SCARY MONSTERS
Prompt - Scary Monsters : Write about a scary (or not-so-scary) monster in your closet or under the bed
It was now, exciting, scary. It seemed so big, so dark, so mysterious. Everywhere seemed distant, everyone so far away. My parents had taken possession of our new home, a big, three story, six bedroom, ramshackle Victorian pile. Sixteen miles and several lifetimes away for the cramped two bedroom flat which had been home all my life. That we could leave those cosy surroundings and suddenly start up life in such an alien environment was .... I wasn't really sure what it was. Good or bad? It was just different, so different, and I kept being told to enjoy my new freedom to roam within.
That was fine. In daylight. I was the explorer, running up, down, around. Looking into every room, getting in the way of removal men and my family. It was wonderful. But then I was tired, and the men had gone, our world sat in boxes, and it all got dark so quickly. Only a few rooms had light bulbs - I had heard my dad cursing the previous owners for their meanness - and the ones we had seemed to cast a weak light, leaving dark shadowy corners. Innocent enough in daylight, residence of the unknown come the night.
We had the rare luxury of a takeaway for dinner, which was a big plus, then mum told me to help get my bedroom ready, which kind of cancelled things out. But I had a bed, I had a few of my possessions unpacked, I had a lamp on a small table by my bed, and we'd do everything else in the morning. All I had to do was sleep the night through and there would be adventures awaiting when I woke. Promise.
The door creaked shut, I heard her steps move away, and down the long, deep old staircase. I was alone. There were no curtains yet, so the room was brighter than I'd expected it to be, but it still felt so big, so old, so full of don't-know-what. And yet, with all that in my head, I was soon asleep, my six year old body hitting the buffers of the physical efforts of my day.
I had no idea of the time when I woke. It took me a while to realise where I was, that this was home and not, repeat not, the ghostly, moonlit chamber it seemed. Then I heard it, and knew what had wakened me. In the corner of the room, by the window, was a tall wooden panel, which my mother had said was 'the press', long since jammed shut. I had no idea what she meant, but I certainly hadn't connected the word with a door. But there was, and it was creaking, and it was slowly opening. I held my breath.
Decisions. I had to make some right then. Did I open my eyes, or keep them shut? Should I shout or stay silent? Which option made me safest? Maybe whatever was behind this door, this inhabitant of 'the press', didn't know I was there, would ignore me if I pretended, really, really hard, not to be there? Maybe.... I pulled the duvet over my face.
"Peter." A voice. And not a voice. It didn't make a sound, didn't have an accent or tone, but it was speaking to me. I could hear it, inside my head, my ears bypassed. Couldn't I? Did I was this a bad dream, would I wake up sweating? "Peter, I want to talk to you, to welcome you to our home."
'Our' home? Whose home? "But this is our home" I thought.
"That's right Peter, yours and mine, we live here, don't we?" I hadn't said anything, yet he, it, replied. "Don't worry, you don't need to speak, we can talk with our thoughts. That's cool, isn't it?"
I tentatively tried a few thoughts out, so that he understood I was scared and needed to know who he was.
"I'm the house. Come out from under the covers and you can see me." So I did. And gasped. Then laughed. Then cowered. There was a .... thing. At the foot of my bed. It was shaped like a tall boy, then it wasn't, then it was, and the shape kept moving all the time. It was white, but also grey and blue and sliver and green. There were eyes which became sockets and then eyes again. But, for all it's weirdness, it looked kindly. I found the urge to shout had gone. Though the panic hadn't, not yet.
"I know, you have never seen anyone like me. Nor ever will. For few houses are spirit. Few spirits show themselves. The circumstances have to be exactly right. As they are between you and me."
"What... circumstances?" I struggled with the word I didn't really know.
"I knew it when you and your family first visited to look me over. I could feel you within me, and it felt right. So I made sure to put off other possible buyers - there's a real art to what humans call haunting, even if it was really just me having fun. I must show you some time. Anyway, you have moved in now, and I made sure you would be the one to have my room, the one I like to hide out in."
"How could you make sure?"
"Your mother is a lovely woman, but very easily influenced." This 'said' with a laugh, and the shape shimmered and vibrated at the pleasure it had given itself. "And isn't this the finest room in the house, the one at the top, with the best views across the fields at the back? The room you and I now share." I panicked slightly, unsure of the implications. "If you'll let me" came though in a consoling fashion.
"Yes. Yes please." Because I suddenly knew he, it, was a friend. The shape, somehow, smiled.
"You should sleep now. Tomorrow night I will begin to reveal to you my secrets. Goodbye for now Peter." The shape floated across the room, slipped into the space by the window and the door creaked shut behind it. I went to sleep.
In the morning when I woke I wondered if it had all been a dream. Yet instinct prevented me from sharing my thoughts with the others. When the shape returned that night I learned it's name - Gershon - and age and all sorts of things about the house. Over the years it, became my best friend, confidante, guider in life.
Yesterday I turned eighteen. Last night was the first I'd ever spent in this house when Gershon didn't come to see me. And I know he never will again.
No comments:
Post a Comment