In October of 2006, for our writing group's seventh round, I decided to write a haunted house story. I had a perfect house in mind, too: a famous mansion in the foothills of Salt Lake City. I made a trek to the mansion with my wife and small kids and took several pictures to help me visualize how to write the story. I guess my little field trip paid off, because when all was said and done this story was voted the "winner" of Round 7. Small consolation, I know, but I'll take whatever recognition I can get!
The House on Paramour Street
by Rusty Keele
"Abandon all hope, ye who enter here."
- Dante's Inferno
Mr. Alfred Tanger was not afraid of ghosts – at least not today. He peered through the open door into the relatively dark house for several minutes before moving his gaze upward. There was the furniture, right where all the newscasts claimed it was – on the ceiling. Before entering the house he looked around the yard again. The sun was shining brightly and there was a slight breeze, it was a perfect summer day, and best of all he felt absolutely peaceful. He took several steps into the entryway and began to study his surroundings more closely. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness he saw that everything was proper and tidy, it was just all on the ceiling. The house was completely furnished and in smashing order, but it was upside down. The furniture, rugs and everything that wasn't a fixture was attached to the ceiling. It was as if gravity had been reversed in this house. Nothing was strewn about the ceiling haphazardly as if it had "fallen" there, everything was in its perfect spot. Almost like there was still some butler tending to things, keeping this a nice, gentlemanly, upside down Victorian manner.
Mr. Tanger set his two bags on the floor, then looked up and began to inspect this house. Taking the drug had been a great idea, he decided, as he felt no fear at all. Yet he had the vague impression that the fear of it all, that sense of dread, was the real motivation behind his visits to haunted houses. He would be sure to mention that little tid-bit in his new book. He had long ago decided that when this tour was over he would write a book about his experiences here and call it “The House on Paramour Street.” Even though it was really on Paramour Lane, the public had somehow latched onto the phrase which included 'street.' Now that he was getting more famous and was being referred to as “The Ghostbuster of New England” he felt that he could capitalize on this sure-to-be-brief moment of fame and make a good sum of money.
All of that would come later though, right now he needed to explore and then take some pictures. Walking in slow circles, in what some might call a “drunken” manner, he took in all the details of the entry area, then made his way into the dining room. It was amazing, the dining table and all the chairs were on the ceiling – upside down and directly above their normal places. Not only that but the table was set with plates, cups and silverware. All it needed was some upside down people and food. Fascinated he noticed that everything that would normally have been in the dining room was there – extra chairs along the walls, cabinets full of china, candles – they were just all upside down and on the ceiling. He made his way to the swinging door and into the kitchen. It was no different here – everything that wasn't part of the structure was on the ceiling. There were dishes and several kinds of preparation tools on the flat ceiling. He imagined that most of this stuff would have been on the counters or in the sink. Somehow gravity had been changed, but how to explain the apparent order of places like the dining room was still a mystery to him. He went back into the dining room resolved to discover how this had all happened.
He continued back the way he had come, finally making his way through the entry area and into the parlor. It was the same story – all the furniture was on the ceiling here too. Couches, chairs, rugs, end tables and even the grandfather clock were all upside down directly above their regular spots. After taking in all the details he eventually made his way up the stairs. At the top he found a hallway that went left and right. He went left, then left again into the first door he came to. It appeared to be some sort of library or study. The empty wooden floor creaked as he walked across it and stared in awe at the mass of furniture on the ceiling. The door creaked shut behind him. He probably would have been quite scared if the Firanol hadn't been in his system. He shrugged off the unexplained closing of the door and continued to survey the top of the room. From his vantage point the huge wooden desk and matching chair seemed to have a fragile hold over gravity. Had his own sense of fear been in proper working order, he was sure that he wouldn't have been standing directly under the furniture. The rest of the walls were filled with bookcases loaded with all kinds of books. He had a hard time making out the titles from here but he thought them to be novels and reference books. He made his way to the spot directly below the heavy desk. Again it occurred to him that if the desk fell he would be utterly smashed. Yet he wasn't sufficiently concerned to do anything about it. No fear for one's own life seemed to be another side-effect of this drug he thought, he would be sure to mention that in his upcoming book. He was directly under the spot between the desk and the wooden chair when he felt a tingling sensation in his arms and the hair on the back of his neck began to stand on end. Puzzled he stopped moving and was perfectly still. His cheeks began to feel flushed, his arms buoyant and the hair on his head began to stand up. Quickly he looked up and realized that he was about to "fall" to the ceiling.
