. The door seemed about the only sturdy thing about this house. It was so solid, it seemed that it would hold anybody who entered it forever, despite the rusted lock and hinges.
Ron put his hand on the doorknob. The door had been unlocked ever since the disappearance of Carpenter. Even so, no one dared to go inside. But the house certainly seemed empty. All Ron had to do was open the door, walk inside, take a quick look around, then leave. But just as he was about to open the door, he hesitated. He was struck by a sudden wariness he hadn’t felt before. He tried to shake it off, but it wouldn’t go away. His thoughts kept going back to that policeman. The police were trained to get out of many situations. If a policeman got lost in a simple house, what hope did Ron have?
Ron wasn’t sure how long he stood there. He couldn’t remember leaving. He couldn’t remember arriving home. The next thing he remembered was talking to his friend Tod on the phone.
"You chickened out?" he said. "What do you mean? What happened?"
"I don’t know," Ron sighed. "I was fine until I reached the door. Then I just . . . I just couldn’t do it."
"That doesn’t make any sense."
"I know. I know." Ron had already been through it several times with himself, but still couldn’t explain his sudden cowardice. "I guess that’s why my parents named me what they named me." Ron was known by most people as Ron A. Way. It was a play on words with his name, which seemed to pretty effectively spell out his personality.
"That doesn’t make any sense," Tod repeated. "You were too confident about it at school today to wimp out. You’ll be humiliated if any else finds out."
"I’ll make something up. I saw the house from the outside; I can take a guess at what it looked at from the inside." But Ron still had a nagging doubt.
"It’s all you can do I guess. I’d better go; I’ve still gotta type up that paper for English. See you tomorrow."
"See ya." Ron glumly hung up the phone.
Ron didn’t sleep well that night. The little sleep he did get was with weird disconnected dreams. In one dream, he was an old man, near death. And someone was standing over him. And he gave Ron a piece of paper, with strange writing on it. Then all of the sudden, Ron was getting younger and younger, until he was a middle-aged man, then a teenager, then a little boy, then . . .
Then he was running from something. Something dangerous. Ron didn’t know what it was, just that he had to get away from it. But he wasn’t making much progress, and the thing was getting closer and closer. Then he saw something ahead of him, but he was too far away to tell what. He ran harder, but made less progress then before, as though he was running on a treadmill, always programmed to go just faster than he was running. But even so, he was getting closer to the thing in front of him. It was a person. A girl, around thirteen or so. Her hair was brown. No, blonde. It kept changing. But Ron could make out no more than that. Then the thing that was chasing him caught up, and he awoke.
Ron tried to collapse back into tired sleep, but his body wouldn’t let him. He rose, only half-awake, covered in sweat and shaking uncontrollably. His unfinished math homework fell to the floor. In a daze, he stumbled out of the room, then out of his house. Oblivious to the chill in the air he continued to walk, driven by some will not his own, eventually making his way to Florence Court, and walking to house number 24.
Ron cut across the overgrown lawn, leaves crunching under his bare feet. He stumbled up the stairs, tripping once or twice on his way up, walked up to the door, and put his hand on the knob. This time, there was no hesitation as he opened the door and stepped in. Only now did Ron stop moving. Breathing heavily, he sank to the floor, very tired. The house was warm compared to the chill outside, which Ron was just now starting to feel. Ron sank into a deep and dreamless sleep. He didn’t notice when the wind slammed the door shut behind him, or when he was found by a man named Phillip Drollinger two hours later who, for some strange reason, had not known he was going to arrive . . .
***
Kris Almond was in a bad mood. Her grades were down, lower than usual. She had not been doing well since she had started high school. Even her best subject, history, was down to a C-plus. Science was just as bad, Algebra was an absolute terror, and English she might as well have skipped altogether. The only class she was really doing well in was choir, and if she didn’t get the rest of her grades up, she would have to drop that as well. Of course, her grades had not been great since the second grade, when her teacher, Miss First, had disappeared. It had been a shock to her and her classmates, because Miss First had been nearly everyone’s favorite teacher. Another teacher had replaced her, one who didn’t have the patience that Miss First had had for slow children, and Kris’s grades had dropped. But they had usually stayed above the D level.
