Let the Buyer... Beware!

Doug Donnan

Executive Editor/OM-GEN+

donnan.doug@yahoo.com

"Let the Buyer... Beware!"

by

Doug Donnan

"Well Peter, why don't we just try going around to the back door," Mrs. Magdellana

suggested as she played the piercing light of her long metal Ray-O-Vac all around and

about the slightly bowing wood and plank porch of the three story country clapboard

house's rather eerie facade. "You must have gotten your signals crossed with that real

estate lady this morning dear. This front door seems to be bolted or pad locked tight

from the 'inside'. That key you got from her seems to work but--"

"That's really very odd," her husband rudely cut in with a frustrated whisper as he

jiggled at the brass and cut-glass doorknob. "Quite frankly Mary, I don't think I'd

feel real comfortable about going around to the back, for a number of reasons. I don't

know. There's 'something' not quite right about this neighborhood... this whole area

I mean. It's so damn quiet for one thing and for another--"

"Oh nonsense Peter," she now cut back as she splashed the flashlight's blatant beam

up into his squinting brown eyes. "You're just imagining things. You've got to stop

reading all those damn Stephen King horror books. It's making you a basket case.

You're becoming afraid of your own shadow lately for Christ's sake."

He put a hand up to try and fend off the light's blinding beam. A slight scowl swept

across his full and frowning face.

"Okay... okay then," he tried. "Let's just take a stroll down the porch here and see

if we can't find an unlocked window or something. I mean if we're going to act like

common cat burglars... we might as well do it 'right' don't you agree?"

"Really Peter," she blew out in reply. "Such drama, you and Stephen King. Which

of his ten thousand tomes did you get 'that' from... Pet Semetary or some place?

Okay, come on then, we might as well try as long as we've come all the way out here."

They rotated around there in the darkness just beneath the rather daunting overhang

of the porch's white column supported roof. An amber, sneak-a-peek full moon looked

down indifferently just over the jutting portico at the tentative tip-toeing twosome as

they made their way off down into the dark shadows of the cemetery silent house's

creaky front porch.

*       *       *

'Shliik''

"Whatn' the hell was that?" Peter snapped as he was deftly fingering around the

outside casement of the last window. He looked over his shoulder at his previously wary,

now frozen-in-fear, wife.

"I... I don't know," she stammered, wanting the while to simply say "What was what?"

and write it off as just another one of her fantasizing husband's numerous in-again-out-

again trance-like Stephen King moments.

"So you... you heard it too?" he whispered. "Jesus Christ...that was freakin' spooky."

"Uh... yes, yes I did. Maybe it was... just the wind dear... or some kind of animal or

other," she tried in decidedly petrified hesitation.

"What wind or 'animal' would that be?" he let loose of the window frame and felt and

looked all up and down the silent shadows that the sallow moon presented to them over

the tarpaulin covered porch furniture. He accepted the flashlight that she now timidly

offered him and stepped slowly, silently around her. She grabbed out in a panic for his

free hand as if he might be leaving her behind and all alone to go on some dark journey

or mysterious moonlit adventure.

"Come on," he chided. As he inched away he all but towed her along just behind him.

"'That' sounded like it came from over at the front door."

They were scared.

*        *        *

Then... in time:

"May I be of some service Mr. and Mrs. Magdellana?" the little dark shadowy face

with what can only be described as glowing, orange ember-like eyes inquired with a

wry smile through a parting portion of the slightly ajar oaken front door.

Team Magdellana was more than slightly taken aback for a variety of reasons, not

the least of which was how in the hell does this odd little face and fellow in the

daunting doorway know their name?

"Well... I, yes... yes I think so sir," Peter chanced as he switched off the flashlight in

deference to the now lit and luminescent front door's two affixed midnight black iron

and glass electric lanterns. "Are you by any chance the caretaker here... just here

at this house?" he tried.

There was an extremely odd pregnant pause as the two skittish house hunters

analyzed, and nervously awaited for the answer to the posed question by the prowling,

potential cat-burglar.

Then...

"The caretaker?" the burning eyes-voice asked, almost hissed, through the ever so

slowly, widening crack in the creaking front door. "Well, I guess it would only be

completely fair and honest to say that I am in fact rather 'persnickety' when it comes

right down to the care and upkeep of my humble home here. Please, won't you come in?

I can give you nice folks the three penny tour, by candlelighI'm afraid to say, for the

electrical power all throughout the inside is minimal at best."

The Magdellanas shared a split-second shoulder shrug there in the shadows and replied

almost harmoniously... "Sounds good Mr.--"

"Hobb... if its my 'name' that you are groping for," he interupted as he swung wide the

door in anticipation. "Right this way please gentle folks. Follow me... if you dare-- will,"

he quickly adjusted

"After you sir, Mr. ...'Hobb'," Peter offered back cordially as they cautiously stepped

inside and off into the flickering candlelit depths that began just there at the scuffed

(were those hoof prints? Peter wondered) wooden stoop. The creaky and creepy front

door seemed to withdraw back on its weathered brass and tack hinges, voluntarily, to

allow for the twosome's cautious, yet still completely voluntary entry, into this decidedly

queer and eerie house.

