Unheimliche

(also available in .rtf)
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Having inspected closer, I don’t know that it was the house at all. It isn’t that there is some dearth of evidence, or even that there is particular support to the contrary, but in my opinion, it doesn’t add up. Perhaps the coincidence were too many, or the clues too few, but I must insist upon my conclusion.
Consider my arrival at the house, an occasion sufficiently without note. The small yellow building did not itself seem ominous. The neighborhood did not echo any sense of the macabre, and the bright sunlight illuminated everything quite clearly. Once inside, the building revealed itself to be as normal as any other, though I suppose the cobweb silhouette across the corners of the room held a certain sense of menace, but is it any different elsewhere? An empty house is natural to reminisce of past lives and events, so it’s hardly any wonder that the sense of the past should come through so strongly.
The realtor had complimented me on my choice with thinly veiled relief, glad to be rid of the bother. It wasn’t a particularly nice house, stuck as it was in the dense urban environment without any real aspects of personality. But it was a home, and soon it would resemble one, I had resolved. I set to moving my furniture into the house, and was soon set and ready. I felt the tiny building held up my assortments nicely, and almost instantly I began to feel more comfortable. The place itself was alien. I noted that the off-white interior was cracking in places, but was likely not cause enough for alarm. It had been made to withstand earthquakes, and it had seen more than its fair share. There was a basement and an attic, and all the luxuries of a modern home, in spite of its size.
Satisfied with my days work, I retired to bed.
My dreams terrified me. Waking, I did not know the source of my fear, but it kept me from my sleep. I turned the light on and resigned myself to consciousness, and opened a book to distract myself from the nameless fear of what I had seen but could now not recall. There was a door, I knew. Light poked through the seams of the frame, a shadow clear and telling of something waiting just beyond. There was a window, as well, but through it was only darkness. I closed the book, aware that my diversion had not worked as well as I had hoped.
I became aware of the noises then. I could not discern their origin, through the noise of the city and of the neighbors. It was a deep thumping of the chest, a whisper in the throat that whistled through the still night air. It grew out from the walls, from the floorboards and the cracked ceiling. My first assumption was of the neighbors, but I could tell they were asleep, or perhaps not home – at any rate, they were not the culprits. Rats, perhaps? No, the sound was too deep. An intruder? My doubts and fears had made their decision, but I remained skeptical, holding out hope that it was maybe the plumbing or some other aspect of city-dwelling to which I had not previously been introduced.
As the sounds persisted, I found myself unable to wait in my dimly lit living room, which I felt to be odd in itself, for the bulbs were new and during the day had seemed bright enough. I dismissed the thought, and proceeded gently down the hall, uncertain whether I hoped to find man or beast. Once in the kitchen, the light on at the touch of the finger-tip, blinding for a moment compared to the light of the living room, I felt whatever presence had been was now gone. The sound had faded too, it seemed, but before I could consider this further, there was a knock at the front door.
It was two men, both in hats, one with a cigarette. I had trouble making out their features beyond the bold silhouette they cast. I did not recognize them through the peep-hole in the door, but there was a certain air of familiarity about them. They called out and knocked once more.
“I’m here, I’m here,” I called, grabbing light-heartedly at the door handle. I felt I knew these men, perhaps from my childhood, or a past life or some such, and to be quite honest, I was glad for the company at such a late hour. A tug at the door revealed that I had not unlocked it, and feeling silly, I called again, “Hold on, I’ll be just a minute.” I fiddled with the locks, but it was difficult to see what I was doing in the dim light of the den. The knocking came again, and I called for their patience, explaining that the locks were new, and perhaps not working properly. The men mumbled to each other, but I could not make out the words. They knocked once more. I gave up, deciding instead to go around the back way to meet them. I would attend to the broken lock in the morning.
Again down the hall, through the kitchen, but I had a better sense of the room now in the darkness, and did not see fit to bother with the light. Out the back door and around to the front step, but I found my visitors had left already. Somewhat disappointed, I looked up at the broken street lamp, which appeared to have been in a state of relative disrepair for sometime, now. I tried my door from the outside, but as expected, it would not budge.
Returning to the backdoor, I found the kitchen light on. I pressed myself up against the house in fright, suddenly understanding that I had in fact invited in the very prowler I had earlier suspected. I looked about myself for a weapon, something I could use to protect myself. I picked up a brick, the best candidate I could see, and approached the open, glimmering door cautiously. I moved slowly, keeping as silent and hidden as I could. Approaching the hallway, I hid behind the island counter in my kitchen, peering out, shaking. I had never had such an encounter before, but I doubt that prior experience would have sheltered me from the fright! For suddenly, I caught the shadow of the lurker flickering in the hall, and when I had caught glimpse of his body I lunged out with my weapon to lay out the intruder! I hit him squarely in the head, and his body collapsed, though I could not see him in the darkness of the hall. I frowned to discover that I had hit the walls in my fury, and had done them significant damage. Another detail I would attend to in the morning.
I turned back to the body to find the bloodstain on the floor, but no corpse to go with it. I felt a certain relief – I did not know what it was to kill a man, and I did not wish to learn – but my relief was quickly replace once again by the fear of an intruder in my house. I had not heard him get up, or in any way sensed his movement. I maneuvered through the house, turning on every light I found. I hesitated to check the basement, recalling the many films that had depicted all kinds of glorious misfortune to anyone who dared to check the basement, but I felt that I would never be able to rest safe if I did not do this. My basement was largely empty, but still had the dust and history of previous occupants, including various boxes and objects still dotting the floor. The water heater rumbled in the same low tone it had since I had arrived, and the washer and dryer systems sat, waiting patiently for use. The basement was safe.
