The Cabin Is Always Hungry (A Dungeon Core Horror Slasher)

NIGHTMARE SUBURBIA

Part 3

As the beat-up sedan rumbled away from the forest, I realized I was tethered to that cursed gem.

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t escape its grasp. I was like a hapless kite tied to the sedan’s roof, helplessly watching the world whiz by, mocking my attempts to flee. Each time I dared to venture beyond its boundaries, which was around a mile radius, I found myself back inside the car, forced to endure the excruciating small talk between Alvin and Dave about jobs, sports, and whatever the hell Dave thought would be an excellent conversation to drown out the silence.

I did learn one thing. Apparently, they had been recruited into Hodge’s little demonic cult for a few months now. However, that didn’t tell me how Hodge learned such things in the first place.

We drove past the sign:

WELCOME TO POINT HOPE, OREGON.

POPULATION: 43,556.

Below it (with a couple of bullet holes), read:

HOME OF FINE GRAPES!

DRIVE SLOW!

A few vineyards flitted past my peripheral vision as we delved deeper into the town proper. Though my memories were hazy, I remembered eating with my friends at the old pizzeria and dinner theater every third Thursday of the month like a ritual. Where my family would eat breakfast every Sunday at a mom and pops waffles restaurant with the best french toast in the state near the park. Where my cousin had a beautiful wedding by the gazebo. I remember everyone made a big deal about a family of geese moving into town.

Eerily, there was not a soul in sight. Downtown was always busy, even for a mid-sized town like Point Hope.

Alvin parked the car in front of Dave’s two-story ranch house, nestled at the northeast edge of town. My friends and I called it Green Hill because it was where most of the town’s wealthy residents with daddy issues resided, overlooking most of the city on top of a literal hill.

Dave stepped out of the car, retrieved his bag from the backseat, and attempted a half-hearted display of gratitude. “Thanks, Alvin. I guess I’ll see you around?”

Alvin merely nodded. “Goodnight.”

Dave grinned and replied, “Or should I say, good morning?”

Alvin didn’t laugh. He pushed the button from his side, rolling the window up before driving away, leaving Dave dumbfounded.

Dave dropped his smile. “Asshole.” He walked toward the front door and entered the house.

The first thing Dave did when he entered the house was casually strolling into the bathroom, humming an Eminem song, strip everything he wore, and dumping them inside a black plastic bag. He then hopped into the shower, stayed there for almost an hour scrubbing every inch of his flesh, rinsing his hair and body with shampoo and men’s body wash three times, and even cleaned his fingernails with a toothpick. Despite the circumstances, he displayed no signs of urgency—just another routine he had done many times.

Then, Dave entered the basement and dumped the plastic bag into the incinerator. Only a few houses now have these, but I reckoned that Dave built it for this special occasion. How long had Dave and Hodge sacrificed people for their greed? Hodge mentioned it had been months.

How many bodies did they go through to get Dave this lovely house? A well-paying job? This prominent reputation in the community, living in the affluent side of town? When I passed by the hallway earlier, I noticed a portrait of Dave’s good-looking family. A beautiful wife. Two kids. One boy. One girl.

I instantly recognized Xavier Yates, a junior from McLaren High who played baseball and mostly kept hanging out with the douche canoe squad. The girl must be Vivian. Sometimes, I’d see her in the library, where she kept mainly to herself, unlike her brother. I didn’t even know that Dave was their father, and I wondered if Dave’s family knew that all of this money came from the children he killed.

Using my many-eyes, I floated through the walls and headed to the house’s second floor.

The children were sleeping in their respective bedrooms. Xavier was a loud snorer, and Vivian had those whale sounds reverberating from the portable speakers at the end table. Hm. Heavy sleepers, I thought. They never woke up while their father tried to get rid of the evidence of my murder. I couldn’t find his wife anywhere. The master bedroom looked unslept.

Suddenly, I felt Dave fish me out of the backpack, contemplating whether to throw me in the incinerator.

Shit.

In a split second, I snapped back my consciousness into the basement, into the stone.

I desperately tried to find a way out but couldn’t move. I was just a dumb, stupid rock stuck at the mercy of a fucking killer. I couldn’t even shout for help or for him to stop. I tried running through Dave with my floating consciousness. Maybe I could possess him? But it just gave me a fucking massive headache, and I never wanted to do that again.

Taken from NovelFire, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Dave felt nothing. Not a flutter in the wind or sensed a presence in the basement; the way his hair rose at the nape of his neck when he sensed he was being watched—none of that. Dave strode toward the incinerator, ready to throw me inside.

That’s when I noticed a slight shimmer at the bottom left corner of my vision. I focused on the glow, and everything around me suddenly slowed into a nanosecond crawl.

The shimmer expanded.