The Longing [D&G]

I really can’t remember the first time I heard stories about the patch of woods near my home in Columbia. The stories had been told for years, I guess. Whisperings of strange lights and sounds coming from the old house were just the type of news that interests a twelve-year-old. I had always been a fan of horror and science fiction movies and so I was spellbound. I made plans to find out for myself if there was any truth to these stories.

The summer of 1985 was right before my parent’s divorce and mixed feelings ripped through me like wind through a ship’s tattered sails. There were times when I wanted to run and run and keep running until Missouri was far behind me. At others, I didn’t want to be away from my mom and dad for even a few hours. The circumstances were perfect for me to go on a quest. I somehow needed to be kept extremely busy and this fit the bill perfectly.

As far as I know, the patch of woods that kept the old white house hidden from the probing eyes of the world had no official name. Since it was in the middle of an area full of new housing developments, I always wondered just how the trees had escaped being cleared over the years. It was a mystery how people even knew of the spirit that supposedly inhabited the house. I never once noticed anyone besides kids poking around the remains. I myself had explored the woods on several occasions, not really knowing why I was drawn to the house. I could spend an entire day just looking at the detail in the house and how the trees and vines had grown up right next to the walls, almost seeming to reclaim the old structure.

Being a Boy Scout, I felt that I had the ability to outfit myself for the type of exploring I was planning to do around the old house. I spent the better part of an afternoon laying out my gear in differing combinations. I finally decided to take a canteen, a flashlight, a pocketknife, and a whistle. When your twelve, you have to be careful to avoid too much parental interest in things like this so I tried to pack my gear quietly. I was determined to leave early the next morning since any undertaking involving haunted houses or ghosts should always take place during the daylight hours.

To my relief, the day dawned bright and sunny. I quietly got dressed and gathered my backpack. I left the house before my parents were up in order to avoid the inevitable questions which my mother would ask. I didn’t want to have to explain where I was going and what I planned to do there. Somehow, I felt that this was a highly personal thing and I wanted to keep it all to myself. The old house was about a fifteen-minute walk and I arrived at the edge of the woods without meeting anyone. The large oak trees gave the property a regal, and somewhat ancient feeling; nothing at all like the small trees planted in modern housing areas. I stepped into the shade of the giant trees and felt a nervousness in my stomach that was usually reserved for a boy about to do something he knew he shouldn’t. As I walked toward the house, I began noticing every detail of everything around me. The rough bark of the trees seemed to jump out at me and the shrubs and plants seemed impossibly green. I glanced up through the canopy of leaves and noticed that even the clouds were busy arranging themselves into new and strange shapes. Sweat dripped into my eyes, causing me to stop and wipe them on my sleeve every few yards. For the first time I noticed a peculiar lack of animal activity. The day was beautiful and warm. There should have been the singing of birds and the chatter of squirrels in the trees.

I paused as the house came into view. It looked different somehow. The sun was bright and hot and the scene should have been well lit, but the house seemed dark. Part of the house looked like new and other parts looked like they were ready to crumble to the ground. It was sort of like a double exposure in a camera that puts two images on the same frame of film. The images seemed to pulse back and forth. One moment the house looked old, and the next, new and well cared for. I wasn’t sure of exactly what I was seeing and just for a moment I wished I had brought someone with me. The sun seemed suddenly too hot and I sat down against the trunk of a nearby tree. When I again looked at the house, everything was, as time meant it to be. The white paint was peeling off in large flakes and in many places rot had begun to take the walls. Weeds and small trees infested the yard, masking any lawn there may have once been. After composing myself, I got up and walked on toward the house.

A quick survey of the backyard revealed the remains of an old swing set. The poles were rusty and the chains had long since been taken by someone. Weeds and grass grew wildly around the base and the frame almost seemed to be growing out the ground itself. Closer inspection around the edges of the yard showed a number of trails leading off into the woods. I thought briefly about exploring one of them but decided against it. Here and there lay a discarded, and now worn child’s toy.

Suddenly my attention was averted by the sound of voices behind me. I was sure they were human voices but I could not make out the words. They sounded faint and indistinct, as if coming to me from a great distance. I spun around to see nothing but a well-used baseball on the ground not more than ten feet from me. A ball that had not been there a moment before.

I bent down to pick it up and discovered that the ball was cool to the touch even though it was lying in the hot sun. As my fingers curled around the ball, images of a thousand games flashed through my mind. Ball games played with friends for hours, until it got too dark to see. Sounds of yelling, laughter and feelings of friendship. Games that were played simply for the fun of it. For just a moment, it seemed as if I were somebody else in another time. It may seem strange, but the feelings didn’t scare me at all. They weren’t foreign to me. In fact there was an odd familiarity. The sensation passed away as quickly as it had come and I was alone in the yard again. Without even thinking I threw the ball into the clearing behind the house and got on with my task. I glanced up at one of the second-story windows. The glass had been broken out and the window looked with silent eyes on the trees beyond. Without a doubt, I knew that a boy had lived in this house and that I was looking at his room. I walked around to the front of the house and stood looking at the front door for the longest time. I knew that I would go in but not what I would find.

