I’m not a person who wants much. I’ve never hurt anybody. I’m not dangerous, or notorious, infamous, or even famous/popular. I’m a pretty average high schooler. I get mediocre grades, have a respectable amount of friends. As a kid with divorced parents who are STILL living together, I could definitely use a break.
Which is why I don’t deserve this. I was 15 when this happened , I can’t exactly tell how long ago. I still can’t look anyone in the eye.
Last year was when my parents split. They would scream constantly at each other, be overly sarcastic and passive aggressive towards eachother, and the only peace in the house was when one of us was outside, or had occupied a different room. My mom took the living room, my dad took the bedroom and I stayed in my bedroom all day.
When they weren’t screaming at each other, they would find a new target in me. They’d give me a hard time about my grades, about not trying hard enough at school, how I should give up and get a job if I didn’t want to go. It was so hectic all the time in there… All I needed was a break.
I would talk with my grandmother on the phone almost every day. I didn’t tell her anything that was going on in the house, because I didn’t want to make her sad. I didn’t want to be the one who broke the news to her that her daughter’s marriage fell apart and all I want to do is get away from this place.
But I found solace in her voice. My grandparents lived in a small village not too far away from the city I was in. It was approximately a 1 hour drive; 45 minutes if you took the train or really floored it on the highway. I had spent a lot of time with them, especially when I was younger. I’d go to their house every weekend and we’d have lots of fun. I used to go bike riding with my friends from there.
I loved my grandparents too much and they loved me. Especially when I was just a little kid, they’d drive all the way from there almost every day to spend the day with me while my parents were at work, so in a sense they raised me.
Now as a teenager I wouldn’t go there as much. All the kids from the neighborhood stopped going to the village for a plethora of reasons. Susie had moved with her mother to a city far away because her parents split and her alcoholic father died shortly after in their house in the village. Bill wasn’t visiting as often either and the two other girls we used to hang out with all moved with their families to other cities and it wasn’t easy for them to visit the place. I miss the times we had together and I’d give anything for one more bicycle ride with them.
My grandparents always said that they wished I’d visit more often and that they missed me. They were right, I was too caught up escaping from my problems by going out with friends who stole their parents’ alcohol and get wasted, or spend my day playing video games after school, or sleeping.
That week was especially tense in the house with my parents and weekend was about to roll around. I phoned my grandparents to feel some relief from hearing their soft voices with their happy-go-lucky personalities. You could always tell that they were smiling when they were talking to you on the phone and there was this undeniable warmth to their demeanor that took away all sadness and anxiety like magic.
“I’m doing okay grandma. Things are a little bit tough at school but I manage” I answered when she asked how I was doing.
“Well, lucky for you I have just the thing for you” she said and you could tell she was smiling already.
“What?” I asked.
“Your grandpa brought me these amazing apples from the garden and I’m making you a delicious apple pie right now” she said. Her voice warm as always. My God, is she a fantastic cook. This sounded like an invitation for the weekend. I could definitely use a break and I decided what the hell. I haven’t seen them since Christmas and it’s spring already.
“Aw. Why you gotta pull on my heartstrings like that grandma? You’re gonna make me take the first bus tomorrow” I said, smiling.
She was overjoyed.
“You know our door is always open for you, love”
It was decided then. Next day after school, I used some of my allowance to buy bus tickets to the village. My grandpa came to pick me up. I hugged him and we talked a bit about school and I asked him about the village life.
“Oh, you know” he shrugged and I was expecting the answer he always gave. “Nothing much, as always. Village life is very quiet. Mrs. Agnes is her usual self, the fields are there and we’re waiting for summer to harvest peaches and sell them”
Same old, same old. Mrs Agnes was my friend Bill’s grandmother.
We went home and had a delicious meal. I was happy to see them again, I’d missed them more than I realized. After lunch, my grandparents went for an afternoon nap and I stayed in the living room, listening to music and looking out the window to the old house Susie lived, just across the street.
I always had a small crush on her and I definitely missed hanging out. Me, her and Bill were the core members of the group and we’d go for bike rides around that time, a little bit after lunch and we’d stay outside until it was dark.
The house was now abandoned. What used to be a white, clean, two-story house with a green garden and a dog running around, was now just an abandoned mess. Paint was scraping off the walls with large flakes hanging down the sides. The steel support beams on the balcony were rusty as all hell and the grass and bushes was now overrun with overgrown weeds and hornet nests adorned the fence.