Before his feet left the floor he crouched down. He wasn't sure why he did that, it seemed to be a reaction to the sudden sense of falling. Strangely, he wasn't afraid of falling or of what would happen to him. But his logic hadn't been suppressed, and he was aware of the danger of falling twelve feet to the ceiling. He immediately pushed off with his feet and made himself spin while he fell. It worked - he was nearly horizontal when he crashed into the heavy wooden desk. Somewhere in that fall to the ceiling he had realized that the chair would be especially dangerous. As his head was directly over it, he used all of his energy and focused his efforts on not breaking his neck on the back of the chair. He succeeded in that endeavor, but failed to protect the rest of his body. His right hip smashed the edge of the heavy desk and was crushed under the weight of his falling body. Pain shot along his entire right side and he screamed aloud as he pushed the chair away and tumbled to the floor. Moaning, tears filling his eyes, Mr. Alfred Tanger proceeded to enter the realm of the unconscious.
***
“Mr. Tanger, thank you for returning my call,” said the young man's voice over the telephone. “As I stated in the message I left for you, our company would like to hire you to investigate the infamous House on Paramour Street.”
“I see. What do you mean, exactly, by 'investigate'?”
“Well, as you may or may not know we are about to release to the general public a new fear suppressing drug called Firanol.” Of course he was aware – who hadn't heard of this new super drug which would take away one's fear of just about everything – even if it was only temporary.
“Of course.”
“Well, the recent events on Paramour street have conveniently preceded our scheduled release date of Firanol. Basically we would like to hire you to use our drug and investigate the Paramour house fear-free.”
“I see. And where is the fun in that Mr. Jones?”
“Ha ha! You are a funny one Mr. Tanger. In all seriousness though, we are prepared to make it well worth your time to take this job.”
“Oh? How so?”
“Well, for starters we will furnish you with a lifetime supply of Firanol. Wouldn't that prove useful in your...aah... career as a haunted house traveler? But that is not all, nor is it the best part - we are willing to contribute a handsome financial incentive as well.”
“How handsome would that be Mr. Jones?”
Mr. Jones repeated a number that very nearly made Mr. Tanger drop the phone. He kept his composure however. “I see. That is quite an incentive.”
“There is one other thing. You see, we have obtained exclusive rights to visit the property for a period of 30 days. Mr. Tanger, we would like you to be the one to do this – but if it isn't you, then it will be someone else. What do you say?”
Mr. Tanger said the only thing that he could say - he would do it.
***
When he opened his eyes the first thing he saw was a chandelier anchored to the ground and floating eerily in the air. He looked around and saw the chair, and then the desk. He tried to sit up and his right hip cried out in agony. It all came rushing back as he looked up at the empty wooden floor – twelve feet above him. How long had he been out? He glanced at his watch - it had been several hours. He looked out the window. After staring for a moment he cocked his head slightly, realizing that the sun and endless sky were now beneath this house - and him. He shook his head to clear his mind, then instinctively reoriented himself so that he now thought of the ceiling as “down” and the floor as “up.” That logical mind of his was still working, even if he didn't feel the emotion of fear.
He made a weak effort to stand up, but failed miserably. His hip hurt too much for him to do that. He scooted away from the desk and surveyed his surroundings. Even the effort of scooting caused intense pain. His right leg was pretty much useless, and he just dragged it behind him as he scooted. He reached out and pulled the chandelier down a bit, then let go. It quickly rebounded up and bobbled around. He found it strange that the reversal of gravity – or whatever it was – had affected everything in the room except the chandelier. He looked around to try to ascertain why it wasn't affected – but he could see no clues as to the why of it.