*     *     *

As things, be they odd and queer or otherwise, turned out the Magdellanas did in

candlelit-fact take a far from sanguine tour of the entire house. They had, eventually,

after much consternation, decided there in the hallway to hallway, room to room,

flickering light and shadows to go ahead and put in a low level, but in their discerning

minds, both fair and appropriate, bid for the rustic 'House of Hobb'.

But, just before making their announcement to him of their intent to make an offer to buy,

Hobb turned about abruptly and clubfoot-cantered off for a less than conspicuous slanting

doorway back in the shadows just beneath the looming red carpeted steps and ballroom

balustrade that lead up to the second floor. They stood there in wonderment as they

watched the decidedly odd little fellow withdraw off into the darkness holding the sole

candelabrum out in front of himself as though he might be going off to explore some dank

and daunting unknown cavern or mysterious vestibule.

"Uh, Mr. Hobb," Peter tried almost reluctantly as he squinted off at the hunched and

hobbling gnomish figure. "May I ask sir, where you are--"

"Forgive me. I must see to something I've forgotten down in the dung-- 'rathskeller',"

Hobb corrected as spoke without turning round. "Please just resort to your metal

hand torch. I shouldn't be 'too' very long... if all goes well."

"But..."

Hobb had already opened and very soon, now silently, cat-like, disappeared through the

triangulated basement door. There was then only a faint and gradually fading clomp...

clomp... clomp as he slowly descended, down-and-down, the hardwood steps.

Peter switched on the fading flashlight. They looked at each other, owl-eyed with a

melancholic exasperation. They stood there in the dark and listened. They were alone.

However, the hurried Hobb had, for reasons due to either haste or happenstance, left

the little angular cellar door slightly ajar.

*      *      *

"Jesus Christ!" Peter whisper-shouted. "What in the hell did he mean... "if all goes well?"

"I don't know," Mary replied as she slightly shook her head there in the dimming glare of

the dying Ray-O-Vac that Peter was holding just beneath the point of her chin. "Oh the hell

with it all Peter," she popped out disgustedly. "I say we just go down there. I mean for

heaven's sake. We haven't seen the rathskel... 'basement' yet anyway. "I say we just go

on down there. I mean after all we should be allowed... 'entitled' to, don't you think? We do

want to buy the damn place... don't we?"

"I don't know Mary dear," Peter floundered a bit in nervous hesitation. "I just don't think

that we should--

"Oh Come on," she snatched away the flashlight and shook it a bit like an altar boy ringing

a silver bell. "You and that insane Stephen King nonsense again. Let's go. This time...

you follow me."

*     *     *

So, step by step they went slowly, cautiously, silently, into the downstairs darkness

with the now undaunted Mary Magdellana leading the brave little subsurface safari.

They eventually reached the bottom step. Then, with a vise-grip on each other's hand,

stepped off onto the dank and indifferent concrete flooring. Mary played the light's

beam all around and about them there in the massive, tomb-like cellar. Boxes, a few

suspended bicycle frames with balloonish tires attached, the odd table or two seemingly

punished somehow off in a corner, a vast assortment of other plastic wrapped

basementish bric-a-brac and other nebulous, spider-web adorned sundries. But, for the

most part, there was nothing outlandish or out of the ordinary.

However...

*   *   *

"Look over there," Mary whispered excitedly.

"What... where?" Peter's shocked reply.

"Way over in that corner back there, just past that wall of dusty old books and papers

stacked up. See?" she rang the silver bell-light again to try and get some more

illuminating power out of it. "It's some sort of storage or preserves pickling room.

There's a slant of light coming from just under the bottom crack of the door. Come on!

I bet ol' Hobb is in there. He's up to something. Let's go check it out!"

"I don't know," Peter was now beyond whining. He was almost crying. "Let's just

forget this place Mary dear. Let's just go back to the car and call it a day. This house

probably isn't the right place for us anyway. Let's just get out of--"

"Damn it Peter," she shouted wildly. "COME ON!" still louder yet.

And, at that, the far off door in question burst open as if there had been some type

of heat backdraft or explosion. An overpowering black-crimson blast of light and firey

heat burst out like some sweeping sweltering sunspot or exploding star's uncontrollable

feral corona. Out stepped and stepped what must of at one time been the very caretaker

Mr. Hobb. He was now much taller and his humped back had grown more erect, yet it

was still somewhat bent forward as if he were completely capable of jumping, perhaps

leaping both out and far forward at any will or whim. He was draped from now pointy,

elongated head to hoof in red scarlet cape and cowl. His eyes however, hadn't changed

since they had met him at the front door of the house. They were still both glowing

orange charcoal piece embers.

He was not happy with their rude intrusion down into his private, unholy sanctum.

"What are you about... down here?" he bellowed and then stepped over,

tap-scrape... tap-scrape... tap-scrape towards them... coming and still coming...

cantering, with equine-like hooves, legs slightly bent forward, jutting out, impossibly,

from under the cover of his long and draping red velvet cape.

There was nothing to be said at this point. The Magdellenas had seen and heard

much more than enough. They bolted for the steps, tripping and screaming hysterically

as they went. Up the steps, across the long and dark narrow hallway, out the front door,

across the circuitous pea-stone driveway, to the familiarity and comfort of their warm

and waiting Volvo hatchback. They assumed their positions at the car's doors. Peter

wiggled the ignition keys aloft and Mary did likewise with the petered-out flashlight.

"Let's get the hell outa' here!" they shouted at each other in two-part harmony.

___ The End ___