Categories > Original > Horror > The House of Daria Vane
The House of Daria Vane
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There are spiders on Daria's front doorstep.
And in her yard. And on the sidewalk. Scuttling over the window panes, spining webs across the fallen siding. Tiny gray circles, with long legs like drab bits of thread. They smell foul, the sweet and moist smell of decay. At first, I'm afraid that they're not even real, just splotches on my vision or something phantasmal, like the hand-prints at Dad's office. But when I crush one under the heel of my sandal, the almost greasy stain it leaves on the concreate is real enough.
I knock on the door a few times, then look out over the spider-infested yard. Daria's taken down the realtor's sign, and replaced it with a large white "For Sale: By Owner" board. There are spiders on that, too, and the letters almost look like they're crawling. I shudder, and raise the doorknocker again.
It falls down against the door, smashing another spider.
I'm no arachnophobe, but these tiny gray things make me feel somehow unclean, like I'm covered in a layer of cobweb. They almost remind me of Daria's visitor in the way that they move. By the time Daria answers the door, I've wrapped my arms around my body and raised myself up on my toes to avoid the spiders.
"Oh," Daria says, glancing down at the step. Actually, there are webs spun across the doorway, too, and I can see some little bodies scurring across the floor inside. "You."
"Daria," I say, and I put my hand on the doorframe to keep her from closing it in my face. Almost as soon as I touch the sticky wood, I wish I hadn't: it's covered with webs, or something worse. "You have to help--"
"You may find that I do not have to do anything at the moment, except for sell my house," she says crossly. "And I am having rather a hard time of that at the moment. If you will excuse me, I was just about to call an exterminator..."
"It's about Sybil," I blurt.
She pauses with her hand on the doorknob, one straight eyebrow delicately raised. "What about her?"
"She's doing..something." I snap my fingers, grasping at the air for words. "To my father. Like what you're doing." Her expression hasn't changed, and I wonder if I'm confusing her. And so I abandon my attempts at interpretation and tell her everything that's happened since I set foot on her old lot yesterday.
I'm not sure she's even listening. Daria watches my animated narrative without so much as nodding to show that she's heard. When I'm done, she stares at me for a few seconds in silence.
"Do you understand?" I ask hesitantly, forcing myself not to wave my hand over her eyes and sing out "Earth to Daria!"
She shrugs. "There are too many eyes," she says, pointing to one of the spiders on the doorframe. Almost on cue, it scuttles around, revealing eight sparkling opal eyes. Daria flicks it off the door with her fingernail and beckons me inside.
The enterance hall has changed quite a bit since my last visit two nights ago. There's a fine layer of dust over everything, far more dust than can normally accumulate in two days. The spiders are inside, too, running up over the broken banisters like an invading army. They've spun webs across the intricate moldings of the golden mirror. I glance at the glimmering glass, as opaline as the spider's eyes, and nearly gasp aloud. There is an image on the glass now, a silhouette with only the smallest detail, like a shadow on a wall. But it's Him. Daria's visitor, only instead of brown, his eyes are the glass.
As I watch, I can feel my thoughts blurring and running together, and it seems the mirror cracks down the middle like the one at the Veller House. I take a step towards it. The jagged slice is moving, crawling, and suddenly a stream of round gray bodies squrim out, spilling across the glass and down onto the carpet.
And then I feel Daria's hand on my shoulder, pulling me back. I close my eyes and count to thirteen. When I open them again, the mirror is whole, but the spiders are still there.
"His reflection," Daria says, misinterpreting my horrorified expression. "Only six more days..."
"And then what?"
Daria squeezes my shoulder. "I do not know. Let us hope I never find out." Then her expression brightens, and she turns toward the kitchen. "Would you like a cup of tea? You promised to share one with me some time ago, but we never got around to it."
"I...sure," I mumble, startled at the change of subject. Daria takes my hand and leads me into the dining room, where she brushes dust and spiders off one end of the table and gestures for me to sit down. I do, and she runs off to the kitchen. I hear the sounds of crashing china and running water.
"What brings you here today, Clara?" she calls. I cross my legs up on my chair to avoid the spiders creeping along the floor. They are so dense in some places that they crawl on top of each ohter, in a mess of twisting legs and fat bodies.
"I already told you," I say. Something soft and airy brushes against my cheek, and I crush it quickly without looking.
"You told me about Sybil, yes. But why? Your father's fate is...unfortunate, yes, but what am I to do about it?"
"You're Immortal!" I blurt. "There must be something you can do."
Daria appears in the doorway, a steaming cup of tea in her hand. "Firstly, I am not Immortal by any definition, and secondly, I have other things to worry about at the moment. In case the significance escapes you, I have a house to sell and no realtor to do it."
"Damn you and your house to hell and back!" It's one of Grandma's old expressions. Daria laughs in appreciation of my horribly appropriate word choice.
"That is exactly what I am afraid of," she says. "If you want me to help you, then you must help me first." Her voice takes on a gentle tone that makes me want to crush something. She sets the tea down in front of me, but I don't drink.
"I'd love to help," I say sarcastically, "But as I've been warned not to by the devil Himself, I think I won't."
"He told you not to help me because He knew you would need to," Daria says. "But I am not asking you to do anything unthinkable, Clara. I just need your help selling this house. Can you do that?"
"What will you do about Sybil?"
Her eyes narrow. She takes a sip out of the teacup in front of me and taps the rim with her finger. "I will think of something."
"Daria!"
"Hush!" She slams her tea down and lays her hand across my mouth. Her skin is soft, and she smells like lavender soap. "Let me think. And in the mean time..." She lifts her hand off my lips and points to the floor. "You can start getting rid of these spiders."
