Page 77 of God of Monsters

The interior is surprisingly spacious and, in spite of the dirt, cobwebs, and scattered papers, well-kempt, as if it’s not yet been ransacked by anyone. The open area must’ve been a living room, given the couch, a small chair, a table, and a bear skin rug in front of a fireplace. While I look around the room, Titus disappears toward the back, as if still searching for a possible threat inside. The place doesn’t appear to have been lived in for a while, but it’s not entirely abandoned, either, something I discover when I open the cupboards and find cans of food. Well-stocked.

Grabbing two cans of corned beef hash, I smile at the prospect of eating something, as starving as I am.

A hard thunk echoes through the house, and I startle, dropping one of the cans on the floor, just missing my toe.

I make my way toward the rooms where Titus ventured off, and find him in one at the very back of the house. On the bed, a sprawled skeletal body lies outstretched, blackened with decay.

There are no marks, or any indication that he died by force, or trauma. Perhaps only by old age.

Or loneliness.

“He locked himself inside the room. I’m guessing so the dog wouldn’t eat him.” Titus hands me a sheet of paper, where a note has been scrawled in faded ink. “I can’t read it.”

I study the words on the page for a moment, only just able to make out a few that, with context, give the gist of the message. “It says to any travelers, feel free to make yourself at home. God bless. Roger.” I set the note onto the bed beside the man’s remains. “I’m surprised none of the people from the hive we saw back there found this place.”

“They stayed away.”

“Why?”

“It’s cursed. That’s the symbol carved into the wood out front.”

“That doesn’t make sense. He invites travelers into a house he believes is cursed?”

He rifles through the drawer of the nightstand, where only a Bible sits tucked. “He didn’t carve that symbol. If I had to guess, someone found this place, wanted to lay claim to it, so they did it to keep others away.”

“They might come back, then.”

“Unless they were killed. At any rate, this is where we’ll stay.” He shoves his knife into his pocket, and tosses the edges of the bedding onto the decaying body.

“What are you doing?”

“Going to burn, then bury, him. Or were you hoping to cuddle with him tonight?”

“If I wanted to cuddle a corpse, I’d have snuggled in beside you last night.”

With a snort, Titus lifts the body from the bed with ease. “Think you need to find some food to fill that mouth of yours, Viper.”

“It just so happens, I already have.” I hold up the one can of hash I didn’t drop. “I’ll make breakfast.”

A mouse scampers across the floor, and I jump back, nearly dropping the second can.

“Plenty to eat in this house.”

“I’ll starve before I eat a dirty mouse.”

With the corpse hoisted over his shoulder, he comes to a stop alongside me and glances down at the can and back. “What do you think canned meat’s made from?”

I frown at the faded picture of red chunks on the can’s label, and trail my gaze after him, as he tromps out of the room with the body. “It’s not mouse meat,” I mutter.

Hungry as I am, I ignore my grumbling stomach to explore the adjacent room, this one slightly smaller. Pictures hang from the walls of it. One, a white horse against a gray background, with Deftones written beneath. Another is the outline of a man with a raised fist and Rage Against The Machine. On the dresser beside a wooden bed stands a faded picture in a frame. A boy, who appears to be no more than thirteen, holds up a fish on a line, next to the creek where Titus and I stopped for water. Beside him, an older man leans into him, arm wrapped around his shoulder. A fit, muscular man, perhaps the size of Titus, who smiles with pride. And a much smaller Yuma, with his tongue lobbed off to the side.

I lift my gaze toward the window across from me, beyond which Titus slams a shovel into the dirt alongside two propped crosses, where I’m guessing the man’s son and possibly his wife are buried. The mounds have grown over with grass.

There’s a timelessness about this place. As if it remained untouched long after the Dredge.

More wandering leads me to the kitchen, and I set the can of hash onto the counter as I examine the stove.

Electric.