I woke up to a scream.Assuming it’s my brother’s, I hurry into his room.But he’s still asleep.It’s too early for mom to be home, and we’re the only people in the house.I go downstairs and look out the front door. “You live in the middle of the woods,” I say to myself.“If anyone was out there, you wouldn’t be able to see them.”But I hear the scream again.It’s definitely coming from a young girl.It gives me chills.My dad used to say when you got the chills it means there’s a ghost in the room.She sounded like she was in pain and I feel like I need to help her.But how can I?I don’t know who or where she is.Or if there really is a little girl screaming.So I get comfy on the coach and decide to watch some television. No power.Instead, I go back to bed. When I wake up in the morning again, it’s nearly ten.Still no power.It’s actually a very gloomy day.The house is empty; mom must have taken Joey to school before she went out.I decide that I’m going to take the day off and head to the kitchen to get some cereal.I open the cabinet to a broken bowl.After I pull it out, I realize that the bowl was the same exact one that my dad threw at me years ago.Just looking at it made my head hurt.It was broken in all the same spots.I look down and see my hands bleeding; I rinse it off but, there’s no cut.It came off the bowl. “Stupid Joey,” I assume immediately.“He thinks he’s so funny playing these dumb tricks on me.”But I had a hard time believing that he would do that because we did our best to forget that day.Before I do anything else, I hear the scream again.This time I can determine that it is coming from the basement.And it sounds strangely familiar.As much as I really don’t want to, my curiosity gets the best of me as I approach the basement.I would always get this eerie feeling whenever I even come close to it.I could never actually have the courage to go in it again.But this time I feel drawn.I feel a cool breeze wisp over me as I open the door.And prior to any other movements, I was pushed.I hear the scream as I tumble down the narrow flight of stairs and at the bottom, I lay unconscious. It was like a dream.Before me, replays the day that we nearly never spoke about.Seven years ago, my dad just came home from spending all night, and part of the morning, at the bar.When he came into the kitchen, I ran to give him a hug.Instead, I was greeted with a breakfast bowl to the head.I returned home from the E.R. with seven stitches in my forehead.The doctor’s said to monitor my actions better because this could result in later problems, most likely hallucinations. My mom gone again by the time I heard strange yelling coming from the basement; like my dad was yelling at somebody, who wasn’t there.He hollered upstairs, sounding particularly distressed, telling me to come see him.As I take the last step off the stairs, he grabs me. “Take her!” he screams.“She’s the one you want!”He was sweating violently and had blood dripping from his temple. “Daddy let go,” I pleaded.“You’re hurting me!”But nothing I could say would stop him.He moved his grip to my neck. “This is your fault,” he said.“Once you’re gone, they’ll leave me alone.”The last thing I remember was an illuminated figured hitting my father over the head with a chair.He stumbled backward until he tripped over the now dismantled chair, and fell.Poking out from the center of his chest was another piece of the chair.He died almost immediately. “It’s okay,” the figure said.“You’re father was the one they wanted; not you.And you’re going to be just fine.”My mom found me at the top of the stairs, and my father still in the basement.His death was ruled as accidental. I wake up in the hospital seeing the same figure that I did that night.He winked, and vanished.
“You live in the middle of the woods,” I say to myself. “If anyone was out there, you wouldn’t be able to see them.” But I hear the scream again. It’s definitely coming from a young girl. It gives me chills. My dad used to say when you got the chills it means there’s a ghost in the room. She sounded like she was in pain and I feel like I need to help her. But how can I? I don’t know who or where she is. Or if there really is a little girl screaming. So I get comfy on the coach and decide to watch some television. No power. Instead, I go back to bed.
When I wake up in the morning again, it’s nearly ten. Still no power. It’s actually a very gloomy day. The house is empty; mom must have taken Joey to school before she went out. I decide that I’m going to take the day off and head to the kitchen to get some cereal. I open the cabinet to a broken bowl. After I pull it out, I realize that the bowl was the same exact one that my dad threw at me years ago. Just looking at it made my head hurt. It was broken in all the same spots. I look down and see my hands bleeding; I rinse it off but, there’s no cut. It came off the bowl.
“Stupid Joey,” I assume immediately. “He thinks he’s so funny playing these dumb tricks on me.” But I had a hard time believing that he would do that because we did our best to forget that day. Before I do anything else, I hear the scream again. This time I can determine that it is coming from the basement. And it sounds strangely familiar. As much as I really don’t want to, my curiosity gets the best of me as I approach the basement. I would always get this eerie feeling whenever I even come close to it. I could never actually have the courage to go in it again. But this time I feel drawn. I feel a cool breeze wisp over me as I open the door. And prior to any other movements, I was pushed. I hear the scream as I tumble down the narrow flight of stairs and at the bottom, I lay unconscious.
It was like a dream. Before me, replays the day that we nearly never spoke about. Seven years ago, my dad just came home from spending all night, and part of the morning, at the bar. When he came into the kitchen, I ran to give him a hug. Instead, I was greeted with a breakfast bowl to the head. I returned home from the E.R. with seven stitches in my forehead. The doctor’s said to monitor my actions better because this could result in later problems, most likely hallucinations. My mom gone again by the time I heard strange yelling coming from the basement; like my dad was yelling at somebody, who wasn’t there. He hollered upstairs, sounding particularly distressed, telling me to come see him. As I take the last step off the stairs, he grabs me.
“Take her!” he screams. “She’s the one you want!” He was sweating violently and had blood dripping from his temple.
“Daddy let go,” I pleaded. “You’re hurting me!” But nothing I could say would stop him. He moved his grip to my neck.
“This is your fault,” he said. “Once you’re gone, they’ll leave me alone.” The last thing I remember was an illuminated figured hitting my father over the head with a chair. He stumbled backward until he tripped over the now dismantled chair, and fell. Poking out from the center of his chest was another piece of the chair. He died almost immediately.
“It’s okay,” the figure said. “You’re father was the one they wanted; not you. And you’re going to be just fine.” My mom found me at the top of the stairs, and my father still in the basement. His death was ruled as accidental.
I wake up in the hospital seeing the same figure that I did that night. He winked, and vanished.