Jordane entered the large, abandoned parking lot. It was divided into several wings, marked by large colorful signs. There were the Magician's wing, the Ghost's wing, the Cyborg's wing, the Time Traveler's wing, the Alien's wing, and others. Each represented a character in their element. The alien was in his flying saucer, the magician was reading what appeared to be an ancient grimoire, and the cyborg was repairing his own circuits.
She headed towards the entrance, her body still aching. The park was protected by a huge wrought iron gate with sharp spikes. The entrance, comprising six ticket booths, was topped by a huge sign presenting the place: a mad scientist with thick glasses was pressing the button of a strange device, a caricature of science fiction. The antenna on the end spat a blue lightning bolt, narrowly missing a family: their hair stood on end, as if from static electricity. The mother was shocked, the father angry, and the little girl laughed uproariously, her two braids exploding into a cloud of unruly hair. The lightning streaked down to the bottom of the sign, where in blue, whimsical writing, as if part of the lightning bolt, it read: “The Palace of the Strange.”
Jordane looked closely at the little girl on the sign: she was laughing so hard she was crying.
A little further on, an old white car was parked near the entrance. It must have been there for several years, as it was covered in dead leaves, and all four tires were flat. It looked as abandoned as the park itself.
She looked around: the silence was absolute, no one in sight. She placed her hand on her neck, feeling her wound through the collar of her blouse. Richard knew she was supposed to go to the park, and maybe he was on his way right now to find her. She quickened her pace towards the ticket booths.
Empty, and covered in a layer of dust, they were as they had been left a decade ago, at the opening. The grilled door was closed. A sign listed the rules for a safe stay:
- Do not run within the park
- Always follow the safety instructions specific to the attractions
- No alcohol
A fourth line had been added as a half-torn sticker slapped onto the panel, as if it had been added for an event:
- Do not enter the park after dark, you may not come out alive!
Jordane shivered: perhaps because this sticker was probably added by the team for the special opening on Halloween night, and it had indeed turned into a disaster; or perhaps because night was falling, and it sounded almost like a warning.
But she nervously looked behind her: her thoughts were preoccupied with her previous assailant, and the mere idea of hearing his pickup truck in the distance filled her with terror. So the idea of entering an abandoned amusement park at night didn't seem like such a bad idea. She looked beyond the gates: the park hid behind a palisade of trompe l'oeil buildings several meters high, jealously guarding its secrets from the curious still paying their tickets or parking their cars. There was a futuristic city part, with large buildings of strange shapes and flying vehicles, a part for wild laboratory experiments, with strange specimens in jars and ever more extravagant instruments. In front of her, the ticket booths led to a path of pink paving stones narrowing to the entrance, the gaping mouth of the gigantic head of the mad scientist from the entrance sign. However, for the park's opening on Halloween night, fangs had clearly been added to the mouth of the scientist, and a swarm of flat black steel bats flew from the orifice, held by thin rods of the same material, almost invisible.
In front, a cartoonish robot statue from her grandparents' time, resembling a structure of pots and pans with its smooth metal skin, held a box of park maps. It had two spotlights for eyes on the sides of its head that probably once lit the path. Facing it was its doppelgänger, which should have only been present for the evening, and not a decade: a scarecrow lifting a similar box, but surely containing the flyers for the special evening program.
This mix of styles in the amusement park, science fiction and horror, was quite astonishing.
What was not surprising, however, was that when she pushed one of the entrance gates of the ticket booths, it opened with a sinister creak.
“Am I really going to do this?” she thought. “Am I going to go in there, where God knows what abomination might be waiting for me?”
She thought of Inès, of her letter: she knew the answer was yes.
Even the sound of her shoes scraping against the flaking paving stones seemed an affront to the oppressive silence here. Wild grass had had time to climb between the blocks of pink sandstone, and her stomach clenched when one of them tickled her ankle. She passed the two motionless guardians, fearing that the robot's eyes would suddenly light up, freezing her like a deer in the middle of a road, or that the scarecrow would start to talk, to move. But none of that happened, the two mannequins were lifeless. The flyers had mixed in their boxes into balls of gray pulp, probably due to the rains. The robot was starting to show signs of rust.
She continued until she arrived right in front of the enormous mouth. She only had to reach out her arm to touch one of the vampire fangs; but what made her most uncomfortable was that even when directly under the nose of the monstrosity, feet on its hanging tongue, its eyes stared directly at her, two large, mad, bulging eyes. Watching her with malice, until the very last moment.
“It's not the time to back down, you need to be brave,” she thought.
