Heaven on Earth

She pushed her way past the tall ferns and observed her surroundings. She stood in a beautiful meadow, surrounded by the safety of the forest’s walls. To her right, a doe lay in the tall grass, observing her fawn while he galloped happily throughout the small clearing. The girl swept her eyes to the left and noticed a thin creek snaking its way across the small pasture and disappearing into the trees where she could faintly hear the sound of a bubbling waterfall. Upon looking more closely, she noticed an array of colourful fish swimming peacefully in the water. Suddenly, a monarch butterfly flew past her, its wing gently tickling the tip of her nose. A butterfly kiss, thought the young girl. She took a few steps, careful not to step on the late spring daisies that covered the meadow’s floor, and lowered herself to the ground. In the meadow, no sound could be heard except for the cheerful chirping of the blue birds that glided above in the pale blue morning sky. In today’s world, full of war and destruction, the youthful girl felt no danger sitting there.She knew this was her heaven on earth.

The Legend of the New Orleans Axeman

New Orleans - October 31^st, 1920

Angry New Orleans residents made their way down a long, winding road. Above them, thunder crashed as lightning flashed. Their teeth chattered from the cold howling wind and from the mere thought of what would soon take place. It seemed as if every villager held a torch; from a far away distance, all that could be seen was a vast glow. Only one came with a weapon, the mayor with a single red axe at the front of the pack.

He knew they were coming. He knew he had reached his end. He did not run nor try to hide. He simply stayed by the window and observed the growing yellow light.

Up ahead, the villagers could see the old immense mansion at the top of the hill. They pushed their frozen legs faster and faster, wanting to finish him off as fast as they could. Once reaching their destination, they paused and observed in astonishment the monstrosity of the house. A wrought-iron fence enclosed the estate and fog hung around the front lawn. Everything, from the rotting panelling on the facade of the mansion to the dead trees placed here and there, was a different shade of grey. Crows sat on nearby branches and squawked at each other, sometimes making a few of the people jump in fear. Pumpkins had been placed on the porch steps and every single one of them had a demonic face carved into them. The villagers shifted their frightened gaze to the east of the mansion, where, at the top of the tower, in the last window, stood a shadowy figure looking down upon them. The mayor smiled. They knew where to find the man.

He stepped away from the window and regarded his surroundings. This was by far his favourite room. The area was very ordinary in its contents: a plush red sofa occupied one corner and beside it, a reading lamp. A desk was placed near the window, where he would sit every night and would contemplate his next move. What made this room so special to him was his prized bookcase that sat alone on the opposite wall from the door.

Suddenly, the door burst open and in came the mayor with the axe. The light from the reading lamp gleamed off of the newly sharpened blade of the weapon. The man recognized it as his own, the same one he had been using for so long.

The mayor, a short stubby man with a white beard, approached him with caution, the axe tightly clutched in his grasp. The pray made no move to defend himself, he only sat down on his plush couch and waited. This seemed to make the mayor nervous. Was he acting calm and then planning to make an attack?

The mayor continued his slow approach and stopped when he was only a few feet away. Raising the axe with shaking arms, the mayor demanded one simple question: “Why did you do it, Axeman?”

The Axeman smiled to himself and laughed as the axe descended upon him.

New Orleans - October 30^th, 2010

A car pulled up in front of an old mansion at the top of the hill. The door opened and out came Elizabeth McCaffrey. She was a tall, slender, seventeen-year-old girl who preferred to keep to herself. Her long auburn hair blew all around her as she took off her unnecessary sunglasses and observed her surroundings. Everything seemed to be… grey and lifeless; the numerous oak trees scattered across the vast estate, the lawn, the wrought-iron fence, the heavens and even the house. Far away in the distance, she heard the rumbling of thunder and a small, but much defined flash of lightning; a storm was brewing. How dreadful, she thought to herself. The girl continued to observe the mansion before her, as her father unpacked their belongings. The facade of the house strangely resembled the face of a demon. Similar to the one in Amityville, she thought.

“Would you mind helping me, honey?” Mr. McCaffrey, Elizabeth’s father, huffed from the trunk of the car, trying to lift her heavy suitcase. A movement caught the young girl’s eye. In the last window at the top of the east tower, seemed to be a figure standing there, looking out. She closed her eyes and opened them again. It was gone, only a figment of her imagination.

“Elizabeth?” said her father, a bit more impatiently, still struggling with the heavy luggage.

“Coming,” she replied quietly. Giving one last look at the house, she turned away and headed towards her father.

