Post by larien on Jan 14, 2007 19:49:05 GMT -5
This is a rather late entry, but midterms week snuck up on me and somehow I never managed to get this posted (even though it's been done for a while).
I spent my entire childhood in terror of the "things" living in the closet....the backyard....the bathroom....the stove.....ya know. All that good stuff. Actually, it still kind of scares me.
Rated K+, just to be safe.
No one had been living the backyard when they left, but by the time they returned from England there was a wild man living in the trees. They had been gone three years, and the little girl was four years old. She didn’t remember the house they were living in.
She was sitting on a lawn chair when she saw the wild man for the first time. He lived in the row of evergreen trees that followed the fence at the back of the yard, where it smelled like pine needles and rotten tomatoes. She wanted to go play there, but her mother said she must wait until she was old enough. She could see him peering out from between the branches at her, his black eyes shining out from the shadows. She stayed quiet out of fear, hoping he would go away. They stared at each other until her mother came back outside, carrying a glass of lemonade in each hand. The eyes disappeared from the trees, and she could see his figure swinging through the branches like an ape. She said nothing.
She soon discovered he had friends living in her closet. Her room was dark at night, and for nearly a year she was too afraid to see what they were. But when she was five, her mother left the hallway light on outside the door. Encouraged, she peeped out from beneath her comforter and saw grey wolves slinking about the room. They pawed at the closet door and moaned for a way out. Sometimes they brushed against her bed or leapt up onto the bookshelves like cats. She knew they were looking for something to eat, but as long as she stayed safely tucked inside beneath the covers she would be safe. The open door at the foot of her bed meant that her parents were always within calling distance. She turned her face to the wall and made herself as inconspicuous as possible.
For two years she lived in fear of the wolves. Then, in April of her seventh year, she was crowned queen of the pixies. She discovered them one rainy afternoon as she made her bed. They were only ten inches tall, and they swung from the bars beneath her bed as she stared at them from her hands and knees. They squeaked excitedly with their high-pitched voices and pointed at her in amazement. She let them hang from her outstretched fingers and clamber over her knees. At night, they stood guard around the edge of her bed. In the dark, she could see their slight figures standing at attention on her covers. For the first time since she had discovered the wolves, she slept safely.
Despite her victory over the wolves, the wild man in the backyard continued to stalk her. She could hear him prowling beneath her window during the night. Even when the pixies banged at the glass and scowled at him, she feared he might find a way into her room. She stalled at the back door when her mother sent her out to set the picnic table for dinner. She could feel his eyes on the back of her neck as she threw the plates down and ran back into the house. Sometimes she could convince her little brother to come out with her, knowing the wild man wouldn’t dare kidnap her as long as someone else was with her. Sometimes she saw him perched on the backyard fence, watching her, unable to come out. Then she would run down the street as fast as her legs would carry her until she was sure he couldn’t see her anymore. When she came home, she would be careful to stay hidden so he wouldn’t know she had returned.
When she was eight, her parents bought new furniture. She and her brother convinced them to save the cardboard boxes. They set the boxes so close to the branches of the trees that she could hear them rasping along the as she lay inside with her brother. It wasn’t until after he left to get a comic book from his room that she realized she had been left along. Unable to sit up in the low box, she was forced to lie flat on her stomach as she nervously guarded the opening. She could hear the wild man’s panting breaths as her perched over her. His horny feet made the same grating noise over the top of the box as the branches. It was with a sense of indescribable relief that she heard the screen door slam when her brother returned. She never mentioned the wild man.
They moved when she was ten. With her mother, the girl packed her belongings into brown cardboard boxes and taped them shut with masking tape. She left one doll and five books out until the day they left. The last night she spent in her room, there was nothing left but the empty bookcase and her bed. It was late August, and all she needed was a light cotton sheet to keep her warm.
