FirstLineFiction beta

from Contest #2

            “All the trouble began when my grandfather died and my grandmother - my father's mother - came to live with us.” These are the words of young Michael Pomey, written his journal that was recovered at the scene of the crime. The following diary entries will take you through the horrid and horrific journey of 12 year-old Michael, and the ghastly events that took place from October 1^st, to October 26^th.

October 1^st, 2009:
            Today Dad told me that Grandma was coming to live with us. I don’t think that I’ve ever met Grandma. I think that I remember her a few times, when I was a child, but it’s all too foggy for me. Either way, she is coming to live with us.
            She was living with Grandpa out on their farm, which I didn’t even know they had! I wish I could have gone! Maybe they had cows to tip, or chickens to chase around! But apparently, Grandma woke up one day, and Grandpa had run off. Their 1982 Oldsmobile Omega was gone, as well as all of his clothes. I wonder why he ran off. Maybe he just wasn’t happy. But Grandma couldn’t live on there on own anymore. I wouldn’t want to either I don’t think. Living on a big farm, in the middle of nowhere, would be a little scary. I don’t blame Grandma. I think that I’m excited to meet her. Maybe she will have good “old people” stories to tell. Maybe she’ll even bring candy.

October 5^th, 2009:
            We drove out to pick up Grandma from her house today. I could hardly keep still in my seat. Dad drove, and mom had to keep on telling me to sit still. It was all so amazing. I hadn’t ever seen so much, so much nothing! Each house was so far apart! Growing up in the suburbs, houses are so close to each other, so the excitement just kept on building. Finally we pulled up to the farm, and the moment Dad turned off the car, I burst out of the car like a rocket-ship. Dad told me to not wander too far off, and that they would be inside. I said okay, and then began to explore.
            I ran with so excitement that I almost tripped over my untied shoelace, but didn’t stop to tie it. I saw an old barn next to the house, and headed towards it. I pushed the large door open with all my might, and managed to open a crack just big enough to squeeze through. I expected to be greeted by cows or horses, but only dead silence came. There were no animals, and it smelled bad in there, like rotting food, or bad garbage. I did see a big pile of hay though, so I was once again excited. I sprinted towards it, and jumped into it like a big pile of crunchy leaves. It wasn’t soft though, because I landed on a belt. The buckle jabbed into me, so I pulled it out of the pile. I felt like a magician, because as I pulled, a shirt came out, attached to the belt! I liked the belt though. It was smooth leather, and had a shiny gold oval belt buckle that had a “P” engraved on it. I traded my own belt with the new belt, and decided to head inside.
            Their house smelt musty, and I felt like I was breathing in only dust, and no air. I heard my parents talking to Grandma, so I followed their voices. The house was like an old museum, so much old-looking stuff. I thought it was pretty cool. Finally I found them sitting in the living room, and I stood just around the corner, spying on them. I was a secret-agent, on an important mission. I kept on peeking my head around the corner, every 15 seconds or so. I was the most secret agent of all the land, and the best one too. I was ready to peer around the corner again, and I did. I turned the corner to come face-to-face with Grandma. Her skin was cracked and wrinkled and her eyes were crusty and seemed almost black. I screamed too, and ran right out of the house. The entire car-ride home, I sat in my seat, not moving a muscle, and just staring straight ahead.

October 10^th, 2009:
            Grandma has been living in the room next to mine, and I can hear everything. She usually stays in there too, but at night, is when I hear her. Sure, when I’m downstairs after school, and during dinner, it’s fine, but at night, is when it gets bad. I’ve heard her scream, and moan, and I’ve even heard her grunt a few times. Maybe she’s just having nightmares. I can understand I guess, because I used to have nightmares when I was younger. Maybe it happens again when you’re older. Either way, it still scares me every night. It reminds me of Halloween ghosts and ghouls and goblins, and I don’t like it one bit.
            I’ve told Dad about it, but he says to leave her alone, because she’s old. I don’t think that’s a good excuse, but now I sleep with my door shut, and with the BB-Gun I got for Christmas last year.

October 11^th, 2009:
            I think I just saw Grandma when I was in the bathroom. I rolled out of bed because I had to pee, and I saw that my clock said it was 1:42 AM. I really had to pee too, so I ran across the hall to the bathroom. I must have forgotten to shut the door, because after I finished, I was washing my hands in the sink and saw that the door was open. I splashed some water on my face, and gazed into the mirror as I dried it off, and swore I saw Grandma standing behind me in the doorway, watching me with those black eyes.
            I spun around, but she wasn’t there. He door was closed too. I didn’t hear any footsteps, and not even the door closing. My heart felt like it was going to explode out of my chest. I didn’t even turn off the light, or look behind me as I sprinted to my room. I slammed the door shut behind me, and slid right under my covers. Now I’m sitting here with my BB-Gun, this journal, and I don’t think I’m going to fall asleep anytime soon.

