The Hallowed Walls of a House of the Past

The car rolls down the rocky road, bumping up and down with each rock hit. The road is made of pebbles and loose rock- someone could easily get into an accident if they weren't careful. I look out the car window and watch the trees wiz by me. They're dead as door nails.

I turn my attention back into the inside of the car. I feel dead inside. Just like the trees. I don't know why I agreed to this. It sounded so- so...I don't know what it sounded like. I guess I just thought that it would be amusing. Visiting the place where I was born. Visiting the place where my Father died.

I feel the car bumping up and down. My stomach lurches- not just because of the road. A building has appeared in the distance.

It looks the same, really. Almost as big as a mansion, and too large to qualify as a house. I take a deep breath in.

The house gets bigger as we drive further. I feel that sinking feeling in my stomach again. Why was I even here? Why had I agreed?

I wasn't getting the house. I wasn't renting it. I wasn't staying in it. I was just visiting. Why had I just come to visit?

A cold sensation wells up inside of me as the car comes to a halt. I feel like I've been dumped in a vat of ice water. I hear the driver step out of the car and slam the door. I don't dare look in front of me, fearing what I might see in front of the dashboard.

I hear a small click, and the door opposite of me opens. I struggle to step out, trying to act as normal as possible.

My sandals meet the rough rock under me, and I slip. The taxi driver catches me and smiles. I give a jittery and unconvincing nod back.

"What time would you like me to pick you up, miss?" He asks, his tone pleasant as he adjusts his hat.

"Umm...." I glance at my watch. 2:00. It takes all my strength not to tell him to just take me home now. "3:30 will do fine," I say quickly. I add, "And please, for my sake, be on time!"

The taxi driver nods. "Yes, miss. Good bye for now."

He rounds around the rear of his taxi, and jumps into the drivers seat of the car. I hear the engine turn on, and watch him slowly back out of the mess I used to call a driveway. The car turns and speeds away.

I gulp, and slowly turn to face the house.

The house looks almost identical to the way we left it, except in worse condition. The shutters are gone, the paint is peeling, and one of the pink roof shingles is on the ground, right next to the cellar door that's dented.

I bite my lip. I don't want to go in this house. It holds too many memories. But I either go in the house or wait an hour and a half for the taxi to return.

I hate to admit it, but I have to choose wisely. I go into the house.

I step up the dilapidated front porch stairs. The rotted wood creaks with every step, threatening to cave in at any moment. I step carefully, praying that I won't be a victim to this house's brokenness.

I let out a sigh of relief when I make it safely to the door. I reach into my jacket pocket and pull out a set of faded gold keys. I hold my breath as I insert them into the door lock.

I hear a click.

Thank God.

I push open the door and pocket the keys. Inside looks the same as ever, with the exception of lots of dust and a few mangled things here and there.

The entrance room is huge- like a second living room. Cozy patterned couches from the 70's fill the area, and glass coffee tables with vases and dead flowers take up most of the open space. Memories flood into my head. I smile warmly at the thought of this place being filled with people.

I glance around me. Old portraits fill the walls, along with plaques and paintings. I move towards a wall across the room, where I'm drawn to a certain dusty plaque.

I get to the plaque, and give a gentle blow. Dust falls in my face and flies across the room. I cough wildly.

I pat my chest and clear my throat as the dust clears. I turn back to the plaque. At the very top, inscribed in old, swirly lettering, it reads 'HOME- WHERE OUR STORY BEGINS- THE RODEARS'

I manage a small smile as I read the lettering below;

'FRED JAMES

JACKIE GRACE

HANNAH KATHERINE

GEORGE BILL

BENJAMIN FORYSTHE

JAMIE DICKS

BELLA DANE

DAWN AMANDA'

My fingers move across my mothers name...Jackie Grace...

I survey my siblings names. They all sound so angelic, so profound, so formal...

I tear myself away as I get to the second-to-last name. Tears brim my eyes. I don't deserve to be on the plaque. I don't deserve to be in the family.

My eyes sting and I can feel my throat going hoarse. I need to go somewhere else.

I break into a run as I head to the stairs, which are covered carpet and the droppings of an animal. I skid to a stop at the head of the stairs, careful to avoid the animal waste.

As I make my way up the stairs, I peer at the droppings. It's no surprise that something got in, especially in the houses condition. I reach the top of the stairs.

