Greg Rapier 44 Michael Barron

MILO FLEMING’S HOUSE OF HORRORS by Michael Barron

“Today, I will build a haunted house.”

Milo stands in my bedroom doorway dressed in a black cape and glow-in-the-dark vampire fangs, which

aren’t doing much glowing with the sun pouring through my window.

I give him a thumbs up and return to my psychology term paper. Or the handful of disjointed sentences

that by midnight tonight must be transformed into a psychology term paper.

Floorboards creak as he scampers into my room. “Didn’t you hear me, Autumn? I said, ‘Today, I will

build a haunted house.’”

Without looking up, I say, “You’re a few months early, bud.”

“Anyone can do a haunted house around Halloween, but in the spring it takes a trew mastar of horrar!”

He says this last part with a low-rent Dracula accent.

When Dad left with Virginia to check out wedding venues he’d said, “This afternoon will be a great

chance to get to know Milo a little better.” Our bedrooms are connected by a bathroom. I want to know less

about my future stepbrother.

“Come on!” Milo pulls at my arm in a way only a hyperactive seven-year-old can. “Do your homework

on the porch.”

Letting myself forget about the paper for two and a half seconds, I go limp. “I’ll be your first exhibit!

See? I’m the immovable corpse!”

“There no dead people in my haunted house!” He yanks harder. “Why’re you so heavy?”

I slap his cheek.

It’s just a little slap. The other girls on the varsity softball team used to slap each other much harder when

we were just goofing around. But Milo stumbles back, eyes wide, like I might throttle him.

“Are you serious?”

Out in the hall, he peers down the staircase, as if he can’t remember where he is.

I crouch beside him. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

He nods.

“Do you want help making your haunted house?”

He wipes his nose. “I want you to be the guest.” Taking me by the hand – I’m still not used to that – he

leads me down the steps. I almost go back for my phone, but leave it. If Dad calls it’ll be on the landline, and my

friends aren’t texting me much these days.

The living room has become a jungle of potted plants since Milo and his mom moved in. Photographs

featuring Dad and me camping or stuffing our faces with hotdogs at Camden Yards still cover the wall. But

more from the past year are encroaching in, of Milo, Virginia, Dad and me on our endless daytrips to Lancaster

County where Virginia loves to go “antiquing.” Dad tries his best to pretend he loves it too.

After we pass through the kitchen, I free myself from Milo’s grip and open the hallway pantry. “Want a

granola bar?”

Movement flickers in the corner of my eye as a figure scurries across the kitchen floor, brushing my leg.

I jerk back, the taste of copper flooding my mouth. Spinning all the way around, I find someone staring at me

from the laundry room doorway.

My eyes refocus. The figure bleeds into shadows. We’re alone again.

Of course we’re alone. Milo and I are the only ones in the house.

But even so, my skin tightens as I approach the laundry room door and flick on the light. The tiny room

is empty. There isn’t even enough space for a child to hide.

A whiff of rotting meat lingers in the air. “Did you leave food out?” I ask, reluctant to turn my back on

the doorway.

“No. Come on!” Milo pulls me so hard I almost drop my laptop.

As he drags me across the kitchen and down the hallway, I look back. End of semester stress is just

my softball bat lying on the floor. “What the hell?”

“I grabbed that in case the monsters get out of hand.”

Dropping my computer on the porch swing, I pick up the bat. “This isn’t a toy.”

“Yes it is.”

“No, what I mean is…” I turn the bat over. At the end of season pizza party, almost exactly a year ago,

all the seniors signed each other’s bats. It seemed cheesy at the time but that was before Mariko moved to New

York, Summer and Carmen moved to Philly, and Hannah flew to California. We texted every day during the fall

and hung out throughout the holidays, but over these past few months the texts came less and less and plans to

visit got cancelled. They were all focused on new friends, classes and significant others, while I was left

puttering around in our sleepy hometown.

“Don’t touch my things.” With the bat in hand, I head back into the house.

“Wait!” Milo jumps in front of me. “I already set up the… I’ll put it back.”

I don’t want him in my room. “Just stick it in the closet, okay?”

