Holy House

Chester Peters looked down at the address written on the slip of paper.

Chester Peters looked down at the address written on the slip of paper.

23 Madison Avenue.

He left his suitcase at the bottom of the concrete steps and slowly began his ascent. The Victorian-style house was a two story duplex over one hundred years; the dingy brickwork added character to a neighbourhood with a rich history of its own.

Chester tapped the brass door knocker a few times. He could hear the wooden floors creak as the occupant of the duplex made her way to answer the door. More creaking was heard as the decades old stairs groaned under the weight.

The door opened to a woman in her early to mid fifties. Her face was flushed red from the effort of carrying her heavy set body on stubby veined legs. She wore grey track pants, a pink polka dot long sleeve over-sized shirt and pink furry house slippers. Chester saw that the woman did not wear any make up or keep her limp red hair styled in any way. A large crucifix with red cubic zirconia gems hung around her chubby neck.

"Yes, can I help you?" asked the woman.

"I'm here about the apartment," Chester said in his soft voice.

"Yes, of course," the woman said. "Come in." Chester was in the door way the woman as the woman turned with an outstretched hand, "Ms. Darlene Simon."

"Chester Peters," he said returning the hand shake. The interior of the Victorian style duplex was decorated with nick-knacks: Elvis Presley memorabilia, pictures of cats and icons of the Virgin Mary, Jesus and angels.

Chester felt uneasy. Even being in a room full of statues for this long was a miracle. They're not real.

Down the hallway he saw more statues of the Virgin Mary and Jesus lined up like sentinels. Chester's heart began to race.

"Would you like to see the place again?" asked Darlene, snapping Chester out of his daze. He nearly jumped out of his skin, then turned beet red, embarrassed.

Darlene snorted, "What's the matter? Do you want to look at the place or not?"

Chester barely composed himself, "Yes, yes...I'd like to look at the unit please."

Up the stairs they went. Once Darlene moved out of the way, Chester was greeted by a large crucifix at the top of the landing, hanging on the wall. A bleeding Christ figure hung from the cross. Chester noted the detail of the crucified Christ image; the nailed palms and feet, the scars, the Crown of Thorns and the agonizing upward look.

He quickly followed Ms. Simon to the kitchen. The kitchen was what Chester expected the kitchen to be, small with basic appliances; a stove, fridge, a small kitchen table with two chairs and a microwave oven. He noticed with unease an icon of the Virgin Mary hung beside the clock.

Next they moved to the living room. Darlene showed him the view of Madison Avenue and boasted about the people in the neighbourhood. Chester looked around him; there were crosses and more pictures of cats. It's ok, they can't hurt me.

Finally Darlene Simon ended her tour at the bedroom. He reluctantly walked in, half expecting a crucifix or a picture of a cat. Instead the room was bare. It was freshly painted; the sheets in the twin bed were also freshly washed.

Ms. Simon turned and asked, "Are you still interested in the apartment?"

Chester wanted nothing more than to leave and take his chances at the bus station. But he was in need of a place, a cheap one, until he saved enough money to buy his own house. "Yes, I’m still interested."

It had been barely six months living at Twenty-Three Madison Avenue; nothing Chester did could ease his fear of statues. They were everywhere. Anytime he walked the hallway of his floor he could swear the icons were watching him. Chester had also come to realize that Ms. Simon was an oddball; her right hand would fly into a Sign of the Cross every time she walked past one her statues, he would also hear the beads of her rosary clink every time she muttered a prayer to her statues.

Chester worked up the courage to rest in his living room one night. He began to do some breathing exercises as a spotted grey and white cat sat in the door way and stared at Chester. He thought nothing of it. The next day, Chester woke and got dressed. He swung open the door and found Ms. Simon standing there, the beads clinking as she moved her fingers.

"Good morning Ms. Simon," Chester said. The unexpected sight made his heart stop.

"Good morning," Ms. Simon responded, "I thought you should know that the front door lock is broken, the locksmith is downstairs right now."

"Great, thanks for the heads up." Chester walked past Ms. Simon, turned and said, "By the way, you have a nice looking cat."

Ms. Simon shuffled away but stopped and said over her shoulder, "Ol' Mischief been gone for over three years. Dead, in case you wanted to know."

Chester walked to the neighbourhood fruit market, lost in thought about what he saw last night. I swear I saw a grey cat, staring at me!

Not able to carry all his groceries, Chester asked the cashier for a delivery.

"Sure, where are we sending your groceries to?"

"Twenty-Three Madison Avenue."

The cashier froze.

"Sorry, could you repeat the address again?"

"Twenty-Three Madison Avenue." What the hell is wrong with this girl?

The cashier flustered, looking for her supervisor. Finally she snapped out of her panic, "I'll be right back." The cashier ran to the back, calling for her employer.

Chester slowly crept to the storage room where the cashier and her supervisor were discussing his place of residence. Chester only caught the last phrase uttered by the supervisor, no fucking way!

The supervisor emerged and jumped when he found Chester standing near the storage room. Underneath his loud facade, the supervisor, a short Italian man with straight brown hair, blue eyes, olive skin and a hook nose named Santino, looked shaken. "You the one living at the Madison house?"

"Yeah."

"You renting from Ms. Simon?"

"I am," Chester was getting frustrated, "You mind telling me why you can't deliver my groceries to my place?"

The supervisor wiped his hands on his stained apron, even though they were completely dry, "All I can say is that we don't deliver to that address. We don't, I'm sorry." He fled back to the storage room, slamming the door. Minutes later the cashier came out. She swallowed as she slid past a very confused Chester, scared out of her mind, "I'm sorry," she whispered.

