Scraggly Hair

December 11, 2012 at 12:00 PM
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It was a Friday night, and I was grounded, without a phone. I lived alone with my dad in a rural community where everyone knows each other, but some keep to themselves. My dad headed up to bed around 11 o’ clock, and I began to get ready to carry out the plans I had made during the school day. Since I had no phone, my friends and I made plans during the school day to all meet up at my best friend Greg’s house around midnight.

After putting on some warm clothes, going on my computer for a bit, and getting a snack, I was ready to sneak out. My dad took my phone the day before, but didn’t take my car keys, assuming I had no where to go if I had no phone. Tip-toeing towards the front door, I remembered that my keys were on my dresser in my room. I sighed, turned, and headed upstairs. I carefully avoided the spots on my floor where I knew if I stepped, would let out a creak. I walked down my dark and quiet hallway, the distant hum of the air-conditioner providing a white noise for my mind to focus on. As I approached my room, I felt a strange presence, and I suddenly became uneasy. I paused in my open doorway, breathing softly, in fear my dad would discover that I was planning on going out (seeing that my shoes were on). I waited for a moment, and flipped my light switch. I quickly snatched my keys up off of my dresser, and faced the doorway, still feeling the presence. My stomach stirred and gave me a ticklish feeling in my throat. I began to let my mind play with me, thinking of creatures or killers that may lay around the corner of the dark hallway that lay in front of me. I swallowed my fear and quickly exited my room, switching the light off, and rounding the corner. I was cautious as I approached the corner that intersected the staircase, my dad’s room, and the guest bedroom. I kept my eyes on the stairs, and descended quicker than I had came up. A little spooked, I got out of the house as fast as I could, and into the cool summer night.

The moon was at its first quarter, and my yard was slightly illuminated. All the neighbor’s houses were dark, and slightly outlined by the moonlight. I quietly slipped into my car and shut the door as softly as I could while still securely shutting it. After the feeling I got inside, I couldn’t help but to look in the back seat as soon as I entered. To avoid detection, I kept my lights off, and shifted the car into reverse. My driveway is very long and on a slight incline, so I began to roll slowly down. As I did this, I looked for a good radio station, and my attention was deterred to the radio. After finding a decent station with tolerable reception, I looked back up to the dashboard, and slammed on my brakes. The light in my room was on. The entire house was dark except for that room in the upper-left hand corner. I shifted the car into park and sat there tense and nervous. What worried me is that there were no other lights on in the house. If my dad had gone into my room, it would make sense that he would turn his light on, and the hallway light as well, in order to see where he was going. I sat there for a few moments, my eyes locked on the two windows that exposed my room, until I saw a shadow. It was partial and large, against the left wall. It was still, and I thought it was my lamp or something, until it moved away. My eyes stayed fixed on the spot where the shadow was, until I saw movement in the right window. Slowly walking into view, a large, burly figure centered himself in the right window. I inhaled sharply, and my heart fluttered as the figure stopped, facing adjacent to me, towards my door. Time froze, and it slowly turned to face the window. Its clothes were indistinguishable from its hair, which reached down several feet, blending into the matte, dark color of its clothes. Its hair was scraggly and disheveled, and its figure was wide and tall. It stood there, its face hidden by the hair; a silhouette in my window.

I was frozen in horror. I had no idea what to do but to sit there, hoping it was a joke my dad was pulling on me. Could my dad be playing a joke on me? No. There was no way. I had never seen anything like it before, and I felt as if I was dreaming. I started to become lightheaded as I trembled and began to hyperventilate. I sat erect, eyes fixed on the figure that stood as still as a statue, staring out the window. My jaw trembled, and goosebumps covered my arms, legs, and neck. I opened the door of my car and got out, exposed to the silence of the night that was broken only slightly by the faint sounds of a radio advertisement, and my panicked breathing. I slowly approached the house, keeping my eyes on the window, with no particular plan in mind. I looked forward at the front door, and then back up to my room. I stopped in my tracks as I saw the figure slowly exit my room. Instantly after it disappeared out the doorway, I thought it could only be going one place; my dad’s room. A sudden boost of adrenaline shot through my body, as I ran to the front door, and burst through screaming as loud as I could. I shouted unintelligibly as I leaped up the stairs, skipping 3 at a time. I reached the landing on the second floor, and turned to my dad’s door. Surprisingly, it was closed. I placed my hand on the doorknob, and burst into the room with the mental image of the figure following close behind me. My dad was sitting up in bed, yelling at me in confusion to ask what was going on. I felt relief wash over my body, along with a burst of fear, thinking that it had not yet reached the room. I continued forward as I turned my body to face the door. I backed up and fell onto my dad’s bed, my eyes fixed on the doorway. My dad continued to question me in a concerned and bewildered manner. I told him to be quiet and that something was in the house. “Something?” He questioned as he took a baseball bat out from under his bed. I could sense the fear in his voice. I heard the floor creak downstairs, followed by the sound of plastic shattering and banging. I sprung to my feet, and looked to my dad, who was already up and walking towards the door, bat in hand. He told me to follow behind him, which I did hesitantly. I followed him into the hallway, and down the stairs, turning on lights behind me. I felt comforted by the lights and my dad’s presence, but was still waiting to see the figure at any moment. After entering the kitchen, our eyes were drawn to our screen door, which was now a mangled plastic frame on the ground. “What the hell?” My dad said, completely confound at the events that had just played out. He shut the sliding glass door and proceeded to question me. I told him my plans to sneak out and what had happened. He was just happy that we were okay, and continued to call the police. I knew it was gone, but I still decided to turn all the lights on downstairs. My heart continued to pound, and I sat on the couch to relax as I waited for police to arrive- I was safe now.

