The door slams as the proximity of
my mother
and
I
becomes farther
and farther.
She’s gone
now.
The floor creaks as I walk across it,
a pirate walking off the plank to his doom.
I make my way towards my closet.
My hideaway.
Why I was so
afraid
of this house
I do not know.
It was the
feel
of the house that was
eery.
The tinted glass windows as to prevent anyone from seeing the
horrors
from within.
The stereotypical creaking stairs which would give anyone a
chill
down their backs.
But the
one thing
that really stood out was
the painting.
The eyes,
how they followed you,
looking into your soul.
The nature of the girl;
scared yet
at peace.
The sound of me biting my fingernails
is all that can be
heard
while cradled into a ball in the
dark closet.
I have to get out, I have to get out.
I slowly walk out of the closet
sneaking my way past my own
seemingly invisible
fears.
Safe.
If only I was
safe.
I tiptoed downstairs,
waiting at the foot of the staircase for any
signs
of
anyone.
Anything.
Nothing.
Yet there
was
something
or someone
here.
I looked around at what I was now supposed to call
“home.”
I was
alone
here once again.
Or so I thought.
For when the
eery sound
of my untuned piano began to play,
I knew one thing for sure.
I had company…