Happy Halloween!! I thought it might be fun to share this. I really enjoy writing little things in my spare time & 1 day I just started writing this. I thought it would be fun (in time) to submit it to 1 of the magazines I read. They are always having short story contests & such & I have been thinking about it off and on. Anyways, long story short, if your up to reading a few paragraphs I hope you enjoy. So.....with a build up like that, Happy Halloween!
Haunted places. If there ever was a haunted place for me it would be my Grandparents house. Why should that be so? A house is just a house, right? Two stories, made out of boards, nails, and shingles. There is no discernible reason their house should elicit these feelings in me. But still, I'm weary. Anytime my visit stretches into midafternoon I become uneasy, restless. A silent mantra goes through my mind, 'darkness don't catch me here'. Since my Grandfather died, I've been faced with my own mortality. I've also made a point not to be around after dark. Call me superstitious, call me crazy, just don't call me paranoid. I don't THINK something bad will happen surrounding that house, I know it will. I can simply feel it. They say love is a powerful emotion, so is fear. And I fear that house, I fear that land. Every bone in my body fears it, protests it, and screams against it. It’s a primal intuition.
Their house is set deep in the woods where the sunlight barely reaches. Its weak rays shrink the leaves & turn them into decay. Another dead object to contend with. The house sits, forlorn, almost forgotten. The paint is peeling, horrible and faded, brittle green strips that look like the fingers of corpses twisting their way out towards you, seeking you. They seem to move out of the corner of my eye, but maybe its just the wind. Maybe its not. The lawn is neglected; weeds choke the grass that is dying in the summer heat. Everything about this house says death. It doesn't stop there. An old pond, sitting far out on the property, has turned green, as green and as horrible as the dried paint that sits on the house. It is congested with algae, the only living entity within miles. The thought stirs up the depression I’ve been battling since this morning, hours ago.
Smells from around the house also force anxiety upon me. Great, as if depression weren’t enough to deal with. Mothballs, a smell I have always remembered & always hated, seeps through the pores of the house. Like noxious gas, this smell reminds me this house belongs with the undead. Unease courses through me. What kind of ridiculous thought is that? There is no reason the house should belong with the undead; but it does. No more pleasant smells such as warm apple pies or cookies, only deathly dry smells persist. I breathe in the warm summer air, trying to draw comfort and hoping to reawaken those good smells, my good memories. Only a new, more abysmal smell reaches me. This one is far more difficult to put my finger on. I hear a small scratching sound coming from my left. I look towards the sound, all I see is the barn in the distance. As I begin to turn back a glint of sun blinds me, far out in the yard on the path to the pond. My mind nags at me. I could go investigate, there is no reason the sun should be reflected so in waist high dead grass. And what was that noise? Am I going crazy? Should I go find out? A deeper part of me cautions and almost seems to warn. Why leave the safety of the courtyard? It may be your very last time to leave the courtyard if you do! Just to put my mind at rest. I have to put my overwrought mind to rest. That was the whole point of this trip. And I am sure the glint of sun is the answer to the less definable smell and possibly the odd noise.
I decide not to go, my fear is mounting. Why do I care what the ghastly smell is or what the strange noise was? I am apprehensive with the house, not a random odor, flash of light, or even a peculiar sound. I turn back to get one more glimpse of the strange object but its now disappeared. I am becoming distracted with my overactive imagination. The house, I came for the house, it seemed to call me. My eyes search the house, trying to take it all in. The old house sits on a small expanse of hill, almost a perfect mound. It seems to be waiting politely, almost looming over me. The title of a long forgotten book occurs to me: 'Madam will you talk?' I laugh ruefully. Upstairs there are two large picture windows that stare, they seem to resemble dead lidless eyes staring forward and staring through me. They wouldn’t be so awful and resemble dead eyes if there were just some stupid curtains. Who removed them? When, and especially WHY? No matter, whats done is done.
I continue to study the house. The downstairs is more cheerful with several windows a few that are beautiful stained glass. As I move toward the front door, I check the shadows of the day. There is plenty of daylight left to explore the house and my conflicting emotions. I have plenty of time to do what I came here to do. A breeze suddenly springs up, causing me to pause once more. No one has been inside since the accident, except maybe the police. I try to imagine what it will be like, opening the door to a house that has lain dormant for almost ten years. Ten long years of decay. Memories try to crowd in on me, forcing their way upon me but I push them away with almost physical effort. No need to remember the past. Those who don’t remember the past are condemned to repeat it. The thought is almost gone before its articulated. It seemed to be carried on the light breeze, coming from the yard. I shiver in the weak afternoon sunlight. I don’t recognize the alien voice in my head. You do, you do! Its just been so long since you’ve listened to me my dear. ENOUGH! I push the memories and the voice away while I try to focus on the task at hand. It will be horrible enough just to enter the house and the immediate memories. A light sweat breaks out on my arms and face. I’m not even aware of the depth of my fear until it finally overwhelms me.
I still can’t find my nerve to enter the house. I delay by sweeping one last glance around the yard and the house once more. I try to draw comfort from the stained glass, remembering how I once played in the shadow of the gorgeous colors it created in the living room. I try to imagine how it will be to enter the house and see the striking colors. Other more unpleasant thoughts of how it will be to enter the abandoned house keep trying to crowd in. Images of plaster rot, mold, and mouse droppings burst through my minds eye. I am dismayed by my depressing outlook towards the house. What’s wrong, what is the problem? My eyes are drawn towards the top two windows like a magnet. Something is different. Something changed since I've looked away.
Ok, so thats all I've got, I've got several ideas on which way to go from there. But, I'm still not finished. I hope you liked my 'not so scary' Halloween story!!! I hope everyone has a safe & happy Halloween!
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