He surveyed the room some more. He could read the titles on several of the books now – but he simply wasn't interested. What he was interested in was getting out of this house and having his hip examined. He felt sure that it was broken – at least that's what the pain made him believe. He thought about bracing it with something, but there was nothing here to use - except the books. He decided that he needed to try to get downstairs to his bags. He began scooting toward the door. After only a few scoots he glanced towards the door to see how far it actually was. That's when he realized that he had a bigger problem than he initially thought. Now that he was on the ceiling the door frame was upside down. This meant that – from his perspective – the door opening started at the ceiling and went a little more than half way to the floor. There was five feet of wall before the ceiling and the door frame. To make matters worse, the door was closed – that meant that the door knob was now at least nine feet above the ground. This ordinarily wouldn't have been much of a problem, but now that his hip was broken he was going to have a devil of a time opening the door again, and getting out of this room. He gave a sigh and shook his head – this was going to be more of a challenge than he had signed up for.
He decided that it may be easier to use something to help him get the door open. He looked around the room again, this time carefully searching for some object that could help his escape. There didn't seem to be much choice. There were books, book shelves, a chair and a desk. He scooted back to the desk and began rummaging through the drawers. They only contained basic office supplies – paper clips, pens, pencils, a pair of scissors, some paper – nothing that would help him very much.
He surveyed the room and finally decided that the chair was his best bet. He painfully dragged himself around the desk to where he could reach it. It had been knocked over, presumably by his fall. Getting it upright again proved to be more difficult than he thought it would be. He ended up laying flat on his back, pulling the chair almost completely over him, then lifting it up in such a way as to set it back on its legs. Beads of sweat were rolling off his forehead by the time he was finished. Once it was back upright he found it too awkward and difficult to scoot along with the aid of one hand while using the other hand to pull the chair – his legs kept getting in the way. Finally he got the chair in front of him and would push it as far as it would go – which wasn't very far on this ceiling – and then he would scoot to catch up with it.
It ended up taking several minutes to get the chair to the door frame. Then he found that getting on to the chair was a quite painful experience. After several minutes and a very delicate balancing act he finally made it. Now there was the problem of getting the door open. Putting all his weight on his good leg he was barely able to stand, and barely able to reach the door knob. He did get it twisted though and managed to push the door open before he fell back into his seat.
His hip was on fire from all the exertion. The calm logic in his head kept reminding him that now was the time to act – the effects of the drug would be wearing off soon so he needed to get going. With that he pulled himself out of his chair, intent on flopping over the door frame. Though he looked for an alternative, he could see no easy way out, so he just pushed off the ceiling with his leg and threw himself over the door frame onto the hallway ceiling. His hip didn't agree with that and he lay there for several minutes clenching his teeth and fighting off the blackness.
***
“We put directions on the bottle stating that the effects of the Firanol only last four hours. That was an FDA requirement, but the longest we have been able to suppress, or dampen, the amygdala – that part of the human brain which is responsible for fear – has been six hours at best.” The lab tech handed Mr. Tanger two bottles of the drug. “It is recommended that you take the tablets with food, and don't do any driving while you are 'under the influence' – that has led to bad things. I've found it is better if the majority of drivers have some fear of dying isn't it?”
Mr. Tanger took the bottles without smiling. He placed one into his pocket and held the other up with both hands, carefully studying the labels. “How many tablets are in a bottle?” he asked.
“Thirty in each. That should be plenty for your little outing on Paramour street.”
Mr. Tanger peered over his reading glasses at the tech. “This little 'outing' as you like to say, will be more intense that anything you have ever experienced in your life, I'm sure.”
“Whatever," the tech was rolling his eyes, "just follow the directions dude.” he said as he walked away shaking his head.
***
He spent a long time lying there trying to fight off the pain. When it subsided to the point that he could bear it, he opened his eyes again. He had no idea how long he had lain there, but it was still quite light outside, so he didn't think it had been very long.
Lying flat on his back and staring up at the hardwood floor he put his hand over his heart. His pulse was relatively slow and steady - a sign that the drug hadn't yet wore off.
He rolled onto his left side and looked straight down the hallway to the window at the end of it. The stairway to downstairs was leading up just ten feet from his position. He crawled toward it hoping he could get to his bags downstairs before the drug wore off.
