1
“Happy birthday, dear Cage! Happy birthday to you!”
With a middle-aged puff, I extinguish another year of my life as the wait staff breaks into rapturous applause. Like so many others, I’ve never been a fan of the tone-deaf “Happy Birthday to You” part of my birthdays, even when the singers — usually blood-related — harmonize for a brief moment. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the gesture. It’s just…
“I thought I told you to use trick candles!”
Laughter — some fake while the rest genuine — fills the dim private lounge. Knowing Faith, she probably scheduled our reservation late one evening with that burly host who greeted us when we strolled in. I can imagine him calmly explaining to my trickster wife that Maple’s Steakhouse serves prime rib and Wagyu beef, not trick candles. The customer can only be so right, I suppose.
“Hehe… We actually ran out of trick candles right before you got here. Maybe we’ll have them next year!” jokes our darling waitress with a picturesque smile. “Anyway, everyone here at Maple’s Steakhouse wishes you a happy 40th birthday. If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to ask.”
The ensemble of waiters and waitresses files out of the entrance, leaving us with the lingering scent of smoke and a molten lava cake — a scoop of caramel-covered vanilla glistening on top. I grab the nearest spoon—
“Ah, Ah… Let me do it.”
Faith grabs my spoon and punctures the small cake, chocolate oozing onto the plate while her finger runs through the velvety stream before dabbing my lips with its rich flavor. Before I know it, her arms are around my neck, lips locked and tongues intertwined with dark chocolate and saliva. Our love oozes between us.
“Do I taste good?” Faith teases between drawn-out kisses. My only response is to continue our embrace with loving massages to her pregnant belly. No succulent steak fat or delectable dessert comes close to the indescribable taste of her sweet mouth. Within the comfort of this secluded space, I indulge in her existence.
“Mmm… What’s gotten into you?” Faith playfully asks, “we still have to drive back to our hotel, you know…”
“It’s not like they’re going to kick us out. Maybe if we ask nicely, they’ll put some table covers over the entrance so we can turn this booth into a bed.” My lips creep down to her neck and fondle her skin with passion. A quiet moan escapes her ajar mouth.
“Ah… Cage—”
Without warning, the lounge’s entrance opens to the sight of our waitress gawking at us from the other side. A part of me would like to keep going, but another part would also like to get back to the hotel. We slowly decouple from one another.
“...I’m assuming you enjoyed the first bites?” the waitress says with a joking yet uncertain tone. I’d finish off my complimentary birthday treat, but at this point, the ice cream is a melted puddle dripping into a cold lake of chocolate. My “appetite” is elsewhere, anyway.
“It was delicious. Could we get the bill?”
“But we barely ate any of it…” Faith responds with faux concern. My hidden hand gropes and tickles her inner thigh, causing her to release a small yelp of pleasure. The waitress’ expression feigns innocence, yet her wandering eyes attempt to peak under our table with curiosity.
“We have dessert at home, dear.” My middle finger rubs, kisses, and tongues her other lips. She’s trembling — practically melting — next to me; and by the way she’s staring at our waitress, it’s clear she won’t last much longer in this makeshift bed.
“Of course. Here…”
I’m handed a slim, black folder with a receipt peeking from its stitched top. I open it and immediately stare in disbelief at the bold numbers toward the bottom. How much?
“...Is something wrong, sir?”
“Yeah… I don’t think this is right. There’s no way our meal totals to $123.25.”
I hand her the receipt and, to my surprise, she giggles as her eyes travel down the paper. This isn’t some sort of cruel prank, right? …Is this the trick?
“I apologize. The computer must be acting up again. But since it’s your birthday, we’ll just go with this,” she says with a wink. If I were her boss, I would’ve damn near keeled over before firing her on the spot. The bill should be $1223.25, but the computer evidently felt like giving me a lucky break.
“Are you sure? I mean, that’s a lot of money to be losing out on…” I gently protest, careful not to outright state I’ll pay. Sure, it’s not like $1223.25 is much for a five-time consecutive lottery winner and successful entrepreneur with more money than he knows what to do with, but, as she said, it is my birthday…
“Oh, no need to worry. It’s my birthday present to you,” she states with a seductive stare. Luckily for me, Faith’s too focused on my hand to notice her subtle flirting. With a smile and a nod, I accept her gift, handing her my credit card before she leaves us once again. By the time she returns, I’ve released Faith from my titillating teasing.