In front of me is a small hallway, with 4 doors. It's so familiar. I can see George and Ben playing checkers in their room, Dawn and Hannah fighting in theirs, and Jamie and I dancing in ours. I feel a slight sensation of hope, and for a moment, I forget what happened in this house. All I can remember is good times.

I blink and shudder at the sight of the last door in the hall. Mom and Father did something in there that I will never forget- many things happened in that bathroom that cannot be undone.

Jamie died because she did something in that bathroom. We almost had another brother because of something that Mom and Father did. And I can still smell the stench of blood from what George did to Penny Lewis in the bathroom that one fateful day.

I hold my breath and follow the stairway up one more flight of stairs, determined to get away from the sight of the last door on the left.

This staircase had no sign of animal waste, which was a relief to me. I slowly climbed the stairs, ascending into the last floor of the house. I reached the top.

There was only one door- my mother and father's bedroom. I shook as I reached for the handle. I don't know why I wanted to go in- this was the last place I would want to enter in this house, worse than the bathroom.

And yet I feel that I need to do this, to face what I most feared. The walls in this house knew what had happened here. I feel sick as thoughts swirled around in my head, faster and faster.

I yank at the doorknob and pushed.

I am greeted by a gust of wind, coming from an open window. I pull my jacket on tighter as I paced around the room. There is a single bed, with 2 dressers on either side and a table in front. The huge bed takes up most of the space.

I stare at the bed with wide eyes, as if wondering if it is going to jump at me. I can't erase it from my mind, not the memory, not the vision...

My father had killed my mother here, my beautiful, loving, amazing, mother of 6, about to be 7. I was there, and I saw it. Hidden beneath the bed covers I had seen the rumble, seen the feet move back and forth, heard the yelling and screaming...

And I had seen my father murder my mother, by pushing her out of the window, and laughing as he had watched her fall to her death. And I was the one who had leapt up, I was the one who had been overcome in fury, revenge enveloping me, and hatred taking over.

I had always hated my father. But he had gone too far.

I snap back to reality. Tears are rolling down my cheeks, like little rhinestones. I'm curled up in a ball on the bed, sobbing hysterically into a stained pillow that had once belonged to my mother.

This house is filled with hatred, with regret, with sorrow. I don't know why I have come. I don't know why I have lived. I don't know why my father hated us so much. I don't know why he killed my mother. I don't know why I had killed him.

Outside, I hear a low rumble, and stones getting picked up and kicked aside. I sniff and blow my nose. My face is red, and I can feel more tears coming.

I hear a honk outside. The nice taxi driver has returned.

I slowly get up and make my way towards the door. Then, clutching my mothers pillow to my chest, I turn, and begin walking the opposite way of the door.

I don't deserve to live. I don't deserve to live...

I look out the window. I don't deserve to live...

And I fall.

I open my eyes. I'm surrounded by black. Nothing is around me. A cold breeze sweeps me off my feet. Is this a dream? Am I in Heaven?

I blink again. Wait... no, it can't be!

I'm holding onto my mothers pillow. I... am I still alive? I shrug my shoulders, and feel a soft fabric against my ears. I landed in a pile of leaves! A bush! But...how?!

My mind races as I sit up. I come face to face with a window. I crane my neck to see inside. It's George and Ben's room!

I don't believe it!

"Miss, are you alright?!"

I hear a familiar pleasant voice from below. I carefully climb over brambles and look below me.

The taxi driver is there, with his hands cupped around his mouth. I shake my head, unbelieving.

"But... I was supposed to die!" I protest to the sky. I feel the tears welling up in my eyes again.

"I don't believe you pushed yourself out enough for you to go over the bush, miss!" the taxi driver calls up.

I feel tears slipping down my cheeks. A knot in my stomach tightens. "Why am I still here?" I whisper to myself. "I don't deserve--"

"Miss." the Taxi driver speaks. I look him straight in the eye, holding my mothers pillow as close to my body as possible.

It takes all my courage to say the words. "Y-yes-s?"

"Miss.." I see understand-ment in the mans eyes. But he can't---no one could understand what I've been through. And yet, he seems as though he does.

"Miss," he begins again. "No one deserves to die. You mustn't live in regret all your life."

My head is spinning. I clutch my forehead, my brain throbbing.

And suddenly, it happens. I realize what I've been doing wrong all this time.

No one deserves to die.

No one deserves to die.

You can't live in regret all your life.