Ivy

Suspense Stories | Oct 19, 2012 | 12 min read
112 Votes, average: 4 out of 5
Suspense Stories

Ivy

fed up with low quality writers
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Gregory Henry Dawson IV came from a line of prestigious families. He insisted that his teachers call him by "Gregory" never "Greg" or the dreaded "Greggie". It was a matter of respect and pride the rigid 10-year-old would often scold others that made the mistake of abbreviating that proud name.
Right now Gregory clenched his duvet tightly, as though the bedding would shield him. He could feel something was wrong. The closet door was open again, and those eyes were staring at him --- again.
#
"I don't like this place," whined Gregory.
"Hush child," snapped Leanne Klein-Dawson. She sighed deeply as her son continued his protests about their new house. She tried to focus on picking the décor for their new house, a classic black and white felt cold and informal, but the timelessness of the color scheme somehow seemed to fit the house. This house was, after all almost 200 years old. The colors must be perfect; Henry would be hosting the "who's-who of the seventh district Republicans within a week, here. Half the reason for buying this house was to woo the right crowd in the right place.
Gregory's protests continued unabated by her shushing, "there's something not right here mother".
He reached out for a hug to ward off the unnatural chill that his words left. His uncharacteristic longing for comfort caught Leanne by surprise. She looked away from the walls to see her son latched around her leg, his eyes looked like he hadn't slept in days. She fumbled the paint samples into one hand to lay the other one on her son's back. Her son hadn't hugged her in what felt like years, but this wasn't a sign of attachment, but a scared child seeking refuge.
She looked around the great room trying to imagine what the house must look like to a 10-year-old boy. The dark wood panels reached to the ceiling. The majestic solid mahogany floors creaked very little for their age, but more than their previous carpeted floor did. The lights all matched the old world décor and with the older wires occasionally flickered. The great fireplace consumed the room. The stone overlay ran to the 50 foot high ceiling and directly outside. The years of cement settling and rock being worn away gave way to pin-sized holes through the ceiling… enough to create a whistling in the gentle fall breeze that swept across the hill the house had been built on.
She squatted to eye-level with Gregory, "I know this is a lot of change dear, but this is our new home. Soon enough we'll get more of our things unpacked and it will feel like home --- okay?"
Gregory didn't respond, he knew it was silly to tell his mom there was a monster in this house. She wouldn't listen anyways, she never listened. But the monster in the closet had listened --- it had listened all through the night.
#
Henry absent-mindedly touched his flag pin lapel as he was being introduced to a group of plant workers.
"I'm going to work hard to change Washington politics," he felt himself regurgitating his usual lines. "It's time we kept Minnesota jobs in Minnesota. Vote for me and we can take America back."
It was exhausting to keep that kind of demeanor all the time. And it never failed in a place like that there were a handful of guys in the back angrily staring at him the whole time. They would simply point to their teamster pin and turn away; nothing could rattle Gregory Henry Dawson III.
"You jump over here cause you couldn't beat Douglas huh?" spat one of the union supporters.
"My wife and I have long admired the Como neighborhood. We moved for personal reasons, but the problems facing Minnesotans in the sixth district are the some of the same problems facing Minnesotans in the Seventh district. And I can provide the voice they need," Henry recited his well-rehearsed retort to a common attack.
"Well I think its cuz yur scared of Douglas… but you shud be scared of me," he cracked a grin showing yellowed and pitted teeth. His eyes remained fixed, and piercing, it sent a chill through Henry as he pulled his hand back from the expectant hand-shake.
Unsure of how to respond Henry was fortuitously quickly whisked away to a more favorable crowd. Now sitting his Lexus, the worker's eyes haunted him still.
"He meant in the voting polls, or as a teamster. It wasn't a direct threat," Henry reassured himself.
Pulling out his cellphone he contacted his campaign manager and college buddy.
"Hey Tom, it's Henry; look this is probably nothing but…"
#
As soon as the lights went out in his parents room Gregory snapped awake. He stared at his closet door expectantly.
A pop emitted from the handle as it slowly turned open. The door pushed gently open. Two pale white spots shone from the black depths of the walk-in closet.
"What do you want?" asked Gregory.
…