Then, at the end of the eighth grade, her best friend, Jessie Hayes, had moved to Minnesota. Kris and Jessie had always been called an inseparable pair. But they had separated, and Kris was still depressed about that. Jessie was the one who had convinced Kris that she wasn’t stupid, as Kris had used to think, and now that she was gone, she was getting back into that frame of mind again. Also, there was the stress that all freshman felt starting high school, and the fact that she had an older sister who was a senior, and practically a legend at the school, so that Kris’s expectations were higher. Kris had never understood that. Just because two people are related doesn’t mean that they are interchangeable. After all, look at Amy and Amber, twins who are only alike genetically, one a peppy optimist, the other a depressive pessimist.
Kris told all this to Jessie in her e-mail. Jessie Hayes shook her head as she read it from her house in Minnesota. Jessie wished she could be there to help her, but for now, e-mail was the next best thing. She read on.
Anyway, I hope I haven’t ruined your day by telling you about all my problems. I hope you like your new school, and I’m sure you’re getting along better then I am. But maybe things will get better for me. It’s only the end of September after all. But unless my English teacher starts to like what I’m writing all of the sudden, I’m sunk. I wish Mr. Wyse hadn’t retired; he really liked what I wrote. By the way, I’m going to take your advice and write a story. Just as soon as I come up with an idea. And I promise that you will be the first one to read it when it’s done.
Tab, Sam, Susan, and Sabrina say hi. Oh, and Matt misses you. No, he hasn’t found another girlfriend yet, but I’m trying to convince him to ask Samantha to Homecoming. And yes, Peter and Sabrina are still dating. You were right about Mandy getting the most votes for Homecoming attendant. I wish Danielle could’ve gotten it, but I had a feeling she wouldn’t.
Mom just walked in. She says hi. She gave me a couple of messages. I’m getting a tutor, some junior whose name I don’t recognize. That should help my grades. Also, do you remember my Aunt Niki? She was the dentist lived in Coleman Creek. Well, we just found out that she’s disappeared. I only met her once or twice, and I think she met you, but I didn’t know her that well, even if she did live close by. She was known by most the family as one of those outlandish people that no one likes to talk about much. But my Mom’s a little worried. They said she was last seen in Forrest Falls, near that weird house on Florence Court, close to where Danielle lives. They’re searching for her now.
Well, I’d better go. I’ve got an English paper due tomorrow. Hope to see you soon.
Your depressed, but recovering friend,
Kris
***
"Nine people, all of them gone. It’s probably just a coincidence. But you have to wonder. If the Carpenter’s Curse is real, who will the tenth victim be? Anyone could wander just a little too close to the Carpenter’s house. It could even be one of us sitting here." The storyteller looked at the girls sitting around the fire, all rapt in the story she was telling. She was known by most people as a master storyteller, the best in the school. "It could be Danielle," the girl continued, looking over at a cute girl in blonde pigtails, "who lives right next to Florence Court. It could be Libby," she shifted her glance to the tomboy of the group, who was on the edge of her seat, "going to the house for a good scare. It could be any one of us.
"You also have to wonder what the police would have found, had they looked in the house. The bodies of nine corpses? Nine crazed, starving people? Or just an empty house? It’s difficult to say. People have said that they can almost hear voices coming from the house. Arguments, they say. Who’s doing the arguing, and over what? Who to take next?
"This story’s not over yet. I don’t have an ending for it, because there isn’t one. Not until someone can find out what happened to the nine missing people." She stood up. "Any volunteers?" There was a silence as the girls exchanged glances, wondering if their friend was serious. It was often difficult to tell. Then, one of the girls broke out laughing. After a moment, the rest of the girls joined in, as the storyteller sat back down, a smile on her face. The girl was also known as a trickster, who certainly would have gone to the Carpenter House, had anyone volunteered.
The story done, though not finished, the girls continued with their traditional, pre-school camp out. The Carpenter Curse, though, was on their minds for most of the night. It was likely that if anyone else had told that exact same story, it wouldn’t have had the same impact. But what none of the girls knew, as they continued their fun, was that the tenth victim of the "Carpenter Curse", and the one who would discover the secrets behind it, had been there that night, sitting around the campfire with the rest of them.
She was the one who had told the story . . .
***
"What's next?"
