Door to Pandemonium

This is my submission for the The Halls of Pandemonium day seven prompt from Bradley Ramsey, as per the picture below:

When we bought the house, it was a decent price. Apparently, the owner wanted a quick sale.

My wife Daphne and I took a good few looks around it and had a surveyor give it a thorough checking out.

There were no problems found structurally, and whilst a couple of the room designs weren’t our taste, it was nothing a little spot of DIY wouldn’t fix.

Daphne and I had always enjoyed those sorts of decorating tasks that we could get stuck into. We often spent as much time laughing as fixing things up. It had always been that way with us. Laughs always to be found in the small things.

The property was detached and standing alone, with a little bit of land around it, which essentially was just a very long garden with a smattering of trees.

There was space, but also neighbouring properties spread around, so it wasn’t as though we were isolated.

We spoke to the neighbours whilst moving in and they were welcoming, but seemed to clam up when we enquired as to why the previous occupant was so keen to leave.

They mentioned that his name was Joe and he and his wife, Marie had lived there for many years. Marie apparently died suddenly but they didn’t elaborate other than to say he was never the same afterwards.

Understandable, I thought. He was apparently only in his 50s, though from our brief interactions with him, we’d thought him at least 20 years older.

Some people don’t want to stay in a ‘forever’ home, when the person that ‘forever’ was supposed to be with is no longer there.

We had no such issues, quickly getting the minor jobs done and mapping out any bigger projects.

I’d commute into work from the office, and Daphne worked in a Finance department for an insurance company who were happy to let her work remotely.

When I think back now, I rack my brain trying to think of any incidents, but the only one that came to mind was one hot summers’ night.

We had been there about six months by then and were relaxing in the garden with a couple of bottles of wine. I went in and showered and when I came downstairs, I found Daphne in the hallway, shushing me and motioning that she was trying to listen out for something.

When I reached her, she whispered that she thought she heard someone crying or saying something, but it was largely inaudible and almost whispered, itself, so she couldn’t work out what was being said.

“It’s probably the wine” I said. Daphne agreed. She didn’t drink much and it always affected her in strange ways. She headed up to bed and before I did likewise, I had a listen.

Nothing.

I didn’t think there would be anything, as there was a decent distance between us and the neighbours and nowhere in the house it could be coming from.

After that everything moved along swimmingly and we loved living in the place....

....up until nine months ago.

I’d been called into a meeting late on a Wednesday afternoon and called Daphne to let her know I’d be home late. We agreed that we’d order something in when I got home. There was a new Thai place that had recently opened which we both wanted to try, and they apparently delivered.

I arrived back at 8:30 that evening, and when I got there, the house was empty. I called out to Daphne, looking in each room.

Thinking she may have had a headache and gone to bed, I checked there, but the bed was untouched.

All other rooms, both upstairs and down were also empty.

I called her mobile. Straight to voicemail:

“Hi, it’s Daphne. I’m not free at the moment, but leave a message and I’ll call you back. Byyeee”.

This was most unlike Daphne, she was usually always leaving notes if she went anywhere, even if just to the neighbours to borrow a pint of milk.

I checked the garden, thinking she may be out there, and when I couldn’t see her I circled around and walked to our two nearest neighbours to ask if they had seen my wife, though neither had.

It was upon my returning and coming back in through the back door that I saw it:

A door that hadn’t been there before.

It was in the hallway, under the large staircase, suggesting a cupboard or storage area, which would seem perfectly normal, were it not for the fact that in the almost-two years we had been there, this door hadn’t been.

I approached it, but gave pause and tried to contact her again, calling Daphne’s phone. Same voice message.

I left a voicemail and then typed out a WhatsApp message asking her to call me, to tell me where she is. It didn’t show as read.

I thought about calling the police, though I knew that they like to give these things 24 hours.

I spoke to her last at half past four and had been looking for her since getting home for just over an hour.

The police hardly turn up for burglaries these days, so were likely to tell me she was probably visiting friends or gone for a late night jog (though I knew she did neither of those things at this time of night). I needed to leave it longer.

I stared at the door. Stepped towards it. I hesitated and then gave it a sharp knock.

Nothing.

I put my hand on the door knob and started to turn.

There was a thud from the other side.

I am not sure what I thought was waiting for me there, but I rushed back to the kitchen, grabbing a knife from the block in our kitchen, before approaching again and turning the handle.

No thud this time. No anything, the door opened soundlessly and all that stretched in front of me was darkness, save for what appeared to be candles lighting part of the walls and floor.

A long corridor that I couldn’t comprehend. It seemed to stretch further than should be scientifically possible, it went further than the house did.

I couldn’t work out if it was some sort of optical illusion or my brain panicking and seeing things that weren’t there.

I put the torch on my phone and stepped forward. The air in the improbable corridor seemed thick and I felt an onrushing sense of claustrophobia. The door remained open and I could see the light of the hallway.

I thought I heard the faint sound of a female voice, though couldn’t tell if it was Daphne or anyone else’s. It was so faint, almost whispering and no clear words were spoken and it stopped before long, returning the corridor to silence.

I edged further down and the already thick air took on a smell of rotting meat.

I gagged as I edged further along as the meat smell mixed with faeces and decay.

The whisper returned, this time cleared. It was almost a chant, repeated four times, “Pandemonium”. Then silence, once more.