Nodding, he takes the bat and walks backwards into the house. “Just wait out here while I finish

decorating, then I’ll take you through. You’ll love it. I swear.”

THE PORCH

I don’t know how long I’ve been transforming threadbare bullet points into moderately comprehensible

paragraphs when I hear the first rumble. “Milo?” I open the backdoor. “Hey! Milo!”

“Yeah?” He calls from somewhere deep inside the house.

“Are you moving furniture?”

“No.”

“Really? Cause it sounds like you’re shoving a couch around.”

“Mom says the neighbors are over a mile away.”

“I’m testing out sound effects on the speakers,” he says. “Don’t come in!”

That doesn’t scan, but it’s enough of an explanation to allow me to return to my laptop. The second my

fingers hit the keys; the rumbling starts again.

“Just more sound effects!” he shouts.

Milo was such a quiet kid when I first met him. All he did was sit at our kitchen table eating slice after

slice of pepperoni pizza while doodling robot cactuses. Virginia, who ate her pizza with a knife and fork,

practically sat on Dad’s lap, gazing at him with watery brown eyes, laughing too hard at his jokes.

After they left, Dad asked me to join him on the porch. “I want to be up front with you so it doesn’t seem

like I’m hiding anything.” He hesitated, like a boy who’d forgotten his line in the school play. Then he looked

me dead in the eye. “Virginia has a history of substance abuse.”

I kept my face absolutely motionless.

He told me about the accident that killed Milo’s father. Virginia was the one driving. She survived but

was in the hospital for weeks. Afterwards she developed an addiction to painkillers. Things escalated. She had to

go to rehab. “But she worked hard at her recovery and has been clean for twenty-one months.”

I nodded, gripping the edges of the porch swing.

If one of my friends’ future step-parents was a recovering addict I would’ve said, “People deserve

second, third, and fourth chances.” But Virginia would soon be sleeping in the same bed Dad had shared with

Mom.

I barely remember my mom or her funeral, but I do remember Dad’s sobs, sharp enough to cut skin. I

remember the way he’d grow quiet while dropping me off for sleepovers, knowing he’d soon spend the evening

alone in a silent house. That’s why I always tried to get my friends to come over rather than go to their places.

That’s the real reason I decided to stay home and do community college for a year. That’s also why when Dad

told me about Virginia’s past I forced a smile and said, “She seems nice.”

During the whole conversation, Milo was only mentioned once. Dad had just finished hugging me and

about his age. From what I hear he had a blast. Poor kid was too young to understand what his mom was going

through.”

THE HALLWAY

“Velcome!” Milo emerges from the house wearing his black cape and glow-in-the-dark vampire fangs.

“Ahre you ready tu valk the valls ov vystery?”

“What?”

“Are you ready to walk the halls of mystery?”

“Listen, I’ve got this paper due tonight. Just give me an hour to—"

“Please!” He grabs my arm. “Somebody’s gotta see it. Mom won’t like it and your dad won’t get it.”

I turn toward the door, which he’s covered in orange and black streamers. “You didn’t do anything gross

in there, did you?”

“Of course it’s gross, it’s a Chambar ov horrar!”

I suppress a smile. “Sure it is.” Promising myself I’ll be back in ten minutes; I close my laptop and pull

myself up. “Okay, chamber of horror, do your worst.”

Milo draws back the streamers. “Velcome!”

“You put my bat in the closet, right?”

Instead of answering, he leads me into the hallway. I’m expecting cardboard skeletons and plastic

spiders, but it’s more or less the way I left it. Streamers cover the far end of the hall, but otherwise there isn’t a

decoration in sight.

I do catch the scent of rotting meat again, though. “What is that?”

Milo runs up to the pantry. “Our first stop on this tour of terror…. The Cage Of The Invisible Boy.” He

yanks the door open, revealing shelves filled with bottled water and granola bars.

“I don’t see anything.”

Milo shuts the door and runs across the hall. I’m turning to follow when I hear a clatter from the pantry,

like a bunch of boxes were just knocked over. “What—

“And now, The Dreaded Horror Of The Deep.” He pulls the bathroom door back. I brace myself for

something gross or corny or both, but what I see is actually pretty cool.