***
"The Tale of the Carpenter's Curse"
by Matt Guion
If one were to ask a newcomer to Forrest Falls about the old Carpenter house on Florence Court, they would say it was empty. It was easy to see that just by looking at it. The dirty windows were always dark; the gutters were rusty and full of leaves; the front door looked as though it were ready to fall off its rusty hinges; the roof was a total loss, missing half its shingles; there was a rusty barbed wire fence surrounding the house, with a condemned sign; and if one were to go inside, they would probably encounter enough dust and cobwebs, just with the first step, to keep them sneezing for weeks. The house seemed to have an air of emptiness about it. No question about it; this house was empty.
If one were to ask a longtime resident of Forrest Falls about the same house, the response would be much the same, but with more certainty. A person who had lived in Forrest Falls for a long time had probably heard of Old Man Carpenter. They may have even seen him. They may have even met him personally, though this would not be something any longtime resident of Forrest Falls would want to admit. Old Man Carpenter had been an odd one indeed. Strange things tended to happen to people who encountered the man, even casually. But no one had encountered him, or even seen him for quite a while. It was safe to say that he would never be seen again. The police had condemned his property some time ago, and everyone could say with confidence that the old Carpenter house on Florence Court was quite empty.
It was for this reason, among others, that Samuel Hill decided to go into the house. Sam was known by most people as a real partier, someone who was always looking for a good time. He was known for throwing wild parties in one of two places: either where no one else would think of, or where no one else would risk. Sam was planning another such party, and needed a good location. His last party had taken place in the basement of a small shop . . . without the shop owner’s knowledge. Now he needed something to top it. His mind had shifted back to an old house in his hometown of Forrest Falls. The one that had used to belong to that crazy old man, before it was abandoned.. What could be better than having a party in the former house of a madman?
Sam carefully ducked under the barbed wire and looked around. When he was certain that the place was deserted, he waved for his friends. Two more people ducked under the fence. The first was his friend, Tom Smith. He had brought Tom along because he knew how to avoid any unwanted attention. Tom didn’t actually go to Coleman University, but he lived nearby. Tom Smith was known by most people as a criminal, and this was probably true, though Sam had never actually seen him committing any crime. He was an orphan, a high school dropout, and a tendency to be caught snooping around where he didn’t belong. Sam believed the police gave him a bad wrap.
The next person to duck under the fence was known by most people as Brit. Sam didn’t know what her last name was, and didn’t really care. After all, one name was all she really needed. Brit was along because she was Sam’s girlfriend and followed him everywhere. She was known by most people as a girl who had been around quite a bit. Sam now knew that they were right. Sam thought she adored him, but what he didn’t know was that Brit was getting bored with him. And this little trip wasn’t helping matters.
"This the place?" Tom asked quietly.
"Yeah, this is it. You sure we’re not being followed?"
"Don’t worry. There’s no one in the area. Besides, you said we were just checking it out. You wait ‘til the party; see how easy it is to keep people away."
"I’ll figure something out. Our police force isn’t on its toes much anyway. Not much happens in a town like Forrest Falls. C’mon." He walked up to the front porch.
Tom and Brit exchanged a glance, and followed him. To the people that knew him well, Sam was known as being more than a bit reckless. Tom was all for exploring condemned areas, but throwing parties at said areas tended to attract attention. And Brit just thought he was an idiot for bringing them out there in the first place.
"Careful Sam," Brit said. "That porch doesn’t look very sturdy."
"It’s fine. It held up this long." He stepped up on the porch. It groaned in protest, but held his weight. The other two followed him.
"How do we get in?" asked Brit.
"The door’s unlocked. The old man never locked it when he left, and no one could find a key. They’re having a locksmith find one that fits, but the lock’s so old he might have trouble. Plus, they’re not in a real big hurry to get it done. It’s not like there’s anything worth stealing in here, and no one goes near the house anymore anyway." He turned the handle, half expecting it to come off in his hand. The door actually seemed surprisingly sturdy considering how old it looked. Sam gave it push. It resisted, then yielded. They cautiously stepped inside.
The inside of the house was not what the three had been expecting. It should have been covered in dust and cobwebs. After all, the house had been empty for over a year. But the room they were standing in looked as though its owner had left it just yesterday rather than a year ago.
"Good," Sam muttered under his breath. "I was afraid we would have to clean it out." Tom and Brit exchanged another glance. They both knew that someone must have been in the house recently to keep it clean, but Sam was slow to catch on to such things. Either that or he didn’t care.
They were standing in a large room, probably the living room. The furniture was still there: a sofa, a chair, a table. There was a staircase to the right leading upstairs to a balcony that overlooked the room, and another door straight ahead that lead to what was probably the kitchen.
