The Perfect Sunset
By N. Immanuel Velez
The best will do anything for a picture, Jared Ellis told himself. Armed with his trusty camera, he braved the deserted plantation grounds. Surely, the “No Trespassing” sign did not apply to him . . .
Jared Ellis threw the picture down on his boss’s table with a strong air of confidence. “Nice, huh?” he said.“This is gorgeous. You’re finally starting to get the hang of it. We can definitely use this somewhere in our next issue. The way the sun sits between these two trees, it’s-
“Aw, shit! We can’t use this!”
“What are you talking about?” Jared asked. He was flabbergasted.
“You need to go back.”
“What! Why?” Jared demanded. He looked as if he had just failed a test for which he had spent eight hours studying.
“The sign. You see here? The ‘No Trespassing’ sign on the tree? We can’t have that in there. You know that. C’mon. It would be much easier for the owner to prove that that’s his property with the sign there. Without it, it’s just a bunch of trees. Our lawyers could work with that easily if need be. We don’t want people trying to get money out of us because they happen to own a part of what we call nature.
“You have to take it again.”
Jared stood before the entrance of the plantation with digital camera in hand. The gate was open and gave way to a narrow road that was flanked by bowing trees, which made a remarkable scene when the sun set between the two largest trees. He knelt down to snap pictures, making sure to zoom in a little more this time so the ‘No Trespassing’ sign wouldn’t be included.On the left side of the digital image Jared noticed a garden that he had not been aware of before. He was imagining what a close-up shot of a radiant flower would look like, especially if the setting sun was behind it. It might be enough to get his work in the magazine. No more training. No more understudy. Finally, a chance to shine.He pontificated for a few minutes before furtively entering the property. “The best will do anything for a picture,” he whispered to himself. He gazed down the meandering road and eyed a large house at its end. He ducked and dashed to his left, toward the rear of the garden, out of view of the house and the front gate. The garden ended up being farther away than the camera image had suggested.
Jared scanned the garden until he located a vibrant patch of roses. He chose a luscious one that stood high above the rest and blended sublimely with the almost setting sun. “You’re gonna love this one, Bob. Perfect clouds, perfect color, perfect rose-the perfect sunset,” he said as he clicked away.
He started walking back, almost skipping, and full of elation, before remembering the house. He lowered himself slightly the rest of the way, with a giddy smile, until he noticed something alarming. The front gate was shut. He rushed up to it and started breathing heavily. It was chained with a massive lock. He looked around in panic. Solitude. No evidence of anyone. He tried to climb the high gate as though a wild animal was nipping at his heels. He slipped repeatedly before redirecting himself to the equally high wall that abutted the gate. He paid no thought to the gashes and bruises that now marred his legs as he tried in vain to scale the wall. No crevices to hang onto, no gaps to hold onto: no hope. He relinquished this idea after nearly ripping off his middle fingernail. Blood dripped down his hand.
Jared looked about and saw a small forest on the west side of the land, to the far left of the garden. He bolted toward that direction as one would if one had just broken a neighbor’s window. It took him twice as long to reach the purlieus of the forest. When he reached the other side, he stopped short in horror. The sickening wall was back, mocking him. It didn’t just barricade the south side of the plantation it encircled the entire land. More blood trickled out of his finger. The sun was close to saying farewell.
During his return he scoured his brain for answers, but found it wanting. He was as helpless as a rat in a cage. He cursed himself for losing his cell phone during his last photo session at a roaring river. As the front gate came into view, he dropped to his knees. Through the twilight he saw the figure of a man. His heart beat faster as he put the camera to his eye so he could zoom in and get a closer look. The camera slipped out of his sweaty fingers, but he most likely dropped it out of fear. He saw the body of a dead man-and it was floating. Jared surmised that he must have been dead because of the many slashes and wounds that scarred the body, the ragged and torn clothes, and the awkward way in which its head and body bent. The insignificant amount of light that remained did not allow him to see if the flesh was rotting, or if the skin had changed its hue; it did seem to reflect something golden in the head area, however. Jared found himself praying to a God he didn’t believe in, to an entity that could save him from this waxing nightmare. He wiped perspiration from his forehead before raising the camera, warily, again. The body stood motionless in the same place, hovering a foot or two above the ground. It took a few seconds to register, but Jared finally noticed with added apprehension that the dead body’s arm started to raise slowly. It stopped parallel to the ground, with its index finger outstretched, pointing to the house. Jared did not want to take its advice, but he felt he had no other choice. He had no weapon to encounter the living dead, couldn’t jump the wall, and had no stockpile of food to just stay put. He ran in the direction of the house, terrified that the dead man would be only inches away from the back of his neck. The sun had set completely, leaving the land behind, leaving Jared behind.
He rushed up the wooden steps and stood before the doors of the enormous house, swiveled around to see if the dead man had followed. He hadn’t. Jared took out a small light that was attached to his key chain in order to look for the handle or doorbell. Surprised, he saw writing on the doors that was erratic and seemed to be in either black or red paint. Jared didn’t know if he should buckle down and cry, or entertain a glimmer of hope. It said:
IT IS TOO LATE FOR YOU.
YOUR ONLY HOPE IS INSIDE.
Tears leaked down his face. He looked behind him, then at the door. Behind him, the door; a rock or a hard place. He wanted to scream. He wanted to wake up. A grimace of pain and anguish crossed his haggard face. A decision was made. He opened the door with a quivering hand and entered the looming house like a frightened boy who knew a beating from his father was minutes away.