“Thanks for having dinner with us. We hope to see you soon!”
We slip into our coats and weave through crowded tables for the exit. The sights and sounds of merry men and good cheer combined with jazz renditions of Christmas classics create a magical atmosphere that almost coaxes us to stay for one last drink. Once we reach the exit — the host bidding us farewell — we’re greeted by the gentle fall of puffy snowflakes in the crisp, winter air, their delicate forms resting atop colorful lights that twinkle between falling flakes. How lucky I am to witness such a beautiful sight.
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By the time evening rolls around the following day, I’m rolling through nostalgic scenery decorated by the season and spared by time. Every home has remained intact, save for a new coat of paint or a freshly paved driveway; the local businesses — those stores that defined my youth — still sell the same cheap knickknacks and plastic trinkets at the same low prices. Even though it’s been decades since I’ve laid eyes on my childhood neighborhood, seemingly nothing has changed besides the forty-year-old man reminiscing in his car, driving down the same streets like he’s lost in a suburban maze. …I should get on with it before a cop pulls me over.
After cruising a couple of blocks, a small, one-story house with brown siding draws my attention. From the number of cracks in the driveway to the chipped paint on the garage door, every detail has remained the same. As much as I would like to gaze upon the sight in awe, I can’t help but feel a pang of melancholy. This is, after all, the house I grew up in.
I park beside the house’s curb and stop the engine. In the still silence, images of my younger self flash before me in a collage of carefree moments. The more my mind wanders through the depths of the past, the more my mind’s mouth is filled with a bittersweet taste, a flavor I simultaneously loathe and love. By any standard, my childhood was great — unforgettable memories and unconditional love filling my time; yet there is a certain element of longing — a small, childish voice lurking in the recesses of my mind — that wonders what it would be like to rewind time back to those carefree days. Even in light of my success, I have to wonder…
Suddenly, my ringtone rouses me from my daydream. Before I answer, the caller ID causes me to glance at the car’s digital clock — now reading 5:23 p.m. — with urgency. Great, I lost track of time, and now they’re all probably wondering where I am. Am I really going to be late for the friend reunion I planned?
“Hey… So, I sort of—”
“Cage? Hey, where are you, buddy? We’re all waiting at Buds n’ Suds. You didn’t forget about us, did you?”
“Of course not, Chris. I just lost track of time, that’s all. I’ll be right over.”
“Okay, but you better hurry up! Tammy’s about to win— oh, never mind… Anyway, just get here before the sun sets, alright?”
“Yeah, I’ll be there. See you in a couple.”
The call ends, prompting me to start the ignition and floor it for the bar. On the final turn out of the neighborhood, I speed past a lone cop scouting from a nearby cul-de-sac. He looks at the speedometer, stares at my accelerating car, and continues to type on his laptop. Today must be my lucky day.
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3
Barging into the empty bar just in the nick of time, my attention travels from the bartender — a surprisingly unfamiliar face with a giant grin — to an arcade cabinet surrounded by three familiar faces: Chris, Tammy, and Geoff. Tammy is, like usual, the center of attention, playing some hunting game that only exists in bars; Chris and Geoff surround her, acting as personal “cheerleaders” yelling directions. It doesn’t take long for Tammy to look my way with glee.
“Cage!” yells Tammy, probably half deaf from Chris and Geoff’s yelling. Before I can react, she runs over, wraps her arms around me, and—
“Mmmmmmwah! Hehe… It’s been so long since we’ve seen each other…” Tammy ogles me up and down before staring into my eyes like I’m her new vibrating plaything. I should’ve known this is how she would act…
“...Tammy, I’m married.”
“So? What happens in bars stays in bars.”
“Uh-huh… You’re lucky I don’t have a restraining order on you,” I joke, momentarily forgetting the woman I’m talking to. We all make mistakes.