"Anyone behind us Tom?" he asked.
"I told you there wasn’t," Tom said, exasperated.
"I thought I saw someone when we came in."
Tom checked outside. "There’s no one there. No one’s gonna take notice of three people. Now, fifty people on the other hand . . ."
Brit was looking around the room. "This is a nice house. Large room. Perfect."
"I told you," Sam said. "Tom, what do you think?"
"Must be ancient," he said, also looking around. "Wouldn’t mind living here myself."
"It’s been in this town since as long as I can remember. Never been inside it though. My parents always told me to stay away from it." He took a look around. "It is a nice house, isn’t it?"
"Yes, it is," a new voice said. "It’s also off limits. Fancy that." Sam turned. Standing in the doorway was a policeman. He did not look happy.
"No one there, eh Tom?" Sam muttered. Tom looked like he wanted to make a comment about the Forrest Falls Police Force not being on their toes, but stifled it.
"Officer," Sam said, "we . . . weren’t aware that this property was condemned."
"Oh, no? Well, that’s understandable. I can see how you could have missed the barbed wire fence and the condemned signs surrounding the house," said the cop, sardonically.
Smooth, Sam, Brit thought as Tom rolled his eyes.
"Anyone else here besides you three?" the cop asked.
"No, officer," Sam said, truthfully.
"Well, if you don’t mind, I’ll just check for myself." He closed the door. "If I hear this door open, I’ll be back down faster than you can say ‘Don’t shoot, officer.’" He pulled out a flashlight and started up the stairs.
"Oh, don’t worry officer. You can trust us," Sam said, causing Tom to roll his eyes again. The minute the cop was out of sight, Sam headed for the door. "Now, on the count of three, I open this door, and the three of us run like hell."
"You wanna say that a little louder, Sam?" Tom said. "I’m not sure the incompetent Forrest Falls Police Force heard you."
Sam ignored him and put his hand on the knob. "One . . . two . . . three!" He pulled at the door. It didn’t open. Sam ran into the still closed door. Tom looked up to the heavens in exasperation. All three held their breath, but there was no response from the policeman upstairs.
"Tom, give me a hand." Tom wondered briefly if it would just be better to be arrested, then came to the door. The two of them pulled together. Still nothing.
"What the hell is going on down there?" yelled the cop from the upstairs.
"Nothing sir!" Sam yelled up the stairs. "Just . . . stepping on cockroaches."
Tom sighed. "You’ve got to work on your stories, man. The most intelligent thing you’ve said to that cop tonight is ‘No, officer.’"
Sam gave him a look. "Never mind that! Why won’t this door open?" he hissed.
"How should we know?" hissed Brit. "Why don’t we just tell him the truth? He’ll probably go easy on us. We could say we didn’t see the sign. Technically we didn’t."
"No way," said Tom. "I’ve run into this guy a couple of times. It’s officer Katt. He’s been looking for a chance to bust me." Sam sighed. Officer Katt. He hadn’t seen him well in the darkness of the house. Sam had had a couple run-ins with this guy as well. Katt was known by most people as a bit of a joke. Oh, he did fine when he had the rest of the force behind him. But when he was by himself, he tended to bungle things. Already, he had made the mistake of leaving them alone downstairs. Not that it made much difference right now anyway.
"Must be humidity," Tom said. "Maybe if we all work at it, quietly," he added pointedly for Sam’s benefit, "we’ll be able to get it open."
They pulled at the door for the next few minutes, but to no avail. The door wouldn’t even shake within its doorway. This didn’t seem like a problem with humidity.
"What the hell are doing?" came Katt’s voice as he came down the stairs. "What’d you do, lock yourself in? Can’t even escape from the cops properly?" He sighed, as if wishing he’d been provided an adequate challenge. "Well, looks like you’re the only three. C’mon, I’m taking you to the station and teaching you how to break into a house. Let’s go." He tried the door, but it wouldn’t open for him either. "This door shouldn’t be too hard to open," he muttered to himself. But it still wouldn’t budge. He checked for a way to unlock it, but there was none. "Stand back." He pulled out his gun and fired a shot at the lock. Brit gave a little scream. She didn’t like loud noises. But the bullet didn’t even make a dent. They had all seen something come out of the gun, but none of them had seen anything hit the door. "I don’t understand this," Officer Katt muttered. He wasn’t the only one.
