Chapter Forty-Five

Dan and Vince Go on a Wild Journey in the Unspeakable Horror That Is Frank and Beans' Home

Dan

Vince and I didn't move at first, peering inside in confusion, because no one was standing on the other side of the door.

In fact, the hallway was completely dark and empty. I took a cautious step over the threshold and could just about see a string tied to the inner door handle, stretched taut as it disappeared under a closed door on my left. Light glowed underneath, and I could tell that was where the Alpine folk music was coming from.

Motel art covered every inch of wall space, some of it proudly displaying the name of the motel it had been taken from. Humanised hot dogs had been drawn on every piece—a karate-chopping hot dog standing proud on the hill of a scenic landscape. A hot dog in a sheer nightgown draped over a chaise longue in a still-life piece. One smoking a cigarette in the rain outside a watercolour of a neon-lit diner.

There was an enormous monstera plant wrapped around the banister and creeping its way upstairs. Frank and Beans' tandem bike was leaning against the wall next to an inflatable paddling pool filled with sand, which was blocking the doorway to the kitchen.

"What the fuuuuck?" Vince muttered under his breath as we slowly took a few steps inside.

The yodelling music seemed to get louder. I peered through the open doorway to our right. It was dark, but I could see that it was supposed to be a dining room, except the table was piled high with more bags of dog kibble, an assortment of mismatched knives and forks, and several bowls of old, congealing kibble and milk. Behind it was a glass display cabinet filled with trophies. Taped to the top of it was a strip of paper with the words OUR KARATE TROPHIES!!! crudely written.

"Dude," Vince murmured, sounding a little hoarse. "I'm kind of shitting myself. This is scary."

I swallowed and tried not to show that I was pretty freaked out too. "They're just thieves. This is all stuff they've stolen."

"Okay, but why did they steal"—he pointed at a brand new chainsaw in the corner of the hall and gulped—"that?"

I stared at it, resisting the urge to reach over and grab Vince's hand. "I… I think they just steal whatever they can. It doesn't look… used."

"It's right next to the paddling pool filled with sand," he hissed. "That seems like a serial killer thing, right? Sand to soak up the blood?"

"They're not serial killers," I hissed back, my voice wobbling a little. "They're just weird."

"I'd bet big fucking money that all serial killers are weird too," Vince whispered frantically. He reached out and clutched my shirt when I took a hesitant step toward the closed door opposite. "Dan. Buddy. I don't wanna go in there."

"You don't have to," I whispered, but I wanted to haul him against me and make him promise he wouldn't leave me alone in here. "You can go wait in the car."

"No, I fucking can't!" he hissed. "Not if you're staying. I'm not leaving you alone to get murdered. I guess we'll just get fucking murdered together."

"They're not going to murder us," I said unconvincingly, looking around for a potential weapon. There was the chainsaw, but… I didn't know if I had the stomach for that.

Spotting nothing else, I carefully slid one of the framed pictures off the wall and handed it to Vince, then grabbed another. He didn't question it, just gripped it tight and got ready to use it as a weapon.

Taking a deep breath, I turned to face the closed door. "Ready?"

"No."

"We can't just keep standing here!" I whispered. "I'm going in."

"Fuuuck," Vince groaned. "I can't believe I'm going to die without ever finding out what kind of snacks they serve at an orgy."

"You've never been to an orgy?" I asked in surprise, then huffed and nudged his arm as I hissed, "Stop distracting me. And the snacks entirely depend on who's hosting. It's really hit or miss. So is the orgy part, honestly."

"Do they know we're here?" he whispered worriedly, nodding at the closed door. "Are they just standing in there waiting for us? Probably with axes? Or more chainsaws?"

I hesitated. "We'd hear if they had a chainsaw, right? Even with the yodelling?"

"Oh god, what if their dicks are out?" Vince groaned.

"Why would their dicks be out?" I hissed. "Shut up, Vince. You're making me nervous."

" You're nervous? I don't even know what the fuck we're doing when we find them," he hissed back. "Are we beating them up? Lightly scaring them? Or at this point, are we just hoping our limbs don't end up in the serial killer sand pit by the kitchen?"

Why the hell had I thought bringing Vince would be a good idea?