The bathroom blinds are down and the lights are off, so I just barely make out what appears to be a dark

green tentacle draping out from beneath the shower curtain.

“Is that papier-mâché?”

He closes the door. “The creature holds many secrets that should never be released.” He backs away. I

follow him through the orange and black streamers covering the kitchen doorway. “And now we enter…”

THE LAIR OF THE LOST WITCH

I freeze mid-step. At first I try to convince myself that end of semester stress is getting to me again, but

I’m actually seeing this. This is real. I’ve found the source of the smell.

“Are you out of your mind?”

Everything in the kitchen – the floor, the table, the chairs, the counters and stove – is covered in a layer

of sickly yellow goo. The place looks, and smells, like someone has rubbed raw chicken over every surface,

soaking it with juices.

“My dad’s gonna blame me for this. Why would you—”

“I didn’t do it!” Milo insists. “It was the Lost Witch! We must hide before she returns.”

“No. Game’s over. We need to—”

The laundry room door slams open. A woman stumbles forward, face masked by tangles of sopping wet

hair. Rags hang from her frame. Talon-like toenails scrape the tiles.

My brain freezes, leaving me paralyzed.

Am I asleep? No, my heart is pounding so hard I would’ve woken by now.

At first she stumbles across the room, groping at the counters. When she finally notices us, she produces

a school-girl titter. “Warm flesh.”

I press my back against the wall. Rotten meat juices soak through my T-shirt.

“I love you.” She staggers toward Milo. “I love you so much. I just need a little taste.”

The witch reaches for him, and I realize I’m about to see her dead twig fingers clamp around his throat.

Before I know what I’m doing, I step between them. “Get out.”

The woman is so close I smell the stink of her breath. Through the wall of tangled hair peer two watery

brown eyes. I step back, knocking into Milo. “Virginia?”

Giggling, she staggers toward the counter and fumbles with a collection of brown jars. When she can’t

open one she smashes it, indiscriminately cramming handfuls of broken glass and oily black pills into her mouth.

“What…?”

“I told you,” Milo approaches the streamers covering the living room doorway. “This is the lair of the

Lost Witch. Next we have The Forest Of Feral— ”

Something grabs him by the front of his shirt, yanking him through the streamers.

“Milo!”

The witch snickers, as if her son’s disappearance is the punchline to a dirty joke.

My feet slap puddles of yellow goo as I sprint toward the living room. Behind me, the pantry door creaks

open, but before I can focus on that I tumble into…

THE FOREST OF FERAL CHILDREN

Three figures tower over Milo, like boulders made of flesh. My future stepbrother is barely visible,

huddled on the staircase, clasping his glow-in-the-dark vampire fangs.

All three of the giants turn toward me, and I halt. They don’t have faces. Instead, they wear masks made

from the faces of young boys. Their eyes are hollow and their mouths hang in tatters. One of the masks has been

felt with the witch has extinguished. Sweat drips down my sides. I shiver as a late November wind pushes

against me, carrying the odor of dead leaves.

The room where Dad and I cheer every time the Orioles hit a homerun has transformed into a forest. A

carpet of mud covers the carpet. Naked branches puncture the walls, piercing family photographs. One of the

limbs has shattered the landline that normally sits on the table by the sofa.

The three monstrosities turn back toward Milo.

“Your daddy’s dead, shit brains.”

“Worm food.”

“Burnin’ in hell.”

“And your mama’s lost her mind.”

“’Cause you’re a scrawny runt.”

“You gotta join one of ’em.”

“Please!” Milo moans. “This isn’t how things were supposed to….”

The beast with the upside-down face grabs the side of Milo’s head. “But first, we’re gonna do to you

what you did to me. You’re going to The Butcher.”

I surprise myself by bellowing, “Get away from him!”

None of them even glance in my direction as they haul Milo up, lifting him over their heads. Like a

whirlwind of muscle and ripped flesh they tear up the stairs, leaving me behind to shout, “Stop!”

THE DOORWAY

I want to run after them. I have to run after them. It’s my only option.

But then my eyes fall on the front door. I yank it open. My phone’s still upstairs, but that doesn’t matter.