"What do you want from me?" asked Gregory his voice still scratchy and full of apprehension. This had been the routine for almost a week now. He would stay up talking to these eyes, sometimes they would blink but they would never respond. He had tried screaming; it only got his parents to shuffle in and sleepily reassure him that everything was okay. Twice his dad had even turned on the light in the closet to show him that nothing was in there, but as soon as Gregory was alone again the door would open and the eyes would reappear.
"I-I'm not scared of you…" he straightened his back to sit upright in his bed facing the intruder.
"So you must be scared of me, s-since you hide whenever we turn on the lights."
A slow blink responded to his assertion.
#
Henry was having trouble sleeping. He touched the arm of Leanne, gently kissed her ear. A stern grunt as she rolled away, taking the covers with her, let him know the answer to that question.
He shuffled downstairs in his flannel pajama pants and a ratty old college t-shirt. Grabbing a low-ball off the top shelf he pushed the fridge's ice lever. It whirred to life and cast a light to the otherwise dark kitchen. In the corner of his eye Henry thought he saw movement.
"Hello?" he sleepily asked the dark great room.
The massive fireplace cast an impressive shadow. With the many bay windows in the room the moonlight lit the room quite well. The moonlight though seemed to bend around the stone fireplace.
Henry rubbed his eyes and did another sweep of the room before turning back to his liquor cabinet. Johnny Walker Blue Label Scotch – it went down like silk and warmed him from the inside. Immediately he felt the tension draining from his muscles and neck. He poured a second splash before placing the bottle of scotch back in the cabinet.
Henry moved into the great room and stared at the enormous gathering place in the light of the full moon. The woodwork in this house was amazing; he stooped to inspect the railing on the stairwell. In the rails were intricate carvings, there were little faces carved into the wood, the faces seemed partially covered by vines.
"Must be little cherubs or something" he said to himself.
He inspected another and paused… it bore a striking resemblance to his son.
"I guess kids all look a little alike," he said.
Peering in closer the carved face seemed twisted in pain; it seemed to fight the vines where the other faces had been playfully hiding behind them…
"Weird."
Another movement in the living room drew Henry's eye away from the carved cherub. His hand clutching his scotch night cap was trembling slightly. He looked through the room and could see nothing. The great fireplace still bent light around it. Henry stepped into its shadow as he scanned the room for the mysterious movement.
A thunderous clash of shattering glass exploded onto the floor around Henry. He jumped back dropping his scotch and shouting in terror. The offending brick rolled to a stop in the center of the great room. A car spun its tires as it ripped through the quiet neighborhood, away from the scene of the crime.
#
"Oh Leanne I absolutely love what you've done with this place," swooned Ann-Margaret Remington.
‘Twice removed from the family of rifle-makers' she would often introduce herself as… But not nearly so removed from the family's money, Henry would remind his wife when she complained about the pretentious bitch.
"Thank you so much," Leanne match Ann-Margaret's tone precisely.
She was exhausted of this campaign already; she thought she knew what she was getting herself into. The dinners, the glad-handing, the false smiles, the pretentious crowd, the lies; she had all that down to a science. But since the brick incident she just didn't feel herself anymore. She was just exhausted all the time; Gregory wasn't helping matters with his night terrors. It seemed like at least once a night they had to get up and turn on his closet light to reassure him nothing was in there. She felt like the parent of a new-born again with the disrupted sleep schedules. Henry bless his soul was putting on a brave face but she could tell it was wearing on him too.
Then there was this house, maybe it was just all the other trauma but she was beginning to have doubts of her own about this house. She had never been a superstitious person, but there were simply too many of those spine-tingling moments here. No other way to describe it than, "just a feeling of something being wrong." Henry tried his best to reassure her, but there was a flicker of doubt in his eyes too.
"Oh my god, I absolutely love this fireplace," Ann-Margaret was still gushing next to her.
"Look at these carvings in here," she pulled out a pair of cheaters. "Wow this is immaculate tiny little vines carved into each stone. I knew the old Gunthar home was well built, but I never…"
"What was that?" Leanne asked.
"These little vines," Ms. Remington repeated.
"No you called it the ‘Gunthar home'." Leanne said.
"Why yes this house was built by Gerhardt Gunthar," said Ann-Margaret matter-of-factly.
"No," said Leanne, "The Gunthar mansion is down the road."
