I don’t remember much of my childhood, but the parts I do remember I wish I could forget.
It all started when I got the phone call that my father had passed away. It didn’t come as much of a shock to us, considering his age. But the concerning part was how his body was found. The police said it looked like he had been coming down from the attic and fell, when he fell, he must have gone right over the railing because his body was found tossed over the edge at the bottom of the stairs. They said it was quick, that he broke his neck on impact. He had been sick for a while, but I didn’t think this was some sort of fucked up suicide attempt on his part. I thought it was just a tragic accident… but now I’m not so sure…. Honestly, I think he was murdered.
I had just moved to Los Angeles, got a cute little apartment with my boyfriend, Noah, and we were moving in when my phone began to ring and I saw a name on there that I hadn’t talked to in years: “Shelby.”
my sister, I answered it.
“Dylan?” she asked, hoping she still had the right number, “I know it’s been a while, but I thought you should know… dad… he’s dead.” I could hear the words get caught in her throat as she choked them out.
Before I knew it, I was driving back to the town that sat in the heart of the Appalachian Mountains, a place I swore I’d never return to. I hated this place not only because of the boredom that came with it but also just in general its hard being an out and proud gay guy in a small southern town. To say I was judged was an understatement.
I pulled my jeep to a stop in front of the house I had grew up in, a two-story off-white farmhouse nestled between bum and fuck, nowhere. As I got out of the car the memories came back to me. The time Shelby slammed into a tree riding her bike and got covered in tree sap.
Then another time she was trying to teach me how to ride a bike and I face planted into the gravel that imbedded into my face. I still had a small scar on my forehead from that. I also began to remember the dreams… or rather nightmares.
I remember my first nightmare, the first of many. I was six maybe seven and we had gone over to my uncle’s house, it was October and the movie, Halloween was playing on the tv. It had just got to the part where Laurie was running around the dark house, finding all her dead friends. I covered my face, through my fingertips I saw Michael attacking her. I jumped as she jumped. I screamed as she screamed, and my uncle and mother just continued their conversation in the kitchen, not paying me any mind. Later that night while I drifted off to sleep. I could have sworn I had saw Michael’s mask peering at me from around the corner in the doorway. I peered over my left shoulder. Stealing glances at the doorway just to make sure he wasn’t inching closer to me on my bed. The next thing I remember as I drifted off to sleep was the screaming.
It was what had woken me. It was coming from me. I was walking around the coffee table in the living room in circles, screaming at the top of my lungs. Blood chilling screams that woke the whole house. My mom and dad came running to my side and shook me awake, and I could tell by their panicked faces that they considered something was wrong with me. I saw my sister come out of her room, roll her eyes, and then go back to bed. My mom then later called my uncle and had him tell me that it was just a movie, and it wasn’t real, and that Michael Myers wasn’t going to get me. But I don’t think that’s what had caused the nightmare.
I think it was her.
See from as long as I can remember. I always visualized a small hunched over woman. She was old, probably in her sixties or so I’m not sure, and she was covered in dirty rags that clung around her body. They draped over her small boney frame. Her hands curled into hooks that hung in front of her. She had small tuffs of grey course hair that hung down into her aged face and her left eye had begun to glaze over as a cataract had formed.
I called her The Hag.
I always imagined as I walked past the doorway of my mom’s bedroom she was lurking just inside, waiting to shuffle out and take me. I had clung to this terrifying idea my whole life. She followed me everywhere. Always the monster under the bed, the thing in the darkness to fear, and I never knew why…
So, when I saw the farmhouse those memories of my childhood and of The Hag came rushing back to me. It was probably just the sleep in my eyes from driving almost two days straight, but I could have sworn I saw her in the upstairs window as I glanced around the outside of the house, it was only for a split second, in one of the windows.
God my eyes must have been so tired they were ready for sleep.
Shelby stepped out of her car and walked up to me without stretched arms. We hugged and she stood beside me, and we both looked back at a place that had caused us so much heartache growing up.
I don’t know why Dad had left it in such a bad condition, he knew the bank would take it after his death, neither Shelby nor I could afford it especially after he had taken out multiple mortgages on the place. Maybe he thought we would want it someday to raise our families in, but the amount of hate and dismay that was planted in the ground here, I’m surprised that even the weeds grew.
We climbed the run-down porch steps and Shelby pulled out a set of keys. She fumbled through them and finally stabbed the key into the doorknob and then twisted the knob. The door stuck. She gave it a hard push and it cracked open wafting the smell of mildew and death into our noses. I gagged and pulled my shirt up to cover my nose.
We would have to let the place air out a little bit before we could do any work today. We did walk inside and opened a few windows leaving the screen in so bugs or animals couldn’t get inside and then we walked back outside to the cars.
“So…” Shelby said a small smile stretching across her freckled face, “you hungry?”
“Starved. Is Debbie’s still open?” I looked at her with hope in my eyes, Debbie’s Drive in was known for the best burgers in our town. They had been around since I was a kid and always stayed busy.
“of course, they are come on I’ll drive.” Shelby motioned for me to get into her car. I tossed my jacket into my jeep and followed her.
I got a double cheeseburger with fries and Shelby got the same, but she chose waffle fries instead of the superior, crinkle cut.
We pulled into the Walmart parking lot to sit and eat our food while it was still hot, I began to scarf it down.
I don’t know how we got on the topic, but we began talking about our childhood, and things that scared us.
My sister told me about a time that she had a dream where she woke up and our little dog named, Yogi, was growling at the door in her room, toward the hallway.
My sister said that in the dream she got up out of bed and walked over to the door and pulled it open, then as she walked down the hallway a man pulled a plastic bag over her face and began to suffocate her.
She woke up with a jolt and to her horror, Yogi was there… at the foot of her bed, the fur on his neck sticking up and he was growling… at her bedroom door.
This then reminded me of The Hag, so I turned to my sister and began,
“Did I ever tell you about The Hag?”
Her eyes widened as I continued,
“ I always thought that at the end of the hallway that lead into mom’s room, in the darkness an elderly woman would lurk… standing there just staring out. I would always imagine her suddenly running at me like pennywise from the basement scene in “IT” she was always in a long gown, with ripped up clothes and…”
I was interrupted by Shelby, “her hands curled into hooks like a T-rex…”
I froze…
“How did you…?” I asked as I sat my fries down in the console.
“Her hair…would fall into her face and… her eye…” Shelby looked horrified.
“Have I told you this before?” I asked her.
She slowly turned to me, tears in her eyes,
“No, I saw her too.”