Behind them a door opened. Out of the doorway came a tall man with straight dark hair. Most people didn’t know him.
"Who the hell is that?" Sam asked. "There shouldn’t be anyone else here!" Tom looked like he wanted to explain something to Sam, using small words and perhaps a slap across the face or two, but he was too overcome by the strangeness of the situation.
"Who’s there?" yelled the cop. "Halt or I’ll shoot!"
The strange man ignored him. "Hello. Welcome to the Carpenter’s house. I’m Phillip Drollinger, the butler. Mr. Carpenter will see you now."
***
By most children, she was known as Miss First. She was also known as "my favorite teacher." She was called that with good reason, though everyone else just called her April. She was one of the best teachers that had ever come to Samuel Springs Elementary. She was known by most people as a teacher who was both qualified and popular with students and parents at the same time. She appealed to her students because she was a fun teacher, not overly perky, and was only mean when someone misbehaved, which didn’t happen often. She appealed to the students’ parents, because she taught their children well, and was able to take care of them. She appealed to her employers because she didn’t do anything outrageously different, and kept the children in line.
The two people she did not appeal to, however, were her younger sisters.
She was known by most people as Ms. First. Her family and the few close friends she had called her May. May was the president of some big business corporation, though April couldn’t recall what this business did. May was known by most people as a rich, shrewd, and often cold businesswoman, performing her role as a woman in a man’s job very, very well. In addition, she didn’t think people like April had any importance, except as a consumer who helped her get money and helped her business thrive. She appealed to other businesses because of the money her business made every year. She appealed to investors because of the number of points the stocks went up.
But she didn’t appeal to her sisters either.
She was known by mostly people simply as June. Her last name was of little importance. June worked as a stripper at some bar, though she had never told anyone where it was. She was known by most people as a very sexy young woman, who was perfectly willing to strip naked in front of total strangers for profit. She claimed not to like her job, and that she was in it for the money. But April could think of better ways to make money. June appealed to young men. But she did not appeal, not only her sisters, but most of her entire family.
It was unusual to ever see these three together.
So if anyone knew about it, one would wonder why the three sisters were meeting in front of the old Carpenter house on Florence Court in Forrest Falls. But the only one who knew about the meeting was April, and that was only because she had arranged it. May thought she was meeting some client so she could make a business deal. June thought she was being hired out to work at a bachelor party. What was really happening, however, was that three sisters were going to be reunited. At least, April hoped so.
April arrived at the house first. She had picked the Carpenter place because no one came around it. There was some story about the place being haunted or something. About two years ago, a police car was found in front of the house, its motor still running. But the policeman was no where to be found. Rumor had it that no one, not even the police, had dared to look in the house. When asked about it, police had claimed to have searched the house thoroughly. But the house was abandoned, just as it had been since a year before, and as it was now. Three years altogether.
April pulled her coat more tightly around her, trying to keep out the cold January wind. The wind had grown stronger since she had arrived, and bits of frozen rain were starting to fly through the air, stinging April’s face. Shivering, she climbed back into her car for whatever warmth was available from it. She’d have to get the heater fixed soon. The winter was only going to get colder.
A pair of lights appeared at the entrance of the cul-de-sac. The car belonging to them pulled up behind April’s. The car was the newest model of car one could have, bright red of course, and expensive to the average consumer. The car belonged to May First. May was feeling very frustrated at the moment, because she had passed over Florence Court about three or four times before finally finding it. And now that she had, she was disappointed. She was meeting her client in a rundown old shack? What kind of a person was she?
May stepped out of her car, holding her fur coat around her. April stepped out at the same time.
"May!" May turned toward her sister, not recognizing her.
"Are you Mrs. Henderson? Because if you are, you need to pick some better meeting places."
"May, it’s me." May squinted, trying to get a better look. When she saw who it was, she was not pleased.
"April? What the hell are you doing here? You’re not my client, are you?"
"No. Well, yes. I–"
"Hold it," May interrupted. "Let’s at least go inside. It’s impossible to talk out here." It won’t be much better in there, she thought to herself. They ran to the abandoned house.
They stepped into a dimly lit room. April had not been inside it until now. Surprisingly enough, the room looked relatively clean, almost as if someone lived there.
