The House on Mayberry Road Read online

  The House on Mayberry Road

  By

  Troy McCombs

  World Castle Publishing

  http://www.worldcastlepublishing.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  World Castle Publishing

  Pensacola, Florida

  Copyright © Troy McCombs 2011

  ISBN: 9781937085773

  Library of Congress Catalogue Number 2011928381

  First Edition World Castle Publishing July 15, 2011

  http://www.worldcastlepublishing.com

  Licensing

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews.

  Cover Artist: Fantasia Frog Designs

  Editor: Beth Price

  Chapter 1

  "Have you ever heard about the house on Mayberry Road?" Scott, a wild-eyed sixteen-year-old boy with a sense of adventure about him, was sitting on a blue suede sofa in his living room, rolling a third joint. His three high school friends—two boys and a girl—were sitting across from him on another sofa, listening. Two of them couldn't wait until he got those mint sticks completely rolled up. The third couldn't care less. Everyone felt strange with the many religious paintings of Jesus, Mary, and God staring at them from the walls, perhaps watching them, perhaps condemning them for handling drugs. All compliments of Shay, Scott's mother, Fundamental Baptist. Probably in church right now.

  Before he sealed it thoroughly, he reopened it and sprinkled a little more weed inside. Gotta make it good!

  "What about the house on Mayberry Road?" Evan, the scruffy, rough-looking one of the bunch, sucked hard on his lit Camel. A second later, cigarette smoke billowed from his mouth. A jagged red gash was gouged deep into his bottom lip, the same spot where Drake Hillington had butt-headed him only days ago. "There are dozens of houses on that road. Which one are you talkin' about?"

  "The hidden one. The one nobody knows about. Well, at least only a few people do, anyways. I know about it, Rick knows about it, and Sheriff Charlie—he's the one that told us." Scott rolled the joint back up and licked it once more. "That fat ass cop warned us not to spread the news of it. 'Said we would be fined, or whatever shit, if we did."

  "What house, man?" Evan picked at the scab on his lip with an index finger. A bead of blood dotted his finger.

  "The haunted one."

  Evan chuckled and flicked a long, bent sliver of ash into a nearby Coke can. "Bullshit. Ain't no such thing as ghosts or aliens from Uranus." He chuckled again. Becky, Evan's long-time girlfriend, a long-haired girl inundated with freckles, laughed with him. She would have laughed with him even if it wasn't funny to her.

  "If they were real and houses are haunted, then why isn't it on the news? It's only on those weird shows that are so far-fetched!" Her voice was low and uneven. As always. Nervous voice from a Bi-Polar young lady.

  "Yeah, Bermuda Triangle was soooo haunted, and you don't hear any shit about planes or boats disappearing now, y'know?" Doug was the youngest and smallest of this pack. He didn't really belong to this pack to begin with. But sometimes shit happened and today was one of them. He was the cleanest, smartest-looking one here. His report card could prove it.

  Scott finished rolling the joint and slid it under his nose, taking in a big whiff of spicy mint. "Where's your sense of adventure? You get high, don't you? You like to see shit when you take acid. What if drug-induced states go beyond just clouding our minds?"

  "Okay, I know you ain't shuttin’ up, so go on." Evan sighed and finished off his smoke. He dropped his Camel into the Coke can. It fell to the bottom and spished out in some leftover cola.

  "Well, there's a house on that road, before Runner's Stream, on a deserted dirt path by the woods. Can't see it from the road. Hell, most people that live on that road either don't know it's there, or are afraid to accept it. Legend is that it's the most haunted house in this town, maybe even the whole area. Charlie said he saw—with his own two eyes—a man walk into that house and never come out. Never found so much as a trace of him anywhere around the property, either. You remember Oscar Carran? That kid who was two grades ahead of us?"

  "Is that the kid they sent up to Buckeye Institution?" Doug's eyebrows lifted, and he briefly looked like a surprised deer caught in the path of two bright headlights.

