“Heather, stop it, stop that!” I cried, shaking her. “Don’t do that! It’s OK, it’s gone, it’s gone, sweetie!”
But she didn’t stop.
She jumped from my arms and began to run in circles as if she were chasing an imaginary tail. She stopped and cocked her head at me, shouting a sharp bark as if she wanted me to play with her.
I sat on the bed, watching her, and gripped my face with sweaty hands.
I began to scream.
* * *
Heather will never be the same. That night, I rushed her to the hospital and begged the doctors for help. After examining her and bringing in a multitude of specialists, they informed me that she wasn’t in control of her mind any longer. They told me she would never regain it. Something had been taken from her that couldn’t be replaced or repaired.
I don’t know how long they ran tests on her as I desperately expended all my options, desperate to try anything. I couldn’t imagine a life without her. I wept and prayed until I had nothing left to offer. Nothing changed, nothing helped, and I wondered if anyone even noticed.
You see…life is an unflinching monster. It doesn’t care about you, it doesn’t take your side; it simply is. It took my wife away and opened up a wound in my daughter’s mind. A wound I didn’t even have the courage to ask my daughter if it even existed.
Something horrible had caught scent of that gaping wound; something had grown hungry for it. It had entered our life and slipped into the gory cracks of my daughter’s hidden, suppressed sadness. It had replaced her mind with its own and had devoured the fractured remains of a confused and hurt psyche. And I knew I had lost Heather forever to it.
So now I stand here, in the darkness, over my daughter’s bed.
I grip the pillow with shaking hands. Tears roll down my face and I beg God to forgive me.
But whatever is laying in this bed…I know it’s not my daughter.
2
The House In The Field
It all started when I was seven. That was twenty years ago now. I was a curious kid, always out exploring our family’s land, taking the trek out to the woods across the grassy fields. I would collect rocks, watch animals, and splash around in the streams I discovered, most of the time by myself. I didn’t need company. I never felt lonely. Or maybe that was just because I was used to being alone.
My parents owned a farm, a vast sprawling plot of land that stretched for miles in every direction. It was beautiful country and the golden sun accented the acres of mint-green cornstalks that lined our back yard. My father worked hard, spending his days tending the crop with the help of a few farmhands. My mother took care of the house and the occasional trip into town, stocking up on the essentials. They were a good team and they loved each other very much. They loved the life they shared and depended on one another.
During the school year my mother or my neighbor would take Trevor and me into town for lessons, alternating days. Trevor was my age and my only friend. During the summers I didn’t see him much, his own duties grounding him at his parents’ farm eight miles down the dirt road. Occasionally our parents would get together and share a big country dinner while Trevor and I wolfed down our food and went out to play.
I was a happy kid, content with my life. I don’t remember ever feeling isolated or lasting unhappiness. My parents were good to me and the expansive surrounding land consistently kept my explorer tendencies busy.
As I stated, we lived off a single-lane dirt road, miles from town, miles from everything. Behind our ranch-style house were the cornfields, rows and rows of stalks that reached out and touched the horizon. At least that’s how I remember it. I often worried about getting lost in the green labyrinth whenever I had to go fetch Dad for supper, the tight stalks towering over my head.
In front of the house was a wide stretch of flat open grassland that expanded for a couple dozen acres before reaching the tree line where the woods grew dense. I loved to explore those woods, most of my summers spent venturing deeper and deeper inside their sap-crusted guts.
But this isn’t about the woods. This isn’t about the cornfields.
This is about the house that suddenly appeared in the field across the street.
I was seven when it suddenly appeared. I remember going to bed on a hot June night, sleep slowed by the heavy heat. When sleep finally came, it didn’t last long. I woke up sometime in the night, my throat parched from the thick air. I went to get a glass of water and as I passed my bedroom window, I saw it for the first time.
The first thing that struck me was how tall it was. Three stories, its roof reaching for the star-filled sky. It was the biggest house I had ever seen up until that point. My little hands gripped the windowsill and my nose pressed against the glass as my eyes took in this new wonder.
It sat directly across the dirt road from our house, only a couple hundred feet from our front porch. It was painted dark green, or so I’d see in the morning, and it looked well-kept. The dark windows were framed by hideous yellow shutters, looking like mold in the silent moonlight. It had no porch, just a single ugly door the same color as the shutters.
I stared at it, my young mind growing excited at this new mystery, the following day already filling with thoughts of exploring it. But of course I couldn’t. That was someone’s house. Someone was living there. As these thoughts destroyed my enthusiasm, I remember how badly I wanted to run and wake my parents and share with them what I was seeing. At the time, the concept of a house suddenly appearing across from ours was fascinating. I didn’t think it scary or even odd. It was just something that happened and my young seven-year-old mind just accepted it.
Eventually, I went and got a glass of water and went back to bed, my mind buzzing with possibilities.
The next morning I bounded out of bed, the sun only barely warming the sky with splashes of deep purple and puddles of soft pink. I raced to my window to make sure I hadn’t been dreaming. The house still stood, dark and motionless.