October 16^th, 2009:
            I told Dad about my encounter with Grandma after school today, after finally building enough courage. He didn’t want to hear about it though, especially after the first encounter with her at her farm. He told me not to be so hostile towards her, because she’s just an old lady. I nodded my head and agreed with him, but inside I really didn’t.

October 20^th, 2009:
            Today, Mom went out for groceries and didn’t come back. Dad has been crying all night, and Grandma is once again in her room. I tried to ask him what happened, but he wouldn’t answer. All I could see was a crumpled-up piece of paper in his hand, and the tears that soaked it. I tried to talk, but he wouldn’t talk back. I don’t know what’s wrong, but nothing is right.

October 22^nd, 2009.
            Today Dad decided to take Grandma to the store to get some medicine for her. She’s sick or something, I overhead Dad saying. So after I got home from school, there was no one but me. I decided to do something…something I shouldn’t have. If I could take it back, I would…but I can’t. I don’t even want to write this now, but I have to. I have to get it out. I have to tell someone. I have to. I have to.
            So after I got home, I put my school stuff in my room, and went into Grandma’s room. The moment I opened her door, a rush of hot, stale air blew into my face. It smelled like her barn, and her house, and…it smelled like death. I thought grandmothers were supposed to smell like cookies and peppermint and butterscotch candy. She smelled nothing like fresh cookies, nothing close to that. It almost burned my nose, so I tried to hold my breath. I stepped across the word floor, each step booming on the once-mighty-trees. Everything was so dusty, just like her house. I approached her bed, the very one in which she screamed and moaned and grunted, and the stench got ever stronger. I almost threw up, but I kept on moving. The stench kept on getting stronger as I kept moving deeper into the room. I opened the walk-in closet, and the stench became 100 times worse. I gagged as my eyes began to water, but I walked into the closet.
            I saw flies buzzing all over the floor around a pile of shoe boxes. I grabbed an old baseball bat from the corner of the closet, and knocked the pile over. About 3 or 4 boxes tipped over, and the contents spilled out. At first, I couldn’t tell what it was. I just saw red slime and what looked almost like a pile of old peaches. But as they all tipped and spilled out, I finally saw what it all was; out of one box, spilled a pile of fingers and toes; out of another came a tangled mess of intestines; out of the 3^rd box spilled a pair of hands and a pair of feet; out of the final box rolled Mom’s head. It rolled right into my feet, and stared up at me, the mouth wide open, as well as the eyes that glared up at me. I screamed like the life was leaking from my throat, and then I heard Dad and Grandma come through the front door.
            I scrambled to sweep and kick the remains of my mother back into the closet, and closed the door. I spun around to see Grandma there again, standing in the doorway, her black eyes peering, and I screamed louder than ever before. The next thing I knew Dad was upstairs, asking what was wrong, and why I was in Grandma’s room. I tried to tell him, but the words wouldn’t come out. He took me downstairs, and there she was at the bottom of the stairs, staring at me, like she was staring into my soul.

October 25^th, 2009:
            I’ve locked myself in my room, all of the furniture blocking the way in. I don’t know how any of this happened, but I do know that all the trouble began when my grandfather died and my grandmother - my father's mother - came to live with us. I don’t know how it happened, but now my Grandfather, Mother, and Father are all dead. I was upstairs when Dad died. He was trying to cook dinner, and I was working on homework, and Grandma was presumably in her room, when I heard him yawp. I rushed out of my room, and flew down the stairs to see Dad, and to see Grandma as well. She was on top of him, ripping off chunks of his neck, with her teeth. The blood was squirting everywhere. She must have heard me, because she turned around. No longer were her eyes black, but a dark red. The blood dripped from her mouth, as I ran back to my room.
            I heard Dad’s cries for help as I barricaded myself in, but I couldn’t help him, and eventually, they stopped. I cried along with him, but I still moved everything in front of my door. I heard her screeching outside, her grunts getting louder and louder, as she began to try to get it. I don’t know how much longer I have.

October 26^th, 2009:
            She broke through the door last night, but I wasn’t in there. I heard her grunts below me, as she began her search. I moved into the attic, through the door above my closet. I’ve piled everything I could on top of that door, and I even nailed it shut with some nails and an old hammer I found up here. I found some old bottles of water, but there’s no food. I don’t know how long I’ll last, or how long my defenses will hold. I don’t know how this happened, or what it is, but I’ve spent the last day crying. I don’t even know what time it is. I think it’s nighttime though, and I think I’m going to try to go to sleep. Maybe when I wake up, everything will be okay. Maybe when I wake up, I’ll get to meet my real Grandma, the one who smells like cookies and peppermint and butterscotch.

back to Contest #2