The House on Jackson Street

I hated the Jackson Street patrol hit. As a rent-a-cop for Night Owl Security, I was paid to go places where people shouldn't be and in places, like Jackson Street, where people didn't want to be. Once during an overtime day shift I had watched kids and even adults cross the street to pass the house. They preferred to walk next to Saint John's Cemetery rather than the dark 2 story box with twin Victorian turrets. If I had known what this night would bring, I would have pencil whipped my log and moved on. But I didn't.

As I sat watching the house through the rain spattered windshield, I got the feeling, as I did every night, that the house was also watching me. On a block of other turn of the century pseudo-Victorian houses, it was in itself all alone. I could see the next door neighbor's house with its vibrant blue and dull slate color scheme just fine. My destination sat almost invisible, wearing its dark brown shake siding like some sort of camouflage to hide it from God. When the old timer who had lived there died, the only heir that could be found just wanted the house sold. Five years later, and on the market for a price that a laid off buggy whip maker with a credit score of 250 could afford, it still sat vacant. I had heard that most prospective buyers figured out that vacant didn't necessarily mean empty. Nobody but us paid help ever went into that house twice.

"Just do it."

My own voice gave me a start. I sounded pretty confident to myself, so I swung the patrol car door open, stepped out into the pouring rain, and walked like I had a purpose right to the front door. I had the deadbolt key ready to go when I reached the front door, so I unlocked the door, let myself in, and promptly locked the door behind me. The house was nearly pitch black inside, but there was a light switch at the bottom of the staircase a mere 6 feet away. I took a step towards the switch, and blessed light, and my feet left the floor and proceeded in an arc that would take them temporarily above my head. My head slammed into the polished hardwood floor, and darkness closed in.

It was quiet. The rain had stopped drumming on the roof, and the darkness was replaced by a warm glow from the light of a full moon filtering through the windows. I lay still for a moment blinking the fuzz away and then slowly sat up. My back was soaking wet, and wet was soaking through the seat of my pants. Wonderful, slipped in a puddle and knocked myself silly. I touched the back of my head to see if a lump had risen yet and touched a warm, thick wet. That's when the smell hit me, the thick, coppery smell of blood, a lot of blood. In moonlight blood looks black, and when I looked at my hand it was covered in black. Looking down I could see the puddle I was sitting in wasn't water; it was black, and thick. Then I heard the scream.

It was a child's scream, and not the kind you hear on a roller coaster, rather a scream you would hear as a lawn mower ran over their foot. It came from upstairs, and was stopping only long enough to take breaths. As I gained my feet and drew the .45 automatic from its holster I saw him. In my analytical mind I put the pieces back together and determined that he had been 5 or 6 by his body size. It had been in his blood that I had laid. My rational mind went into hyper drive and then shut off as if it knew this was merely the prelude to a much bigger nightmare.

The screaming stopped.

I turned back to my task and moved up the stairs quickly, my pistol sweeping back and forth across the open hallway railing above me, no thinking, just the actions training pounds into your head until they are habit. The stairs ended at the back of the 40 foot hallway that bisected the second story of the house. Once there, I made the 180 degree turn and could see the length of the hallway, and the source of the screams.

She looked to be about 4, and she would never grow any older. She was suspended upside down, her tiny ankles held by the huge hand of the man dressed in a blood spattered white uniform of the sort milkmen used to wear complete with the overseas cap. His other hand held the cleaver that had taken the girls head off. I watched as the cleaver rose, then fell. Her little arm making a soft plop into the lake of blood in which he stood.

BOOM!

I don't remember pulling the trigger, but the hallway lighting up from the muzzle flash and the roar of the shot in the confined space left no doubt that I had.

He turned and looked at me. No, that's not quite right, he looked right into me. I lined the sights up with the middle of his chest.

BOOM!

His head cocked slightly and he dropped the girl.

BOOM! BOOM!

He took a step, unfazed by what I knew were center mass hits

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The fresh magazine was going in as the empty one hit the floor. He kept coming, malevolence in his dark, evil eyes.

Seven more shots went downrange. I could see the curtain at the end of the hallway dancing as each slug passed through it. I couldn't possibly be missing, but he never even flinched, and as I slapped my last magazine in place he was almost on top of me. I dove into the stairwell as the cleaver hissed by my face.

I fired wildly as I slid down the stairs on my back. I saw the newel post explode with one shot, and a geyser of plaster from the wall with another. But most of my attention was drawn to the pure hate I saw in his face.

Once again my head slammed into the hardwood floor.

I awoke lying in a puddle of water by the front door surrounded by paramedics and cops. It was pretty tense for a few minutes with the cops talking about how I needed to go to jail for discharging my weapon 21 times for no reason, then one of them saw what was under a stair tread that one of the big slugs had torn off.

They saw a little skull.

The sun was just coming up and there was promise of a beautiful day in the cloudless sky when they finally let me go. As I walked back to my patrol car, probing the massive knot on the back of my head and trying not think about what I saw and did, I saw them. They were right across the street holding hands. The little girl smiled, and then they were gone.