Story Title: The New House.
Author: Queenisdemilo.
Story.
All rights reserved.
"Mom?" I shouted, walking into the house that felt nothing like home. We've been here for all of two weeks yet it still feels like I'm a guest in a strangers home, a home I had no desire to be in. I stomped past the boxes piled beside the door filled with our stuff that we'd yet to put away, past the grand staircase that seemed too big, too posh for my taste, until I managed to find my mother in the oversized kitchen. The room looked like it was built for royalty, with its grand structure and outlandish everything- in fact, the whole house was like that. I told my Mom that it was too big, especially now that it's just her and me, but she insisted, saying that it was just perfect and how the house just seemed to call to her. We moved here- halfway across the United States, in the middle of nowhere- because of Mom's stupid job promotion. I begged her to turn it down, to stay where we were, but she took it anyway. It'll be good for us, give us a nice fresh start, she had said when she broke it to me. I was surprised that there was a vacant house anywhere in this small town, especially one like this. Most people would love a house like this, but not me. I was fine with the small two bedroom house we had in the city. It was comfy, homey. This house seemed more creepy than homey, more dark than comfy. Every night, I would be rendered sleepless, hearing sounds of movement even though Mom goes to bed hours before I do, and feeling eyes constantly staring at me though I always check every space for watchers. Mom had rolled her eyes and told me I was being childish and dismissed the sounds saying,
"It's an old house, Bella, It's bound to make noise." And scoffed when I told her about feeling watched, insisting that I was behaving more like a three year old than an almost grown woman.
My mother held a finger to her lips upon seeing me, a phone in her other hand pressed against her ear. She held the conversation with whoever was on the other line for a solid ten minutes before finally ending it.
"I have to go to a meeting," She informed me, quickly gathering up her things. Why was I not surprised? "I'm not sure when I'll be back, but there's leftovers in the fridge."
She was out the door without so much as a goodbye, leaving me sitting at the long island by myself once more. It seems like she always has a meeting to go to, or a plane to catch, never taking a break to sit down and have a conversation. It's always go, go, go with her. Keeps her mind occupied I suppose. It's been that way for the last year now, since my father died in a car accident and she was never the same. I look a lot like him, which makes it hard for her to be around me, I think. As I settled into bed later that night, I made sure to check my closet, under the bed, and made sure the bathroom door was securely closed before laying down for bed. Childish maybe, but it still made me feel better. My eyes had barely closed when it started: the creaking of the stairs, like someone was running up and down them, a 'slam!' that was too similar to the closing of a door to be ignored. I sat up.
"Mom?" It was a whisper at first, the fear obvious in it. Knock it off, I thought to myself. Quietly, I crept to the door and slipped into the hallway.503Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZgP1BDC0c1
"Mom, is that you?" I called louder.
No response. Maybe I really am hearing things. I had just resolved to being insane and turned to go back to my room when I felt it. The eyes, staring at me from everywhere and nowhere. A shiver ran up my spine as I peered around the corner of the hallway, my body freezing seeing what was behind it. A woman, dressed in an old- timed black dress that fell to the floor. She held her hands clasped in front of her, her back strait and rigid, eyes staring strait at me. Only, she had no eyes, just sockets for what had once been there, blood dripping down her cheeks and onto the floor. I wanted to scream, to run away from the woman, but my body would not take orders. So much for fight or flight, I thought, somewhat hysterically. The woman took a step forward and I stumbled back, finally gaining control over my own body. Heart pounding, I ran down the hallway, feet skidding on the old wood. I hadn't even gotten halfway down the hall when I fell, my head smacking the wood. I turned around- a movement that I could not rationalize- and my heart lumped in my throat. The woman had never moved more briskly than a walk, yet she was hardly three feet from me. I wobbled as I scrambled up, hands gripping the railing on the stairs. I took the stairs two at a time, making it halfway down before my feet buckled and I was falling. I heard the crack before I felt it, the pain racing up my leg like lightning. Tears stung in my eyes from the pain, but fear quickly replaced it. The woman took her steps down the stairs without making a sound, one hand sliding down the railing, the other holding up her dress, all the while her eye sockets never left me. Using my hands and good foot, I attempted to scramble away from the woman, only getting a couple feet before she was in front of me. She reeked of death- a smell I had no desire to describe-and perfume clung to her skin. She knelt in front of me, giving me a long glance- well, I don't think you can really call it a glance- and tilted her head. Then she smiled, her yellow teeth and repulsive breath almost making me gag. She reached a wrinkled hand out toward me and that's when the world went black.
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