She smelled mustiness her first night, probably emanating from the black mold prevalent throughout the moist areas in the abandoned house. She decided to spend the night anyway. In her room is where she eventually found herself. She heard the sound of coyotes outside not more than one half mile, she guessed. She remembered their yelps and cries when she live here during her teenage years. They would congregate near the neighbors barn desperate to gain entrance into their chicken coop and steal its chickens.
Tonight she was alone, no furniture in the house only the bare walls and it's paint or tattered wallpaper. The wallpaper brought her the most vivid memories of when she lived here. She still associated the prints with her family's voices.
The voice that disturbed her the most was her mother's. Yes, "Mommie Dearest," what she called her, mumbling beneath her breath. Her mother was not fond of her daughter. The screaming voice of Mommy Dearest echoed in her ears even now, years later. she remembered the blows, the hate, the punishments.
Her dad who worked late into the night, in the nearest town as a department store proprietor was unaware of the abuse. Mommy Dearest would strike unprovoked. It might of been only a slight incident that would invoke her mother's wrath. A look from her daughter, or maybe an imagined tone in her voice would bring fury down on her.
She had endured the abuse for years until she reached the age of fifteen at which time she jumped through her bedroom door and left. She never looked back.
Tonight she looked at that same open window. the nails which were bent outwardly were testimony to her having forcefully pushed it open on that night of her escape. That was twenty five years ago. No one had taken the time to bend them back. Nothing remained in the room. Pillagers had removed the carpet. Graffiti marked all its walls.
She wondered if the evidence was still there, undisturbed. She felt fear twinge in her kidneys. Did she dare look? She felt someone looking at her. Could it be the spirits? Her dead mother?
She pondered standing in fear, looking out the window into the dark of empty night. Moon suspended midway up the sky, just barely above the tallest southwestern trees' jagged lines. She was about to push the window she'd pushed a quarter of century ago; she was ready to go when an impulse pulled her back.
She convinced herself that all that had happened, happened long ago. No one remained in this house, her childhood, adolescent home. Only she and the quietness.
She took two backward steps, gathered her wits and took a right quarter turn. She made for the door feeling as if her family were sleeping in their rooms and she was sneaking into the kitchen to steal some food.
She took another left at her door's threshold into the hallway. The walls were dark except for the eerie greenish light cast by the moon's light. She knew her destination. She was headed for the cellar as if on auto pilot. The door was secured tightly with thick steel hinges but she tried the bolt latch and it gave way with a wicked creak.
She felt a lump of fear lodged in her throat. In compensation, she swung the heavy door open with a thud as it hit the wall to full open. She was alarmed by the black of dark. She knew the thirteen steps leading to its basement floor. She knew even after twenty five years, the route - so well, she didn't need light. And she knew what lay buried behind the staircase belong the concrete slab.
She took her first hesitant step . . . one with her left foot. Then another with her right . . . and stop. And stare into the pitch. Thirteen. She was at the bottom. The dungeon like air felt humid and dank. She couldn't see her feet below here nor her hands. She took a forward step on the basement floor and stumbled. She fell forward, instinctively outstretching her arms to cushion the expected impact.
The impact came late. She landed below the basement floor into a shallow earthen pit. She felt about in the dark, feeling the iron taste of blood in her mouth from the force of landing on her nose. She felt about in the dark angry at herself for not having restrained her urge to come here. But more angry for not having a light to see by.
She reached for her cell phone and pushed it to on. The screen flashed to the main menu's wallpaper. She pressed familiar icons to flashlight. The light illuminated a darkness of moist soil. She lifted herself off the bottom and stepped up onto what should be the basement floor. She slowly turned herself phone held high above her head peering into the whiteness lit by the LED's glare. She stepped forward and to the rear of this dungeon. Her objective - behind the staircase.
Another pit behind the stairs. But who would have known? Who would have dug, exhumed her mother's body? And when?
She felt a surge of heat to her face. It was astonishment's embarrassment catalyzed instantly with her realization that to have come here was a terrible mistake. She turned to exit when met by a lone standing figure draped in black. It was a man's form. Her arm shook as she held it up to fully envelope the form in her penetration of stare against the LED's light.
"Who . . . what are, what do you want?"
"So, you've finally come back. Good. I've been waiting for you."
"Get out! This was my house . . . I used to live here . . . !"
"Well you don't anymore, do you. Come here. Or shall I go to you?"