I reached the end of the corridor, a wall. Nowhere to go. I waved my torch over the wall. It appeared that the letter ‘M’ had been carved into it.

Suddenly, from nowhere, there was a crackle, as though from unseen speakers and then a sound was clearly heard within the corridor:

“Hi, it’s Daphne. I’m not free at the moment, but leave a message and I’ll call you back. Byyeee”.

“Daphne” I yelled, but the message just repeated. Again and again and again.

I walked back towards the door, still clutching the knife, feeling the walls for any other doors. Any sign of Daphne.

Adrenaline and fear meant that I now ignored the smell as I passed back the way I had came.

Finally, I was back in the hallway. I closed the door.

This time I did phone the police. When they asked if I felt an intruder may be in the house with me, I replied that I wasn’t sure.

They said they would send someone and recommended I get outside if I felt safe doing so.

At this point I wasn’t sure if I was safe (or sane for that matter). I was able to get out with no problem and met them there.

They sent someone in to check the house, confirming it was empty.

I took the officer to the ‘new’ door. I didn’t mention it was never there before but mentioned that I think something in there was to do with Daphne’s sudden disappearance.

The officer opened it, and....it was just a cupboard under the stairs.

I didn’t want to act manic and have him think I was losing it but I stepped in and shone my torch around, and it was definitely a different place. It made no sense. You couldn’t fit more than a few coats in there, let alone a long corridor.

The officer urged me to get in touch if I didn’t hear from Daphne the next day.

I still haven’t heard from her.

There followed visits from the police, searches made and statements given.

They said her phone was last tracked and pinpointed in the vicinity of the house, but it has never been located. No trace ever found.

About two months after she was missing, when I was alone, I tried the door under the stairs again. I’d been doing this regularly and each time, the empty cupboard greeted me. On this occasion though, the corridor was back.

I walked down it again. No smells this time, but there were voices.

“We have her now”

“We’ll take good care of her”

“Don’t worry, you won’t hear her scream”.

“Pandemonium”

I wanted to listen in case I heard Daphne which I did, but only again via that voicemail message, which crackled through the air.

“Hi, it’s Daphne. I’m not free at the moment, but leave a message and I’ll call you back. Byyeee”.

I made my way to the wall at the end again.

This time the ‘M’ wasn’t alone in being carved into the wall

The name ‘Marie’ was there in full, instead. The name of the previous female occupant of the house.

Suddenly the top half of the wall dropped away to reveal glass.

Behind it on a table, lay a woman, or what was left of one. Some parts were only bone. Others were being nibbled on by rats and insects upon the table. A trail of what looked to be half-eaten innards protruded from below the ribcage. Spiders scurried.

I half screamed/half vomited. I wanted to look away, but also wanted to make sure it wasn’t Daphne. There wasn’t much of a face left. The eyeballs were gone and the mostly bony visage was quite sunken, but the clothing and hair all made me think it wasn’t my wife.

I sprinted out, closed the door and called the police.

To be fair to them, they came out quickly, though when they entered all that was behind the door was again a cupboard. This time it was storing mops, buckets and brooms.

They asked questions, but looked at me and spoke sympathetically. One of them recommended a doctor who may be able to provide something to help, whilst staring at me as though they thought help was definitely needed.

I wanted to be alert though, so refused any such offers.

Over the next few weeks, what was behind the the door alternated between the corridor and the cupboard.

Both were forever empty; no glass window in the corridor, just a wall at the end. Nothing carved into it and nothing in the cupboard.

The only reminder of what had been there previously was the voicemail message occasionally playing from the room sometimes when opening the door.

After months of that, I’d had enough. Whichever form the room took, I couldn’t find Daphne there.

So, I sealed the door up. Took the handle off and just plastered over the whole thing.

I needed to get back to work and concentrate on trying to find my wife. I couldn’t work out what the door and the corridor meant, but it was clear there was nothing there now. I couldn’t bear the random playing of her voicemail.

I wasn’t thrilled about staying in the house, but vowed I wouldn’t leave until she was found.

Plastering it up seemed to do the trick. No voices, no thuds and the voicemail message was no longer hard.

Eighteen months have now passed.

No sightings of Daphne, no news, and to top it off, the door has started again, even behind the plaster.

It began a couple of days ago. I passed it and there was the gentlest of thuds from that direction. I couldn’t be sure at first but when passing later, there was a much louder noise, as if something was ramming into the door, behind where I’d sealed it away.

I came downstairs last night to what sounded like a banging on the wall from behind the plaster. As soon as I stood by the sealed-up door, it stopped.

Then, this morning, something I couldn’t comprehend. As I walked by the door, I noticed the plaster had numerous lines all over, looking almost like a spider’s web had cracked into it.

I looked at it and went to the kitchen to grab a glass of water.

When I returned, what appeared to be blood started slowly flowing out of the cracks. It then stopped and a piece of thin, folded paper was pushed out of one of them.

I picked it up, unfolded it. It was half-sodden with the ‘blood’, but the liquid had left a very distinct shape in the middle of the page.

The letter ‘D’.

As I stared at it, whispers started so seep through the cracks, too. That same word again spoken, “Pandemonium”. Followed by:

“Hi, it’s Daphne. I’m not free at the moment, but leave a message and I’ll call you back. Byyeee”.

I needed to get back inside that door.

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