The Gray House
Tuesday, April 12, 2011 at 10:41PM Imagine that you just moved into an old mansion. This mansion was built sometime around the 1600-1800’s. In the middle of your first night in this house, you wake. It’s dark, you can’t see more than 1, maybe 1 and a half inch in front of you, can’t for your bare life remember where the light switch is, and you really, really need to go take a piss. So you get out of bed, and you start walking. Slowly… slowly… toward the direction you think the bathroom is. You’re tired, sleepy, groggy, so you don’t have the brain capacity to even comprehend the fact that you could be scared, nor do you have the imagination to think of that horrible ghost story you saw, the one with the villain where just standing in the dark, hiding in the shadows, watching, observing the characters but never interacting, never scaring them. Man, that story got stuck in your brain. Especially that scene where…
you pass a corner, and remsdgember that you kept the light on in the bathroom, you know, new house and all, so that your wife and your 9 ½ year old son would be able to find their way if they should have a nightly emergency. You follow the light, shining toward you. You put your hand on the doorknob, and you open the door, blinded by the bright light. You wake up a bit. And then it comes back to you.
the ghost story. «The Watcher» was what it was called. Wasn’t it? Does it matter? No. You start to get the creeping feeling that someone is watching you. They’re practically breathing down your neck, hiding in the angles that are impossible to view, and if you’d turn around, you still wouldn’t see them, because it would be dark. Pitch black, as a matter of fact.
You sit down on the toilet, and start doing your job. You remember all the gruesome mirror-scenes in horror stories. You shudder. When you’re done, you flush, and for a minute you wonder if you should just get back into bed. Not wash your hands, just get right back under the covers, before those damn…, what- or whoever they are, comes a knockin’.
But of course you man up. Of course. You still can’t shake the feeling that someone’s observing you, though. Hiding in the shadows, lurking around the house, waiting for the right moment to strike.
It’s autumn, and the wind is howling outside. You freak, spinning around, then wondering if it was a distraction, and then spin around yet again, to see if someone’s waiting to jump at you from the way you came. You half-expect it to be your wife, your son, following those damn movie cliches, but when you turn around, there’s nothing. No one. No horrible monster from hell, or a different dimension, no serial killer getting ready to murder you horribly, no wife, no child. No one.
Just an empty bathroom, with the door open, looking out in the semi-dark hallwa-
waitaminut. door open? But, you closed that.
Didn’t you?
You don’t dare to look in the mirror. You don’t dare to take your eyes off the door, not even for a nano-second, much less a whole second. You don’t dare to blink. You wipe your hands, wet from the clean spring-water, on your legs. You get out of the bathroom, not runnning, but not jogging either. You don’t look back, you don’t close the door and you
do.
not.
blink.
You run, as quiet and fast as you can, and you get under those damn covers, and you’re freakin’ terrified. You’re panting, expecting something to jump out from somewhere, you feel there’s someone staring at you just outside your feel of vision.
You close your eyes down, hard, and eventually, you go to sleep.
The next morning, you’re the first one to wake. You’ve half-forgotten the experiences of the night. After half an hour of snuggling in the warm, comfy bed, you get up and walk to the bathroom. But that’s when you see it; The door to the bathroom is closed. The lights are off.
The experiences of the night are coming back, and you end up finding a robe and walking downstairs to make a cup o’ joe. «Thank God it’s Saturday», you think.
This is what it’s like, staying in the Gray-house. And it only gets worse…
Reader Comments (3)
But of course you man up. I so wanted somehting to attack the guy when I read this line.
This mansion was built sometime around the 1600-1800’s. The time frame here threw me. A house from the 1600s would have a very different feel than one from the 1800s. Maybe you could mention an architectural style instead, like an old Victorian house?
You wipe your hands, wet from the clean spring-water, on your legs. This had a nice visceral feel. No towels when the ghosts are watching!
I'm curious to see where you're going with this. I'm hoping the next installment leaves me needing a night light.
It was fun to read a story written in the second person, dungeon master style. You have a loose, yet rythmic way of writing that definitely sold the tension, "Man, that story got stuck in your brain. Especially that scene where…" beautiful, same with,
"do.
not.
blink."
Actually, what was going through my mind while reading it was one of those motion typography things you see on youtube, I'd love to see this narrative animated in a stripped down fashion like that. My only real suggestion would be some of the grammar and spelling (remsdgember) things.
First of all, thanks. Huge, huge thanks. :)
Second, I have no idea how that spelling error made its way into the final post.. :/
Thirdly, this is actually an exerpt from a Bible I'm writing on the Gray House-stories. :)
Lastly, I love those motion typography-things, and I do agree - a version of this one (maybe a bit shorter) would've been really cool. Maybe I'll look into that... :D