I wrote this story by hand at first. I do enjoy writing longhand, but it gets tedious, especially knowing eventually it has to be typed into the computer. I wrote the first draft by hand with a Lamy Safari fountain pen and then did subsequent drafts by hand, eventually putting the final draft into the computer. I find myself at odds all the time about whether I should write by hand or on the computer. I sometimes think that I'm more creative when writing by hand, but I'm just not so sure. I know others who write by hand do say that their creative output is much greater than on a computer, but for me, I guess I'm still on the fence. Anyway, on to the story...
Some Never Leave
If I thought
about it for a moment, I should have realized I was a dead man from the
beginning. Maybe then I would have done things differently. I probably would have
gotten out of the damned house right from the get go. It was smart though;
clever and it knew what it was doing.
At first
everything was fine. A few things going bump in the night was all I ever heard,
but that was par for the course in an older house. But things quickly got out
of hand. I just wished I had seen it for what it was.
I’m pretty sure
I’m not alone here. I’ve never actually seen her, but I feel or maybe sense her
sometimes.
The lights had
gone out in the house after I locked myself in the front bedroom. I’m in here,
baseball bat in hand, because of the wailing voices of children. They cried
out, trying to say something, a warning perhaps, but I couldn’t decipher the
howling code.
Sweat ran down
my face, stinging my eyes. The room was dark, but moonlight filtered in through
the large window illuminating the bed and dresser.
I wiped at my
eyes with my shirt. If something was coming to get me, I wanted to be able to
see it and get a good swing at it.
The noises
coming from the house stopped abruptly. In my guts I could feel that the time
was coming-the time when it would come for me. It didn’t want me to leave, I
was positive of that. Too many times I made plans for having people over or
take off to a ball game or movie. Each time I would trip on a suddenly popped
floorboard, sending me crashing to the ground with a sprained ankle or a bad
headache and a good sized knot on my forehead.. Many things of this nature
happened causing me to think I was losing my mind.
This was why I
was so certain that it was after me; too many coincidences and strange
happenings.
Once I broke my
ankle going down the stairs. The stair I was going down to sort of slid back
just enough that tumbled me the rest of the way down.
Sometimes, when
I was talking to my ex-girlfriend, and the possibility of a late night
rendezvous was brought up, the phone would inexplicitly go dead, and I was
unable to call her back. The phone company had to think I was nuts; always
complaining about losing a dial tone. They never once could find a problem.
I
took a home run swing at the wall. “Damn House!” Rocking from foot to foot I
waited for a response. Nothing came though. It was as if I was floating around
out in space with nothing around me, nothing to interact with. A few short
breaths later the lights flickered back on.
The
floorboards squeaked as I turned round and round waiting for whatever may come,
and I was sure it was going to come, I just didn’t know from where or how. I
never knew and it was driving me nuts. Survival was my only instinct now. I had
to get out of this house in one piece.
The
black and white pictures that hung throughout the house stood watch for the
house, making sure I didn’t escape. I thought many times of taking the baseball
bat to the pictures of the woman with the long black hair and eyes that
commanded the room. It was her that I thought was behind all of this. I could
sometimes feel the evil coming from the pictures of her. Once, I had decided to
cover all the pictures with her in them. I had taken kitchen towels, bath
towels, and anything else that I could find to do the job. When I woke the next
morning, every single towel was lying on the floor in a heap below each one of
the pictures. It was as if someone had come along and pulled the towels all off
and left them on the floor. But that was crazy. No one came into the house, and
I didn’t hear anyone walking around. I checked the doors and windows the next
morning: nothing was broke and the front and back doors were both locked.
There
was one picture of the woman in the bedroom. She was holding her young boy as
he sat in her lap playing with an action figure. The boy looked like he was
having a good time, but the lady just sat there with a straight face. She
wasn’t smiling, but she wasn’t frowning either. It was like the Mona Lisa where
there was just the hint of a smile, except with the lady with the black hair;
there was the hint of evil in her eyes.
When
I moved into the house, I knew that there would be the belongings of the last
family that had lived here, but I didn’t expect it to be a family gone since
the time Elvis first stepped on stage. I would walk through each room late at
night, beer in hand, and just look at all the family photos. In every single
one the woman, the mother of a boy and girl, would have the long black hair
straight down and a dress that buttoned all the way up to just under her chin.