"Well yes, that was his house. This was the play-house he built for his children.
"We bought this house from a Larson family," Leanne said.
"Well of course dear, the Larson family bought it from Gunthar's great-great something heir. He needed to pay off some bad bets was what I heard… Regardless the Larson's never lived here, they just remodeled it. Got rid of that damned ivy, the Gunthar's loved that damn ivy, they said it made a home feel well protected. The only thing that damned eye-sore of ivy protected them from was ever being featured on the Parade of Homes… am I right or am I right? The home-owners group asked them so many times to get rid of that pestilence in plant form… "
Anne-Margaret continued her gossip, but Leanne was no longer listening.
Leanne touched the ivy engravings on the stone fireplace, the cool stone glistened with the changing weather. She leaned in closer and she could almost hear the whispers coming from within…
#
"Time for bed Gregory," Henry shouted up the stairs.
"That is not putting him to bed and you know it," said Leann as she threw a dish towel at her husband with a smile.
"But the Vikes are winning… that never happens," sighed Henry.
He pried himself off the couch anyway and began trudging up the stairs. Each time he passed that rung on the stairwell he involuntarily stared at the Gregory look-alike cherub, and each time it sent a strange chill up his spine.
"Gregory, are you washed and in your pajamas?"
As he circled to the top of the stairs overlooking the great room he could see headlights in the front of the house.
"Honey, it looks like someone's coming to the door," shouted Gregory back down to his wife still in the kitchen. Since moving to the upscale neighborhood it seemed like they had a bull's-eye for every kid in the Twin-Cities selling popcorn or Girl Scout cookies.
Continuing down the hallway Henry paused for a moment, as Leann shut off the water downstairs to go greet the door Henry heard whispers coming from Gregory's room.
"It's okay… I'll protect you…"
"Who are you talking to Gregory?" asked Henry as he rounded into the room.
"No one." Said Henry with a decidedly guilty look on his face, he was walking briskly out of his closet.
"Everything all right son?" asked Henry.
His son gave a parting glance to the closet, and motioned for Henry to lean in.
"I'm not scared of them anymore, dad…"
Henry jerked away from his son, and stepped back as Gregory's lips twitched to a smile. He peered into the closet and for the briefest of moments he thought he saw the walls shift with a life-like sway, then pressing its way through the closet vines he saw two beads of light.
In a blink it was gone, and only Gregory's clothes remained.
"That's good Gregory… it-it's time for bed okay Champ," Henry said absently still trying to shake the lucid vision out of his mind.
"I swear we are going to spend a thousand dollars on the scouts by living here," said Leanne as Henry came back down the stairs.
"Oh Okay hun," he said, his mind clearly elsewhere.
"And while we're at it I figured we could fund a rocket to the moon," she smirked.
"Whatever you want honey," he mumbled.
"Henry!" Leanne cut through his fog. "What's up? Something wrong?"
"No," he said shaking his head, but his hand lingered over the fifth rung, and his face was going pale.
"My arm --- oh god Leanne I can't feel my arm.
#
"We've got to spin this Henry," complained Tom loudly enough that Leanne could hear downstairs and in the kitchen.
"God knows the Democrats are," he finished.
"Then let them spin it," said Henry. "I wanted to serve in office not die before I get there from the stress."
"You said the doc has you on blood thinners, and your numbers were actually pretty good right? Then what's the deal man? People go on living for decades after a minor heart attack like that. Hell Dan's had like 4 of those."
"You mean Dan? Like Drunk Dan? Like 4 dozen Buffalo wings and a gallon of ranch is an appetizer before my 2lb butter-burger Dan? Yeah, he's the model of healthy living." retorted Henry.
"Look if you give in now, your letting the liberals win, and you're letting America down," scolded Tom.
"Don't feed me lines of bullshit like I'm some simpleton," Henry was getting worked up again despite his doctor's orders. "Look Tom, I just need a couple days --- okay?"
Leanne started up stairs with Henry's lunch.
"Leanne," pleaded Tom. "Don't let him make the worst mistake of his life--- please."
#
The doorbell woke Henry with a start . He had been dozing in and out of consciousness for two days now, and he was on so many meds he didn't know up from down half the time. The other half the time his dreams were terrible, and made him wake up grasping as his throat gasping for the air he was being deprived of in his nightmares.
"Henry says he's going to create jobs --- but in fact he made a career out of downsizing companies to bump his own paycheck," the TV ads were relentless in October.
Henry turned off the TV in their bedroom; he didn't remember hearing Leanne answer the door.
"Hun?" he questioned downstairs.
