Her Eyes

Her Eyes

“David. Honey, we’re here!” my mother’s sweet melodic voice gracefully drifted its way into my head. I slowly opened my eyes, and peered around. We were in the car, an old Cadillac. My sister was sitting beside me, peering out the left window of the car, mouth agape. My father put the car in park and got out. My mother was still looking at me, “So, wanna check out our new home?” She said excitedly. I nodded and unbuckled my seat-belt, and I climbed out of the car. My father was at the doorstep of the cabin, fumbling with “the damn keys” as he always said.  I took a long glance at the cabin, and it was just like any other cabin. It had walls built with logs and a front porch with a swing. A few wicker rocking chairs were placed alongside the swing for more seating obviously.

My mother and sister appeared before me, my sister holding my mother’s right hand, I grabbed her left, and we walked toward the house. “Mommy, will there be any bears around here?” My sister asked. My mom giggled and said “Maybe there will be!” My sister cried out “I hope not! They’re scary!!” I started to giggle too, she was such a scaredy cat. “You’re a wuss!” I said to her. She let go of mom's hand, as did I and we started to run. “Don’t go too far kids!” my father said as he finally opened the door.

I ran towards the back of the house, not really realizing this wasn’t our old home. Our old home had a swing set in the backyard, with a picnic table and a sandbox. It was heaven for Molly and I. But, this backyard, was non-existent. No swing set, no picnic table. Just a forest, dark and gloomy. I think it was a shock for us. Two kids in sketchers and Star Wars and Disney Princesses shirts, used to the excitement and the way a playground would inspire our imaginations, we had that stripped away. “MOM!!!!!!! DAD!!!!!!!” we screamed in unison as we ran to the front door. “What is it guys?” our parents said as they stopped and listened to us, their arms full of boxes from the car. “There’s no swing set! Nothing!! What are we gonna do!!?” We said. Our parents glanced to each other. Mom bit her lip like she was trying not to laugh. Dad’s mouth was in a smirk. A few seconds later, they started to laugh. Dad had a deep loud chuckle, and mom had a high pitched squeaky laugh. “It’s not funny!” We said. In retrospect, it was funny. Two kids making a big deal about a lack of swing set, I think any adult would laugh. But later, as things quieted down, my father said that he’d build us a swing set. Which excited the both of us very much.

We explored the house after dinner, it was just like any other suburban home. A living room, a kitchen, a fancy dining room, four bedrooms upstairs, it was standard for us. We were hoping for a secret room, or an attic, but we were soon disappointed. Looking at the house from the outside, it looked like a spooky cabin in one of those horror movies that Molly and I would watch with the babysitter when my parents were out on dates or when dad was working late and mom had a PTA meeting. The house was normal, sadly.

Soon after we unpacked our bed linens and pillows, we settled into bed, and our parents told us a bedtime story. Each night we’d pick different ones, and this one was about Hansel and Gretel. My mother told the story, and my father made noises like the crunching of leaves when Hansel and Gretel are walking through the forest. They made a good storytelling team. Soon enough we were fast asleep, dreaming about god knows what, all tucked into our warm beds.

The first week went like you would think. We’d wake up for breakfast and our father would be rushing out the door. Mom would be pouring coffee and making an omelet or waffles or some breakfast food. Our father would kiss us on the head, and kiss mother goodbye and take his leave. After breakfast, mom would start a few chores or she’d help us play a game or play piano. She and father were our only other friends. It was summer, and obviously, we didn’t have school. Our parents didn’t know where any parks were so, we had to just wait until school started to meet other kids. I think mom and dad felt bad about it but…. It was alright. We were only 5 and 6 so, Molly and I had plenty of time to make friends.

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One day, I believe it was Tuesday, four days after we had arrived, I found a box. It was in the guest bedroom, under the bed. We were playing hide and seek so I hid under the bed, a really obvious place to hide, I know. But as I was crawling under, my foot hit something solid, so I maneuvered my way around to get it. That got me “found” by my mom unfortunately. But I got the box and I crawled out and showed her. She picked it up, and dusted it off. It was a plain box, no engraving, no lock. She opened it, and a beautiful twinkling sound flowed out. The tune was haunting, yet magical. It sent chills up my spine yet it calmed me, I can’t explain how I felt. I couldn’t quite place the tune but…. Inside the box, was a tiny ballerina, spinning around and around to the music. Molly came in soon, and we all stood there, listening to the music. After a few minutes, the song ended, and our mother decided to place it in the kitchen, right on the windowsill. I’m still trying to remember the tune to this day, I had heard it before… I just couldn’t place where.

At dinner, I brought up the subject. “I found a music box today!” I said as we sat down. “Oh yeah champ? Where did ya find it?” Father asked. “He found it under the bed in the guest room.” My mother added. “Yeah! We were playing Hide and Seek!” Molly said excitedly. My father laughed, and ruffled my hair. “That’s awesome kiddo. Where is it?” I pointed to the windowsill. It was still there, sitting in the bit of sunlight that shone through the window. Father started to get up, but my mother scolded him, “Sit, we’re going to eat dinner first.” He didn’t say anything but sat down and we started to eat.