Darkness enshrouded all that Jared could see. He waited until his eyes adjusted before carefully walking into a large room that he assumed was the living room; he put his hand up against the wall to guide himself. A thought of crawling into a mausoleum entered his mind. “Hello?” he said. He had planned to say it louder, but it came out timid and weak. A bookshelf came into view by a dim light that grew slowly behind him. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, opened them, and then turned around with the same speed a zombie would. Candles. Three of them were now ablaze. “You must listen,” said a voice, whispery and anemic. It belonged to a woman. Jared looked about the room frantically and saw no one.
“Where are you? Who are you! GOD! What the hell!” Jared raved. Until now he had been relatively calm, as if he didn’t believe what was happening. Does anyone really believe in the realization of death when it’s staring him in the face? And yet it’s all around us. He kicked a chair, punched a sofa cushion, all the while screaming and ranting.
“You must control yourself,” the voice commanded, “or you will die. Sit down and listen.” He flopped on a chair, disgruntled. “In life, I could leave these walls whenever I wanted. Now, in death, I am trapped. As you are. You may never leave this house again if you wish to live. The spirit of my dead husband haunts the land and will massacre anyone who exits this house after being warned. He himself was brutally murdered by a deranged lunatic, but was never able to exact his revenge because his spirit, for whatever celestial reason, is confined to the land. So, he takes out his vengeance on those who trespass by killing them in the same way he was killed.
“I didn’t think that was fair, so I made an agreement with him. He would direct them here, where I could warn them, and as long as they stayed within the house, they would be spared. Unfortunately, though, at night, they had to stay in the basement. In return, I too had to be trapped within.
“None of the other victims stayed here for long. They felt it was torture and took their chances outside. What they found, though, was the very embodiment of torture. A machete would fling itself upon their limbs continually, while a short knife would excavate their stomachs. This would continue for quite some time before the machete, held only by the air itself, would hail its final blow on their heads.”
“This can’t be happening!” Jared shouted while standing up. He doubled over and vomited. After sitting again, and composing himself, he asked, “How do you know how they were killed if you’re confined to this house?”
“Because that is how I died. I remember completely. The lunatic went after me after he felled my husband. It wasn’t for wealth because the sicko would have ripped the gold tooth out of my husband’s mouth. It was insanity. I remember something said about everyone being guilty and having done something in their past that deserves punishment. Lunacy indeed.”
Loud bangs came from the higher floors above. Jared jumped up alert. Blood was caked on his finger. The flames reflected off his glistening face.
“Oh, God, no!” the trying voice of the specter yelled. “It is my husband! It is night! You must flee to the basement for the night or be killed! You may exit at the break of dawn! GO!”
Jared rushed his fingers through his hair, pulling some out, not knowing where to go. “Where is the basement?!” he screamed. No answer. He searched about hysterically, opening one door, then another, before seeing a staircase that led down. He slammed the door shut behind him and eased himself down the staircase in the darkness.
Before flipping the switch of the light he finally found, he only now realized that the gold flash he saw on the dead body outside was the gold tooth of her ruthless husband. “I’m so glad I didn’t decide to confront him,” he said to himself. When light filled the room he was instantly taken aback and fell to the floor in dread. Another dead body was floating before him; except something was different this time. In the light he noticed that it wasn’t a dead body, but a life-size dummy. As relief replaced fear he stood up to examine it. He saw that it was hanging from a long, metal bar that ran parallel to the floor until the bar ended at a large base with wheels. It produced the illusion that the body was floating. Jared also noticed a metal contraption connected to the dummy’s arm and torso. “Whew. No dead body. No dead body,” he said aloud.
Jared walked deeper into the basement and noticed hefty speakers on the wall with wires that led to the ceiling and broke through into the floor above. A different set of wires came from the ceiling, and he followed those down until they reached metal canisters with knobs that seemed to be filled with kerosene. He looked toward the far end of the basement and saw another set of stairs that led to the floor above. To the left of that staircase stood something massive. As he walked to it in trepidation he realized that it was some sort of video and sound system. There were video screens of rooms throughout the house, including the room he was in. Two buttons arrested his attention that were labeled Voice Converter and Ghostly Clamor.
Jared Ellis crept back, step by step, in utter horror and confusion. “What the hell?” he whispered. He then noticed, for the first time, that rectangular, wooden boxes bound the perimeter of the basement. He walked over to one and opened it. A blast of mephitic odor, full of dense putrefaction, attacked his nostrils. A carved up body lay within, one eye bulging, blue-black skin, rotten organs seeping out, a mixture of blood and puss emanating from the mouth-a smorgasbord of desecration, pain and torture. An empty casket in the corner, with its lid open, caught his eye.
The door to the basement swung open. Jared looked up in terror with a fear that seemed incomprehensible. A virago stood at the top. A beast of a woman with menacing legs and thunderous arms revealed her threatening frame in a warrior stance. Her hair was wild, her eyes crazed, and her mouth wore a wicked grin. In her left hand was a machete. In her right was a short knife.
A glare from Jared’s camera fixed his eye. He looked at it and saw the magnificent picture. The perfect sunset. He wished that he hadn’t cared so much about a job that would easily replace him, and a boss that would surely forget about him within a month. He felt that nothing he could have ever done in his past could warrant what was about to come.
The lunatic descended the stairs.
Jared Ellis was never heard from again.
“The Perfect Sunset” first appeared in the British magazine Insomnia #1 (March 2006). It is copyright © 2006 N. Immanuel Velez and appears here with the author’s permission.
N. Immanuel Velez has been fascinated by the horror genre since he was a child watching slasher movies and reading anything macabre. Naturally, this led him to take up writing horror as one of his favorite hobbies.
His nonfiction work has appeared in T-zero Xpandizine, the Writers’ Village University newsletter found at http://www.thewritersezine.com/.
