When my brother and I were kids, we didn’t get to create fond memories with our grandparents like most children do. My maternal grandparents died shortly after we were born, and my paternal grandparents were… strange. The only communication we had with them was through letters sent at Christmas. Every so often, we would get a letter addressed from “the rest of the family” that just contained random scribbles and hellos. Apart from my grandparents and the ominous letters, I never had contact with my father’s side. I never even met any of them in person. I still remember the day we were dropped off in front of my grandparent’s house. Not because it was the first time we were to meet them, but because of the reason, and because of the horrors that unfolded that day.
*
My grandparents lived in an incredibly old century house that was one painted white but had begun fading and peeling long ago. The house was wrapped in a dead garden and terrible dark vines looking as if they were going to pull the house down. But the strangest thing of all was the boarded second story windows.
My mother and father had just got divorced. It happened suddenly, when it dawned on my father that she was having an affair. He didn’t have time to find a living space so quickly, so he arranged to stay at a friend’s place and dropped us off at my grandparents for the meantime. My father was a sweet man. He would do anything for us, which made it all the sadder when he had no choice to leave us in, what to us was, a stranger’s house. We had just pulled in the driveway when my dad killed the engine. He looked back at us in the back seats with a grim expression on his face.
“I need you both to behave while you’re here. Remember, it will only be a week. I promise.” He choked on the last word as his eyes glistened with tears and shame. I never blamed him for what happened but, I guess that never really mattered. I looked over at my little brother. He was only a year younger but, I felt protective over him like he was still a baby. He was drawing a picture while my father spoke, it looked to be a hero swooping in and saving us all.
“Boys! Look here for a minute.” His loud, masculine voice demanded our attention. We both stared at our father in silence.
“While you’re here, you need to follow one very simple rule. Okay?”
We both nodded.
“You need to stay on the main floor. Okay? Don’t go up the stairs. For any reason. Alright?” I nodded, even though it sounded silly. I wondered what could be wrong with going upstairs. Usually, the upstairs was where bedrooms were. Then I began wondering where we’d sleep. If only that was where my troubles ended. Tim seemed unfazed and just started coloring again. My father noticed and snatched his book out of his hands. I began to feel nervous, as my father’s actions were becoming uncharacteristically erratic.
“Tim! This is important! Are you listening to me?” My father instantly regretted his outburst as tears welled up in Tim’s eyes. He looked to my father and spoke.
“I’ll be strong dad.” I had no idea where that came from, but I’ll never forget it. It was the only time I saw my dad cry.
“I know you will buddy. Dennis, look after our little hero here, okay?”
“Yes, sir!” Was all I could muster because I couldn’t tell what was wrong with my father. Was he sad? Mad? Did Tim do something? But, I figured it was probably because mum was gone…
I hopped out of the Cadillac, and my dad brought our few bags to the door and knocked. He looked pale in that summer sun. A moment went by, and he knocked again. The door jangled and a gruff voice could be heard on the other side.
“Keep your fuckin’ shorts on! I’m comin’!” Tim and I snickered, as my father rolled his eyes. I could hear a thousand locks being unlocked and the door finally flung ajar. The gruff voice suited the old man that stepped out. He wore a dirty white shirt and black suspenders. He had short white hair that blended perfectly into his white stubble.
“Oh! My lord! Are these my boys? Look how you’ve grown!” Our grandfather ruffled our hair, as I wondered if he had ever seen us before.
He ushered us into the home. It smelt like old cigarettes and most the furniture was caked in dust. We were told to drop our bags in the room at the end of the hall. As we did, I could hear my father arguing with my grandfather. The room was small, with a double bed and a small desk. I guessed Tim and I would be sharing. My father appeared in the door and held out with arms for a hug. He held Tim and I together, tightly; and then abruptly got up to leave. He just managed to muster an “I love you, boys” before he made it out the front door. As soon as the door shut our grandfather gave us a list of chores for the week, and then looked at us with a glint in his eye and a snarky grin.
“Have you boys seen Billy Connolly?”