"Oh. I see you came ahead and cleaned this place up." That was intended as an insult. May considered April to be a poor person, because of her job. But, although she wasn’t nearly as rich as either of her sisters, she was doing fairly well. April would have responded as such, but she was distracted by the clean house. This house had been empty for three years. Who had cleaned it? And where was the light coming from?
"So, what’s this all about April?" May asked. "And it had better be good, because I had a hell of a time getting up here."
Now April responded. April had expected this sort of reaction, but she was angry nonetheless. After all the trouble she had gone through getting her here in the first place . . . "Oh, sorry," she said, using a tone she usually reserved for her second graders. "You probably had to drive under the speed limit the whole way, you poor thing."
"Hey. Just because your car doesn’t go any faster than–" But she was cut off by a knocking at the door. April tried to open it, but it was stuck. She tugged at it, doing her best to ignore May’s sighs behind her and the incessant knocking before her. Just as she was beginning to grow curious about this too, the door opened on its own. The person on the other side was a young girl in a trench coat. She was shivering because she was wearing very little underneath the coat. This was June.
"Oh, excuse me," she said, looking embarrassed. "I must have the wrong house. Can you tell me where house number 24 is?"
"Oh, don’t tell me you invited her too!" May exclaimed. "I understand what’s going on now. You put your sunny, elementary school optimism to work, and thought that you could us to resolve our differences, and get back together!"
"That was the plan, yes," April said, tightly. Which was working very nicely, she thought sarcastically.
"April?" June said, recognizing her, and no more pleased then May had been. "What’s going on?"
"June, come in here." June entered the house, and April closed the door.
"What’s going on?" June asked.
"June, there is no bachelor party. That was my call.
"You tricked me into coming here?"
"A bachelor party!" May exclaimed. "I should’ve known! How else to get the slut in to see us!"
"Slut? Slut?!" June shouted, indignantly. And they were off in another argument about taste and money, and how much sex June actually had. April stayed out of it, knowing from experience that if she interrupted, they would immediately turn on her, and get on her back about having a poor-paying job. April didn’t know why she thought this would work. The sisters had been fighting for over ten years, and it didn’t look like there was going to be a resolution any time soon. But one could hope.
Actually, April had been perfectly willing to let things be. April, May, and June had had a falling out shortly after June, the youngest, had graduated. Family reunions had been abandoned, and they always visited their parents in shifts. It was probably better that way. The thing that had driven April to try this crazy thing was one of her second graders, Kris Almond. She was a new student this year, and was known by most people as being stupid. But April knew that she was just a little slow, but was very intelligent, and had the potential to be a writer. The young girl had mentioned in passing that families should be together for Christmas. April had thought about that, and decided it was time for this family to get back together.
But now it was all falling apart, if it had ever been together in the first place, and April was ducking out the door, just like always. She reached the door, and opened it. Or tried. The door was still stuck. April turned around and tried to force it open, but it refused to budge. Must be frozen shut, she thought to herself. How had June managed to open it? Maybe it had been the combined force of April’s pulling and June’s pushing. At any rate, they wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while.
April turned back into the room. Her sisters had stopped arguing, the sounds of an angry argument contuned. This one came from upstairs, and it sounded like a man and a woman. There were others in this house? April started up the stairs. Her sisters followed. The voices grew louder as they climbed, and not just because they were getting closer to the source. They reached the top of the stairs, and found the room where the voices were coming from. What they saw astonished them . . .
***
Ron Way looked up at the house, a little disoriented from the . . . well, Ron couldn’t remember what, but there was something he was usually disoriented by. The house was largely avoided, because it was thought to be haunted. At one time it had been owned by a madman named Carpenter. Then he had disappeared. Then about seven years ago, a policeman went missing near the Carpenter house. He was never found. According to Forrest Falls legend, their ghosts were all still in the house somewhere, trying to get out.
All ridiculous, of course. But it was for these reasons that Ron was standing in front of the old Carpenter house. He was going into the house on a dare, to find out if the ghosts really were in there.
The house hadn’t been cared for, as was obvious from the overgrown lawn and driveway. But surprisingly, the house looked like it was in pretty good condition. Ron hoped it really was in good condition, and wouldn’t collapse on him.
He approached the house nervously. He kept telling himself that he didn’t have to do this, but something drove him on. He became more apprehensive with every step he took, but he didn’t turn back. If he turned back, he knew he would lose his nerve. And if he lost his nerve, he would never go near the house again. Whether he would regret it or not, he didn’t know. For all he knew, he would regret it if he went into the house. But thinking like that would get him to turn back.