So she plunged into the wolf's mouth. She entered the dark tunnel, almost completely black, almost fearing to see it constrict in an obscene gulp and swallow her. But instead, she emerged on the other side, struck by the decor of the various attractions.
She found herself on a large square of the same pink paving stones as the entrance. All around were barriers for queue lines with red velvet guiding ropes and gold metal posts, once guiding the crowd to the various buildings. Most lay on the ground, overturned by the weather - or perhaps the panicked crowd? - but others still promised to take you to an attraction: to her left, Jordane observed “The Laboratory of Strange Energies.” It was a square building resembling a factory with its tinted windows, steel and sheet metal walls. Huge Tesla coils protruded from the walls and roof. Above the door, which resembled an airlock, the famous mad scientist was depicted with a test tube containing a viscous green liquid in one hand, and a sophisticated remote control in the other. He was still laughing uproariously. Jordane approached and read the information panel in front of the entrance:
“Discover the Laboratory of Strange Energies: a captivating adventure at the heart of mystery! Dive into a world of unexplained energies and enigmatic phenomena, where science meets the strange. Here's a glimpse of our incredible thematic rooms:
Electromagnetic Experiments Room: Electrify your curiosity by exploring the secrets of strange electricity! High-voltage machines create fascinating sparks and bright flashes that will leave you speechless. Witness electromagnetic forces at work and prepare to be electrified!
Magnetic Phenomena Chamber: Immerse yourself in a captivating magnetic universe where the laws of gravity seem to bend. Levitating sculptures and gravity-defying objects will leave you in awe. Explore the mysteries of magnets and discover how magnetic forces can transform our perception of reality.
Cosmic Energies Gallery: Let yourself be taken on an extraordinary cosmic journey! Breathtaking projections of stars and galaxies will transport you into the infinity of the universe. Discover the most captivating cosmic phenomena, from supernovas to black holes, and delve into the heart of the mysterious energies that animate our cosmos.
Telluric Energies Room: Explore the depths of the Earth and feel the pulse of our planet. Walk on vibrating tiles to understand earthquakes, admire models reconstructing the movements of tectonic plates, and discover the underground energies that shape our world. A captivating experience at the intersection of geology and telluric strangeness.
Antigravity Corridor: Prepare to defy the laws of gravity in this astonishing corridor! Walk on an inclined floor, but be surprised to stay perfectly balanced. Objects seem to mysteriously float in the air, defying the rules of gravity. Be amazed by antigravity and discover a world where nothing is as it seems.
Dive into the unknown, explore mysteries, and push the limits of your imagination at the Laboratory of Strange Energies. A unique experience that will leave you in wonder and make you question everything you thought you knew about the world around us. Get ready for a breathtaking adventure that will give you unforgettable moments. Don't miss this opportunity to explore the palace of the strange and push the boundaries of knowledge!”
She stood in front of the tinted glass door but found no handle. She saw a motion detector above her head: she waved her arm in its direction, but nothing seemed to move. She gave up, almost disappointed, and continued her visit.
She went to the next attraction: a large church with complex architecture, completely different in style. Stone structures protruded from the walls, casting fascinating shadows. Light games drew the eye to the black and white stained glass windows. The entrance was a heavy wooden door, with intricate and meticulous patterns. The place's description, barely visible, was projected onto the wall from a pattern Jordane couldn't even see. All she saw was that the letters danced on her fingers as she passed her hand over the projected text:
“Explore the dark mysteries of the Shadow Hall: a fascinating experience where light meets darkness. Dive into an intriguing world where shadows come to life and reveal unsuspected secrets. Here's a glimpse of the unique experiences you'll have in this enchanting room:
Shadow Labyrinth: Lose yourself in a maze of dark passages where shadows dance and deform. Follow the flickering lights and try to find your way through this mysterious labyrinth. Optical illusions and light play will challenge you, while shadows guide you into the unknown.
Animated Shadows Wall: Witness the magic of shadows coming to life before your amazed eyes. Projected silhouettes on a wall transform into fascinating images, creating captivating stories. Be transported into a universe where shadows morph into characters and give birth to enigmatic tales.
Shadow Puppet Theater: Attend a unique show where shadow puppets take the stage. Master puppeteers skillfully manipulate silhouettes to tell enchanting stories. Let yourself be carried into a fantastic world where imagination blends with the magic of shadows.
Silhouette Workshop: Discover the ancient art of silhouette cutting in this fascinating workshop. Learn basic techniques to create striking silhouettes and let your creativity run wild. Light and shadow play will bring your creations to life, allowing you to explore the evocative power of cut-out shapes.
