Safe From Dreams

I sat in the car paralyzed for what felt like a month of Sundays;  staring, just staring, unable to see clearly what was truly present, safe and untainted.  My mouth was a dry pinched scowl, my body hummed as if electricity buzzed through it.  I didn't even realize I muttered half-hearted words of support and encouragement.

 "You're all right.  You're all grown up and you can do this.  You just go up and do it, Grayce.  Shine up those brassy balls and just - get- out"

I guess I opened the car door.  Like a zombie, I stepped and stumbled up the drive.  I hadn't been able to pull up closer; too afraid. The dandelions and fox tail grass turned in the breeze; flabbergasted that I had returned.

My eyes and memory distorted reality.  I saw the white front porch rail with the blue floor.  Long ago, sunflowers topped and guarded it with unparalleled elegance and simplicity.  The screen door was framed with intricately carved wood and stained the same majestic blue as the floor. Fear slithered in and shook me. I demanded an explanation as to why I'd made this trek.  After all this time, what good would it serve?  Done was done and sleeping dogs should be left to lie... But before I could finish my argument, I knelt at those porch steps, placed the two things that would save my soul and return my brother and unlocked the door; stepping back inside my youthful nightmare.

I recognized the bright, cheerful tiny lavender flowers which grew in  perfect wallpaper rows.  I glanced around at the dark, stoic contrasting furniture; clunky and looming.  I felt the chill and shivered as my youth ambled up and greeted me; reminding me of horrors past. It started with a hello thump and a few heavy footsteps.  My heart clutched my ribs and began to thunder.  The assurance and strength of adulthood was melting away into a nervous puddle in the hall.  I received a musty waft; a threat if you will- much like a crotchety old man bellowing from the top of the stairs:

"If I have to come down there, you will be SORRY"

I already was.  My upper lip was moist and tingling.  I wondered how I'd talked myself into revisiting this place, where my childhood disintegrated, my understanding of evil was completed and my brother was killed.

The floor boards from my old room upstairs moaned.  I slipped cautiously to the steps in time with the house's complaining;  remembering to skip that fifth one because of the booby trap creak that would have shouted my arrival, maybe even screamed my intent to destroy what murdered my brother, Donnie, all those years ago when we were learning what ghosts could do to the living.

We were just kids with excitable overactive imaginations.  We told ghost stories, played flashlight tag until we caught the attention of the Bogeyman.  He lived under the porch steps - maybe he'd have stayed there if we hadn't wanted to be pirates and bury treasure in his living room.  It was only Donnie's lucky rabbit foot (painted an incredibly rude shade of purple) his Pete Rose baseball card, my game of Jax and the spider ring that Shawn Middleton had given me at the Halloween parade during my Kindergarten year. We dug under the steps, coming across a wooden hinged box; maybe an old cigar box.  Inside was a button, a brush and a shard of glass each caked with ancient blood colored mud- all dangerous mysterious treasures we were more than happy to contribute to.  Hastily we joined collections and sealed our fates. We were too young to understand how tragic history imprints time.  We never knew bad people who do bad things are bad ghosts who do worse things.  A week later Donnie would be gone, our family would shatter and I would forever live in fear of the Bogeyman.

The shadow appeared first to me that night along with a cold slimy feeling I would come to know accompanied by an equally terrifying voice calling my name and promising horrific things if we didn't right our wrong.  I told my parents but was scolded for silliness.  Donnie was afraid too and once it visited him, both of us sufficiently terrified yet ignored by those sworn to protect, well that was all she wrote. 

We had just come in from a rousing game of "Blind Man's bluff" when the cold descended upon us; chilling our bones and tickling our ears with dark promises of never ending pain.  Horrified we ate dinner in silence, sadly accustomed to our parents' disbelief and scoff.  Bedtime was tense because we would be on our own; to be once again warned of its sickening intents:  of flesh removed, souls destroyed and macabre adventures to last all eternity unless the wrong was righted.

I prayed for safe keeping, fighting sleep as if it were the Devil himself hanging out in the closet, under the bed, or in the hall.  Donnie screamed once but when my parents yelled at him, closed his door and shut out the light that night- the tears were mine.  I knew he was doomed. I should have gone to him but I wasn't supposed to leave my bed. With no one to believe us, abandoned, it was inevitable.  If you would have asked my parents, they were astonished, unable to accept or believe what that morning would bring.

My folks and the outside world explained it as a stranger coming in the night and stealing my brother away.  A case that would grow cold and never be solved.  Now I understood why I was here~ to rescue Donnie.  After all was said and done, we never spoke of him.  We never said goodbye.  We just moved away and moved on with the gaping hole his memory left behind.  We never even sold the house.

One by one I climbed those steps; my palms sweating and cold.  I heard my breath shallow and gasping.  The shadows hovered and watched.   Maybe they cowardly woke the bogeyman to see what would happen next.   The house sighed and prepared for battle.

I got to the landing; a door slammed.  I jumped out of my skin and squeaked like a church mouse.  Then down the hall each of the doors opened and slammed in an evil, welcoming applause.  I shakily went to his room.  There was a breathy laugh as if it dared me to continue.  I stood before his closet on rubbery new-born giraffe legs.

"Donnie?" I asked

Nothing

"It's okay.  You can come out now.  Come home Donnie.  Mom misses you and I have no one to blame for all the cookies that are gone."

The door opened slowly.   My heart stopped.  I leaned forward and felt it wind around me; not Donnie, but the bogeyman; hungry for victory and a second course of our family as a spiritual meal. "Yes" it seemed to whisper to my core." I found myself stepping into the shadows unable to stop or control my own movements.   I didn't want to go.  I knew there was pain and terror in there but I was being pulled.

"RUN! RUN! HE'S HERE! YOU HAVE TO DO IT NOW" came the shout in my little brother's panicked voice.  It was just enough for me to break free.  I rocked back, turned and bolted back down the stairs, skittering to a stop at the porch.  I tore at the dirt; at last uncovering what I needed; the box.  I ripped it open hearing the bogeyman slowly; almost playfully plodding down the steps.  It had me dead to rights.  No rush, not a worry in its world.  I heard it's breath wet; filled with rage and anticipation.  Its shadow stretched out to reach for me, stinging my fingers as I fumbled.  I heard myself screaming, felt my lungs and chest burning as the monster slipped up closer to do to me what it had promised for these years in my diseased sleep.  I dowsed  what was left and struck the match ~ grateful that the packaging hadn't lied:  " First strike is ALWAYS the luckiest" The box burst into flames and I heard a disappointed, shocked screech. I did not feel the burns to my hands as I clutched my flaming salvation.

"You can put it down" came the tiny voice.  I dropped the box; bewildered at the length of time it sizzled and scorched before at last smoldering to a pile of dark wispy ash.

I felt a small hand in mine; cold but reassuring.  Glancing, I saw the little form of my brother's ghost and squeezed gently; happy to have his touch even if he was dead.  The house faded and morphed.  No more were the shadows leering or playing games with my eyes. I at last saw reality. Standing before my was my old house; boarded up, ragged and sad, scabbed with broken paint and gaping windows.  My gait was different now, a little more solid; more adult and less afraid.  I sighed heavily and started the engine; looking over I saw Donnie's tired dead eyes.  I smiled gently.

"Let's go home Kiddo."

Dandelions and fox grass bowed humbly, bidding us farewell. 


I must admit that it's short and choppy but let's consider how long it's been.  I'm a bit rusty. I am pleased overall, in spite of its glitches.  I like the circle created and think it tells a creepy little tale.  Who doesn't like those?  I am happy to have you here.  Thank you for stopping by and I hope to see you again; soon.