The Peephole

This is a short story that i wrote last year and has undergone a lot of editing till this-its current state. If you have the time, please read it and critique it as honestly as possible. Your time is highly appreciated. Thanks.


THE PEEPHOLE
For a long time, in these parts, the Peephole has been a mystery, and, for as long as I can remember, has been a most controversial topic. One cannot stroll in the propinquity of North London without hearing word of its intriguing peculiarity. Right up from the higher echelons of the London aristocracy, down to the dispirited paupers, penny-pinching their meager wages for a living-all have incalculable perceptions of the Peephole. And this Peephole is the reason for my story.

A desolate graying house stood hunched over in the dark recluse of Devour Street. A mysterious house, everyone agreed, for none could exactly place the date work on it began.But this one thing was true, for all concerned concurred, that one day this mysterious house was absent-and yet the very next, it bent over the location like it had done so for quite a while, and for that matter, was growing weary of performing the tedious task for which it had been conscripted.

It was a peculiar house in several ways. It had numerous windows sunk in its façade, but all of these peering portholes appeared to be boarded up from within. The likeness of the panes to a multitude of…eyes…shut out to the daylight, was uncanny. It also had a vile disposition, this House, of slanting, no, leaning forward, with its glazed ‘eyes’ hovering above the front porch-like those of a slumbering curator-to bore into the…flesh…of any who infringed upon the malevolence of its veranda.

There were several other interesting particulars to this House (including its front door, which no one, it seemed, could gain access through) but none was more noteworthy than the Peephole that permitted the key to the front door. This Peephole was unlike any that you will ever come across-it was a slit on the doorknob, a gash pierced into the handle, an aperture that men brooded over and wasted before. Its’ infinite perplexities have confounded many a men of our generation.

It is uncertain what can be seen within the House, for all that dared to glimpse through the Peephole into the House went…awry in their psyche. I will not call these maladies symptoms of insanity-for whom is given the right to judge who is insane and who is not?! Certainly not anyone I know-therefore I will simply say that these men were changed by the House. They told tales of horrifying things-things that are so repulsive, they are nauseating. Gut wrenching anecdotes of gruesome gory creatures and visions of impalement by razor-sharp arrays of instruments-these were but a few of the THINGS that these men had ‘seen’ in that infinitesimal portal of EVIL, that gateway to malevolence, THAT PEEPHOLE…

…things that would have no appeal to the non-superstitious mind, of course, which is exactly why I had no inkling of an interest in the matter. I am a man of science, you see, therefore do not misconstrue what I am telling you for fact. These are surely ideas of men that have spent one day too many looking directly into the sun. However, I will lay out all the facts so that you may discern, for yourself, that these were but the ravings of madmen and the lunatics intoxicated enough to believe their ranting.

It was on a humid summer night that I sat adjacent to Edwin, a favorite cousin of mine, in a stifling hot tavern just a few blocks away from this ‘forsaken’ house. He was in the prime of his youth and very successful by then-Edwin was-and I knew of none else as full of life and charisma as my dear Edwin. He had come over for a week on a rather unofficial visit to see the sights of London and it was to be his last night over before he would return to America, where no one occasionally mistook him for Edwin Lutyens.

Drinks were flowing freely-as they were on my tab-and laughter rang through the room from the hoards of overzealous hooligans in our midst. Everybody was in a jolly mood; Edwin, excited to return home, the hoodlums, enjoying beverages at my expense and the proprietor f the tavern, enjoying my business.

Slowly, however, like a noxious gas creeping into the room through the floorboards, word of the house and its latest ‘victim’ seeped into the conversation.

Gradually, the atmosphere changed-there was no more laughter and the costly drinks lay unattended. The air of dejection slowly grew thick and before long, the entire community of merrymakers had fallen under its spell. The room was now rife with stories of this dreaded house and the numerous…misfortunes…to which it had been attributed. And my dear cousin, intrigued by these fabulous tales, asked me to do him one last favour prior to his departure.

“Hey, could you take me to see that house, old chap?” he said in a heavily feigned British accent.

“Are you raving mad?” I asked.

“Not at all, cousin.” he replied, a malevolent grin spreading across his youthful face “its just that am not superstitious-or a coward” he mocked.

I threw him the dirtiest look I could conjure under the circumstances and replied, “I swear you must be mad. Nobody in his right mind would go to that…place. No one.”

“Oh c’mon old chap,” a name he had discovered irritated me a lot, “where’s your sense of adventure? I want to go somewhere interesting for a change, no more corny museums.” And he looked at me, pleadingly, but I equalled him with my reserve.

So Edwin played his final card, “Okay, cousin, seeing as you wont take me, I’ll just have to pay one of these nice gentlemen to show me the way,” he said, gesturing towards the scoundrels hovered around us in the cramped little tavern.

