Hell House (3 page)

12/21 – 12:19 P.M.

They started back across the entry hall, each carrying a candle in a holder. As they moved, the flickering illumination made their shadows billow on the walls and ceiling.

"This must be the great hall over here," said Barrett.

They moved beneath an archway six feet deep and stopped, Edith and Florence gasping almost simultaneously. Barrett whistled softly as he raised his candle for a maximum of light.

The great hall measured ninety-five by forty-seven feet, its walls two stories high, paneled in walnut to a height of eight feet, rough-hewn blocks of stone above. Across from where they stood was a mammoth fireplace, its mantel constructed of antique carved stone.

The furnishings were all antique except for scattered chairs and sofas upholstered in the fashion of the twenties. Marble statues stood on pedestals in various locations. In the northwest corner was an ebony concert grand piano, and in the center of the hall stood a circular table, more than twenty feet across, with sixteen high-backed chairs around it and a large chandelier suspended over it. Good place to set up my equipment, Barrett thought; the hall had obviously been cleaned. He lowered his candle. "Let's push on," he said.

They left the great hall, moved across the entry hall, beneath the overhanging staircase, and turned right into another corridor. Several yards along its length, they reached a pair of swinging walnut doors set to their left. Barrett pushed one in and peered inside. "The theater," he said.

They went inside, reacting to the musty smell. The theater was designed to seat a hundred people, its walls covered with an antique red brocade, its sloping, three-aisled floor with thick red carpeting. On the stage, gilded Renaissance columns flanked the screen, and spaced along the walls were silver candelabra wired for electricity. The seats were custom-made, upholstered with wine-red velvet.

"Just how wealthy
was
Belasco?" Edith asked.

"I believe he left in excess of seven million dollars when he died," Barrett answered.

"Died?" said Fischer. He held open one of the doors.

"If there's anything you care to tell us…" Barrett said as he stepped into the corridor.

"What's to tell? The house tried to kill me; it almost succeeded."

Barrett looked as though he meant to speak. Then he changed his mind and peered down the corridor. "I think that staircase leads down to the pool and steam room," he said. "No point in going there until the electricity's on." He limped across the corridor and opened a heavy wooden door.

"What is it?" Edith asked.

"Looks like a chapel."

"A
chapel?
" Florence looked appalled. As she neared the door, she started making sounds of apprehension in her throat. Edith glanced at her uneasily.

"Miss Tanner?" Barrett said.

She didn't answer. Almost to the door, she held back.

"Better not," said Fischer.

Florence shook her head. "I must." She began to enter.

With a faint, involuntary cry, she shrank back. Edith started. "What
is
it?" Florence was unable to reply. She sucked in breath and shook her head with tiny movements. Barrett put his hand on Edith's arm. She looked at him and saw his lips frame the words, "It's all right."

"I can't go in," Florence said, as though apologizing. "Not now, anyway." She swallowed. "The atmosphere is more than I can bear."

"We'll only be a moment," Barrett told her.

Florence nodded, turning away.

As she went inside the chapel, Edith braced herself, expecting a shock of some kind. Feeling nothing, she turned to Lionel in confusion, started to speak, then waited until they were apart from Fischer. "Why couldn't she come in?" she whispered then.

"Her system is attuned to psychic energy," Barrett explained. "Obviously it's very strong in here."

"Why here?"

"Contrast, perhaps. A church in hell; that sort of thing."

Edith nodded, glancing back at Fischer. "Why doesn't it bother him?" she asked.

"Perhaps he knows how to protect himself better than she does."

Edith nodded again, stopping as Lionel did to look around the low-ceilinged chapel. There were wooden pews for fifty people. In front was an altar; above it, glinting in the candlelight, a life-size, flesh-colored figure of Jesus on the cross.

"It
looks
like a chapel," she started to say, breaking off in shock as she saw that the figure of Jesus was naked, an enormous phallus jutting upward from between the legs. She made a sound of revulsion, staring at the obscene crucifix. The air seemed suddenly thick, coagulating in her throat.

Now she noticed that the walls were covered with pornographic murals. Her eye was caught by one on her right, depicting a mass orgy involving half-clothed nuns and priests. The faces on the figures were demented-leering, slavering, darkly flushed, distorted by maniacal lust.

