The Red Route

We crept up to the house stealthily; silent, like a cat stalking his prey. In this case we were the prey, although we never knew that until the feeling of being watched loomed over us, like bad body odor. This part of the woods had been untouched for ages--the townspeople too scared of this old house to use the path that came this way.

Over the decades, the earth had reclaimed the spaces between the cracked brick driveway. Now you could hardly tell what was the path and what was the forest.

When I was beginning to regret hiking the way we were going, the thick wall of forest parted magically. Shortly after, as we were making our way through the weeds, rain as hard as hail came down. Thunder that shook the ground followed lightning and what started as an innocent hike in the forest turned to a horror scene, something made for movies. What made the rain worse was that we were weary with the hiking; we had gone at least ten miles to get to the romantic picnic area out in the country.

We had heard from the hotel receptionist that up that path, ten miles, would be a turn to the picnic area. Turns out, she was wrong. Her exact words were: “Up ten miles of this trail,” she had pointed to the red outline of the trail we were on, “there is a gorgeous picnic area. We tell all our clients to go there. It’s simply lovely.” She smiled. At the time I thought this was a hopeful, knowing smile, but thinking back it was malicious and evil, as if she knew something bad was to come.

Finally, we came up to something that resembled a house. It was decripet, dangerous-looking and dilapidated, but still you can see the framework of an old eighteenth century mansion. The place loomed over us with a watchfull muteness that can chill you to the bone just by looking at it. The garden showed evidence of life, and the place looked like it would have been perfect for a Halloween theme party.

“I don’t think we’re in the right place, Rose.” said Edward beside me, quietly, as if not to spook ghosts back to existence. His arms were shielding his bent head from the hail-like rain. I was doing much the same thing, but using my coat as an extra cover.

“I totally agree. This isn’t what you’d call my idea of a romantic get away.”

“Maybe she gave us the wrong path?” He asked, hopeful that we had just turned at the wrong place. On the way here he had said that the lady was nice, and like himself, he wanted to keep thinking she was.

“No,” I answered, a little louder, “I don’t think so.”


We hastily made our way up the porch, the stairs groaning with the years of unuse. Edward grabbed my hand and gave it a tight squeeze before we pushed the door open. We didn't know what would be in there.

On the first try, it hardly budged, but when he threw all his weight into it, it came crashing down with a loud BOOM!

There was an unsettling silence after, our breathing was hardly loud enough to count as a sound. I placed my steps ever-so slightly that only little tidbits of dust reached my nose. I held his hand tightly, looking behind our every step as he looked forward. We walked through the house. It was obvious it was abandoned years and years ago. The furniture looked like it should be in an antique shop, and even though dusty, all the peices were beautiful.

There really was no reason for our behavior, but the spook of the house and of the situation made us scared out of our wits. We had no idea what to do. Stay here for the night? Or go home?

We decided to stay here; besides, its not like many people were here, nothing can happen.

When the lightning striked that night, the sky was illuminated so bright that you can see just as well as electricity. Edward checked his watch. "Almost midnight," he whispered. We agreed to look for a bed.

We decided it would make sense to look upstairs, and so we did. I held on to the railing and his hand as we took one step at a time. These ancient stairs might give out at any time.

And finally we were at the top of the spiraling stairs, right at the end of a long, long hallway. We were getting wearier and wearier but in the room at the end of the hall we found a bed big enough for the both of us to share.

The room was grand. The walls a pretty summer blue color. A Chestnut wood canopied bed with burgundy blankets and pillows was situated in the middle of the room. There was no furniture besides the bed, but what did we need it for anyway? The two of us crawled it and fell instantly into a dark sleep.

I knew I was awake.
But at first I thought I was still dreaming.
There was still pain.
There was still yelling and groaning and crying out.

And it felt like I wasn’t ever dreaming, that I was only lying here in the spikes the whole time with my arms bound to the headboard of the canopied bed the whole time.
There was still blood around me and I was still gagged.
And someone was laughing, but not my Edward.

The curtains were drawn, and there was something in my eyes, something like knives. It felt like someone was cutting me limb from limb. And I couldn’t feel my toes or my hands anymore and I tried to clench my fists but they were gone.
And I tried screaming, but my tongue was gone.
And I tried seeing, but my eyes were useless.
I was mute, in pain, and defenseless.

I thrashed more, but the spikes were worse. And I saw ‘the light’. I thought I was dying but the only thing I did was wake up.


And then my eyes opened up again, and I was able to see again. I thought that I would have to go through the whole thing, the whole business of being tied to the headboard and thrashing and being mute, pained, and defenseless again, but I didn’t.

I sat up in the bed and looked for Edward, beacause I couldn’t hear his breathing beside me. He was gone, and something had replaced him. Its neck was broken into two angles, its spine twisted in every which way. There were holes in its body where organs should be, and its face striped of its flesh.

I screamed and bolted from the room--or at least tried, because as soon as I set foot on the mahogany wooden floor, I fell though.

I was in blood again, the house was melting from the top down and I couldn’t find Edward.

All the antique furniture was gone and replaced with gallons and gallons of blood. I swam through it in what seemed like hours and hours. I couldn’t breath without the taste or smell of blood enveloping my lungs and nostrils.

I got out.

I got out and ran and ran until I couldn’t see the house anymore, or smell the blood.

I was back to square one, back at the turn where we had thought the whole thing was wrong.

I stood there in shock everything that happened, unable to close my eyes, unable to scream. I was afraid of what I might see if I closed them. Would it be me dunking into blood again? Swimming in it? I threw up where I stood.
What happened to Edward? Where was he? Did he get out before I did?
And then I realized that the creature in the bed beside me was Edward.

I had left him there.

I finally sank to my knees, realization hitting me like a rock, and cried.
Much, much later I had the strength to get up again. I was weak with hunger and shock. The blood was starting to flow my way down the driveway.
I walked away from the house.
It took hours to get back to town.

The blood had miraculously dried from my clothes and was taken away from my mouth.
I went back to the Inn. The lady was gone.
I looked back at the pamphlet she had given us that day, with that awful smile of hers.

I looked for the trail we had taken, I looked for any mention of the house at all and of the picnic area she had suggested.
There was no house or picnic area.
There was no red route.