“Oh? Scared I’ll make a move on you?” Tammy says, clutching me closer before angling her lips to my ear, “...Or are you scared you’ll make a move on me? You know I’ll always put out for you, Cage.”
Look, I swear I’m not cheating on Faith. Tammy’s just… Well, she’s Tammy, and we sort of have a history that goes way back, like “the back of my car” back. Yeah, we fooled around when we were horny teens, but that was over two decades ago. If there’s anything between us, it’s purely one-sided.
“Still got it, eh Cage? I remember you pickin’ up chicks in grade school… Once a womanizer, always a womanizer!” Chris teases as Tammy pushes her knee to my crotch. Meanwhile, Geoff’s too busy fiddling with the cabinet’s plastic rifle to pay much attention to our friendly antics. I can hear the beat of his drum from here.
“So, what brings you back to Crestwood? Besides me, of course…” Tammy asks, causing Chris to smirk my way. Thankfully, Chris kept his word and didn’t tell them before I arrived. I’m not one to keep secrets — especially from my friends — but I figured it would be better for me to explain the situation.
“Well… There’s something important I have to check. How about I explain it over some beer and wings? On me, of course.”
“Sounds good,” Chris says, playing into my plan, “Hey, Geoff! Get over here! Cage has something important to talk about!” Geoff looks at us, then back at the cabinet before finally relinquishing the plastic rifle and joining us. He greets me with a friendly smile as we pile into a crowded booth — the bartender yelling into the kitchen for a round of beers and an order of their glazed chicken wings. Just what I wanted.210Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2eWDByd8fD
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4
Amid sticky leather, gummed wood, and a dusty overhead light, the four of us nibble on glazed goodness that has no right being this good. Just when my younger self thought this hole-in-the-wall couldn’t get any better, they go ahead and outdo themselves with a new glaze; hell, there’s even an aftertaste of the old recipe. Almost like nothing’s changed…
“What’s on your mind, Cage? If you’re buying us dinner, it must be pretty important,” Geoff says, wiping his glazed hands on a ball of flimsy napkins. I guess that’s my cue to finally come clean.
“Alright… Before I say anything, I want all of you to promise me you won’t laugh.”
“What, it’s that bad?” Geoff asks while Tammy sneers at me. Please, Chris, back me up here…
“I’m sure it’s nothing that bad. You have my word, Cage,” Chris proclaims in the least subtle way possible. I glance between Tammy and Geoff, hoping they’ll cave to Chris’ performance.
“...Fine, I won’t laugh. Tammy?”
“Oh, I promise I won’t. Do tell!”
Tammy’s obviously screwing around, though I’ll just pretend she’s being serious. After a swig of chilled booze, I explain my return.
“So… Do any of you remember that old mansion by the edge of the neighborhood? You know, the one in the prairie…”
“Wait, the one with all the urban legends?” I can’t tell if Geoff’s question is one of genuine curiosity or utter disbelief. There’s only one way to find out.
“Yeah, that one. …I went into that mansion when I was eight, wondering if any of the urban legends were true. They weren’t, of course, but there’s something calling me to go back there. I’m bringing Chris along to investigate with me tonight.”
“I think one of my besties from high school talked about it once… Wait, so did Chris know the entire time?” Tammy’s question prompts Chris to make a passing glance at me. Don’t worry, I’ll back you up.
“He did, but I wanted to explain it myself. This is my idea, after all.” Before Tammy can speak again, Geoff poses another question.
“And why do you want to go back there? Think you’ll find something?”
“I don’t know… I just have this overwhelming urge to go back. It’s sort of like a mild itch that won’t go away, except the mansion is the hand and my entire body is the itch. Kind of a weird way to describe it, but that’s how it feels.”
“And what about us? …And hold on, what about your wife? Is she coming along, married man?”
“Actually, Cage’s wife is at their fancy hotel spa with mine. They probably have little cucumbers over their eyes or something,” Chris interjects before taking a large crunch out of a ranch-dipped celery stick. When I told Faith about this little excursion, she seemed… less than enthusiastic. Not that I mind; in fact, I was hoping for that. The first thing a pregnant woman needs is comfort, the last is a spooky mansion on vacation.
