I remember a time, being either 6 or 7, at the ceremony. Dressed in a black suit, with a black hat that fit quite large for my head. People sat in rows, all wearing the same attire. Some were crying, while others stared at the brown coffin or into the abyss with no primary focus. A bit of silence had gone by, then…
“We are here today to grieve the loss of Mrs. Betty Jamerson, who was a grandmother, mother, daughter, and friend. If you would like to say some words, please come up to the stand,” said the funeral home director.
Many who would’ve spoken at the stand were too emotional to say any words, but sure enough, my father went up there. Although his eyes were red and streaming with tears, he went up and said,
“I love you, mom, I love you, mom, I love you…”
The urge to weep overcame his ability to finish, with the pain in his voice being heard throughout. This made me tear up because I had never seen my father so emotionally distraught.
I was very confused overall because it was a closed casket and no one knew the exact cause of death. We had been informed earlier that morning that she was found in her rocking chair, rotting, looking as if she had been dead at least a couple of days. With all of her feet and hands snapped back in the opposite direction. Although I wasn’t there, I overheard my father talking to the detectives earlier that day, but he never said anything of it.
Then, it was time to walk around the coffin, and each person walked by and placed their hand on top of it, as a way to say their final farewells to my grandmother. I was the last to say goodbye, which I had done swiftly to avoid being there alone because the thought of a dead person scared me.
The drive home was silent, but I noticed that we weren’t headed the usual route, but rather the route we usually take to go to our grandmother’s house. It felt like a long drive, but when we arrived, my father said,
“I have to pick up a couple of things. Stay in the car and do not move from your place.”
I sat and watched as he walked up the driveway of my grandmother’s small red house. My brother and my mother were both asleep, but I continued to stare at the window to the left. I noticed it had a handprint on it, with the imprint of the fingers looking extraordinarily long and didn’t at all resemble the hands of my grandmother.
My curiosity had gotten the best of me, and after no sign of my dad, I slowly walked out of the car and made sure to close the door silently behind me. I crept into the house, making sure to calculate each step.
I finally got over to the window and weirdly, there were no fingerprints, or a smudge or even the smallest speck of dirt. However, I was sure I had seen it and continued staring at it, as if it would slowly appear in front of my eyes.
Then, I heard a voice from the basement, which sounded like a familiar voice. Calling to me, over and over again as if it was urgent.
I quickly ran downstairs, hearing every crack in every little step my feet had taken. I opened the door to the basement. I walked forward into the desolate area, which had one light bulb, with a string attached to it, hanging from the ceiling. In the center of the floor, I saw an old book. This book was closed and on the front, it was written in a language I had never seen.
At this point, I had been a fearless kid, but something seemed very off. Something wasn’t right, but as curious as I was, I tried moving my hand to open the book.
As my hand reached to flip it open, the light started to go dim and the door to the basement slammed shut.
Sitting in front of the book, with my hand frozen in place, hovering over it. I was terrified and felt trembling through the entirety of my body. I couldn’t move and felt like I was glued in place. Being there for what felt like an eternity, I then heard steps coming from the stairs.
The steps were slow and planned, as if they were disabled in some way, trying to find their footing. Then, after being frozen in place, to my surprise, my grandmother opened the door. However, she didn’t look like herself, but had a large sinister grin stretching from ear to ear, with no eyes resting behind her circular reading classes. Her clothes were ripped and covered in black residue.
There was a large moment of silence, which was followed by my grandmother saying in a sinister deep voice,
“Grab that book for me…sweet baby.”