Eclipse Room: Enter a room where total eclipse reigns supreme. Plunged into darkness, this chamber evokes the unique sensation of a moment when light is swallowed by darkness. Breathe in the mysterious atmosphere and let yourself be enveloped by the enchanting ambiance of this celestial phenomenon.
Dare to venture into the dark corners of the Shadow Hall and be fascinated by the subtle interplay of light and darkness. Dive into a universe where shadows reveal hidden mysteries and where your perception will be tested. An extraordinary experience awaits you, ready to unveil unsuspected secrets. Don't miss the opportunity to live a captivating adventure in the heart of the Shadow Hall.”
Jordane tried to push the heavy door, but the result was the same as her previous attempt. She returned to the central square, walking over the fallen posts and ropes. There were many other attractions: “The Cabinet of Curiosities,” resembling an old antique shop, promising to showcase shocking and unsuspected creatures; “The Hypnosis Theater,” a large building resembling an opera house; but these were not what she was looking for. After all, she hadn't come to visit, but to investigate. In the center of the square, she found a large round block with a map of the place.
“Bingo!” she thought.
She studied the marble-surfaced map: the park was large, very large. There were other attractions further away, spread out along the three avenues of the Palace of the Strange. Restaurants, a hotel, restrooms, but nothing interesting. However, she had more than one trick up her sleeve: she wasn't looking for what was displayed, but rather for what wasn't. And when she found an area of the park simply painted in gray, without any attraction, green space, or anything, she knew it was the administrative offices. She just had to head in the direction of the “Haunted House,” and continue until she came upon a narrow, empty space that would give a tourist the impression they were lost. There, she would surely find a door, or a turnstile that would take her where she wanted to go.
She cast her gaze beside her, to the glass cabin of Zoltar, the fortune teller. Ordinarily, this robotic mannequin with the air of a fakir would predict your future in exchange for a fifty-cent coin, to be inserted into the slot. But here, Zoltar wore a cherubic angel mask, and instead of his crystal ball, he clutched a bloodied butcher's knife. Strands and splatters of blood speckled the inside of the glass.
“If only I could take it home...” she thought.
She began to turn around to head towards the “Haunted House”, when she heard a faint clinking sound, and a flood of intense light blinded her.
“Who's there?” growled an authoritative voice.
Jordane jumped, shielding her face. She wanted to speak, or even scream, but the pain in her throat burned, rendering her mute.
“This is a restricted area! What are you doing here?”
The voice was feminine. Intimidating enough to scare a hardened criminal, but it was indeed a woman's. And moreover, the voice seemed almost familiar, but she had the light shining in her face, and if she removed her hand, she couldn't see anything. She couldn't manage to make a sound, her throat still sore. She didn't know whether to raise her hands in the air or start running. Disoriented, she could only wait for what came next, dazed and defenseless.
“I'm talking to you!” the voice repeated, louder. “You better tell me what you're doing here!”
Seeing that she was paralyzed by fear, the person lowered their flashlight. Jordane removed her hand from her face, and had to concentrate for a few seconds for her eyes to readjust to the darkness. Black shapes danced in front of her, then gradually everything became clear. Until she could finally see her interlocutor, and her heart stopped in her chest when she recognized the woman she had met in the tunnel the day before, what seemed like a million years ago.
The woman was the spitting image of the apparition she thought she had seen that night. Except she was wearing black clothes, heavy boots of the same color, and a badge on her chest, marked “SECURITY.” Jordane's brain operated more on instinct than thought, and she let out a sound:
“Inès?”
The woman flinched slightly, but quickly regained her posture and responded in a wary tone.
“Do we know each other? Because I've never seen you in my life.”
Jordane didn't know where to start, and she stuttered for a moment before managing to articulate, clearing her throat with a grimace of pain:
“I'm Jordane,” she murmured. “The letter.”
The woman seemed bewildered, as if searching her memories but recalling nothing of the sort.
“What are you talking about? Are you trying to confuse me? Because I don't have time for games, either you tell me what you're doing here, or I'll hand this over to the police.”
Jordane felt desperate. Was this really Inès? She felt it deep down. But the woman in front of her seemed to be about her age. If the legend was true, she should have been a decade older.
“If it's really her,” she thought, “I want her secret for having skin like that.”
She saw her interlocutor begin to fidget, so she tried to focus: for now, each word cost her, her lungs still hurt with each breath. Every syllable she uttered seemed to fill her mouth with tar.
“The monsters...” she finally muttered, “this town is indeed full of monsters.”