He had only scooted a few feet when he stopped and stared in disbelief at his new predicament. There was no way to get back downstairs – at least not while he was upside down on the ceiling. He had assumed that the ceiling would follow the flow of the steps and somehow slope along in direct proportion to the stairs. This was not the case however, as the ceiling was just as flat over the stairs as it was over the hallway. He just stared at the flat ceiling as he desperately tried to recall the stairs in his own house. It was true there also – the ceiling over the stairwell was the ceiling that belonged to the second floor, not one which followed the contour of the stairs. He had never come to such a disappointing conclusion at such an important time. His eyes darted from the stairs to the ceiling in several rapid successions. His breathing was a little bit heavier, and the beads of sweat were starting to form on his head again.
He looked past the stairway to the end of the hall. It would be difficult scooting all the way to the window – especially with his hip in so much pain. He looked back behind him. Just past the room with the desk in it the hallway took a 90 degree turn, but there was another door before the hallway turned. It was much closer than the window at the other end of the hallway, and he decided that there must be windows in the room as he could see sunlight on the wooden floor. He decided to try his luck with that room.
It took several scoots and many painful minutes for him to get to the doorway of the second room. Thankfully the door was open, but he still faced the ordeal of getting over the door frame – another five feet up. Of course he didn't actually think of having to get over the door frame until he was right at it. He sat with his back against it for several minutes as he tried to decide what to do. He briefly considered going back to get the chair to help him over again, but then realized that the chair was still in the room with the desk – he would have to climb that door frame just to get the chair, and then he really would have no way of getting the chair back over the frame anyway. He had to scratch that idea and think of something new.
Finally he decided to see what was in this room, and then make his decision based on that. He painfully pulled himself up so that he could see over the frame and into the room. What he saw gave him some encouragement – it was full of ... stuff. It looked like the room was being used for storage. There were several pieces of furniture, all on the ceiling, with white sheets draped over them. But the part that attracted his eye was all the sporting equipment along one of the walls. He could mostly see baseball and volleyball gear, although there was other stuff too. Even better, the room was built on the corner of the house, and the corner of the room opened up into some sort of round sitting area made up of several tall windows.
He decided if there was anything that would help him get out of this house, this room could probably provide it. It was therefore worth his while to get into it. Since he was already standing, he reached over the door frame and grabbed onto the molding on the other side. He pushed off with his good leg while he pulled with his arms. The effort was more powerful than he thought it would be and he went tumbling over to the floor on the other side – landing directly on his right hip.
***
The man sighed, then looked at Mr. Tanger “You're absolutely sure of this?”
“Of course. We have been over the risks several times.”
“Yes, but I didn't want you to overlook the fact that everyone who has entered this house has ended up missing... for good.”
“I'm aware of what has happened here.”
They both stared in silent camaraderie at the house for several minutes. “Did you already take the drug?”
“Yes, just before you arrived.”
“And...?”
“I'm not sure how it will fully affect me, but already I have lost all fear of entering this place.” He stared at the house for a few minutes. “Well, this is my big chance I suppose.”
“Okay. Don't forget – if you need us to come for any reason just call.”
“Yeah, my phone's right here in my bag.”
“Okay then. We'll all pull back to the main road. You will be all alone in the house, and on this little lane. You ready?”
“Absolutely” said Mr. Tanger.
***
Mr. Tanger flinched. It was growing late, the sunlight was becoming more red. For a few seconds he didn't move, then he sat up and his hip burned with pain. He quickly decided that he needed to get out of the house – for several reasons. First was his hip – it was killing him. There was also that thing about all the other people who had gone missing in this house. He felt it was very urgent that he get out of here.
First he scooted over to the sports gear. He found a baseball and proceeded to scoot over to one of the windows in the sitting area. It was closed, and he would have to stand up to get it open. To hell with that he thought, and scooted back a few feet. With all his might he hurled the baseball at the window. There was a loud crashing sound as it poked a nice hole in the glass and then sailed out into the sky. He was straining to watch, and his heart sank as the baseball curved “down” into the sky. He watched a moment longer, but never saw it again. He had proved an important point to himself – if he jumped out of the window he would “fall” forever.