That night she lay awake for hours. The pixies had informed her that they would be unable to leave their native land, but that one, very young, pixie was willing to come along with her. Beneath her bed, she could hear him bidding his friends and family farewell. She had given them this last night off, despite her misgivings. It had been three years since she had last feared the wolves.
But lying in the darkness, she imagined them skulking in the corners of her room. Even as she listened to the pixies’ festivities, she felt the hot, fetid breath of wolves brush across her face. Paralyzed by fear, she was unable to call for her friends. Warm saliva dripped onto her face and across her cheek. She whimpered softly and drew the sheet over her head. Long minutes passed before the wolves retreated. She could hear their howls echoing weirdly off of the empty walls of the closet.
Morning found her bed dismantled and the bookshelf packed onto the moving truck. She offered her forefinger to each pixie, who grasped it gravely in both hands and shook it. Then she lifted her tiny companion onto her shoulder and marched resolutely out of the room. Squaring her shoulders, she walked out the back door and into the wild man’s lair.
She stood bravely at the center of the yard. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him sneaking through the branches of the evergreen trees. He disappeared from sight for a moment, only to reappear at her elbow. Courage fled, she shrieked and ran towards the gate with him close at her heels. She cleared the threshold with only inches to spare. The gate clanged shut behind her, but the wild man was unable to stop in time. He slammed into the metal grating, winded. Their hands met over the bar, his thick, gnarled fingers covering her small, clean ones. He smelled of pine needles and rotten tomatoes. She stood in silence, staring at him.
Her father’s voice brought her back to her senses. She pulled her hands from beneath his and ran to the car. From the window, she could see the wild man standing at the gate. He gazed after her, unable to follow, always trapped in the backyard. Ranks of pixies stood on the sills in the house’s darkened windows. The wolves stood on the porch, their red tongues lolling out of their mouths.
Then the car pulled away and the creatures disappeared from view. They reached the end of the street, and she twisted in her seat to look back one last time. Faintly, she could hear voices wailing farewell, and a tear ran down her cheek. For a moment, she wished she could bring them with her. The car turned onto the highway and she slid back into her seat. The pixie sat cupped in her hand, hidden from view. She said nothing.
I spent my entire childhood in terror of the "things" living in the closet....the backyard....the bathroom....the stove.....ya know. All that good stuff. Actually, it still kind of scares me.
Rated K+, just to be safe.
*****
No one had been living the backyard when they left, but by the time they returned from England there was a wild man living in the trees. They had been gone three years, and the little girl was four years old. She didn’t remember the house they were living in.
She was sitting on a lawn chair when she saw the wild man for the first time. He lived in the row of evergreen trees that followed the fence at the back of the yard, where it smelled like pine needles and rotten tomatoes. She wanted to go play there, but her mother said she must wait until she was old enough. She could see him peering out from between the branches at her, his black eyes shining out from the shadows. She stayed quiet out of fear, hoping he would go away. They stared at each other until her mother came back outside, carrying a glass of lemonade in each hand. The eyes disappeared from the trees, and she could see his figure swinging through the branches like an ape. She said nothing.
She soon discovered he had friends living in her closet. Her room was dark at night, and for nearly a year she was too afraid to see what they were. But when she was five, her mother left the hallway light on outside the door. Encouraged, she peeped out from beneath her comforter and saw grey wolves slinking about the room. They pawed at the closet door and moaned for a way out. Sometimes they brushed against her bed or leapt up onto the bookshelves like cats. She knew they were looking for something to eat, but as long as she stayed safely tucked inside beneath the covers she would be safe. The open door at the foot of her bed meant that her parents were always within calling distance. She turned her face to the wall and made herself as inconspicuous as possible.
For two years she lived in fear of the wolves. Then, in April of her seventh year, she was crowned queen of the pixies. She discovered them one rainy afternoon as she made her bed. They were only ten inches tall, and they swung from the bars beneath her bed as she stared at them from her hands and knees. They squeaked excitedly with their high-pitched voices and pointed at her in amazement. She let them hang from her outstretched fingers and clamber over her knees. At night, they stood guard around the edge of her bed. In the dark, she could see their slight figures standing at attention on her covers. For the first time since she had discovered the wolves, she slept safely.