Against all odds, the woman lunged at her, her face suddenly filled with rage.
“Is that why you came? To mock me?” she yelled at her. “To dredge up that story from so long ago? Will you never move on?”
Jordane shook her head frantically: how could this conversation have gone so wrong? She tried to plead her case.
“I'm not like them,” she replied. “I believe you! I saw it! I went into the mine, and I saw the miner who attacked you! There was also a monster in the mine, it's true! I believe you, I swear!”
The woman studied her face, still stern, before replying after an eternity:
“And so, what are you doing here?”
She still seemed wary, trying to size her up. Jordane forced herself to answer in complete sentences:
“I came to find you, I thought you had disappeared, or that you didn't exist! The owner of the park told me he had documents about you...”
“Oswald!?” she interrupted, indignant. “What does he want from me? What did he tell you?”
“He said he knew you, that he would help me find you.”
“What is he up to,” continued the woman, seemingly ignoring Jordane.
Then, she resumed, this time looking her straight in the eye:
“Did he seem shady to you?”
Jordane nodded: yes, that guy seemed extremely shady. Maybe he was indeed hiding something?
The woman clicked her tongue, and seemed hesitant to say more. She looked around nervously.
“I want to trust you,” she whispered, “but I barely know you. You say you've seen something supernatural?”
Jordane nodded again, and the woman seemed to think.
“Did it have anything to do with Oswald?” she asked.
“I don't know,” replied Jordane. “Maybe not directly.”
“I see. You know my story? What I saw in the tunnel... It was real, I'm not crazy.”
She said this with a defiant tone.
“Yes, I believe you,” replied Jordane. “There are monsters in this city, and we need to stop them.”
“I've seen others,” she said as if she had ignored her last remark. “This city is teeming with them.”
“What is...”
“Listen,” Inès interrupted, “this may sound crazy, but I think there's something inhuman in this park.”
She seemed even more nervous, then she approached Jordane, almost whispering in her neck:
“That guy, Oswald, he's shady. No one is allowed to enter the Haunted House attraction, not even me, who's supposed to have all the keys! He's hiding something in there, for sure. A guy, a mechanic, told me he saw something not normal, one day, looking through a door crack. And why wouldn't we be allowed to go there, huh?”
The hairs on Jordane's neck stood on end.
“Do you think there's something in the Haunted House?” Jordane asked.
“I'm tired of all these oddities,” continued Inès, “if all these things really happened, if everything I saw is real, then it must be true for the Haunted House.”
Jordane nodded slowly: what could this Oswald be hiding?
“Go home,” she continued, “it's time for me to go in there, while I still can.”
“No,” Jordane protested, “let's go together.”
“No way,” she retorted, “firstly, if it's dangerous, it's up to me to go. I am part of security, after all. And besides, I don't trust you, you'll cause trouble.”
Jordane should have been outraged, but instead, she was trying to think of an argument to accompany her. She began to open her mouth, when Inès interrupted her:
“Shush! What was that?”
Jordane froze: she hadn't heard anything. But perhaps the security agent's ears were more attuned? Maybe she knew the old sounds of this park by heart.
“Besides,” she thought, “why would Oswald hire someone to watch over an empty park? Does it have something to do with the mayor's visit?”
“I heard something,” Inès hissed, alert.
Then she turned to Jordane:
“You, get out of here. I don't want to see you again. If I spot you again tonight, I'm calling the cops straight away. Besides, if I were you, I'd leave this damned town while you still can.”
She then departed, disappearing behind one of the attractions, leaving Jordane standing there, dazed, as if she had never appeared.
***
The sign right in front of her read “The Haunted House”. Taller than it was wide, its structure of wooden planks - maybe pine? - was placed on a large concrete base, like a model displayed in a museum for giants. Above its three floors with green, peeling paint, the steeply pitched roof was made of terracotta tiles and featured a white frieze of ornate lambrequins. Some shutters were closed, others slightly open, held open by being nailed against the wooden facade. The grimy windows revealed curtains turned gray by the passage of time. Two round dormer windows on the roof made the antique building appear to have eyes, and its solid wood mouth had a simple wrought iron handle. Jordane read the rest of the attraction's sign:
“The story of Duli's Poltergeist is probably the oldest legend of this town. Until now, this fascinating chronicle could only be explored in old newspaper clippings yellowed by time. But today, dear adventurers of the strange, we offer you the exclusive opportunity to experience this legend with your own eyes.
