Resurrection House by James Chambers Read Free Book Online

visages vary wildly—ghost, pirate, princess, witch, pumpkin, hobo, super-hero—but their voices sing the same song. Excitement. Anticipation. The thrill of rare freedom. They flash from house to house, making their way up one side of the road and down the other before moving on to the next block and the next one after, and hopefully home before supper. The bright colors of their outfits flash, and from behind their masks, their high laughter crackles through the clear fall air.
    But the old man sees their true faces; he sees them for what they truly are.
    Not always did he know their secret. Not in the all long years stretched out behind him when the business of living and making a living provided suitable distractions from the ugliness. Not even in the few peaceful years he shared with Belle after they retired.
    Without thinking he drops his forearm across the arm of his recliner so that his hand lies palm up on the arm of Belle's chair beside it, ready for the warm grasp that greeted it so many times before, but which does not come tonight and will never come again.
    Now the old man makes no mistake. Now he knows their true nature.
    This year he is ready.
    It took time to learn the truth, but time he had after Belle went away. More time than he ever cared to spend on his own. And little by little he began to crack their facade, to notice the little oddities in their routines, their comings and goings at strange hours, the way a neighborhood cat disappeared, and the effort they spent to keep their houses so neat and perfectly groomed in order to deflect suspicion. He spent hours watching and noting, observing their rituals and the faint, strange lights that sometimes burned in the windows of the children's rooms at night. One time he watched a group of children squirm their way beneath the chain link fence that ran along the train tracks at the end of the road. God knows what hidden lairs they kept in the tangled weeds beyond the barrier. And one afternoon, a child fell from his bicycle to the hard pavement after bumping into the curb, and as he sat in the street crying and unaware of the old man's desperate gaze, he let the face he showed the world falter and the old man saw the horror that lurked beneath.
    Two children run across the edge of his front lawn in their mad door-to-door dash to collect goodies. One wears a wizard's cloak and tall speckled hat; the other the delicate fringes and tight leotards of a dancer. He watches them eagerly, but they ignore his weed-cracked front walk and move on to the next house. They have been warned by their parents, he thinks, to stay away from the old man who has seen their secret faces.
    Perhaps, he hopes, they fear me?
    Across the street paper decorations clutter the front window of his neighbor's home. A jaunty white skeleton. A creeping green witch. Foam tombstones dot the front lawn. At the house next door electric-orange, jack-o-lantern lights trace the edge of the porch roof and false cob-webbing clings at the corners.
    The old man closes his eyes and sees his other neighbors' homes along the road, all similarly attired in this garish manner with icons of mischief and images of the wild spirits rumored to roam free on nights such as this. Every year they accrue these baubles and ornaments and slowly transform the block to suit their tastes. Do they think he doesn't know what the signs and symbols mean? Do they think he doesn't see them, their decorations and parties, their fancy candies and disguised children, mocking him and everything his life has meant? Everything Belle's life meant?
    They taunt him for what he knows. Their secrets aren’t safe with him. Let them parade their depravity in public once a year, costumed from the unknowing world in the guise of a child's holiday. Let them raise their terrible monsters in plain sight. Let others walk in ignorance. I will no longer be misled, he reassures himself.
    Two boys and a little girl pause before the path to his front