I awoke to the sound of the television in the den blaring. My usual intention would be to turn it off, but some fiber in my body wouldn’t budge.
The strong smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted up my nostrils. It danced around, triggering my senses. An overwhelming desire for coffee washed over me. I desperately wished my favorite morning beverage would magically appear on my nightstand.
Something soft brushed against my hand. I jerked it away at first, forgetting that Toby, my Golden Retriever, had slept with me my night before. He furiously licked my hand, tickling it with is rough tongue.
Against my desire, I rolled out of bed to stroke him. When he saw my face, his tail wagged excitedly. I gently patted him on the head. His tongue drooped lazily from his mouth, causing a rather goofy expression.
With a feeble chuckle I headed over to my vanity. My own timid reflection stared back at me. I ran my fingers through my blue-black hair in frustration. Flyaway’s were strung in every direction.
I noticed barely visible gray bags under my eyes. I sighed and reached for the foundation. As I dabbed at my fake completion, I couldn’t help but overhear the television in the den again.
It was another story about the many disappearances occurring around our neighborhood. They were yet to find any suspects, let alone a guilty party. I rolled my eyes and began searching through my brain for an answer with the provided clues.
In my mind, I knew it had to be Scary Cary. She was the elderly woman at the end of our road. Her house was decaying, and she always had the same unpleasant scowl on her face.
Ever since I heard the rumors about her, I didn’t even dare the go near the end of our street. Epically since she was a retired trauma surgeon, and I defiantly needed a few things inside me to live.
When I was younger, the rumor was that she had killed several patients in her practices, but she managed to keep the secrets buried. This was rather simple for her, considering her whole household raised suspicions.
Her husband Harry was the one who really seemed off. Her was a retired woodshop teacher. He only had three fingers on his left hand, which really spooked us all. Not even once after his retirement did he leave the safety of his home. Let alone the basement.
That’s why I suspected her for our city’s recent crimes. I had always been into this kind of stuff. Ever since I was little I loved anything scary. Even a good mystery would satisfy my craving for a good scare.
For some reason, I enjoyed those sleepless nights hiding under the covers. Or maybe even not sending a piece of chain mail for once. I had conquered Baby Blue, Bloody Mary, and even The Midnight Game.
Not one had truly scared me. Sometimes I just pretended for the fun of it. I would even sneak behind the sofa and watch Saw with my brother Matt. Anything to get me truly scared.
I tried it all to no avail. Although I do have a lot of stories now that it’s all over with. Oddly enough though, I still enjoy scary things. I still crave them. That’s why I’m sharing this story with you.
On that breezy fall morning, I had decided to investigate. I got dressed myself in a warm Abercrombie & Fitch sweatshirt and headed for my bike, the only transportation for a fourteen year old girl. I tossed a Gatorade and my Droid into the basket and began my bike’s examination.
After dusting off a few cobwebs, I stopped to listen to an odd clicking noise. It was the sound of stilettos. I knew it was Ashley. I turned to see her in a pink tank top and mini skirt. The only warmth she had was a knitted lilac scarf.
“Laci,” she flashed me her winning smile. I watched as she began to wrap her curly platinum blonde hair around her pointer finger, waiting for a reply.
“Hey Ashley,” I said in a cheery tone, forcefully kicking the keg on my bike. I sat down and stared at a yellow leaf that had fluttered down into my basket. It had tiny brown blotches on it.
“Are you headed to Cary’s?” she asked mischievously. She smirked and walked up to me. “You shouldn’t go there,” she whispered.
I ignored the serious tone around us. “Why is that?” I asked dumbly. I knew good and well what she would say. To me it didn’t matter. She thought everything was dangerous.
“Cary’s crazy. Something is wrong with her. C’mon, we both know Harry didn’t just… die,” she stuttered. “He was perfectly healthy.”
“Are you coming or not?” I asked icily. “I have to go get Becka.”