***

“What do you think of the house so far?” asked Mr. McCaffrey through a mouthful of spaghetti. Elizabeth twirled some noodles around her fork, thinking.

“Well,” she began, considering her next words, “I find it is a bit… depressing.” While saying these words, she thought back to her new room... When she first entered the somewhat large bedroom at the top of the east tower, a faint smell of rot and dust filled her nose, even though the room was immaculate. There were a few remains of old wallpaper on the walls and just by scratching the pieces, she easily removed them. She also found that the furniture was quite outdated, but she soon remembered that some men were coming in two days to deliver the new furniture. The floors made a creaking sound whenever she took a step.

“The house is not so bad,” her father said, pulling Elizabeth out of her thoughts. “Look at the amazing Victorian architecture!” he waved his arms around excitedly, emphasizing his point. She nodded, lifting her fork to her lips.

“In the news, another death has left every policemen and city officials puzzled and in questions.” A deep voice suddenly announced. Elizabeth turned her head towards the radio and stared at it in surprise. Had it been on?

“Will you turn up the volume, honey?” asked her father, oblivious to what had occurred. She rose herself from the chair and walked over to the radio that sat in the corner of the immense dining room.

“The corpse of Jonathan Dunham was discovered this afternoon by his wife as she came home with their three-year-old child. Dunham was found lying in a pool of his own blood, his skull split open. An axe rested near the body. Could it be that the Axeman has returned once again? Stay tuned for further info.” The girl quickly turned off the radio.

“Who is the ‘Axeman’?” Elizabeth questioned her father while sitting down again. Her father looked up from his plate and shrugged.

“I heard about it when I was younger. If I am not mistaken, it was a mass killing that took place in 1920.”

Elizabeth deliberated. Mass killing? Skull split open? Axeman? What sort of town was this?

After supper and after helping her father clean the dishes, Elizabeth retreated to her room. While walking down one of the numerous narrow hallways, she heard footsteps following her. She turned around quickly; no one was there. She continued walking down the hall, this time more hurriedly and cautiously. A door suddenly slammed. She jumped in surprise, let out a small shriek and turned around once again.

“Dad?” Elizabeth called out to the empty hallway. No response. She ran all the way up to her room and closed the door in haste. Her pulse thundered in her ears.

“Calm down,” she ordered herself. The girl looked around her room, at the items the previous owner had left behind. A plush red sofa was placed in the corner of the room and a desk sat near the window. What interested Elizabeth the most was the large bookcase placed opposite from the door, which took up most of the wall. The young girl smiled to herself; she could not wait to organize her books.

***

The storm and the howling wind had kept Elizabeth up all night. And when she did manage to sleep, she dreamt about the Axeman and what she had discovered about the ‘mass killing’ that took place in 1920... After arranging her books the previous night, Elizabeth remembered what her father had told her during supper. She walked over to her desk and turned on her computer. It took a while for it to start, since they lived in the country, but it finally managed. She immediately launched herself into hours of research and discovered many fearsome things, some of which she would have preferred to keep in the dark. The Axeman had terrorized and killed more than 30 New Orleans residents and on October 31^st, 1920, the mayor had killed him using a single red axe, one of the Axeman’s own weapons. What frightened her most were two things: first, the Axeman had died in this very mansion; second, when they came to recover his body the next morning, it had vanished, all traces of the killing disappeared with the body.

When Elizabeth went down to the kitchen for breakfast, she expected to see her father sitting at the kitchen table, reading the morning newspaper, but he was not there. She was hoping she could convince him to distance themselves from this town. She did not want to reside in a house where someone had been brutally murdered, more or less live in the house of a serial killer.

While making eggs for herself, Elizabeth noticed her arm and gasped, nearly dropping the pan and its contents on the floor. She staggered back and bumped into the table. Her pale arm was covered in purple bruises and when she touched them, they stung. How or where could she have done this? She located the telephone and tried to call her father’s number. The voice mail picked up and tears began to stream down her cheeks.

“Dad, I think we should find a new home. I woke up this morning with my arm covered in bruises and I do not know where I could have done this. Something is not right with this house.” She explained, snivelling a few times. After saying her goodbyes, she hung up. She had lost her appetite and began to pace the room, fretting over her discoveries.

“Calm down,” she instructed herself, “Nothing is wrong. You are exaggerating.” Elizabeth wiped her eyes furiously; enraged at herself for believing such silly lies. She took a few deep breaths and went down the hall to the living room. For a few minutes, she sat in silence, attempting to read a book. Suddenly, Elizabeth felt anxious. She could not sit still and the silence was unbearable. The girl picked up the remote control, turned on the television and got up. She crossed the room and looked out the window.

