​

In the late hours of my shift, the monitor blinked with an incoming call: a welfare check for a house on Mount Felix. That “mount” was more of a combination of steep hills which merged together under a layer of thick pine. We called the area Crosswords in our precinct because the roads connected and ended incoherently in a complex maze, similar to a crossword puzzle’s layout.

I hated the area. If anyone called for backup, there was a chance they’d be out there by themselves for ten to fifteen long minutes while other officers attempted to traverse the complex system of roadways. And a lot could happen on that mountain in fifteen minutes.

But there was another reason I wanted to avoid the call, one which I didn’t want to fully admit to myself. The location gave me the creeps. Mostly abandoned houses far past their prime clung to the cliff-side in disarray. The homes had once held a status of prestige, but they now stood in foreclosure or handed down to the previous owners’ next of kin who were usually too poor to do anything with the homes. And so, the buildings were either abandoned, a temporary home for the homeless, or re-purposed for the manufacturing of illegal substances.

Venturing to that part of town by myself at 12:00 am was the last thing I wanted.

I requested dispatch send me a different call of equal priority.

“Hey Rogers,” said one of the other cops over the radio. It was Wilson, a veteran officer who made it no secret he despised the newest generation of law enforcement. He felt we were weaker. According to him, the cops who were recruited now wouldn’t have made the cut back in his day. The fact that I was a woman may have played a factor in his opinion of me as well, but he was smart enough not to mention it if true. “I’m already ten-97 for that stolen vehicle report,” he said. “Go clear that welfare check.”

“Copy,” I replied.

Normally, taking a report for a partner would be seen as a “stellar move.” Not when it came to avoiding Crosswords, however. Everyone knew Wilson was doing it to put me on the spot, to send me, a greenie, to a call in a risky neighborhood. I would’ve argued if I hadn’t just gotten off training. No need to mark myself a scaredy-cat to my new team.

I read the details of the call. A neighbor had noticed water trailing from the driveway of a home. Apparently, it had been three days since the leak had begun, but when the water continued with no sign of slowing down, the neighbor attempted to knock on the door. No one had answered. They were requesting law enforcement conduct a welfare check at the location to make sure the resident was alright.

Sighing, I began my trek to Crosswords, hoping it would be an uneventful stop. I drove up the steep road, cresting the top of the hill which then descended again sharply into the Mount Felix neighborhood. The secluded community was especially dark. Most streetlights were out and only several homes had a light that could be seen from the street.

I arrived at what I believed to be the location, but the map had taken me to an empty lot, or so it seemed. I checked the map again and realized the road was not one continuous line. By the map, it looked like Cedar Road cut straight through the neighborhood on Mount Felix, but in reality, the road was broken up due to steep elevation. Cedar Road was three separate segments. Crosswords was already playing games with me.

Driving up to the next tier of houses I saw evidence I was on the right path. A trail of water was steadily trickling down the hill and running over the edge of the road. I slowed the vehicle, noting what appeared to be a strange yellow fungus growing where the water flowed. The water must have been running for some time if it was causing a growth on the street.

I followed the road up until I reached the steep driveway from which the stream originated. It curved around to a garage which sat just below the house. The house, or rather mansion, towered over me as it clung to the rocky cliff-side. The wraparound deck was decayed, paneling was peeled, and dirt clung to its vaulted black windows. It was an emaciated shadow of the grandeur and glory it once possessed.

The water trail continued up the driveway, reaching the garage. I could see the concrete was cracked and water was pouring out from the foundation. It was most likely a mainline that had been compromised and water to the entire residence would have to be shut off.

​

Summer nights were relatively warm in the rest of the town, but on Mount Felix it was cool, already hinting at autumn. When I exited my vehicle a chilly breath of night air nipped at my face and trailed down my neck, causing me to shiver. The pines rustling in the night wind broke up the silence of this place, putting me at ease while I made my way to the front door.

​

Until it stopped.

​

The forest around this decrepit residence was deafeningly silent. The trees themselves held their breath watching me approach this unhallowed home. I wanted to go back to my patrol vehicle, close the call as “attempt made, no answer,” but I knew I couldn’t do it. If someone was later found dead in this house…

​

I shuddered and pushed the thought from my head. I wasn’t going to find a dead body tonight, I told myself. This would be a simple welfare check and I would be out of here as soon as someone answered the door.