Dare to cross the threshold and penetrate the darkness that has imbued these walls for almost immemorial times. Are you ready to relive the events that have haunted this place for so long? The doors open just for you, curious to discover the jealously guarded truth within these walls.
Breathe in the oppressive atmosphere that surrounds you, as whispers of the past echo in every dark corner. Shadows dance, doors creak, and objects come to life. Will you witness the unexplained phenomena that have so tormented the brave souls who dared venture here?
The Haunted House of Duli promises you unforgettable chills and supernatural surprises. Do you dare to face your deepest fears and uncover the truth hidden behind this legend? Prepare for a terrifying and bewitching experience that will shake your senses and test your bravery. The question remains: are you ready to face the unknown and reveal the buried secrets of Duli's Haunted House?”
“Incredible,” Jordane said aloud.
She passed her hand over her hip, one of her old journalist reflexes; but her camera still lay in the depths of the mine, probably lost forever. She realized internally that she hadn't given up on writing her article, despite everything she had experienced today, and this idea made her smile. A miserable smile.
Inès had told her to leave, to get out of town. Maybe she had changed her mind and wanted to protect her, to know she was safe, but in that case, she didn't know her well. If there was something in this house, she was going to find it, with or without Inès.
“What are you hiding in there, Oswald?” she thought.
She thought that the story of the Poltergeist must have been a well-kept secret for her not to know about it. She had scoured all the press articles mentioning the town, but she had seen nothing. However, she had started her research from the mine accident and hadn't gone back further than its creation: given the state of this house, this legend was much older, no doubt.
“Did you uproot this house to bring it here, or did you simply build the park all around this haunted place?” she thought aloud.
She looked around: the park seemed completely empty. She didn't know where Inès was, when she would return, but she didn't want to wait here for her to be forced out. So, she climbed the concrete step and found herself in front of the house's door. The handle was black steel with a roughly welded floral motif at the end. She placed her hand on it. It was ice cold.
“Monsters don't exist,” she thought.
Then she burst into nervous laughter.
She gathered her courage and pulled the handle: the door opened with an agonizing creak. A musty, stale smell took her by surprise, and she almost backed away; but she stood firm and let the smells escape around her like sad ghosts. She stepped into the house. A window slammed somewhere above her, eliciting a scream.
“It's just a draft...” she tried to convince herself, but she was pale.
The corridor was narrow, almost claustrophobic between the two walls with their dull, tastelessly patterned wallpaper, some stains and scraps hanging here and there. To her left was a small ebony dresser hidden under a layer of dust. Only a round trace revealed the dark wood surface, maybe an old vase. To her right, a wooden staircase ascended and disappeared towards the upper floor. White traces on the wallpaper suggested family portraits that must have been there years ago. Two doors followed to her left, and at the end of the corridor, some kind of storage room. There was a pile of furniture and other debris hidden in the darkness, almost resembling a human form.
“Good day, madam,” said the silhouette in the dark.
Jordane froze: before she had time to react, the glass chandelier flickered and the bulbs slowly lit up, illuminating the room. In front of her, what she had taken for a pile of rubbish spoke again:
“Please, come in! Don't be shy!”
The thing had a red velvet jacket adorned with gold buttons, a matching hat, and the lower body was just a large piston welded onto a metal plate. The thing moved its arms in a jerky motion, producing a sound of split ball bearings and unlubricated gears, beckoning her with its gloved hand in pristine white. Its face, painted and carved in wood, wore a bright smile. The eyes, glass balls, shone with a mischievous light. The voice of the automaton crackled, as if coming from a speaker.
“Welcome! Welcome to the Haunted House! What a chance to visit such a monument!”
Jordane swallowed, her eyes wide in astonishment: the puppet was staring at her motionlessly, in a posture inviting her to come closer. It resembled the old doormen who welcomed guests into luxury hotels, the kind of attire only seen in period films.
“Madam,” it said with a hint of impatience in its interference-filled voice.
Involuntarily, Jordane took a step forward.
“What is this...”
“Allow me to introduce myself, I am Billie the automaton,” interrupted the robot. “I will be your guide during your fabulous journey through time and history.”
“What is this place?” asked Jordane, astonished that she was speaking to a machine.
Billie tilted its head to the side with a creaking noise that was almost teeth-grinding, yet maintaining the same enthusiastic air. Jordane thought she heard gears whirring somewhere inside the robot's head. It looked up briefly, as if it was waiting for something, or listening to someone upstairs that only it could hear, then continued as if nothing was amiss:
“Madam does not seem to be from the city, I see! But do not panic! Your guide is here to explain everything! I will tell you the story of the Poltergeist of Duli!”
