Mammon

“That house was once white, y’know.”

“Really?” The little boy asked, furrowing his thin brows. “But it’s all gray and gross.”

“That’s true. It is. But it wasn’t always that way. It used to be whiter than snow and cleaner than a whistle.”

“Huh…” He paused, looking up at the older man expectantly. “So… what happened?”

“What do you mean?”

“To the house. If it used to be so nice, then why’s it all nasty now?”

“That’s a long story.”

“I have time.”

“It’s also a bit scary. Are you sure you can handle it?”

“Listen, mister. I’m ten years old. Ten. Two digits. Which means I’m a big kid, practically an adult.” The boy replied petulantly, puffing out his chest.

“Oh yeah? Who told you that?”

“My cousin, Mickey. He’s 22 which means he’s a real adult because he’s got two digits and the first one is two.” 

“Huh… Mickey ever tell you any scary stories?”

“Yeah! All the time! He told me one about a ghost who haunts an old mineshaft and another one about a monster that lives in a swamp and eats people!”

“Wow! Those are scary. But I’ve heard those before and you wanna know something?”

“What?” The boy asked, his light blue eyes wide with anticipation.

“They’re not true.”

“Of course not!” The boy rolled his eyes. “Everyone knows scary stories aren’t true. They’re just for fun.”

“Sometimes, yes. But not always. Sometimes scary stories can be true.”

“Really?”

“Mm-hm. Like the one about that house. It happened plain as day, just as real as the ground beneath your feet and the air in your lungs.”

“Huh…”

“So… do you still wanna hear it?”

“Yes!” He cried a bit too quickly. “I- I mean… if you want, I guess that’s cool.”

“You sure? Sometimes we think we want to hear a story, but end up regretting it later.”

“No, no! I want to hear it! C’mon, tell me!”

“Alright, if that’s what you want…”

An eager grin tugged at the corner of the boy’s mouth as he made himself as comfortable as possible against the rough gravel. There was a pause as the man stared at the house, as if willing it to tell its own story.

“A long time ago, people used to live in that house. Rich people. It was the vacation home of one of the wealthiest families in America. They were revered by the locals for bringing prosperity to this small town, and world-renowned for their charity efforts. Parents would see them strolling down the street and point them out to their children, saying “See them? That’s the goal. That’s what you wanna be. That’s the American Dream.” Everyone claimed to love the family, but really, they envied them. They wanted what they had. Not just the riches, but the effortless manner with which they seemed to go through life, strutting past obstacles and sashaying over hurdles. You ever hear that old saying, be careful what you wish for?”

The boy nodded, his wide eyes showing that the man had his complete attention.

“Well, it’s true, y’know. You must always be careful what you wish for, otherwise you might end up getting something you didn’t really want at all.”

“Is that what happened to the people who wanted the family’s stuff?” The little boy asked, his timid voice hardly above a whisper.

“It is. You’re a smart cookie, you are.”

Ordinarily, the boy would have blushed or bashfully lowered his head, but he was far too enraptured by the story to even process the man’s comment.

“So what happened?”

“Well, one day, the family disappeared.”

“Disappeared where?”

“No one knows.”

“How, though? Did they drive away in a car or go on an airplane or…?”

“No one knows.”

“How long did they stay away?”

“Well, that’s the scary part.”

At the mention of “the scary part,” the boy perked up, his blue eyes darkening in expectation as the man continued.

“After they disappeared, other people started going missing too. Children. All over town, parents could be heard crying the names of their lost children in hopes that they would respond. But no one ever did.”

The boy was now visibly shaken, but making a gallant attempt to hide it.

“The police investigated, but their searches turned up empty. The children were nowhere to be found. Except…”

“Except?”

The man paused for a moment, studying the boy’s small, anxious features. 

“They say that if you stand outside the house and remain very still and quiet, you can hear the children inside.”

“Hear them doing what?” The boy asked, seeming afraid to even ask the question.

“Laughing.”

The pause which followed was different than its predecessors. Unlike the other gaps in their conversation, this one felt forced, as if something dangerous hung in the air between them. Something which would remain unreal so long as it remained unspoken. 

But the boy could not help himself.

“Why… why are they laughing?”

“Because they got their wish.”

When the man took the boy’s hand, gently leading him towards the house, the boy did not protest. He felt as if all power to doubt, resist, or fight had been washed out of him. All that was left was for him to obey. To obey the slow but deliberate tug of the man’s hand pulling his.

Still, the boy had enough energy left for a few more questions.

“Mister?”

“Hm?”

“I’ve never seen you before. I know everyone in this town. Why haven’t I seen you before, mister?”

“But you have seen me before, son.”

“When? I don’t remember.”

“No. Of course, you wouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

That was when he heard them. The children. Their laughter. The noise bouncing off the rotting wooden walls, ricocheting from one ancient rafter to another. The boy felt a chilling shock run down his back, as if someone had injected ice into his spine. They didn’t sound happy. It was not the jovial laughter of little children upon seeing the ice cream truck in their driveway that he heard, but the wailing, desperate cries of twisted souls forced to laugh. 

The contorted chuckles filled his mind until he could focus on nothing else. Still, the man’s bitter smile cut through the fog with sickening clarity.

“Because no one remembers me. They never do.”

A pause. The man’s grip tightened on the boy’s sweating palm.

“How ‘bout you, son? Have you ever wanted to be rich? Ever wished you could have someone else’s life?”

The boy nodded, making a painful attempt to swallow the lump in his bone-dry throat.

“Then that’s when you saw me. Every time you longed for another person’s wealth, you saw me.”

“Mister?” The boy breathed out, his words broken with horror. “Who are you?”

The sharp lines of the man’s mouth contorted into a grin, his green eyes flaring like emeralds in a rich man’s coffer.

“I’m the one who makes sure everybody gets exactly what they want.”

With that, he led the boy into the house, the time-worn oak doors creaking shut behind them.

Funny, the boy thought to himself, even the doors sound like they’re laughing. Funny. Funny. Funny… It was kind of funny. Really funny.

He began to chuckle, replaying the sound in his mind.

It was more than funny, it was hilarious.

He started laughing, laughing harder and louder than he ever had before. He laughed so hard his diaphragm hurt. Before long, everything hurt.

But he kept laughing. He couldn’t stop. He felt the tears run down his face and into his laughing mouth as he heard the sounds coming from his own throat.

He wasn’t laughing. He was screaming.