It had begun to rain and a storm was rolling in… yet again. Elizabeth sighed. Oh, how she wished the sun would show itself! Perhaps it would help her clear her thoughts.

At that moment, she knew how to change them: she would explore this Victorian creation! Why not start with the west wing? She thought and began her journey.

***

After a few hours of walking about and going into every room with no surprising discoveries, Elizabeth trudged up the winding staircase, up to her bedroom. She was a tad disappointed that the storm had not yet stopped and she could not see the sights of the outside. She had now reached her door and put her hand on the handle. As the young girl came to turn the knob, the front door downstairs opened and closed. A feeling of relief and happiness washed over her. Her father was home!

She ran down the stairs, taking two steps at a time, and rushed towards the foyer. When she arrived, she froze in complete shock. The man standing there was absolutely not her father. She stared at him, at a loss for words: he was very tall and built and wore tattered clothing. In one hand, he held an axe and in the other, she could not believe what she saw, a human head! Her breath caught in her throat as she lifted her eyes to the man’s face: a deep gash was very prominent on his face.

Thunder crashed and the dim foyer lit up as the lightning flashed. She screamed in terror as the Axeman dropped the head and began to approach her at a snail's pace. Without looking at his gory face, Elizabeth ran the opposite way, towards the back of the abode, where the only other exit was located. She reached the door in record time but it would not open. She screamed in frustration and kicked it. Heavy footsteps were coming down the hallway. The poor girl had no time to waste.

She bolted to the kitchen, cleverly taking another direction. Throwing a drawer open, Elizabeth picked up the biggest and sharpest knife she could find and continued to run.

Up the stairs to the second floor, she ran down the long, never-ending hallway. She paused momentarily, deliberating which room she should hide in, and propelled herself into the last one on the left. She closed the door and put a chair under the doorknob, just to be safe. She settled down on the floor against the opposite wall, knife poised and waited.

Her heart beating a mile a minute, she could hear and feel the pulsing in her ears. Tears rolled onto her cheeks and she was breathless. Why me! She screamed in her head. Why me, why me, why me!

Footsteps were coming down the hallway. The Axeman was approaching. Leave me alone!, the panicked girl wanted to shout at him. She held her breath and gripped the knife even tighter in her hands. Thunder crashed again. She could see his shadow from under the door, listening and waiting. She counted her heart beats. One, two, three, four… And he was gone, his heavy footfall retreating down the hallway.

Getting up to her feet, Elizabeth walked cautiously to the door.

It abruptly burst open and the chair flew into the window, breaking it. She let out a blood-curdling shriek. The Axeman stalked forward and suddenly grabbed her by the throat. Elizabeth kicked and struggled, trying to scream but was unable to. He lifted his arm and the blade of the axe glinted in the dark. She stopped her struggling. What was the point? There was no way she could escape him.

As the girl closed her eyes and waited for her end, an impulsive thought came to her: the knife. Her eyes flew open. In one quick movement, she plunged it deep into the Axeman’s cold heart. She heard a gurgle and then nothing. The hand around her neck loosened and, at last, dropped. She was free! The body fell to the floor with a loud thud as the lightning flashed one final time.

Before leaving the room, Elizabeth looked one last time at the Axeman: he lay in a puddle of blood and his grey, vacant eyes were glassy. A great weight lifted off her shoulders; the legendary Axeman was dead.

Elizabeth reached the last steps at the top of the tower and entered her room. She had never felt so relieved in her life! The room was exactly as she had left it that morning: the sheets scattered on the floor from a sleepless night, her clothing from the previous day strewn on the red sofa… except, the bookcase was pushed away from the wall, revealing a dark entryway. Elizabeth raised one eyebrow and walked towards it, full of wonder and curiosity. She peered inside and saw stairs leading to a lower level, the smell of rot now very prominent. She followed the smell.

Reaching the end of the stairs, the girl looked up. Lining the walls were numerous corpses tied by their hands and feet and every one of them had the same gash in their head. She covered her mouth, hoping she would not be sick.

She heard a muffled sound, and for the first time, noticed her father in the middle of the room, his hands and feet bound together, his mouth covered with tape. She rushed over to him and placed her palms on his cheeks.

“We are safe, Dad. Do not worry.” She reassured him, beginning to struggle with the rope around her father’s hands. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead and he began to move around. Confused with his behaviour, Elizabeth stared at him. Her father’s wide, green eyes looked at something beyond her, terrified. The girl turned around and a scream stuck in her throat.

The Axeman stood a few feet from her, covered in blood and gore, his axe raised.