Manchester House (10 page)

“Get away from me!” Lex shouted, dropping the roll of duct tape.

The kitchen turned still.

The rattling stopped.

Lex found himself looking into the confused and terrified eyes of the two movers who, upon hearing the panic in his voice, had stopped their work, fearing the worst. Both movers soon left, thinking Lex insane.

Both refused payment.

Lex did not eat that night. Nor did he bother to fix anything to eat for two days. His phone continued to ring. He refused to answer it.

The house wouldn’t let him.

:I will take care of you. I will see to your needs. Your sick, delicious needs.:

Lex started to cry.

He completely forgot about the cake.

* * *

One week later&

The young girl couldn’t have been more than sixteen years old. Lex could see that as she bravely approached the mansion. The chef was impressed. Most children had the good sense to stay away. Or at least had a stern parent that would whip them if they even tried to venture toward his home.

“What is this tasty morsel?” Lex found himself saying, looking out a peephole toward the girl. He had to stop himself from leering.

The girl was a local child, of that Lex was quite certain. He had noticed her before as he watched her walk down the aisles of the Atchison country store. She was very delightful to look at. Very skinny. The way he liked them.

:If you want her, I will make her yours.:

Lex started to flush, his male excitement clearly visible.

The girl, as Lex had observed, was indeed a local child who was canvassing door-to-door, hoping to sell candy for a local school fund. Lex noticed that she was holding a small cardboard box in her hand which contained candy bars. A dog could be heard barking somewhere in the distance as the girl approached the house.

:She is a sweet morsel, isn’t she?:

“Oh, yes, she is!” Lex huffed, licking his lips. The chef’s face pressed hard against the front door’s peephole. His hands started to sweat.

The Candy Girl was in her teens, quite attractive for her age, and clearly scared. Lex got the impression that although young, she was aware of the reputation of the house she was approaching. Still, she seemed to believe in her cause and continued onward despite her fears. Admirable.

All this escaped Lex at the moment. He was too busy thinking about her young pink body. Of bare breasts glistening in the sun. Of peachy parts of the forbidden areas of the body, giving up the fruits of all they possessed. Of young flesh being touched. Of innocence becoming his again. Oh! The sweet ecstasy!

:If you listen to me, I will make her yours. Listen&to&me!:

Lex blinked.

His will was no longer his own.

It took the Candy Girl ten minutes to gain enough courage to ring the doorbell.

* * *

Approaching the front door to Manchester House, Leslie Dean knocked on the door. Her heart was pounding. She knew that she was taking a risk coming out to the town’s infamous haunted house, but she had seen the man who lived here a thousand times on TV. He always looked so happy-so nice. All her friends warned her not to venture out toward the house, but she knew that if she was a little enterprising in her pitch, she could sell a lot of candy bars to the man. He was fat. He was lonely. And fat and lonely people always bought a lot of junk food.

She adjusted her bra strap, pushing up her boobs. A little T & A never failed.

Suddenly she heard a barking dog. All seemed normal until the dog let out a terrible cry in agony, then stopped. Quiet.

Again Leslie knocked on the door. She nervously gulped.

There was movement on the other side of the door.

Leslie thought she heard the tiny voice of another girl. A young girl, like herself.

There was a feeling of being watched.

Answering the knock, Gilbert Lex pretended that the visit had caught him by surprise. Licking a blood-like batter off his fingers, he glanced at Leslie, continuing his licking. There was something about the man that just didn’t settle right with her, and it made Leslie uncomfortable.

Lex glanced at her while he licked off the batter dripping from his fingers. Was it batter? Leslie wondered. Lex appeared quite annoyed at the intrusion, but was intrigued by what he saw-Leslie noticed that the dirty old man was staring right at her breasts.

“Yes?” Lex stated, licking his fingers clean. The man never took his eyes off of Leslie’s body. “I’m a very busy man, young lady, please be quick about it.”

Leslie opened up her cardboard box, causing Lex to focus on the candy bars deep inside it. She relaxed.