“I’ll go get my scooter,” she sighed, trotting off to her house. I knew she’d give in. She always did.
Moments later, I found myself hidden behind a shrub on Cary’s property. I watched as she drove away in her damaged Chevy, leaving clouds of dust in her place. When the coast was clear, I ran across Cary’s lawn, hoping there was no innocent bystanders.
I neared the back of her house with a sense of accomplishment. The only thing left to do was find an entrance. Since the house was partially rotted, I knew there had to be an old door somewhere.
After a few minutes of searching, I stumbling upon some stone steps leading to an old cellar door. I knew I could get in from here. I again crossed the lawn, motioning for Becka and Ashley to make a break for it.
They barreled towards me, seceding and making it safely onto the walking path. We exchanged high fives before the girls actually realized what I was up to. When Ashley saw the door, her mouth popped open, but slammed shut with much force. Even if she did whine, we were going in.
“Becka, hand me a rock,” I asked, politely sticking out my hand.
“ I don’t know Laci, these seems dangerous. Someone could be in there. If we get caught, they might call the police.”
I rolled my eyes. “Give me a rock!” I nearly screamed. Suddenly I remembered I needed to my quiet. Becka nervously handed me a rather large stone. As I hurled it towards the door, it never crossed my mind how much I would need to take it back later.
A boom echoed throughout the stairwell before the door settled slightly ajar. Awesome. We were in. I raced down the stairs, straight into blackness. I couldn’t even see my hand in front of my face.
My eyes began to adjust to my dark surroundings. I could see cobwebs, and I was slightly appalled by the smell of mildew. There was several cardboard boxes to my left, and an old rusty table saw to my right.
The saw was Harry’s. There was no doubt in my mind. Chills ran up my spine as I reached out to touch it. An unknown presence seemed to lurk over me. It was like a warning. I resisted my urge and placed my hands at my sides.
I resumed my exploring, hoping I would run into any mice or rats down here. Out of nowhere, a door slammed. It was followed by a soft clicking sound. Something had locked the door behind me.
I actually felt scared for a moment, but I managed to brush it off. I convinced myself that Becka and Ashley were screwing with me, and had never followed me inside in the first place. Something inside me crumpled the idea up like a wasted piece of paper. I knew that wasn’t true.
When I couldn’t stand the darkness any longer, I made a break for the stairs. I silently stomped up them, careful not to make a sound. I flung open the wooden door, entering what looked like a dining room.
There was oak hardwood underneath my sneakers. It glistened, reflecting the bright chandelier. I stared at the grandfather clock in the corner. It was dusty, looking to be a decent age. Wine glasses were set at each chair, along with pearl china plates.
I began my journey to the second floor, flinging open the first door I saw. I quickly hid behind it. I listened a water source shut off. Someone sauntered out of the bathroom, making the bedroom room rather humid.
They stood in front of the vanity, their auburn hair sparkling. It was Sarah, Cary’s housekeeper.
She twirled around, smiling at her reflection. She primped, applying apple red lipstick. She cautiously looked around before opening the jewelry box on the dresser. She pulled out a diamond ring and a gracious pearl necklace.
My eyebrows knitted together. She did not live here. My jawed sagged to my knees when I realized she was stealing them. She dropped a few more gems into her purse, and I fought my urge to jump out and corner her. She did not live here. She had definitely stole them.
When she exited the kitchen, I left the room and snuck down the hallway. As I neared the end, I flung open one of the last doors. It was an office. Cary’s office.
I had hit the jackpot. If Cary was guilty, some kind of clue had to be here. I sat down in the vinyl chair, rubbing it with my hands. I turned on the ancient computer, groaning as it asked for a password.
They had to be written down. Cary’s memory was awful, everyone knew that. I dug through the drawers in her desk, not bothering to clean up after myself. I found the password written on a orange sticky note.