Getting the front door open proved to be a problem. The latch was locked and the hinges were rusty from years of neglect. My trusty pocketknife proved it’s worth in allowing me to flip the latch back and get the door unlocked. The hinges groaned in protest as the heavy wooden door swung open. The smell of freshly cooked food greeted me as I stuck my head past the door for a closer look. I finally stepped inside and immediately felt a pressure against my body sort of like walking against a moderate wind. The room was completely empty as if someone had removed every scrap of furniture in an effort to rid the house of any signs of habitation. Dust coated the floor and walls in a thick layer that looked like it had lain undisturbed for years.

At the top of the stairway was a large bedroom that was also completely empty. I walked without hesitation into the room and was engulfed in a wave of sorrow so intense that I had to step backward into the hallway, almost falling down. During the few seconds in the room I had learned enough. Images and sounds from a distant time had flooded my thoughts. I learned of a family who had lived in the house, a mother, a father and one child. The child had been a boy named Matthew. The sorrow that filled his parent’s room was because of the boy’s death at the age of twelve. I was never able to gather any further information as to the cause of Matthew’s death but felt that it was sudden and violent.

I moved on down the hall and found the room I had been looking for. This room was different from the others in the house. It appeared as if nothing had been moved. Time had done its work on the room nevertheless; fading colors, destroying fabrics, rotting wood. The room was simple in layout. The single bed was against the wall next to the only window. The dresser near the closet had a few objects lying on top of it. There was a brush, some rocks, and some loose change but it was the trophy that caught my eye. It was a baseball trophy with a figure swinging a bat on top, and Matthew’s name on the engraving plate. I quietly set the trophy back down where it had been for so many years. I felt comfortable in the room even if I was a little afraid. I felt that Matthew wanted me to be there.

The atmosphere in the room was warm and familiar. We had something in common just by being boys about the same age. I felt his presence in the room with me as I sat down next to the bed. What happened next was not exactly what I had expected from a haunted house or a ghost. A series of experiences filled my mind. I could sense the warmth and feeling of close family, the fun and excitement of running through the woods or of going fishing with friends, the attachment of a life-long pet. Bright colors and vivid smells filled my head.

I saw places that were both strange and familiar at the same time. I had experienced some of Matthew’s life in a few short minutes. A short lifetime shown to me in sensations of love, joy and longing. I learned nothing of any pain which may have been in his life; nothing of his death. I felt then and knew that Matthew was simply lonely and wanted to communicate his feelings and experiences of life with someone else. I feel that his spirit was at the house because it was his home in life and it was where he felt comfortable. He chose to share some of his life with me through images and feelings and because of that he will always be a part of me. I stayed for a long while and then I knew that Matthew was satisfied. I left the house as I had found it and never returned.

The house and the magnificent trees surrounding it have since fallen victim to the bulldozer and several new homes have been built on the property. As far as I know, there have not been any strange occurrences in the area since it was developed. As far as I am concerned, there never were any strange occurrences. It was only a boy whose life was too soon ended. It was only a love of life too soon snuffed out. It was only the spirit of a young boy reaching out to let someone know that he had once lived. It was only needing to be remembered. That’s not strange to me.


Hope you enjoyed this story that I wrote - Just a contribution to your HAPPY HALLOWEEN.

Oh I loved this story thank you for sharing.
S&F from me i just love the you describe everthing.

Brilliant how you described the view of the house,

I paused as the house came into view. It looked different somehow. The sun was bright and hot and the scene should have been well lit, but the house seemed dark. Part of the house looked like new and other parts looked like they were ready to crumble to the ground. It was sort of like a double exposure in a camera that puts two images on the same frame of film.

I didn’t feel the doom and gloom in your story; it was more of a romance and love for times passed.
Maybe it’s the mood I’m in, I had a vision of my father [recently passed ]last night and everything today seems kind of surreal.

Love and harmony
Whateva

Good stuff

Thank you both for taking time to read my story. I always appreciate any comments or suggestions.

AedanK you are a wonderful storyteller. Your descriptive skills are fantastic. I enjoyed the story very much, and actually found it quite touching.

I had it wrong, though. I thought the deceased child was going to turn out to be story's teller, only now accepting or learning about his own death. But I really, really liked your ending. Good job.

Thank you SO much for your comment. I debated with myself about posting this story since I wrote it a while back and it's so personal for me. I really am glad that you enjoyed the story.