It struck a theatrical pose, its poorly oiled piston buzzing, agitating its ball bearings and rusty gears with the noise of an orchestra tuning up before a concert.
“Now, let's turn back the clock, if you please.”
Its singsong voice crackled occasionally, and there was something unsettling about its tone, as if its messages had been prerecorded. Yet, it seemed to be engaging in dialogue with her.
“I'm not talking about a few months, a few pairs of years, but try, rather, some eighty-six years ago. Your father was not yet born. Your grandfather, perhaps not even yet. What was your great-grandfather doing? Was he in the fields? Was he gone to war? A photo of your great-grandmother tucked inside the fold of his khaki jacket? Here in Duli, there was no mine yet. Only a lumberjack camp, gradually attacking the surrounding forests. Duli had only a hundred inhabitants. Everyone knew each other. When people needed something, they went to the city, about thirty kilometers to the east. The lumberjacks took their horses, the sawmill owners their cars. Boisterous machines, not yet very efficient, but oh so shiny...
“The Jagger family,” it continued, “had recently settled in the area. Rodolphe, an honest merchant, and his wife Maggie, a homemaker, had two delightful little girls, Adélaïde and Justine. Everything was going wonderfully until one day, strange events began to occur, escalating progressively until a terrible tragedy struck the family. And it is with honor that I will accompany you throughout this journey of the strange.”
The creature looked her straight in the eyes, still with its mischievous glint, and Jordane had to look away to keep from going mad.
“What are you, exactly?” she said.
“Allow me to introduce myself, I am Billie the automaton,” it repeated. “I will be your guide during your fabulous journey through time, and history.”
Not knowing what she had expected as an answer, she tried her luck with another question:
“And what if I'm not interested? If I want to get out of here?”
Billie sprang into action amidst a mix of creaks and clicks, and placed its hand on its chin, looking upwards, as if thinking. A few seconds later, its crackling voice resumed:
“That would be regrettable. Once you embark on an attraction, you must see it through. But perhaps, exceptionally, we could make it interesting for you?”
It froze, appearing to wait for a response. Jordane bit:
“What do you mean?”
“Well,” it continued cheerily, “let's say if you manage to solve this mystery, dear Madam, I will reveal the mystery of this park to you. I will show you what happened on the evening of its opening.”
Jordane blinked: the thing was offering her the chance to find out what happened during the park's opening accident, which could be the missing link in this whole story.
“And if I can't solve it?” she asked.
The robot only returned her gaze with its playful and mischievous look, remaining silent.
What choice did she have? Wander around the park until she found an administrative building, break in and hope to find incriminating documents? If she took up this challenge, she could get the answers she wanted directly. Maybe even, put an end to this curse plaguing the town.
“I agree,” she concluded.
“Splendid!” exclaimed the automaton in its seemingly prerecorded voice.
A mechanical scraping sound was heard, like a crank turning, and a small, thin, rectangular object, like a piece of paper, emerged from a slot in its torso that she hadn't noticed. It grasped the object with its mechanical fingers and held it out:
“Please take your ticket, if you would.”
Jordane didn't move, her body refusing to advance. The automaton waved the ticket in front of her:
“Please take your ticket, if you would.”
Ignoring her instincts, she stepped forward. The floorboards creaked under her steps. She passed the staircase, with Billie still motionless, waiting. She walked past the two closed doors, covered with wildflower-patterned wallpaper, and stood before him. His eyes shone, reflecting the chandelier's light. He stared at her eagerly, his immutable smile on his lips. The ticket was gold-colored, finely printed. It read:
ADMISSION TICKET 00089
THE HAUNTED HOUSE
JORDANE C. FONTAINE
NON-REFUNDABLE
The mention of her full name sent an unpleasant shiver up her spine. She took it with a trembling hand, praying not to touch his white silk-gloved fingers, praying not to feel the moist touch of flesh that might be hidden underneath. She didn't touch his finger, and Billie simply lowered his hand with a mechanical creak. She was right in front of him, wondering if she couldn't hear his breathing.
“Calm down, Jo, this is not the time to falter,” she thought.
“Perfect,” Billie resumed, “if you would care to proceed.”
He activated his gears to ceremoniously point to the door on his left. Jordane moved forward, realizing she couldn't bear the proximity to the automaton. She placed her hand on the doorknob, and the door opened with an agonized creak.
