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Rated: 13+ · Fiction · Contest Entry · #2091677
Who is in the window of the old plantation house? GoT week 4 prompt 5
I hated taking this route home, but due to construction it was the fastest way. On the corner to my right still stood the old plantation house, rundown, in desperate need of a makeover, or to be torn down and rebuilt. The city owned the property now, and from the looks of things, the only part they deemed investment-worthy was the park. Just last year it got an upgrade, which the neighborhood kids reveled in, but that house off in the distance remained untouched. I was drawn to that structure, no idea why, but there was a pull for me, and every time I got within this distance it called to me, especially the upper right most window. I would sit at the stop sign and stare, searching, as an overwhelming sadness engulfed me, my thoughts scrambling to make sense of it.


It was then that I saw her appear, a small, billowy figure in that window looking down at me, her long hair blowing in the wind. I swallowed the lump that rose in my throat, and continued to watch her, my curiosity piqued making it impossible to look away. I sat mesmerized. My heart pounded wildly, filling my ears with constant drumming. I tried to look away, to blink, force myself to remember where I was, and then a vivid flash, as if a movie playing in my mind assaulted me. I winced in pain from the lash of the whip as it struck my back in violent, repetitive motions as I cowered on all fours like an animal shrinking to its master. Sweat beaded on my forehead and my breathing hitched, the graphic fading as quickly as it began.


“What in the hell was that?” I uttered aloud to myself, dragging my eyes away from the window, yet propelled to look again to see the woman had vanished.


Shaking all of it from my mind, I made the turn onto my street, driving the short distance and parked in the driveway. Getting out of the car I stared at the plantation house off in the distance. Before I even realize it, I’m walking toward the park, toward that old creepy house. It’s as if my feet have a mind of their own and I can do nothing but follow their lead. I pass the children playing on the swings, their laughter wafting into my mind and fading out, yet my focus remains on that now empty window. The closer I get, the more feelings of panic wash over me, making my skin clammy as each step grows heavier than the last.


I feel it then, the cold metal around my left ankle hindering my forward motion, yet when I look down, nothing is there. How can that be? I continue on, limping now, dragging my left leg in a desperate attempt to keep up with right that refuses to slow its pace. The house seems to become larger and suddenly full of life, but not the happy kind. All of my senses heighten, screams and crying fill my ears. I turned back to the park, the need to run taking over, but my feet won’t cooperate. Fear came then, my heart gripped painfully as I approached the dilapidated porch that ran around the entire structure. I stared up at the house, my breaths coming in rapid successions. My eyes drift up to that window again, and there she is, floating, motioning for me to come. Her face is dark, but the figure is there nonetheless.


One step onto the wooden steps and my right foot crashes through the rotting wood, trapping me as I crash down onto the dirt. Flashes begin again, me in the corner crying, whimpering, begging him to stop. His enormous frame moves closer, that sadistic smile on his lips as he removes the belt from his trousers. My eyes widen in horror, my mind struggling to grasp just what is happening to me, why I’m having these visions. I reach for my leg in a desperate attempt to free myself, squirming, as the belt lashes me across the arms. The searing pain robs me of breath and I look up, his smirk gone, but those eyes are piercing, not satisfied yet.

“You always try to run and force me to keep you in line, Missy,” he says. “I’ve waited decades for you to return, and this time, you won’t leave us again.”


The burly man towers over me, grabbing my ponytail and jerking my head back forcing me to look up at him. He sneers at me now, showcasing his grungy, crooked teeth before balling his fist making the belt loop and tighten around his hand as he takes a swing at my face. Stars whirl in my vision, my jaw throbbing as the force of the blow sends me down onto the step. Who is Missy? That thought torments my mind. In a desperate need to tell him my name, make it clear who I am, I open my mouth to speak, but the fire and pain grips hold of me tight. Raising my hand to my face I soon discover my jaw has shifted out of place and I close my eyes, just in time to miss the next blow to the side of my head.


Collapsing in a heap, hot tears cascade down my face, stinging my eyes and blurring my vision.

“Let’s get you inside,” he says.

I shake my head, fear taking over, terrified of what would lay beyond that door for me. As if I’m a ragdoll, he yanks my arm in one violent thrust, freeing me from the step and draping me over his arm. My head spins as the screen door creaks open and I’m met with total darkness. My body ached and throbbed, and I didn’t see how I’d be able to escape this hell in my condition. He dropped me in a heap on the floor and left me there. I pulled myself into a sitting position and looked down at my foot, seeing the blood trickling down from my ankle, my tennis shoe missing.


Pushing up from the ground I managed to stand and breathed a sigh of relief. I listened closely, straining my ears for the slightest of sounds moving attempting to move toward the still open door. Hearing nothing, I took my first step, triumph racing through me, encouraging me to take another step. Two steps—three, four, just a few more and I could make my way outside.


Just as I reached the door, the shadowy woman appeared, floating before me. “You cannot leave me,” she said, her voice a mere whisper.

“I’m leaving,” I uttered, my jaw racked with pain.

She flew in front of me, the air swirling around me as the front door slammed closed. “You promised never to leave me. I cannot let you go this time, sister.”

A whoosh of air sent me backward on my rear as I stared up at her. “I’m not your sister,” I managed to say.

“Oh but you are.”

The visions began again, me and this shadow, cowering, begging, the beatings being carried out on our naked bodies. The metallic smell of blood permeated my nostril, my skin burned, raw with pain as I lay there helpless to move.

WC: 1212
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