Baker’s Dozen

An Un-Traditional Haunted House

The heat permeated off the ground, turning the parking lot into a cruel oven. Keith struggled to keep his grip on the gimbal as the moisture accumulated on his palms.

"Goddammit!" Aaron said, wiping the stinging sweat from his eyes.

"You alright?"

"I'm okay. You just worry about not dropping the camera."

Keith laughed, taking a knee near the rusted sign of Corrigan Studios. He still couldn't believe he was only a few hundred feet from the infamous building.

"Ready?"

"Absolutely. Count it down."

“Three, two, and one.”

"What's up freaks, freaklettes, and everyone in between," Aaron said, waving his hands in a grandiose gesture. "Today I stand before you at Corrigan Studios, home of the tragic sitcom, Baker's Dozen. If you've been following the series, then you know this is where Brian Sullivan, the actor who played Lionel Baker, murdered his cast mates. One of the victims was only eight years old. No one knows the exact motive behind the murder, but some believe drugs and the stress from his beloved wife's passing are to blame. Follow us inside as we discover the mystery behind the madness on Sinister Sitcoms."

"And cut."

"I'm glad we got that in one take, the sun is dropping fast."

Keith chuckled and pulled out a bottle of water from his backpack. Aaron snatched the drink from his hand and gulped it down. He let out a loud belch and lifted his shirt to dry his mouth. The abs on his stomach glistened in the sunset. Keith felt his cheeks burn with an awkward embarrassment as he tried to glance away, failing miserably. He and Aaron became friends in the fourth grade, bonding over their love of horror movies and music. As the years passed his feelings teetered toward a romantic interest, but his fear of ruining their relationship kept his heart in check.

"How are we going to get inside?"

Aaron walked to the car and opened the trunk, pulling out a pair of bolt cutters. They prepared for months before embarking on this trip, but now Keith felt apprehensive. Something about this place gave him the creeps.

"You sure we should be doing this?"

"Come on, this was your idea, remember? Don't be such a wet blanket. I'm here with you, so you don't have to worry about getting killed by the ghost of Brian Sullivan."

Keith rolled his eyes as Aaron mocked him with a crude chicken dance. The doors to the studio were chained closed. A small padlock hung in the center with a thick layer of rust covering the u-bolt. Aaron wiggled the blade of the cutters over the dilapidated metal and squeezed. The lock snapped and clanked off the floor.

"You made it look easy."

"See, it's fate."

Keith shone the camera's light through the empty corridor, illuminating the strands of mold and silvery webs lining the walls. Pictures hung crookedly, displaying faded photographs from the studio's illustrious past. Photos of former actors from company's heyday stared back at the boys with an unflinching gaze.

"Check it out, vintage Sullivan."

Aaron tapped the glass covering the portrait, leaving a smudge over the deceased's face. Sullivan's hair was slicked back and styled neatly. He wore a bright yellow sweater vest with a white collared shirt underneath. His smile was infectious, but something was off with his eyes. They'd been scratched away, giving him an unnatural appearance. Next to him stood one of the Baker children from the show. Keith didn't know her name, but he remembered her face. She was the youngest of the victims.

"You think the drugs made him do it?"

Keith pondered the question before answering. He recalled a Reddit forum where a copy of the official autopsy was posted. The investigators ruled his death a suicide after he jumped from the roof. No drugs were found in his system.

"His autopsy was clean. I know there are rumors the bigwigs at Corrigan manipulated it, but I don't know if that's true. I think he just went crazy after losing his wife. Do you remember hearing about the miscarriages? They tried for years to have a baby, but it never worked out. The cast was the only family he had after she died."

"I read somewhere he still haunts this place. Something about his grief anchoring him to the studio. Probably bullshit, but it makes for some grade A clickbait."

The boys walked further into the building, passing Leonard Corrigan's office. He was the main executive and half-owner of the studio. Shortly after the murders, he was found dead at his desk from a self-inflicted gunshot wound.

"You remember what Mr. Corrigan's suicide note said?"

"Don't look in his eyes."

