Read Online Manchester House by Donald Allen Kirch - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Donald Allen Kirch
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seen. Nowhere at all.
“Honey,” Kyle said, biting off a piece of duct tape. “You really are going to love what I have to do to the place. There is so much to do&so much to do.”
Kyle continued to “plastic up” the house. He started to question his sanity as he took a plastic sheet and started to cover up the pile of furniture in the middle of the room. What the hell was he doing? If he wasn’t insane, this was something that if he was just remodeling or painting he shouldn’t have to touch or tape down.
Still, realizing this, he continued working and talking to himself-to Cindy-in an almost controlled way.
“So much to do, dear,” Kyle repeated, inspecting his work.
Kyle approached a corner of the hallway leading to the basement door and started taping away on a plastic column which appeared to have just been placed there. Kyle mumbled to himself, wondering where the damn thing came from. It was hollow and appeared to have something inside it. Kyle couldn’t bring himself to look at the object lying within.
No. He couldn’t do that.
“I know&I know!” Kyle said to no one. “But you said that&you said&” Kyle started to cry, realizing, screaming-a mad man. “Of course I am. I’m a happy man.”
Kyle was forced to look into the hollow column.
His eyes filled with awareness and tears.
He strained to keep the smile on his face.
Inside the thing, Kyle saw the remains of his wife Cindy. Her hands seemed to be frozen, clawing away at the plastic tomb she was encased in, giving him the impression that she had been buried alive. Her fingers, bloody stubs of insane panic, stuck helplessly to the plastic. Kyle gasped, noticing that she had been violently stabbed, her throat was cut, and her eyes had been removed.
“So that was what I put in the kitchen skillet,” Kyle remarked, referring to Cindy’s missing eyes.
Kyle couldn’t control himself any longer. He started to laugh uncontrollably.
He was mad.
“Everything’s all right now,” Kyle stated, tapping on the plastic, playing with Cindy’s dead body. “Remember, honey? Remember what they said?” He paused, staring off into space as if witness to a movement or shadow no one else was privy to. “I’m a very happy man!”
Overcome with an urge to keep moving, Kyle started to hang up another row of plastic tarps.
He reached for a new roll of duct tape.
* * *
One month later&
Several weeks had passed and no one had seen Kyle or Cindy and people were starting to get worried. They were both warned about purchasing Manchester House, but to no avail. They were not native to the town and the townies hadn’t taken to either of them rather well.
It was only after Kyle’s friends had demanded that Lt. Wells take some people out to the house to see if all was okay that anyone discovered what had happened.
“Going to scrape up another poor bastard at the mansion, Al?” someone had joked as he went to his patrol car.
Lt. Wells said nothing. He was only thankful for the fact that, at least this time, the call to go to the mansion had come before he had a chance to eat dinner.
“They should tear that damn place down to the ground, then burn the ground,” was all Wells could bring himself to say.
Approaching the mansion, all looked normal. It always did.
Wells entered the mansion with the set of keys the Atchison Police had always kept on hand. Both Kyle and Cindy had been informed that the City Council would not sell the property to them unless this last was agreed to. He and his accompanying detective inspected several rooms of Manchester House. The entire house was covered with plastic. Empty rolls of duct tape could be seen littering the floor as the detective and his man passed everything.
There was no sign of life.
“Mr. Peters?” Wells said, almost in a whisper. The quiet of the place had caused his voice to magnify and carry. “AtchisonPolice. Some of your friends had been concerned&” He trailed off, never expecting an
“Honey,” Kyle said, biting off a piece of duct tape. “You really are going to love what I have to do to the place. There is so much to do&so much to do.”
Kyle continued to “plastic up” the house. He started to question his sanity as he took a plastic sheet and started to cover up the pile of furniture in the middle of the room. What the hell was he doing? If he wasn’t insane, this was something that if he was just remodeling or painting he shouldn’t have to touch or tape down.
Still, realizing this, he continued working and talking to himself-to Cindy-in an almost controlled way.
“So much to do, dear,” Kyle repeated, inspecting his work.
Kyle approached a corner of the hallway leading to the basement door and started taping away on a plastic column which appeared to have just been placed there. Kyle mumbled to himself, wondering where the damn thing came from. It was hollow and appeared to have something inside it. Kyle couldn’t bring himself to look at the object lying within.
No. He couldn’t do that.
“I know&I know!” Kyle said to no one. “But you said that&you said&” Kyle started to cry, realizing, screaming-a mad man. “Of course I am. I’m a happy man.”
Kyle was forced to look into the hollow column.
His eyes filled with awareness and tears.
He strained to keep the smile on his face.
Inside the thing, Kyle saw the remains of his wife Cindy. Her hands seemed to be frozen, clawing away at the plastic tomb she was encased in, giving him the impression that she had been buried alive. Her fingers, bloody stubs of insane panic, stuck helplessly to the plastic. Kyle gasped, noticing that she had been violently stabbed, her throat was cut, and her eyes had been removed.
“So that was what I put in the kitchen skillet,” Kyle remarked, referring to Cindy’s missing eyes.
Kyle couldn’t control himself any longer. He started to laugh uncontrollably.
He was mad.
“Everything’s all right now,” Kyle stated, tapping on the plastic, playing with Cindy’s dead body. “Remember, honey? Remember what they said?” He paused, staring off into space as if witness to a movement or shadow no one else was privy to. “I’m a very happy man!”
Overcome with an urge to keep moving, Kyle started to hang up another row of plastic tarps.
He reached for a new roll of duct tape.
* * *
One month later&
Several weeks had passed and no one had seen Kyle or Cindy and people were starting to get worried. They were both warned about purchasing Manchester House, but to no avail. They were not native to the town and the townies hadn’t taken to either of them rather well.
It was only after Kyle’s friends had demanded that Lt. Wells take some people out to the house to see if all was okay that anyone discovered what had happened.
“Going to scrape up another poor bastard at the mansion, Al?” someone had joked as he went to his patrol car.
Lt. Wells said nothing. He was only thankful for the fact that, at least this time, the call to go to the mansion had come before he had a chance to eat dinner.
“They should tear that damn place down to the ground, then burn the ground,” was all Wells could bring himself to say.
Approaching the mansion, all looked normal. It always did.
Wells entered the mansion with the set of keys the Atchison Police had always kept on hand. Both Kyle and Cindy had been informed that the City Council would not sell the property to them unless this last was agreed to. He and his accompanying detective inspected several rooms of Manchester House. The entire house was covered with plastic. Empty rolls of duct tape could be seen littering the floor as the detective and his man passed everything.
There was no sign of life.
“Mr. Peters?” Wells said, almost in a whisper. The quiet of the place had caused his voice to magnify and carry. “AtchisonPolice. Some of your friends had been concerned&” He trailed off, never expecting an
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