It was sort of like those dresses the Amish women wore; at least that’s what it
reminded me of. Sometimes the dresses were a lighter shade and sometimes they
were darker, the pictures were all in black and white so it was hard to tell
exactly. She was always with her two children and her husband
Her expression captivated me. I would
sometimes spend hours looking closely at each picture and noticing how every
single one of the lady with the long black hair was identical. I knew this for
a fact because I took a tape measure and made measurements of the corners of
her mouth to all four sides of the picture. I finally had decided that she
wasn’t frowning and unhappy, yet she wasn’t content either. It was as if she
knew something, some knowledge that she had that she couldn’t or wouldn’t tell.
It was a burden she carried by herself it seemed.
All
I could think of was escape. I knew that if I let go of that thought I was a
goner. Whatever happens, I must get out.
I
opened the bedroom door wincing at the creak it made. For some reason, I felt
that I should try to be quiet, even though the damn house could tell where I
was anyway, or she could. I thought this while glancing at the several pictures
lining the hallway. It was like I was alone in the house with the boogie man
and he hadn’t found me yet…yet.
My
sweaty palms gripped and re-gripped the baseball bat in a twisting continual
sort of comforting movement. It was the last shred of sanity to hold on too.
Nothing else made sense.
The
walls of the hallway held the pictures of the woman and her family. I somehow
knew that she would be watching, she was always watching. That straight face… I
couldn’t see her face in any of the pictures, just the sides of the black
frames, dusty with years of neglect. I knew she was there though, I could feel
her watching me.
Step
by slow step I crept down the hall. My last hope, my ace-in-the-hole, was
getting out the backdoor. There was little that could stop me there. The floor
was covered with a green shag carpet, so
none of the floorboards could trip me up, and there weren’t any pictures of her
either, thank God. Two small windows overlooked the washer and dryer and one
could get a good view of the backyard. Just some green grass and a grill back
there.
As
I walked down the hall, I took one hand from my bat-it was like a security
blanket to me- and ran my hand along the wood paneling as I went. The walls
seemed like they might be able to tell me when another imminent out lash was
coming. The pictures and the images within could start to be seen - Just enough
to know that she was there. Clenching my teeth, I started by, then I felt
another ripple, it was coming through and along the wall.
The
ripple was growing and the faint sound of screaming could be heard. It was
almost like the sound of a loon in the mist of a small backwoods pond. The
scream was faint, but there was no mistaking the sound.
The
ripple was now a large bulge in the wall. It was about the size of a bowling
ball and growing the closer it came to me. It seemed that the wood paneling
shouldn’t have been able to bend like it was without bursting apart. Pictures
flew from the wall as the bulge, now the size of a beach ball, careened towards
me. The screaming was getting louder and louder, the closer the bulge came. The
pictures flew, smashing into the opposite wall and landing haphazardly on the
floor. Some of the pictures lay face up and some lay face down; glass was
everywhere.
The
screaming rang in my ears. The mound was almost to me. I was sick of being the
kid scared shitless. I was going to do something about it this time.
I
took a large breath; then a huge instep to make the home run swing of a lifetime,
hitting the beach ball sized lump dead center. The bat splintered, while the
wall exploded out sending dust and wood flying through the air, slamming me
against the far wall, wrapping my head on the pale wood paneling and then to
the floor.
The
screaming of the house grew strong and louder. It wasn’t just a noise any
longer. Now it was a force of energy; it blew my hair and pumped dust around
the hall. It reverberate through the floors and walls. I could only imagine
what it must sound like outside, possibly like a tornado siren. I started to
get up, putting my hands in front of me, push up style, and that’s where I
froze.
A
black and white picture lay just in front of me. Shards of glass littered the
floor all around. The man and the two children stared back, but she was gone.
I
grabbed the frame and picture, not caring about the glass slicing into my palms
and looked closer. I even tilted it so that I might be able to see inside and
around the corner of it. Of course, that didn’t work.
The
screams started to fade. Newspaper, dry and yellowed hung out of the hole where
the wall blew out. I could see pictures of Al Capone and a president in a stiff
suit and horned rimmed glasses. I wasn’t sure which one; I was horrible at
remembering those sorts of things. The best I could do was remembering the
names of the people I delivered pizzas too.