He wasn't sure what to do next. He was finding it difficult to concentrate, and he thought he could hear strange sounds coming from some other room in the house. He figured that if he could get to the grounds of the mansion then he might be able to hang on until someone came to rescue him. Or better yet, if he could somehow climb up the outside of the house to the first floor he could reach his bag – which contained both his cell phone and more Firanol.
He threw another baseball out of the window - just to make sure. Yep, it fell "down" too - straight into the sky. The glass window was mostly shattered, he studied it. There were a few glass shards hanging on to the window frame for dear life. He looked up and noticed something he had missed before. Outside the window was some sort of black metal platform. It had handrails which were hanging down to about the middle of the window. He strained his neck to stare at them. He finally realized that it was an old fashioned fire escape. He could see the stairs leading up to the right and out of sight.
This gave him a great new idea, probably his best hope so far. He scooted back into the room and began to rummage through the items there. He took the volleyball net, which was rolled up, and he also grabbed several metal clothes hangers then scooted back to the window.
He dropped those off and went back for a chair. He found one that didn't have rollers, it was just a plain old wooden chair. He pushed it back to the window as well. The sunlight coming in the windows was a deep red now, close to sunset. There was a slight breeze. He froze as he heard what he thought was some sort of moaning sound. He pushed his back against the wall under the window and looked around for anything that he could use as a weapon. There was nothing. He wiped his brow and waited to hear the moaning sound again. He didn't hear it any more, but he found it difficult to tear his back away from this wall. After a while he finally convinced himself that he had best try getting out of the house now - while he was still alive.
He pushed the chair right up against the wall, then took several of the clothes hangers and untwisted them. He wound them together as best he could, which was very difficult with his sweaty hands, and then did his best to fashion two hooks out of them. When he was satisfied he attached both of the hooks to the end of the volleyball net. It was difficult, but he got them attached in a way that he felt would hold his weight - and maybe even more.
With that he slung the net over his shoulder, painfully pulled himself up onto the chair and finished breaking the window. He carefully removed all the remaining shards so that he could get through the window without lacerating himself too badly.
He stretched his arm out through the window as far as he could and was able to grab hold of one of the black rails. This gave him the leverage he needed. He grabbed the rail with his other hand, then began to pull himself up using only his arms. He continued hand over hand until he reached the steps, then pulled himself up and onto the top of them.
After resting for a few minutes he realized that he was in a precarious position. It would be easy enough to go "up" the steps to the ground, but since he was really on the underside of them there would be no railings to hold - those were down below, under the steps. He scooted as close to the middle of the steps as he could get.
***
The lab tech was droning on through the list. "...runny nose, headache, insomnia, some sexual side effects and a small percentage of people have reported feelings of megalomania after taking Firanol."
He looked up. Mr. Tanger was deep in thought and was paying no attention to him. The tech looked back down and continued reading. "Several people also reported that they experienced sudden and intense feelings of terror and / or anxiety immediately after the effects of the Firanol wore off."
He peered over the top of his glasses at the celebrity again. "Mr. Tanger? Are you getting all of this?"
"Huh? Oh... yeah. Yeah, I got it. What else?"
The lab tech let his eyes linger on Mr. Tanger for the briefest of moments before returning to the checklist.
Mr. Tanger, however, was desperately trying to think of a catchy name for his next book.
***
It was slow going up the stairs. Not that it was difficult. This was the easiest part that Mr. Tanger had faced so far. It was more a matter of the struggle inside him. Part of him dared not move too fast for fear of falling off these steps. The other part of him was screaming to get away from this house as fast as he could. It was a terrible dilemma, and he was longing desperately for more of the Firanol. He clutched the side of the stairs very tightly. Every once in a while he would let go just long enough to wipe his brow, look around frantically, and strain to hear the moaning sound which always seemed to be just out of earshot. He checked his progress by looking up at the ground periodically. As he got closer to the ground his fear of falling actually increased. He found this curious, until he realized that he was climbing higher and higher - from his point of view anyway. Once he peered over the side of the stairs. That was a big mistake, he could see nothing but a bottomless red-tinged sky below him.
