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The bartender at The Witches' Brew had told George Lutz that he had seen a small room painted red in the basement of their three story Dutch Colonial one night when he had been playing bartender for a party for the DeFeo family, well before the murders. "I swear, before the Almighty Lord," said the bartender to George late Monday night, inside The Witches' Brew, one of Amityville's few bars, "I had been stocking kegs up against the stone wall in the basement, you know? It was late December, and one bitch cold of a night. The DeFeo's were wonderful people, a real exquisite fox family. They came from a host of about seven generations back to, I think, the early settlers to America from Europe, right? I don't know, after the murders, God bless those poor people, and the children, well, what's this world coming to, right?" George, a husky silver timber wolf, whose father came from western Montana, and his own two sons, Barrett and Garrith, sat on the old oaken long-necked chair, nursing a draft Budweiser with heavy clawed paws. Ever since himself, Katherine, his two sons, and Missy, had moved into 112 Ocean Avenue three weeks earlier, the events within their thought-to-be perfect domicile for years to come had become too frightening for any of them to handle. Kathy and the kids had gone to her mother's house in nearby Lindenhurst, to escape from the mayhem that had been occurring, including the $1500 that Kathy's brother, Jimmy, had "lost" in the house before on the day of his wedding to pay the caterer.

Now, that was a puzzler, thought George, as he bent over the edge of the bar and waited for the tender to come back after serving other patrons. Just where had the money gone? George tried to rationalize the singular event, as if it was alone the one problem with 112 Ocean Avenue, and nothing else. _Money didn't just walk away. But, "marching bands" don't all of a sudden start blasting in the large, echoing living room at three in the morning by "themselves", either. _ The problem was, neither rationalization seemed to comfort George's heart, or soul. Rather, they pushed his fears deeper within his psyche, and his anger and unsettling emotions swung more out of control than they had before he had begun to slurp the Budweiser.

The bartender came back, having served the other two patrons in the place. "My name is Tony." The short jackrabbit, young, no more than twenty-five with snow-white fur, lop-eared, blue eyed and large-muscled, with amazing pecs and small gold earrings, offered his paw to George.

"I'm George," George said, after a reluctant acceptance of his own paw.

"George, let me tell you something, man. Have you seen that "red room"?"

With an honest shake of his head, George Lutz said "No, I haven't. What are you talking about?"

Tony made as if to look both left and right, as if what he was about to say would throw him away in some dark loony bin for life, and then some.

"Well, George, I'll tell you. That night of the party, I grab a keg, right, and it's about one-thirty a.m. Most of the guests have pretty much left for the evening, but there were still a few swingers dancing and talking upstairs. It was just one full keg left, and I yanked it out of the ice. I wanted some beer, you know, because it had been a long night, and most of the DeFeo's guests, althought not the DeFeo's themselves, had been rather rowdy and obnoxious. So, as I'm yanking at the keg, I feel a lack of resistance between the back of the keg and the wall behind, and I'm thinking "What the fuck?" I pulled harder, and then I saw a little crack form in the middle of this wooden panel that made the wall, and all of a sudden I just got this chill, from somewhere. I had been feeling fine all night, but looking at that crack, well, I just got the fucking chills, George, and I just wanted to run, George, run like hell.

I gave that keg a final yank, and it came out and hit the stone basement floor with a funny 'thonk', even though I could have caught it, but I was too hypnotized by that creepy feeling and that crack in the wall. Even though I didn't want to open it and look beyond that crack, I suppose my own curiosity and fear won out, because next thing I know, I'm pushing that crack with my bulky right shoulder, and . . well, I don't know, man."

George looked at Tony, who was now shaking a pale blue against his natural white, and reached out to help steady him. "You alright?"

Tony looked at George, with a look of the worst dreadful fear on his face, and started to plead with the new Amityville resident. "You have to leave! Take your family and leave! It's dangerous there, just leave!"

The jackrabbit's blue eyes bulged out of their sockets like pool balls exiting their pockets after a near miss, reached over the bar counter, grabbed large handfuls of George's flannel workshirt, and screamed in his slight drunk face. "LEAVE, MAN, LEAVE, NOW!" Scared shitless and terrified of the ominous warning from the stranger, George Lutz pushed away the bartender with a half-hearted shove, and made way out of The Witches' Brew to the large parking lot, where his baby motorcycle sat waiting for him to ride away. Tears of sweat lashed out from his gray, furry brow, and with a lethal roar, George made for home to 112 Ocean Avenue, and to whatever would be happening there now.

*

George arrived at the tall white intimidating mansion-style house, and turned off his motorcycle. He leaped off of it, felt for the house keys, and walked quick to the door. It seemed imperative that he find this "red room", and that the finding of this "red room" might be the connector to some, if not all, of the odd and rather disquieting phenomena that he and his wonderful timber wolf and fox family had experienced over the last twenty some odd days.

