Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-31368303-20170222043856

Thinking back to the night-terror stories that my mother used to tell me, I always knew that each and every prose had some lesson to it; sometimes it was simple and barely intimidating, like don't steal cookies out of the cookie jar or the claw will get you, but other times it was crude and horrifying, stories about how if I snuck out at night the Slenderman would grab me, take me away into the woods and no one would ever find my body. Looking back at it now, I wonder how a mother, especially one as loving and caring as my own, was capable of telling such ghastly stories to her young son every night. But I guess every mother has a particular way of teaching her kids life lessons, and hers was to scare me of acting up to the point that as a young boy, I was only a stark and hollow shell of what I could have been.

However, I predict that she had her reasons then, just like I have my own for speaking up now.

She had, had countless dread-filled stories to keep me up at night, but most of them felt distant, and many could be traced back to old folklores, or scary stories found deeply hidden in the back of old and unknown books. Yet, there was one specific story that felt a little bit closer.

It was a story that my mother told me only once or twice a year, and only when grandma was coming into town, from the very first day I can remember, until the night she died only a few days before my thirteenth birthday. My mother had never named the story, but to this day, I tend to call it, "Don't look at Grandma."

To be clear, I do not believe in this story. And despite what you may think none of the following events point to its authenticity in the slightest. It was merely a story told by my mother to keep me from making eye contact with my grandmother, who suffered from PTSD.

Grandma was always a sweet and caring lady, whenever I spent the night, she had a big breakfast prepared for me in the morning, and a large snack and game counter to keep me occupied all throughout the day. She was in great shape for her age, and we often went for long hikes together, reaching deep into the woods that surrounded her desolate home which had remained relatively quiet ever since grandpa died when I was ten.

The one thing that was habitually, "off" about grandma, though, was that if you made eye contact with her she would react violently; twisting around and running into a corner to either cry, scream, or both. It was acutely terrifying the first time that I had ignored my mother's warning and looked grandma straight in the eyes, but her reaction only lasted thirty seconds or so, and then she just continued what she was doing like nothing ever happened. According to my mother, this backlash had started when Grandma came back from the army ten or so years before I was born.

In the story, grandma turned evil when you looked her in the eyes; but in the few times that I was able to talk to my mother seriously about the matter, I'd learned that grandma had been to dozens of psychiatrists, and not one of them were able to comprehensively diagnose her with anything. However, it was genuinely agreed upon that it had something to do with post-traumatic stress disorder that she had suffered from time in the military.

Still though, dealing with grandma was never that difficult. We treated her like anyone else for the most part. My mother let her live alone and do her own thing, and she even seemed completely unaware of her condition. Moreover, no distaste was shown when her car was taken away, and it was set up so that only my mother's sister, Lucille, (who lived near Grandma) ever came to the house; checking up on her, bringing groceries, and overall just being a helpful daughter.

So, whenever Grandma came to visit us, Lucille would drive her, basically just making sure that no one who wasn't aware of her condition ever interacted with her. Of course, occasionally there was some mishap, and she would make eye contact with someone on the road, or in a public restroom, but like I said, the meltdowns were usually over rather quickly, and fairly simple to handle.

So that was my grandmother's life. She never really seemed to mind her apartness from the outside world, and aside from her PTSD, she had no mental or physical health problems; often going for long walks in the woods, and playing tag with her other grandchildren and me whenever she could.

Overall, the whole family was pretty happy.

Grandma was going to live a long life.

Then came the week of my thirteenth birthday.

Grandma always made a big deal about my birthday. I was her first, and by definition, eldest grandkid, and she took a particular liking to my playful and adventurous personality.

I was told that she had it marked, big and bold below February third on her calendar, "Jeffrey's birthday," not that she would forget anyway. I was her favorite.

