�Honey, look, look at the house!� my mother cried shrilly as she stepped over the threshold, her high heels clicking oh so obnoxiously on the white linoleum.
Indeed; the house was beautiful�.and white. White linoleum stretched for several feet along the entrance hall, before it met its end at the mahogany door at the back of the room. The walls were blinding white as well, adorned with a swirling, intoxicating pattern. I began to feel dizzy, taking it all in. Mom walked slowly around the room, her heels clicking obnoxiously on the linoleum as she spun and danced with glee.
�Yeah, it�s great, eh?� my dad said slowly as he too ambled in, carrying several suitcases.
�It�s great�� I replied to them both, though in truth, everything about it creeped me out, though for no apparent reason. Everything was immaculate and clean, there was nothing scary or frightening about the place�yet. I walked forward, running my hand idly along the gleaming walls, pushing open the intimidating door. I was met with a strong odor of Lysol and disinfectant�and more freaking white. This house was going to drive me nuts. A huge spiral staircase, white, of course, with wooden banisters following it all the way up, up to the second floor, which gleamed ten feet above the top of my head.
I sighed.
I don�t suppose I ever told you about myself, did I? My name is James Rencis, my parents and I moved down here to Vermont from Chicago last month�for Dad�s job, no surprise. I�m fourteen, as well, if you�re wondering. I have short blonde hair, and a pale complexion. I�m about 5�3�, with a medium build.
I think I�m going to call this house �The White House.� Pun intended. This whole first floor was open, I could clearly see the kitchen and the dining room, and I guess the rest of the space was for a living room, or something. There was no bathroom. I guess we�ll have to run up those freaking stairs every time we have to take a pee. Great. I�m loving this house more and more.
My parents burst in, and a fresh squeal of delight ensued, with more spinning. My dad just stood there, looking around, his mouth hanging wide open. I guess I�m the only one who hated the place. I shuffled slowly up the stairs. If I had to endure any more of my parent�s excitement, I think I would have vomited. I guess I still resented them for making me leave all my friends, because the house wasn�t all that bad�just, white.
The upstairs architecture was surprisingly and irrevocably simple. The stairs ended in front of a small wooden door, and a small balcony jutting out about three feet led off in both directions, leading around the entire room, with a glass handrail, I suppose so you didn�t plummet to your death. After a quick look in the door, I discovered it led to a bathroom, which was extremely white and whitish. I followed the balcony to the left, and it eventually led to a door. After turning around, I discovered that there was a door across the room parallel to the one I was now facing. So, basically it went like this: You go up the stairs, and at the top there�s a door that leads into a bathroom. Then, on either side of the room, there are two identical doors. Two bedrooms. Which where white. The whole house gave of a strong scent of �slit-your-own-throat-if-you-had-to-live-here-ish.�
I resigned to a long day of unpacking, which led into a long night of unpacking. I chose the bedroom on the left, though it�s not like it made any difference. It was late, and I was tired. My bed called longingly to me, but I wanted to check out my closet first. I made my way over to the sliding white doors and opened them slowly. To my surprise, a wooden shelf was already standing innocently in the middle of the room (the closet was big enough to be my old bedroom) with one small object on it�an old, stuffed doll. I recoiled in shock as I saw the thing. Its mouth was twisted into a constant leer, and its� string hair was dirty and matted. And they eyes�the eyes seemed to stare straight into your soul. A babble of whispering broke out, it sounded as if there were hundreds, thousands of voices, though none were discernable. My hairs stood straight up, and I stumbled backwards, closing the closet door with a loud clatter. Instantly the voices stopped, as if I had flicked a switch. I was breathing hard, trying to get a grip on things. After a few minutes of standing in the silence, I began to calm down, and began to doubt myself. What if I had just been imagining the voices? I grasped onto this idea with all my might, though in the back of my mind, I knew it was false.
I switched off the light and crawled under the covers, too tired to pursue the thought any longer.
The morning dawned too soon for my tastes. It seemed like only a second before Mom was shaking me awake.
�Joe! Joe, wake up! You�ll be late for school!�
School? Already?? No rest for the weary, I suppose.