“Atchison High needs a new school bus,” Leslie said, her voice shaking. “We’re asking the kind citizens of this area to purchase some candy bars to help us raise the funds.” She paused, smiling, nervous. “Would you be interested, sir?”

Lex stepped forward, causing Leslie to stand on the porch with great discomfort. She almost regretted the fact that she was wearing her sexiest sweater and jeans. The man stopped licking his fingers and now wiped off the remains of the batter with a dishtowel he kept in his back pocket. Lex was clearly leering at the young woman, and Leslie got the impression that she was in dire trouble.

All she could think about was leaving.

“How much is your&candy?” Lex asked, using his most charming smile. The smile he used on TV, which had made him famous, loved, and trusted by millions of people.

It seemed to work. Leslie started to relax.

:Good! Good! She trusts you now.:

Leslie held up the best candy bar she could find. “One dollar apiece, sir.”

“A dollar?” Lex’s heart was racing. He could see that the cold was starting to work its evil wonders on the girl. He could just make out the subtle twin points of her young nipples. God! It was hard to control himself.

“It’s really a great deal,” Leslie went on. Her mind was turning towards the challenge of the sale. “They’re nice candy bars.”

Lex was amused, letting out a comical laugh. Evil, almost.

“Girl, do you know who I am?”

Leslie turned uncertain. Was she losing the sale? “Come to think of it, you do look familiar.”

“I’m Gilbert Lex. I should know good food when I taste it. You’ve probably seen my show on TV.”

Leslie tried to control her awareness. “My mother watches your show. She tried a recipe of yours.” She made a distasteful face. “Didn’t like it that much, myself.”

At Leslie’s last comment, Lex started to get angry, but carefully held back his emotions. Looking around, he noticed that no one knew that the girl was there. He gave the girl an evil smile, licking his lips-wondering what color panties she was wearing.

:Take her! Take her now!:

“Tell you what,” Lex said. “You come in and try this cake that I’m working on and I’ll buy your entire lot.”

For Leslie, the clouds started to lift. “Really?”

Lex winked at her. “Guaranteed sale.”

Wanting to raise the money for her school, Leslie agreed, entering the house. Lex closed the door behind her, once again checking the outside for curious, watching eyes.

There were none.

* * *

In the house, the first thing that Leslie noticed was the stale wet smell. She could hear the sound of dripping water but could not see it anywhere in the house. Her curiosity was starting to get the better of her-she wanted to ask about the water, but was soon hit upon the head with a blunt object.

Leslie’s world turned into a haze of images.

“Little girl!” Lex laughed, almost sounding like a yelp. “Little, little girl.”

Leslie could barely sense what was happening to her. All she could see was the oak wood floor paneling. She could barely feel the strong male hands pulling off her jeans and ripping her panties off. She could barely feel the invasion.

She caught an image out of the corner of her eye.

An image at the top of the main staircase.

A girl. Looking down at her.

So much hate.

The eyes!

“Please help me,” Leslie tried to say.

Two hands clasped around her neck, choking as Lex continued his little game. He had his fun, laughing as he delved deeper and deeper into his prey.

Leslie’s world became a dark void.

Then¬hing.

* * *

Outside Manchester House, the wind seemed to howl, covering up the agony and screaming that was going on inside. Movement could have been seen at the basement window-the only window-if someone had been venturing by. One could have seen the shape of a young woman look out the window, leering, wanting, and needing to know. She was blankly staring out and was fully aware of what was going on in the house.

The Shape did nothing.

It only stared. Not caring.

At the foot of the basement window, just below where one would have seen the Shape, was a freshly killed dog. By the look of the poor creature, one would have gotten the impression that it had been terrified to death-blood was trickling from its open mouth.

Four days later&

Leslie Dean’s body was found in the middle of a hot afternoon day, lying on the ground in a puddle of mud far from Manchester House. She had been assaulted and was half-naked. She was dead. As dead as a severely choked, raped, and assaulted Christian soul could be. The police team working nearby couldn’t help but notice the look on the victim’s face. Leslie’s face was a frozen look mixed with both surprise and utter horror.

