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White Hair

I always felt something was daunting about that house. Even before when Martha saw it online. I remember getting a horrible feeling of overwhelming fearful dread. It was as if the house itself pushed me away, repelled me as if we were opposites on a magnet, and to be honest, I wanted to get away from it. But Martha, that persistent woman, she urged on and on about “Come on Aaron, give it a chance! You never know what you can find in little old houses like these!” and for days she dragged on and on about living in that damned house...But I knew, I knew that something, dark, horrifying and beyond human knowledge held that house in an everlasting grip.
As we stopped just in front of the house I took a long glace at it from the safety of my car window. It was obviously an old house. The door was scratched an worn, as if an animal was attempting to enter but only succeeded at ripping off the paint. The blinds were so very unsightly, missing bits and pieces of it here an there, and I swear if you stared at the windows long enough they'd begin to stare back at you. The panels that covered the dusty old house were falling off and for some reason left the putrid stench of rotting something and decaying wood. Nothing grew in the front lawn, and if it did they were small weeds, with barely enough power to stand tall. It was like a dead brown barren waste land. Lastly, the most disturbing part of the house were the shutters, which creaked loudly, as if moaning, begging to let something out.
I turned to Martha who stared at the place looking captivated by its ancient and grotesque features. I began wondering what was traveling through her mind that made her seem so at ease even in the presence of such a creepy and haunting place. I coughed to get her attention, she jumped, seeming startled as if being snapped back into this world.
“Time to check the place out Martha. Now remember what I said -”
“I know, I know” Martha groaned as she stepped gracefully from our Lexus. She stood proud and tall as she gazed once more at the freaky house. I stepped out after her and walked next to her. Her eyes seemed fixated on a part of the house. I followed her gaze to a window, but what I saw after that I still to this day don't know if its real.
Eyes. Red piercing, menacing eyes that tore through your very core, your entire being, your soul. What held these eyes was the body of a young girl, with a Macabre smile, so horrifying that even the thought is enough to make one go into made fits of fear and absolute deranged rambling. Her sharp teeth seemed to go on forever, so point that it drew blood from her own mouth that dripped down her chin, staining her old musty dress. Yet the one feature I still couldn't shake off, I still can't shake off to this day was the curly brown hair that matched Martha's perfectly.
I felt the color drain from my already pale face. Using all the strength in my body I turned to look at Martha, whose hair turned lighter and lighter by the second. Her eyes grew super wide and I noticed her skin began to perspire with little beads of sweat rolling down the side of her face to the pavement bellow. I reached my hand to touch Martha's shoulder, just to check if she was okay, but I didn't raise my hand two inches before she pushed me out of the way and jumped back into the car. I quickly took the hint and rushed over to the drivers seat and strapped myself in and under a minute we drove off back to our old apartment. We didn't dare to turn back or even look that way for that matter. We just drove the long road home.
The next couple of days we didn't speak of it and acted as if nothing had changed. Martha's hair went completely white and whenever someone asks we just tell them she was born with it.
Though, I remember one time after that event we were grocery shopping and a strange old lady came up to us to ask the question of Martha's hair. As usual she said she was born with it. The lady said:
“Oh, thank goodness, if you weren't that must mean you saw a demon that’s after every bit of you. First it takes your hair color, then your smile, and finally it covers its piercing red eyes, with your own.”





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IntrepidRoseThis teenager is a 'regular' and has contributed a lot of work, comments and/or forum posts, and has received many votes and high ratings over a long period of time. This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Jan. 25, 2011 at 1:14 pm

Even before when Martha saw it online.

 

This is an incomplete sentence. Good story.

 
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