Home Sweet Home [FICTION]

I put the finishing touch of paint on the baseboard in the foyer and then survey the room with a speculative eye. I have done this in every room of the house: mudded, sanded, painted, and then second-guessed myself and gave each room the once over one more time. But now, I am finished. I am truly finished and my house is ready to sell. Of course, the sign has been up for a week now and we haven’t got a single bite. 

The doorbell rings and I throw open the door. A tiny old woman offers me a toothless grin from amongst the wrinkles that form her face. 

“Hello, dear,” she says as pale eyes dart around the foyer, taking in every detail.

“Are you here to look at the house?”

“Yes, dear.” She steps into the room, turning slowly to take in the foyer. “I just wanted to see it again one more time.”

“One more time?” I repeat.

“Yes, I lived here as a child.” She takes slow measured steps further into the house, pausing to run her hands along the brick of the fireplace in the living room. “We used to sit around the fire on cold nights and read stories or play games.”

I follow in silence as she continues through each room, offering occasional commentary that gives me insight to all the memories running through her head.

“Who chose this color. My mother had the most beautiful pink roses on the wallpaper in this room…and here, she had that wallpaper so many kitchens had back in that day with the onions and the herbs and lemons all over it.” Her slow steady steps bring us back to the foyer.

She puts a hand on the railing and climbs the stairs with painstaking care. I continue in her wake, prepared to catch her. She doesn’t talk on the stairs. In fact, she just shakes her head as she peeks into the bathroom. She pauses at the first bedroom door, staring at the knob.

“This used to be a white china knob. I used to stare at it for hours, thinking it was the most exquisite and expensive doorknob in the world, perfect for daddy’s little princess.” She pushes the door open without touching the new, metal knob.

She steps into the room and falls to her knees, turning around in circles slowly while her knees or the boards or both creak in protest. Her face crumples in pain and a single tear falls down her cheek. She beckons me forward and I kneel next to her, helping her stand up. She leans on my arm as we head toward the master bedroom. Once more she pauses at the door. This time she doesn’t look at the knob. Instead she scans my face for a moment before opening the door and stepping inside. More tears join the one already on her cheek as she looks toward the long wall.

“My mother and father kept their bed on that wall. They slept there every night until they didn’t.” She turns to look at me again, scanning my face before she goes on. “I woke up that night. Something had scared me. All I wanted was my mom to hold me, so I ran to her. She always woke up at least enough to pull me under the covers and hold me tight while she kissed my head. That is what I needed. That was what I wanted. That was what I expected.”

She pauses, her voice grows hoarse as she fights back tears to continue. “She wouldn’t hold me that night. She wouldn’t hold me ever again. When I got into their room, I could see her in the moonlight. She was lying right here in the middle of the floor. I stepped forward to see if she was okay and I slipped in something. I found out later it was her blood. I called out for daddy to help me, but he didn’t. It took me a while to get up and go to him. He had the gun in his hand still, but he wasn’t moving…”