<p style="font-family:"LucidaSansUnicode","LucidaGrande",sans-serif;margin-top:0.357143em;margin-bottom:1.2em;font-size:14px;line-height:1.42857em;color:rgb(193,196,199);font-weight:normal;">She had made sure that everyone knew she was coming to town for my special day, and so the general rules were put into play. Lucille would drive grandma from her home in northern no-where Louisiana, all the way to ours in southern Texas. So, they started the journey on January twenty-ninth around noon. It was only an eight-hour drive, but just two hours in, my mother and I received a phone call from Lucille.

<p style="font-family:"LucidaSansUnicode","LucidaGrande",sans-serif;margin-top:0.357143em;margin-bottom:1.2em;font-size:14px;line-height:1.42857em;color:rgb(193,196,199);font-weight:normal;">Grandma's mental state seemed to be deteriorating. At first, she had just made eye contact with a lady in a gas station bathroom and had rolled into a ball screaming. Lucille didn't even bother calling about that one. But it got worse. Eventually, Grandma started panicking, pounding at the sides of the car and demanding to be let free. That, is why Lucille called. To let us know that something was wrong with Grandma, and she was taking her back home.

<p style="font-family:"LucidaSansUnicode","LucidaGrande",sans-serif;margin-top:0.357143em;margin-bottom:1.2em;font-size:14px;line-height:1.42857em;color:rgb(193,196,199);font-weight:normal;">Grandma, however, intervened. She reached into the front seat and grabbed the phone out of her daughter's hand. She said all the right things. I can still hear her voice today.

<p style="font-family:"LucidaSansUnicode","LucidaGrande",sans-serif;margin-top:0.357143em;margin-bottom:1.2em;font-size:14px;line-height:1.42857em;color:rgb(193,196,199);font-weight:normal;">"It's ok my babies. I'm just feeling a little sick is all, I wouldn't miss Jeffrey's birthday for the world. Please. I'll control myself."

<p style="font-family:"LucidaSansUnicode","LucidaGrande",sans-serif;margin-top:0.357143em;margin-bottom:1.2em;font-size:14px;line-height:1.42857em;color:rgb(193,196,199);font-weight:normal;">She sounded so sweet in the moment, so innocent, and even to this day, even with how tainted the memory is, no matter how many times I replay her voice in my head, I can't find a trace of sinister, in her sweet southern drawl. She really meant it.

<p style="font-family:"LucidaSansUnicode","LucidaGrande",sans-serif;margin-top:0.357143em;margin-bottom:1.2em;font-size:14px;line-height:1.42857em;color:rgb(193,196,199);font-weight:normal;">So when I saw them approaching our house several hours later, I was as excited to see Grandma as ever. But, as the old station wagon began to pull up into the driveway, I could smell something foul in the air. Grandma jumped out of the car before it was even at a complete stop and immediately sprinted three laps around it. I stood in shock for several moments staring at her, until she finally noticed and regarded me with a cool smile, while I dodged her eyes by looking at her lips.

<p style="font-family:"LucidaSansUnicode","LucidaGrande",sans-serif;margin-top:0.357143em;margin-bottom:1.2em;font-size:14px;line-height:1.42857em;color:rgb(193,196,199);font-weight:normal;">"Sorry honey, I'm just a little antsy from the car ride is all."

<p style="font-family:"LucidaSansUnicode","LucidaGrande",sans-serif;margin-top:0.357143em;margin-bottom:1.2em;font-size:14px;line-height:1.42857em;color:rgb(193,196,199);font-weight:normal;">From the years and years I had spent avoiding her eyes; I had practically memorized each and every detail of her face and neck. From the wart on her right cheek, just below the ear, to her two missing teeth on the left quadrant of her mouth. I had even counted seven, swollen, disgusting scars on her left cheek from her time in the army.

<p style="font-family:"LucidaSansUnicode","LucidaGrande",sans-serif;margin-top:0.357143em;margin-bottom:1.2em;font-size:14px;line-height:1.42857em;color:rgb(193,196,199);font-weight:normal;">She was truly a scary looking woman.

