The Space Between

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must see! Lots of storage in the spaces in between. Quiet. Call: Eydie

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What I didn't know couldn't hurt me, right?  I guess I should have been paying closer attention.  Maybe if I'd have listened better and believed more we'd have been all right.

 It sat at the end of a simple road spotted with houses and cradled in lush woods and dense thickets.  It WAS small  but we fell in love with that cute little house and its quirky personality. I even loved the attic which was covered with a smaller but regular looking door with a bolt along the ceiling. It was tough to get into but if we stood on the bed, we could manage.  I figured it was how the previous owner had done it, judging by the smudgy fingerprints. Sure the house needed some attention, but I had plenty of time to do that.  Jennifer was off from school and we were a dynamite team. So we rolled up our sleeves and dug in.

It began with those dreadful heavy feelings. I started to have horrible sweat soaked nightmares of being watched; panicky thoughts of missing something or needing to get away but I stashed them down deep inside; those childish fears. I boxed them right up. I chose to  ignore the creaking on the porch, pushing scraping nails that were screaming out their warning.  I dismissed the scratching in the attic as squirrels or raccoons.  After all, we were living in the beautiful countryside where lush woods cuddled us with the promise of peace and quiet.  Besides, with renovations well under way, we had simply stirred up some restless little critters.

Jennifer said it first. "Do you feel that?" her eyes were wide and fearful one night before bed.  The moon played hide and seek behind the swaying trees. She shivered. The only comfort I offered her was to rub her shoulders and kiss her head.

"Yep. It's chilly." I said too cheerfully and dismissed her; wanting for a  brief moment to tell her what I heard every night; the dragging of mud clod feet to my window where I'd seen my nightmares come to life. But I didn't because I didn't want to frighten her.

Night after night, I stifled the scream burning my throat as it hovered at my window.  It watched me sleep; often times cupping its faceless smear to see me better.  I shuddered at the spindly fingers urgently tapping the glass.  I cried myself to sleep instead of listening to its voice which sounded like someone shouting into a cup; garbled and wet. I accepted my insomnia, embraced it because I couldn't take the fear of falling asleep.

After several weeks, my daughter came to me complaining that there were noises above her and she heard voices; urgent whispers calling to her.

To ease our troubled minds, I set traps in the attic and under the porch.  We began to sleep in the same room; just for a while until we got settled into our new home. While my daughter cried herself to sleep and dreamed in troubled mutterings, I covered my ears, yanking the blankets over my head denying that something was hounding us. I chanted late into the night that it wasn't real; that we were safe.  I was wrong.  The thumping in the attic got louder.  The "window dresser" swished along the porch searching for us and always succeeding.  It would gum its soundless words, smearing its long dead fingers down the windowpanes leaving proof that we weren't dreaming for the morning light.  I was teetering on insanity, often clutching my aching head to keep it from bursting into a thousand splintery pieces. We couldn't work on the house simply because we were two walking zombies. There was no strength left.

When the visits spilled over into day time, defeat seemed eminent.  We tried to find solace in prayer, in rituals, in ignoring. Jennifer and I wailed in the night at the windows and at the attic, begging for sleep, demanding it stop.  For a while, it seemed that our pleas had been heard.  Our tantrums had worked since things appeared to settle down.  We quietly joked that we'd dished out what the ghosts couldn't take.  We got one night of exhausted trance-like sleep, then another.  Then we had a delicious week or two maybe it was three and we were afforded a cautious but somewhat normal life. I even went back into my bedroom. The heaviness never left, but we were grateful for our gift.

Months went by and we'd almost forgotten our horrific welcoming committee.  But there was a last statement to be made; not by us.  The storm blew in suddenly and was loud; vicious.  I heard light scratching in the attic.
"Damn squirrels are just trying to get dry too."I thought out loud.  Deep down my stomach soured and my pulse skipped.  I propped myself up and prepared to wait it out.  The porch groaned and I felt the metal nail slowly pull away from the wood.  It shredded my nerves like cheese on a grater.  The steps were familiar and despair filled my heart.

"Not again." I felt the tears prick my eyes, hot and fearful.  It swished past my window to the front door where for the first time, it jiggled and pushed.  I heard the warning "creaaaak "as it made entrance across my once thought to be safe threshold. 

"Mommy?" Jennifer whimpered from down the hall.  "The thumping..."

but I was too caught up in my own terror.  The thing moved gracefully down the hall,never pausing but directly shifting toward my room.  I could hear it's breath against the door.  I matched it with gasps of my own.  Maybe I was trying to scream.  My knees were the first to  move.  They swung my feet to the edge of the bed and tenderly let them down.  My mouth tingled, feeling full of felt. My sweat filled hand turned the knob and left me to face my fear. 

It was a young girl; at one time.  Now she had clumps of mud encasing her hair, her eyes were hollow and black.  Her nightdress had faded flowers and clowns on it with eyelet lace around the cuffs.  Years had caused the material to fray and fall away in spots.  Her legs were long and gawky; scraped like a child who has played in the woods...forever.  Her lips were pale and cracked but they moved.  For the first time I heard her voice.
"Look OUT!" she gargled.  Her hands cupped her mouth as if she were trying to make a megaphone out of them.  I watched her chest rise and fall with the quickness as if she'd been running for miles. I felt a panicky puff of her dead breath and then there was Jennifer's scream.

I shoved past her, dashing down the hall. Screeching my daughter's name. I burst through the door to see what I can barely describe on that last God forsaken night Jennifer would ever spend in our quaint little home.

The attic door exploded open with a waft of stench like old meat and damp grass. Jennifer was reaching for the handle; that smudged up bolt I'd found so charming and something was pulling her by her hair and neck up into the darkness.  Her feet began to leave the bed.  She kicked and swatted but it was of little use.  A hand stretched out and clapped her shoulder. Jennifer winced in pain and I saw blood trickle down her little nightie. I dove for the bed and jumped to grab her dangly feet. I clung to her, feeling us both being raised into this abyss. I felt the edge of the attic and clamped on readying myself to push into the attic and gain my ground; retake my daughter.  The hand on my ankle was cold and vice like. I shook it but her fingers were wrapping around me like a vine. I saw my window dresser.  She kept screaming in that hoarse whisper to "look out".

"Get OFF" I shouted angrily and pulled myself in.  The void was deep. I only heard my heartbeat in my ears and the shuffling of feet heading for the porch. "Now YOU." I panted and crouched like a center in a football game. I ground my teeth strained my ears, preparing to fight for my child.

The growl was low and decisive.  The wind that carried it was hot and evil burning my eyes so I had to close them and pray.  I looked up to see a pair of eyes; green with almost red brilliant pupils: fiery; devilish.
"Mine." was what it said just before I was flung back. I was thrown down through the hole and onto the bed where my daughter had slept for ten years.  The door slammed shut.

The storm carried on outside, wailing at the injustice and horror taking place in my home.  But it didn't cover the last sound:

"Mommy!"

I jumped and pulled at that door.  I all but threw the bed aside and grabbed the ladder from the porch.  I stood there prying and sobbing until my fingers bled.

I did this every night. For two years.

Now, at night, the window dresser comes to stand outside my room. I missed her warning. I should have listened better; believed more.  She stares at me sadly and sometimes I reach out, matching her spindly fingers that streak my windowpane.  I do this to fill the space between.



Well, how's THAT for an intro?
Now you know why I have insomnia. I guess it has its benefits. For those of you who are new to me, if this isn't your cup of tea, don't worry. I write all KINDS of things.  Stick around.  We'll have a lot of fun together.


I hope you have a nice evening. Thank you for stopping by. Come again soon.