I groaned and rolled out of bed a few minutes later, my mom already gone downstairs. After a moment, I remembered the doll. I crossed the room quickly, with determination, and wrenched the doors open. The whispering started up again. I viciously grabbed the demonic thing and, after opening my window, chucked it out. The whispers stopped. Satisfied, I exited my room, and began to get ready for school. The rest of the day passed normally, until sixth period.
Intercom: �Is Joe Verde there?�
Teacher: �Yes!�
Intercom: �Can you send him to the office please? He�ll be leaving.�
I heard students groan, obviously wishing that they were in my position. A feeling of dread immediately enveloped my senses, though I didn�t know why.
�I�m sorry, Joe. Your father has died.� The office lady said.
Well, that was blunt.
He had fallen out of my bedroom window while attempting to close it�apparently the window was stuck, he lost his balance, and, well�one thought popped into my head.
The doll.
I had thrown the doll out the window.
They sent me home early; my mom came and picked me up. Her eyes were red and bloodshot. I said nothing, and went straight to my room upon returning.
Dread.
I opened my closet, and there the doll sat, leering down at me. Rage boiled up inside of me, mingled with sorrow and regret. The full force of my father�s death hit me in that moment, and I nearly went down with the pain, mental and physical agony coursing through my veins, I grabbed the doll and stormed out of my room. My mother stood from the kitchen table as she saw me crossing the room with the toy clutched in my hands, and she stood up and stuttered part of a word. I ignored her and marched out of the house. I heard shrill laughing and whispering all around me, coming from the doll. The Doll. I walked for a long time, for what seemed like hours, until I came to a swiftly running river about a mile from The White House�the death house�the Doll�s house�I shoved the doll into the water and pinned it down with rocks, piling the rocks on until there was a large heap of them over the wretched figure.
After this I began to walk slowly back to the house, tears streaming down my face.
I hugged my mom after getting back to the house, still sobbing. I told her I was going to bed, and she nodded, and said she understood. That was the last time I ever saw her alive.
Mrs. Verde waded through the creek. It was peaceful here, and quiet. She could hear the birds chirping in the trees, the air whispering through the branches. She dug around in a small pile of rocks with the bottom of her foot. Stooping closer, she realized she could see a piece of bluish fabric poking through the rocks. She bent down and clutched the piece and pulled it up, uncovering the doll. She had seen Joe carrying this doll out the door the other day, why would he bury it out here? First he threw it out the window, and she put it back, now this�he must really not want that doll. She chuckled. They all needed a laugh, so why not? She would put the doll back, and give him a scare. They could all have a laugh about it later. She waded out of the creek and headed for home.
She placed the wet doll back on the shelf I Joe�s room. He was still sleeping peacefully; she didn�t want to disturb him. She went downstairs and went out of the house again, for a walk. She scribbled a note and stuck it to the fridge where he would see it in the morning. She left.
I slept hard for several hours, and it took a long time for me to fully awaken. By the time I was competent, I knew. My mother was dead, obviously. My father�s death was not a coincidence. And now my mom had undoubtedly drowned. I got out of bed, not wanting to believe it, my eyes already beginning to glisten. �Mom!� I called, a hint of desperation in my voice. Silence. Beginning to scream, I opened the closet and threw the doll to the ground. It was damp, and smelled of mold. It leered up at me from the floor.
I stormed down to the kitchen, looking around for my mother. She was gone. I located a steak knife and ran back upstairs, screaming random curses and crying. I grabbed the doll and stabbed it over, and over again, screaming, stabbing, stabbing. Stuffing flew out of its� body, its� grotesque face ripped to shreds as I stabbed it. I leaned back after several minutes and lowered my face to my hands, the will to live slipping through my fingers. The doll would haunt me forever, I thought. So why not end my misery? I lowered the serrated edge of the knife to my wrist, and cut.
The door opened, then closed. �Joe? Joe?� Mrs. Verde walked to the foot of the stairs, calling his name. �Jooooo-ooooe! Get up!� She took a ragged breath, all of a sudden overcome with emotion. Mr. Verde�s death was still fresh in both their minds.
She would let him sleep.
Home