Keith shuddered at the mention of the cryptic message. A placard hung on the wall with a golden arrow. The words, Studio A, were engraved in the center. It pointed left toward an L-shaped hallway, leading to a pair of large metal doors.

"I can't believe we're here."

"Fucking wild."

Aaron turned toward the camera, fixing his hair and taking a deep breath.

"We're right outside of Studio A, where every episode of Baker's Dozen was filmed. This is also the site of the traged-"

A loud bang startled the boys, cutting Aaron off mid-sentence.

"What was that?"

"I don't know, dude. Let's just keep going," Aaron said, trying to gather himself. "We're right outside of Studio A, where every episode of Baker's Dozen was filmed. This is also the site of the tragedy. There were eight victims in total, including himself. Some speculated that drugs were the cause of his psychotic break, but researchers uncovered a turmoil rooted in his private life. His wife, Sarah Sullivan, was unable to concei-"

Gather around, it's a brand-new day.

The Baker family, sharing love their way.

From every corner, near and far.

Thirteen hearts make a family star.

One by one, they're home at last.

Building dreams with a love that's vast.

Different faces, with loving hearts.

Baker's Dozen, they'll never part.

"Do you hear that?"

"Of course I hear that, what the fuck."

The door to Studio A groaned as it crept open, revealing the sitcom's iconic set. A large house with open rooms stood idly in the center of a vast stage. The yellow siding stuck out in the darkness and the hissing of television static emanated from within the faux living room.

"Aaron, we should go."

"It's probably just the backing track stuck on loop. We might as well get a few shots, then we can go."

Every fiber of Keith's being sounded on high alert.

"I have a really bad feeling about this."

Aaron smiled, quelling some of his unease. He stood closer, their noses nearly touching.

"For me," Aaron said, leaning in and kissing him softly.

"W-What are you doing?"

"I'm not stupid, I know how you feel. Let's get this over with and we can talk about how we survived a night inside the Baker house."

"You promise this isn't a trick?”

“I don’t know, I guess you’ll have to wait and see. Now come on.”

Aaron kissed him again and ran off to explore the set. Despite its bloody past, he had to admit it was amazing to see the set in person. He'd fallen in love with the show after coming out to his parents. Keith's father didn't take kindly to the news, beating him to a pulp. The sitcom was his escape. Lionel Baker was a single father who adopted thirteen children and raised them on his own. The show was considered progressive for its time, garnering a fair amount of controversy. Keith found himself wishing he'd been born a Baker, instead of a Torres.

"Hey, Aaron, come check this out."

Inside the kitchen, an elongated dining table sat in the center. The Baker family shared their meals here, cementing the object as a staple in the series. The children's names were painted on the chairs; Susie, Michael, Desiree, and Brandon, amongst others. The sound of static returned, causing the hairs on Keith's neck to rise.

"Aaron?"

The buzz from the television grew louder, vibrating the walls. He heard a wet thud, followed by another and another. When he turned he spotted a girl seated in one of the chairs. Her skin was translucent and riddled with scan lines. It reminded him of a low-budget hologram. She screamed, but no sound came from her bruised throat.

The banging continued in the distance, accompanied by a disgusting crunch. Keith felt his heart pounding in his ears, making it difficult to focus. More distorted children filled the kitchen, mouthing leave, in unison.

"Aaron, we have to fucking go. Now!"

Keith rounded the corner, feeling his stomach cramp with anxiety. He spotted Aaron kneeling in the center of the living room, rearing back his swollen head before slamming it onto the wooden edge of the coffee table. Blood poured from the gaping hole in his face and his right eye hung loosely from the socket, dangling by the optic nerve.

Gather around, it's a brand new day.

"Aaron, stop!"

The Baker family, sharing love their way.

Teeth exploded from Aaron's mouth, littering the floor with pieces of broken enamel and chunks of hard palate. Keith grasped his shoulders, trying desperately to pull him away from the table. The lone television shone brightly, casting a spectrum of pale blues across the room.

From every corner, near and far.

