From Within My Home

A short "story"

I am going to tell you a story. Just a short one, before our business is finished. It’s simply about the one place that I exist. It is my home, and I do love it so. You ask for my name? As of this moment my name is not important. Just know that I have lived here all my life, or at least, what I still remember of it.

It is a fantastic house, sits right between two homes of similar design, but has been here much longer. I think they built those homes to make the street seem more symmetrical. All the same to me, all the passersby know nothing of my being here, and those who would remember me, remember my home much less. The inside of the house to you would seem less exciting. I have very few furniture in my home, just a comfortable chair that has been here for so long I forgot who it once belonged to, and a wooden chair that sits in the attic, next to the window that gets the early morning sun. I moved it there because I like to feel the warmth of it after I wake. I don’t own a bed; I just sleep.

There isn’t much else to tell you, I haven’t really seen it all myself; I’m blind, you see. Have been for many years, so long so that I don’t remember why. What I do know is that it over the years I have become much more capable with my other senses, my hearing for example will let me know if a car has turned onto my road, and from which direction, and where it is going. My sense of touch has allowed me to learn every inch of my home, so that even being blind does not stop me from roaming my house as though I can fly. And as for smell, this is the one sense I cherish most of all. I love the smells coming from my home, the aged wood, the clean-to-rusted steel, even the bricks smell of old.

I loved living in my home, and for years it had never been interrupted. Many years ago there was a family that lived here, but they disappeared just about the time that I chose to move in. But recently, someone decided they would like to live in my home; regardless that it was mine.

He was an older man, and at first he was quite disruptive. It didn’t seem to take him to long to move in; I believe he had help. I decided to leave him be, and for the first day, I just sat up in my attic.

The next few days were the most awful days that I have ever had in that house, and I did consider chasing him out. His existence consisted of banging around the house, a constant tapping noise following him wherever he went, a sort of notice of when he was asleep, or eating, or using the toilet. I tried to ignore him, waiting till he was asleep to go downstairs for a bit, which entailed me banging around on his new furniture just trying to find my way through the now different rooms. With the scrapes and knocks of tables and chairs being bounced around the room, I am surprised I didn’t break any during my escaped to the basement when he would come down to see what was disturbing his sleep.

And this went on, me dodging him and waiting till night before making my appearances, until one day I made quite the discovery. Actually it wasn’t my discovery, it was the neighbors. On the fourth day after his move, they decided to come over and show their appreciation to his apparent “Coming into the community," and upon the finality of the door having been fully opened, I heard one of them gasp. After several beats of silence the only words spoken were, “I think he’s blind, hun!”

I almost couldn’t believe it; this man also happened to be visually incapable of seeing me! It was almost ridiculous to me why I hadn’t noticed it before; his constant tapping was almost friendly in nature now, showing just how similar we were to each other. It was at that moment that I decided that I liked him, and that I could learn to live with him.

Since that day things became quite easy. Even in broad daylight I would wander around my home; I soon learned his furniture as easily as my house, and only so often would I bump into one. He apparently didn’t like this; every time it happened he would become silent, and stand there, as if waiting for it to happen again, or for someone to say, “I’m here!” I never said a word; not because I was shy, or I couldn’t speak. I just decided that I would rather not.

But as you know, all good things must die off, and it didn’t take long before he started to become a nuisance again. After a few months of me bumbling around in my own house, he seemed to become annoyed with it, and started to move the furniture around every so often; every day in fact. I figure he was doing it just to annoy me, and it was working. 

After the eighth day of this, on my way through the living room, I realized that he had arranged the furniture so that there existed a wall, and in order to get back to the basement I would have to move them. So in my anger, I made one table slide through the room. And apparently he was sitting in the chair next to it. It startled him and caused him to quickly stand knocking his stick to the floor.

When it was done bouncing, he spoke, “Who’s there?” The voice bounced around the room for a second, which only made him tense.

“Why do you keep moving my damn furniture?” This came a bit quicker, as though he was beginning to fear what was happening. I slowly started to move for the kitchen, keeping focused on where the voice was coming from.

“I know your there d****t, I can hear you!” This time the sound was closer; he was moving towards me, towards the wall of chairs and tables.

“I do not fear you.” He did. “I will not let you scare me.” Even though I knew it would comfort him to hear my voice, I stayed silent. I figured he deserved it for invading my home, and for trying to make me obvious, when all I wanted was for him to just be quite. It wasn’t too much to ask, not in my own house. After that he quickly walked outside and sat on his porch chair for the rest of the night; I figure he was hoping I would just go away.

The next day was the one that made me begin to hate him. He was sitting in the living room, staring like he was waiting for something. So I decided to sit with him, and see what he was waiting for. When he heard the squeak of the chair next to him, he flinched, but never acknowledged that I was there. I stared at him, becoming slightly annoyed with his demeanor. 

 After a few hours of this, there was a knock at the door, and as though he could see again, he was up, at the door, and had it open. I quickly stood, and moved to the back of the room, in the dark so that whoever it was could not see me.

