Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-29791712-20150330041743

Hello readers. This is a short pasta I wrote a while ago, and I want to know what you guys think of it. Thank you.

The rain smacked my face and body repeatedly as I sat on my stairs in front of my white colored house, my clothes damped from thirty minutes of being outside, showering with nature’s water. Streaks of my hair touched my forehead and eye, when usually it would be combed to the side neatly. The sound of water rushing and hitting the ground and streets below me was the only noise I heard as I continued to get wet. The smell of wet things like the green grass in front of my house, or the wet garbage near my garage filled my nose reluctantly. All I could stare at was the house next to me, to the right. It seemed to peek at me as well, and when I turned to look at the house, it would somehow glance away. The house mocked me, I know it did. The medium-sized orange house stretched to about fifteen feet high, but that part didn’t bother me as much. The disturbing area of the house were the stairs that were to the left of the house outside. In front of those descending stairs was a tall black gate, always locked by thick grey chains. If you were to go down those stairs, you would find a door to the left of you that leads to the basement of the orange house, where the witch lives. Every street has a block rumor, so when I first moved in 7th street in North Bergen with my parents and little Jack, I was curious to see what this street rumor was. When I used to live in Manhattan in New York, there was an abandoned backyard near where I lived with a hollow dog house, and kids used to say that the ghost of a dead Husky, ironically named Fright, would jump out of that little house only at three in the morning to devour any kid who would be at the backyard during that time. Of course whenever the kids, including myself, would dare to try to visit the place during that time, we’ll chicken out. Jack and I were so eager to play outside once we moved in. At the time, I was thirteen and little Jack was only five. Other brothers would find it a dragged to take their younger sibling to hangout outside, but not me. Well, maybe because we weren’t like other brothers. See, Jack was adopted. My parents were very devoted Christians, and they didn’t just want to have only children that they could make on their own. My parents always used to chat about adopting a kid from a foster home or something similar, to help at least one child who is in need and all this other nonsense. When they first received Jack, I was eight years old, old enough to understand what’s going on. A lot of people underestimate the intelligence of an eight year old. I remember seeing Jack wrapped around a blue and white blanket, his chubby cheeks blowing out and red like a clown’s nose. His eyes were squinting since we was only just one month old, and what came with any new baby was that new baby smell, that reminded me of laundry detergent. Still the baby was beautiful, like a small angel sent from heaven. My parent’s influence on life and other matters rubbed off me, so I knew I had to take care of my new brother and love him, treat him equal. They named him Jack because my grandfather was named Jack, and my grandfather before he passed away always wanted a son, since all he had with my grandmother was my mother and two other woman, my aunt Frankie and Rachel. Well he you go old Jack, you got your son. I remember three days after we moved in 7th street, I brought Jack outside to toss around a football. It was always funny seeing him try to catch a ball. His chubby and clammy hands would slip the ball away, still I always told him to get a better grip. Two other kids saw us play and they soon joined our tossing game. The two kids were both around the same age I was, maybe a year younger. “Hey, you guys new here?” one of the kids said. This kid was tanned and had short, black hair. The other one was just a bit lighter on skin tone, but was fatter and wore glasses “Yeah, moved in just three days ago. Preeety nice place, not gonna lie,” I said. “Really? Wait until winter comes, then you’ll probably want to move back to where you came, dude,” the other kid said. “Well, I didn’t live so far from here, just moved from New York,” I said while tossing the ball to Jack. “That’s cool dude,” the tanned kid said. “What’s your name?” “My name is Robert,” I answered. “This here is my little brother, Jack.” “Cool, my name is Jacob, and this blob right here name’s FatCrap,” the tan kid said, laughing while pushing the “FatCrap” kid. “No it’s not!” the chubby kid said, pushing Jacob back. “Why you gotta be such a dick, Jacob? Sorry, my name is Jose. Unfortunately, he’s my cousin.” Conversation sparked from there. Kids get along quickly, especially boys. We were all Hispanic, so that was something great as well. Back in Manhattan, everyone was either dark-skinned, or white, no place for an Ecuadorian like me. After about thirty minutes of tossing and talking, Jacob smiled, shrugged at Jose, and pointed to an orange house next to my new home. “What’s up, guys?” I asked them. “What’s so funny?” “Ahhh nothing,” Jose said lazily. “Just some stupid rumor Jacob made out when we first moved in hear.” “It’s not a stupid rumor!” Jacob’s voice cracked. “I swear I saw her, with her black robes on and her pointy nose stretching forever!” “Yeaah yeah, whatever you say,” Jose smiled mockingly. “How about you go there when it gets dark then?” “Heeeelll no!” Jacob exclaimed, his voice cracking. “You crazy if you think I would let myself go there at night, let alone by myself.” “Well then I guess you’re a sissy!” Jose said, and started to repeat the insult. “Your mother, FatCrap,” Jacob said. “That’s your aunt!” “Yeah, well I don’t give two rat’s ass!” “Guys!” I yelled. “Can someone dare to explain what the hell ya’ll are talking about?” Jose and Jacob looked at each other for a while, both shrugged, and both stared at me. “Alright,” Jacob began. “This is how the story goes…….” That day, Jacob did as best as he could to explain to myself the rumor. Apparently, there was a kid who used to live in this block named Thomas. The story takes place three years ago from when Jacob was telling me, so in 2006. Thomas the eleven year old child went out a lot to hang out outside with people like Jacob. They would always find the orange house creepy, and