Hide and Seek
I remember the first time I saw the house in South Dakota, it looked as if it were straight out of a horror film. It stood alone, different from all the other houses. The exterior was rundown, with white paint peeling away, revealing old moistened wood paneling. The lawn was overrun with weeds, children’s toys, and the occasional item of clothing: a shoe, a sock…etc. I told my mother that I didn’t want to live there, that it looked too scary for us to live into. My father explained that the house was perfect for us, what he called a “fixer upper”, and the cheap price swayed them all the more.
My brothers snickered horror stories in my ears as I walked up the cracked cement walkway for the first time. Stories of murder, and torture taking place in this house, which explained why it came fully furnished. According to Ben and John, my older brothers, a man had gone crazy and killed his entire family in the upstairs of the home.
“They couldn’t get all the blood out of the floors, so they put carpet in to cover it up.” John laughed.
“I bet there is still chunks of brain between the floorboards.” Ben added. The front door of the home seemed to back up the stories of Ben and John. It hung off its hinges at an odd angle, causing whoever dared to enter to squeeze against the door frame and step over it. Even after my father had put the door upright, it was difficult to open. I would often throw my entire seven year old body into it, attempting to open it, and even then it wouldn’t budge.
My father was the first to enter the house, he threw up his arms and said,
“Welcome to your new home family!” he spun in a circle in the large living area. The entire front of the house was open. To the right was a large room, with two French doors that were permanently held open. To the left was the mirror image of the room on the right except there was a rather large black piano in the middle, the only piece of furniture I had seen yet.
“Where is all the furniture?” My older sister Ruth asked my mother. My mother did a quick look around of the piano room, and shrugged her shoulders.
“Maybe the put it all in one room to make room for us and our things.” She guessed. As my sister and mother were speaking I left the room to further examine the house with my brothers. Even though they teased me and told me terrible stories, I always felt safe with them. John was eleven, the eldest of us. He always seemed like he knew what was coming up next, he never seemed to be afraid of anything, so I stuck at his side in scary situations. Ben was nine, but he acted like he was still my age. He could always make any situation fun with a joke or a funny face. Through the second door in the piano room was the kitchen. It was extremely bright, probably because of the stark white walls, and white laminate. It wreaked of bleach, which was a contradiction to the rest of the house which held at least an inch of dust on every surface. We continued walking.
Through another door in the kitchen we came across the staircase. Piles of couches, kitchen chairs, the kitchen table, foot stools, paintings, bookshelves, desks were all piled in front of the stair case. All piled on top of each other, with legs, and cushions sticking out in erratic postures. There was more dust on this pile of furniture than anywhere else in the house. My brothers and I stood in a line, staring at the pile of furniture and wondering how it got there, and why it was there. It completely blockaded anything from passing into the upstairs. My mother came up behind us,
“Well, that’s odd.” She said tilting her head to the side, and squinting her eyes.
“Why is it like that?” Ruth asked, mimicking her mothers every move, eager to soon become a woman.
“I don’t know.” She thought aloud. “Maybe they were afraid of water damage or something.” Ben leaned towards me,
“They were trying to hide from the murderer.” He whispered.
Ooh, I'm certainly intrigued now.
ReplyDeleteFun, fun--whatever will happen next? Can't wait to read your next post!
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