  Scott nodded. "Smartest, most popular, most normal kid in this tri-state area. Went in the house on a dare and came out crazy. Charlie Steera's been in the house, too. He says he's seen some real messed up shit in there. Saw stuff move by itself, heard weird sounds...even smelled weird smells. One guy he knows said he saw the ghost of a little girl run right through a wall, and that when she did, the wall started to bleed."

  "That's hogwash, man. There ain't no such thing as ghosts." Evan flicked his torn scab on the blue carpet, where it joined some crumbs.

  "There's no proof!" Becky agreed.

  Doug shook his head with a smile.

  "You don't believe a word of this?" Scott laid a finished joint beside two others. "You want proof? Do you really want it?"

  "You show us this house," Evan nodded, smirking, "and I'll personally go in and come out to show you you're full of shit."

  Scott nodded.

  ***

  Ten minutes later, a rumbling, clattering motor ended the silence of Robin's Pike, a long, windy country road. The god-awful sound grew louder, louder still, and a pair of headlights soon accompanied it. From over a hill, below the pretty, pink colors of a sun-setting sky, a dirty truck appeared, driving forward, toward a worn road sign marked: Mayberry Road. It was the oldest known road in Chester County, many locals would tell you. It was the most cursed road in Chester County, others would tell you.

  Scott flicked the right turn signal and pulled onto the gravel road. The houses on either side were old, dilapidated, but still inhabited. Some were trailers. Others were RVs. Massive trees blocked the majority of the last remaining sunshine from blazing down upon this stretch of earth. Today's sun was already climbing down over the rolling hills, anyway.

  Cich! The flick of a Zippo sounded in the backseat. A flame burned to life, scarcely illuminating Evan, who set ablaze the tip of a joint wedged between his lips. He sucked hard and blew. Minty smoke wavered in circles toward the front seats.

  "Jesus, don't light up in here!" Scott's yell filled the cramped cabin, hurting everyone's ears. He could already smell the sweet, pungent odor of marijuana. Evan licked his fingers and pinched out the tip of the joint.

  "Nobody's going to see us."

  "Come on, this is Bellsville. Cops around here got nothing better to do than hide, eat doughnuts, and wait for teenagers like us. I ain't risking my scholarship and my future because you can't wait five more minutes to get stoned."

  Scott wasn't looking in his rear-view mirror when Evan stuck his tongue out at him and flipped him off. Becky, sitting beside him in the backseat, chuckled quietly.

  "So, what's the story behind this haunted house we're going to? What happened to Oscar in there?" Doug's curiosity was more evident than any of the others, if the others had any real curiosity in this at all.

  "Story goes that Oscar Carrin went in there because Dave Molan dared him to. You know Oscar. He never turned down anybody who challenged him. I guess he was in there for less than five minutes until he ran out, shaking, and fell into a seizure, petrified. His hands supposedly even stiffened up into t
hese little claws. Foam, I heard, just poured from his mouth, and his eyes glazed over like he'd seen something unimaginable. A ghost, an angry spirit...maybe even a demon. Nobody really knows, but Charlie said Oscar cried for days. Cried! This boy never cried in his entire life, and when they locked him up, after he went crazy and lost his mind, do you know what he said?"

  "What?" Doug was all ears. He looked like a deer caught in the headlights again.

  "What'd he say?" Becky was interested now, too.

  "He said 'don't look beyond the veil of...'."

  "Of what!" Doug pushed the driver, making him swerve slightly.

  "Nobody knows. He spoke the incomplete sentence for weeks, and not just in English, either, but in other ancient languages."

  "Bullshit!" Evan gazed at the back of Scott's head. "I don't believe a word of it. Sounds like some stupid ghost story some dumb boy scout told his wussy peers during a campfire in his parents' backyard."

  "We'll see," Scott smiled.

  ***

  The beat-up Toyota coasted farther down the road, past ugly, ungroomed shrubs, and a small cluster of unevenly-spaced mobile homes whose yards were filled with garbage and spare car parts. They were getting farther from the city and closer to the boondocks.