<p style="font-family:"LucidaSansUnicode","LucidaGrande",sans-serif;margin-top:0.357143em;margin-bottom:1.2em;font-size:14px;line-height:1.42857em;color:rgb(193,196,199);font-weight:normal;">By this time it was already late; so promptly after going inside, eating dinner and greeting each other properly, everyone was off to bed.

<p style="font-family:"LucidaSansUnicode","LucidaGrande",sans-serif;margin-top:0.357143em;margin-bottom:1.2em;font-size:14px;line-height:1.42857em;color:rgb(193,196,199);font-weight:normal;">Our home was quite small, but normally it was just my mom and me, so it was alright, but with two extra people over, we wound up sharing my bedroom; while Grandma had my mom's room, and Lucille slept on the couch in the living room.

<p style="font-family:"LucidaSansUnicode","LucidaGrande",sans-serif;margin-top:0.357143em;margin-bottom:1.2em;font-size:14px;line-height:1.42857em;color:rgb(193,196,199);font-weight:normal;">It was that very night that my mother told me the, "Don’t look at Grandma" story for the last time. I was just beginning to doze off when she started aggressively:

<p style="font-family:"LucidaSansUnicode","LucidaGrande",sans-serif;margin-top:0.357143em;margin-bottom:1.2em;font-size:14px;line-height:1.42857em;color:rgb(193,196,199);font-weight:normal;">"Don't look her in the eyes."

<p style="font-family:"LucidaSansUnicode","LucidaGrande",sans-serif;margin-top:0.357143em;margin-bottom:1.2em;font-size:14px;line-height:1.42857em;color:rgb(193,196,199);font-weight:normal;">A kid that's used to hearing regular stories again and again from their parents might have groaned at this point, but my mom's fantasies were different. I covered my ears with my palms and mouthed quietly,

<p style="font-family:"LucidaSansUnicode","LucidaGrande",sans-serif;margin-top:0.357143em;margin-bottom:1.2em;font-size:14px;line-height:1.42857em;color:rgb(193,196,199);font-weight:normal;">"Please, don’t."

<p style="font-family:"LucidaSansUnicode","LucidaGrande",sans-serif;margin-top:0.357143em;margin-bottom:1.2em;font-size:14px;line-height:1.42857em;color:rgb(193,196,199);font-weight:normal;">But my mother's loving nature was gone, she jumped on top of me, pinned my hands to the bed, and forced me to listen.

<p style="font-family:"LucidaSansUnicode","LucidaGrande",sans-serif;margin-top:0.357143em;margin-bottom:1.2em;font-size:14px;line-height:1.42857em;color:rgb(193,196,199);font-weight:normal;">"Your grandmother is possessed by something."

<p style="font-family:"LucidaSansUnicode","LucidaGrande",sans-serif;margin-top:0.357143em;margin-bottom:1.2em;font-size:14px;line-height:1.42857em;color:rgb(193,196,199);font-weight:normal;">I heard the clatter of silverware bouncing off hard tile. I squirmed, but was held tight in place.

<p style="font-family:"LucidaSansUnicode","LucidaGrande",sans-serif;margin-top:0.357143em;margin-bottom:1.2em;font-size:14px;line-height:1.42857em;color:rgb(193,196,199);font-weight:normal;">"The window to the soul is in the eyes, that's how the spirit gets you. When you look her in the eyes it works through her."

<p style="font-family:"LucidaSansUnicode","LucidaGrande",sans-serif;margin-top:0.357143em;margin-bottom:1.2em;font-size:14px;line-height:1.42857em;color:rgb(193,196,199);font-weight:normal;">I interjected, "But mom, people look her in the eyes all the time. She just gets freaked out and then she's fine."

<p style="font-family:"LucidaSansUnicode","LucidaGrande",sans-serif;margin-top:0.357143em;margin-bottom:1.2em;font-size:14px;line-height:1.42857em;color:rgb(193,196,199);font-weight:normal;">"One of these days..." She whispered, barely getting the words out of her rapidly breathing mouth.

