Hello everyone! I'll have a graduation themed blog entry most likely in the next couple days, but I have a short piece of fiction I wanted to share. It's nothing profound or amazing, but it was a quick write up I had to turn in to accompany my Writing Commons Final Portfolio. The idea was to base it off the concept of a haunted house in a one page story. Enjoy.
They Say the House is Haunted
They say the house is haunted, but I am not so sure. I remember growing up there as a child, remember the suddenly bleak hallways and the strange bumps in the night, but after that one evening I don't remember much else about our childhood home.
I remember looking into Jonny's room across the hall from mine. His door was always open with his Mickey Mouse nightlight and it gave me a sense of comfort to see my little brother there safe near me. He had a small alcove attached to his bedroom that you could only see if you were sitting on his bed looking to your right. It was cold and dark in that cramped corner of the room and Jonny refused to keep anything in there. He told me he wasn't allowed.
One Friday night in November of '89, I was trying to fall asleep but I could hear Jonny giggling. I threw a book at him across the hall and told him to shut up. The book bounced off of his bed and slid into the shadows of the alcove. Jonny's eyes went dark as he watched the book slide into the forbidden area. I thought he was being silly so I ignored him. Several hours later I awoke to hear Jonny speaking, though to whom I still do not know. I crept out of my bed and listened at the wall next to his opened bedroom door.
"Uh huh...uh huh...no I don't want to hurt her...no you promised you'd leave them alone...please, please no!...Okay, no okay I understand. Yeah, yeah I will..."
"Jonny?" I called out quietly.
I peered around the corner of the wall and saw Jonny sitting cross-legged on his bed, staring blankly into the darkened alcove. I knew logically he was not talking to anyone, but the sight struck me to my core. A cold breeze could be felt coming from that side of the room and it sent me running to my bed for the safety of my covers.
Little Jonny was never the same after that. A couple weeks after that night he tried to slice our mother's face with a butcher's knife and almost succeeded. He went to a juvenile center after that for much of his middle school years. I'll never forget how dark his eyes looked as he lunged toward mom with that blade, or forget how he smiled at me the night he came back home, or the night he finally made good on his promise to his alcove and sliced mom up for good.
I don't think it was the house that was haunted.