…
Screw doctor's order, he thought as he slid out of bed. The floor creaked ever so slightly with his weight as he shuffled to the hallway. The hallway was dark; Gregory must have already been in bed. "Hun," he whispered loudly.
…
Moving towards the stairwell he thought he saw a movement from down the hallway.
"Dad?" Gregory was standing in the hallway rubbing his eyes.
"Mr. Dawson," a strange voice sang from the great room below.
Henry's eyes were still adjusting, but he gasped as soon as he saw those eyes, and those same yellow pitted teeth he knew exactly who had rang the doorbell. Leanne was struggling in the older man's calloused grip. His hands held a surprising strength, as her struggles barely made him move. The man tapped a snub nose .38 against his wife's temple.
"Click. Boom," he giggled.
"Just so we understand each other Mr. Dawson, you move and your wife repaints the living room. Capeche?"
"Dad who is that," Gregory's voice trembled.
"Who's that up there with you?" the man growled. "Tell ‘im to come out where I can see ‘im."
"It's just my son; you don't want to hurt my family sir, it's me you want right? So let's go and we can leave them alone."
"Get him where I can see ‘im or I'll blow your pretty wife's head off," the man rolled his tongue along Leanne's cheek taunting Henry.
"Gregory, come here son. Everything's going to be all right."
"At least you lie at home too Mr. Dawson I'm glad to see you aren't two-faced in that front at least."
The man giggled hysterically at his own comedy. Henry's mind was racing, how to get to his gun, or a phone, or something… He didn't notice that Gregory had walked right past him and was starting down the stairs.
"Hey kid you stop right there. I mean it!"
Gregory continued without missing a step.
"Gregory, do what the man says," Henry heard himself say.
Gregory paused for a moment and looked into his father's eyes, as if to reassure the grown man.
Waving his pistol the man "Kid I mean it. I'll blow your mom's brains out if you don't stop kid."
Something stirred from down the hallway. In a flash it pounced down the hallway knocking Henry over. Scrambling to right himself Henry saw a swirl of green and black attack the intruder.
Leanne's screams pierced the house, and a primal grunting came from the thing attacking his home's invader. It stood only a few feet high, and was completely gnarled in vines, it pounced with all four legs almost like a wolf, but it was impossibly fast. The vines seemed to not just be growing around it but somehow out of it. They moved with its every slash.
In a heartbeat the fight was over.
The man that had attacked their family was bloodied and pinned up against the fireplace stone.
Henry gathered his senses and darted to their bedroom for his 12 gauge. Quickly unlocking it, he came back to the top of the stairs.
Leanne was on the floor and looked to be unconscious; Gregory was fixed in terror as the creature still had their invader pinned to the fireplace. The fireplace had begun to writhe with a life of its own; it was twisting itself around the man. His muffled pleas were broken in spit in and blood, the creature only growled in response. Ivy seemed to be twisting outward from the fireplace and consuming their attacker. The whole fireplace came to life as it twisted and chocked the man to his last mournful breath.
Henry now in the room leveled his shotgun at the creature.
"No Father!" shouted Gregory.
The chimney slowly writhed back into place with no trace of the man it had just enveloped, and no sign of the ivy that had been twisting around it only moment before. The creature turned to face the leveled shotgun, it snorted and the ivy along its back flared up.
"No," repeated Gregory.
His son had now placed himself between the gun and the creature.
Henry's arm began to go numb, he felt his world begin to spin and then slowly fade away.
#
"Representative Dawson," shouted a reporter. "Are you worried that the man who attacked your house is still on the loose, especially with you departing for Washington?"
"I believe the fine officers of SPPD have the investigation well in hand, and I trust in their capability to serve and protect my family as well as the families of everyone in St. Paul," Henry recited the well-crafted line.
He couldn't help but smile though. He knew damn well it wouldn't be SPPD protecting his wife and son. Their house should look nice with all the new ivy sprawling to cover the old mansion again.
[End]

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Meenu Oct 22, 2012

A beautiful story!!

Velma golden Oct 21, 2012

sandy said it all,I could not improve on any comment. Very impressive indeed. Thank you!!

Sandy Haines Oct 20, 2012

Wow, a VERY well written short story. Tight, suspenseful. This story could be used as a model for other writers. You packed a lot of "story" around the main theme, yet in such a short piece of work. Impressive.

Fed up with low quality writers Oct 21, 2012

Thank you both

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