​

I was there.

​

I stared at the intricately carved wooden doorway which bore the scars of extreme weather. I knocked and announced myself.

Nothing.

​

I groaned. Why me? Stupid Wilson.

I pressed the doorbell several times, but I had little faith it was still working. And the residence was large. I pushed the negative thoughts from my mind and tried to find reason in my predicament. Considering the mansion’s resident could be older, I tried again, shouting louder in case they were hard of hearing. I knocked as hard as I could and shouted into the crack of the doorway.

​

After a minute, still no answer.

​

Dread began to build within my chest, threatening to break my sternum like a dam failing to hold back a flood, but again I pushed it back. Remember what you’re supposed to do, I told myself. There’s no answer. All that’s left is to ensure there are no broken doors, windows, or open entrances into the house, and you can leave.

​

An old house like this? With no broken doors or windows? Yeah, right. But I tried to ignore that cynical voice within me which had the tendency to be so extraordinarily loud.

I circled the residence. On the back side, I found a storage space between the lower seated garage and the more elevated house. There had once been a small access panel covering the crawls space, but it had since been removed. I heard water splashing from inside. I shone my flashlight into the area. It was tight, only three feet off the ground. Deep within the enclosure I could see plumbing along the ceiling, some of which was cracked and leaking water, aged with rust. Along the walls hung a thick layer of that same yellowish mold, some of which trailed to the floor along several steady streams of water. With my face so close to the compressed area, the odor of the mold finally hit me all at once. A bitter yet acidic smell, like that of a dying swamp, stung my nostrils. I held my sleeve to my nose.

But there was something else in that place, something that froze me to my bones. A sofa, an end table, a mattress, and several trash bags of clothes. It wasn’t the fact these items were present, but rather how they were positioned. They’d been used… someone was or had been living in here. Living three feet from floor to ceiling, pipes overhead, and water rushing down the walls, all while the yellowish mold infected and overwhelmed the area.

Who would live like this? How could they live like this? I wasn’t even enclosed in the crawl space and already I could feel the fumes tunneling into my skull.

“Police, is anyone here?” I called out but did not receive a reply. I continued.

I reached the back patio and attempted the sliding glass door to see if it was left unlocked. No luck. I shined my light into the house. There I saw a figure staring back at me.

“Shit!” I shouted as I jumped and placed my hand on my holstered firearm.

The figure didn’t move. I flashed my light back and forth, calling out again. They were completely motionless. On closer inspection I could see it was a mannequin, wearing several thick layers of clothes. I shined my light into other areas of the room. Stacks and stacks of clothes, some in trash bags, were piled from floor to ceiling.

As I turned to leave, a flash of color caught my eye. I moved the light over to the door that led into the hallway beyond. There was that yellow mold again. It clung to the doorknob, but nothing else. I shivered at the sight of it.

I finished my investigation around the exterior of the house. I was relieved to find no unlocked doors or other entrances into the decaying mansion, for that would mean I’d have to check the entire residence. But if every entrance was secured, and there were no signs of distress, I could legally state I did everything in my power to check on the welfare of the home without having permission or a warrant to break into the location.

As I reached the front of the house, I turned to walk down the narrow driveway when I saw it. An image that filled me with such dread I felt the energy in my body drain. A handprint on the handle of the garage door. A handprint in the form of the yellow mold.

How had I not seen it before?

I cautiously stepped toward the door, approaching what I could only define as an insidious omen. As I neared the handprint, I felt the air thicken and it was harder for me to breathe. A sour taste pinched my jaw, swallowing became impossible.

I stood before the garage, praying it was locked.

I reached under the lip of the door. Slowly, I pulled it toward me.

Immediately the garage door rolled together like the wave of an ocean before abruptly ending with a CRASH.

I was motionless.

There wasn’t a single sound except for my heart thundering in my chest.

“I have an unlocked door,” I said over the radio.

“10-4, en route” replied Wilson.