"Profanation of the sacred," Barrett said. "A venerable sickness."

"He
was
sick," Edith murmured.

"Yes, he was." Barrett took her arm. As he escorted her along the aisle, Edith saw that Fischer had already left.

They found him in the corridor.

"
She's gone
," he said.

Edith stared at him. "How can she-?" She broke off looking around.

"I'm sure it's nothing," Barrett said.

"
Are
you?" Fischer sounded angry.

"I'm sure she's all right," said Barrett firmly. "Miss Tannet!" he called. "Come along, my dear." He started down the corridor. "Miss Tanner!" Fischer followed him without making a sound.

"Lionel, why would she-?"

"Let's not jump to conclusions," Barrett said. He called again. "Miss Tanner! Can you hear me?"

As they reached the entry hall, Edith pointed. There was candlelight inside the great hall.

"Miss Tanner!" Barrett called.

"Yes!"

Barrett smiled at Edith, then glanced over at Fischer. Fischer's expression had not relaxed.

She was standing on the far side of the hall. Their footsteps clicked in broken rhythm on the floor as they crossed to her. "You shouldn't have done that, Miss Tanner," Barrett said. "You caused us undue alarm."

"I'm sorry," Florence said, but it was only a token apology. "I heard a voice in here."

Edith shuddered.

Florence gestured toward the piece of furniture she was standing beside, a phonograph installed inside a walnut Spanish cabinet. Reaching down to its turntable, she lifted off a record and showed it to them. "It was this."

Edith didn't understand. "How could it play without electricity?"

"You forget they used to wind up phonographs." Barrett set his candle holder on top of the cabinet and took the record from Florence. "Homemade," he said.

"Belasco."

Barrett looked at her, intrigued. "His voice?" She nodded, and he turned to put it back on the turntable. Florence looked at Fischer, who was standing several yards away, staring at the phonograph.

Barrett wound the crank tight, ran a fingertip across the end of the steel needle, and set it on the record edge. There was a crackling noise through the speaker, then a voice.

"Welcome to my house," said Emeric Belasco. "I'm delighted you could come."

Edith crossed her arms and shivered.

"I am certain you will find your stay here most illuminating." Belasco's voice was soft and mellow, yet terrifying-the voice of a carefully disciplined madman. "It is regrettable I cannot be with you," it said, "but I had to leave before your arrival."

Bastard, Fischer thought.

"Do not let my physical absence disturb you, however. Think of me as your unseen host and believe that, during your stay here, I shall be with you in spirit."

Edith's teeth were set on edge.
That voice
.

"All your needs have been provided for," Belasco's voice continued. "Nothing has been overlooked. Go where you will, and do what you will-these are the cardinal precepts of my home. Feel free to function as you choose. There are no responsibilities, no rules. 'Each to his own device' shall be the only standard here. May you find the answer that you seek. It is here, I promise you." There was a pause. "And now…
auf Wiedersehen
."

The needle made a scratching noise on the record. Barrett raised the needle arm and switched off the phonograph. The great hall was immensely still.

"
Auf Wiedersehen
." said Florence. "
Until we meet again
."

"Lionel-?"

"The record wasn't meant for us," he said.

"But-"

"It was cut a good half-century ago," said Barrett. "Look at it." He held it up. "It's merely a coincidence that what he said seems applicable to us."

"What made the phonograph go on by itself, then?" Florence asked.

"That is a separate problem," Barrett said. "I'm only discussing the record now." He looked at Fischer. "Did it play by itself in 1940? The accounts say nothing of it."

Fischer shook his head.

"Do you know anything about the record?"

It appeared that Fischer wasn't going to answer. Then he said, "Guests would arrive, to find him gone. That record would be played for them." He paused. "It was a game he played. While the guests were here, Belasco spied on them from hiding."

Barrett nodded.

"Then, again, maybe he was invisible," Fischer continued. "He claimed the power. Said that he could will the attention of a group of people to some particular object, and move among them unobserved."

"I doubt that," Barrett said.