Deciding not to give him time to freak me out even more, I held my breath and grabbed the door handle, pushing it down as slowly and silently as possible.

"No, do it fast!" Vince whispered, making me grit my teeth. "We need the element of surprise. It's all we've fucking got."

"I've already fucking started!"

"Just kick it open and run inside!"

" You kick it open and run inside!"

Suddenly, the handle was jerked out of my grip as the door was yanked open from the other side. A small figure in a hockey mask leaped toward us and yelled, " WoooooOOOOO! " like a ghost, making us both jump violently while Vince let out a bloodcurdling scream, which made me scream, which made the other guy scream. The yodelling was even louder now, thudding through my skull and making it hard to think, so I had no idea what was going on when Vince suddenly screamed again as he abruptly tipped over, his fingernails clawing down my arm.

I whirled around in horror and saw another masked figure scurrying backward into the dining room opposite, dragging Vince with him by a rope he'd knotted around his ankles.

"Daaaan!" Vince screamed, reaching for me desperately, nails scrabbling over the floorboards.

My eyes widened in horror. I dropped the framed painting and lunged, landing on my belly with a grunt and snagging Vince's fingertips just before he vanished into the darkness under the dining table.

"Don't let go, Dan," he croaked.

"I'll never let go," I rasped back. "I promise."

"Gimme that zipper, boy." Frank's horrifyingly familiar voice came from under the dining table, followed by a cackle.

I yelped in terror when Beans walked up my legs and over my ass to stand on my back. He started doing a jig in time with the Alpine folk music, making me grunt from the impact. I twisted onto my side to throw him off, then scrambled to my knees to grab Vince's wrists in a tight grip and heave.

Frank fought against me, making Vince squawk as he was pulled in two directions at once.

"Let—go—Frank!" I bellowed. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"What the heck are you doing?" he yelled back. "You're in our house!"

"You opened the door for us!"

"Yeah, and then I heard the ghoul call us serial killers! That's offensive, man."

"I didn't mean it!" Vince wailed. "You're not serial killers! Please don't kill me!"

"We're not gonna kill you, boy." Beans sauntered closer, snapping his fingers. "But we are going to take that mighty fine zipper on them there jeans."

"Wh-what? I—Fine, take the fucking zipper!" Vince shouted. "Take the jeans! I don't care! I'll walk out of here naked if it means I actually get to walk out of this fucking nightmare!"

"You're not taking his zipper," I yelled furiously, letting go of one wrist to reach for the painting I'd dropped and smashing it over Beans' head. It settled around his neck like a collar as he crouched in a warrior pose and screamed at the ceiling.

This was chaos. I couldn't fucking think. At this moment, I couldn't even remember why we were here. I finally managed to get my arms around Vince's middle. He clung to me desperately, and when Frank suddenly let go of the rope, I flew back and landed on my ass with Vince collapsing on top of me.

He twisted around, nailing me in the gut as he scrambled to shove the rope off his ankles. I was already trying to stand, no idea where either Frank or Beans were now, and I accidentally used Vince's face to push myself back up, which made him squawk and fall onto his side.

My chest was heaving when I finally got to my feet and grabbed Vince's arm to help him up. He clutched my shirt, shaking me frantically.

"Let's just get the fuck out of here, man."

I nodded quickly. This had definitely not gone the way I'd planned.

But when we spun for the door, we both froze at the sight of Beans blocking the way, the hockey mask gone and a pair of sunglasses on his face now.

He was holding a paintball gun.

"Say hello to these little puppies." We whirled around again to face the voice, clinging to each other, to see Frank in the exact same pose, with the exact same paintball gun, which he raised and aimed at us as Vince sucked in a panicked breath.

We yelped when they started pelting us with paintballs from both sides. Hunching over to protect the goods, I grabbed Vince's arm and dragged him into the living room as he cried out, "That's not even the line!"

This room was filled with more tandem bicycles and—making my blood run cold with horror—a large collection of statue heads, doll heads, mannequin heads and the heads of models cut out of magazines. There were heads everywhere. I was pretty sure I'd had a recurring nightmare like this as a kid.

