|
She was a good young woman, from a small town in the Midwest. Most in her hometown would refer to her as a “sweet girl” - - - the only child of two wonderful parents who worked hard and provided well for her. She had an almost perfect, perhaps sheltered, childhood. Seemingly always happy and respected by her peers, she performed very well in high school and college.
Upon graduating college, anxious to be independent and make her mark on the world, she was ecstatic when she landed a good job in a big city on the East coast. She moved and adjusted skillfully to her new way. Things went well. She settled in, comfortable with her surroundings and secure in her position with her employer.
Just after six months into her new life, one night, she has a dream. The dream is notable in content, but also strangely vivid and unforgettable. In the dream, she finds herself driving at night down a one-lane, dirt, country road, as if in a forest. For no explicable reason, in the dream, she loses control of the car, veering to the right and crashing into a tree. Following, there is what seems but a few moments of blackness before she opens her eyes things focus into view. The first thing she sees is the spider web-like image impressed into her broken windshield, with blood on it. She gathers herself for a minute and attempts to start her car. But the engine will not turn over. Her hands are covered with blood where she touches the steering wheel.
As the dream continues, with no other choice, she gets out of her car and begins to walk down the road, surrounded by trees and illuminated by a full moon. She walks along for five or ten minutes and comes upon a house on the left side of the road. Lights are on. She stops and looks at the two-story structure and sees a face peer out of an upstairs window, as if to look at her standing outside on the road. The face remains visible for only a few seconds and then moves away from the window. The dream abruptly ends.
The next morning she awakens and very well remembers the dream. She shakes it off, tries to forget about it and heads to work. But the next night, she has the exact, same dream again. And she has the exact same dream the next night, and the next, and the next. . . .
This goes on for weeks and the dream is so vivid and disturbing it begins to upset her. She dreads going to sleep at night because she knows she will have the dream. She thinks about and fears the dream every waking hour. The same road. The same car wreck. The same blood. The same house. The same face peering out of the window. Her nerves begin to fray.
She decides to go to a doctor, who takes a thorough physical and history of the young lady. He can find nothing wrong and counsels her that perhaps she has been working too hard, and that she is still adjusting to her new environment. “You need to get away,” he tells her. “When you get off of work this Friday, get out of town for the weekend. Go to a country inn and leave everything behind for a few days,” he advises. She decides to take the doctor’s advice, makes a reservation at a bed & breakfast and heads out of the city the very next Friday evening.
While trying to find the off-of-the-beaten-path country inn, she takes a wrong turn, loses the main highways and gets lost. The sun has set and she does not have a clue where she is. She keeps driving, hoping to find help. As she is driving, she suddenly becomes panic stricken, because she comes to the realization that she is driving on the same one-lane, dirt road in her recurring dream.
Trying to remain composed yet uncontrollably anxious to get out the area she pushes the accelerator and begins to drive faster and faster. Then, exactly as in her dream, her car loses control on the loose dirt and hits the tree, head on. “Oh my God,” she thinks to herself, as everything fades to black.
The dream is replaying itself, in real life.
She awakens from a darkness and sees the bloody, broken windshield, her bloody hands, the moonlit road. Of course, she gets out of the car and walks down the road until she comes upon the house on the left side. She stops in front of the house, instinctively looks at the second story window and, sure enough, the face leans into view and peers out for a few seconds before moving out of sight again.
But it does not end here, this time.
She stands silently. She walks up the sidewalk. She knocks on the front door. The old man, the man with the peering face, unlocks the door, opens it slowly but only slightly. Peeking out, he looks her right in the eyes.
“Do you live here?”, she asks.
“No,” replies the old man. “Nobody lives here.”
“Why not?”, she asks.
“Because this house is haunted,” he states.
“Oh, haunted by you?”, she asks.
“No,” he answers: “By you.”
|
Printer-friendly format
Email this thread to a friend
Bookmark this thread
(1000+ posts)
Send PM |
Profile |
Ignore
