“This isn’t happening,” I thought to myself slowly sitting down on my chair, awaiting my fate. “This doesn’t happen in real life, impossible.” I thought again trying to wake myself up from what must have been some horrible dream. I slammed my eyes shut, so hard to the point it hurt, and quickly opening them again, hoping that it really was a dream.
“This isn’t happening, Blaise. You’re going crazy.”
****
“Welcome home!” My mother said bringing the last of my things into my new apartment. I’ve been living at home with my parents for eighteen years. Living in the same room that’s been the same awful shade of pink it’s been my entire life. I need change. This was my chance to get out of that awful house in that boring old town and more into the city. Into my apartment. The most important part: by myself.
“Are you sure you want to move out?” My mother asked.
“I need change, Mom. You can’t expect me to be living in my parent’s basement my whole life”, I replied.
“You’re right, Blaise. I just can’t handle the fact the fact that my baby is moving out, that you don’t need me anymore.”
“I’ll always need you” I said, “You’re my mother. But right now I think I just need some time on my own. Figure out where I’m going to put things and whatnot.” I said, wishing I could take it back. As soon as my mouth uttered the words “on my own”, I could see the hurt in her eyes, she was clearly trying to cover it up with a fake smile.
“I’ll be fine.” I said trying to make her feel a little better, although it was clearly not working.
“Alright,” she said, “hut if you ever need anything, anything at all you call me or your father. We’ll be over here faster than you can say ‘Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious’” We both laughed, and I hugged my mother and walker her to the door. “Blaise,” she said stopping with one hand on the doorknob. “I love you.” she said.
“I love you, too. Tell Daddy I love him, too.” I said watching her walk out the door. Slam. The door shut. I went over to the window and watched her get into her car and drive away.
“FREEDOM!” I howled, throwing my arms into the air and jumping onto my bed. “Now, where to put all this junk. Where to put it.” I pondered, placing things on tables and trying different combinations of furniture against the wall. After trying to find out where I should put my things and making myself some dinner I flipped on the television and lied down in bed, falling asleep shortly after. Creek, I heard and quickly opened my eyes.
“Who’s there?” I called out into the darkness. No reply. I put my feet to the cold floor and walked over to the light switch. Won’t turn on. “That’s weird.” I said getting a flashlight from my desk. The lights flickered on. “Hmm…” I said.
“Who’s there!?” I repeated louder. No reply. Slam. A door shut and there was laughing coming from the back room. Suddenly I heard music. “I know this song.” I thought to myself, this was the song that my jewelry box played as a little kid. I turned my television back on. Nothing there, just static. “This is weird.” I thought to myself, opening up a drawer trying to find a phonebook so I could call someone to fix my lights and television, completely ignoring the music and laughing coming from my backroom. I convinced myself I was just hearing things. I opened my drawer. No phonebook. I remember putting a phonebook in my drawer before I went to bed.
“What’s this?” I said pulling out an old newspaper article, dated 1905.
CHILD BRUTALLY MURDERED.
Yesterday, Annabelle Young brutally murdered her three year old daughter, Charlotte in their Chicago apartment. Young went on a drunken rampage and stabbed her young daughter and then killed herself in apartment 324 in Canterbury Court on 1220 N. State Pkwy, Chicago, Illinois.
“That’s my apartment.” I said to myself, putting the article back into the drawer. I couldn’t bring myself to read anymore. I have to get out of here. I ran and practically threw myself at the door. Locked. There has to be a way out, I thought again. Creek. A door opened and the music I was hearing got more audible. Louder and louder until it was the only thing I heard.
“Charlotte?” I asked, not even hearing my words because the music was so loud.
“This isn’t happening,” I thought to myself slowly sitting down on my chair, awaiting my fate. “This doesn’t happen in real life, impossible.” I thought again trying to wake myself up from what must have been some horrible dream. I slammed my eyes shut, so hard to the point it hurt, and quickly opening them again, hoping that it really was a dream.
“This isn’t happening, Blaise. You’re going crazy.” I closed my eyes once more and opened them again.
“Charlotte?” I asked again. Not a sound. The music was gone and I walked over to the desk drawer and opened it. A phonebook. I ripped the phonebook from the drawer, throwing it to the ground, frantically searching for the article. Gone. Maybe I imagined the whole thing? I don’t know. But it’s defiantly something I won’t ever forget.