What was once a place full of childhood memories and a house that reminded me of Susie and filled me with anticipation about our next adventure, was now a hollow shell full of ghosts of memories that were tainted with all sorts of pain and tragedy, with only rats and snakes to occupy it now. How sad.
I decided to take a walk in the neighborhood and pass by my old friends’ houses on the off-chance I saw one of them. As I got out, I was greeted with a big sniff of fresh air. So much better. The calming, clean air of the village was heaven compared to the smothering, gas filled and anxiety riddled air of the bustling city. Birds chirping, dogs barking in the distance, bees going about the business in the garden flowers. A very refreshing picture. My grandma prided herself on the garden. She really made it a piece of art. I walked out the iron front door and started walking. All my friends’ houses were in the same street as my grandma’s, so it wouldn’t be a long walk.
I passed by Susie’s house, saddened by its state and its history. Past Amy’s and Angie’s house that was in a similar state and past the huge warehouse where we learned how to ride our bikes with the guys and gals. Memories started flooding in and nostalgia was hitting me like a brick. Man I wish I could go back. It was such a simpler time, all we had to worry about was not getting too much mud on our clothes so that our grandmas wouldn’t yell at us for the mess.
Behind and a little to the right of the big warehouse, one could see a long abandoned two - story house with very retro design, clearly built in a very different time. Its windows were wooden and crooked, worn with time and the humidity of the village’s winters. The wooden awnings on the second story were closed shut, crooked and ready to fall apart at any minute. That was where the village crazy took refuge.
Now when I say crazy, people always assume he was some sort of creepy stalker that preys on young women and scares away the kids who then build up these out-worldly theories and rumours about him being a secret murderer or devil worshipper, but the truth was much sadder. He was once rich and that house was majestic to look at. He had a family and a good job. I don’t know the details, my grandparents would only tell me that the family fell apart and his wife and kids left him, except his oldest son, who stayed, mistreated and abused him for years until he died of alcoholism. The poor man lost everything and stayed alive to live through all of it. He kept staying illegally at his former home under trash for years and around this time he’d ride his bike around the village. For such a nice day, it was weird not to see him around.
I stopped right there since the warehouse and the abandoned old place was adjacent to Bill’s house.
In an old school way, I stood outside and yelled out his name like we would do when we were kids.
“Hey Bill! Is Bill there?” I yelled. I didn’t notice Mrs Agnes a little bit further tending to the chicken coop.
“Charlie, dear boy!” She exclaimed. “How nice it is to see you! Yes Bill came to visit he’s around here somewhere. Little bastard finally decided to come visit” she said as she opened the front gate.
Mrs Agnes was sweet, but notorious for her foul mouth around the village, no one was safe. I chuckled. “Grandma! What the hell?” I heard a familiar voice say. Bill came out of the house, his pacing quick.
He was annoyed, he hates when his grandma talks like this about him. “I told you not to call me that!”
It was then when he noticed me. His hair was dirty blonde and had a natural tendency to stay upwards. His eyes blue, his smile wide. I hadn’t seen him in more than a year but it didn’t feel like this much. He hadn’t changed at all.
“Charlie!” he said, not believing he was seeing me there. “Where have you been, man?”
“Oh, you know. This and that. Good to see you man, I didn’t expect to see anyone around” I replied.
“Yeah. The place is quite dead if you ask me. I came because Nana needed help with the house. I wouldn’t have otherwise”
We stood in silence for a bit.
“Oh what am I doing? Come on in, come on in, take a seat on the balcony and I’ll go make us some coffee.” he said and rushed in.
“Thanks!” I said. I climbed a short set of stairs that led to the front door and right there was the balcony. I sat on the wooden chair. I had a nice view of the warehouse and the abandoned house behind it.
I kept looking at it.
When we were kids we thought the place was haunted. As kids do, of course. When it was afternoon and Crazy George was away, we’d dare eachother to go there and then we’d scare the living shit out of eachother with stories about the ‘ghosts’ we’d seen inside, or at night around the house. We always wondered how this man lived in a haunted place. I remembered Susie telling us she saw some sort of figure in the upper windows, trying to scare us, but we laughed at her attempt, since the upper windows always had their awnings shut. Maybe we were a bit too cruel to her, because I remember her crying after this which always seemed a little bit extreme to me.
