a ghost story : part ii
I stood there a while —
Staring out the window. At a completely quiet neighborhood. I had not chosen shoes yet. I was in stocking feet, alone in the house, listening to what two hours ago had sounded like construction work in the neighborhood, and now was a rhythmic escalating smashing pounding downstairs when I knew no one else was in the house. Besides me.
The hall leading from the front door to the bottom of the stairs passed by the door of the master bedroom. I got to the bottom of the stairs and by now, this was not pounding or banging this was freaking crashing, over and over, rhythmic crash, crash, crash —
The door to the master bedroom was bowing into the hall with each hit. Da da da crash! Da da da crash! Like something in there was circling the room so hard and fast it bounced off walls before each strike on that door that was so hard, the freaking door was bending under the hits.
Da da da crash! Da da da crash!
The hair on my arms was standing up and I was thinking, I cannot go by this door, I cannot go by this door, I have to go by this door, I have to go by this door, I cannot go by this door —
I have to go by this door to get outside.
And, I am barefoot. And, this is escalating. And, if I go upstairs for my purse and shoes and sweater, the door may break before I get back. And, how long can that door hold?
Da da da crash! Da da da crash!
I went past that slamming bending door, straight out the front door. And I stood there for the next hour, in my stocking feet, on cold pavement, with no purse, no shoes, and no sweater.
My lips were blue and my toes were numb and my hands had turned that very pale white with blotchy reddening patches color that hands turn when they get cold when my friend pulled up. I made her go inside with me and past that door and up those stairs and back out again so I could get shoes and a sweater and a purse.
The door was quiet.
[that one is for anita marie]
[:::a ghost story : part i:::]
[:::a ghost story : part ii:::]
14 Responses to a ghost story : part ii
so, there is either a part 3 or you’re pulling an anita and leaving us hanging
if its the former…waits
if its the latter…way to start the day
hello max
I am curious as to what it looked like inside that room afterwards.
I wondered about that too. But I had not been in that room before so would not have known if anything was different and I waited to see if anyone mentioned anything was different or disturbed and no one did. I made sure to never be alone in the house again.
You weren’t alone. Wooooooo.
Scary story.
khan says hahaha
it’s a grey, dreary day in montreal. perfect for a ghost story. how about a part iii, svp?
that was the reality part. now for the magical fantasy…
I went through an empty house once ( it was about to be demolished) and when I went back downstairs I heard the medicine cabinet in the bathroom open and then close shut again.
It was one of those old fashioned metal cabinets so the sound was very distinct.That little click made my mind up and I decided to leave RIGHT THEN. So on my way out the door I go through the kitchen and as I passed the sink the faucet started to drip. The thing is the water and sewer lines to the house had been dug up and were piled up right along side of the house.
I think some houses are haunted and that others are alive, that’s what I think
anita marie
I have an empty house story. I was seven then. I have not been in an abandoned house since.
Oh, Brut, I thought I already said this was not magic surrealism.
One of those days Max you will- those places chose their visitors and that’s a fact.
you did Max. but i like your writing, real or surreal. and Jackie O’s little big guy Ari said stories should be in three parts. part iii is crying to be told.
(you can’t blame a guy for trying)
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Gads Anita don’t they? I avoid ghosty places like plague but once in a while they find me.
Brut, there will be other ghost stories.
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