Darkening Misconceptions....

The mansion on the corner street was a favorite place for kids to fear or mischievous kids in my brothers case. One long night after the house had been strangely taken down, my brother told me a different kind of bed time story. This story took place a year ago when he and a friend dared venture into the house. From a small crumple note found within, they made up a story of the past residents that they thought suited the abandoned house. Looking obligingly out the window, as she always did when he'd get this way, she tried to block out his incoherent bantering. Night was falling and the cold snow represented her indifference to her once beloved. The moons eerie glow cast a shadow on the earth's snowy surface illuminating its sparkles as they dance to the ground. The snow gleamed like powdered sugar as the ground hungrily took them in. The old window pane was large enough to let her steal a long look out its rusty interior. The smell of the nearby hearth blocked out the bitter smell of hate. The warmth of the fire did not touch her as she already felt cold to her surroundings. She couldn't believe he was still yelling, in fact she stopped listening long ago. It was only when he shook her out of her zombie state by his abruptly that she noticed he was still upset. Turning to face her once beloved she stared stonily back at him, noting that he was drunk and the empty martini glass was to prove on what. He was getting older, and his weary lines on his face mad it harder to believe he was only twenty. The high stone columns that marked the library loomed down on her as she felt the walls close in on her. She realized that fear was no longer an option with this virile man, and pity replaced it instead. He transposed her past, her present, and her future. Approaching her, he impatiently grabbed her arm the pain reaching her brain in a matter of seconds and to prove its existence she yelped. His slap didn't come as a surprise; she was numb to it by now. Roughly he pulled her away from the window and dragged her through their mansion labyrinth, and aware of his usual tirade she knew the shortcomings. The cold air touched her lungs like her first breath and her skin warmed to the night air as he brought her out into the snow. Throwing her precariously onto the snow, she heard his steel-toed boots crunching against the snowdrift and kicked her hard in the kidney. She hugged the snow in her grasp knowing it promised her a better outcome and promise. His reckless cursing was caught in the wind as he kicked her again, and she felt the warmth of her own blood as it stuck to her skin. She numbly looked down at her bloody, gaping side and was relieved when darkness came. An hour later that same man stood where she just was and stared out the window. The windows frame seemed to ooze over the edges and come alive with knowledge of what they had seen. He was sober now and fully aware his anger was replaced with undeniable fear. It had taken him only a few moments to realize what he had done and only seconds to sober up. Then on whatever logical instinct he had, he buried his beauty in the deep packed snow. He did this knowing her body would be decomposed and non-existent by the time the season ended. She always loved the snow and he knew she'd be happy there. His heartbeat stopped and waited…what was that he saw flicker from beyond the window? Pensively he surveyed the illusive exterior. No…of course not . . . it couldn’t be, she is dead now, gone forever. Nervously he quickly picked up a pen and scribbled on ancient paper and apprehensively looked back out the window. Breathing a slight sigh of relief he relaxed, but found he still could not look away from the window. Something kept him there, perplexed, and he could not make himself look away from the eerie plateau. Even as he saw the familiar woman float nonchalantly 3 feet above the ground…he still could not look away. His own breath took over him, as the room became thicker. Her appearance seemed under water as her hair floated with an imaginary current. She was beautiful and illuminate as he remembers her and he felt himself becoming enthralled as he once had. She looked at him…having no soul and he felt his bones freeze in place with her empty stare. The temperature around him drastically dropped and the lights gave way to eternal darkness. * * * * * * A hundred or so years later two mischievous boys stood in front of the same house as one read from a crumpled newspaper. “This old house stands both empty and tall, seemingly proud of its well-known tales. Its stony silence and eerie coldness penetrates all that dare to pass . . . and with it stays the stench of death.” The young man read. His face was dirt stained and there was a lack of intelligence about him. “Eh…? Let me see that.” Said the other boy snatching the paper from the others hands. The dirty boy wryly commented, “Doesn’t look like much to me…” The small red head scanned the article and looked up at the omniscient mansion standing before them. The dirty boy leaned down to the red head and whispered, “No ones been in there for 100 years. They says that it’s haunted. Fancy that! Say…we should go in and check it out….” The red head impulsively shook his head. “Awww…you scared Putnam?” “No...” he swallowed and dirty boy shoved him forward. They slowly walked up to the old stone walls and pushed open the cracked window, a gust of fowl air rushed past them. “Did you smell that Put?” the dirty one asked feeling slightly queasy. They clambered inside into what seemed to be a library full old forgotten books that hung musty on their shelves. The only light from outside the window hindered any other site except a lone candle upon the oversized oak desk. Dirty boy lighted the candle while the red head looked dazedly around the room as it came alive with long dead color. Dust covered every inch of the room and the musty scent seemed to overpower the rooms’ stuffiness. The smell of the dirty powder tickled Putnam’s nose and he ran a grimy finger to scratch it. His eyes began to puff as the dusty air annoyed his senses. A sneeze was uncontrollably provoked from him startling dirty boy and the bleak looking candle. Glaring at Putnam, Dirty boy shivered and noticed the change from the outside 80-degree warmth to the interior below freezing. “You feel that Put? It’s so amazingly cold in here.” Put nodded in agreement as he rubbed his arms for warmth. Looking down at the desk, dirty boy noticed a small note scribbled on an ancient piece of paper. “HEY!! Putnam…look…a note!” He carefully picked up the weak parchment paper and held it near the candle and began to read: “I heard a fly buzz- when I died- The stillness in the room Was like the stillness in the air- Between the heaves of storm The eyes around-had wrung them dry- And breaths were gathering firm For that last onset-when the king Be witnessed-in the room I willed my keepsake- signed away What portion of me be Assignable-and then it was There interposed a fly- With blue-uncertain stumbling buzz- Between the light-and me- And then the windows failed-and then I could not see to see.” The two young boys lingered for a moment taking the story in and finally one spoke. “ Say…do you know who that is? What do you suppose it all means Putnam?” The candle flickered slightly and both boys froze staring intently at it’s dancing light as it blew out. The heat of their breath white in the dark. This old house stands both empty and tall, seemingly proud of its well-known tales. Its stony silence and eerie coldness penetrates all that dare to pass…and with it stays the stench of death. *** Authors note> This was written in 1999 for a class at University of Southern Colorado- Pueblo. It was published in that months journal. The Poem here is by Edgar Allen Poe.