Taking
one of the sheets of newspaper, I began to pull glass out of my hands and dab
the paper at my wounds. Blood absorbed into the old daily news like a paper
towel and it blossomed out in red with a darker center and a pink edge as it
grew. I watched with fascination as the blood flower grew. It’s funny how
things can grab your attention even during the most stressful of moments.
The
red expanded and as it did so, I noticed something familiar in the paper. It
was her. She had her picture in the paper. That same face with the black eyes
and hair and the knowing almost smile. A caption above read: ‘Witch escapes after slaying family.’
I
read down through what I could of the article. It was covered with blood and
almost half of the paper was missing. ‘Irene
Debnau, 38, of Pine Ridge, has been suspected of using witchcraft within her
home. According to statements taken by neighbors there have been sightings of
unusual lights and noises coming from her house late in the evening. Two nights
ago police were dispatched to the Debnau home after Beulah Grant, 56, notified
police of screams coming from within the house along with strange noises and
lights. When police arrived at the scene they found that the husband, George
Debnau, and son and daughter, Billy and Sarah Debnau, were dead at the scene.
Sources indicate that the children had been drained of blood and sat in chairs
in the living room. Officer Bryce Turner stated, “The children sat in those
chairs like zombies…or maybe mummies. If I had to guess, I would say Mrs.
Debnau wanted her children to never leave. It’s as if she had placed and posed
them in those chairs. The poor kids had on their Sunday best and care had been
taken to pose them. The boy had one leg crossed over the other and the girl had
her hands in her lap just like a little girl should. Yeah, it made my skin
crawl.”
George Debnau was found later in the master
bedroom hanging upside down from the ceiling. Occult symbols lined the floors,
walls, and ceiling of this room, as well as carved into the body of Mr. Debnau
himself. Dan Rumsord, Chief of Police in Pine Ridge had this to say, “In my
fifteen years as Chief of Police and my twenty five before that as a patrolman,
I’ve never seen anything like this. We’ve got ourselves a witch. You can see it
by the writings on the wall of their bedroom. Whatever she was doing in there,
it was evil. I could feel it. It was like the house was watching me the whole
time.”
So far, all attempts of finding Mrs.
Debnau have been unsuccessful. It was thought that she was hiding somewhere
within the house, as no one had seen her leave in many days and the family car
was still parked in the driveway. However, after a thorough investigation of
the property the Pine Ridge Police Department could find no traces of her.
“It’s like she just disappeared,” Stated Police Chief Dan Rumsford. “There’s no
evidence to show that she left the house, but I’ll be darned if we can find
her.”
The
rest of the story was torn off from the paper. A hasty search of the other
newspapers in the wall turned up nothing. I needed to know what happened in the
rest of the story. I had to know if she was found. Could she still be here?
Christ, is this her doing? Did she want me to see that paper?
A
horrific, and beautifully spine chilling, single note emanated from the house.
Again, it seemed to come from everywhere, like it surrounded me. It wasn’t the
high pitch scream this time. It was a single wail, almost outside the range of
hearing, but it got louder and louder. The rise of the volume of the wail grew
to the point that I had to cover my ears. Within seconds it became louder than
anything I’d heard in my life.
The
floors began to shake and the walls vibrated. I likened it to standing behind a
747 that was taking off.
The
noise was more than I could take. I heard a pop in my ears and then a warm
wetness on my hands. Blood trickled through my fingers and dripped single drops
down onto the hard wood floor. The pain of the noise was more than I could
stand and I vomited.
The
crying wail reached a crescendo and then stopped. Suddenly and without warning,
it just ceased. The silence was deafening.
I
wiped blood from my ears on my shirt as I got back to my feet. I had to reach
the backdoor. It was my only chance out of here - my only shot at life. I have
a sick feeling that if I didn’t make it out of this house soon, that I would
end up like the Debnau’s, blood drained from my body and in a death pose.
Step
by step, I crept down the hall. The crunch of glass underfoot was unavoidable
and I winced every time at the noise.
I
must be going mad. Every black and white photo that I passed, which was face
up, had an empty gray space where Mrs. Debnau should have been; actually was,
up until a few minutes ago.
I
started up the stairs that would get me to the ground floor and within twenty
feet of the back door. Sweat poured down my face. I knew I was being watched. I
could feel it. But now it was different. It was the house…and more.
