Hell House

by Richard Matheson

Yet, always, behind the mask—the face that Hell House had created—cowered the boy; wanting to flee, but incapable of doing so; wanting love, but finding only license.

“My dear.” Despite the pain, Barrett sat up and put his arms around her, pressing his cheek to hers. “It’s all right, all right. It will all pass after we’ve left this house.” He turned his face to kiss her hair. “I love you, too. But then, you’ve always known that, haven’t you?”