Chapter 27 - House Without a Number
The open doorway swallowed every beam from my flashlight.
It wasn't merely dark.
It was as though light itself refused to enter.
Rick refused to move.
He planted himself firmly in the middle of the road, staring at the black house.
The elderly woman grabbed my sleeve.
"Don't go inside."
"You know what's in there?"
"I know who lived there."
She looked pale.
"Victor Hale."
The name echoed through the empty street.
At that exact moment, a porch light illuminated above the black door.
An old man stepped outside.
Perfectly dressed.
Gray suit.
Polished shoes.
Silver hair.
He looked no older than sixty.
Far younger than he should have been.
He smiled warmly.
"I've been expecting all of you."
No one answered.
He looked at Rick first.
"Good to see you again, R-17."
Rick growled.
The man's smile never faded.
He turned toward me.
"You've been asking the wrong questions."
"What should I be asking?"
He gestured toward the neighborhood.
"Not who built this."
"But why someone keeps rebuilding it."
The realtor stepped forward.
"Who are you?"
The man chuckled softly.
"My name changes."
"The title doesn't."
"And what title is that?"
He looked directly into my eyes.
"Caretaker."
The word seemed to echo unnaturally through the underground streets.
I shook my head.
"Harold Bennett said he was the sixth Caretaker."
"He was."
"And you're..."
The old man smiled again.
"I'm the first."
Behind him, lights switched on throughout the black house.
For the first time, we could see inside.
The walls weren't lined with furniture.
They were covered entirely by photographs.
Millions of them.
May you like
Every photograph showed someone looking upward...
Toward a ceiling vent.
