Over the past week Macy had noticed dark circles under her mom’s eyes
and heard her weeping and talking in her sleep. Her mom spent more time each
morning writing in her journal. Then two days ago Macy and her brother Bruce
had come home from school to find their mom sitting at the kitchen table. In
front of her on the table was a letter, her journal, and a cup of coffee in her
hand. One look at their mom and Macy knew something was wrong.
She and Bruce sat at
the table. Coffee sloshed over the side of the cup as her mom sat it on the
table. They waited.
“School ends next week.” Her mother said. “When you come home the last
day I’ll have the car all packed. We’re going on a little trip back to Idaho.”
Bruce bounced in his chair. Macy placed her hand on his leg to calm him. She
knew how excited he was. They had not gone anywhere in the two years since
their dad had died. Her mother looked at her and smiled. The smile was hiding
so much, and Macy wanted to know what it was. She waited for her mother to say
more. Instead her mother stood and took her cup to the sink. “Go finish your
homework while I fix dinner.” Macy and
her brother looked at each other and obeyed.
The last week of school seemed to fly by. It was all Macy
could do to keep her brother from running ahead of her as they walked
home. She tried to get him calmed down
by promising to play games with him in the car.
“I’m not a baby Macy, I’m seven years old. I start third
grade next year.”
Macy smiled down at her brother. “I know that Bruce, I
just thought maybe we could play games to help me keep the excitement under
control. You know, you can help me calm down.”
This tactic always seemed to work with him. Treat him like he was the
older brother helping her to behave and he was putty in her hands.
“Oh, okay Macy. That way mom won’t get cranky and yell at
us. I’ll help you stay calm.
Race you to the door
Macy.” Macy watched as her brother took
off. She knew he wouldn’t look back, so she walked the rest of the way. When
she entered the house, her mother was sitting in the kitchen hugging Bruce.
“Mom said we have to go upstairs and change clothes. She
already has them laid out for us on the bed. Then we have to…” Bruce looked at
his mom for the rest of the instructions.
Mom rubbed his hair and stood up. “I put a bag on your
bed. Grab whatever you want to take for entertainment like books, notebooks,
coloring books, favorite animal and electronics. When you get back down here
with your bags I’ll have a snack ready and we can leave. I want to get some
miles down before we stop tonight.”
“How far do we have to drive?” Bruce asked.
“A long way Bruce.” She looked at Macy and said, “It
usually takes at least fourteen hours to drive. But, I want to drive as far as I
can and give us time to get out and stretch so we don’t get too tired. It
should only take us about four hours to get to Macon, Georgia. That is where we
will spend the night and eat supper. Now go.”
Macy glanced sideways at her brother. He had dozed off just thirty
minutes after pulling out of their drive. She slid her mom’s journal out of her
bag and opened it. She had disguised it by wrapping it in one of her favorite
book jackets. As far as her mother knew she was just doing what she always did,
read. She had often seen her mother write in her journal and slip it into the
stand next to her bed. She asked her mother about it once and was told that it
was where she wrote down her feelings, hopes and prayers since their daddy had
died. She promised that when Macy was older, meaning an adult, she would let
her read it. She opened it to one of the
more recent entries.
June 6
They say there is no
such thing as ghosts or haunted houses.
They’re wrong. I know, because I
grew up in one. Mine is not an unusual
story. It is not even that
terrifying. It just is. This is a fact I have come to accept. As a child growing up in Bluebell, Idaho I
had few friends because of that house.
From the outside the house was a typical, two story farm house. My
father inherited it when his grandmother passed away. He repaired and fixed it up. It stood out on the hilltop. You could see it’s gabled roof a mile
away. The inside was a different
story.
Even now I lay awake at
night listening, watching, waiting, for it.
I’ve been waiting since I moved out of that house. I knew it was only a matter of time. That time has come. Both of my parents are gone. A drunk driver took them away from me. Now the house is calling me. I hear it in the middle of the night, I see
it in my dreams. It waits for me,
calling me to return. I don’t want to. I still don’t know why it calls me. Sometimes the shadows visit me. When I was a child my friends used to tease
me when I told them about the shadows.
Then they would visit my house.
No one teased me after that.
Instead they stayed away from me.
It’s as if they were afraid the shadows would follow them. Now I must journey back. I’m scared, not only
for me but for my children Macy and Bruce.
Macy
closed the book and glanced at her mother. Why was she so afraid of that house?
She flipped back to the beginning of the journal. Everything from the beginning
on seemed to be about her mom and dad. As she began to close the journal she
noticed the flap inside the front cover was loose and had a slight bulge. Macy
quietly peeled the flap back and saw a piece of paper and a picture. The
picture showed a house on a hill with fields all around it. Her stomach felt
queasy. This must be the house. She slid the piece of paper out and opened it
up. It must have been her mom’s handwriting when she was a child. It was a
small list; cold clammy hand in closet,
stairs creak, lights flick off, pacing in next room, heaviness in air, fear it
wants something. What does it want besides me, and why does it want me?
Macy placed the paper back inside the flap along with the
picture. She would put the journal back in her mom’s bag when they got to the
motel. She wasn’t going to learn any more from it. She would have to try her mom again.
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