I thundered into the kitchen, almost knocking over my dad, anxious to show my parents. I felt like it was my own personal discovery, like somehow I was responsible for it being there. After my dad scolded me, probably irritated by my burst of early morning energy, I asked him if he had seen the house.
He didn’t seem to know what I was talking about as I hurriedly pulled him to the front door, my mouth running like a dirt bike. I flung the door open and pointed to the house, my feet padding down the steps of our porch.
My father stopped in the doorway, eyes scanning the field, a look of confusion on his face. He looked down at me with a worried look and then back at the field. He scratched his chin and motioned for me to come inside, telling me to stop being ridiculous, that if I had this much energy I could help him out in the fields today.
He couldn’t see the house.
At that age, my mind couldn’t wrap itself around that fact because…well…it was right there! I continued to point and tell him, but it didn’t do any good. He was blind to it.
This left me frustrated and confused. I didn’t know why he couldn’t see it. I wanted desperately for him to acknowledge what I had found in the middle of the night, but no matter how much I talked and argued, it was of no use.
I spent the day helping my dad in the cornfields. Shortly after breakfast, three of the usual farmhands arrived and we went out back for our day’s labors. If they could see the house, they showed no sign of it. I even asked Louie, the guy who had been helping my dad the longest, if he noticed anything on his way in. He ruffled my hair and said that seeing me up this early was the only thing he witnessed. I shook him off, getting angry as to why no one saw it.
As I went about my chores, I couldn’t stop thinking about the house. The looming, quiet way it sat in the long grass, its three levels begging for investigation. I wanted to tell Trevor but knew I wouldn’t be able to today. He would believe me. He would be able to see it, I just knew he would. Trevor shared my sense of adventure and I knew that
the next time we played together, our time would be spent discussing and maybe even snooping around the house. There was such an air of mystery about it that I felt myself almost physically pulled toward it. I couldn’t see it from my place amidst the corn, but I could tell you exactly where it was from any point that I stood.
The sun tugged itself across the sky, one labored hour after another, and finally my dad announced it was time to call it quits. I walked back to our house next to my dad, listening to him talk to the three workers about what needed to be done tomorrow and what time to come back in the morning.
They plodded up the back porch and were met by my mother, who offered them all cold beers which they took with big smiles. Feeling tired and slightly annoyed still, I walked around the side of our house, wanting another look at the green house with yellow shutters.
I turned the corner and stopped dead in my tracks.
The house was gone.
I rubbed my eyes, convinced my mind was playing tricks on me. As I opened them again, the field still stood empty, the grass rustling like running water as a warm breeze passed through it. I turned completely around, eyes searching in all directions, thinking that maybe I had misplaced the location it was in. Nothing but grass was in front of me and corn behind me. I squinted and scanned the distant tree line at the far end of the field in front of my house, but nothing stood out.
Feeling angry, I kicked at the dry dirt, knowing now that Trevor would never believe me. I had wanted to show him so badly, desperate for anyone to acknowledge this inexplicable phenomenon. I remember cursing for the first time then. After I did it, I nervously looked around to make sure my mother hadn’t heard me. Her voice floated in the warm air toward me and I felt relief wash over me as I realized she was still on the back porch. So I cursed again, kind of liking the way it made me feel tough.
Sighing, I dejectedly shoved my hands in my pockets and rolled my head back to stare at the evening sky. The darkness of a storm was creeping in from the west, down the road where Trevor and his parents lived. I watched as the billowing black clouds piled over one another and felt the air wince as distant thunder shook it.
Later that night the storm reached us. Rain shook the walls and lightning split the sky, the blinding white veins followed closely by cannon-blast thunder. I sat in my bed, feeling a little afraid, contemplating whether to go into my parents’ room or not. My dad was probably snoring through the whole thing, but my mom might be awake. I didn’t want them to know I was scared, though, because after all, I was seven now.
As another bone-shaking blast of thunder fell from the sky, I slid out of bed and went to my window, forcing myself to go and watch the thing that was scaring me. My dad always told me that brave men only get brave when they stand up to the thing that makes them want to run away. And so I planted my feet firmly in front of the window and watched as nature crashed down around me.
The wind was howling, causing the house to tremble, and I listened to the rain slam onto the roof like a thousand galloping hooves. Another bolt of lightning illuminated the land, its sparking suddenness causing me to blink.
And then I saw it again.
The house was back.
I frantically cupped my face against the glass, trying to see through the rain-streaked pane. I could make out its shape, a dark square hole cut into the night, and I waited for more lightning. My heart was racing, excitement bubbling up inside of me. It was back; I knew I hadn’t imagined it! I wanted to go and tell my parents, loudly exclaim that I wasn’t wrong, that there was a house across from us. The thought of waking my father in the middle of the night kept me in my room.
After a few bated minutes, another flash lit the world and I focused on the house in the brief second it was illuminated.
The front door was wide open.