Our night was spent with so much laughter it hurt my ribs. Tim and I were both rolling on the ground in front of the television! Billy, a standup comedian, was swearing like a sailor! We never got the jokes but, we knew what bad words were; and they were hilarious! Our grandfather had given us milk and cookies, and it was difficult to not spill them everywhere. He sat and watched in his recliner, smoking a cigarette, and sipping from a glass of some vile brown liquid that smelled like chemicals. We tried to ask him questions during the commercials, like where grandmas was, or why he never came to visit us. The only reply we got was that they have been taking care of the family. It wasn’t enough for me, but the comedy show messed kept me quiet. I sat up, wiping the tears from my eyes from laughter. I had a perfect view of the landing above. The upper floor. There was no railing but, it appeared there once was. The stairs leading up looked old and battered, and the wallpaper looked like someone finger painted black all over the walls.
My grandfather caught me staring.
“Your father warned ya, didn’t he?” He spoke slowly, and pointed a crusty finger at me, as if accusing me of some terrible crime the way he wagged it.
“Now, if I catch either of you buggers up there, I’ll tan your hide!” A chuckle followed, and I dropped my gaze to Tim, who continued to draw his little superheroes on paper. It was not too long after that Tim and I were sent to bed. I was tired, but my mind was racing. Why couldn’t we go upstairs? Then, Tim nudged me.
“Do you hear that?” He whispered to me. Only his eyes could be seen from the covers.
“Huh?” I was confused and tried to focus on listening when I heard a tapping sound. There was no rhythm, but it was getting louder, and it was coming from upstairs. I looked at Tim, who was already stepping out from the covers. I quickly followed and rifled through my bag to grab my flashlight. We stepped out into the hall, with each step audible in the old house. But, the tapping continued. We passed our grandfather’s room. He snored away the creaks and groans we created, thankfully. A moment passed, and we were at the first step to the old stairs. The sound was clearly coming from up there, that much was obvious now. I looked to Tim, who looked to me, and we both took our first step. When we reached the top, we saw there was only one way to go. Immediately to our left was a long dark hallway. I shone my light and saw something disturbing. There were hand marks. All. Over. The. Place.
It looked as if someone was walking on the walls and ceiling with their hands! I felt uneasy but, my curious nature pushed me onwards. The handprints were less spaced out on the old yellow walls as we pressed forward, making the walls look black. A door was now in front of us. It was large and solid, with the tapping just beyond it. I looked to Tim, who looked to be just as determined as me, and opened the door. It flung open wide to reveal another long hallway. This time, with a horrible odor. The walls were pitch black, but something else was also splashed on them, just as black. I shone my flashlight dead ahead of us as it flickered in and out. I couldn’t quite make out what it was… The tapping stopped abruptly, and a cold sweat instantly dampened my clothes. I banged my flashlight against my hand until the light held, as I shone it forward once again. Something I instantly regretted. What came before my eyes was an image that would be burned in my mind until I die.
It was arms. Pale, sickly looking, human arms; all tangled together like a ball of yarn. Each one vying to take their mass in a different direction. Each limb acting on their own. Some banged the walls, others grabbed and scratched at one another. But, when I shone my light at this abomination, they moved with purpose. In an instant it wrangled towards us with incredible speed. Each hand crawling, pushing, and scratching at the walls to reach us. We both screamed and ran for the stairs. A low wailing began emanating from the monster’s core. We had both reached where the banister should be when my brother pushed me. In an instant, we were falling. We were about to crash into the TV, when an arm extended and grabbed my brother! I didn’t even hear him scream, as I crashed and was knocked out.
*
After that day, I never saw my brother again. The police were led to believe he ran away and went missing. The truth would have never been believed. My grandfather passed soon after, due to grief. My father took over taking care of “the family”. I ended up staying with my mum until I could move out; never seeing my father. It wasn’t until last night, that I got a letter from him asking for help. Attached to that letter was the random scribblings we always got as kids but, at the bottom, I saw something that made my whole body shake and I began weep. It was a picture of the superheroes my brother used to draw; along with a little note underneath.
“I love you, big brother. Be strong for dad now.”