The figure never returned since this happened (It was a year from today), but the memory still haunts me. I feel uneasy being alone in my house, or in my neighborhood; even during the day. I always have the feeling that it’s there, wanting to come inside to watch me. I’ll never know what it was or why it fled when I came inside. I’ll never know why it was in my room, or if it was human. Since then I’ve just been trying to convince myself that it never happened.

Credit To: mysticpotato45@yahoo.com

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Little Emma

December 11, 2012 at 12:00 AM
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I first met her when I saw her sitting and crying at my favorite spot in our school garden. When I asked why, she told me she was hungry but she didn’t have any money left. Her luck. I was supposed to hang out with my group at the Pizza Galley, but I begged off to see my boyfriend- only to find out that he had basketball practice. So I bought her ice cream, and while we sat together, she told me stuff about herself and instantly we became friends.

She came from the middle school at the other block. She’s only nine years old, quite petite for her age, and she was fun. I never really liked kids, actually, but she’s different. She talked and thought like a grown-up: mature.

Her name was Emma.

The following days we talked together every afternoon, if I’m not with my friends. They thought I was crazy. It was hard picturing out the campus hottie together with a little girl. I told them to say whatever they want. Emma might want my opinion for fashion and dating tips; she might grow up into a lovely chick.

“You don’t understand, Summer,” my boyfriend, Jagger, objected. We were near the basketball court, arguing again.

“No- it’s you who doesn’t understand,” I shot back. “Why would you always act like that? I’m sick of you being jealous.”

“Summer, I don’t want anyone to take advantage of you,” he snapped. He grasped my shoulders with both hands.

I threw my hands up and whisked his hands away. “Take advantage? Are you out of your mind?” My voice cracked a little.

“Maybe I am,” he said bitterly. “And if you don’t want to listen, fine. Go out with Jake. Go with him and let him screw you.” He glared at me and then turned his back. He left without even looking back.

I slapped my forehead and ran my fingers down my hair in surrender. God. I loved Jagger so much, but he’s just nuts in keeping me for himself. He thought he owned me. We have already discussed this a million times before, but now look at us.

I headed for the garden, my sanctuary. I don’t want to go anywhere too noisy. And I needed someone to talk to.

A hand tugged my tank top. “Hey!” I cried, startled. I spun around.

“You look ready to cry,” Emma commented. She crossed her arms.

“You scared me,” I confessed. I noticed she was wearing the shirt I’ve given her for her birthday. She looked really cute.

We settled down the bench. I buried my face into my hands, and for a while we were silent. Finally, I looked up and she said, in a low murmur, “You can share it with me, Summer.”

I straightened up and tucked my hair behind my ears. I let out a long sigh.

“But if you won’t,” she added quickly, “I saw it all, anyway. That guy’s a jerk.”

I chuckled softly at her comment. “Right.” I shifted my position. “I want to cry, Emma. Honestly.”

“Told ‘ya,” she said. “It’ll pass. I’ve seen those situations in those corny movies.” She looked at me, made a face, and smiled.

“I hope so.” I forced a smile back. “But I won’t cry now, thanks to you.”

“I love you, Summer,” she said.

“I love you too, Emma,” I replied. “You’re a real friend.”

“Well, now that you have told me what happened and if you’ll just always tell me how you feel, you don’t have to be sad anymore,” she said.

I did not see Jagger the next day. Who cares?

Well, I did. I just hated to admit it. I missed him, and I wanted so much to see him. Just a glimpse of his damn, mesmerizing face.