I latched the door when I left it. Returning to the living room, I stood a moment to look at the damage I’d done to my hallway. That’s when I noticed it. I knew there had been something strange, but now I knew. As I observed the holes in my wall, I could very clearly make out the shape of a room beyond. I took my brick to the wall again, widening the hole until I could step through. It was a bedroom, and from what I could tell in the darkness, it had belonged to a child. The bed was made neatly, the dresser was kept in good clean order, but the stench of the room was overpowering. The musty, rank scent of air that had not been disturbed in god-only-knows how long instilled in me the feeling that it smelled of death. I explored the room to find a section of the wallpaper, which featured space-rockets and twinkling stars, had been torn off. It was the shape of a door, but there was no knob, no handle whatsoever, only a small hole which I assumed called for a key. It seemed the door was made to be opened from the other side. I made up my mind that I had to know more, and begin beating at the door, kicking and smashing with the brick. Eventually, I gave up, and returned to my living room.
The television did not work. All the stations ran static. The radio was the same way. I relented, as it was clear to me that the fates no longer wished me to be awake. Returning to my own bedroom, a glint on the night-table caught my eye. A key? I had not put it there, and its design was unlike any I had seen before. Curiosity possessed me, and I found myself before the door in the child’s room, the key tentatively in my hands. The door creaked as I opened it, and I stepped into the dusky hallway.
The tiled floor was broken in places, and the early morning light filtered through the dusty broken windows, beams of light showing through the dust kicked up in my wake. The hallway itself was lined with rusted doorways, and when I peered into each room, and each had its bed and nightstand. I felt a chill as it occurred to me where I was standing. I could almost sense the presence of the children who had stayed in the ill-fated place, but I ignored my initial reaction of fear and pressed further, into what appeared to be some kind of mess hall or cafeteria, and beyond that, the offices. I turned, having heard pattering of feet behind me. My mind was playing tricks on me, turning the decaying orphanage into hallucinations of what my wild imagination thought it knew of the past.
But the sounds persisted, and so I sought them out. I walked quietly, uncertain in the dim light, aware of the way my eyes turned even the slightest discoloration in shadow into monstrous creatures, lurking, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. And then the sound grew again, and a flicker as something or someone moved past, through the hallway just beyond. It seemed the shape of a child, and I suddenly felt myself compelled to reach the poor boy, for fear that he might need my help.
I called to him, to get his attention, and at first it came only as a whisper, but I persisted until at last I was confident he would hear me. And so he must have, for moments afterwards it was his head poking through the doorway, glistening eyes staring at me before he darted away again.
"Don't be frightened!" I had not expected it, though looking back I know I should have - after all, what should a poor young boy make of it when, out of all the lurking shadows and menacing figures, one of them is real enough to call out? I followed after the boy, intent to bring his fears to peace, but I couldn't help wondering how he had come to be here. It struck me that he had perhaps been left behind or forgotten when the building had been shut tight, and had lived off of the food left over in the pantry. Of course, it was more likely that he was a mischevious little scamp who had broken in for a laugh or on a dare, but it didn't erase the suspicion in me. But not all of the windows had been boarded up - certainly a boy resourceful enough to stay alive in all this time would know to break through a window and crawl out to safety and freedom once more. That is - unless there was some other reason he couldn't leave. There could be younger children here, possibly even sick or injured, such that he must stay to tend after them. How many might there be?
With every thought I found myself straining harder in my pursuit, pushing faster through the hallways that had become more numerous than I would have guessed, each lined, door after door, with rooms just like the one I had been in before, but there was no sign of the boy, until at last I came upon a door that was open. I burst through and found myself once again in my own hallway, in my own house. There was a knock at the front door.
I ran to it, and peered through the hole to see it was the two gentlemen, once again. I pulled at the latch, pulling at it and pulling at it until I began beating at the door in defeat. They knocked again, seemingly unaware of my struggles with the door, maddeningly deaf to my plight. And then the footsteps again! But now they were above me, in the attic, and I raced down the hall once again, to where the cord hung from the cieling, and I, determined to put the whole ordeal at last to rest, not noticing the dust on the walls and the aged, creaking floorboards, not aware of the broken furniture or the musk of dead air, only focused upon the intruder in my house.
I pulled the cord, but as the ladder extended, opening from the cieling, I felt the floor fall away, and I tumbled down and down until I landed with a sickening crack. Dazed, I clutched at my head, and paused to ponder the blood that now graced my fingertips. The room I was in felt small and constricting, as the faint light trickled through the small window in the door. I pulled myself upon the small and ancient bed in the small and forgotten bedroom. I looked up, and saw at last the child, grinning down at me from the hole in my attic. He spoke to me, and the sound of his voice filled my being with dread, and he told of the end I had been fleeing for all these years, but at last knew I could never escape. Even if my body somehow found a way beyond this place of the damned, my soul could never leave. I was trapped, and beyond all hope of rescue.
There was a knock at the door. A latch at the bottom slid open and a tray was pushed through. One of the men peered through the window, as the other shut the door.

"Welcome home."