Hands Grasping Nothing Molly sat with her arms crossed, not the least pleased that the nearly dead pickup she was in had surrendered the ability to run its heater years ago. While not nearly cold enough to see her breath, she still shivered from the constant draft in the cab. However, she had no regrets; it had taken months to just to find the old man, and a few weeks and several hundred dollars to get his attention - to say nothing of his help. He had proven reluctant to assist her, but in the face of his mounting medical bills he eventually relented to her offerings of cash for simply taking her to the house. Months of research were going to come to fruition, as she had finally found what she desperately searching for: an undeniably haunted house. For years she had been spending her trust fund to find a real one. After tiring of a youth spent at exotic beaches and exclusive parties, she desired to see something few people did, something unique no one could spoil for her. After indulging in various thrills of danger, she soon began to take interest in the unexplained, particularly the notion of ghosts. In time she soon befriended other haunting investigators, only to find that they confirmed her fears that true hauntings were extremely rare, and far from consistent. Yet, as she gained their trust, a few let slip that there was one house that was different. Every night, without fail, an apparition would appear and walk slowly through the residence, only to evaporate in the early morning. Her excitement withered though upon learning that not only was no one sure about where it was, and that only a handful had been able to get permission from the owner, which proved to be the greater obstacle. Riding along in the old man’s future scrap donation, Molly felt the excitement of knowing she would be one of the few to see the place. Though the old man’s silence along the way drained her some, as she could not understand why he had tried so hard to convince her to not go. The money bought his silence, not his approval. As the house came into view among the trees that nestled it, she was disappointed to see it was nothing special. A small, typical two story, windows intact, paint faded but not chipping; high grass, but no spindly trees with bony extensions. As she pulled her pack out of the back of the truck, the old man cleared his throat. “It’s not too late to go back…I’ll give you the money back” She paused, “I appreciate the concern, but I don’t scare easily, I used to cliff dive.” “It’s not the fear you should be afraid of. You’ll come out different, they all do” “What do you mean?” she responded, somewhat perplexed by how direct he was suddenly being. He was quiet for a moment, that heavy silence one uses to make sure that their next words carry the proper weight. His lower lip trembled just slightly, and he slowly spoke to her. “What you see in there, it changes you. I can’t say how, I am sorry but I do not know the word that would tell you, it just….changes you. It changed me he said, his words fading. She stared in shock, and genuinely struggled to regain her composure. His eyes carried an intensity she never saw in the other people she had met over the years. Moreover, they were honest, the brutal honesty we claim to desire but avoid at all costs. Yet she had come too far, and she could not turn her back with her goal so close at hand. “Th-thank you, but, I need to do this” she stated, and did her best to stare back at him with same resolve. Their eyes locked, and for a moment she something behind his eyes; not anger, but a weary form of compassion. Grabbed by a sudden need to look away, she started towards the front door, as the old man had told her where to find the key earlier. “I’m going in now, we’ll meet back her in the morning, right?” He simply nodded, and turned away, driving off with no hesitation; she noticed he did not even look back. She stood silently for a moment, then slowly turned and entered the house after retrieving the key. Opening the door, she felt the still air shift with her presence. Through the doorway, there was a small den with chairs surrounding the hearth, and against the wall was an ancient floor model television, complete with a wooden cover to hide the screen. Nothing adorned the walls beyond a rather lifeless landscape painting, though discolored squares framed the location of former hangings. Realizing she knew little of the background of the house she gently perused the shelves, but found nothing but standard books, dictionaries, and a few cookbooks. She felt uncomfortable in this plainness, not understanding how people could feel alive in such an environment. A sly smile crossed her lips as she adjusted the landscape, marveling at her interior design instincts. Doing so was almost worth the coating of dust that now graced her fingers. This den connected to the kitchen, which was empty of appliances save an oven and sink. Again, she found little relief from simple utility, and was glad nothing in her pack needed cooking. Though, she reluctantly admitted, it did have a certain charm, free from other distractions it was clear this was a kitchen just for fixing food, not entertaining nor relaxation. That bothered her though, as there was a pervading sense of dread here. Why did such an empty kitchen disturb her so? Despite being unused for decades, the kitchen seemed quite clean, as if someone had practically lived there. A sense of discomfort came over her and she decided it was best to leave this room. Entering the dining room, this discomfort only increased, as she gazed at the basic table and chair set that was its sole occupant. One chair was at the head, with two chairs flanking it. The side chairs were across from one another, but were positioned more than half a table length away from the head chair. Noticing the aged carpet, she saw deep indentions from the chair legs at either side at only a half table length away. There was a feeling of unease looking at those chairs, a sense that things had changed in a way that could