The Never-Ending War

A woman battles with her house, and the house seems to battle back.

 

I have lived here in this box of a house for what seems like an eternity, ever since the day I was born. I was quite sure I would die here, as well, for the doors and windows had made a fact of that. Back then, I had not seen daylight in almost two years; the blasted windows said my eyes could not handle the brightness. Once I tried to escape through one of these windows, and when I awoke the next morning, I found that they had boarded themselves up!

In a cunningly, kindly manner, they told me to stay inside; to sit in the irritatingly dusty, oversized armchairs; to read the same books by the dimly lit lanterns they had given me. They told me I could no longer join the window-shopping crowds, for I was unsuitable for public life. However, I knew that no argument of mine would win over the large oaken front door, as it never budged for me, but I was quite sure I gave it enough hell to contend with.

As you may have guessed, my family left here many years ago, leaving me this house and some of its fortunes. My mother died when I was young, and my father said it was best if I took care of myself. It may have been a bit lonely at times, but I knew that he wanted the best for me. He even left two extra bolts on the door to keep out intruders! But the door realized the new weapons it had to use against me, and it locked itself up tight, so I couldn’t even run outside to say goodbye! How dare that confounded door!

So from that day on, I decided to retaliate against the house. Over the years, I had given it many battle scars, and I had received many in return, as well. The door would speak to me then in its maternal tones, “You must be quiet now. Too much racket!” So I would tap my fingers against the smooth end tables, stamp my feet on the worn wooden floors, and stack pots and pans meticulously, one on top of the other, until I had created a small tower, which generally fell seconds later, creating a colossal clattering in the kitchen. The house creaked and moaned in a frustrated reply, and my laughter reverberated so nicely off the hardwood floors that the house’s complaints were simply drowned.   

            All of this depended on how I was feeling from day to day. Some days I’d find myself wanting to break through the thin glass and sturdy boards of the windows and run away from this place, and other times, I’d feel a bit more intelligent and I’d decide to stay indoors for a little more warfare. One of these days of “higher intelligence” led to the tearing down of all wallpaper in the house and the etching of abstract images into the old walls by way of the fine silver knives that sat for about twenty years in the perfect little china cabinet. Days like this reminded me of the times when I used to walk in the sun; sit in the shade of the large trees: happy moments that I still fail to forget. I knew the house wanted to keep me safe by its warm fireplaces, but I couldn’t help but wonder how the world had changed since I left it.

            I wouldn’t be able to keep up with its fast pace these days, as it has always been difficult for me to keep quiet, to not stare, to greet with a delicate bow. I am the direct and most absolute opposite of delicate. I used to watch the young girls with dainty hands folding napkins with fascination, but never so far as to try to be so graceful. I know my father never approved of my mannerisms, but I know he loved me despite it all. If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have left me this beautiful house which, over the years, I have come to love as a sibling, and hate as a warden.

            My last night here, I began to become afraid, however, for I heard voices beyond the house; voices of people trying to find a way in. Of course, the house would not allow it, but what if they broke through somehow? The moonlight would pour in, and the summer warmth would flood the dark corridors and fill my lungs with memories of childhood. But what would become of my house? I could not bear to leave it, for it had been my ally, enemy, and guardian throughout the long years. I heard them coming closer to the doors and windows every night before then. Sometimes, they would beat on the wood with their hands, pull at the boards lain over the windows, trying to find a way in. “Stay away from them,” the door moaned. “They will take you away.”

            Take me away? Away to where? “An asylum,” creaked the windows. “A far away place,” dripped the old, broken faucet. Then I was afraid. I ran up the old stairs as they groaned beneath my pounding feet, “Run to the attic, child.” The loud banging on the door said, “Run faster, girl.” I heard the door scream in pain as it was broken down. The voices of men chased me up to the second floor and down the hall. “She’s here somewhere,” I heard one of them say, as the rest scattered out amongst the house to find me. I caught a glimpse of one making his way up the stairs, wearing a white uniform. He reminded me of a ghost I once saw in a book.

            I spotted a sharp knife I was using to carve the walls earlier that day, and I dashed up the narrow bit of stairs that led to the attic. I hid behind some crates in the corner and held my breath as I heard the beating of rushing footsteps up to the attic. As the door creaked open, a faint light from the room below filled the small space where I lie hidden. The floor spoke from beneath my shaking body, moaning “They’ve spotted you.” I turned my head to see the man I thought to be a ghost standing in the middle of the room, staring directly at me. His voice boomed through my head as he yelled, “I’ve found her!”

I scrambled to my feet, my hand still tightly clutching the knife. It was one thing to tease the house, but it was quite another to break its barriers. “You put that knife down now,” he said in a calmer voice, mocking the tone of the door. “You’ll be in a better place when the night is through. You’ll see.” They were planning on taking me away! “You have stepped into the middle of a war,” I said. “This is not your battle.”

Before he could move a muscle to stop me, I felt the warm blood ooze onto my hand. The knife had done its work, and the world was turning to black. I could feel myself lose my footing, and as I fell, like an honorable soldier on some hallowed battlefield, the house moaned and creaked mightily in a chorus of goodbyes.

Of course, it wasn’t goodbye forever. I returned shortly after the intruders had left, and I have never seen them since. I have watched generations live and die here, as well as repair my old house to its original, beautiful state. I observe these families making long-lasting memories with one another in the very place that protected me for so many years, right to the bitter end.

         No matter how bright the spirits are within this house these days, I’d say my battle with it has never ended. I still hear it growling and moaning at me, and I find myself toppling things and stomping my feet along the corridors as I once did many years ago. I happily observe that the family has become quite accustomed to my noisy outbursts, and even though the house completely disagrees with me, I like to think they are rooting for me in this never-ending war.

Reviews

[Kaiya Lynn Mccabe]

I really enjoyed this story. It was just...wow. I thank you for entering it in my contest. I have many more to read still before I decide the winners but I'll definatly consider this one.

[Christina]

wow this is really really good. it is such an amazing story. i cant even think of any words to explain how wonderfully awesome this is.wow

christina

[Christy Hauck]

Very hilarious and beautiful. I loved the ending where the house and ghost were still arguing and yet the ghosts family still believes that the ghost will win the never ending battle of wits. I enjoyed this quite a bit!

[Kate Mcquestion]

good read. I like the detail of the house speaking to her. I was a little disappointed when it turned for a story of mential anguish to a ghost story. Something a little more vague, simplified to imply that she is now haunting the place could fix this. Or, perhaps, it wasn't that ghostly ending, but that it is happy, the new family carries on. It makes her anguish seem a little redundant. This is very well written, though, stylistically, easy to read, etc.