The stairs were as rickety as they looked, and barely seemed to support his weight. The porch was almost as bad, with several boards missing. This seemed to be a good indication of what the inside of the house looked like. The door seemed about the only sturdy thing about this house. It was so solid, it seemed that it would hold anybody who entered it forever, despite the rusted lock and hinges.
Ron put his hand on the doorknob. The door had been unlocked ever since the disappearance of Carpenter. Even so, no one dared to go inside. But the house certainly seemed empty. All Ron had to do was open the door, walk inside, take a quick look around, then leave. But just as he was about to open the door, he hesitated. He was struck by a sudden wariness he hadn’t felt before. He tried to shake it off, but it wouldn’t go away. His thoughts kept going back to that policeman. The police were trained to get out of many situations. If a policeman got lost in a simple house, what hope did Ron have?
Ron wasn’t sure how long he stood there. He couldn’t remember leaving. He couldn’t remember arriving home. The next thing he remembered was talking to his friend Tod on the phone.
"You chickened out?" he said. "What do you mean? What happened?"
"I don’t know," Ron sighed. "I was fine until I reached the door. Then I just . . . I just couldn’t do it."
"That doesn’t make any sense."
"I know. I know." Ron had already been through it several times with himself, but still couldn’t explain his sudden cowardice. "I guess that’s why my parents named me what they named me." Ron was known by most people as Ron A. Way. It was a play on words with his name, which seemed to pretty effectively spell out his personality.
"That doesn’t make any sense," Tod repeated. "You were too confident about it at school today to wimp out. You’ll be humiliated if any else finds out."
"I’ll make something up. I saw the house from the outside; I can take a guess at what it looked at from the inside." But Ron still had a nagging doubt.
"It’s all you can do I guess. I’d better go; I’ve still gotta type up that paper for English. See you tomorrow."
"See ya." Ron glumly hung up the phone.
Ron didn’t sleep well that night. The little sleep he did get was with weird disconnected dreams. In one dream, he was an old man, near death. And someone was standing over him. And he gave Ron a piece of paper, with strange writing on it. Then all of the sudden, Ron was getting younger and younger, until he was a middle-aged man, then a teenager, then a little boy, then . . .
Then he was running from something. Something dangerous. Ron didn’t know what it was, just that he had to get away from it. But he wasn’t making much progress, and the thing was getting closer and closer. Then he saw something ahead of him, but he was too far away to tell what. He ran harder, but made less progress then before, as though he was running on a treadmill, always programmed to go just faster than he was running. But even so, he was getting closer to the thing in front of him. It was a person. A girl, around thirteen or so. Her hair was brown. No, blonde. It kept changing. But Ron could make out no more than that. Then the thing that was chasing him caught up, and he awoke.
Ron tried to collapse back into tired sleep, but his body wouldn’t let him. He rose, only half-awake, covered in sweat and shaking uncontrollably. His unfinished math homework fell to the floor. In a daze, he stumbled out of the room, then out of his house. Oblivious to the chill in the air he continued to walk, driven by some will not his own, eventually making his way to Florence Court, and walking to house number 24.
Ron cut across the overgrown lawn, leaves crunching under his bare feet. He stumbled up the stairs, tripping once or twice on his way up, walked up to the door, and put his hand on the knob. This time, there was no hesitation as he opened the door and stepped in. Only now did Ron stop moving. Breathing heavily, he sank to the floor, very tired. The house was warm compared to the chill outside, which Ron was just now starting to feel. Ron sank into a deep and dreamless sleep. He didn’t notice when the wind slammed the door shut behind him, or when he was found by a man named Phillip Drollinger two hours later who, for some strange reason, had not known he was going to arrive . . .
***
Kris Almond was in a bad mood. Her grades were down, lower than usual. She had not been doing well since she had started high school. Even her best subject, history, was down to a C-plus. Science was just as bad, Algebra was an absolute terror, and English she might as well have skipped altogether. The only class she was really doing well in was choir, and if she didn’t get the rest of her grades up, she would have to drop that as well. Of course, her grades had not been great since the second grade, when her teacher, Miss First, had disappeared. It had been a shock to her and her classmates, because Miss First had been nearly everyone’s favorite teacher. Another teacher had replaced her, one who didn’t have the patience that Miss First had had for slow children, and Kris’s grades had dropped. But they had usually stayed above the D level.