Father went and took a look at the music box once we were all finished with dinner. He turned it around in his rough hands, feeling the smooth wood on his fingertips. His face was a bit serious, his eyes were a bit narrow, his mouth a line. I asked him what was wrong. He didn’t reply at once but, he said that there was nothing on the box. My mother agreed that it was weird but she told him to open it. She said there was a beautiful song that played. Molly and I both agreed. Father opened it, and at once the ballerina began to spin, and the music started to spill out of the box. He stood there, as we all had before, mesmerized by the sound. In the kitchen light, I got a closer look at the ballerina. Her arms were covered in cuts, etched into her wooden arms with a razor. Her mouth was drawn pinned shut with a pencil. Her feet were forced into a tiptoe position with tiny wooden planks. Her eyes…. Her eyes were so detailed. They were blue, and fearful and in pain. She looked as if she was being forced to dance. I don’t think I was the only one that noticed it though.

Mother took it out of Father's hands, and closed it. “Did you see the ballerina? How she was painted? That’s sick!” She said. He didn’t say anything. He just stood there frozen. I don’t know if he was scared, or just shocked. If you had looked into his eyes, there was nothing. Mother bent down, and asked me the same thing. I said I had. Molly said she hadn’t. She pulled us both into a hug. Honestly, I can still remember the ballerina. Her eyes…. They frightened me…. Filled me with dread… But I bit my lip, and swallowed my feelings.

My parents didn’t read us a bedtime story that night, which was disappointing. Dad just went to his room and went to bed. He walked up the stairs like a ghost. Just staring straight ahead, noiseless and careless. My mother was worried. She fidgeted around the house like a fly stuck in a bottle, fixing the curtains, closing the piano, washing the dishes. That’s what she did when she was worried. Once it was bedtime, she tucked us into our beds and kissed our foreheads. “What about a story?” I asked. She shook her head, “Not tonight kids. Have a good sleep.” She walked out of the room, turning off the light and closing the door quietly. She walked so quickly and quietly, we couldn't even hear her footsteps. Outside, the trees in the forest waved slowly, back and forth, back and forth, as if they were beckoning us, waving to us. Lightning flashed, thunder cracked through the sky, and rain started to pour. I glanced over to see if Molly was okay. Thankfully, she was sound asleep. I on the other hand, wasn't at all. I tried to close my eyes and let the sound of rain falling to the ground lull me into sleep but…. I still couldn't get those eyes out of my head… They were etched into my memory, like the cuts etched into the ballerinas arms.

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The next day, Molly, Mother, and I were sitting at the kitchen table, eating our waffles. Father slowly came down the stairs, deep dark bags under his eyes. I don’t think he slept at all. “Morning daddy!” my little sister pipped up, breaking the silence. He slowly picked his head up, as if there were magnets in his face attracting him to the floor. He said good morning, in a voice that was slow and tired. He was usually quick and fluid and energized through the kitchen… However he pulled his blazer slowly, and even sat down just to put on his shoes, instead of just kneeling or bending down. He didn't look good either. His usually light gold skin hung on him, now pale and gray. I don’t know what could have happened in one night, but I was worried. He didn’t even take a cup of coffee, an absolute must-have to start his day.

He walked out after he put his clothes on. I think Mom was scared too, or at least worried. She stared out the window the second the door closed with a soft click of the doorknob. I knew she wasn’t religious but, I think she was praying.

Reviews

[CRBain]

This part is much easier to understand than the last part.

There are some small, nitpicking things I have to say about this (try not to use multiple punctuation. Let us deduce the emotion behind the words, you needn't add three ! to tell us.) I think the most important thing to focus on as you go further is this; say less, tell us more. Much of this reads like an analysis.

"He was usually quick and fluid and energized through the kitchen… However he pulled his blazer slowly, and even sat down just to put on his shoes, instead of just kneeling or bending down. He didn't look good either. His usually light gold skin hung on him, now pale and gray"

Here, you use 3 words which all describe similar things. You tell us how he looks, but not before expressing to us beforehand that what you are about to describe is bad. You then 'double down' on the description of his skin color. These things are hard to notice while writing but a reader notices it immediately and pulls us out of the story. There are a few instances of this scattered through out. My best advice would be to try not to hold the readers hand through each event. Focus more on describing and less on telling. Let us pick up on nuance.

[Richard Patrick]

You have done what I usually do. This is a lot better than the first piece, mind you I consider this to be a continuation in this. It is much better, I think, there is a lot to be said about this piece, It is far better than it had been there. In the previous chapter. Only now, you have to amplify the story to create what the spirit things about there opening and finding the box.

[Leon C]

As with the prologue there is a need for more detail and texture to your writing.