"Do you?" Fischer's smile was strange as he looked at the phonograph. "We all had our attention on that a few moments ago," he said. "How do you know he didn't walk right by us while we were listening?"

12/21 – 12:46 P.M.

They were moving up the staircase when an icy breeze passed over them, causing their candle flames to flicker. Edith's flame went out. "What was that?" she whispered.

"A breeze," said Barrett instantly. He declined his candle to relight hers. "We'll discuss it later."

Edith swallowed, glancing at Florence. Barrett took her by the arm, and they started up the stairs again. "There'll be many things like that during the week," he said. "You'll get used to them."

Edith said no more. As she and Lionel ascended the stairs, Florence and Fischer exchanged a look.

They reached the second floor and, turning to the right, started along the balcony corridor. On their right, the heavy balustrade continued. To their left, set periodically along a paneled wall, were bedroom doors. Barrett approached the first of these and opened it. He looked inside, then turned to Florence. "Would you like this one?" he asked.

She stepped into the doorway. After several moments, she turned back to them. "Not too bad," she said. She smiled at Edith. "You'll rest more comfortably here."

Barrett was about to comment, then relented. "Fine," he said. He gestured toward the room.

He followed Edith inside and shut the door. Edith watched as he limped around the bedroom. To her left were a pair of carved walnut Renaissance beds, between them a small table with a lamp and a French-style telephone on it. A fireplace was centered on the opposite wall, in front of it a heavy walnut rocking chair. The teakwood floor was almost covered by a twenty-by-thirty-foot blue Persian rug, in the middle of which stood an octagonal-topped table with a matching chair upholstered in red leather.

Barrett glanced into the bathroom, then returned to her. "About that breeze," he said. "I didn't want to get involved in a discussion with Miss Tanner. That's why I glossed over it."

"It really happened, didn't it?"

"Of course," he answered, smiling. "A manifestation of simple kinetics: unguided, unintelligent. No matter what Miss Tanner thinks. I should have mentioned that before we left."

"Mentioned what?"

"That you'll need to inure yourself to what she'll be saying in the next week. She's a Spiritualist, as you know. Survival of and communication with the so-called disincarnate is the foundation of her belief; an erroneous foundation, as I intend to prove. In the meantime, though"-he smiled-"be prepared to hear her views expressed. I can't very well ask that she remain mute."

To her right, their heads against the wall, were a pair of beds with elaborately carved headboards, between them a huge chest of drawers. Above the chest, suspended from the ceiling, was a large Italian silver lamp.

Directly across from her, by the paneled window shutters, was a Spanish table with a matching chair. On top of the table was a Chinese lamp and a French-style telephone. Florence crossed the room and picked up the receiver. It was dead. Did I expect it to be working? she thought, amused. At any rate, it had doubtless been used only for calls made within the house.

She turned and looked around the room. There was something in it. What, though? A personality? A residue of emotion? Florence closed her eyes and waited. Something in the air; no doubt of it. She felt it shift and throb, advancing on her, then retreating like some unseen, timorous beast.

After several minutes she opened her eyes. It will come, she thought. She crossed to the bathroom, squinting slightly as its white tile walls glittered with reflected candlelight. Setting the holder on the sink, she turned the hot-water faucet. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, with a gurgling rattle, a gout of darkly rusted water splattered into the basin. Florence waited until the water cleared before she held her hand beneath it. She hissed at its coldness. I hope the water heater isn't broken too, she thought. Bending over, she started patting water onto her face.

I should have gone into the chapel, she thought. I shouldn't have backed off from the very first challenge. She winced, remembering the violent nausea she'd felt as she was about to enter. An awful place, she thought. She'd have to work her way up to it, that was all. If she forced it now, she might lose consciousness. I'll get in there soon enough, she promised herself. God will grant the power when it's time.

His room was smaller than the other two. There was only one bed with a canopy top. Fischer sat at the foot of it, staring at the intricate pattern on the rug. He could feel the house around him like some vast, invisible being. It knows I'm here, he thought; Belasco knows, they all know that I'm here: their single failure. They were watching him, waiting to see what he'd do.

He wasn't going to do anything prematurely, that was certain. He wasn't going to do a thing until he got the feel of the place.