Great, I thought sarcastically. But even Wilson was better than no one. I just hoped he really was on his way and wasn’t taking his time, waiting for me to put out a ‘disregard’ call.

As the open garage loomed before me, I noticed it was as cluttered as I would’ve guessed. Trash and clothes were scattered about in an absolute hazard. There was a steep staircase which zigzagged upward until it was out of view, clearly attaching the garage to the more elevated mansion which hugged the hillside.

Then, to defy the thought that the whole incident couldn’t become more disorienting, there was a vehicle which was utterly out of place. A pristine Mercedes-Benz, newest model. It had no dust or cobwebs and no scratches or dents.

I shouted again, hoping my voice would carry further into the mansion from my location.

“Police! Is anyone home!?”

Silence.

I repeated the call out again. Still, nothing.

Biding my time before my partner’s arrival, I radioed in a license-plate check for the Mercedes. The vehicle came back to a Clavice Ergot, registered to the same address.

I shone my light into the Mercedes to ensure it was empty. The seats were not only spotless, but there was only one item in the vehicle, untouched by dust or soot. A box of some kind of grain... wheat?

Everything else was clean inside the vehicle except for two places: the steering wheel and the gear shift. Both were thoroughly covered in the same type of yellow mold I had seen below the house, on the doorknob, and on the garage door.

The hair stood on my neck as if a primitive alarm within me was attempting to warn me of some ancient malevolence which stained this godforsaken home.

How I wish I would’ve listened.

I heard creaking on the floorboards above. My heart raced. I shouted out in an attempt to confront the mysterious noise as much as my own fear.

“Ms. Ergot, is that you?! It’s the Police! We just want to make sure you’re alright!”

No reply.

The silence became unbearably loud, overcoming my senses, blurring even my vision. I flashed my light at the stairwell, but my eyes could barely see past the haze of blackness. A breeze from the level above raced out, carrying with it the same overwhelming bitter smell. I reached for my radio.

“Unit en route, ETA?”

“Im-shh-… about… shh-teen.”

Did he say sixteen minutes?

“10-9 your last?” I asked.

“Im-shh-… thirteen minutes-shh,” replied Wilson.

That son of a bitch. He should nearly be here by now.

Flipping my flashlight off, I waited in the silent, dark garage, hoping that if my light was out that whoever was here might be careless and make more noise. It must’ve worked.

The floorboards from the stairwell above the garage creaked again, like the sound of someone shifting their weight. I quickly flashed my light toward the stairs and called out.

“Police! Whoever is there, make yourself known!”

It was quiet again. And again, that noxious, bitter odor wafted to me.

My skin crawled as if being scanned by a thousand feelers. I felt every instinct within me attempt to pry me from my spot. But my pride was stronger than my intuition. I didn’t want to face Wilson at my vehicle. He would question as to why I didn’t wait at the house in case I could’ve spotted some burglar attempting to leave the residence.

I heard something again, but it was more than creaking wood.

“Hellllllllll….”

The word trailed off like a dying whisper.

“Who is there?! Come out!”

Silence again for the length of marathon minute.

“Helllllllp….”

Dammit. Every officer knows calls for help cannot be ignored. I reached for my radio again.

“I’m hearing calls of distress. Entering the residence.”

“Calls of distress,” repeated the dispatcher. “Emergency radio-shh-.. for Rogers.”

“Ten-shh..- out,” replied Wilson. I could hear his tone change from boredom to something more serious.

The radio signal was slipping away the longer I stayed on Crosswords Hill. But I couldn’t wait ten more minutes for Wilson to arrive before entering the home.

I removed my firearm and turned on my gun light before climbing the stairwell. I crept into the darkness slowly, each wooden step creaking and echoing into the vaulted ceiling above me like a haunted organ welcoming the mansion’s newest guest.

As I reached the platform above, I could see the door adjoining the garage to the home was cracked open.

“Police! Is anyone home?”

There was silence again. An instinct within me told me it was the silence of a predator before an attack. But again, my pride would not yield to my intuition.

I opened the door and flashed my gun light down the hallway. To my immediate right sat a kitchen, with food sprawled across the counter. I was disturbed to find some of the food was moldy, but not all, indicating someone had been living here recently. There was a fresh can of peaches opened on the counter without any sign of mold or rot.