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There are spiders on Daria's front doorstep.
And in her yard. And on the sidewalk. Scuttling over the window panes, spining webs across the fallen siding. Tiny gray circles, with long legs like drab bits of thread. They smell foul, the sweet and moist smell of decay. At first, I'm afraid that they're not even real, just splotches on my vision or something phantasmal, like the hand-prints at Dad's office. But when I crush one under the heel of my sandal, the almost greasy stain it leaves on the concreate is real enough.
I knock on the door a few times, then look out over the spider-infested yard. Daria's taken down the realtor's sign, and replaced it with a large white "For Sale: By Owner" board. There are spiders on that, too, and the letters almost look like they're crawling. I shudder, and raise the doorknocker again.
It falls down against the door, smashing another spider.
I'm no arachnophobe, but these tiny gray things make me feel somehow unclean, like I'm covered in a layer of cobweb. They almost remind me of Daria's visitor in the way that they move. By the time Daria answers the door, I've wrapped my arms around my body and raised myself up on my toes to avoid the spiders.
"Oh," Daria says, glancing down at the step. Actually, there are webs spun across the doorway, too, and I can see some little bodies scurring across the floor inside. "You."
"Daria," I say, and I put my hand on the doorframe to keep her from closing it in my face. Almost as soon as I touch the sticky wood, I wish I hadn't: it's covered with webs, or something worse. "You have to help--"
"You may find that I do not have to do anything at the moment, except for sell my house," she says crossly. "And I am having rather a hard time of that at the moment. If you will excuse me, I was just about to call an exterminator..."
"It's about Sybil," I blurt.
She pauses with her hand on the doorknob, one straight eyebrow delicately raised. "What about her?"
"She's doing..something." I snap my fingers, grasping at the air for words. "To my father. Like what you're doing." Her expression hasn't changed, and I wonder if I'm confusing her. And so I abandon my attempts at interpretation and tell her everything that's happened since I set foot on her old lot yesterday.
I'm not sure she's even listening. Daria watches my animated narrative without so much as nodding to show that she's heard. When I'm done, she stares at me for a few seconds in silence.
"Do you understand?" I ask hesitantly, forcing myself not to wave my hand over her eyes and sing out "Earth to Daria!"
She shrugs. "There are too many eyes," she says, pointing to one of the spiders on the doorframe. Almost on cue, it scuttles around, revealing eight sparkling opal eyes. Daria flicks it off the door with her fingernail and beckons me inside.
The enterance hall has changed quite a bit since my last visit two nights ago. There's a fine layer of dust over everything, far more dust than can normally accumulate in two days. The spiders are inside, too, running up over the broken banisters like an invading army. They've spun webs across the intricate moldings of the golden mirror. I glance at the glimmering glass, as opaline as the spider's eyes, and nearly gasp aloud. There is an image on the glass now, a silhouette with only the smallest detail, like a shadow on a wall. But it's Him. Daria's visitor, only instead of brown, his eyes are the glass.
As I watch, I can feel my thoughts blurring and running together, and it seems the mirror cracks down the middle like the one at the Veller House. I take a step towards it. The jagged slice is moving, crawling, and suddenly a stream of round gray bodies squrim out, spilling across the glass and down onto the carpet.
And then I feel Daria's hand on my shoulder, pulling me back. I close my eyes and count to thirteen. When I open them again, the mirror is whole, but the spiders are still there.
"His reflection," Daria says, misinterpreting my horrorified expression. "Only six more days..."
"And then what?"
Daria squeezes my shoulder. "I do not know. Let us hope I never find out." Then her expression brightens, and she turns toward the kitchen. "Would you like a cup of tea? You promised to share one with me some time ago, but we never got around to it."
"I...sure," I mumble, startled at the change of subject. Daria takes my hand and leads me into the dining room, where she brushes dust and spiders off one end of the table and gestures for me to sit down. I do, and she runs off to the kitchen. I hear the sounds of crashing china and running water.
"What brings you here today, Clara?" she calls. I cross my legs up on my chair to avoid the spiders creeping along the floor. They are so dense in some places that they crawl on top of each ohter, in a mess of twisting legs and fat bodies.
"I already told you," I say. Something soft and airy brushes against my cheek, and I crush it quickly without looking.
"You told me about Sybil, yes. But why? Your father's fate is...unfortunate, yes, but what am I to do about it?"
"You're Immortal!" I blurt. "There must be something you can do."
Daria appears in the doorway, a steaming cup of tea in her hand. "Firstly, I am not Immortal by any definition, and secondly, I have other things to worry about at the moment. In case the significance escapes you, I have a house to sell and no realtor to do it."
"Damn you and your house to hell and back!" It's one of Grandma's old expressions. Daria laughs in appreciation of my horribly appropriate word choice.
"That is exactly what I am afraid of," she says. "If you want me to help you, then you must help me first." Her voice takes on a gentle tone that makes me want to crush something. She sets the tea down in front of me, but I don't drink.
"I'd love to help," I say sarcastically, "But as I've been warned not to by the devil Himself, I think I won't."
"He told you not to help me because He knew you would need to," Daria says. "But I am not asking you to do anything unthinkable, Clara. I just need your help selling this house. Can you do that?"
"What will you do about Sybil?"
Her eyes narrow. She takes a sip out of the teacup in front of me and taps the rim with her finger. "I will think of something."
"Daria!"
"Hush!" She slams her tea down and lays her hand across my mouth. Her skin is soft, and she smells like lavender soap. "Let me think. And in the mean time..." She lifts her hand off my lips and points to the floor. "You can start getting rid of these spiders."
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