Brain matter flung from the boy's skull and another series of blows obliterated his once handsome features. Despite the damage, he continued to bludgeon himself. Blood soaked Keith's limbs, making it difficult to keep a firm grip on his friend.

Thirteen hearts make a family star.

"Aaron, stop, just fucking stop!"

One by one, they're home at last.

Aaron's body finally collapsed, convulsing in a puddle of blood and bone. His ruptured eye sat on the floor and stared fixedly at Keith. A low whistle hummed from behind the television and the distorted figure Brian Sullivan emerged from the dark. His mind reeled as he stared at the dead man, unable to wrap his head around his shattering sense of reality.

"What the fuck is happening?"

The children from Baker's Dozen appeared behind Sullivan's flickering frame. Their cries were muted as their bodies broke and contorted into unnatural shapes. The man's eyes gleamed a bright starry white, boring a hole through Keith. Don't look in his eyes. He tried to squeeze his eyes shut, but it was no use. Looking away was an impossibility.

Keith slipped into unconsciousness. When he awoke he found himself sitting at the Baker's table. His clothes were outdated and the dark room was now filled with overhead lights. The ruined bodies of the Baker children filled the seats and Brian Sullivan sat at the head of the table, smiling. A laugh track played, as Mr. Baker kissed the battered cheek of his oldest daughter.

"It's nice to have you join us, Keith. Tell us a little about yourself."

Their heads turned toward him. His mouth quivered, unable to form words. Only a small croak escaped his parched throat.

"Well, that's not very polite," Sullivan said, gritting his teeth. "How about we ask your friend, and then come back to you?"

Keith turned to see Aaron's mangled visage. Gurgles escaped from a gaping hole near his throat as he tried to speak.

"Get away from me," Keith yelled, pinching his eyelids closed. "You're not real!"

"Don't fight it, Keith. All I ever wanted was a big family and now here we are. Happy and together as one. You don't have to hide your love for Aaron here. In the Baker house, we accept you for who you are. You just have to embrace death."

"No!"

"LOOK AT ME!"

A pair of cold hands wrapped around his head. Dead thumbs pressed into his eyes, peeling his lids backward.

"Let go, son. In death, there is no pain. Only peace."

A horrible emptiness flowed through him. Keith felt himself slipping away, the bright light piercing through his mind. He'd contemplated taking his own life several times before, but Aaron always saved him from the brink. Without Aaron, he wasn't sure if he had the strength to continue fighting. An image of his friend flashed in his mind, followed by a symphony of voices. Save yourself, save us. A loving warmth enshrouded his body, filling him with a faint hope.

"You're a coward. You trapped these kids here because you couldn't stand the thought of being alone."

The grip around his scalp loosened and a loud shriek bellowed from Sullivan. His hold was weakening. Keith fell backward, scooting away from the table. The overhead lights were gone and Aaron's body lay still on the floor. Dozens of hands wrapped around Sullivan, dragging him back into the television. Aaron's face peered out from the group of dead actors. A stream of pixelated tears ran down his face as he whispered something indiscernible. Their pulsating bodies disappeared into the television, shattering the glass.

Keith picked up Aaron's corpse by the shoulders and settled into his stance, dragging his friend inch by inch to the exit. The stars littered the sky, and the cool night air licked at the sweat coating his skin. He collapsed in the parking lot, sobbing over his dear friend.

"I'm so, sorry."

He sat there until sunrise, caressing the torn skin around Aaron's cheek. Keith pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed the police. The sound of sirens wailed from beyond the gate and a sense of profound sadness filled his chest. In the clouds, he swore he saw the shapes of people dancing. He hoped they were free.

Author’s Note: I wanted to extend a special thank you to

EJ Trask

for collaborating on this prompt with me. Their story is linked below. If you haven’t read any of

EJ Trask

fiction you are missing out. EJ is one of my favorite author’s on Substack and in general. Sharing a prompt was a fun way to grow engagement and to push myself to try and rise to their level of talent. Check out the story below and I hope you enjoyed Baker’s Dozen!

https://open.substack.com/pub/theageofaquarius/p/treehouse?r=5awwk0&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web