The walk back to his place was agonizing. Twice Chester had to stop to give his hands a rest from carrying six heavy bags of groceries. He reached the steps to the duplex and laid his bags at the bottom of the steps, exhausted.

Just as he was reaching for his bags, Chester looked up to find Ms. Simon staring at him from her kitchen window. Ms. Simon never smiled, but the look she had sent ice cold chills up and down Chester's spine. Furthermore, his fear of statues was slowly getting the best of him.

Chester managed to walk through the door, with grocery bags in hand, when the blood drained from his face. There were icons and statues lined up on both sides of the hallway, all placed to face the front door. Chester shook uncontrollably; his knees almost gave out on him as he tried walking to the stair case. Oh my God they're watching me! A quick glimpse showed an empty spot where Ms. Simon stood moments ago.

Each step Chester took sent more chills through his body, his feet turning to lead. The statues remained where they were, not turning, much to Chester's relief. Chester scurried up the stairs, then froze. His palms were sweating profusely; he shook to the point of dropping his bags as he confronted the sight before him.

The large crucifix was fastened with a snarling figure unlike the Christ icon Chester had seen earlier. The sharp teeth looked almost life like, protruding from a snout that resembled a wolf. The eyes bulged with rage, glaring down at Chester with bloodlust while the shock of dark brown hair was shaped into spikes. The body had claw marks slashed across the face, torso, arms and legs.

Chester stood routed, he could not will his legs to move neither forward or backwards. Then the unimaginable happened; the statue on the cross began to ooze blood from the eyes, as though crying. It streaked down the face, dripped from the snout, oozing further down the body, eventually pooling onto the floor.

The run up the rest of the stairway was the fastest Chester had ever done. He darted into his room, almost knocking over another icon of an unknown female saint, placed in the middle of his room. Chester flung open the closet door and reached for his suitcase.

There was an empty space where his suitcase should have been. Chester peered in. A closer look revealed, to his dismay, his clothes were nowhere to be found either. A quick look in the dressers revealed emptiness as well.

What is happening here?!

Chester's head began to spin. He was trying to gather his thoughts. Mind's a little foggy, need to focus...

Something was happening to Chester. He felt like he was being drugged, but he would have remember eating recently, here, which to his horror he didn't.

Chester's vision blurred, the effects of whatever drug starting to kick in. He looked at the icon again. Chester reeled back as he saw the unknown saint stick out her serpent tongue, hissing. He tried to scream but all he managed was a squeak.

"What do you think you're doing?" A voice called out.

Chester turned, found Ms. Simon standing in the doorway. In his drugged up state, Chester could see that she wore her red beaded rosary around her fat neck, a black robe and some sort of grotesque looking face mask. Chester saw that the mask Ms. Simon donned had facial hair; Chester could not believe it, he just did not want to believe what Ms. Simon was wearing. It can't be...

"You can't leave Chester. Not before you are cleansed."

Whatever Ms. Simon rigged in the icon had done its damage. Chester was succumbing to the effects of the drug that was sprayed into his room. "Ms. Simon, I don't understand. What are you doing to me?"

"I told you, boy," Ms. Simon said as she inched closer to her tenant. She pulled out a pair of shiny handcuffs, "I am going to cleanse you."

Darkness overcame him.

Chester awoke some time later. He was unable to move, he looked down and saw why. He was strapped to a gurney, tubes snaking from his arms. His blood streamed up to an introvenous bag, nearly full. That was bad. Strangely enough Chester's face was burning, as though set on fire.

Chester glanced around him, his heart took a tumble. A statue of a winged demon with a thirty foot wingspan hung from the ceiling, eight feet directly above him. Skin as black as tar, red eyes leering at him. There were more hideous statues facing him, plus Jesus and Virgin Mary statues. To his right, rows upon rows of introvenous bags filled with blood were neatly lined along the wall.

Chester had no idea that his horror had not yet begun.

Ms. Simon approached the gurney but out of Chester's view. She unhooked the plastic tube from Chester's left arm then snatched the introvenous bag and hung it on the wall, adding to her grisly collection. Chester feebly tried to free himself, his efforts however were in vain.

Ms. Simon finally came into Chester's view. She wore a different mask, but one that looked awfully familir.

Then it donned on him.

The burning sensation Chester felt all over his face. He did not want to fathom it...

"You will be good as new. Reborn."

Chester did not know for how long he was screaming.

"Ol' Mischief would have liked you," said Ms. Simon, "Just be still Chester."

Immobilized, Chester saw a long filleting knife in Ms. Simon's left hand. The pain would not have been as bad had Chester been under some sort of drug. But what was seeing went beyond human explanation. A long piece of skin was flayed off his right leg. "Why are you doing this to me?!"

Ms. Simon ignored Chester's plea, muttering some foreign prayer to the winged demon hanging from the ceiling. When Ms. Simon took a break from her incantations, she looked down, smiling through the mask that was Chester's face and pointed up at the hideous figure, "Because my Guardian wills it to be. It is his holy house."

Frank checked the address in the classified section. 23 Madison Avenue.

He lugged his suitcase up the steps until he reached the door. He knocked three times. The door was answered by a heavy set woman with limp red hair. "Yes?"

He was an older gentleman with a greying brown beard, salt and pepper hair. He had a pot belly and fingers stained from prolonged cigarette smoking. "I'm here about the apartment. I'm Frank." he said

The woman at the door opened a little wider, "Come in." When Frank dragged his suitcase, the woman stretched out her hand, "I am Ms. Darlene Simon."