Guilty. Caught.

My life has become insane; not me, just my life  It makes me a little sad to watch it spin chaotically around me and threaten to derail constantly but I'm holding it together. Here's how:

My favorite place is out doors.  Shocked? Nah. I know you know that. So it would not surprise you to hear I was out playing in the mud and weeding my beds getting ready for the "big dig".  I left the toddlers inside but had the screen open (Birdie hates not having me in her sight).  I was jamming to my music and soaking up the quiet sunlight.  I heard her scratch and whine.  I heard her stomp and chuff.  I looked up, said a few soothing words and went about my business. She got more agitated and aggressive and I mean along the lines of "What Lassie? The sheriff's tied up and the jail's burnin down????"

My son came home from school and told me what a good day he'd had; "Uneventful" he called it.  I find this one particularly funny since he missed detention by one of his award winning smiles. He'd asked to go to the library, was told "not yet" and immediately asked to go get a drink... upon receipt of a bathroom pass, he went? Ohhhh yes. To the library. Unless he had disrobed and attempted to replenish his aquatic requirements via epidermal osmosis, he was gone a leeeeetle too long...

My son also has a revolver cap gun.  It's quite a hoot.  He's a quick reloader/shot. He's awakened his sister on a weekend, scared the living crap out of his mother while she was trapped in the bathroom and wound the dogs up so tight their eyes are still swimming from fear. All of us have fallen victim to the deadly stealth of this sure shot. The town's people decided enough was enough; eye for an eye...

Now ~ what do these all have in common? Well, hold my hand a little longer and let's giggle together.
....
One:

I try to soothe the Nubian Princess but am unable.  She is growing more and more irritated and anxious.  I go in to the house and walk around my kitchen island. I am heading for their water bowl, thinking they might be thirsty, need something to eat, have to go potty. No. Birdie was telling on her brother. 

Winston had broken in to the pantry (nosing the door open) and had SOMEHOW opened the Ziploc sealed back of protein powder Cheech uses before his workouts.  It tastes and smells fabulously like vanilla.  How do I know this? Well the bag had been squished to fit a very small,round face. The scoops we normally use to get the stuff out had been removed` OBVIOUSLY creating too much of an obstacle to the irresistible  prize.  Then there was the culprit himself: one twelve pound dog with goo dripping from his face. He appeared battered; like a pancake. and he was licking it off as fast as he could; not to mention the fact he'd run out of the house and to the middle of the grass where he stood; snorting, licking, wagging and .... waiting.

"WINSTON!" I called.  Nothing. More wagging and licking.  I stepped out on the porch and headed for the batter dipped dog.  "Winston" I said more softly.  His wag slowed, his head dropped and he took a step toward me.  I got down on my knees and asked what he'd done.  I asked if he needed to say sorry.  He instantly began to belly crawl toward me and push his face against me; as if shamed.

Guilty. Caught.

Then my son the genius, who snuck to the library on a bathroom pass.  This type of dishonesty is normally an instant detention.  The teacher who caught him was conflicted.  My son has never had an issue, trouble or problem ... ever.  So she called me at home to tell me.  I am guessing that the word has gotten around if you want to REALLY panic the kids and frighten them, tell their mom what they did.  There is no punishment the school can dish out worse than what they will THEN receive upon arriving at home.  I waited for him to come skipping and whistling down the steps.

"Good day?" I asked.

"Yep.  Real good." he answered ignorant to the stink eye I was sharing.

"Anything interesting?"

He paused. I saw the look of question wavering.  It was do or die.  "No." he said and I think he wanted to reach out and try take back the lie, but it was too late.

I walked right up to him and looked down in to his brown eyes. "Really? Nothing?" my voice was soft and he knew the jig was up.

and I quietly said it. "If I'm asking? I already know"

He turned white as snow and began to stammer; certain his demise was near and eminent. By the time his punishment was exacted, he wished for detention.  He wished for a luxurious weekend at Guantanamo.

Guilty. Caught.

So we had all suffered at the hand of the notorious gunman Boo the Sureshot The gun was loud and obnoxious and he reveled in the chaos it caused; every time. So I  began to inquire how such a sure shot could do it so quickly, efficiently. Where did he keep his bullets, were they special bullets... on an on.  Did he sleep with his "true love" or did he keep her preciously hidden from all who would want to admire her beauty and power. He patiently answered my questions and went about his routine. 

That morning, at our usual ungodly hour of rising, Cheech and I snuck in to his room and began to look for the noisy vixen.  We searched the drawers, the shelves, the boxes .... everywhere but came up empty handed.

"Where does he keep the caps?" Cheech whispered.

"In a box." I replied.  We were both rummaging like heroin fiends in an unattended evidence room.  "Didja find it?"

"No... You?" we were whispering a little louder.