“Got you your coffee, you moody motherfucker” Bill broke the silence and cut my thoughts short. He’d definitely taken from his grandmother. He pushed open the half open door and left the cups on the coffee table, next to his phone and car keys. Oh yes. I forgot to mention that 15-year-olds drive freely in the village. Not because it’s legal, but because no one gives a shit. Bill was driving his late grandfather’s 4x4.
“Thanks, Bill” i said and took a small sip. Why did I think it’d be anything but black?
“So…” I said.
“So.” He continued.
-–
We caught up for a bit. We talked about my life at home, how I can’t feel like I’m home when I’m there, how school is falling behind. Bill said that his uncle used to not go into work and didn’t like being home. How he felt a huge weight that made him want to sit at home and watch TV all day. He said that he went to a shrink and turns out it was depression. He told me that maybe I should check it out.
We then talked about his life for a bit, he told me that school was going fine and that he came to the village a couple of days before, because mom was sick and couldn’t help mrs Agnes with her chores. He told me he was starting to think a little bit about what he wanted to study after, but couldn’t really decide between history and philosophy.
“Wow, aren’t these two the exact same yawn inducing subjects?” I chuckled and sipped on my coffee.
“Ha - ha. Fuck off, Charles” he said playfully.
It didn’t take long to feel just like old times with this guy. Like no time had passed since we last met at all. Good guy. But only for the days you’d spend there.
Bill was notoriously known for his tendency to talk about everyone behind their backs and spreading rumours. He talked shit about Susie and Angie to me and I’m pretty sure he talked shit about me to the others. I was unfazed by this, to be honest. I always saw right through it for some reason. It never really brought any serious tension to the group. I just kept hanging out because despite this, he was somehow a link between us all. He wasn’t part of my everyday life so I didn’t care that much, although maybe I should. I had hoped that with age, he would be better.
We stood in silence for a moment.
“Did you know that crazy George died?” he asked, his voice now more serious.
“What?” I… was surprised. I thought that old George would outlive us all.
“I saw you staring at the house. George died a few months ago” he said.
“So that’s why I didn’t see him around, huh?” I said, reaching in my pocket. “I guess he found some peace, at least”
I pulled out a crumbled, wrinkled pack of cigarettes. Not close to home, not close to judgement.
“When I ask how he died, no one knows” he said, quizzically. “It’s like he just up and vanished.”
I scoffed.
“Shut up, dude. Let the guy have some peace” I looked at Bill. “I’m all for scary stories and this house is definitely a good source for it, but come on”
“I’m being dead serious, Charlie” he said, his tone really darkening. “There’s no grave. When we went with grandma to visit grandpa’s grave, I looked for it. I found nothing”
This sent chills down my spine, as I looked to the house and the wind made its doors creak open a tad bit, almost as if it was inviting someone in. But of course, I couldn’t take him seriously.
“You’re creeping me out, dude. Cut it out” I said, more seriously now as well. I finally lit my cigarette. Bill noticed, but didn’t say anything. Instead, he kept talking about George’s death. That alarmed me as well. I knew Bill, it’s not like he wouldn’t comment on me smoking.
“Look, Charlie, I’m telling you. I looked for his grave. I wanted to leave a rose there. I did! Guy had the saddest sob story I’ve ever heard and he lived a few meters away from me. I saw him everyday!” he sounded emotional. He wasn’t going to cry, but his words were… passionate. I listened.
The sun had started to set a beautiful light orange color. At the sound of his words though it didn’t feel as beautiful.
“I asked grandma, I asked the neighbors, I asked everyone. Most of them just smile and change the subject, saying shit like ‘I’m sure he’s around’, others say he probably died of old age, others…” he stopped and looked around, checking if anyone was close. Then he whispered “…others, including grandma, have installed fucking security locks on their houses”
He pointed at the door. Indeed, it was new and had a security lock on it. “Look! What the fuck is this? If there was a robbery or a burglary or whatever other shit you’d hear it everyday around here, you’d hear the gossip, the word would spread around”
I absolutely hated to admit it. But I believed him. His mannerisms were intense, he was looking at me straight in the eyes with great emotion. The look on his eyes betrayed that he was begging for me to believe him, begging for someone to be on his side, begging for someone to confirm he wasn’t crazy. He wasn’t freaking out, though. He knew what he was talking about was real, like he was prepared for shit to hit the fan one day. Like the childhood ghost stories we’d come up with were practice for when the real fear set in.
