On the hill that separated our valley from the next one stood an empty old house. Kids from both valleys would meet there and have friendly games of adventure, pirates one day, explorers the next, and of course it was a natural fort. During the day, the old house was just an old house, but at night it became something eerily different — the haunted house, the house of doom, the den of the devil. Our own imaginations turned it into a terrifying place after dark, a place to avoid. Then, as our two groups grew older, we would play later and later at the house, even after dusk, until one day the challenge was laid down. Halloween was coming up, who would stay the whole night in the old house? Each group drew lots. I won, or I lost the draw in mine.
We arranged to meet in the front yard at sunset. The two challengers would enter the house together. First to emerge before sunrise would not only be the loser but would face the wrath of his own gang. I didn't really think anyone expected us to stay more than a few minutes in the house alone. This gave me just enough courage to go through with it.
The sun was almost set as we approached the house. My gang was with me for support, or to make sure I entered. I knew they'd leave the moment I was inside. It looked terrifying, living up to the images we kids had bestowed upon it. In the setting sun it had already become a malignant silhouette. In the front yard stood a dead tree, its branches reaching out as if to claw a hole in the roof. In the tree, a solitary crow, looking guilty. In the distance, a dog howled. I shuddered. I approached the door and stopped, thinking this was foolish, but I dare not turn back. I looked around for my supporters, but they’d already sneaked away. I was alone. If the other kid didn't show up, I could leave. I wasn't so lucky.
A voice called out, "In here, you're late," It was the boy from the other valley, he was inside the house. If he were trying to psych me out, he'd succeeded. Nothing could have got me to enter that place alone. I went in, switching on my flashlight. "Over here, in the living room, by the window," he said. "I'm just enjoying the remains of the sunset, it's a beautiful view from here." I couldn't believe it; this guy was so cool; he was even wearing sunglasses. We introduced ourselves, his name was Jack. I didn't recognize him.
Apparently, he was new to the other valley. The other gang must have been happy to find sucker in their midst. I led the way upstairs to the main bedroom where there were two old mattresses. It didn't seem too scary as we made ourselves comfortable in sleeping bags. We tucked away prematurely into our midnight snacks. The dog had even stopped howling. Before I knew it, I'd dropped off to sleep, only to awaken suddenly at the sound of an enormous crack of thunder. It was raining and the roof was leaking. I looked over to the other bed. It was empty. Jack had obviously left, what a chicken I thought, briefly elated at the realization I was the winner. I was just as quickly deflated at the realization I was alone in the house of horror. It thundered again, and the dog resumed its howling. I wanted to howl too.
I reached for my flashlight; it was gone. What a rat I thought. I pulled my head into the sleeping bag, then I heard it, creaking, the house began to come alive, banging doors, slithering sounds, viscous slurping, every haunted house cliché, and more that I imagined. It's just the wind I told myself. It's only your imagination I said. I wasn't listening. All I could hear were the soundtracks of every horror movie I'd ever seen; I knew Freddy was out there. Then I heard a tapping sound — tap, tap, tap. It was coming from downstairs. I didn't want to know, I had to get out of there.
I went out onto the landing, stumbled in the dark and dropped my flashlight, my spare one. I got down on my hands and knees to search for it. I shrank as my hand touched something cold and slimy. I jumped back, falling down the stairs. I was ready to run when I heard it again, tap tap tap then a shuffling sound. I raced for the door, grabbing the handle, about to wrench it open and escape when it began to turn in my hand. Suddenly the door jerked open. Not the front door. I'd been confused in the dark. It was the basement door. I screamed in terror at the figure standing there. "Oh, it's you!" it said. It was Jack.
"You scared the heck out of me," I yelled — not too angrily. I didn't want him to take off again.
"And you woke me up," he said, "banging around up there." He told me he'd gone down to the basement because he was getting wet upstairs. He said I looked to be sleeping peacefully and didn't want to disturb me.
"Come on down here,” he said, "It's dry and cosy. There's no point being uncomfortable."
I couldn't believe this kid. None of us had ever dared to go down those basement stairs, not even in the daytime, let alone in the middle of the night during a thunderstorm! Jack was right though, it was dry, and I was able light the candle I had with me. You don't think I'd only have two flashlights along, do you? We spent a very pleasant night, sharing stories, even ghost stories. By now we were like two old friends. Jack gave me such confidence. The way he dismissed all fear of the unknown with a flippant remark, or a logical explanation.
"Did you know?" he said, "the reason there's such a sense of foreboding at the time of a full moon (that night incidentally) is because after dark, the only light available to early people came from the campfire, no one could explain the eerie sounds that came from the darkness beyond. Consequently, everyone stayed put, but a full moon allowed people to sneak around in the shadows and get up to all manner of nasty things."
I'd never thought of it that way before. Eventually we grew tired of chatting and fell asleep. We awoke at dawn, packed our things, then prepared to leave the house. The sun was streaming in.
"Isn't great to feel the sun on your face," said Jack, "It sets you up for the whole day." There was no argument from me.
Since we’d both spent the whole night in this haunted house, Jack suggested that we leave through the front door arm in arm. We did and were met by a tremendous cheer from both gangs. "Thanks Jack,” I whispered, "I couldn't have done it without you. By the way, why is it you're not afraid of the dark." His only reply was to flick her wrist, extending a cane, a white cane.
"You're blind?" I said.
"That's right,” she replied, "I had an advantage. When you're blind, either everything is a ghost, or nothing is! I made my mind up long ago that nothing is." I learned a big lesson from Jack that night — to be afraid of the things I can see, not the things I can't.
No comments:
Post a Comment