Listen

The children gathered around the old woman who rocked in the chair steadily; a blanket draped across her lap.  Her wrinkled old hands folded neatly in her lap but fidgeted as if they had something important to do.  She looked around her and in a frightened, raspy whisper, beckoned them to listen:

"Come a little  closer, closer still.  We have to whisper or it will hear you.  Hear me; and then we will be in a world of hurt.  Oh I know it sounds crazy and perhaps I have gone round the bend, but I know it's waiting; listening.  And when we're done, you will too.

It began simply enough. When I was younger, foolish and feeling invincible, I sat with my friends for a bit of spirit talking: the Ouija.  Each board is supposed to be linked to a spirit or have the ability to connect with the dead.  Oh we had a grand old time, asking silly romantic questions and playing with it more like a fortune teller than with the nervous respect that it deserved; convinced someone was moving the planchette and it was all malarkey.  We mocked and laughed heartily. But I made a grave mistake.  How ironic that word seems to me now; grave.  I directly insulted and questioned our "table talker". 

"You're so great ~ show yourself! Really show me something; not just these trite parlor tricks! Or are you just a cowardly cloud of mist ~ a mere sneeze perhaps?  Nothing in your life and even less in your death?" 

 Kennard himself would have back-handed me for my behavior.  And to confess, I would never have sat down had I known what was in store for me.  Things, we thought, quieted down, after that.  Believing our ghost had dissolved, gone on to holier ground or that one of US was tired of shifting the pointer, we settled ourselves in for a few hours rest.  The wind outside howled and tossed leaves around in the yard.  Branches poked and scratched at the windows.  We huddled and teased each other for being frightened.  My friends drifted off to uneasy dreams.  I envied them; then and now, for I don't sleep much.  It isn't safe.

I had resigned myself to being stuck with my overactive imagination, so I got up and sat in the formal parlor.  My friend's home was always bright, cheery and quite comfortable.  I thought with certainty, I would find solace and peace enough to settle my jittery state of mind in this friendly atmosphere.  I had just closed my eyes for a moment when I heard a soft rustling; a shifting if you will.  I dismissed it of course as a house settling in for a little rest of its own.  Then I heard my name; soft but distinct: "Eleanor".  As you can imagine, my eyes flew open and my heart raced to the very top of my throat.  I grabbed the arms of the Redgrave chair in which I sat and strained my ears.  I reasoned perhaps one of my friends had awakened and come to see me.  Silence was my punishment.  I remained stone-still except for my knocking knees and shaky breath It felt as if a year had slipped by before I heard the gentle tapping at the window pane.  I chuckled at my childishness.  Why, anyone of sound mind would understand that in the fall, the cool air shifts the brittle bones of the trees.  I smiled and turned to ease my silly shattered nerves.

It sat on its haunches.  I initially thought it a wounded or frail animal.  It leaned against the glass, rolling what I thought to be a fury little head against the door like a cat seeking attention from its owner.  "Good Heavens!" I thought.  Had my friend's feline been left out?  Surely it would be cold and hungry and need some warmth.  I reached for the handle on the French door to let the poor thing in, kneeling down and speaking softly, coaxing it to me.

With astonishing speed, it seemed to unfold; stretching to a nauseating height, blocking the moon and the night time sky from me.  Its limbs were overly long and spindly; jointed too far down to be human arms, yet not quite hinged correctly to belong to an animal with which I was familiar.  I suppose it had hands, if you will, for I felt it snag the handle and begin to twist the knob eagerly.  The thing leaned, making sure to meet my eyes but I only saw gaping holes, deep and black where they should have been while its mouth gaped in a yawning scream; or perhaps it was an evil smile.  Trails of burgundy spittle chained its thin dry lips together and glistened off too many long crowded teeth.  They were not pointed, no.  Not meant for biting or piercing.  Quite wrong.  They were intent on grinding.  I could see splinters of them missing; shaved off as if chewing had been difficult.  Realizing that it had beat me to the handle and it could not get in, it pushed against the door and hissed at me angrily.

"Eleanor."  It whispered again; almost playfully.  "Let me in.  I've something to show you.  Something you wanted to see...."  Again, it mashed itself against the door with the hopes of opening the nightmare to me.  I saw smears on the glass where juicy decaying flesh had pulled away from bone. I cupped my mouth to catch my shriek and sought refuge with my sleeping friends as fast as my legs would carry me.  I almost crawled under them, trembling with a terror which froze my soul and burned inside my brain.  The voice crept under my flesh and sizzled inside of me.  I felt as if I were bare in a snowstorm.  Slamming my eyes shut, I told it to go away.  I begged it to leave.  I said I was sorry.  I prayed. But to no avail. It snuck around the house and began its harassing again; whispering my name, laughing in high pitched gleeful squeal... offering to show me....  

Morning took its time to arrive.  My friends stirred at last and teased me for the dark frightened shadows that haunted my pale young face.  I said nothing.  No one remarked about the white streak in my beautiful chestnut hair.  I bid them good morning and raced home.  I could hear my breath, quick and panicky as I shuffled passed others in the street, sometimes bumping them.  I heard them utter indignant comments and muttered insincere apologies for in the air, I heard it.  Coming for me.  I heard my name.  I heard it laughing.  I knew it was waiting to show me.

And so my little dears, I have remained here in this house for nearly fifty years.  I lived as best a life as I could.  But you understand the bars on my windows and doors.  You see the need for the heavy velvet drapes and the constant music.  Now you know, why I am so jumpy, skittish like a rabbit during high season. It is for my own safety.  I don't want to hear it. Insanity would befall me were I to lay eyes upon it again.  I don't want to know what it has to show me."

There was not a sound to be heard, say the horrified swallowing from one tiny wide-eyed child.  Little hearts pounded in their chests and shivers spread across them like the afghan the old woman now clutched.  The sun had said goodnight and stars winked from behind tired lazy clouds.  Each looked around, eyes darting at the thickly clad windows.  Little hands clasped together, sweaty with fear, seeking refuge; comfort.  Ears pricked to focus on the tinkling of the old scratched phonographs that spun incessantly day and night throughout their grandmother's home.  Yet they listened.  

 "Did you hear that?" she slowly whispered.


Sometimes, I get it right.  I love love LOOOOOVE  this one! It came to me at work, believe it or not. (And with the witch of a time I'm having as of late I'm ecstatic to have something GOOD come from a day at the office!) I am an old soul ( as a few of you know)  and this just came in one sitting, one go thru in two hours.  I'm still giggling over it and enjoying the gooseflesh I gave myself.  OOOO This was FUN! I truly hope you enjoyed it.  Thanks for coming over.  Will you hold my hand a little longer? I did a good job with the creep factor on this.