"Nothin.  Go figure ~ the ONE THING he's decided to put away in his young life..."

"Uhhhh Guys?  I'm awake and I hear you." My son's voice crept gently between our ears.  We froze and watched as he peered at us from the side of his bed.

Guilty. Caught

Life is hard, unkind and very messy.  This is just a glimpse into a day of mine. I'm sorry we've not been able to hang out lately.  I hope that changes all for the better very soon.

I miss you, my friends. I hope you came and giggled with me even if just for a moment or two.  Enjoy what is left of your weekend.

Hello my dears,
I can't believe it's been this long.  Things have been so chaotic and busy, I just collapse at night, too tired to even try to write something.  I know. It's no excuse and believe me, I miss you guys too.

I will be away again but want to sit with you for a minute or two at the beginning of the week. Deal?

I hope all is well with you ~ Thanks for all the peeking and checking in... It's nice to be missed and thought of. I have some funny stories to divulge for my last weeks of havoc (they are only now becoming funny) and a couple I'd like to get written and marinated ... Not enough hours in a day.

sigh.

But you know that, right?

Well warm hugs and know I miss you.
See you soon,
Tess

Helpless

Willow knew the house's history; the sadness and fear penetrated deep into its wooden bones.  It was why she bought it.  When she saw it from the drive that day, she heard it; beckoning; crying for her to come and help.  Willow could not resist and quickly arranged for the house to be hers.  Moving day was relatively benign; a few welcoming creaks and groans. That night, she felt its presence.  It moved around looking for her, at her; curiously. Willow drifted off to sleep hearing the cries of the troubled girl who died in the house and needed help.

"Poor thing" she mumbled to her pillow.

In the days that followed, she aggressively established contact; conducting EVPs, recording EMF readings and setting up cameras. There were digital recorders, laser grids, all fueled by her enthusiasm and excitement.  The initial pictures were grainy, movements were subtle and hesitant but as she pushed forward, harder, the spirit became more focused, stronger and willing to respond. Willow was getting somewhere. She hoped she could help little Molly; a young girl who had been locked away in the basement of this old orphanage because of her special mental needs.  Seen as a gross mistake and shameful "malady" all together, she had been beaten, neglected, starved of all necessities in life: love, food, water, understanding. Molly had been strong willed though and had survived for years in deplorable, deteriorating conditions.  She had lived thirteen years, dying eventually when the Head Mistress, a Mrs. Drummond, stopped heating Molly's room with the expensive coal better used for valuable children.  Molly froze to death. Then the old coot went around the mental bend, refusing any visitors for adoption or fostering.  She even stopped taking grocery delivery.  After the awful fire in early spring, the townspeople hauled all the broken little bodies out, burying them with  plain stones out in back of the lot; no names, no dates. just markers.  

Willow did a lot of research but noticed the record keeping became sparse after Molly arrived at the home.  She called and left a detailed message with a local historian, asking for more information if possible.  She went about her investigations and renovations.  It was on the third floor she made a strange discovery.  Willow had assumed it was the head mistress' suite, since the furniture was nice; lavish for the time. There was indication that it had been lived in; well.  Yet, there was a series of locks located on the inside jam that puzzled  her; more complicated and heavy than needed for a mere bedroom.  Willow wondered if she had it wrong. Had Molly actually been kept  upstairs? She wished that Mr. Kenworthy would call.

That night she set up her equipment and dozed while waiting for the alarms to go off, signifying a "visitor" It came in the form of crying and breathy panicked whispers. Willow felt the hairs on her neck stand and the pressure of a gentle touch along her arm.  Several times she was begged to save the helpless victim. Willow searched and followed the voice which ultimately lead her to the upstairs room.

"Did she hurt you here?" she asked

A tearful soft wail confirmed her question

"Who was it? Mrs Drummond?"

nothing.

"Molly?"

"YES" came the reply almost in a hiss.

"I understand. I'm trying to figure it all out. I've asked for some more help.  I'm coming. Sweetie. I'll help you."

"No." came a sad gravelly whisper. It hurt Willow's heart.  She wanted to help the pour mistreated soul so badly.The night faded in to sobs and then silence.

Although she went to bed, her sleep was troubled and restless.  Constant scuffling and murmurs kept her from really resting.  Willow woke more tired than when she'd laid down.

Several days went by.  Willow noticed more aggressive behavior from the little spirit.  She found things moved or missing.  Doors slammed and noises were almost constant.  She slept very little. It was beginning to show in the work she produced from home, which was of such poor quality, she had been summoned to the corporate office for a formal warning and write up.  But then she got what she truly wanted; a call from Mr. Kenworthy.  He had found a diary in the back of one of the storage rooms.  It had been mislabeled, so had subsequently been misplaced for may years.  After reading it, he thought it would help Willow understand the strange behavior on the grounds.  Willow quickly set up the appointment to review the document.  She could hardly contain herself.  She spoke freely to the ghost, telling it that she had new information to help her and it would all be okay soon.