  Scott soon popped on the headlights. The evening darkness was quickly eating the remaining available daylight. Birds were flying back to their nests and locusts began to screech in the woods.

  "Right down here," Scott pointed as he turned right and parked the truck. The headlights illuminated a tangled strand of yellow Do Not Cross tape wrapped around three smaller trees. Scott got out of the truck and swiped down the flimsy barricade with his hands. While he did, Becky and Evan leaned over and kissed each other on the lips. Neither pulled away too soon. Doug watched with a smile as the two lovers played tongue twister for a full minute. It sounded like a small snake slithering in the backseat.

  "What does that taste like?"

  They pulled away. Becky giggled and wiped some drool from her mouth. Evan held up a fist and shook it. "You wanna know what this tastes like?"

  "Okay, we're good to go," Scott said, getting back in and shutting the door. He switched the gear back into drive and released his foot off the brake.

  The rumbling 4X4 crept down a long, narrow path devoured by nature. Gnats, moths, and mosquitoes danced around in the midst of the powerful headlights. Scott had to flick on his brights to see better. Overgrown weeds on both sides rubbed against the steel behemoth like cornstalks against a tractor. Doug looked out the window and wondered what they'd do if the truck somehow got stuck. Still, it continued on, slowly but surely, filling the woods with more exhaust smoke than it had ever seen.

  Becky searched for the house, a house, any house. “Where is this house, in the middle of the damn forest?"

  "Pretty much," Scott responded. "It was built in the mid-1800s by some occultist, so I've heard. Story goes, the guy hacked up his wife, kid, and dog one night with an ax as an offering to the spirits. By doing so, he opened the door to the world between the living and the land of the dead.

  "I also heard one interesting theory from Rick Seita. He said the house may rest on something called Ley Lines, which is an invisible grid that reaches around the whole world like a giant chain link fence. It can bend reality, distort it, manipulate it."

  "Are we almost there yet?" Evan sighed, getting annoyed with Scott's rambling about the hokey-pokey. He also couldn't wait to get high—his favorite past-time. Besides that, he hated nature.

  "Yeah, we're almost there."

  The Toyota forged ahead, its large tires climbing over protruding stones. The whole cab rocked back and forth much like a boat in raging waters. Doug continued to peer out the window, watching the weeds brush closer, taller, and thicker against the glass. Evan and Becky began making out lustfully in the backseat. Scott watched them in the rear-view mirror as they fondled, licked, and kissed each other, trying the whole time not to throw up. Those two ugly toads would make anyone gag.

  A moment later, the heavy headlight beams scattered and stretched, reaching across a huge clearing whose grass was as yellow as hay. And, standing at the other side of the open space...was the house on Mayberry Road.

  Scott eased his foot off the gas. The Toyota began to slow down. The surrounding treetops gave way to a cloudless, navy blue sky. A full, glistening moon hung down low tonight over the house's towering smokestack, and playful bats could be seen chasing after each other in the presence of the silvery glow.

  "Hey, guys," Scott said, parking and turning the key, "we're here."

  The three other passengers looked ahead in eerie unison.

  "Ugliest fucking house I've ever seen." Evan thumbed his joint and reached for the door.

  "Doesn't look haunted. It looks like a simple house design-wise, y'know?" Doug felt let down, curiosity-wise. This place was not what he expected. Not scary one bit.

  Becky didn't comment.

  Slowly, everyone got out and looked up at it. It was about as simple and generic a structure as one could build: a perfectly rectangular, three-story monstrosity. Built from red brick, this structure blended into its surroundings well, in terms of color. Dull and drab. Boring and lame. Same as the tree limbs, the dying leaves, and the dead grass surrounding the perimeter. An oversized chimney jutted out through the steeply-pitched roof. Several steps led up to the small porch, which then led up to the front door. Ivy gripped the walls, but not enough to really give it a spooky appearance. No windows were broken and no bricks erecting it were chipped or cracked. Besides its dirty, dusty, aged texture, the place seemed to be in pretty good shape.