I’d
always hated these stairs. There were fourteen of them. I counted them as I
went up; it’s been something I’ve always done, ever since I was a boy. There
wasn’t a back to each step and so I could see through them to a space underneath
the stairs. It always freaked me out before; now it scared the hell out of me.
Hesitantly,
I put my right foot on the first step. “So far so good Jimmy boy. You’re doing
fine, keep moving.” I took a glance into the darkness through the slits in the
stairs. “Nothing to see back there, because there is nothing back there.”
The
wail cracked through the silence like the report of a rifle. I lost control of
my bladder and started sprinting up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
Something
moved from under the stairs. A shadow…my imagination?
Out
of the corner of my eye I could see black shrouds swiftly moving from under the
staircase and around to the foot of the stairs. Long black hair clumped
together and swung around as this creature, that could only be Mrs. Debnau,
came for me.
I
was stunned for a moment. Pale, taught flesh, milky white of the type that
never sees the sun poked out at the wrist and shin as her dress pulled back.
The only thing different from the pictures was the knowing and extremely
disturbing smile. Now it was a straight thin line of black, as if she had a job
to do and I was only making things difficult.
I
let out a scream that I haven’t heard come from my throat since I was about
five. It took a few seconds for my feet to register what my brain was telling
them-get your ass moving!
We
caught eyes and she smiled at me. Her outstretched hands led her sprinting up
the stairs. Her maniacal laughter sent me screaming to the top of the stairs
and out into the hall.
“Jimmy!
Jimmy, don’t you make me come after you. You get back here this instant, you hear
me?!”
My
feet pounded on the hard wood floor of the first level of the house. The
wailing was there again. It was Mrs. Debnau. Her undead voice was calling to
me, chasing after me.
“Jimmy,
you can’t leave. You can never leave.”
“Get
the hell away from me,” I yelled back at her. I passed through the hall and was
just rounding the corner to the back room where the washer, dryer, and my
freedom would be.
“I
need you Jimmy. You have to stay with me. It’s been so long.”
I felt needles
sink into the flesh of both my shoulders and then the weight of Mrs. Debnau
clinging to my back. The weight of the
woman, combined with her long dress catching between my legs, tripped my up and
sent me to the floor.
Her sickening
breath was all that I could think of. It reeked of putrid meat. The skin of her
hands felt cold and brittle.
I rolled over
onto my back, trying to get away, but she had an unnatural strength. She sat
atop me like a lover. Maybe I was to her?
“Why do you want
to leave me Jimmy?” You can never leave. I will make it a nice home for you.
Just like the others.” The depth of her black eyes revealed the madness within.
Even in this moment of struggle she held a serene look, as if she knew
something.
Her long black
hair brushed my face like the silk falling from a piece of corn. My mind
screamed to run; to get away as fast as I could, but I couldn’t move. Her eyes
held me in place.
She pulled a
long thin knife out from behind her and slowly cut open my shirt from the
bottom to top. I was powerless to stop her.
Movement
registered in my peripheral vision. Walking in small slow steps were the Debnau
children. Their skin was too pale. Too pale for anyone living. They had vacant
stares, yet seemed to have some understanding of what was happening. I want to
scream to them. To yell at them and tell them to go get help.
The children
came closer and Mrs. Debnau purred to them, “Give me my tools, child.” The
daughter dutifully opened her hand revealing two small silver instruments. The
first looked something akin to a needle with a sharp blade on the end. The
other needle like instrument had a hook on the end.
Mrs. Debnau
reached for the boy, gently cupping his jaw in her hands. He sank into her
touch like a dog leans in when you find their favorite scratching spot. “Take
your sister back downstairs and make yourselves suitable for company.” She
glanced in my direction. “We will be having company down under the stairs
again.” She let go of his jaw and he headed back towards the stairs, his sister
in tow.
I tried to
struggle, but my feeble attempts only bucked her a little on my hips. “Oh we
will have time for that later.” It was maddening the way she didn’t have any
expression, other than that knowing look. I could feel the edge of sanity
slipping; the point where reality and make believe crash into each other. The
break wall that normally separates the two was eroding fast in my head.
She took the
instruments, setting the one with hook down on my chest. Looking up at me with
that peculiar expression she said, “This is going to hurt and you are going to
scream, a lot. But not as much as Mr. Debnau…I’ve learned a lot since him.”
