The New Place

The first night alone in a new house can be more than a little scary

It was a dark and stormy night.

Etta chuckled. It's always on a dark and stormy night that the monster comes, she thought. She chuckled again... but it was a nervous chuckle. It was her first night alone in the new house. Greg was away on business, and wouldn't be back until the next night. You never realize how big a house is until you're all alone it it. She huddled down on the couch under her blanket, trying to focus on the Hallmark Movie of the Week.

But her mind wouldn't stop crawling over ridiculous phantom dangers:

They had several old elms on the property, and the wind raged through them with unsettling roars. What if the storm blows a tree down on the house?

She didn't know anyone in the neighborhood yet. What if a stranger comes to the door while Greg's away? What if he gets in?

The security system wasn't installed yet. What if someone breaks—

She heard a sound over the wind, like a voice, a voice calling outside in the wind. She jumped, letting out a tight little yelp.

Girl, don't! You're a grown-ass woman; you ain't hear nothin! Now watch this damn movie and just chill!

But there it was again. She was sure of it this time. Some poor idiot probably locked himself out of his car or his house. Wish I could help, whoever you are, but you on your own! Etta pulled the blanket tighter and looked around the unfamiliar living room, populated by only the TV, the couch, and two moving boxes. She felt small and vulnerable. The more worked up she got, despite her attempts to calm herself, the larger the room seemed.

She got up to go to the bathroom, tiptoeing down the hallway. Jesus Christ, either turn on a light or quit being a baby. You ain't gonna wake no monster; stop sneaking though your own house. "That's right, this is my house," she said loudly. The sound of her own voice startled her, and she scuttled down the hall to the bathroom.

The bathroom should have felt small and familiar, cozy. In the old place, she had spent enough time in the bathroom putting on her makeup that it was like a home inside her home. But this wasn't the old place; this was the new place. And tonight, nothing about it felt like home. She finished using the toilet and stood looking in the mirror. She wasn't checking her makeup; she was just looking. It was like looking at a stranger. "What is wrong with you tonight?" she snapped at the reflection. In her mind (certainly just in my mind), the mirror reflected back to her just a split second ahead of her. Her words formed on the lips of mirror-Etta a split-second before her mouth moved. She nervously opened the door and stepped into the hallway. She left the light on to illuminate her way.

The hallway seemed darker now, as if it had swallowed the light from the living room and bathroom. It seemed longer, too, like one of those camera shots in the movies where a doorway seems to stretch further and further away. She walked carefully; she finally admitted to herself that she was frightened.

"BULLSHIT!" she hollered, the sound reverberating down the hall like she was in a tunnel. "I am not gonna be scared in the dark like a little girl, dammit! This is my home!"

She felt a little more in control, like she was back in charge. The hallway was just a hallway; the sounds were (not a scream) just the storm. She decided a bowl of popcorn would help her focus on the movie, and she turned around to go back up the hallway to the kitchen. But when she turned around, she stopped in her tracks.

The bathroom light was no longer on. She heard the TV go to a commercial. Except... it wasn't a commercial. It had changed in the middle of someone saying something. Now Etta heard gunshots and swearing on the TV; and it was loud, like someone had turned it up to cover other sounds. And then, just barely, she heard that sound again, that scream, that name being called, a name she didn't want to recognize.

The light in the bathroom came back on; the microwave started in the kitchen. Etta wanted to scream, but she was frozen with fear, barely able to breath, much less call out. Her mind tried to focus on anything, but all she could think was Oh God, oh God, oh God...!

There was a knock at the door, and the scream was closer. No, oh God, it wasn't closer, it was here, right here, not in the room, but in her mind, oh Go, oh God no...!

She heard the lock turn in the door and her bladder let go. Guess I wasn't done after all, she thought uselessly. She couldn't think about what was actually happening; her mind wouldn't let her focus on that, but she found she was no longer frozen. She was too addled to fight, but flight was now option, and she took it, flying— fleeing— up the hallway and past the kitchen, the whole time hearing the scream inside her head: It's not just the wind, Etta. I'm here; I'm back!

@-----@-----@

"Etta? You still up, babe? It's me; I'm back early. Hon, you upstairs?" his voice echoed; they had only moved in a few pieces of furniture, and the walls were still bare and clean, the paint new and smelly. There was no answer but the echo and the diminishing wind as the storm passed. Greg looked up the dark hallway and saw the bathroom light was on... and back door was open. Why in the hell...?

@-----@-----@

Greg found her curled up next to one of the big elm trees in the backyard, like she was hiding behind it. The bark was peeled off the tree at head-height, and her fingernails were broken, the tips of her fingers torn and bleeding. She stared straight ahead, not blinking, muttering and moaning. Greg could only catch snatches of it. "My home... out... get out... my home... all the trees... my home... oh god..."

Greg touched her arm, and she began to scream, pointing behind him. Before he could turn, he thought he heard a voice, a voice on the wind calling a name. Her name. Then his.

NOTES: ▶︎

Word Count: 1079
Submitted for "Horror Writing Contest" 
Prompt: The story must incorporate the concept of "NEW"