“Hehe… A wife get-together while the boys dick around in some old mansion. I’m sure I could make it a bit more… exciting.” Tammy proceeds to suck the tip of her glazed middle finger, releasing it from her mouth with an audible pop. I ignore the wave of goosebumps erecting from my forearms.
“Look… Don’t take this the wrong way, but I think Chris is the only one coming with me. I’d rather not rope you two into anything creepy, especially not on a Friday night.”
“Eh, that’s fine with me. I’m sure my girlfriend would throw a fit if she found out I picked walking through an abandoned mansion over wrapping presents with her. …You’re not seriously thinking about going, right Tammy?”
“Nah. I’ve never been good with creepy stuff. Besides, I wouldn’t want Cage’s wife to get jealous. What happens in mansions doesn’t stay in mansions.” The sight of Tammy’s lower lip bite sends a tingle up my spine and a daze throughout my mind. Before my imagination can turn the faithful unfaithful, I’m snapped back to reality.
“Cage, it’s almost seven o’clock. We should probably get going…” Chris says with his phone tilted toward me. I nod in agreement and glide a fresh Franklin onto the napkin-covered table.
“Anyway, we should go before it gets too late. It was fun seeing you two!”
“Yeah, it was fun hanging out like we used to. And before you go, do you know when you’re coming back?” Geoff’s question catches me off guard. Admittedly, I haven’t given it much thought, so I’ll just give a vague answer and hope he accepts it. This is what I get for focusing more on the mansion than my friends…
“Um… I’m not sure, but it’ll be sooner rather than later. Oh, and when I come back, we’ll have to play that hunting game. I’m sure Tammy could show me the ropes.” I flash a smile at Tammy before Chris and I exit the booth.
“Gotcha. Well, I’m sure we’ll keep in touch. And hey, maybe I’ll be the one showing you the ropes. Tammy could learn a thing or two about aiming…”
“Oh, give me a break. I shot and caged more monkeys than you ever will. Come back to me once your name is at the top of the leaderboard,” Tammy says with a tone that's equal parts genuine and jest. With that, we bid our goodbyes and venture into the cold winter night.
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5
Salt pebbles shatter below my shoes as Chris and I slam our driver-side doors. Aside from the orange hue of a nearby street lamp, light gray snow clouds illuminate night’s darkness just enough for us to trek onward without a flashlight. We’d drive to the mansion if we could, but the closest we can park is near a dead-end covered by a fresh snow bank. Crestwood got more snow last night than I thought it would…
“...Do you see it? Straight ahead.” I gesture at a large structure resting on the white horizon. It’s just far enough away to be a hazy apparition looming in the distance, calling to me with irresistible whispers of unknown intent. My curiosity has reached a climax, and I must quell it.
“Yeah, I see it. It’s really out there, isn’t it?” Chris’ rhetorical question compels me to step into the prairie, a large expanse transformed into a freezing sea of pristine powder. My shoes and socks are immediately filled with layers of soft snow, yet I continue to trudge forward. Damned if I stop here because of a little snow.
“Hey, wait up!” Chris rushes through my path until he’s trailing from close behind. Before long, our heavy stomps morph into rhythmic clomps, our existence echoing into the freezing air. Without a doubt, we are completely alone out here.
“...This sort of feels like when we were kids… Just the two of us, exploring the neighborhood.”
“Heh… Yeah, I guess you’re right… My mom would’ve killed me if I ever did anything like this, though.”
“But I thought you did?”
“I’m still breathing, aren’t I? Luckily, I was able to lie my way out of it. Even to this day, she still doesn’t know what I did.”
“Pulling a fast one on your mother… I could’ve used your expertise when I was younger!” Visible chuckles escape into the air as we inch closer to our destination. Some of the mansion’s dilapidated details are starting to come into view — a sore sight turned sweet by my growing anticipation.
“By the way… Have you ever been in the mansion before? You were as curious as I was…” Chris knows about the urban legends, though I’ve never outright asked him about the mansion itself. If my memory serves me, I don’t think he ever went inside — just observed from a distance while circulating urban legends at school. He was probably too afraid of upsetting his parents.