I can sprint to the neighbor’s house in under ten minutes, and – assuming they’re home – call 911. I’ll tell the

operator anything that’ll get real adults out here.

With my hand still on the doorknob, I look back at the stairs. I should go. Dad’s already lost Mom.

Losing me might literally kill him.

I’m halfway out the door when Milo screams. It’s a short, pitiful shriek, sharp enough to cut skin. It

brings me back to the sounds Dad made after Mom died.

I step back into the house.

“Hello?” someone whispers.

I stumble away from the voice, knocking over the lamp beside the door.

No one’s there. I can still hear the witch in the kitchen –either giggling or crying – but I’m alone in the

living room forest.

“Who’s there?” I pray no one will answer.

A voice, so timid I barely understand it, responds, “It’s me.”

“Milo?” I look up at the stairs and then back at the empty air. “Where… Did you escape?”

“That wasn’t me. They took the first Milo. I’m the second Milo, The Invisible Boy.”

I shake my head. “What?”

“The first Milo Fleming made us. We’re all a part of his haunted house. But I don’t think he wanted it to

turn out like this.”

Leaning against the doorframe, I clasp my face. I have so many questions they’re all lodged in my throat.

Footsteps crush the dry leaves spread across the floor. A hand I cannot see takes mine. “You okay?”

This jostles a question loose. It’s the only question that matters. “How do I save him?”

“You beat the house the same way you beat any haunted house; by reaching the exit.”

I glance at the front door.

“The real exit.”

I turn toward the stairs, which now stretch twice as long as they should. “It’s up there, isn’t it?”

He doesn’t have to answer.

THE CLOSET

The doorknob isn’t warm. At least I know there isn’t a fire on the other side. I consider counting to three,

but that would only delay the inevitable. Instead I just go for it, yanking the door open.

At first glance all that’s out of place are Virginia and Milo’s rain jackets. I’m still not used to seeing

them hanging there.

Then I spot it. The closet’s floor should be cluttered with out of season boots and tattered sneakers, but

they’ve been replaced by a ventriloquist’s dummy, sitting cross-legged on the floor. The dummy has a slight

stature and a round face that makes me think of Milo. A ring of unlit candles encircle the doll. The whole setup

looks like a shrine devoted to the rock sitting in the dummy’s lap. The sharp edges of the rock drip with red.

My softball bat waits for me in the back of the closet.

Before I can reach for it, one of the candles bursts to life with a tiny yellow flame. If the circle were a

clock this one would be at high noon.

The candle to the right lights itself, and then the one beyond that. They pick up speed.

I shove the jackets aside, reaching for my bat. The closet is deeper than it should be.

As the ring of candles hit four o’clock, something strikes the closet’s back wall. I jerk back, picturing a

man with a hammer trying to break through from the other side.

Cursing, I stretch out my arm again, fingers brushing the bat.

The candle at six o’clock bursts to life.

My right hand fumbles with the handle. My left slips on the doorframe, almost sending me crashing onto

the dummy.

Nine o’clock.

The hammering returns. It becomes a hailstorm. Flecks of plaster pour from the ceiling.

Ten o’clock.

Eleven o’clock.

As we tumble backwards I slam the door.

The closet convulses, as if it’s being pummeled by a hundred fists at once. Hinges rattle. Wood cracks.

It’s the sound of countless stones raining from the sky.

Trying to pretend I’m not thoroughly freaked out, I face the steps, brandishing my weapon.

THE STAIRS

Gripping my bat, ready to hit a grand slam, I take the steps one at a time. “You still there?”

“I’m here.” The Invisible Boy’s voice is thin, as if he can’t talk over a whisper.

“What the hell’s going on?”

“Milo, the first Milo, built a haunted house.”

“I get that. What were those things that took him?”

“Our cousins. We lived with them after— ”

“There’s no way your cousins look like that.”

“That’s what they looked like on the day they took us into the forest.”

No one ever talks about the time Milo spent with relatives while Virginia was in rehab. I’d assumed it

was a vacation in the countryside where he got to explore woods and ride horses. He seemed like the last person

in the world who’d gone through something traumatic.

