Reznik House on the Hill

It all started when...

Rocks crunched beneath the tires of Gary’s forest green hatchback as he turned onto Reznik Road. Fat, gnarled trees lined the road as he climbed the hill. His car cut through a thick fog that moved slowly through the woods. His destination was the only house on the road, marked by a red, brick mailbox. Moss covered the brick. He turned left onto the driveway and saw only woods and the beginnings of a winding dirt path. Up he climbed still twisting and turning, he considered how long the dirt drive would lead. The bent and broken trees of the forest gave way to great Sycamore trees. The leaves, red from the changes of fall and soaked from the morning dew, dripped like blood from the branches. One tree, especially large, stood inside a turn ahead, it’s trunk melting into the earth, one of it’s branches reached across the driveway welcoming Gary as he turned, this way please it seemed to say.

As Gary passed beneath the Sycamore branch the house finally came into view. It appeared from nowhere, just a stone throw ahead. All stone, grey and cracked, the house could have been carved from the bedrock itself. Great reaching vines spread across the stone facade, only the roof was made of wood and bent as if it carried a great weight. Sycamores surrounded the house as well, each of their branches clawing at the perimeter.

He parked the car in front, and got out. Many of the windows were shuttered, broken slatted oak keeping the cold at bay. He placed his foot on the first step leading up to the door, but turned around. He looked back down the drive he had just come and saw the fog drifting up and out of the woods. He turned back just as a cold Fall wind whipped down his back, he shook the chill off with a shiver and grabbed the tarnished brass knocker. The knocker fell from his hand and collapsed back against the warped oak door, the resounding echo moved through the house. Gary’s fingers only brushed the brass knocker the second time when he heard the lock turn and a crack appeared in the doorway.

“Can I help you?” The woman was old, though barely a face could be seen, her voice had the raspiness that came with decades on this earth.

“Yes, my name is Gary Betts, I’m here about the caretaker position.”

“Oh, why yes, Gary, you must forgive me, an old woman forgets.”

The door creaked as she opened it and ushered him into a dark foyer, dust floated through the few rays of light that crept through the window above the door.

Click.

Gary turned just in time to see her remove the key from the lock.

“This way please.”

Off to the right she inserted the same key into another lock, turned, and opened the door. This time she simply beckoned him ahead and he politely followed. Through the doorway a much better lit room opened before him. Three chandeliers hung from the ceiling, constructs of ancient wood and wrought iron, to Gary’s surprise it was the glow of a hundred candles in each that lit the room. A tedious task of his duties he expected.

Click.

His head snapped around to see her withdrawing the key yet again from the lock. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak she broke into a coughing fit, alternating between hacking and wheezing, eventually she got control and patted her chest.

“Are you ok?” Gary asked.

“Yes, yes, don’t you worry about me, it’s you should be worried,” her mouth grinned a cracked and brown toothed smile, “this is an old house, you’ve quite the work ahead of you.”

“I see that, but the chandeliers are quite beautiful.”

“Ah, yes they are, this here was the family room.”

“Was the family room? It’s not still?” Gary asked.

“Without a family it is only a room, used only to keep a fire to heat this floor now.”

As if in response a log snapped and cracked in the fireplace at the end of the room, a shower of sparks exploded out of the stone fireplace and onto the floor. The floor was a puzzle of stone slabs broken up only by a large area rug, a victorian pattern of gold and maroon. A claw foot couch stood on each side of the rug, each facing the other. Along the walls tall paintings hung, oil canvases of people long past.

“Where is the family if they’re not here?” Gary questioned as he turned his head to take in each of the portraits.

“Dead.”

“Excuse me?”

“Long dead, has no one told you about this house?”

“I answered an ad, they said the job was mine if I wanted it, that’s all.”

Now the woman smiled again, but this time she took his arm with a bony hand.

“Well, let me give you the history of the house.”

She lead him off to the right where a another doorway and another door waited to be unlocked by the little old woman. After they were through, Gary watched as she again, closed the door and turned the key, click.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I keep locking the doors to every room. The truth is I’m a scared old girl,” Kha-ha she laughed.

Gary gave her a crooked smile, he hadn’t been able to understand this woman’s sense of humor in the least bit.

“See the family that lived here was very rich. Their children attended private schools far away, the family never interacted with the town.”

Gary listened to her talk as they walked down a tight corridor. A dust coated side table rested against a wall. The floor boards, almost black wood, creaked beneath their feet or at least his feet. Her feet barely shuffled over the floor leaving streaks where her foot brushed aside the dust.

“Because they remained isolated, naturally people began to tell stories, to invent a reality where they could not learn it themselves.”

Her hand rested on another door knob, another door, another click.

The dining room was the most lit room in the house thus far, tall windows wrapped around the corner of the house, natural light poured in washing over the dining room table and the warped wooden floorboards. The old woman moved to the windows and stared into the woods. Tall sentinel pines leaned in toward the house, the backdrop a grey sky.

“See because the children were rarely around, no one ever actually saw the children. They whispered on the street about where Mr. Reznik kept them all the time, never letting them out to play or meet other children. The whispers spread and changed with each passing until it was obvious that Mr. Reznik actually lived here alone. His family long gone.”

“Where did his family go?”

Gary’s question tore the old woman away from the window, “Oh, I’m sorry, murdered of course.” Then as if she hadn’t just said something out of the ordinary she moved to the only other door in the room, this one led into the kitchen. The kitchen door closed, and the kitchen door’s lock turned with a click.

The old woman moved beside the counter her fingers brushing the top, Gary noticed how well she moved for a woman her age, elegant even.

“After enough whispering the entire town knew that Mr. Reznik had cut up his family,” her fingertips brushed over a butchers block as she said this. “Chopped them up, ground them into bits and used it to fertilize the grounds.”

“That’s pretty horrific, but every town has it’s urban legends,” Gary said, reason and understanding in every note of his voice.

“Yes, yes, of course just urban legends, but of course legends are like a drug for children. They can’t help but explore them and toy with them, treat them like jokes or use them to torment.”

The kitchen door shut, click, behind Gary and he found himself in another hallway, but a set of stairs on the right brought them upstairs.

“See my sisters didn’t believe the legends, they didn’t respect them, and so one day they thought they would bring me up here one night. They talked me into sneaking into the house and when we were here they locked me in the basement.”

The master bedroom, the guest bedroom, and the wash room. Click, click, click.

“Eventually I got out, but I could never be in a room without the key again, and so I lock the doors to every room as a form of control.” She stopped on the stairs and looked up at Gary, another broken tooth grin, “like I said just a scared old girl.”

They were back on the main floor, the only remaining door stood in front of them, hidden beneath the steps.

“You’ll only need to go into the basement yourself for maintenance on the furnace,” she held the door open and Gary descended down the steps. The air was heavy and damp, a putrid smell wafted up from below, and he tasted copper in his mouth.

“I have to say, with what your sisters did I’m surprised you would work here Mrs…” Gary chuckled to himself as he descended into the dark, “I’m sorry I just realized I never asked your name.”

The light in the stone corridor cut to a sliver.

“My name is Reznik.”

The echo of the door slamming shut rang off the stone walls, and in the darkness he heard the lock click.