Vince and I shrieked and dove behind the couch when Frank and Beans appeared in the doorway and kept firing paintballs at us, spraying the entire room and cackling maniacally. Yodelling music blasted our eardrums, making it impossible to think.

"What do we do, man?" Vince whimpered, brows pinching in anguish when he shifted and pulled a deflated balloon rat covered in puncture holes out from under his ass.

I looked around wildly, my gaze landing on a bucket of brightly coloured plastic balls, clearly stolen from a ball pit. Panting with adrenaline, I lunged forward to grab it, squeaking when a paintball sailed over the top of my head, narrowly missing me.

Some of the balls had been chewed on, the teeth marks visible, but we both plunged our hands in without hesitation and grabbed several.

"We just came to talk!" I shouted as we began pelting them back with plastic balls.

"All talk and no action makes Jake a dull boy!" one of them yelled back.

Vince gritted his teeth and loaded up on balls to chuck them forcefully over the couch, one after another in quick succession. "Stop—getting—sayings—wrong!" he yelled in frustration with each one he threw.

"I'll stop when I'm fed," Beans cried, which made Vince growl like a feral animal.

"God, you are the fucking worst ," he shouted, looking around wildly for something else to throw when we ran out of plastic balls.

My pulse leaped when I heard a click and the number of paintballs hitting the couch protecting us abruptly cut in half.

"Darn it," Frank grumbled. "Out of paintnuts."

"Who the fuck calls them paintnuts?" Vince shouted.

Then Beans stopped shooting as well. "Yeah, think I am too."

"Truce," I yelled immediately, my voice cracking.

There was a pause, before Frank suspiciously called, "Did you say Bruce?"

"I said truce!" I shouted. "Turn that fucking yodelling off so we can talk!"

I heard some grumbling until finally, the Alpine folk music stopped abruptly, leaving my ears ringing.

Exhaling a slow, slightly trembling breath, I tried to make my voice calmer and called, "We're going to stand up. So we can talk. Like adults. Okay?"

"I don't want to," Vince whimpered.

"Put those sausages up first," Frank called sternly.

Vince and I gave each other a blank look. "What?" I called.

"The hands! The hands, dingus! Put 'em up!"

Muttering under my breath, I lifted my hands until they poked out from behind the couch. When Vince didn't move, I jabbed him with my elbow until he sighed and reluctantly did the same.

"Standing up now," I called, my knees trembling wildly as I struggled to my feet. Vince slowly followed me up, and we cautiously moved out from behind the couch, which was now splattered in a ludicrous amount of green and yellow paint.

So were we.

"Okay." I gave them both a nervous smile. "This… We got off on the wrong foot, huh? This doesn't need to get any uglier than it already has."

"We'll see," Frank said cautiously, narrowing his eyes at me. "Tell us why you're here."

"Oh wait, I think I have one more." Beans casually aimed his paintball gun at Vince's crotch and shot before any of us could react.

" Hnnnngh. " Vince doubled over, clutching his junk. After a few seconds of whimpering, he wheezed, "Got me right in the nuts."

"We called a truce!" I snapped angrily. "Drop the fucking guns!"

"I really fucking hate you two," Vince gasped, sucking in fast breaths as he rested his hands on his knees.

"We're here," I hurriedly said before anything else could happen, "because you mugged Rafe yesterday."

The pair of them stared at me blankly for a second before Beans said, "Yeah."

My jaw clenched. I had no idea what I actually planned on doing now. I definitely did not have the upper hand here, but I couldn't just let them get away with it.

"You hurt him," I gritted out. "Bruised his eye and made his nose bleed."

"Well he shouldn't bleed so easily then!" Frank snapped, but he looked a little guilty as he defensively added, "It was an accident anyway. Beans didn't mean to."

Beans said nothing.

"Besides, what's that got to do with you?" Frank asked suspiciously.

"I… care about him," I said carefully. "A lot."

Vince awwed through a pained breath and gave me a trembly thumbs up, still doubled over. "Happy for you, bro," he wheezed.

"So I came here to…"

"To what?" Beans asked.

"Beat us up," Frank blurted accusingly. "I heard the roller-skating ghoul say it."

"I have a name," Vince snapped hoarsely.