“Wha…” I couldn’t finish the sentence. “What the fuck… this is fucked, man”
“I know” he said. “I’ve been here for two nights now and I can’t sleep at all. I lay awake all night, hearing this fucking madhouse creak and bang but I can promise you the wind isn’t half as strong to make it sound like that”
Mrs Agnes walked by and went to open the door into the house. It seems she overheard a little bit of the conversation on her way here.
“Bill! What are you telling poor old Charlie here?” she asked with a kind of angry tone.
“Grandma I told you I can’t sleep at night! The house is making noises!” he said. Loudly.
Mrs Agnes opened the door and walked inside. “Don’t pay attention. Whatever it is, it will be gone by morning”
What. The. Fuck.
I got goosebumps all over. Chills were sent up and down my spine, like something was walking all over me. “Bro” I said to Bill. “What the fuck was that.”
“Everyone’s like this for fuck’s sake. And when you try to ask further, they stop talking to you” he said. “I don’t know what’s going on and I don’t intend to find out. I’m leaving tomorrow, my grandma’ll manage.”
The church bells rang as the clock hit 19:00, beckoning the village folk to visit. In Orthodox churches, this is the time for the evening prayer. It made me jump, though. I didn’t expect it with all these thoughts. Bill let out a forced laugh.
We sat in silence for a bit, drinking the last of our coffee. We watched some people walk by on their way to the church and waved to those we knew. Mrs Agnes got out of the house and joined a friend of hers to go to church.
“Do you want me to sleep here tonight bro?” I asked.
“It would mean a lot” he said.
I called my grandparents and told them I’d sleep at Bill’s tonight. They were pleasantly surprised to hear Bill was here and told me to say hi to mrs Agnes.
“Hey grandma?” I said before we hung up.
“Yes?”
“I was just looking at the old house behind the warehouse and I wondered, how is Crazy George doing?”
Bill and I looked at eachother and he gestured me to put it on speaker phone.
“Oh” she said. “He’s dead…” she sounded like she pitied him. “I think he died of old age” she said.
Bill looked at me and shook his head in disappointment.
“Oh no” I said. “May he rest in peace”
“How come though everyone comes up with different explanations about his death?” I asked before I hung up. I don’t know what made me question my grandmother, but at that moment, I did. “And where is his grave?” I kept asking, being met with silence. “Bill said there isn’t one. There is a grave for even the most forgotten about kitten in the village for god’s sake” I said, audibly more frustrated.
More silence.
I heard a sigh on the other side. My grandma’s voice was a little deeper now and completely, dead serious.
“Get over here. Now.” she said and hung up the phone.
Granny never talked to me like that, so something very serious is going on here.
I looked at Bill, terrified. He looked calmer now.
“It’s okay” he said. “She’s probably right”
Weird.
“What the fuck, Bill. You were freaking out a few minutes ago” I said.
He shrugged. “I don’t know” he said. “I suggest we take it easy for tonight and see what we can do tomorrow”
I agreed. My mind got tired of all the racing thoughts. I relaxed my back into the chair again. I pulled out another cigarette and I decided I should leave once it was over to go see grandma and see what that was about.
“I saw you before” Bill said. “Wishing to join crazy George soon you bastard?” he chuckled and pointed at the cigarette.
I gestured to him dismissively. “Whatever” I’ve heard it all before.
We forced a subject change and we talked a bit about sports, but my eyes were fixated on the decrepit house. The wind grew a little stronger now and its front door made a loud creak and was now almost completely open. Even after all of this speculation and mystery and inexplicable denial of the townsfolk to answer questions, the dilapidated house invited us in for an adventure just like old times. I couldn’t make out what Bill was saying, I got lost on these thoughts.
Then in an instant the door slammed shut. This was unnatural. The wind wasn’t blowing as hard and it was blowing in another direction altogether. I jumped and screamed. Bill stopped talking.
“So anyway, as I was saying, the coach really should change up the system a bit, beca-“
“Bill! What the fuck, man! Didn’t you see that?”