She discovered a typical room of the era: numerous dark wood furniture pieces with intricate ornaments adorned the room. Shelves displayed fine china, white porcelain with painted scenes of farmers plowing fields or hunters strolling through forests. A long-since extinguished fireplace must have warmed the house in winter. At the back, several sofas surrounded a coffee table filled with period objects: a pipe, a crochet set, a pair of spectacles. In the center of the room, around the large checkered tablecloth-covered table, sat the Jagger family.
Contented and fulfilled, they shared a meal, all smiles. Rodolphe was a stocky man with an elongated nose and pronounced chin. He was bald but sported bushy sideburns. He wore an emerald green suit and had round, gold-rimmed glasses. He held a soup spoon in one hand, and the local newspaper in the other. He smiled towards his wife, who sat opposite him with an empty plate. Maggie appeared worn but happy. With a delicate face and dark circles under her eyes, she laughed while watching her two daughters, her long red braid resting on her chest. She wore a thick burgundy-colored dress. Adélaïde and Justine, one about ten years old and the other probably six, held hands and burst into laughter, sitting side by side. This family scene was perfect, one felt as if they were there, sharing this delightful evening with them.
If it weren't for the fact that all the people around the table were wax mannequins.
“It makes you want to have your own, doesn't it?”
Jordane jumped at the sound of the voice. She looked to her right and nearly had a heart attack seeing Billie seated at the back of the room, between two sofas. He stood upright, hands clasped in front of him. Jordane, still in the doorway, turned towards the corridor and looked at the corner where her interlocutor had stood moments ago, now empty.
“Impossible,” she thought to herself, “did he move?”
“I am your guide, dear Madam,” he said, as if reading her thoughts, “I will be by your side throughout this adventure.”
“What am I supposed to see here?” she asked in a slightly aggressive tone.
His prerecorded voice was starting to get on her nerves. Despite its cheerful and dynamic tone, she could sense the coldness of a machine.
“This scene represents a typical day in the Jagger family. A happy and thriving family, respected by the community. At least, for now.”
“Okay,” she said, “and then?”
“I suggest you continue the tour and head to the bathroom, where it all began. Turn back, if you will, and take the first door this time.”
Jordane hesitated for a moment, glancing back at the room: she wasn't sure if she was done with this space, or even what she was supposed to look for, to be honest. She disliked following the instructions of this infernal machine, entering its game, but she had no other plan. She then backed away and closed the door behind her, perhaps hoping to lock away this monstrosity and never see it again. But she didn't believe it much.
She found herself in the entrance hall, and retraced her steps to the previous door. When she opened it, heart tight, she came upon a small corridor, also lit, with a door to her left, and one in front of her, both closed. The wallpaper was now purple with white patterns.
“The door on the left,” she heard just behind her shoulder, and her blood ran cold. She did not want to acknowledge his frightening presence with her gaze, and she moved forward without turning back. She opened the door, and covered her mouth with her hand when she saw a man.
No, it wasn't a man, it was Mr. Jagger's statue. And he was even more shocked than her. He was terrified. He stared at his own reflection in the mirror, frozen in an endless scream, both hands over his ears. He wore a white bathrobe, and the curtain behind him was drawn, revealing a large bathtub. An old-fashioned razor lay on the sink in front of him, along with several toothbrushes. The mirror was covered in fog - or rather, a sticker imitating the texture of fog - with a message written as if by a finger: “I'M WATCHING YOU ADELAIDE.”
The room had a shelf filled with towels and various products. An old metal ventilation grille was set in the ceiling, just above the heavy cast iron bathtub. On the wall hung a sign similar to those presenting the park's attractions:
November 18th.
The Poltergeist makes itself known for the first time.
Rodolphe testified that he was taking his usual bath when he started hearing voices. He spoke of children's songs, laughter, and beastly screams. The voice, which he did not recognize, started calling his eldest daughter several times. He panicked and got out of the bath to discover a sinister message on the mirror.
Jordane inspected the room again: her critical mind whispered that this first supernatural encounter was nothing extraordinary. Good old Rodolphe could have invented the story of voices, and the mark on the mirror could have been made by his own finger. But she spent a few seconds contemplating the wax figure: the details were astonishing, it looked like his scream could come out at any moment, that he could suddenly come to life, running out of the room and knocking Jordane over on his way. This idea began to make her uncomfortable, so she left the small bathroom. She took a step towards the end of the corridor and cautiously opened the second door.
This time, she discovered Mrs. Jagger.
She was on her knees in the bathroom, scrubbing the floor. The room was small, the walls covered with thick wallpaper in white and beige stripes; at least, they had been. The toilet bowl overflowed with toilet paper, and all the walls were covered with a brown substance resembling mud, as if smeared by hand. Again, a sign was there to provide explanations:
November 23rd
The Poltergeist wreaks havoc throughout the house for several days now, its pranks starting to become in poor taste.