I recoil away from her as she reaches toward me and run from the room and her memories. Her wailing chases me down that stairs as I leave the front door for the last time. The realtor can handle the details of selling the house now.

~~~Not sure what got me in so a dark mood for this piece, but I hope it entertained you and got you ready for a weekend of fun.~~~

A Home of My Own [FICTION]

Something brushed my big toe. I screamed. Emboldened by my fear, another cockroach skittered across my foot. The whirlwind activity of my big move had energized the winged creatures. They flaunted their courage even when lights blazed in every room. Their temerity reminded me why I decided to move.

My cousin Leda’s voice echoed from the empty living room. “That’s the third time you’ve screamed in five minutes. You should be used to your roaches by now.”

“I’ll never get used to them. That is why I’m moving.”

“I thought it was because you basically stole that gorgeous house.”

“The realtor said it’s a buyer’s market.” My defensive words brought back my own misgivings, but my mind’s image of the Victorian mansion with its turret and brown shutters erased them.

I held back most of my screams as I finished packing and toting the items I didn’t trust to the movers. I breathed a sigh of relief when Leda and I carried the last of the smaller boxes into the hallway. I closed the door with an aching tongue and a relieved mind.

By the time, we reached the new house, my tongue stopped hurting, but my heart raced with excitement. My cousin and I lingered outside as the movers finished the heavy lifting. I claimed a corner of the living room to survey my new surroundings and point movers in the right direction when they looked confused. Leda kept me company when she wasn’t walking from room to room with anime eyes. When the workmen finally cleared out, we hefted boxes of treasures too precious to trust with into the spacious living room.

“This hideous picture is still here?” Leda paused in front of the large canvas on the wall facing the window.

I gently placed my box of knickknacks on the floor. Turning to face the painting, I surveyed it slowly, hoping that another viewing would change my opinion. A human figure outlined in purple leapt off of a green and orange swirled background. Swirls of gold popped out at the corners, causing me to blink as they caught the light.

“As the new owner, I declare this monstrosity retired.” I announced elegantly and stepped forward to lift the painting from the wall.

Surprised by the weight of the antique frame, I stumbled. The painting fell from my hands and slammed into the floor. I reached out to catch myself and found my hands resting against the bare studs inside the wall. The painting hid a ragged hole big enough for me to hide inside. As I leaned against the studs, I realized I may not have been the first to make that observation.

A desiccated corpse grinned gruesomely up at me. My eyes locked on empty eye sockets. A gargle escaped my throat. Leda stepped forward and grabbed my elbow.

“Did you bring a cockroach with you?” Her soft giggle subsided as she peered over my shoulder.

“No.” I whispered through clenched teeth.

She leaned back, and I pushed myself away from the wall. We turned slowly, each waiting for the other to speak.

“I think I know why I got such a great deal.” I said.

Leda nodded. “So what should we do?”

“Call the cops?”

“And move back into your old apartment?”

I paused to consider her words. “Oh no…”

“Oh yes. If this place becomes a crime scene…”

We gazed at each other in silence. I stepped forward to peer into the hole again. As I leaned over to admit light, I noticed a folded sheet of paper between two fingers of the right hand. Without thinking, I snatched it. The yellowed paper rustled in my hand as I opened it. Then it dissolved into dust.

“That won’t help us much.” Leda said.

“I guess not.” I frowned.

“What do you think happened?”

“I don’t know. The person I bought the house from was about our age, so I don’t think they killed…” I paused to survey the remnants of lace around the body’s neck. “Her.”

“Probably inherited the problem.” Leda offered a shadowy attempt at a smile.

“Maybe they didn’t know?”

Leda laughed.

“Okay. For the price I paid, they had to know.”

“We could do research?”

“Or we could just cover up the hole and forget we saw anything.”

Leda shook her head.

I sighed. “I guess we’ll let the cops figure it out?”

Leda shook her head again. “I just think we shouldn’t live with someone else’s mistake.”

“What are you thinking?” I looked at her intently.

“We could easily fit our friend into one of your larger moving boxes.”

“And have the movers come and get it?” I started to laugh nervously.

“Of course not. The two of us should be able to heft it. We can just take it to the dump.”

“But…” All my moral concerns failed to flood from my lips.

Thus, I found myself at the dump with my cousin, pushing a heavy box down into a gaping hole in the ground. We brushed our hands against our chests with a shiver as the box tumbled away from us into the trash chasm. We turned slowly toward the car, maintaining our silence until the gates of the dump completely disappeared in my rearview mirror.

I tried to forget what I had done, but the wizened corpse haunted me in my dreams. I settled into my house, but I felt the woman watching me from every corner. She held more sway in the living room. Leda helped me replace the battered wall with fresh drywall and cover the whole room in a bright golden hue, but darkness seemed to creep out of the corners. When Leda visited, she insisted we spend time in the kitchen at the back of the house or poking around in the drafty attic.

Our efforts to transform that space into a cozy game room finally brought me peace. As we poked through the last pile of crumbling papers and dusty books, my hand rested on a leather-bound volume with half the pages ripped out. Spidery, antiquated handwriting covered the first couple of remaining pages. I tossed it into the top of the rubbish bin. Leda scooped it up with a laugh.

“Don’t be rude. It looks like the house left you its journal. You should at least see what she had to tell you.”

I shivered, rolled my eyes, and went back to scanning the last few pages on the nearest shelf. Assured that they didn’t hold vital information, I threw them away. As I opened my mouth to proudly declare the job done, Leda gasped.

I looked up at her. “What is it?”

“Listen to this,” she held the book up and began reading.

“I have torn out most of my dark thoughts. You can’t have them any more than you can have my house. I will be here forever. No one will make a home here. I shall take my poison and hide myself within its heart. If they don’t find me, my spirit shall linger on and haunt this place. If they do find me, they will never be able to live in a place with such a horrific past.”

I stared at her and a burden seemed to rise from me, taking the darkness with it.

***

In honor of the season, I thought this needed to see the light of day.

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