“Hello father, thank you for coming. Please come in, I know that it’s dark in here, but what does a blind man need the light for eh? Uh, please sit, I-I’ll turn on the lights.” I quickly moved into the other room. They didn’t see me.

“Thank you, is anywhere ok?”

“Uh, yes, sure… um try sitting over there, on the couch. Would you like some coffee?”

“No, I have some in the car. Are you ok Robert?”

“Uh, yes father. I mean, sure, why shouldn’t I be...”

“You seem to be upset; the nuns said that you were frantic when you called. Is there anything I can help you with?” Then the realization hit me; THE NUNS! This man was a PRIEST. This blind fool called a damned priest because of me. A priest was sitting in my living room, sitting in MY HOUSE. I became angry, very angry. I grabbed the nearest thing I could find (I’m sure it was a jar) and I slammed it to the ground. And before it could hit, I disappeared up the stairs. Both the priest and Robert were startled, and neither moved to see what it was.

“What was that Robert?”

“I don’t know; it has never done that before.”

“What do you mean ‘it’ Robert? What did you call me hear for?”

“I am not alone in this house father. Every day, I can hear it, moving my furniture, and walking in the attic. I don’t know what it is, but I know it’s there. I need your help. When I tried to speak to it, I became sick. I felt like something was watching me, something that was angry with me.”

“I will do what I can, but I don’t know if my help is what you need. Did you try the police?”

“No, because after all, nothing was stolen, the windows are still locked; even the doors are in perfect shape. Unless someone has a second key, and I should have the only one, it can’t be another person…”

I wanted him DEAD after what happened next. The priest went from room to room and began blessing each, dropping holy water every step of the way. I wanted to scream. I wanted to kill him. But I stayed silent. That is, until he reached my attic.

As he entered, splashing his water, and speaking his garbage, I was infuriated. I slowly made my way towards him. And when I was close enough, I began to hit him. The first landed on his chest. He began to cough, and wheeze. The second hit his face, causing his nose to bleed violently, and the third sent him back down the stairs, after which I slammed the attic door. I don’t remember what happened after that, I just know he left shortly after.

After I calmed slightly, I made my way through the house, looking for Robert. I was angry, and I wanted to do to him what I did to the priest. But as I made my way through my home, I noticed that the smell of that damned priests water was foul, and it made me want to disappear. It reeked all through the house, even the attic smelled awful. Thankfully, the priest never made it to the basement. I decided to move down there for a while.

The following day, Robert began to move around the house again. I refused to go upstairs, since it still stunk of that priest, but he was cautious. He moved from room to room as though it was filled with spiders, and I became more and more annoyed with him. Still I remained quiet. I didn’t want him to bring that priest back.

That night, I decided to visit Robert in his room. I was still furious with him, so I decided enough was enough. I wanted him gone. He was sleeping. He was snoring. And it annoyed me. I began to poke at him, slowly at first, softly, testing him. He didn’t move. I began to shove him. He moaned. And when I pulled his cover off of him, he only curled. I became furious. WHY ARE YOU IGNORING ME IN MY OWN HOME! I grabbed his leg. I pulled him off his bed; he awoke. He didn’t make a sound.

Sitting there staring at me like I was invisible, but obvious, he wouldn’t move. I could hear his heart beating. I could smell the fear. It made me happy. I began to laugh, loudly. That was when he moved. He jumped for the light, and I hit him. He started to crawl under his bed, and I pulled him back. He tried to hit me, and when he missed, I scratched him. I could feel the blood dripping from my claws. I heard him gasping for air, slowly crawling away from me. I grabbed his leg, and began to drag him downstairs. He struggled; grabbing door frames and furniture, and every time he did, I made him bleed.

When we got to the stairs he grabbed the wood frame; and he wouldn’t let go. So I hit him, again and again, until I could pull him. I pulled him down the stairs, moaning all the way, each one ending with a thump from the next stair down. I pulled him towards the basement. And when he saw where we were going, He screamed. He began to grab at things, trying to pull himself away, or throw them at me, but I didn’t care. We were almost there, almost to the door. I began to smile. It was almost over.

As I tore him to pieces in the darkness of the basement, and began to stuff him into the various holes, and cracks of the house, I began to smile. I was finally happy again. The house was silent. I took his skull, and I laid it with the others in the hole in the dirt, dug just so far into the crawl space. The house was silent. I moved back up to my favorite place; the attic. The house was empty. I entered the room, and sat in my favorite chair; the sun would be up soon, it was almost morning. They would come to look for him soon, and they would find nothing. The furniture would be removed, save for the table and chairs that weren’t his, I wouldn’t let them take those. The sun was up, and I could feel the warmth of it heating up his blood, what still lingered upon me. I smiled.

Now that my story is finished, we can conclude our business. You can still move in, if you wish. My name is not important, but this is my home. Always has been, always will be; my home.

Welcome

Author's Note

First Draft with minor editing, Don't hold back