not be reversed. She sat reluctantly at the head of the table, and ate her supper in silence, realizing her cellphone had no signal. Whereas she had felt playful in the den, the dining room caused her to eat quickly, desiring to leave the room as soon as she began to fill the same stifling atmosphere as the kitchen in here. People had eaten countless meals here; more than likely in a still silence. She was not sure how she knew this, but the longer she sat there the more she knew it was true. This room trapped things that had never been said and many things that should not have been. The second floor proved empty aside from basic furnishings, and after exploring the rooms Molly chose to camp out in the den, thankful that the sun had stayed out leaving the house with a mild warmth. Placing down her book, she watched as the amber light rays slowly faded. The house lapsed effortlessly into darkness. Turning on a portable lantern, she began to wait, her time in the den had eased he earlier misgivings and that familiar sense of disappointment creeped in. She had done this many times now and every time and had been greeted by nothing but silence. This disappointment faded with the sound of thump at the top of the staircase. From the den, she could not see the staircase, and decided to hold her position and wait. Several minutes passed until another thump joined its predecessor, but this time slightly lower down the stairs. There was only a slight response from the wood of the steps, the thumps not seeming to sound right to her. They were heavy, yet the house did not react. Surrendering to impatience she proceeded to the staircase and looked up the stairs. At the top of stairs she saw the vague outline of a person, and was about to address it when she noticed she could still see the wall behind it. The figure at the top was faded, giving the impression of slacks and suit, but this fading effect kept the face from clear view. Not knowing why exactly, but she knew somehow the apparition was male. Her excitement building, Molly stepped upon the first step for a better look. The figure came down slowly, but keeping the pace with the previous thumps that had announced its presence. He walked stiffly, his arms at his sides and there was no motion aside from the barest needed to walk down the staircase. As he approached, Molly was given a clear view of his head. Witnessing the face changed everything for her. Between flesh and bone, a hazy outline of a partially covered skull was before her. The mouth flowed from lips to teeth and back, never settling on a final form. The hair stayed fairly immutable, aside from the color cycling from a dark color to a paler one, and appeared well kept. Nothing compared to his eyes, though. While the rest of the apparition was dynamic, the emptiness where the eyes should be was disturbingly static. Empty pools of black, yet somehow they showed signs of function, as if they could focus on her despite being nothing. So lost in this gaze, Molly did not notice that now the figure was only a step away from her. Her breathing stopped, as her body froze as her mind went blank. Those eyes, those damnable eyes, peered into her, and she felt reason fail her. There was no explaining this; no comforting theory to drive it away. What stood before her was the unknown incarnate, an existence she could not categorize. Had this not been what she craved? Something only she would know, something she could never truly grasp. But where excitement was to dwell she now only felt regret, as she would have given anything to not see those eyes. There was no malice, no danger, but only a deep sadness. That was what shook her so terribly. Fear would cause flight, and in time would go away once she was safe. His sadness had no escape. His hands soon rose softly from his hips and reached out for her. To her surprise, she did not shrink away, but leaned forward to feel his touch, part of her yearning that maybe feeling her face would give him some respite. Despite the slight chill to the air, she felt nothing as his hands cradled her cheeks. Her tears building up in her eyes, she gently mouthed “I’m sorry” as his hands slipped back to his sides. For a brief moment, a low moan seemed to permeate the house. The figure then passed through her and slowly walked to the dining room. Sitting at the chair at the head of the table, the figure simply sat till morning, and with daybreak quickly phased out of view, the chair having never moved. Molly had kept a silent vigil, a small part of her hoping the other chairs would provide company. With the dawn, she silently gathered her things, unaware of the warm tears that occasionally streaked down her face. The trembling of her lip she assigned to the cold, trying to put the evening behind her. All pretenses of self control left her as the old man approached her once she got outside. Their eyes locked once more, only this time she understood the sadness he nearly hid. “Did you see…it?” he ventured. “Yes” was all she could say before her tears overtook her. “I should have stopped you…I’m truly sorry” stammered from the man that could no longer meet her gaze. She stood there for a moment, gaining her composure, her next words simply flowed out organically, with no real thought behind them. “Is that all there is?” was all she could manage before her sobs required her breath. Silence was his only reply, and with that he walked back to the truck, gently motioning her to follow. Climbing in, she fastened her seatbelt and turned to him. “You were right” she admitted to him as he drove her back to town. This time she did not notice the temperature, and thought nothing about the truck itself. Only the relief of a live body next to her entered her thoughts, and was a welcome distraction from the emptiness that had taken residence in her heart. “You were right” she softly whispered to herself, as she looked back at the house where she left her innocence.
Posted on: Thu, 09 Oct 2014 23:44:22 +0000
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