I glance to my right. All I see is empty air but I still hear the Invisible Boy’s footsteps. “Did they hurt

you?”

“They tried, but then he showed up.”

“Who?”

“The Butcher.”

from walking up the stairs to walking down.

Gripping the railing to keep my balance, I turn. The dim light of the living room forest still shines from

the top of the steps.

“When our uncle saw what The Butcher did, he kept us down here.” The Invisible Boy brushes past me.

The upstairs hallway has been replaced by a basement. The walls and floor are made of cracked cement smeared

with mold. The ceiling is encased with rusty pipes. A mattress, as thin as cardboard, lies beside a bucket.

“God.” I cover my mouth and nose.

Footsteps lead me to the far wall where light shines out from beneath a door.

“Did you tell your Mom what happened?”

He mumbles something as the door opens. All I catch is the word “happy.”

THE CHAMBER OF PAIN

At first glance my bedroom appears deceptively normal. My bed is still a mess. Photographs still cover

the walls. Bouncy, my stuffed kangaroo, still perches on my bookshelf.

I release a deep breath and relax my grip on the bat.

Then, I look out the window.

I should be able to see our backyard with my rusty swing set Dad never took down. Instead, deep blue

waves crash against golden sand. A four-year-old boy walks along the beach, clutching the hand of a short man

with messy hair and a slender woman with glasses.

Virginia looks so happy I want to cry.

“That’s our last happy memory,” The Invisible Boy says beside me.

“But Milo has tons of happy memories. He’s always joking and drawing and talking about….” I trail off,

remembering how when I was a kid I’d pretend I was perfectly happy to not go to friend’s houses just because I

didn’t want to leave Dad at home by himself.

never seen such naked, unfiltered joy.

The Invisible Boy says, “He must really like you to let these ghosts haunt your room.”

One of the photographs is of Milo and his dad, wearing matching Batman T-shirts, cramming ice cream

into their mouths. I’m smiling at the mad glee on their faces when I notice the edges of a second photograph

poking out from beneath one of the corners. Pulling back the ice cream picture, I reveal a photograph of Milo

standing in the middle of a barren room.

Invisible fingers clasp my hand. “That’s us at grandma’s house. She’s just got the call that Mom and Dad

were in a car accident. She’s trying to whisper, but I know something’s wrong. Everything’s changing.” He pulls

me away from the photographs. “We should keep moving. This room is the most painful part of the house.”

THE HORROR OF THE DEEP

The bathroom door appears to move on its own as The Invisible Boy pulls it open. “Don’t look at the

mirror.”

If he hadn’t said anything I probably wouldn’t have, but as we pass through the bathroom that connects

our rooms, my eyes fall on the medicine cabinet hanging over the sink. Instead of seeing my own sweaty face, I

see a forest bathed in the orange glow of sunset. A scrawny, underfed Milo pins another boy to the ground,

pummeling him with a rock. Two more boys stare on, crying.

The mirror explodes. Shards of glass cut my cheek. A dark green tentacle shoots at me.

“Run!” Invisible feet clatter across the tiles.

I sprint after him. The tentacle grazes the back of my neck as we shove the door open and tumble into

Milo’s room.

THE BUTCHER

“I told you not to look!” The Invisible Boy pants, slamming the door behind him.

tentacles, as thin as electrical wire, encase his body, holding him in place. His right hand is pressed against his

side while his left is raised. The tips of his fingers barely support a silver dish.

A doorway covered with tattered orange and black streamers is set into the wall behind him. I can smell

fresh grass and hear birds singing on the other side. All we have to do is walk through.

Setting my bat on the floor, I pull at the tentacles. “Come on, buddy.”

“Stop,” Milo whispers, barley moving his lips.

The plate’s surface is covered in a film of water. Images flicker of Virginia laughing, smiling, hugging

and singing. As his hand trembles, threatening to spill what little liquid there is, the images change to the witch

stumbling about, clawing at her face. The stench of raw chicken rises from the water.

He releases a long breath. The water steadies. Virginia’s face returns.

“We need to go,” The Invisible Boy whispers.