Now, I don’t know why, but I remember seeing that and feeling terror slowly begin to creep its way into my mind. I knew that something was wrong, that people don’t open their front doors in the middle of a storm. But there it was, completely open, rain and wind pushing through toward the blackness inside.
Unease wormed its way through my stomach and I swallowed hard, suddenly aware of every shadow in my room. I gripped the windowsill and waited for more lightning. A few moments later, it came, bringing with it another glimpse of the house across the street.
Something was standing in the doorway staring directly at me.
It was blurred by the storm, but I could tell it was big and looked like a twist of colors in human form.
I dove for my bed, illusions of bravery shattered in an instant, and dug myself deep into the covers. I lay there shaking and feeling like I had just seen something I wasn’t supposed to.
The next day the house was gone again. Part of me was a little glad because it gave my young mind time to wrap itself around what it had seen. I kept replaying it over and over again, my imagination giving the human-shaped blur details and features. But whatever images I conjured were soon erased by the reality of my memory. And that reality was: I had no clue what I had seen.
I ate my breakfast in the kitchen, listening to my parents talk about the day’s plans. My ears perked up when my mom told me we were having the Harveys over for supper. I would finally be able to tell Trevor about everything! Excitement pushed away my cautious fears of the previous night, and I gobbled up the rest of my pancakes in a couple bites.
My father said he didn’t need my help today and so after I helped Mom with the dishes, I sprinted out the front door toward the woods. With the house gone, it felt like just another wonderful summer day bursting with early morning possibilities. Should I go swimming? Should I build a fort? Maybe once Trevor got here we could play Lewis and Clark!
Whooping and hollering, my feet took me across the grassy field toward the tree line. As I passed the spot where the mysterious green house had sat, I wondered what would happen if it suddenly appeared with me running over its spot. Would I magically be inside of it all of a sudden? Or would I be flung high into the sky as it came rocketing out of the ground? Feeling suddenly nervous, I put on an extra bit of speed and passed over where it had rested.
The day passed in a blur of imagination and summer heat. I spent most of it splashing around one of the streams, collecting rocks and pretending I was fighting Indians. It was one of those days that shaped how I look back on my childhood, where everything seemed just right, a day of make-believe and adventure.
As I lost myself in whatever fiction I was enacting, the thoughts of the house faded further and further from my mind, burned away in the growing heat. The sun climbed to a blistering climax, then began the slow descent, dipping toward the horizon and fanning out in pool of color that mixed in the sky like melting popsicles.
Not realizing how late it had gotten and also how hungry I was, I threw the last of the pebbles I had picked up into the stream and began to make my way back to our house.
I wondered if Trevor and his parents had shown up yet. I looked up into the sky, trying to gauge what time it was. From the way my stomach was rumbling, it had better be time to eat.
I broke through the tree line and was about to sprint the rest of the way when I stopped.
The house was back. Except something was different.
The house was facing me.
I felt unease creep across the ground and climb up my legs. This wasn’t right. It was supposed to be facing my house. Why was it like this now? I swallowed hard, my own house now blocked from sight. I watched the windows, dark and empty, looking for signs of life, looking for signs of the thing in the storm.
It was motionless. I began to make my way around it in a wide circle, keeping my eyes on the front door as I walked. I kept expecting it to burst open and some creature to come charging at me. But it didn’t. Nothing moved. Getting halfway around it, I made a break for my front porch. My legs kicked through the knee-high grass, shoes digging into the soft earth as I ripped my eyes away and focused on my destination.
Panting, I clambered up the steps, sucking in lungfuls of evening air. I turned around and almost fell over.
The house was back facing mine.
I stared for a moment, sucking air, and waited for something to happen. In my mind, the house was alive, some kind of living beast that watched me. I didn’t know what it wanted or what its purpose was, but I was beginning to feel like it was dangerous.
Turning away, I went inside. I was greeted with a savory aroma, a gentle heat filling the air with mouth-watering smells. I heard commotion in the kitchen along with the rolling laughter of conversation.
I walked into the dining room and was greeted from the stove by my mother, who informed me I had kept Trevor waiting. I said my muttered hellos to Trevor’s parents, who smiled and returned my greeting before returning to the conversation with my parents I had interrupted.
I went to the bathroom to wash up, followed by Trevor who was excitedly telling me about a fort he had been building in the woods by his house. I shared with him my adventures of the day and together we began to make plans to sleep over at each other’s homes with hopes that tonight would be one of those nights.
As I dried my hands, I asked him if he noticed anything on his way to my house. He looked confused, and so I led him down the hall to the front door. I opened it and pointed to the green house with the yellow shutters. Hesitantly, I asked him if he could see it.
He chuckled and slapped me on the back, saying of course he could.
Relief washed over me and, closing the door behind us and stepping out onto the porch, I began to share with him my strange experiences with the house in the field. His eyes grew wide and a smile split his face in half. The longer I talked, the more I saw his eyes light up.
The Worst Kind of Monsters Page 3