“This isn’t happening, Blaise. You’re going crazy.”
****
“Welcome home!” My mother said bringing the last of my things into my new apartment. I’ve been living at home with my parents for eighteen years. Living in the same room that’s been the same awful shade of pink it’s been my entire life. I need change. This was my chance to get out of that awful house in that boring old town and more into the city. Into my apartment. The most important part: by myself.
“Are you sure you want to move out?” My mother asked.
“I need change, Mom. You can’t expect me to be living in my parent’s basement my whole life”, I replied.
“You’re right, Blaise. I just can’t handle the fact the fact that my baby is moving out, that you don’t need me anymore.”
“I’ll always need you” I said, “You’re my mother. But right now I think I just need some time on my own. Figure out where I’m going to put things and whatnot.” I said, wishing I could take it back. As soon as my mouth uttered the words “on my own”, I could see the hurt in her eyes, she was clearly trying to cover it up with a fake smile.
“I’ll be fine.” I said trying to make her feel a little better, although it was clearly not working.
“Alright,” she said, “hut if you ever need anything, anything at all you call me or your father. We’ll be over here faster than you can say ‘Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious’” We both laughed, and I hugged my mother and walker her to the door. “Blaise,” she said stopping with one hand on the doorknob. “I love you.” she said.
“I love you, too. Tell Daddy I love him, too.” I said watching her walk out the door. Slam. The door shut. I went over to the window and watched her get into her car and drive away.
“FREEDOM!” I howled, throwing my arms into the air and jumping onto my bed. “Now, where to put all this junk. Where to put it.” I pondered, placing things on tables and trying different combinations of furniture against the wall. After trying to find out where I should put my things and making myself some dinner I flipped on the television and lied down in bed, falling asleep shortly after. Creek, I heard and quickly opened my eyes.
“Who’s there?” I called out into the darkness. No reply. I put my feet to the cold floor and walked over to the light switch. Won’t turn on. “That’s weird.” I said getting a flashlight from my desk. The lights flickered on. “Hmm…” I said.
“Who’s there!?” I repeated louder. No reply. Slam. A door shut and there was laughing coming from the back room. Suddenly I heard music. “I know this song.” I thought to myself, this was the song that my jewelry box played as a little kid. I turned my television back on. Nothing there, just static. “This is weird.” I thought to myself, opening up a drawer trying to find a phonebook so I could call someone to fix my lights and television, completely ignoring the music and laughing coming from my backroom. I convinced myself I was just hearing things. I opened my drawer. No phonebook. I remember putting a phonebook in my drawer before I went to bed.
“What’s this?” I said pulling out an old newspaper article, dated 1905.
CHILD BRUTALLY MURDERED.
Yesterday, Annabelle Young brutally murdered her three year old daughter, Charlotte in their Chicago apartment. Young went on a drunken rampage and stabbed her young daughter and then killed herself in apartment 324 in Canterbury Court on 1220 N. State Pkwy, Chicago, Illinois.
“That’s my apartment.” I said to myself, putting the article back into the drawer. I couldn’t bring myself to read anymore. I have to get out of here. I ran and practically threw myself at the door. Locked. There has to be a way out, I thought again. Creek. A door opened and the music I was hearing got more audible. Louder and louder until it was the only thing I heard.
“Charlotte?” I asked, not even hearing my words because the music was so loud.
“This isn’t happening,” I thought to myself slowly sitting down on my chair, awaiting my fate. “This doesn’t happen in real life, impossible.” I thought again trying to wake myself up from what must have been some horrible dream. I slammed my eyes shut, so hard to the point it hurt, and quickly opening them again, hoping that it really was a dream.
“This isn’t happening, Blaise. You’re going crazy.” I closed my eyes once more and opened them again.
“Charlotte?” I asked again. Not a sound. The music was gone and I walked over to the desk drawer and opened it. A phonebook. I ripped the phonebook from the drawer, throwing it to the ground, frantically searching for the article. Gone. Maybe I imagined the whole thing? I don’t know. But it’s defiantly something I won’t ever forget.