I looked at the fridge and observed its handle was covered in the yellowish mold.

I shone my light to a large pantry at the other end of the kitchen. The door was open. Inside the pantry was a haphazard assortment of different boxes, some piled up to about my height. On closer inspection I could see it was more boxes of wheat, like the one I had seen in the car. I'd never seen so much wheat in a domestic kitchen.

Continuing through the old hallway, I flashed my light into the room at the very end. My heart nearly exploded in my ribcage. At the end of the room were three figures covered in thick layers of clothes. Shining my light at them I could tell it was three mannequins like the one I had seen at the back of the house. Along the walls sat piles of clothes, some in bags and others just folded and stacked.

Trying to make sense of the situation, I guessed that Ms. Ergot was an older lady who fancied herself a tailor. Maybe one of her piles of clothes fell onto her and she was trapped, needing help.

“Ms. Ergot?” I asked. “Clavice Ergot, where are you?”

Again, silence.

I continued through the house until I found the grand entrance. I froze. There was a pile of trash bags near the door, some of which were opened. It was filled with clothes that had been contaminated by yellowish mold. A malignant odor of bitterness and acidic waste filled my nostrils. I took a step back, coughing. A pathway had been cleared through the bags to one of the black windows which stretched the length of the grand doorway. And on the window was an imprint of two hands in cupping motion, the same motion one would make to peer through a window glare. And yellow mold outlined the handprints.

A chill ran through my core like the windless ripples of a phantom. Had someone been staring at me? Was someone watching me from this front window? No, that’d be absurd. That mold must’ve been there at least a week.

I coughed again pushing the acidic, yet bitter taste from my mouth. There was a stairwell behind me which must’ve led to the bedrooms.

​

I climbed the staircase where I was met by yet another dark hallway. Four doorways were ahead of me. I paused, shining my light on each door and calling out to the darkness, but with no reply. Two doorways had names written above the frame. The one on the right said “Ergot” and the one at the end read “Clavice.” The name Clavice was excessively scratched out and marred.

That’s odd, I thought to myself. The registration to the vehicle outside came back to a Clavice Ergot, one name. One person. But this-

I heard floorboards creaking from Clavice’s room.

I paused, terrified of who or what I might find inside that room. Again, I thought I heard a voice, but it was quieter.

“Hehhhhhh….”

Like the sound of someone beginning to ask for help but ending in an exhale.

This time I didn’t call out. I didn’t know what it was in me, but somehow, I knew whatever was behind that door wasn’t someone needing help. I wasn’t even sure it was a person. But I pushed that absurd thought from my mind. I was a cop. I was here to help, not be intimidated by childish fears of what may hide in the dark.

I felt lightheaded and I swallowed hard.

Where was Wilson? I attempted to call him on my radio, but there was no service in this rundown mansion so close to the cliff-side. I could only hope he’d find the place quickly.

I delved deeper into this abandoned ruin, approaching Clavice’s room. As I did, the stench from the mansion’s mold assaulted me fiercely and stung my eyes. The house’s antibodies were becoming aware that I, the intruder, was approaching its heart.

I reached the door and opened it. The odor was unbearable. The smell of rotting flesh, mixed with the acidic stench of a dying swamp encased my whole being like an ethereal body bag.

I took a step back, coughing and covering my mouth.

Beneath that acidic bitter scent was another I recognized. It was the smell of something bloated and decaying. I composed myself before reentering the room. Walking in carefully as to not disturb the mold on the floor, I flashed my light around the cluttered room. Particles floated in front of my light, and I could feel some enigmatic thickness in the atmosphere.

Some of the walls were decayed and missing entirely. But over every inch of wall that remained, yellow mold was dripping down in streaks. I noticed the floor wasn’t too far behind the state of the walls. I could scarcely make out something superficial scratched upon the surface of the largest wall. Only one part of a sentence remained legible. The first word was too damaged.

—— HER IN.

I saw the writing again in several other places along the walls, but the rest of the sentences were even more degraded or hidden beneath yellow mold. I wouldn't be touching this mold.