“Right, but I wasn’t curious enough to find out the consequences. The last thing I wanted to do was upset my parents…” Bingo. Though, in his defense, his parents weren’t to be messed with. I wouldn’t have wanted to piss off his dad either.
“Makes sense. Your dad was always a hard ass.”
“Yeah…”
Chris’ response carries us through the remaining journey until our feet hit a set of wooden steps. We’ve arrived.
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6
Discolored bricks, cracked windows, rotting wood. As far as I can tell, this century-old mansion hasn’t changed since all those years ago. It’s almost as if time has frozen alongside the pointed icicles, preserving the Victorian architecture in a perpetual state of disrepair. If the exterior looks like this, then surely the interior will feel like a reunion with a distant memory.
“Honestly, this place really isn’t all that big when you get up close. It’s sort of like a mini-mansion; well, by today’s standards, at least.” Chris scales the short stairway and looks through a pair of oblong windows embedded in the front door. Light blue curtains block his peering eyes.
“Wait until we go inside. You wouldn’t believe how small the place feels.” I follow Chris’ lead and grab the intricate door handle. Unsurprisingly, the door freely opens to the sight of a well-kempt, lighted interior. …Huh?
“Woah… Is someone living here? …Wait, how…” To our utter disbelief, the completely lifeless, dark mansion is a vibrant, seemingly lived-in space on the inside. Chris peers between the exterior’s unlit windows and the interior’s electrical glow. I’m struggling to comprehend the sight before us.
“Is this what you saw when you were eight?” Chris asks, my mind too occupied with the non-Edisonian light to answer. Of course this isn’t what I saw; nothing in this mansion is what I saw.
“...What is this? Is someone playing a trick on us or something?” Chris looks at me like we’re beyond asking reasonable questions. Has he already bought into this nonsense?
“I don’t know… But if we’re going to get any answers, our best bet is to go inside. There might be someone we can talk to.” Dumbfounded, Chris walks inside without a second thought. Unwilling to leave my friend at the mercy of this mansion, I chase after him.
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7
“Chris, what are you… Is that chocolate?” Confronted by a set of stairs ahead and two rooms to our sides, the aroma of rich dark chocolate seeps from the leftward room: a kitchen furnished with retro cooking equipment and dated supplies. My body follows the scent while my mind drifts into its allure.
Upon entering the kitchen, I’m once again greeted by another room — a small living room — on the kitchen’s opposite side. From the white half-wall separating both spaces, I’m only able to see a portion of its old-fashioned furniture, along with an analog TV broadcasting monochrome stock footage of a bygone era. The scent carries me forward.
As I enter the living room, I’m greeted by a middle-aged man — the embodiment of 50s suburbia — lounging in a leather chair. My presence is obvious, yet he continues to puff his wooden pipe as he intently stares at the TV, watching teenagers in drive-ins and nuclear families in churches. Before I can speak, the soothing scent suddenly dissipates as he opens his mouth.
“Look what the cat dragged in… Please, Cage, make yourself at home. I’d like to talk with you for a spell,” the man says with a soothing, baritone voice, gesturing at a nearby couch. He continues to ignore eye contact, his attention remaining in place as I stare at him with confusion and intrigue.
“...How do you know my name? And before that, who are you? And why are you here? Do you live—”
“Don’t flip your lid, Cage. If you sit on the sofa, I’ll answer your questions.” He suddenly looks at me with an indeterminate glare, a stare suspended between friendly and menacing. I hesitate for a moment before succumbing to my overwhelming curiosity. The couch is as stiff as his expression.
“...So are you going to answer my questions?”
“Of course. Which would you like me to answer first?”
“Who are you?”
“I like to think of myself as someone who grants wishes — a wish granter, if you will. I’m also the owner of this mansion.” My brow furrows with incredulity. Is this guy for real?
“Uh-huh… How do you know my name?”
“I know everything about you, Cage.” For a couple of seconds, I just… stare at him like he’s screwing with me; no, wait, he’s clearly trying to trick me. I bet he set up that little magic trick with the lights. How amusing…
“Is that so? Then why don’t you tell me all about myself?”