I silently applauded myself typing it into the system. It granted me access, and I began to surf through her personal files. I looked at all of her juicy photos and accomplishments, feeling as if I had failed. Nothing here proved her guilty. I sighed, tapping my chin. I needing to think.
I stared at the ocean blue carpet, searching for an answer. My eyes landing on the file cabinets. I jumped up, ready the search them. I thumbed through them, reading every heading. The very last folder didn’t have a label. I pulled it out, sitting it on the desk. When I opened it, I couldn’t believe my eyes.
There was medical records for every person who had disappeared. I slammed it shut, my eyes continuing to grow in size. Now I knew Cary had to be guilty. There was not other explanation on this planet. Not one.
I looked indirectly at the closet in front of me. A muffled cry seemed to be coming from it. I calmed myself, trying my hardest to listen. I had to strain, but I heard the noise again. Curiosity overcame my fear in the end, and I slowly began to approach the door.
I was shaking as I reaching for the knob. I closed my eyes tightly, forcing it open with all my might. There laid Ashley, curled into fetal position. A horrific expression had taken over her usually beautiful face. She looked like she’d seen a ghost. Or something even worse, possibly.
“ Oh my gosh Ashley!” I cried, dropping to my knees. “Who did this to you?”
“Harry,” she stuttered. “He’s alive. He put me here.”
I swallowed fearfully, not wanting to hear the rest. I heard a noise coming from the computer. I went over to it, realizing I had received an anonymous instant message.
I gasped as I read it.
Anonymous: Do you smell that?
Actually I did smell something, that’s what scared me. A high-pitched beep sounded nearby. It was the fire alarm. Smoke rushed in from under the door. I screamed, grabbing Ashley from the closet.
I drug her down the hallway, nearly cutting off her circulation. I rushed into the very last doorway, which was a stairway leading to the attic. We ran up it as fast as our legs could carry us. Beads of sweat formed on my forehead as the temperature began to rise.
This room was also filled with gray smoke. My lungs nearly collapsed as I breathed it in. I feel to my nears as my legs gave out. I could literally feel the deprivation of clean air.
My knees carried my to the window, and my vision began to blur. As I reached up to unlatch it, a shadowy figure appeared above me. That’s when it all went black. I woke up a few hours later in the woods near the house.
I saw the flashes of blue and red as I peered through a bush. Fire trucks and ambulances surrounded the pile of ashes that used to be a house. Everything has burned, but somehow I had ended up here.
As I saw Ashley being wheeled into one of the ambulances, I rushed out of hiding. I reached for her, but a fireman caught me, lifting me up off the ground. I kicking furiously, attempting to escape. He shushed me, covering my eyes.
“We’ve got another one!” he yelled to a EMT. He rushed over to me, placing me on a stretcher. As he handed me an oxygen mask, I couldn’t help but wonder if Ashley was okay, or if Becka even existed any more.
I placed the mask over my mouth and nose, breathing in the purified air. It felt amazing. So amazing, that I ignored the spreading pain of the needle they had placed in my arm. A nurse grabbed my hand, gently scrubbing off some of the coal black soot.
The next thing I knew an angry looking policeman stormed through the doors of the vehicle. The pudgy nurse turned around looking rather flustered.
“So?” she asked, continuing to scrub my hands.
“We found the remains of Sarah Burgess and Harry Hudson,” he sighed.” But the remains of Cary Hudson and Becka Branovitch are missing.” I gasped, trying not to deprive myself of air. I couldn’t believe this was happening.
And I still can’t believe it did. Today I’m sitting on a rock in the middle of the pond behind Cary’s destructed home. Ashley is in a mental facility, and Becka hasn’t been seen since the fire. As for me? I haven’t been quite right since.
I have burn scares all over my torso, and I get horrific visions every so often. The worst park still haunts me though. It’s the fact that Cary’s remains were never found. Sometimes I feel like someone’s watching me. And maybe, just maybe, Someone really is.
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