It Came From a Bargain Basement

You place the back of your hand to the door.

It's cool to the touch; the wood is black and the door is like the shadow of a tombstone.

You knock once, tentatively, turning your head so you can gently place an ear on the shallow grains. Not a minute ago, you had heard a fantastic roar, like that of an all consuming fire. Now, you hear silence. 

You reach down and turn the doorknob slowly. You intend to open the door delicately and take as much time as you need to ease your way into the room, but the anticipation is like a butcher's knife falling to the ground at your feet, and you quickly break your word and push through like a wild animal, anxiously looking back and forth for a surprise attack. But none arrive. 

The room is all but empty, except for you, a table, and a dollhouse. 

You move closer, naturally, to the only focal point in the room. 

The dollhouse is beautifully intricate. It is lemon yellow, with crisp white windows and shutters. It looks as though it is separated into three parts sewn together. The ends are both identical, with slightly peaked and then level brown roofs, and four windows combined: one on the bottom and one on the top. The middle part, however, is slightly peculiar. This section is taller than the other two, and the roof is rather peaked, almost pointed. There are no windows at all, only a bright red door at its base. How strange. It horribly clashes with the cupcake like quality of the rest of the house. So grotesque in its abruptness that it's all but impossible for you to cease staring. 

You move closer to the dollhouse. 

The detail is more refined now with your fresh point of view. All the windows have their shades pulled down, and the white wraparound porch is elegant and delicate. 

You are about to move around the back to view the inside, when suddenly you notice the shades to move. Slowly, they inch and scratch and claw their way up until the windows look like half-lidded eyes. 

You are startled, and watch them, frozen, until they have reached the top of the window. All the windows are wide open now, and the dollhouse seems to take on an unearthly glow as the sun sets outside the only window in the actual room. 

You are jarred for a moment, as your memory goes blank and the silence does not feel as silent anymore. You hear the sound of soft static as the room darkens to grey. 

You snap your head back to the dollhouse, it now seeming to you like fungus yellow and bone white rather than the innocent fluffy quality it had only second ago. 

You take a deep breath, and continue your steps to the back of the dollhouse. As your foot steps past the back of the table, and you are about to turn and face the back of the dollhouse, a loud, soul piercing ring occurs. It echos through out the room and you are thrown back, hands to your ears, by the sheer surprise of it. As your thoughts set in, you realize that it's a doorbell. 

But this house has no doorbell. 

You nervously back away towards the door. You turn quickly like a terrified, trapped rat and jerkily turn the doorknob. The door does not move. 

You hit the door with a closed fist as most of the light recedes from the room. It is twilight, now. 

You turn wildly now, your back against the door, as you fling an arm on the side of the wall. desperately looking for a light so as to not be lost in the dark abyss with the dollhouse. 

Your hand is only greeted with smooth wall and nothing more. 

You look back towards the dollhouse. 

Maybe it's just the ever darkening of the room-

yes, maybe that's all it is-

but suddenly the table, wearing the dollhouse like a crown, looks to have moved closer to you. 

You turn, and slam your fist more zealously on the door, to no avail. The pounding is hollow and soft. You kick the door now, afraid, so afraid, of something you can't explain. 

You stop kicking, however, when you hear a very faint, but deliberate, creak. You turn towards the dollhouse, and quickly pick up on the slowly opening dollhouse door.

You don't wait for it to open all the way. You bound towards the dollhouse, and then past it as you whip around and are finally met with the other side of the dollhouse. 

You can't help but to let out a scream. 

It's gore. Like insides only more congealed: purple mush paired with blood red. You didn't know what you were looking at. You felt that you, in all reality, shouldn't know what you were looking at. 

You force your jaw shut as your eyes cannot help but look at it's insides. Some things are pulsating. Some seem to be melting. You don't know. You don't want to. 

Just as you are about to run back to the safety of the door, the table and dollhouse abruptly turn around to face you. The table screeches like fingernails on a chalkboard' as it does so. 

You fall back as the table jerkingly, hobbling, moving its sides back and forth, walks towards you. 

The dollhouse has hideously drawn in on itself like an hourglass; the windows now leak with something burgundy and the door is wide open now, revealing two rows of very sharp, jagged teeth. You can only stare frozen as the browning, chipped and cratered, well used teeth come into view. 

The dollhouse gurgles and is right on top of you as the room turns all but black.