“I could… but you and I both know it would take all day. How about I give a quick summary of your life?”
“Heh… I’d like to see you try.”
He takes a long drag of his pipe before puffing a stream of stagnant smoke into the air. I can’t wait to hear what this charlatan will come up with.
“Your name is Cage Sherwood, and you’re a successful entrepreneur with more money than you know what to do with; furthermore, your greatest fear is also your deepest desire.”
“...Really? That’s your ‘summary’ of my life? Ha! You people are ridiculous… Here, why don’t you tell me more about that ‘greatest fear’ of mine?”
“Your greatest fear is luck. Tragically, it’s also your deepest desire. …Oh, and one more thing about you.”
“Yes?”
“You forever disappeared when you were eight.”
Silence. Not a single sound distracts me from his words. What is he talking about?
“...I think you’re confusing me with the wrong guy, buddy. You should’ve practiced your routine a bit more—”
“Your mother wept for so long… To this day, your parents still search for you. Though deep down, they think you’re a corpse buried in some remote location.”
“Hold on—”
“But it’s okay. After all… I grant wishes, including desires.”
“...What are you trying to say?”
His expression morphs into a horrid, contemptful grin.
“It takes quite a lucky man to win the lottery five times in a row… to have all the ladies throw themselves at you… to have everything always go your way… Reality tends not to work like that, you know.”
I can only stare at his suffocating grin. …So what if I have a lot of luck? What, is he seriously implying what I think he is? What a bunch of nonsense… I left this mansion when I was eight — I know I did...
“...This is absurd. I’m leaving.”
The moment I stand up, he chuckles with amusement and hints of pity.
“You don’t get it, do you? Cage, you’re not leaving.”
“What’s to get? I’m leaving whether you like it or not.”
Before I can exit the living room, I’m stopped by his words.
“That’s not where the exit is.”
“...Excuse me?”
“The front door isn’t the exit.”
“Of course it is—”
“This mansion doesn’t have any exits. There’s only one way, and that’s the entrance.”
We stare at one another until I abruptly race for the exit. Oddly enough, Chris is still standing by the front door, entranced by empty space.
“Chris, let’s go.”
“But what about—”
“Let’s go!”
I grab his hand and rush out the door. Seconds later, our shoes submerge back into the snow as we quickly trudge from the lifeless mansion. Once we’re a distance away, I stop — tears welling in my eyes — and hug him. He reciprocates my embrace.
“Hey… What’s wrong? Did you get hur—”
“Chris… Why am I so lucky?”
I want nothing more than for him to tell me he doesn’t know. Because how could he? Some things are the way they are because they are. It just so happens I’m the one to win five lotteries back-to-back; I’m the one to get all the ladies; I’m the one who always gets what he wants. If not me, then it would be someone else… right?
“Well… I don’t know. And honestly, I don’t know how I could know. Some things are the way they are because they are, you know? If not you, then it would be someone else… right?”
His words linger in the still air as tiny snowflakes begin to fall around us. Surrounded by nothing but twinkling crystals and a flurry of thoughts, I close my eyes and make one final demand:
“...Tell me the truth.”
He continues to hold me, not a word uttered to soothe my unease. I tremble in his chilling silence as uncertainty gnaws at my body.
“But I’ve already told you the truth, Cage.”
A dreadfully familiar voice compels my eyes to dart open and glance toward Chris’ face. The scene staring back is unfathomable.
“I’m a wish granter, remember?”
“...W-Where’s Chris? Where did he go?!”
“Him? Even actors need their rest, Cage. You know that—”
“WHERE IS HE?! CHRIS— …LET ME GO! LET ME—”
The man constricts my body before pulling me close, his face only inches away from mine. A pungent, stomach-churning tobacco stench assaults my nostrils as he opens his mouth.
“No matter where you go, you’ll always be in the mansion. …Got it?”
With his words penetrating my mind, burning tears stream from my crimson cheeks and penetrate the snow below. I can only muster quiet sobs while snowflakes pass between my distorted view.
“Aw, cheer up, champ. You’re lucky to witness such a beautiful sight.”210Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtdz8pOTqVa
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