Dear Edwin knew that that would be too much for me to bear-I could not stand to see my cousin, my own esteemed flesh and blood, get duped by one of the local conmen and possibly get mugged in one of the London cul-de-sacs. Not if I could help it.

“Fine,” I spat “I’d rather take you than see a penny go to waste on one of these-“

“I knew you’d come around, old chap!” he cried triumphantly.

And as we left the packed saloon, I said, “on the condition that you let up on all this ‘old chap’ business-you know, am not much older than you-”

“Sure,” he cut me off “sure thing old chap, now lead on! Tallyho!” and he laughed out loud into the bewitching ether, a trace of gin on his breath.

The sombre trek to the House was shorter than even I expected, and in less than five minutes, we stood on the sidewalk that paved the way up to the front door of the House. Simply standing there in front of the House, looking upon its spectral façade, made my skin crawl-the first time that had happened to me in a long while.

The darkness of the night crept upon us all the more as the distant houses that dared to stand in the vicinity of the possessed one turned off their lights to slumber.

Edwin stood transfixed, staring at the House in utter amazement. Meanwhile, I felt a bead of sweat begin to collect on my brow-another first in a long time.

“Okay,” I said, “that’ll do. You asked me to show you where it was, and I did. Now can we go?”

“This is amazing, my dear old chap!” he said without taking his eyes from the House. “Just look at it. It’s almost on the verge of collapse and yet it stands on-that tower in Pisa is a catastrophe compared to this masterpiece!”
Edwin slowly made his way up to the front of the House, and with every step he made on the dreaded porch, the loose decaying floorboards creaked, like a slumbering beast whose fur was being trod upon.

“Come now,” Edwin said, “lets take a closer look, shall we?”

“No, no, no! You’re not getting any closer to that abomination,” but my words fell on deaf ears.
Edwin paced up and down on the porch while I stood, tentatively, rooted to the spot, out of reach of the House’s menace. I broke out into a cold sweat and beads of perspiration raced down my temple, yet still I found myself shivering with cold.
I tried to shout to dear Edwin, now upon the threshold of the place but my voice got caught in my throat. I tried to produce a sound from my mouth but nothing came forth-“what if I wake it?” I remember asking myself.

Edwin, meanwhile, was introducing himself to the intricacies of the House’s doorknob, and by his deft movements, I could tell he was searching for a way into the forsaken place.

“C’mon Edwin…” I tried to call out meekly but a gust of wind swept my words away as they left my lips.

Now the figure that was Edwin held the knob and tried in vain to open the door. The door would not budge.

Finally, after looking back and smiling at me-little did I know it would be for his last time-dear Edwin arched his back and stooped till his eye was able to glare fully into the Peephole, and absorb whatever evil was in that House…

I know now that I should have done something then, I am still haunted by nightmares because I let it happen.

Even then, as my cousin stared into his demise, I knew I should have said something, called him back or even dragged him from the place.

But I did nothing-I watched. I watched intently, keenly, for what-I did not know.

But a part of me wanted to know-to ‘see’. It is for that matter that I let it happen. I let things be.

Up to now I do not know if I would have had it any other way. Perhaps for the sake of my cousin’s life, yes-but you must understand that I had to let it happen-My GOD-I had to let It happen! Don’t judge me…please, I did not want for him to die, so do not deem me cruel for that matter only. How could I have known what the beast had in mind for him?

Must I continue?…I assume I must…

The events that transpire henceforth are eternally seared in my mind, deeper than I would prefer…and thus my account of them will be as detailed as my haunting recollection allows.
Once again, as I stated earlier-did I not?!-I do not expect any sympathy, empathy or remorse for what I am about to tell you…did I?…never mind…

…Edwin bent over the peephole for a few minutes before he stood aright again and slowly, very slowly, turned to face me. I gasped at what I saw.
Before me now stood what used to be Edwin-a blank expression on his empty face, sucked dry of all the charm and charisma he used to possess, his eyes-oh those eyes-full of…nothing-just darkness. It was a limp lifeless soulless body-just a sack of meat and bones now. Meat and bones.

Then it happened.

The HOUSE…do not think me a lunatic for saying this but…the house awoke, AWOKE I tell you! Stirred from its ethereal slumber, the beast opened its evil EYES and squalls of fire emitted from its cruel chasms!

Suddenly the door swung open revealing a dark doorway, a doorway that breathed evil air and reeked of confined malice-the beast had a MOUTH!
Then Edwin, or what remained of Edwin, fell backwards, and plummeted into the abyss, SWALLOWED whole by the HOUSE!

IT ATE MY DEAR OLD CHAP.

Yay-my very own blog!!!!

Pop the champagne bottles and smash some of them against the ship's hull-for my very own blog is now online! One small step for me, and one giant step for my future (me again)-here's to all the great things that will be written on this page!