I heard water dripping from the bathroom further within the room. I crept toward the door which was partially opened, the water getting louder the closer I got. My eyes darted to an open letter on the table beside the bathroom door. I shined my light on it briefly, skimming across its contents.

‘You will learn… closer than you think… breathe her in…. behind you…’

I paused, a frigid chill running along my spine as I reread the last words. I could feel something watching me.

​

My knees nearly buckled from some sudden weakness and my body felt drained of strength. I turned.

A shadow, incoherently and paradoxically dense, was standing in the middle of the room, staring at me. I froze. Horror flooded the very core of my being as my physical senses waged a war with my mind, currently in disbelief of what I saw. With a sudden scream, the shadow shot forward.

I let out a cry of terror and stumbled backwards. The back of my legs hit the edge of the tub. I fell back into the shower curtain, landing in the tub on something soft. The shower curtain was ripped from the wall and fell on top of me.

​

I was encased in an aura of that swamp-like stench, bitter and acidic smells swarming my nostrils and mouth like the taste of bile. The repugnance overpowered me, and I gagged, scrambling to pull the curtain off. I looked up and saw etched words all over the walls, the phrase repeating over and over like a legion of occult chants shouting all at once.

BREATHE HER IN. BREATHE HER IN. BREATHE HER IN.

I felt something beneath me squeeze and give way under my weight. I turned and looked to see what had broken my fall.

It was the body of an old woman, decomposing and covered in yellow mold. Her mouth was open, and her eyes were gone from her sockets.

I puked.

The stench continued to assault and berate me, the acid in the air now stinging my eyes and making my vision blurry.

I scrambled to pull myself up, but as I placed my hand into the tub for support, I felt the skin of the body slough away from her skeleton. I slipped, landing again into the mold which exploded into the air.

My vision was utterly destroyed, particles floating into my eyes and making them itch and water. I attempted to hold my breath, but it was useless. Every time I tried to inhale, I gathered a mouthful of contaminated air overwhelming me with particles of mold and decomposition.

I heard whispers now. Most of the voices were indiscernible, but a few came out clearly.

“She'll work.”

“…take her inside,” the voices whispered.

I coughed and gagged, holding back another instinct to puke.

Receiving a moment of clarity, I reached for my radio.

“Code cover,” I said.

I didn’t care if the other officers would show up and find me wading in a tub with a dead woman. I wasn’t going to risk being a victim of whatever paranormal shit was going on in this hell hole of a house.

I heard someone key up on the radio to reply, but they paused. I heard breathing.

“Breathe…” the dispatcher said.

Did she know I was panicking? Did I sound delirious?

The voice continued.

“Breathe… her in!”

It was followed by laughter.

I scrambled now, every fiber of my existence fighting to survive. Some merciful clairvoyance cut through my clouded mind, and I pushed off from the tub that was now a coffin. My heart was beating furiously, and I could feel the pulse at my cardioid artery bulging within my neck.

I was standing now. I blinked furiously, trying to clear my vision but it was no use. The acidic air stung my eyes and particles still embedded under my eyelids made vision watery. Everything was a blur and I felt like I was attempting to navigate under water.

As I fled the bathroom, a shadow from the closet stood and then come toward me, long arms and legs expanding before me.

Running from the room, I saw a mannequin at the other end of the hall that hadn’t been there before. It looked like it was covered in yellow mold. As I ran closer to it, it turned sharply toward me. I jumped and stuck out both arms, pushing the mannequin over and causing more mold to bleed into the air.

My vision was getting darker, and my throat was closing. I knew I needed to get out.

I could see the front door. As a ran to it, ambiguous shadows from the edges of my vision began to close upon me, long shadowy arms reaching out. Tears were streaming down my face from the mold spores floating in the air.

I made it to the front door and tried to open it, but it was locked. Reaching for the deadbolt, my hands slid over the door, and I nearly crashed to my knees. It was all wrong. There was no deadbolt, only the outside of the lock. As though I had been locked in from the outside. I pulled at the door, attempting to force it open, but it wouldn’t budge.

The whispering grew louder.