I try to make eye contact with Milo. “Your mom’s fine. It doesn’t matter what happens to this dish, she

won’t— "

That’s when I see him. The Third Milo watches us from the furthest corner of the room, face sprayed

with red, eyes as hard as the rock in his hand. Tentacles grow from his arms, throat and cheeks. Some slither

across the room, wrapping around my Milo. Others break through walls, infiltrating the rest of the house.

“Hurry!” The Invisible Boy pulls at my sleeve.

I reach for the silver dish. “Let me take this.”

“No.”

“I’ll be careful.”

“You’ll spill it.”

“I won’t. I swear.” My fingers wrap around his bound wrist. “You trust me, right?”

He nods.

“Please, let me help you.”

I reach out and join him. The Invisible Boy grunts as he also tries to help. But the bonds are too strong.

At last, Milo says, “I need to tell you what happened after I left the farm.”

Floorboards creak as the Butcher steps forward. His tentacles rise up, their eyeless gaze focused on us.

“You can tell me later.” I pant, trying to free him. “First we gotta—”

“When Grandma picked me up my aunt and uncle made me wear clean clothes and pretend I’d been

sleeping in their guestroom. My cousin’s face was better by then. Grandma had no idea what happened.” As he

talks he manages to free his right arm.

The Butcher is ten paces away.

“At first Grandma was really nice, but when we were almost home she— "

“We have to go!” I cut him off. “Tell me this later.”

As soon as the words are out, the tentacles attack, covering his mouth.

I break into a cold sweat as I realize what I’ve done. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean that.”

The Butcher is eight steps away.

Beside me, The Invisible Boy screams as tentacles wrap around his legs.

“Milo!” I take The Invisible Boy’s hands before the tentacles can lash around them. “I’m sorry I didn’t

listen. What happened after the farm?”

“I don’t like that story!”

“Please tell me. I know you think you have to stay hidden, but I will listen.”

Six steps away.

As the tentacles encompass his transparent chest, I hear the second Milo manage a deep breath and say,

“At first Grandma was really nice, but when we were almost home she told me Mom was very delicate. Stress

could make her worse again. I shouldn’t upset her.”

Four steps.

“I wanted to tell Mom what my cousins did, what my uncle did. I even wanted to tell her what I did with

Tentacles drop to the floor. Not all of them, but enough for me to help both Milos wriggle free. “It’s

going to be okay.” I tell them. “You’re both— ”

The Butcher towers over us, raising his rock.

I shove both Milos toward the exit, toward sunshine, clean air, and green grass. The three of us yank

back the streamers.

A solid brick wall seals the doorway. There’s no way out.

“No!” I punch the barrier.

“You won’t leave me,” The Butcher bellows.

I snatch my bat off the floor and swing it, smashing the weapon against his face. The bat shatters.

Thousands of splinters fly everywhere. He barely flinches.

Still gripping the handle, I press the wooden shards against his throat. “Let us go!”

He stares at what remains of my bat. At first I assume he’s looking at the slivers threatening to puncture

his skin, but that’s not what’s happening at all. He’s reading the names of my former teammates. His face pulls

back into a snarl. Tears trickle down his cheeks. “You won’t leave me.”

I realize what I have to do.

Lowering my bat I say, “I won’t.”

I take his hand.

“What’re you doing?” The Invisible Boy shouts.

“Don’t touch it!” My Milo steps back.

But I grip The Butcher’s hand, pulling him close to me. “I’m not leaving you.”

At first I’m certain he’ll attack me with the rock, but his body melts against me, allowing me to guide all

three of them through the door.

OUTSIDE

Only one Milo sits beside me in the backyard.

sob.

“It’s okay,” I hold him close, rubbing his back. Despite the sun shining down on us, he shivers. Tears

trickle down my own cheeks. “You’re gonna be okay.”

He pulls away, wiping his nose. “I really messed up the house.”

“I’ll help you clean it up.”

Soon we’ll go back inside and take in the state of our home. Before long Dad and Virginia will return.

When Milo is ready we’ll tell them everything. I can’t imagine what that’ll be like.

But for now, we sit in the backyard, on this bright summer day, crying together.