"Hurry" came the whisper. "Not safe" trickled in to her ear.  Willow stopped and listened for more.  There was nothing.

Mr Kenworthy looked drained and  tired. "Willow, I think this is very important. I found this diary and have read it.  You are in danger Willow."

"Mrs. Drummond is that bad?  Is she the spirit?" Willow was trembling and could not take her eyes off the small, soot covered book.

"You are only partially right Willow.  It did belong to Mrs. Drummond but she is not the danger.  Molly is."

Willow snorted as she took the book.  "Really. Mr. Kenworthy that's so silly.  Everything I have read points to gross misconduct on the part of the facility. Why, they shut it down and moved everyone shortly after Molly was buried."

"No Willow.  They began to die and disappear.  Mrs. Drummond was the last one.  She was found locked in her room almost mummified in her own bed. She chose to die in the fire. It was the weirdest thing I've ever heard of."

Willow was puzzled. "Molly?"

He nodded and left the book on the table.  "I would read this carefully, Willow.  Then I would leave." He ducked his head as if embarrassed by his ominous warning. He scurried off with a muttered "Be careful."

Willow sat and stared at the  dingy pages and sculpted handwriting. They were the ramblings of a demented sick woman.  She feared the children she vowed to protect and was thoughtful only in the methods of their torture. Willow felt a greasy nausea wash through her as she sat that night in her room, reading.

"Had to barricade them out. They sit and stare at me all the time now.  Few words, many mewlings, growls. Little demons now. All of them with Molly their ringleader.  All teachers are now gone. We have been cut off, cut out of the town's good graces.  God is the only salvation and I pray for the time when He calls me Home; away from this writhing pit full of broken evil monsters masquerading as children.  I stopped taking visitors weeks ago. No good Christian should be subject to this kind of malevolent torture.  Surely I am doing the right. Keeping them here, starving their earthly shells. Destroying the costumes they wear as children to seek unsuspecting innocent souls. May God grant me peace in his Heavenly Home after I commit this heroic sin. May he accept me so willing and able to leave this horror behind."

Willow's mouth was dry. Her eyes burned.  She found herself panting with each page she read.  The house seemed to be very dissatisfied with her choice of reading material as well.  It was like sitting on a live wire; everything seemed to buzz or hum. As night fell, an icy fear settled into her soul.  She began to shake.  The house itself, seemed to be too busy to play with her today.  Things seemed to clatter, footsteps were hasty and rushed.  There were few voices; only small, indistinguishable, vicious bites in the night. Now they asked her to come, to follow.  She could not. Willow stayed in her bed, for the first time; afraid of the dark.

The footsteps began softly, almost as if playing a game of hide and seek;searching.  Willow's heart beat up her chest and parked in her throat.  She pulled the blankets up to her chin and waited.  Slowly they approached. Willow had begun to drift, from exhaustion.  She tried to stay awake but failed. The last thing she heard was a deep laugh outside her door.  Willow cried quietly and prayed vehemently for it to end.  She wrote something in the pages of the diary. The door opened and for the first time, she came face to face with the true monster of the house. Its grin was hungry and sharp.  it's eyes, hollow and endless.  The stench of hate and evil wafted around Willow causing her to gag. As it neared her, she wanted to move, to run, but was unable.  Long arms stretched out to hold its latest innocent victim. There was no scream; just sad sobs matching those that had begged her to come in, that first day

The fire began in the basement. Quickly it spread up the stairs and down the halls; or so the formal report read.  The town shook their heads and mourned; politely.  Willow succumbed to the smoke.  By the time the firemen pulled her body from the home, it was almost unrecognizable.

Mr Kenworthy stood quietly at her grave when they buried her. At the back of the yard, near the plain, unmarked stones. He shook his head sadly and answered the only question on everyone's mind.. "Why didn't she get out?"

"She was helpless." he said and clutching the book he'd pulled from the twisted body of the home. He walked quietly away from the service and  put it back in it's tiny sarcophagus shoe box to make sure it was forgotten forever.



So sorry guys. Time just got away from me. I've been so busy, I just haven't been able to get here to finish anything! I know, no excuse but don't think I wasn't missing you.  i like this one although it's a bit rushed even for me. It has a creep to it and I think if you really slow down, versus skimming, you'll see that things aren't always what they seem.  I know more detail was needed in certain aspects.  I will think about coming back to revise. Let's catch up soon, shall we? I have a funny story to share about this weekend. :)

I hope you had a great weekend.  It would seem that spring has finally sprung. Hurray!
I'll see you soon. Thanks for coming over, sorry it's been so long. At least we had this time, right? Many more, much sooner.

Tess