With ten feet left to go he reached the end of the stairs. He found a fire escape ladder there and tried to slide it "up" to the ground, but it was too heavy and gravity was working against him. It kept sliding back down. After several tries he gave it up as useless.
He returned to his original plan. He carefully unwound the volleyball net. When it was all ready he steadied himself and carefully stood on his one good leg to give himself the most height possible. He looked up at the ground above him. There were several big sturdy bushes - they looked liked they had been around for years. He took part of the volleyball net in one hand, and the hooks in the other. Using his best cowboy swing he threw the hooks up towards the bushes. They didn't even come close. Worse, the hooks and the net fell back towards him, smashing him in the face and very nearly making him fall.
On any normal day he might have slowed down and figured things out. But today he was motivated by something unusual - his immense desire to get out of this place. Frantically he tried throwing the hooks and net again and again.
Finally his luck changed. Both hooks actually caught on a big sturdy root of one of the bushes. Like a fisherman he yanked the net tight. It seemed to hold relatively well. He tested his weight on it once, and when he didn't fall he took that as a sign that it would hold.
Using his arms and one leg he began to climb up the net towards the ground. He didn't have too far to go really. When he was just a few feet from being able to touch the bushes with his hands, something caught his eye. To his left, on the grass were two white objects. It was very nearly dark now, so it took him a few moments to figure out that he was looking at the baseballs he had thrown out of the window earlier. As his mind tried to make sense of what that meant one of the hooks gave way.
He wasn't sure exactly what happened, but the fall and jerk of one hook being released so suddenly caused him to lose his grip on the net. He struggled to hold on but it was no use, he felt himself falling. He crashed onto the left side of the stairs, but wasn't able to hold on and continued falling. He lashed out wildly seeking something - anything- to grab onto. Finally he did it. He was able to grab onto the last railing under the stairs. Though he was swinging wildly he was able to keep his death grip on the railing.
His heart was beating so fast and hands sweating so badly that he felt sure he was going to fall at any moment. He looked around for any help. The net was hanging beside him, swinging wildly from all the commotion. His fall had knocked it completely free from the stairs and railing. It wasn't touching anything now except for the roots of the bushes.
There was only one hook remaining, but he had to chance it. He reached out and grabbed the net. He didn't know if it would hold or not, so he kept one hand on the railing. The net's hold on the roots seemed sturdy enough to him, but he wasn't quite sure what to do so he continued to hold onto both of them. After several minutes he calmed himself enough to think for a moment. He stared at the baseballs. How had they gotten back down? He wasn't sure but he guessed that it must have something to do with the fact that they weren't attached to the house anymore. But he had seen them go straight into the sky! There must be some sort of time limit - perhaps things that became detached from the house had only to wait a while before returning to normal. He suddenly realized that he himself was still attached to the house by virtue of the railing.
A battle of sorts raged in his mind for several minutes. Finally his desire to escape from this house won out. Carefully he let go of the railing. That was it. He checked to make sure that neither he nor the net were touching any part of the house in any way. Everything was clear. He waited for what felt like an eternity for those several long minutes to pass, then he finally felt that familiar rush of blood to his cheeks. The hair on his head began to stand up.
As the net slackened and he tumbled towards the ground he suddenly realized that he hadn't thought of what to do next. It was too late to do anything but scream now. He slammed full force into the bushes, upside down and tangled in the volleyball net.
***
When he came to again, he was lying on his left side, on the grass near the bushes. The net was tangled around and below him. But he was free! He had done it - he had beaten the House on Paramour street!
He sat up, untangled himself and scooted away a bit. He was feeling much better now that he was detached from the house. He still wanted to get out of here, but he wasn't panicking about it. He looked up at the house in contempt and bitterness. Finally he began dragging himself along the ground, away from the mansion.
He had only gone a few yards when he came to the baseballs. He stared at them for a long moment before finally picking one of them up. He turned and looked at the house on Paramour Lane. There was a beautiful window right above the bushes. He threw the baseball as hard as he could, and it shattered the window. Mr. Tanger smiled to himself, turned around and scooted away.
The End
This story copyright © 2006 Rusty Keele. All rights reserved.
