Lonely Street The

THE LONELY STREET

  By Jared Pfannenstiel

  The lonely street of Smith Road, Maine was silent. The gloomy street barely shone any light. Yes, the populated neighborhood had plenty lamps, but all of them had burnt out. All but one. It shined like a lonely ghost that never leaves. Never burns out. Never stops haunting the road.

  “Mama,” one boy with brown hair and brown eyes wearing a bright blue shirt said out of the blue, “can I go see the lady under the street light?”

  “Who? What lady? Tell me who.” The mother, who looked like him in every way, demanded.

  “That lady,” the child said pointing to the empty street.

  The mother, thinking he had an imaginary friend responded, “Sure, why not.” The boy jumped with glee as the mother patted him on the back. The boy ran outside to the lamp.

  The mother watched nervously as the small boy was talking to someone. He responded like a lady was actually there! There wasn’t. There couldn’t be. But he talked, waited, smiled, laughed...and held his hand in the air as if someone held his tiny hand. If that’s how people act with imaginary friends, then he must actually think someone is there and talking to him.

  Then it all happened too fast! The small child started crying as deep cuts dragged through his skin. Blood started dripping down his arm, creating a puddle below him. Then he fell down, crying with his arm still up. The mother ran out as fast as she could stand it. The boy screamed as he got dragged into the woods. The mother quickly turned to the same entrance of matted down grass and blood that covered the dirt. Being the fastest runner in her old high school was helping. She found a field as she came closer and in the center was...she started crying as she walked to her son. He lay there limp, obviously dead. The mother dropped to her knees and cried until she couldn’t cry any more. She walked home but as soon as she walked out of the woods, she saw a massive rock bang into her forehead. A jogger found her on the sidewalk the next day. Dead.

  The same street was as lonely as the night a mother and a son died that same night ten years ago. The houses just as quiet. The lamp still going. The gardens all tidy. Frost on the October ground. The only noise was the crying of a little girl and the taunts of her older brother.

  “Should I show Mr. Teddy to the trash? I think he’ll like it!” the older brother said.

  “Give him back, Tom or I’ll,” the little sister with brown hair and brown eyes, wearing a pink dress got cut off by Tom.

  “Or what, Sarah,” Tom said. His blue eyes flared with anger from the prank the sister did. The glue on his chair that he sat on when he played on the computer. His brown hair was matted down from the shower he just got out of. He wore a black shirt with the words: “The walking party,” on the front, with blue jeans.

  “I’ll tell mommy and daddy!” And she darted out of the room.

  Tom didn’t rush out, chasing her. He just simply pushed aside his sister’s bookshelf. Tom then started knocking on the blue wall. He found the sound he was looking for and put his hand through the wall. He found the doorknob and opened the hidden door. I love the people who lived here before, he thought as he got down on his hands and knees. He moved the bookshelf back to its original place. He shuffled his hands on the floor. The flashlight he put there was in the same place he left it. He closed the door and waited.

  “He’s in here,” the small voice of his sister reported.

  “Where?” Tom’s dad asked and commanded.

  “In here,” Sarah whined. Then she commanded, “Spank him!”

  Tom’s parents left the room and Sarah began to cry.

  “Saaarrrrraaaahhhh, Come heerrreee!” Tom moaned as he heard Sarah scream. “I won’t eat you,” He added, his voice stern, “Well, not today.”

  His sister already ran out of the room screaming. Tom waited until he was sure the coast was clear. He opened the door, moved the bookshelf, then put the flashlight down. He crawled out and smiled. He would move through the secret passages, follow Sarah until she was alone, then moan how he would: hurt her, eat her, trap her, torture her, and his favorite one, make her a slave with all the other dead children the “monster” would capture.

  Tom walked out of the room into the beige hallway. He was going to the front door as the doorbell rang. He backed up and opened the creaky door.

  On the front porch, there was a boy, about twelve, wearing a gray jacket with ripped jeans. He had blond hair and green eyes. The somewhat skinny boy was holding a rectangular box. The box was about 10 inches by 4 inches. It was so dusty that Tom couldn’t read the big black letters on the front.

  “Yo dude,” his friend Andrew yelled. “Heard your sister screaming the next town over and I thought ‘I don’t want to miss the fun’.”

  “What’s that?” Tom said, pointing to the rectangular box.