“Calm down, Charlie” he said, looking at me like I’m weird.
I heard the door creak again and when I looked, it was closed. The creaking sound continued, and I realized it was coming from upstairs. Bill was silent.
It wasn’t too close, so I couldn’t hear any more details, but I was pretty sure the house had a wooden floorboard and someone was pushing its limits just by walking. Suddenly, out of nowhere, the awnings on the second floor flew open, banging against the walls, chipping away the paint. It was placed just a little on the side of the house, so you could see every flake of paint crash on the dirt below. No one was living there. We didn’t see any movement, no one entering, no one exiting. The creaking door was moving by itself with the wind. I was looking at the house the entire time for god’s sake.
I stood up and threw the cigarette away. Before I could say anything, the window flew open equally violently. What I saw next froze me in place for a good minute. I saw a figure standing there, peeking its head out the window. I fell back on the chair and stuck my back to the wall. I saw it more clearly. I don’t know how to explain it, it felt like my eyes zoomed in on this figure’s face, because I could see every little detail.
It was an old man holding the window open and he was staring at me. His head was tilted a little bit sideways, staring directly at me. Bill fell completely silent. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. It’s as if he was pinning my body in place just by looking at me with his stare.
He was very old, with a cracked, wrinkled skin. He had hair on the sides and a crooked nose. His thick eyebrows gave even more power to his wide open, deathly eyes. He was staring at me with a very stern, strict look. As if I somehow disturbed him and was mad at me, but instead of yelling at me to go away, he remained motionless, hellbent on not breaking eye contact with me. His strict, dead look felt like a harpoon through me.
He didn’t look dead, wasn’t pale or ghostly or anything of the sort. His lips were thin and even though they didn’t move, they made him look very, very angry. It wasn’t Crazy George. George had smoother features, a gentler face. George was gone.
This man was rugged, ugly and angry. There was something… inhuman about him. I can’t explain it very well, but the way he was looking at me was unnatural. I don’t know how long I stood there.
“B-Bill?” I pleaded with a trembling voice, my eyes still pinned to that thing.
I was surprised to hear his voice.
“Yeah?” he said, his voice not matching the event. He sounded very reasonable, calm and collected.
“D-Do you s-see it too?” I asked, a tear streaming down my cheek.
“Yeah” he answered, very calmly. “Don’t pay attention and it will go away” he said “We’ll talk about it tomorrow”. He then continued talking about another subject, his words turning into gibberish in my mind as I was losing myself to the trance this thing had put me in. What was it?
“Someone help me… Please” I wept quietly. I managed to break eye contact, but it didn’t feel earned. It felt like the thing gave me permission. The Old Man was nowhere to be seen and the windows were closed again. I took a deep breath, I turned and looked to Bill who was staring at the house.
I felt completely alone at that point. I was sure I was going gray out of fear and I couldn’t put my trust on Bill. He seemed like he was living exactly what I was, but completely differently, as if he was somehow used to it this quickly. I thought about leaving. “What if the Old Man started chasing me, though?”
“No way.”
“I’m staying here with Bill.”
I talked to him.
“Hey Bill, wanna get out of here?” I asked, trying to hide my trembling voice.
Bill kept staring at the window.
“Yeah sure, give me a minute” he said slowly, his voice emotionless, almost robotic. He stayed there and didn’t move at all.
What if the Old Man had him gripped with his stare? What if he was going through the exact same thing as me moments before? I looked at the window.
Nothing.
I kept looking at the window and tried to shake Bill’s head to break eye contact.
“Please, don’t do it again…” I pleaded for the Old Man to not show his face again. He was horrifying and I don’t know what, but his stare did bad things to my brain. It cut open all the synapses that controlled emotion and they ran like a waterfall, crazy inside my head.
I heard the window open as soon as I touched Bill. I closed my eyes as soon as I could. I could feel the stare. I could feel it as if it was corporeal. I turned my head to Bill before opening my eyes.
I fell off the chair.
Bill was not there.
Instead, it was the Old Man. Not talking. Not moving.
Just staring with his stern, strict look.
Time was frozen, it wasn’t getting any darker. I was frozen in place almost. I tried moving, but it was as if I was going in slow motion, like the gravity had changed.
“Stop it! Please!” I shouted. “Bill! Stop it, where are you?” I screamed at the top of my lungs, crying.
