Three-Minute Fiction - Round Five

Yes.. I entered again. This time the Judge is Michael Cunningham, author of The Hours and A Home at the End of the World. His requirements were that we begin with the sentence "Some people swore that the house was haunted." and end with "Nothing was ever the same again after that."

Here's my entry.

CONQUERED

Some people swore that the house was haunted. I didn’t care about that. I thought it was beautiful. Falling porches, shutters hanging by a hinge, white paint long since rained away. It sparked my imagination. It made me wonder who had lived there. What had they left behind -- in between the floor boards -- hidden in secret cubbies in the walls?

I had to know. So I committed my first crime at the age of 13. I trespassed, army crawling under the barbed wire and sneaking up the front walk while my little brother waited by the road. No amount of coercion could convince him to come with me. He was afraid of the ghosts. He asked me not to go, but not as heartily as he might have. I thought he felt sibling pride because I was so daring.

When I got to the door, I turned and waved. I didn’t notice that he had wondered dangerously close to the road. As I turned and pushed the door, I barely heard his squeaky, terrified voice asking me to come back. It wasn’t funny anymore. He didn’t want to be left alone.

The door gave way, screeching as its base dragged the floorboards. I stepped into the former great hall, like an explorer onto a new continent, I imagined. The staircase, partially missing, twisted up to the second floor in front of me. Two large rooms flanked the high-ceilinged hall. On the right, an old fireplace, ringed by ornately-carved tiles, held court in an otherwise empty sitting room. To the left, a single arm chair, its color and pattern obscured by dirt, sat in the middle of the former dining room. Beyond the stairs, stretched a dark hallway and at the end another door. Certainly behind that door lay all the mysteries the house was waiting to offer up. I moved down the hall, my mind on fire with excitement. I heard no noise from outside, only the boards beneath my feet and my loudly spinning thoughts.

The door was missing its knob. I pushed. It wouldn’t budge. I put my hand in the hole where the knob should have been and pulled once, twice, harder a third time. The door came out of its socket with a crack. I couldn’t hold its weight. It fell heavily on top of me, knocking the wind from me and showering me with dirt and filth.

Terror filled my heart and the fearless explorer was reduced to a 13 year-old girl. I choked on dust as I sucked for breathe and struggled to squirm out from under the offending door. When I was free, I didn’t pause to look into the room that had only moments before been my personal King Solomon’s Mine. I ran for it.

Still wheezing, I cleared the hallway, jumped the threshold and sprinted up the walk toward the road. I didn’t see Tim, but I couldn’t stop -- the ghosts were hard at my heels. I threw myself to the ground and crawled under the barbed-wire fence.

I stood, brushed at my clothes, wiped my face with my sleeve and looked around. “Tim.” I called, sure he had wandered into the bushes somewhere. “Tim!” I called louder and with twisting worry. “TIM!” I ran along the road. The fear I felt under the door a fraction of the fear now growing ever larger in my screaming brain. “TIM!!” On the other side of the road, I found the blood stain. Nothing was ever the same again after that.


Follow the link to read some of the judges favorites. He has not yet picked a winner. (Fingerscrossed!)
http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=105660765

The Truth

Adeline was 78 years old before she understood. And, boy, was she mad.

Jesus, I know you're not accustomed to being spoken to this way, but you're about to get an earful. And you can't run like Billy used to, cause you're everywhere. So sit down and take your medicine.

You are in trouble, Mister. Would you like to tell me why you made me wait until my knees won't bend, my eyes won't see and my body is a roadmap of wrinkles to figure this out? This little nugget, I could have used when I was 24 with three babes under three, thank you very much. This smidgeon of information that would have come in handy when I caught Andy rolling in the barn with that Schmidts girl. Might you have whispered in my ear when my Alan got colon cancer and we lost the farm?

I've spent my whole entire life worrying. Worrying myself awake at night. Worrying so that my breath came too fast and my fingers tingled. Worrying and fretting out loud until my husband was ready for his early grave.
And now...now, you show me the truth. A truth that might have made all the difference.

No matter what, everything is going to be okay.

Make a wish

I need a big one.
I'm talkin' deep breath, eyes closed,
Lips pursed...BLOW! (Big one.)

Afraid

This fear sits along
My collarbone; its slimey
black toes grip my heart

The Cancer Day

Today is the day that my mom told me she has cancer. Cancer! Seriously? CANCER?!?! I didn't cry... at first. I was MAD. I'm still mad. How DARE this thing grow on my mother and make her sick. I'll teach it to mess with us. I want to take a cleaver to it, Lizzie Borden style, except mom says it doesn't hurt right now and that would most definitely hurt. No, she said no fighting yet, we just have to wait. WAIT?!?! Wait for her first appointment with the specialist. Wait for the specialist to decide what to do. Wait for them to cut off the offending tumor. Wait for the tests to tell us if the tumor has sent assassins into other parts of her body. Wait for them to give her the treatments that will sap her strength, take her beautiful hair and steal the fight from her. And then I'll give her all my fight. And will we fight. FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT! That thing will RUE the day it chose to grow on a Lee. And remission will be our triumph and a long, long, happy, healthy, LIFE. Did I mention LONG? I can't do without her. This is the only possible outcome. You higher powers better be listening. I'm not taking no for an answer.


P.S. I don't intend to fight fair.