One morning, Maggie finds the toilets painted with fecal matter. It is from this day that the term “Poltergeist” is first pronounced. From this moment, the interactions will only worsen.
“Okay,” Jordane thought, “this is becoming a classic Poltergeist. A childish spirit wanting to play and making bad jokes. But again, this could be staging.”
“I'll let you imagine the smell,” Billie intervened from somewhere in the other corridor.
Jordane turned around, feeling she could talk to him without thinking she was losing her mind if he was in another room and she couldn't see him.
“For now, the lack of witnesses and solid facts make me think this story is just a simple masquerade, a setup by the family to make money. Maybe the heirs still get a portion of the revenue this old house makes?”
Billie let out a sardonic laugh, as if momentarily completely out of character.
“Madam with a critical mind, I see. But that is very fortunate, for it will be needed, to solve this case: I can promise you that this is just the beginning.”
“Okay,” she said warily, “what's next, then?”
“If you please, I would like you to pay special attention to the reading room, located upstairs.”
***
The corridor stairs were made of thin pine wood planks, and each step elicited a dismal creak, making one wonder if they might give way at any moment.
“Difficult for the girls to sneak out at night, one step here would wake the whole house,” she thought.
She reached the top, encountering another corridor dotted with mold spots. The black rot sometimes spread in large patches, peeling the wallpaper in its wake. She faced a partially open door, and the corridor formed a “U” shape, continuing along the staircase to four other rooms.
“If you would care to enter,” she heard from the other side of the door.
She then pushed the handle. She recoiled when she came face to face with a Maggie lunging at her, her face contorted in a terrible grimace. She was screaming, her eyes bulging out of their sockets. And she had reason to: she was being pursued by flying books. They seemed to emerge from various shelves, hurling themselves at her. Behind, the multicolored fabric sofa had transformed into a monster: it had an open maw filled with sharp teeth. It had eyes on its armrests with a menacing gaze. Jordane walked around Madame Jagger's statue to enter what seemed to be the reading room.
“Terrible scene, isn't it?” a crackling voice said to her right.
She wasn't surprised to find Billie, still affixed to his steel plate with a piston as his only leg. He followed her with his mischievous eyes, his neck creaking slightly. She approached the flying books: they resembled a swarm of bats, flapping their pages to fly. They were suspended from the ceiling by almost invisible fishing lines. The sofa had been cleverly made from a mix of fabric and wax. The automaton, with a polite gesture that broke the silence, invited her to read the explanatory sign:
November 28th
The Poltergeist's activities become increasingly dangerous.
Maggie recounted that she was reading quietly in the room when the sofa suddenly came to life and tried to devour her. She fled, but the library's books came to life in turn and threw themselves at her. The door slammed shut behind her, and she heard the commotion continue for a few moments.
“Interesting,” said Jordane. “It's funny that fishing line was used to reproduce the scene of the flying books, because that's often how pranksters stage paranormal events.”
“Madam leans towards the skeptical side of the scale, I see.”
She opened her mouth to respond but fell silent: she was going to say that after all, the paranormal was just collective hysteria or trickery, but then again, she was talking to an automaton that seemed to have come to life.
“There are hidden worlds all around you, and you don't know it yet,” he told her as if reading her thoughts. “Not yet.”
“What does that mean?” she retorted.
But Billie just stared at her. Just behind her, a creaking sound was heard from the bottom of the stairs. She spun around in panic, but there was nothing.
“Is there someone else here?” she asked.
“No Madam,” he politely replied. “Just you and me.”
She studied the staircase again: still no movement.
“The house is very old,” he continued. “You understand?”
“Where does this door lead?” she asked, changing the subject.
She pointed to an almost invisible door behind the sofa, on the side of the room.
“You have a keen eye, I must admit,” he acknowledged. “It leads to a room you will visit, I promise you. But not now. To continue the story chronologically, I invite you to go back down for the moment and go past the living room to the kitchen.”
She wanted to protest but reconsidered: she didn't want to upset him, fearing he might become even more alive than he already was, and anyway, the sooner she finished the tour, the sooner he would give her the information she sought.
“A haunted house tour, guided by a haunted automaton. Did you think you'd put something like that in your article?” she thought.
She cast one last glance at Maggie, frozen in her expression of horror, running towards the exit but never reaching it, like in a nightmare. But no awakening for this wax mannequin.