<p style="font-family:"LucidaSansUnicode","LucidaGrande",sans-serif;margin-top:0.357143em;margin-bottom:1.2em;font-size:14px;line-height:1.42857em;color:rgb(193,196,199);font-weight:normal;">Before she could say anything else, the bedroom door swung open harshly, and Lucille burst inside.

<p style="font-family:"LucidaSansUnicode","LucidaGrande",sans-serif;margin-top:0.357143em;margin-bottom:1.2em;font-size:14px;line-height:1.42857em;color:rgb(193,196,199);font-weight:normal;">"She's losing it again! I don't know what to do. I called the police."

<p style="font-family:"LucidaSansUnicode","LucidaGrande",sans-serif;margin-top:0.357143em;margin-bottom:1.2em;font-size:14px;line-height:1.42857em;color:rgb(193,196,199);font-weight:normal;">"You did what?" My mom screamed as she dashed across the room and drove her sister into the floor.

<p style="font-family:"LucidaSansUnicode","LucidaGrande",sans-serif;margin-top:0.357143em;margin-bottom:1.2em;font-size:14px;line-height:1.42857em;color:rgb(193,196,199);font-weight:normal;">I was lost at this point. My mom had never done anything violent before, and in only a few minutes she had practically assaulted her son and sister.

<p style="font-family:"LucidaSansUnicode","LucidaGrande",sans-serif;margin-top:0.357143em;margin-bottom:1.2em;font-size:14px;line-height:1.42857em;color:rgb(193,196,199);font-weight:normal;">"Why don't we just see if we can calm her down," I suggested, "and then we can tell the police that it's okay."

<p style="font-family:"LucidaSansUnicode","LucidaGrande",sans-serif;margin-top:0.357143em;margin-bottom:1.2em;font-size:14px;line-height:1.42857em;color:rgb(193,196,199);font-weight:normal;">My mother scanned the room with fearful and alarming eyes. She was bordering on insanity. "You guys stay here, I'll see what I can do," she practically whisper-shouted, switching between a soft whisper and a hammering yell on every syllable.

<p style="font-family:"LucidaSansUnicode","LucidaGrande",sans-serif;margin-top:0.357143em;margin-bottom:1.2em;font-size:14px;line-height:1.42857em;color:rgb(193,196,199);font-weight:normal;">I was nervous. But nodded my agreement from where I lay shivering in the warm bed, as my aunt crawled backward towards me, but stayed silent still.

<p style="font-family:"LucidaSansUnicode","LucidaGrande",sans-serif;margin-top:0.357143em;margin-bottom:1.2em;font-size:14px;line-height:1.42857em;color:rgb(193,196,199);font-weight:normal;">"Are you okay?" I asked her after my mom left the room, "I don't know what's wrong with her."

<p style="font-family:"LucidaSansUnicode","LucidaGrande",sans-serif;margin-top:0.357143em;margin-bottom:1.2em;font-size:14px;line-height:1.42857em;color:rgb(193,196,199);font-weight:normal;">"I'll be alright," she answered, "The police will be here soon."

<p style="font-family:"LucidaSansUnicode","LucidaGrande",sans-serif;margin-top:0.357143em;margin-bottom:1.2em;font-size:14px;line-height:1.42857em;color:rgb(193,196,199);font-weight:normal;">Somehow, despite how horrible she looked, and how terrible of a situation we were in, her voice sounded calm and in control. I admired her for that, and I stared at her for a long time before she spoke again.

<p style="font-family:"LucidaSansUnicode","LucidaGrande",sans-serif;margin-top:0.357143em;margin-bottom:1.2em;font-size:14px;line-height:1.42857em;color:rgb(193,196,199);font-weight:normal;">"God, you're too young for this."

<p style="font-family:"LucidaSansUnicode","LucidaGrande",sans-serif;margin-top:0.357143em;margin-bottom:1.2em;font-size:14px;line-height:1.42857em;color:rgb(193,196,199);font-weight:normal;">For some reason, those words set me off, and for the first time throughout the whole day I completely broke down, letting tears run down my face, while choked sobs escaped my lips every few moments.