Slender shadows stalked toward me. I pounded at the door, attempting to break it open. The black shadows covered my vision. The room was getting darker. I screamed for help, for anyone to come save me from this. But no one was here.

​

My vision grew darker and darker, but suddenly a glimmer of hope. I heard the wails of sirens in the distance, growing louder the closer they got. I smiled, but my victory was too soon.

​

As I stared at the floor, heaving and trying to breath, two old grotesque feet appeared before my vision. And then, laughter.

I blacked out.

I had a foggy dream, a dream of me sleeping while somebody watched from the doorway. But it was over as soon as it began.

I awoke. Bright hospital lights shone from the ceiling. I attempted to move my head, but a respirator was attached to me. I looked around the room.

Wilson was sitting in a chair, playing on his phone. I rolled my eyes at the sight of him. Couldn’t it have been someone else? One of my academy mates?

“Oh hey, you’re up,” said Wilson in a voice more chipper than I had ever heard from him.

“Yeah,” I said, removing the respirator.

“I think you’re supposed to keep that on.”

I glared at him. He held his hands up defensively and changed the subject.

“You did well fighting all that toxic mold on your own. No backup. Impressive.”

This was precisely the reason why I wanted anyone else to be in this room with me. He saw my unamused glare and added, “Nah, but really. Good on ya for going in there by yourself. If someone is in distress, you did what you were supposed to.” Wilson stood up and walked to the window, stretching. “But we didn’t find anybody. Must’ve been some transient who ran out the back.”

I groaned to myself. Figures.

“So, I take it you just found the dead old lady," I said.

Wilson turned from the window and pressed his eyebrows together.

“Dead old lady?” he repeated. “Nah, just mold. And freaky mannequins.”

I sat up.

“You didn’t find the dead body in the tub?!”

He looked at me, bewildered.

“The house was thoroughly searched after we found you. No bodies. It’s been condemned due to the toxic mold, broken pipes, and weak foundation.”

“There was a body in there,” I stated firmly.

Wilson was confused but seemed to remember.

“The doctor said the mold can cause hallucinations. You probably saw some outrageous things there at the end.” He turned back to the window.

I couldn’t deny his reasoning. It made more sense than what I thought I saw.

A flood of relief started to come over me. All the questions I had, the horror I was exposed to, was vanishing. It made sense. It was the absurd manifestations of my brain on hallucinogens. But it felt so real. I had believed it all, too. The mind is powerful, they say.

I looked at the table and saw a small vase of black roses.

“Who the hell sent me that macabre gift?”

“Oh, that?” Wilson laughed. “Some woman who said she was family. Dropped it off maybe ten minutes ago.”

There was a card. I took it and read.

‘Dear sister,

Perhaps you won't be such a bitch this time. Enjoy the new 'ride.' I know I will.

-E’

Fear like a sickness flooded my gut and pulled the life from my cheeks. I felt the room begin to close in on me. In an instant I was back in that demonic house, fighting the very walls back from becoming my tomb. Wilson’s voice pulled me from my flashback.

“Huh, there she is.” He pointed to the parking-lot below the window. “Damn, nice ride.”

I shot out of bed, pulling hospital sensors and monitors along with me. One of them began beeping furiously.

“Hey, take it easy-”

“Where,” I demanded.

Wilson pointed to the parking-lot on the far side of the hospital. There she was, a woman possibly in her late twenties wearing an excessive number of layers. The style of the clothes appeared far too old for a woman her age. Her hat was large and thoroughly covered her shoulders. It didn’t match the rest of outfit, but she didn’t seem to care.

I watched her walk to a well-polished Mercedes and open the door. She turned and looked straight at me with an obscene smile. I felt a thousand ghostly spiders crawling along my skin as she entered her vehicle. She drove away.

That was the last I saw of her.

It’s been two weeks since I was cleared by the hospital. Every time I fall asleep, I have a dream of an old woman watching me from my bedroom door. And every time I see her, I feel her take one step closer. I do not know how much time is left. I don’t even know what will happen when I fall asleep again. All I know is that I’ve seen it. The greatest evil. Not the kind that creeps into homes to commit atrocious acts of violence, but the kind that creeps into your soul and makes you a slave to its insidious ambitions.