I wiped the tears off my eyes and when I looked again, Bill was there. As if nothing happened, he was talking about sports and eating peanuts.
“Bill what the fuck!” I screamed at him. I looked at the house, but the awnings were shut once again.
“What?” he asked, visibly confused. “Charlie?”
“You turned into that thing!” I shouted, pointing at the window.
“Charlie, I told you not to pay attention” he said, calmly. “Come sit, I brought peanuts and I’ll get some beer later.”
“Promise me you won’t do it again” I pleaded. I know it sounds stupid. But at that moment I was desperate, I didn’t know what to do. The only logical thing would be to ask my friend who was semi-oblivious to this to not turn into a monster again.
“Do what man?” he asked, confused again, but showing a little bit of frustration.
“Don’t make that face again. It scares me” I said, still my voice trembling.
Bill looked as if he had enough. He shook his head sarcastically, now visibly irritated. “Alright man, I won’t do it again. Fucking happy now?”
He acted like we hadn’t had that conversation about George earlier.
He said it just because that’s what I wanted to hear. And believe me, it was enough to put my mind somewhat at ease. This was a fucked situation. All I needed was to not be alone. I needed to count on Bill. I needed to know we were together. It was too scary to head back home, it was scary to move. I needed a friend.
As soon as I turned my head to the house, I saw the Old Man again. Staring. I didn’t hear the windows open. He was just there. I screamed. I looked to Bill.
The Old Man. That strict, dead look.
I saw Bill’s car keys on the table next to the old man.
With one swift motion, I snatched them. The Old Man didn’t move, didn’t try to catch me. I tried to run.
Like before, I felt slow. It felt like my legs were weak and couldn’t push more. All I had to do was push just a little bit further. I ran and screamed and cried. My phone was ringing.
I looked around the lot for the car. My eyes fell on the neighboring house, its occupants standing on the porch, all with their faces twisted up. The Old Man, again. Everywhere I looked I saw his face had replaced everyone I know.
“Charlie, where are you going man?” I heard Bill say from further behind.
I didn’t turn around. No way.
I saw the car and ran to it as fast as I could. I got in and fumbled the keys to the ignition. My hands were shaking.
“Charlie what the fuck are you doing?!” I heard Bill shout.
‘I’m not looking over there, that thing is not human. I’m getting the fuck out of here.’ I thought out loud.
I didn’t know how to drive and my city was an hour away, but I didn’t care at all at that point. Better to die on the road, than be swallowed up by this hell. I managed to start the engine and I remembered my dad showing me how the clutch works. I tried a couple of times and failed, shakily fumbling the keys again and again. My heart must have been pounding at an alarming rate.
“Charlie, get out of the car, now!” Bill demanded, now sounding both worried and angry. He must have ran after me, he sounded close.
I tried to get the car moving but I shut the engine by mistake. Fuck. I turned the keys again. There was banging on the window. Alternating between Bill shouting and complete silence. I turned the keys again and hit the gas pedal. I heard a thud from the driver’s window, probably Bill still banging on the door, I don’t know.
I didn’t dare look.
I sped through the front gate, scratching the car on the fence. I looked around and saw no one around. Not Bill, not Mrs Agnes, nobody. It was now completely dark as well. As I approached the end of the street I turned knobs and pushed buttons, desperately looking for the headlights. When I found them, I realized my phone was still vibrating in my pocket. It was grandma.
I froze in place. I hit the brakes as hard as I could, slamming my head against the steering wheel.
My grandparents. I couldn’t leave them here with that thing. I wouldn’t just up and leave and abandon them to whatever fate awaited them.
She had left 26 unanswered calls.
Twenty six.
I answered to her crying. “Charlie… where are you?” she cried. Not a sad, gentle weep with a shaky voice. She was screaming, sniffling uncontrollably, shaking. The phone was cutting off. A traumatized, desperate cry, the one you imagine one would make when burying their child.
“Granny! I’m here! Don’t worry, I’m coming to get you!” I screamed. The phone cut off when I heard a something like loud static. Either that, or a horrifying, blood-gurgling scream.
I didn’t stop the car properly and the engine shut off. For whatever reason, I decided to get out of the car and run towards them. I couldn’t fight with the ignition again, risking losing more time this way. When I got out and turned around to face the street I was just leaving, I was hit with a soft warmth on my face and I closed my eyes as if it was broad daylight again and I was staring directly at the sun.
