Malicious House Guests
Posted by Viviann Guttman on July 05, 2006 at 13:28:32:
Malicious House Guests
I walked around my stuffy, hot room in our new house, and made my executive decision: I would trade bedrooms today so I can finally have a good night's sleep.
Barely one week in our new house and I was realizing how many things I had taken for granted. Things like proper plumbing, electricity, and windows that were not so old you could hear every cricket in the yard at night.
I walked down to the kitchen, enjoying the cooler air in the rest of the house, and made my standard rounds, seeing if mom was home, noting where I left off unpacking, and making a mental list of what needed to be done.
Mom had made a few friends in town, and had been spending every minute out having tea, browsing the local shops, trying to local restaurants, or doing whatever it is that she does all day. I had not seen her in days, but at least she was having a good time. I could not lie to myself, I was jealous. My mom and I had always been a twosome, just her and me. We went to movies, had dinner out, everything. We were a team. I knew it was good for us both to make new friends, but I did not have to like it right away.
Finding myself alone, I decided a shower would just waste time, and I would be getting sweaty anyway, so I headed back upstairs to my room to start pulling the furniture out.
I walked around the other rooms, but recalled the reason I picked the bedroom I did: the others were creepy. My mom would not admit it, but she thought so too. She tried to put on that "I'm a grown up and grown ups don't believe in silly things" face, but it's kind of obvious when she just stands in the doorway and looks at the room without stepping in.
"You going in there?" I would ask.
"Oh no, I was just looking," and scampers off, pretending to dust things along the way.
After telling myself that I was just being a baby, I picked a room, and started moving furniture. There was a lot of old furniture in the house like dressers and armoires, but they had a weird smell, so I kept dragging my own furniture down the hall. Wood floors made it easy, but wiggling a sheet under the dresser to slide it made it even better.
By the time I got the furniture arranged, it was nearly three in the afternoon. I heard an ungodly roar, and realized my stomach was demanding full attention at once.
I went down to the kitchen to find all my night's work undone. I had spent two hours unpacking groceries, pots, pans, plates, silverware, and it was all gone. I frantically looked in the refrigerator, the cabinets, and a few easy boxes. No groceries to be found, and all of the kitchenware was boxed back up. As frustrated as I was about having to unpack it again, I was more upset that there was no food.
"Are we not staying?!" I thought aloud. "She could have at least left the Cheetos!" I stormed off in a huff to confront my mom. As big as this house was I knew she could have been home for hours and I would not know it. I boldly announced myself into every room I went. Nothing. "She must be home by now," I thought.
Before I could take a breath and think of what to do next, there was a heavy thud upstairs. It sounded like someone had fallen. I ran as fast as I could, worried that it was my mom. Maybe she did no answer because she could not? Maybe she hurt herself? I looked in every room, calling for her, listening for some sound to follow, but after searching every room upstairs, I was alone again.
Feeling my stomach turn itself inside out, I tried to stay calm. A door started banging, as if something was stuck behind it, blocking it from opening. It came from the first room. "I know I checked that room," I thought. Was she stuck somewhere? I followed the sound, but did not call to it. It stopped as I got close. I stood in the doorway and waited.
"Mom?" I finally asked. I could hear my voice shaking, as I tried to keep myself from hyperventilating. Nothing. I stepped into the room; my knees locked in place, my heart thumping in my throat. I tried again, "Mom?"
It had been a child's room. One wall was a green landscape, with a rot-ironed gate painted around the bottom of the wall, and clouds puffed up at the top and spilled over to a clear blue sky. A tree painted in the corner stretched up to the ceiling. There was a large closet built into the room, but it looked as though a wall had been built in front of it. The wall only came to eye level, and was placed less than a foot in front of the door. I stood in the middle of the room, staring at the door. Every horror movie I had ever seen in my life was waiting behind that door, ready to explode outwards and swallow me into the house.
I drew a breath, not sure what to say. All at once, the door started shaking, opening, closing, hitting the wall, and desperately trying to break through it. It sounded so fast and so loud in that empty room. I covered my ears, pressing my hands tightly against my head, and felt my legs turn to stone.
Everything stopped. The door still pressed open against the wall. A large dent in the solid wood door, obviously from years of that kind of treatment. I wanted to run. I wanted to scream. I wanted to be with my mom in our old house where we were safe.
"Viviann!" I heard my mom's voice from downstairs, strained, tired, and weak. The door slammed shut one final time, and I flew down the stairs as if a rocket had been lit under my seat. With tears in my eyes, I was ready to pick her up and carry her to the car if I had to.
I jerked my knee out of place when I stopped short in the kitchen. A woman stood, leaning against the counter. Her short, blonde hair was smooth, and well kept. Her clothes were plain, with a long skirt and long sleeves. She stood up straight, and slowly walked towards me.
"Where is my mom?" I questioned her, trying to be brave, but knowing my cowardice was all over my pale face.
"You have to stay. She wants you to stay," she said, moving closer. My heart was pounding in my ears, and I gasped for air. The door started slamming again, the sound of it hitting the wall, and a small child screaming.
"You have to stay," the woman repeated. The child's screams seemed to seep through the walls. They started getting closer. My breath got shorter.
"She's asking for you." The woman moved, her arm reaching for mine. I could not move. It was like trying to race through chest deep water. The screams came down the stairs, and through the pipes. It felt like I was suffocating. I could not breathe.
"Stay," she was too close now. She put her hand on my arm, and I gasped for air. Her hand burned into my arm like hot metal. I felt the room spin. The house felt as if it was closing in around me. I felt myself falling, and saw only black.