My prayer was granted just before I stepped out the classroom at the end of last period.

“Summer Sheldon,” Mr. Farren, our Math teacher, called. “I got something for you. He held out two sheets of paper.

I took them, and saw that it was homework for tomorrow. “But I already got a copy,” I protested.

“No, that’s for Jagger,” he said. “I know you knew him. If you could just give it-”

“Sure,” I agreed immediately. I was about to shout, “Yes!” but it would be embarrassing. “Sure.”

“I’ll give you extra credit,” he offered.

I climbed down my Porsche and drove through Parkside Drive. The long way to Jagger’s. Why? I guess I just wanted to think about what to say when I get there. I don’t want a lousy conversation later. He might still be angry.

Wait- I haven’t told Emma I’ll be away. Gosh. She might be waiting for me the whole afternoon. Where was she, anyway? I haven’t seen her. If I had, I would not have forgotten to tell.

I parked my car a few houses away from Jagger’s. I didn’t want him to know I drove all the way through.

I nervously walked towards his house. My hands were cold. Brr. What if he’ll reject me? No… definitely no. He’s crazy over me. He’s just overreacting.

His parents’ Sedan was nowhere to be found. They probably had a business trip.

I pressed the doorbell and waited. My hands clutched the papers carefully, tightly, that it ached. I pressed again. After several minutes that no one answered, I went in myself.

He wasn’t in the den. Nor in the kitchen or in the pool. I headed upstairs.

The sound of cold water was crisp, absolutely clear. Great. So he was in the shower.

I knocked twice at the bathroom door and got in. The shower curtain was closed. “Hey, Jagger,” I called out. “I brought something. It’s for you. And I have an appointment to keep, so you’d better get out of that shower fast.”

Silence.

“Come on, Jagger.” I looked at my reflection in the mirror. I looked good, perfectly stunning.

“Jagger…” I called out playfully. He still did not answer.

Playing games, huh? “I know you’re there, Jagger. And if you won’t speak, I’ll open the curtain myself,” I threatened. Still silent. I laughed.

Oh, well. He’s in it now. Typical of Jagger, and we do play a lot. “You won’t say anything?” I said out aloud. “Here I come!”

I pulled the shower curtain apart – and screamed.

A chill shriek escaped my throat.

Jagger was lying on his back. Blood was all over him, the water slowly washing it away. His throat was open. I saw flaps of butchered skin in his chest, his abdomen. He was all cut up. And there was a stump of blood clot and a grayish mass above his head, as if a sharp, heavy object had smashed it.

I gagged. “Oh. Oh God… no.” I wanted to embrace him and get him out of here. But I stepped back, scared. The papers crumpled. Hot tears fell down my cheeks.

Jagger – dead. Oh God. This couldn’t be true. But it was.

I felt dizzy. I felt like throwing up, so I clamped a hand on my mouth.

And that’s when I saw the red paint. Or was it blood? Right there on the wall beside the shower. I saw my name, and it caught my attention. I read the words, slowly, trying to absorb everything: So did you get my point, bastard? I warned you before. I told you not to hurt her. But you did. Summer’s mine. I love her so much. I’ve been having fantasies about her. Sometimes, erotic dreams. I’ve been longing to kiss her the way you did when you made out last time. I’ve been wanting to make her mine. I know I can’t. But you hurt her. Call me a maniac. But I love Summer. She’s hot. She’s mine.

I blinked. I felt so sick. Who had written it? Who?

A loud crash followed. I spun around, shocked.

And I saw my boyfriend’s executor. Little Emma, blood all over her clothes – the ones we shopped together last Christmas – a knife in her hand, her eyes staring menacingly at me.

___________________________________________________________________________

I am twenty-nine now, but I can’t ever forget that day. The police never believed me; instead, I was the one who went to jail and spent the rest of my adolescent years there, when I should have been falling in love again, skinnydipping with friends, partying, enjoying youth. Instead, I was plagued with nightmares, and the worst of all, I was plagued with her.

I’m out of the jailhouse now, but she never disappeared in my life. She always calls me her “special friend” and that she’s waiting for me.

She would visit me in my dreams, in my jail cell, outside my apartment, just waiting for me to come with her.

And she never grew up. Still nine years old, still with her big brown eyes. But no, I don’t ever think I find her cute, not anymore.

Oh my god, there she is again, outside my window as I am typing this story.

Maybe I should come with her now, just to end. Or I can put a bullet inside my brain.

After all, I’ve told you about me, and most especially about her. You have been warned.

If you see a nine-year-old girl with jet black hair and brown eyes and…..

(c) 2003

Credit To: Vivien Marie Lopez

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