When I opened my eyes, I fell to my knees.
The entire village was engulfed in flames. Thick black smoke covered the moonlit night sky and bright orange fiery tendrils wrapped themselves around houses, trees and cars. There was no screaming, no panic, no one running away. Just giant bonfires, turning houses into wreckage, spitting ashes and sparks in every direction.
The only house that was intact, was the Old Man’s house. It stood looking crooked as it always did, but nothing broke. Nothing crumbled. Nothing exploded. It just stood there, proudly, arrogantly boasting its immortality amidst the others who were being destroyed, crumbling one by one.
Oh, God. My grandparents. What had I done?
I could’ve saved them, I could’ve done something. I could’ve returned home when my grandma told me to; maybe things would be different.
“Whoever you are…” I whispered, tears forming small lakes on my swollen eyes before exploding into streams that ran down my face. “FUCK YOU! YOU HEAR ME? FUCK YOU!” I screamed with all my might, my voice breaking, making sounds I never knew were possible. I almost blew my voice out.
I got into the car and started it again.
I swear I saw a figure emerging from the flames when I looked in the rearview mirror, but I wasn’t paying attention. I was jiggling the keys trying to get this thing to start again.
And it did.
I sped away as quickly as I could. Once the car got going, it was easier to operate the stick shift.
I didn’t look back. I weaved through turns, my peripheral vision lighting up every time I went by another house in flames. But I didn’t pay attention. My eyes were on the road. Emotions, anxiety, all of those things were luxuries I couldn’t afford at that point. As I exited the village and got onto the highway, the noise had stopped. The fire crackling, the wind growling, the glasses exploding, it all stopped. It was just me and the road home. I didn’t know what to say once I stepped my foot in there. All I knew is I was crying on the steering wheel. My grandparents, were they gone? Bill? Mrs Agnes? Everyone?
Was it all an illusion?
I checked the time on my phone.
11:59
How the hell had the time gone by so quickly?
If this was a dream and I fell asleep on the couch, I pleaded to whatever God there was to please let me wake up.
Eyes on the road. A lonely drive ahead.
12:00
The phone vibrated again.
“Granny, (27) missed calls” it showed.
My heart dropped to my knees. I held the phone in my hands, feeling it vibrate as it rang again. Eyes on the road. How is this possible?
Who the fuck is this?
But on the other hand,
What if they escaped? What if they were still alive?
These questions were eating me alive.
In the meantime, the phone stopped ringing.
Guilt. Regret.
12:01
I might’ve dug their graves. Again. I quickly opened the phone and decided to call grandma back.
*Ring*
*Ring*
*Ring*
“Come on…” I thought, my fingers nervously tapping on the steering wheel.
*Ring*
They picked up!
“Granny? Grandpa?” I shouted, my voice pleading for an answer.
No response.
“Are you guys okay? Please talk to me, can you hear me?” I kept asking again and again.
Maybe the phone was damaged by the fire, maybe it just stopped ringing. Of course, this couldn’t be happening, I saw the house burning to the ground just a little further down the road from Bill’s.
But then I heard it.
It was heavy, slow and rhythmic. A low pitched, airy sound.
It was breathing. I heard breathing. Rhythmic, slow and tired. Breathing still.
“Hello?” I said.
No response. Just breathing.
Slow. Big inhale, big exhale.
I hung up the phone and threw it away on the driver’s seat.
I am not mistaken. It was the Old Man. It was that thing. That evil, soulless, unholy thing. Must’ve been.
I called again. “Please leave a message”.
Again and again and again, the same response, straight to voicemail.
I sped off into the night and after what felt like 10 hours, I managed to bring myself home.
-–
I can’t look anyone in the eyes anymore. I’m terrified of being met with the same stare again. My friends at first thought I’m insane, but now they’re afraid. After I found the courage to tell my mom what happened, she set off immediately to arrange a funeral for my grandparents. It’s been too long since she’s gone. She won’t return my calls. I’m afraid. I’m terrified.
That thing is still there, waiting. Judging. Executing.
With its stern, strict, dead stare.
It decides the fate of everyone who sets foot in there. And my fate is that I wished it had taken me instead.
I think I hear her car.