My grandmother had lived inside a small one room house for the past seventy one years. She was an avid racist, something I despised during my time in the South, and she also had very little memory past the age of 30. She could remember anything before then, but now she had trouble remembering to feed herself.
Her name was Gwyneth, and she had been in World War 2 as a secret soldier. She had cut her hair and pretended to be a male to join the war. She had a wicked sense of humour and could make anyone laugh.
It was now 2013 and it was probably time for her to take her trip to the promised land, whatever the hell that was. I had to bring her lunch every day, since I worked nights doing freight at an office supply store. Today she was telling me about D-day, and how she had saved about nine mens lives by taking a grenade to the leg. She said she had a prosthetic leg, but it was BS because she had nasty olive spots on both of her legs. She had tons of war stories that were complete lies, she had killed Hitler, shook hands with Stalin, spent the night at Churchill's place. All kinds of stories that were made up, but were so entertaining you had to listen.
I watched her eat that sludgy chicken noodle soup. She always ate Campbells chicken noodle soup every day. The smell of it made me nauseous. I hadn't slept much the night before, so I felt my eyelids slowly roll down, casting me away into dreamland.
I woke up in a stupor, it was hot and humid. Grandma was nowhere to be found. I got up out of the chair and searched the entire house. I found the attic ladder down, and could hear something up in that dreadful attic. I climbed up the ladder and was dumbfounded by what I saw.
Grandma was sitting in the middle, surrounded by a circle of candles and a pentagram of some red substance on the wall. She was hovering over something, it looked like a body laying down. I edged my way over to her, making my way slowly across the rusty floor. Then the inevitable happened, a board creaked, and she turned around in a maddening fashion.
Across her face was blood, chunks of flesh on her face. Blood dripped down onto that old wood, and laying under her was my body, laying there lifeless, chunks of my face bitten out. She was wearing a Nazi uniform, and ran towards me. I ran back to the ladder, but tripped and fell down onto the ground. The air was knocked out of me, and for a moment I felt a sense of impending doom. I then got up, rushed down the hall,and out the door. Something was wrong, this was not her neighborhood. Fog surrounded me, I could only see past the palm of my hand. Some kind of mellow music was playing, and I ran. For how long, I know not, but after what seemed like hours I arrived at some identical cabin to my Grandmothers. I ran inside and slammed the door shut.
Inside were hundreds of bodies hanging from the rafters, it looked like a slaughterhouse. Bodies of me and my parents, all my friends, a Hitler corpse, all hanging from hooks on the ceiling. I screamed and ran towards the back door. Outside the screen door the fog was even thicker, I could not even see my body underneath my neck. I kept running, hearing her foosteps right behind me made my head ache. Oh the torture!! Her laughing and breathing down my neck. For some reason I kept running, even though I knew she would get to me. I came across another shack, this time it looked different. It had a large Coca Cola sign on the right side, and a swingset beside the house. I sprinted inside, and caught my breath after latching the lock.
It was some kind of old country store, filled with old knick knacks and stuff that only a dumb tourist would buy. I checked all the entrances, locked the back door and threw bookshelves in front of the front and back door. I ran upstairs, into what looked like the living quarters of the owner. Bear pelts were all along the walls, deer antlers and other animal parts. There was only one window on this level, so I stared outside. The fog was still thick, but I could hear her beating on the door, calling my name. She yelled gross obscenities and made gestures at me. I wanted to throw up. I passed out on the bed.
I woke up again, this time in some dark room. The smell of that chicken soup was so strong I was queasy. One dim light turned on, and my grandma was standing there with a whip, in some weird s&m getup. I was tied to a chair, my hands and feet bound together. It was so gross! Dear mother it was disgusting!
She walked up with a can of that soup, and poured it upon my head. It was boiling hot, and I could feel my skin peeling off my body, my eyes exploded and I cried out in anger. The terrible woman! What was happening?
I woke up again. My grandma was sitting in front of me at the table, asleep. I was in a cold sweat, and it was somewhere around 3am. I brought her to her bed, and went to the bathroom to wash my face off. I looked in the mirror, and my entire face was a melted mess. My eyeballs were hanging from their sockets, looking up at me. My grandma was standing behind me with a blood covered razor, breathing down my neck. That smell, that smell of Campbells chicken noodle soup. I threw up all over the mirror.
I screamed.
No comments:
Post a Comment