After not having shown up in over a day, it was Leslie’s parents who went venturing for her, inquiring of several students on her respected charity drive, hoping that at least one knew where she had gone. There was no sign. There was no clue. That was, until someone had mentioned seeing her venture up toward the woods-toward Manchester House. Fearing for their daughter, the Deans’ worst nightmare sadly became a reality.

The flashing red and blue lights of the surrounding Atchison Police cars drew people’s attention for miles. The police had to challenge themselves to work-after all, this was the first child murder in decades. There were at least twenty police officers on the scene, all disgusted with the discovery.

Picking up a soiled piece of Leslie’s clothing-a bra-Lt. Albert Wells did all that he could to keep his stomach from heaving. Dear God! He knew this child. His nephew attended her school and was in the same math class as she.

No more.

Lt. Wells, in his grief, lit up a cigarette. A young police officer approached Wells gingerly.

“Did we manage to verify her identification?” Wells asked, hoping against all odds that even he had been wrong about the victim’s ID.

The young police officer-Wells couldn’t remember his name-started reading his information from a sheet of paper in his hand.

“It is Leslie Dean,” the officer stated. “Her parents stated that she was out selling candies for a local school charity. She had just finished calling her parents when she told them that she would soon be coming home&after&” the officer trailed off, uneasy. From the corner of his eye, Wells caught the young man looking down at the corpse in front of them. Wondering.

“After what?” Wells asked, almost knowing where the conversation was heading.

“Sir, she was last known going to Manchester House.”

Hearing this last information, Wells put out his cigarette and tiredly headed toward his car. The young police officer followed.

“Sir? Shouldn’t you stay until the Police Chief arrives?” the young officer asked, pointing back toward the crime scene. “I hear that he is very upset about all of this.”

Wells let out a sarcastic laugh. “I would be too, considering it’s an election year.” Wells jumped into his car, closing the door. “No, son, I’m going to where results are waiting for me.”

“Manchester House?” the office stated. Uneasy. Knowing.

“Bingo.”

Wells started his patrol car and drove off. In his rearview mirror, Wells noticed the young police officer he had left behind. The officer was returning to the tragic scene of the crime. Young Leslie Dean’s body was a pale beacon of death, glaring at him with an uneasy color. The young officer’s body shook. He started to cry.

Wells could sympathize.

Manchester House was less than twenty minutes away.

Wells had hoped that he would never again have to venture out toward the cursed house. After all, it had been almost seven years since the last horrible “accident” which had caused him to take body bags out of the house. Things were looking up for the old place. It was almost as good as new. The city was once again starting to become proud of the site. Until now&

When Wells parked his patrol car outside Manchester House, he knew that he was being watched.

A curtain moved.

Eyes were peering out at him.

Wells prepared for battle.

* * *

It did not take long for the game to begin.

Wells considered the task of getting his killer a game. A game of wits that seemed to taunt the criminal’s animal rage against his civilized virtue of law and order. It was not always an effortless fight but, all in all, Wells was pleased with his arrest record. One thing was for certain: rich or no, he was going to get Manchester House’s arrogant pie-baking son-of-a-bitch. And he was going to see him on Kansas’ death row if it cost him his soul.

Wells slowly started to pace in the mansion’s main hall while Gilbert Lex sat nervously in a chair, looking up at the detective.

:He knows nothing. Just deal with him as you would trash. Ignore it!:

“Would you like a cool drink, detective?” Lex asked, nervous.

Wells paused, noticing several cookbooks on a nearby end table. Picking up a few of these books, the detective noticed Lex’s picture on all the covers. He was playing with the arrogant cook and allowing his building nervousness to work against him. Wells opened one of the cookbooks and started reading.

“No, thank you,” Wells stated, appearing interested in his reading. “I had a Coke before I got here. You really this good of a cook, sir?”

Lex started to get jittery. It was as if the questions the detective had been asking had affected Lex’s ego. The chef almost appeared insulted, in particular to Wells’ last question. Wells continued his silent staring, pacing occasionally.