  “Ever heard of an Ouija board?” Tom’s friend asked. “Thought we’d have fun with Sarah tonight. I know your parents were planning their ‘romantic honeymoon’ tonight.”

  “They’re getting ready right now.”

  “Well, that’s terrible. I wanted to get right into it.”

  “Stop your whining,” Tom said sternly.

  At that very sentence, the two boys heard the thumping of Tom’s parents walking down the stairs. Tom’s dad wore a black tux with a blue tie. The black hair on Tom’s dad’s head (well, the remaining hair) was combed neatly to the right side. He wore black pants and shoes. His brown eyes were relaxed. He looked as though he just shaved.

  Tom’s mother, on the other hand, wore a snow white dress with red shoes. Her blond hair was neat, with a ruffle in front. Her blue eyes were staring straight at Tom, then shifted like an opening door. She, in that dress, reminded him of Dorothy in “The Wizard of Oz.”

  “No torturing Sarah.” She commanded to both the boys.

  “When have I ever tortured Sarah?” Tom asked, giving his mother puppy dog eyes.

  “Don’t you see the halo over my head and the angel wings?”

  “Honey, remember this is your night.” Tom’s dad said after a couple of minutes.

  The both walked to the red Chevy in the driveway. Tom waited until they were out of sight for him to wave Andrew in. Andrew took off his shoes and went into the living room. He then put the box down in front of Sarah.

  “What’s that?” She asked.

  “Brief history,” Tom said. “I know I say history is boring, but this one is not. Invented in 1871 by Hasbro Inc., it is still used to contact spirits in séances. First it was considered ‘a harmless board game’ until people bought it. Later when William Fuld died it was ‘bad luck’. In one story it said before old Willy died it was a fun game, but after... people were getting possessed.”

  “What does po- po- pozzess mean,” Sarah asked, not noticing Andrew left the room.

  “It means to be a mindless slave to the ghost.” Tom answered.

  He noticed Andrew enter the room through the door behind Sarah. He tilted his head back slightly to motion Andrew forward. He noticed and started walking forward, not making a sound. Tom fell to the floor shaking violently. Sarah screamed and as she did Andrew grabbed her arm and pulled. Crying she pulled her arm out of the iron grip and ran to her room. When she was out of sight, Tom stood up and laughed.

  “Okay,” he said grabbing the Ouija board. “Let’s open that baby up.”

  He opened the boards cover and put the game on the table.

  “Go get Sarah. Tell her I’m sorry.” Tom ordered Andrew. “I’ll get everything set up.”

  When Sarah was calmed down, but truly traumatized, she sat on the couch.

  “No more scary pranks,” she demanded, but she knew there would be more.

  “Let’s start,” Tom said, reaching out for the planchette, the p
ointer. He motioned Andrew to do the same. When both hands were on the pointer, they began.

  “What’s your name?” Andrew asked.

  The pointer moved to the W. Then the H-O-A-R-E-Y-O-U.

  “Who are you,” the two boys said in unison.

  “You moved that didn’t you?” Andrew asked laughing.

  “You know me so well.”

  “Let’s do this for real, dude.”

  They put their hands on the pointer and restarted.

  “What’s your name?” Tom asked. Silence. The clock slowly ticked by. One minute. Two. “We invite you here!” Tom yelled. The clock ticked by again. Then movement started. W-H-O-A-R-E-Y-O-U.

  “Stop that, bro.” Andrew demanded. Tom let go of the pointer but it still moved.

  “Then you stop!” Tom shouted. Andrew let go to but the pointer still moved.

  K-I-L-L, the board finally spelled.

  “I don’t believe it.” Andrew said as Sarah started crying. She ran to her room.

  Tom was about to run but he knew Andrew would tease him about it. One of Tom’s rules; be cool in front of friends.

  Andrew tossed the board on the floor and the terror ended. “Let’s watch a little TV,” he suggested.

  Sarah, crying, was playing with her dolls, Mr. Teddy in the corner. She then grabbed more dolls and moved them to the doll house. She hugged one close to her chest.

  “Sssaaaaaarrraahhhhh,” a voice in the shadows moaned. Sarah jumped and looked behind her toward the sound.

  “Tommy it’s not funny,” Sarah said in a worried tone as she got up. She looked around