<p style="font-family:"LucidaSansUnicode","LucidaGrande",sans-serif;margin-top:0.357143em;margin-bottom:1.2em;font-size:14px;line-height:1.42857em;color:rgb(193,196,199);font-weight:normal;">"Let's just leave," she cooed, "we'll go outside and wait for the police."

<p style="font-family:"LucidaSansUnicode","LucidaGrande",sans-serif;margin-top:0.357143em;margin-bottom:1.2em;font-size:14px;line-height:1.42857em;color:rgb(193,196,199);font-weight:normal;">I nodded, and in the very same moment shot up from the safe haven that the bed had recently become, and attempted to push open the door.

<p style="font-family:"LucidaSansUnicode","LucidaGrande",sans-serif;margin-top:0.357143em;margin-bottom:1.2em;font-size:14px;line-height:1.42857em;color:rgb(193,196,199);font-weight:normal;">It didn't give.

<p style="font-family:"LucidaSansUnicode","LucidaGrande",sans-serif;margin-top:0.357143em;margin-bottom:1.2em;font-size:14px;line-height:1.42857em;color:rgb(193,196,199);font-weight:normal;">Someone had barricaded it from the outside.

<p style="font-family:"LucidaSansUnicode","LucidaGrande",sans-serif;margin-top:0.357143em;margin-bottom:1.2em;font-size:14px;line-height:1.42857em;color:rgb(193,196,199);font-weight:normal;">I didn't see what happened next, but I was able to piece it together from what the police told me, and from the sounds that I heard outside my prison cell, that had formerly been my bedroom.

<p style="font-family:"LucidaSansUnicode","LucidaGrande",sans-serif;margin-top:0.357143em;margin-bottom:1.2em;font-size:14px;line-height:1.42857em;color:rgb(193,196,199);font-weight:normal;">My grandmother had already calmed down by the time my mom ran into the kitchen. She was mostly back to her usual self and could only apologize over and over for her actions.

<p style="font-family:"LucidaSansUnicode","LucidaGrande",sans-serif;margin-top:0.357143em;margin-bottom:1.2em;font-size:14px;line-height:1.42857em;color:rgb(193,196,199);font-weight:normal;">My mom had turned completely psychotic by this point though, and at the very same moment that she grabbed a knife off the kitchen counter, the police knocked down the front door and swarmed inside.

<p style="font-family:"LucidaSansUnicode","LucidaGrande",sans-serif;margin-top:0.357143em;margin-bottom:1.2em;font-size:14px;line-height:1.42857em;color:rgb(193,196,199);font-weight:normal;">I heard grandma beg for forgiveness.

<p style="font-family:"LucidaSansUnicode","LucidaGrande",sans-serif;margin-top:0.357143em;margin-bottom:1.2em;font-size:14px;line-height:1.42857em;color:rgb(193,196,199);font-weight:normal;">Then I heard a shriek of anger.

<p style="font-family:"LucidaSansUnicode","LucidaGrande",sans-serif;margin-top:0.357143em;margin-bottom:1.2em;font-size:14px;line-height:1.42857em;color:rgb(193,196,199);font-weight:normal;">Finally, three gunshots rang out and echoed through the house.

<p style="font-family:"LucidaSansUnicode","LucidaGrande",sans-serif;margin-top:0.357143em;margin-bottom:1.2em;font-size:14px;line-height:1.42857em;color:rgb(193,196,199);font-weight:normal;">The result was my grandmother dead on the ground with a slit throat, and my mother lying next to her; lifeless with three gunshot wounds to the chest.

<p style="font-family:"LucidaSansUnicode","LucidaGrande",sans-serif;margin-top:0.357143em;margin-bottom:1.2em;font-size:14px;line-height:1.42857em;color:rgb(193,196,199);font-weight:normal;">The only question I have now is, why did my mom trap us in the bedroom? Was she trying to protect us? Or was she going to come back and finish us like she did grandma? <ac_metadata title="Don&#039;t Look at Grandma"> </ac_metadata>