As he opened the large red front door, he spotted the small, ceramic Chinese lion that he had been given from his mother a few Christmases ago. The lion was smeared red, yellow, and green around the head, and its white, pointy, violent teeth were aimed right at the direction of whomever may be looking at it, who now happened to be George, alone in the inexplicable cool and dark house, while Katherine and the kids were gone.

A sudden, loud crack, amplified by a ridiculous and terrifying roar, emitted from the staircase to his immediate right. Then, a huge gust of a strong wind pushed George against the wall against the inner side of the front door, its sender unseen. George thought, So much unseen inside this terrible house, and felt the back of his aching head. He pulled back his right index finger and pulled it back into his eyesight, where a few drops of blood caused his attention to alert rather than falter him.

"LEAVE!" screamed an unearthed voice from the second room right of the top of the staircase, and then the very loud marching band began its loud procession around the living room again, blasting snares and horns and bass drums, the only audience George, who could curl himself up into a small ball against the wall, and pray in silence for a miracle for all of it to stop, JUST STOP!

Then, it did. All of the noises, the echo of the voice, the marching band, the roar, dropped, as if into a great abyss. The silence became a noise in itself, magnificent in its own blacking out of chaos, a triumph to George's ache. He reached around to the back of his head, and felt the blood there, still leaking a little drip, but not too serious. His heart continued to thud a million miles a minute, and then 112 Ocean Avenue did a most strange thing, something so strange, that even after George Lutz had been reached for comment after the family had fled the house, he had had a hard time putting it into perfect words.

The house commenced to sink as an entire unit, or at least that is what it felt like to George. It was almost as if 112 Ocean Avenue was trying to swallow itself, but now George Lutz was part of it, and this was no hallucination, no fucking way.

"GOOODDD!!!" George screamed, his eight-inch gray full fluffy timber wolf tail sticking straight up as he felt his entire physique sinking with his domicile into the "ground", into something. "WHAT IS HAPPENING!!"

George's mother, Margaret, had once told him of how Earth beings could be possessed by otherworld spirits, or beings, in certain circumstances, depending upon how they felt, being weak, scared, or any number of emotions. George Lutz was now scared, and as he felt his family's house sink into the Earth, he was pushed from within his soul by a black force towards the basement door, which was where Tony, the bartender, had said the "red room" lay.

"No . ." whimpered George, as he was forced up onto his feet, and dragged across the hallway floor, through the kitchen, and across the threshold of the basement door, down the staircase, and down, down towards the black, and sightless, but horrid, and pungent bottom.

The marching band had begun again, as soon as the massive, yet scared-as-hell timber wolf, now a cream cheese white, instead of courageous gray, touched the icy basement floor from the last step of the staircase, and the basement door shut with a whamming boom that shook everything, including George himself. This isn't happening This isn't happening Oh my fucking God This isn't happening This isn't happening This isn't happening, George's mind shouted out, as the darkness consumed his mind, releasing all control he thought he had. Oh, God, I surrender to your evil will, came George's psyche from deep within, and that became the key, as all fear left from him, and he began to run, to sprint, towards the wall where the bartender had found the loose crack.

Without a second thought, the young, yet possessed by a force stronger than any Born-Again experience nature, timber wolf, began to fisticuff and claw through the stone, and wood, and saw red,

(I SEE RED)

(I SEE BLOOD!)

and howled, as some kind of demon began to rape him hard, fucking his cock, and blaspheming his beautiful, perfect anthroness, destroying his innocence.

"May your soul worm in hell, you slime, you scat-covered worm, you piece of motherfucking shit, BASTARD, BASTARD-CHILD!, may GOD KILL YOU NOW! . ." George fell into the small five square foot by square foot red room and saw, for a fleeting moment, the small, black well, from which his "lover" hovered, a full piece of flesh, black and raw, and grinning, its own mist now rising from the cavernous ink where the well let in what may have been water, or death, or possession.

George rammed back his arms in a torturous fury, as the demoness, tanyata, fucked him brutal, capsizing his semen into her womb, and within seconds, both her and him disappeared off into the "red room", as the house echoed its rage, followed by the arrival of Katherine, Barrett, Garrith, and Missy in the family work van. A crazy large boom rattled the property, and the entire family fell onto its front sides, terrified and unknowing of what was happening now at their "dream home".

"GEORGE!" cried Katherine. "DADDY!" cried the kids, as they ran inside the house. Despite the current events, though, everything was still and silent, and the dry, scaly air that Katherine felt left her in numb shock and fear, as she began to search all throughout the house for her new husband. The kids huddled together in the foyer, as their eyes produced fearful tears.

"GEORGE!" bellowed Katherine again. "GEEEOOOOOORRRRRGGGEEE!"

Downstairs, a billowing puff of inky black soot puffed from the well surface, and two echoed haunting screams came from below, decorating the above ceiling with dancing nightmares.

"George?" whimpered Katherine, upon hearing the noises. "Is that you?"

Upon hearing the sounds, the rest of the Lutz family gathered together on the living room sofa, huddled together, scared of what may be out there next, while George and his present lover were somewhere deep, long away, for now.