"No," I said quickly, because even if that had been my initial loose plan—possibly—I was smart enough to realise at this point that we would definitely, one hundred percent lose that fight. "I just… want you to apologise," I finished weakly. "I guess."

"Nahhh." Beans crossed his arms with a pout. "I don't feel like it."

"We can't, anyway," Frank piped up, his lip curling. "We can't get into Goliaths."

"Jesus, does that mean they've already tried?" Vince muttered with a shudder.

"You could give us his address," Beans then rasped in a horrifyingly sinister voice. I felt the blood drain from my face and shook my head frantically.

"No. Just… For fuck's sake." I scrubbed aggressively at my face. I couldn't leave with nothing . My pride wouldn't let me. Dropping my hands, I gave them a pleading look. "Couldn't you just… write him a note?"

"Are you kidding me?" Vince grated. "All this for a fucking note? My testicle is probably bruised, Daniel."

Frank and Beans looked at each other. Beans was shaking his head and jabbing his finger at me, which made me very nervous, while mouthing something I couldn't make out. Then Frank clicked his tongue, and Beans immediately stopped and crossed his arms with a huff.

"Fine. We'll write this so-called note ," Frank told me suspiciously. "But no funny business."

"No, none," I said quickly. "Great. Perfect. Uh… do you have any paper?"

Frank looked around blankly, before bending down to pick up a yellow pool noodle that looked like it had been gnawed on. "How about this?"

My shoulders sagged as I stared at it, then nodded in defeat. "Okay. Fine. How about a pen?"

"I've got lipstick." Beans crouched to pull a shoe box out from under a broken coffee table. He started rifling through it, pulling some lipsticks out and peering at the bottoms of the tubes. "This one's a subtle nude. Great for elegant gatherings. Oooh, this one's a lovely rouge called ‘Lady of a Midsummer's Eve.' Perfect if you're feeling a little saucy!"

"I don't care what colour it is," I gritted out. "Just pick one."

He finally handed one over to Frank, who rested the pool noodle on the paint-streaked couch and leaned over it with the lipstick poised at one end.

"What am I writing?" he asked, looking up at me.

I huffed. "You're apologising for being assholes who hurt him and tried to mug him."

"Fine, but I'm not using that word." Frank sniffed. "I'll write ‘butthead.' We don't think that word should be used as an insult. We love our buttholes."

"Mine looks like a beautiful sunbeam," Beans said, now carefully applying dark red lipstick.

"Get me the fuck out of here," Vince groaned under his breath, scrubbing his face and smearing green paint everywhere.

"Here." Frank held out the pool noodle, a message now written messily along its length in lipstick.

I snatched it out of his hand. "Great. Thanks. Uh, if you ever go near Rafe again, I'll kick both your asses."

Beans snorted as if that was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard.

My nostrils flared. Jerking my head at the door, I said to Vince, "Let's go."

"Hold on there." Suddenly, Beans was in front of us, blocking the door. "What do we get?"

"You get us leaving your house of horrors and never, ever coming back," Vince said flatly, gripping my arm tight.

Frank slunk over to join him, both of them crossing their arms. "Nah. We want something else."

"What?" I snapped, on the brink of exploding.

Beans jerked his chin at Vince's groin, which made us both step back in horror. Vince whimpered, cupping his hands over his junk.

"Zipper," Beans said.

"What?" Vince squawked. "You weren't serious about that."

"I'm always serious, turd."

"Vince, give the man your zipper," I muttered. "Just do it."

He looked between us and groaned, reaching for his fly.

A minute later, we were finally walking out of the worst house in existence, both of us shaken and dazed and covered in paint. I was clutching a pool noodle with lipstick on it, and Vince no longer had his pants.

In silence, we walked off the front porch and across the lawn. We both flinched when the yodelling music started back up again in the house.

As we reached my car, Vince turned and fisted my shirt, gazing up at me. "We can't ever tell anyone about this, Dan."

I nodded and croaked, "I know."

" No one. Ever. We're bound by something stronger than blood now, man."

I nodded again quickly, still dazed. He exhaled a shaky breath and slowly released my shirt, then flung his arms around me.

"I love you, man."

"I love you too, bro." I squeezed him tight, admitting in a small voice, "That was so scary."