She turned to run as the figure lurched forward. It grabbed her fiercely by the collarbone and yanked her sharply backward. She stumbled and fell into the pit, both she and it.
It reeked of death and felt of cold and human sweat. It was the unmistakable smell of Mommie Dearest.
Tonight she was alone, no furniture in the house only the bare walls and it's paint or tattered wallpaper. The wallpaper brought her the most vivid memories of when she lived here. She still associated the prints with her family's voices.
The voice that disturbed her the most was her mother's. Yes, "Mommie Dearest," what she called her, mumbling beneath her breath. Her mother was not fond of her daughter. The screaming voice of Mommy Dearest echoed in her ears even now, years later. she remembered the blows, the hate, the punishments.
Her dad who worked late into the night, in the nearest town as a department store proprietor was unaware of the abuse. Mommy Dearest would strike unprovoked. It might of been only a slight incident that would invoke her mother's wrath. A look from her daughter, or maybe an imagined tone in her voice would bring fury down on her.
She had endured the abuse for years until she reached the age of fifteen at which time she jumped through her bedroom door and left. She never looked back.
Tonight she looked at that same open window. the nails which were bent outwardly were testimony to her having forcefully pushed it open on that night of her escape. That was twenty five years ago. No one had taken the time to bend them back. Nothing remained in the room. Pillagers had removed the carpet. Graffiti marked all its walls.
She wondered if the evidence was still there, undisturbed. She felt fear twinge in her kidneys. Did she dare look? She felt someone looking at her. Could it be the spirits? Her dead mother?
She pondered standing in fear, looking out the window into the dark of empty night. Moon suspended midway up the sky, just barely above the tallest southwestern trees' jagged lines. She was about to push the window she'd pushed a quarter of century ago; she was ready to go when an impulse pulled her back.
She convinced herself that all that had happened, happened long ago. No one remained in this house, her childhood, adolescent home. Only she and the quietness.
She took two backward steps, gathered her wits and took a right quarter turn. She made for the door feeling as if her family were sleeping in their rooms and she was sneaking into the kitchen to steal some food.
She took another left at her door's threshold into the hallway. The walls were dark except for the eerie greenish light cast by the moon's light. She knew her destination. She was headed for the cellar as if on auto pilot. The door was secured tightly with thick steel hinges but she tried the bolt latch and it gave way with a wicked creak.
She felt a lump of fear lodged in her throat. In compensation, she swung the heavy door open with a thud as it hit the wall to full open. She was alarmed by the black of dark. She knew the thirteen steps leading to its basement floor. She knew even after twenty five years, the route - so well, she didn't need light. And she knew what lay buried behind the staircase belong the concrete slab.
She took her first hesitant step . . . one with her left foot. Then another with her right . . . and stop. And stare into the pitch. Thirteen. She was at the bottom. The dungeon like air felt humid and dank. She couldn't see her feet below here nor her hands. She took a forward step on the basement floor and stumbled. She fell forward, instinctively outstretching her arms to cushion the expected impact.
The impact came late. She landed below the basement floor into a shallow earthen pit. She felt about in the dark, feeling the iron taste of blood in her mouth from the force of landing on her nose. She felt about in the dark angry at herself for not having restrained her urge to come here. But more angry for not having a light to see by.
She reached for her cell phone and pushed it to on. The screen flashed to the main menu's wallpaper. She pressed familiar icons to flashlight. The light illuminated a darkness of moist soil. She lifted herself off the bottom and stepped up onto what should be the basement floor. She slowly turned herself phone held high above her head peering into the whiteness lit by the LED's glare. She stepped forward and to the rear of this dungeon. Her objective - behind the staircase.
Another pit behind the stairs. But who would have known? Who would have dug, exhumed her mother's body? And when?
She felt a surge of heat to her face. It was astonishment's embarrassment catalyzed instantly with her realization that to have come here was a terrible mistake. She turned to exit when met by a lone standing figure draped in black. It was a man's form. Her arm shook as she held it up to fully envelope the form in her penetration of stare against the LED's light.
"Who . . . what are, what do you want?"
"So, you've finally come back. Good. I've been waiting for you."
"Get out! This was my house . . . I used to live here . . . !"
"Well you don't anymore, do you. Come here. Or shall I go to you?"
She turned to run as the figure lurched forward. It grabbed her fiercely by the collarbone and yanked her sharply backward. She stumbled and fell into the pit, both she and it.
It reeked of death and felt of cold and human sweat. It was the unmistakable smell of Mommie Dearest.
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