  "Nothing, dude. Nothing." Evan smirked, his eyes matching the attic window. "My ass is more haunted than this piece of shit."

  "I like the location," Doug said, sucking in nature and listening to the soothing flow of a nearby stream. "I could live out here. It's so peaceful."

  Still, Becky didn't say a word.

  Scott smacked his hands together. The sharp crack of flesh against flesh sounded flat in the clearing. "Let's light 'em up!"

  It didn't even take a moment before everyone (but Doug) lipped a joint and fired it up. Becky's eyes immediately turned blood-shot, Evan coughed like an old man with asthma, Scott swayed from side to side with a stupid grin on his face, and Doug took ten paces back from all the accumulating marijuana smoke. Evan turned and offered him a hit anyway.

  "Don't wanna smoke a doobie with us?"

  "No."

  "Come on, why not?"

  Scott giggled.

  "That shit's stupid."

  "How do you know it's stupid if you ain't even tried it? Damn. Shouldn't knock shit until you at least have the experience."

  Evan turned back around. Doug gave him a dirty look.

  Doug Sanford was probably the most straight-edged 9th grader in Chester County. He was the only kid in his class who'd never experimented with any type of illegal, or even prescription, narcotic. Not only was his alcoholic father currently in the slammer for multiple DUIs, but his mother had overdosed on crack two years ago. Doug didn't even take Penicillin when he was sick or pop an aspirin when his head hurt.

  "Pothead..." he mumbled under his breath, staring at the back of Evan's head.

  Evan put the joint to his lips and sucked in so hard that Doug thought it was going to fly back into his throat.

  It would serve him right.

  Neither boy really liked each other.

  "Minty-fresh, brain-cell-killing, ecstasy fun!" Evan laughed, blowing a wad of smoke into the air. "This shit shouldn't be illegal, dude. I mean, why is it? Beer is a lot worse."

  Scott took another hit off his own joint and pointed up at the house. "I bet if you go in there, you won't need LSD or acid to see something crazy."

  "Is that right?"

  Becky put an arm around her man and squeezed his shoulder. He looked at her, sensing the stress in her firm grip.

  "What's a’ matter, babe?"


  The whole time they'd been here, she hadn't looked away from it—the chimney, the windows, the walls, the front door. In her eyes, the house looked like a living entity.

  "I don't like this place. It doesn't feel right."

  Evan turned to Scott and laughed. "Jesus, Scottie, did you lace Becky's doobie with Formaldehyde again?"

  Scott giggled. "Yeah, that and a hint of arsenic."

  Doug still stood in place, wanting to either go home or stay here, without being in the presence of a bunch of junkies.

  "It's cool, honey. I'll be okay. There ain't no such thing as ghosts. And if they are in there, which they're not, I'll put a thumpin' on them."

  He took a step forward. Becky clutched his arm so tightly, her nails dug into his flesh. The boy stopped and turned.

  "Really, it's okay."

  "You swear? You promise me?"

  Scott laughed. "Good god, it's a haunted house, not a concentration camp."

  She pulled Evan close and gave him a big wet one. Scott quickly looked away. Yucky!

  "I promise to God, on my soul, that I'm coming back out. I'll be five minutes, if that, just long enough to prove Scottie-boy here a liar."

  "You'll see, man."

  "By the way, if you're so sure it's haunted, then why don't you go in?"

  Scott shook his head slowly and dramatically. "Because I ain't messin' with that supernatural stuff. Have you ever seen Unsolved Mysteries?"

  Evan chuckled, shook his head, and walked toward the bland-looking house, sucking on his minty candy stick the whole time. The structure did oddly seem to grow taller and wider as he progressed, but he thought it was just the weed playing with his head. He was, however, curious to see if there was a ghost or specter inside. Then he would have a great story to tell afterward.

  The other three watched him go: Scott curious, Becky nervous, and Doug in disdain. Bats squealed in the sky, their small forms recognizable only before the shining moon. Darkness ruled the valley. Tree branches shook and leaves flew off their limbs, but there was almost no gust of wind. The clearing was dangerously quiet.