Then, at the end of the eighth grade, her best friend, Jessie Hayes, had moved to Minnesota. Kris and Jessie had always been called an inseparable pair. But they had separated, and Kris was still depressed about that. Jessie was the one who had convinced Kris that she wasn’t stupid, as Kris had used to think, and now that she was gone, she was getting back into that frame of mind again. Also, there was the stress that all freshman felt starting high school, and the fact that she had an older sister who was a senior, and practically a legend at the school, so that Kris’s expectations were higher. Kris had never understood that. Just because two people are related doesn’t mean that they are interchangeable. After all, look at Amy and Amber, twins who are only alike genetically, one a peppy optimist, the other a depressive pessimist.
Kris told all this to Jessie in her e-mail. Jessie Hayes shook her head as she read it from her house in Minnesota. Jessie wished she could be there to help her, but for now, e-mail was the next best thing. She read on.
Anyway, I hope I haven’t ruined your day by telling you about all my problems. I hope you like your new school, and I’m sure you’re getting along better then I am. But maybe things will get better for me. It’s only the end of September after all. But unless my English teacher starts to like what I’m writing all of the sudden, I’m sunk. I wish Mr. Wyse hadn’t retired; he really liked what I wrote. By the way, I’m going to take your advice and write a story. Just as soon as I come up with an idea. And I promise that you will be the first one to read it when it’s done.
Tab, Sam, Susan, and Sabrina say hi. Oh, and Matt misses you. No, he hasn’t found another girlfriend yet, but I’m trying to convince him to ask Samantha to Homecoming. And yes, Peter and Sabrina are still dating. You were right about Mandy getting the most votes for Homecoming attendant. I wish Danielle could’ve gotten it, but I had a feeling she wouldn’t.
Mom just walked in. She says hi. She gave me a couple of messages. I’m getting a tutor, some junior whose name I don’t recognize. That should help my grades. Also, do you remember my Aunt Niki? She was the dentist lived in Coleman Creek. Well, we just found out that she’s disappeared. I only met her once or twice, and I think she met you, but I didn’t know her that well, even if she did live close by. She was known by most the family as one of those outlandish people that no one likes to talk about much. But my Mom’s a little worried. They said she was last seen in Forrest Falls, near that weird house on Florence Court, close to where Danielle lives. They’re searching for her now.
Well, I’d better go. I’ve got an English paper due tomorrow. Hope to see you soon.
Your depressed, but recovering friend,
Kris
***
"Nine people, all of them gone. It’s probably just a coincidence. But you have to wonder. If the Carpenter’s Curse is real, who will the tenth victim be? Anyone could wander just a little too close to the Carpenter’s house. It could even be one of us sitting here." The storyteller looked at the girls sitting around the fire, all rapt in the story she was telling. She was known by most people as a master storyteller, the best in the school. "It could be Danielle," the girl continued, looking over at a cute girl in blonde pigtails, "who lives right next to Florence Court. It could be Libby," she shifted her glance to the tomboy of the group, who was on the edge of her seat, "going to the house for a good scare. It could be any one of us.
"You also have to wonder what the police would have found, had they looked in the house. The bodies of nine corpses? Nine crazed, starving people? Or just an empty house? It’s difficult to say. People have said that they can almost hear voices coming from the house. Arguments, they say. Who’s doing the arguing, and over what? Who to take next?
"This story’s not over yet. I don’t have an ending for it, because there isn’t one. Not until someone can find out what happened to the nine missing people." She stood up. "Any volunteers?" There was a silence as the girls exchanged glances, wondering if their friend was serious. It was often difficult to tell. Then, one of the girls broke out laughing. After a moment, the rest of the girls joined in, as the storyteller sat back down, a smile on her face. The girl was also known as a trickster, who certainly would have gone to the Carpenter House, had anyone volunteered.
The story done, though not finished, the girls continued with their traditional, pre-school camp out. The Carpenter Curse, though, was on their minds for most of the night. It was likely that if anyone else had told that exact same story, it wouldn’t have had the same impact. But what none of the girls knew, as they continued their fun, was that the tenth victim of the "Carpenter Curse", and the one who would discover the secrets behind it, had been there that night, sitting around the campfire with the rest of them.
She was the one who had told the story . . .
***
"What's next?"
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