Despite her victory over the wolves, the wild man in the backyard continued to stalk her. She could hear him prowling beneath her window during the night. Even when the pixies banged at the glass and scowled at him, she feared he might find a way into her room. She stalled at the back door when her mother sent her out to set the picnic table for dinner. She could feel his eyes on the back of her neck as she threw the plates down and ran back into the house. Sometimes she could convince her little brother to come out with her, knowing the wild man wouldn’t dare kidnap her as long as someone else was with her. Sometimes she saw him perched on the backyard fence, watching her, unable to come out. Then she would run down the street as fast as her legs would carry her until she was sure he couldn’t see her anymore. When she came home, she would be careful to stay hidden so he wouldn’t know she had returned.
When she was eight, her parents bought new furniture. She and her brother convinced them to save the cardboard boxes. They set the boxes so close to the branches of the trees that she could hear them rasping along the as she lay inside with her brother. It wasn’t until after he left to get a comic book from his room that she realized she had been left along. Unable to sit up in the low box, she was forced to lie flat on her stomach as she nervously guarded the opening. She could hear the wild man’s panting breaths as her perched over her. His horny feet made the same grating noise over the top of the box as the branches. It was with a sense of indescribable relief that she heard the screen door slam when her brother returned. She never mentioned the wild man.
They moved when she was ten. With her mother, the girl packed her belongings into brown cardboard boxes and taped them shut with masking tape. She left one doll and five books out until the day they left. The last night she spent in her room, there was nothing left but the empty bookcase and her bed. It was late August, and all she needed was a light cotton sheet to keep her warm.
That night she lay awake for hours. The pixies had informed her that they would be unable to leave their native land, but that one, very young, pixie was willing to come along with her. Beneath her bed, she could hear him bidding his friends and family farewell. She had given them this last night off, despite her misgivings. It had been three years since she had last feared the wolves.
But lying in the darkness, she imagined them skulking in the corners of her room. Even as she listened to the pixies’ festivities, she felt the hot, fetid breath of wolves brush across her face. Paralyzed by fear, she was unable to call for her friends. Warm saliva dripped onto her face and across her cheek. She whimpered softly and drew the sheet over her head. Long minutes passed before the wolves retreated. She could hear their howls echoing weirdly off of the empty walls of the closet.
Morning found her bed dismantled and the bookshelf packed onto the moving truck. She offered her forefinger to each pixie, who grasped it gravely in both hands and shook it. Then she lifted her tiny companion onto her shoulder and marched resolutely out of the room. Squaring her shoulders, she walked out the back door and into the wild man’s lair.
She stood bravely at the center of the yard. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him sneaking through the branches of the evergreen trees. He disappeared from sight for a moment, only to reappear at her elbow. Courage fled, she shrieked and ran towards the gate with him close at her heels. She cleared the threshold with only inches to spare. The gate clanged shut behind her, but the wild man was unable to stop in time. He slammed into the metal grating, winded. Their hands met over the bar, his thick, gnarled fingers covering her small, clean ones. He smelled of pine needles and rotten tomatoes. She stood in silence, staring at him.
Her father’s voice brought her back to her senses. She pulled her hands from beneath his and ran to the car. From the window, she could see the wild man standing at the gate. He gazed after her, unable to follow, always trapped in the backyard. Ranks of pixies stood on the sills in the house’s darkened windows. The wolves stood on the porch, their red tongues lolling out of their mouths.
Then the car pulled away and the creatures disappeared from view. They reached the end of the street, and she twisted in her seat to look back one last time. Faintly, she could hear voices wailing farewell, and a tear ran down her cheek. For a moment, she wished she could bring them with her. The car turned onto the highway and she slid back into her seat. The pixie sat cupped in her hand, hidden from view. She said nothing.
