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A Colorful Nightmare
I breathe in and out slowly as if I am barely breathing at all, knowing I am more nervous than ever. This is the house that has scared me for as long as I can remember. The house I have had nightmares about for years, the house that says more to me than just welcome. And right now it isn’t making me feel any different, because this is my new home.
I stare at the long, uneven driveway, even though it is old and stained yellow. The windows are broken and the door is ajar as though someone has been inside. The thought of walking in “there” again sends chills down my spine making me so much more nervous and scared, to the point I want to cry. But I don’t, because this is my home for now and I am going to have to get used to it sooner or later, even though I really don’t have a choice, I choose later.
Suddenly, I feel a hand on my shoulder and it sends a chill down my spine. It’s actually my father trying to tell me everything is going to be okay. It doesn’t tell me what he wants it to, it tells me this house is not going to be fun nor does it say that I am safe here. My father and I walk towards the door; it is a maroon color with a peep hole the size of an orange. What would you need a peep hole the size of an orange for? We continue walking when suddenly we see a figure through the front window run through the house as if possibly being chased and running in fear, but no one or nothing follows him.
My father holds me back and in that split second every emotion runs through my body; happiness, sadness, stress, anger, fear and so much more that I cannot even describe. Seconds later we hear a crash and the front window breaks. A man comes tumbling out and the window shatters everywhere. His arm is bleeding and we realize there is a broken glass table in the house. He must have cut himself when he was moving the table because he has one of the movers’ uniforms on. We look down at him and he looks up at us. All three of us stare at each other not knowing what‘s going to happen next. I can tell my father is confused; a man just crashed through our window and the only thing he can do is stare at us? He stands up and looks me in the eyes. I feel as if I know him, the way he stares at me with such uncertainty. The duration of the stare finally ends when a dark blue truck pulls up front and honks its loud horn startling us all. The man, whose name I later found out to be Benjamin, runs past us straight to the car.
When we finally see the car disappear my father and I realize we are alone on our new driveway. My father remembers something as he stares into the broken window. He tells me that before we were forced to move into this house, the realtor told him that the people who used to live here were not liked by the neighbors. That’s why they vandalized our house. They probably did not know that the people passed away and that there were new owners. Fear runs through my body once more.
Suddenly, the realization of moving into our new house strikes the both of us simultaneously. We both take a deep breath and walk up the steep steps into our new home. My father opens the maroon colored door and we walk onto the marble floors. They are the most extravagant floors I have ever laid my eyes on; bright and shiny and I just want to lie down in the middle and let the coolness take over my body. There is a quick breeze that shakes me, through our now, very large window. But I head to my room, with my chin up, hoping it will be my favorite yet.
Ever since I was little I wanted to be with my dad all the time, making sure nothing ever happened to him. I had nightmares about moving when I was younger because a new house meant new surroundings, new people to trust or not to trust, and worst of all a new house that needs getting used to. I always hoped my dad’s room and mine wasn’t too far away, just for safety reasons. I hated not having the feeling of safety and security I had always yearned for. The feeling I never wanted was the feeling I got from the pat my dad gave me on our way in.
I go down the long, quiet hallway that has at least three pictures on each wall and into my bedroom. It’s actually quite nice; it has four long grey walls and a colorful flower pot sitting on an old, antique white nightstand in the corner. It is a pretty room with a closet big enough for three people to have a slumber party in. It’s a great room; large enough for all of my furniture and accessories.
I walk out of my room and into every other door down the long hallway exploring all the adventures that are hidden in this house and I think to myself, this could be fun. I quickly, overcome the fear that this house has brought me and I am back in the living room. Another cool breeze continues to hit me, and I feel safe.
The movers are here with the rest of our furniture at 8 a.m. the next morning. I know this because the honk of the horn blasts through our 8” by 10” window waking me up and rolling me off the couch. I stand up and go to my room to remind me of the amazing room I now have. Today is the day I get to decorate it so hearing the movers makes me excited.
My dad rushes out to the truck to help the movers. They first bring in all the furniture for the living room, family room, and then the appliances for the kitchen. After, they bring in all the furniture for the bedrooms and finally it’s time for my room. I feel like a captain telling them to move that, where to put this, and how I want it done. Captain? Yeah, I could get used to that.
The movers leave when I am done directing them what to do. Now I have the room all to myself and I know I already love it more than any other room I have had. This time I am allowed to personalize it, and everything feels just right lying on my bed staring at the ceiling, breathing at the most normal pace I have in a long time.
Monday morning I am up at 6:30 a.m. because it is the first day of school and I have new people to meet. School is quiet but nice. It’s also another place that has many hallways for me to explore.
Unfortunately, I have to take the bus home because my father will be at work. The bus makes eight stops before it reaches my house. School ends at 3:30 but I arrive home at 5:00. A whole hour and a half of homework I should have been doing but wanted to wait until I got home, so I could do it in my new room. The bus stops a block away from my house so it is only a two minute walk. I come into view of my house and I am shocked; the door is open, the window is fixed but spray painted blue, the driveway is painted green, and worst of all the house itself has been spray painted different colored streaks everywhere. I am scared to go inside. What if the criminal is still in there stealing jewelry or still spray painting? But I toughen up and walk in the house. If a criminal were to really attack me right now I would run as fast as I could out of here and scream my head off. So when I walk in and see the house in perfect condition, I am relieved. But the outside still looks horrible and ugly.
Then the worst thought pops into my head. My room!!!!!! I run down the long hallway that is now lit up with all the light coming in from the windows and I sprint into my room slamming the door hard against the wall probably making hole, but I don’t care anymore because my room has not been touched and I am more grateful than ever.
But the big question is still who did this and why? Why touch the outside of the house and not the inside? Only one name pops into my head, but that name would never correspond with such mastery work towards this house. The lines on the house are perfectly straight and the window is painted with no stray marks. This had to have taken a long time, but who would have put in the time and effort? And why didn’t our neighbors call the police if they saw the criminal doing this? None of my neighbors must have known that the people that lived here don’t anymore.
My father gets home minutes later and immediately drops everything and runs into the house. He sees me standing there and charges towards me giving me a hug of relief. He must have been really worried that something happened to me because this is the tightest hug I have ever received, but it is also filled with so much love. He starts telling me how much he loves me and that this house is going to work out. I believe him because my school is great and my room is unbelievable, and it’s also down the hall from my dad’s room. The best part is that I feel a sense of safety when he tells me this and I know everything really will be okay, once we get the house and the driveway re-done.