the dark, hidden stairs that lead down to the basement even more disturbing. Thomas was bold enough for one day to descend down those stairs and knock on the basement to pull a prank. Jacob and some other kids denied that he would do such a thing, and they teased him for being such a fool. Nonetheless during a hot summer night like this one, the boy went down those stairs without anyone truly knowing what he was doing that unforgettable night. The next couple of weeks were spent searching for missing Thomas Brady. No one knew exactly what happened to the kid, but as police came around looking for Thomas inside the block, they checked the stairs next to the orange house. They found a stick from a lollipop on one of the steps, bits of grape juice smeared on the stick. Thomas’s favorite snack was grape-flavored lollipops that you could get simply at the corner store. Soon after, Jacob started to report to his friends that he would see a woman in long, dark robes staring outside the orange house’s window. From there on, everybody started to say those rumors, and the orange house was now cursed, according the boys, of being a place where the devil lives and laughs at death. “Well that doesn’t prove anything,” I said. “There’s no exact evidence that the boy went down.” “But still the lollipop!” Jacob said. “Plus he did say he was going to go. I don’t know man…..seems sorta right to me, you know?” “Rooobbbyy,” I heard little Jack say next to me. “I’m getting tired. Let’s go home.” “Alright, we’ll leave in a minute,” I said and pat him in his head. He always had soft hair, such handsome hair. He could have been a real ladies man. “We’ll my time is up, dudes, but thanks for the great story, reaaally real.” I said that last sentence with a sardonic tone. “It is real, dawg” Jacob said. “I’m tellin ya I knew Thomas, and that dude would have done that.” “We’ll talk about it later, peace guys,” I said, clapped hands with both boys, and walked Jack and myself up my house’s stairs. As I began ascending, I peaked to my left, and that was the first time I truly observe the orange house. 1205 was the number, and mine was 1207. It was scary, but somehow I heard the noise of someone stomping on those stairs, but there was no one going down nor up. It was nearly dark during the time, so the stairs appeared as large clunks of shadows. Before I decided to turn, I thought I saw movement in the shadows. Just my imagination, I thought. Jack and I entered home, and enjoyed a nice dinner with my family, not a single care in the world. Then, it just….happened. You wake up one day, and you see that the person you thought would be next to you by your side no matter what, just….disappears. It was near Christmas, the most joyful of years, and every kid had vacation. I remember the night before, Jack and I playing video games, enjoying the time we could spend. We slept in the same bed, and talked about what games we could create. We both shared a passion for video games. It was something creative and entertaining you can do. We had these huge ideas of the wonderful worlds we can create, and it was great talk. Then the next day, he’s gone in heartbeat. That’s what hurt the most, just the sudden disappearance of somebody you thought would always be there. I honestly felt lost, almost dizzy from the whole thing. He was a part of me, somehow we owned each other, and that piece just went away with the winter breeze. I didn’t choose to have him in my life, hell he was adopted! His life was never supposed to associate with mine, yet we still found each other, and created a brotherhood. All the memories and laughs we use to have are now all piercing thoughts, rendering much agony to my mind and heart. You must know how it already goes. Child goes missing, family panics, calls the police, and hope that everything is going to turn out alright, but that’s the funny thing. In the beginning, you know the terror is there staring straight at your face, its icy and dismal eyes mocking you with a sardonic glaze, but yet you still hold on to hope, like a rope. But the longer you hold to it, the weaker it becomes, and when more and more people hold on to it, eventually it can’t handle the weight, and you crash hard. You’ll never expect you’ll be that one kid on the news, having a report on your family about their missing child, adopted child. We took him in our lives, and tried to give him the best we could, yet he walked away, and left. The rain felt so great. Refreshing almost. Thank goodness it was summer, if not I would be catching a cold outside being this damped. I peeked up at the sky, and see the dozens of rain droplets dropping down, crashing hard on earth’s soil. I always thought they looked like tiny needles, and that each drop would lacerate someone’s skin. I heard the sound of a door opening behind me. “Robert, honey,” I heard my mom say behind me. “It’s getting late and you’re all wet. Come inside, we’re about to watcha movie with your dad. You up for it?” I take a while to respond. It greatly affected everyone in the house, but I feel, no, I know that I took the most damage. It’s just the way things are. I turned around, and smiled at my mom. “Sure ma,” I said while grinning. “Give me a minute.” My mom nodded, smiled, and went back inside, leaving the door slightly open so I can get in. I stand up, and tilt my head to look at the stairs. Still, they mock me, those shadows call to me. I felt the wave of terror they rendered. Their evil wanted to crawl into my blood, and poison what I have left in my life. Tomorrow. While the night is young, and my parents are asleep, I’ll go inside. I went inside my house with a stoned smile on my face. One thing that I found quite odd about the black gate that leads to the descending stairs was that a heavy chained lock was wrapped around the gate, keeping it shut. This must have been put ever since what happened to Thomas. Before I left my house, I visited inside my garage and found a dense jackhammer my dad owns. I snatched it and then went outside. With one hard smack the lock gave, the chains broke and fell to the ground. A rustling noise emitted off when the dense chains fell to the ground. There was nothing left keeping me from opening the gate, and entering the shadows that laid below. With a shaking hand I pushed the gate open, and began stepping down the stairs. Each footstep echoed very loudly, mocking my movements. The rain from yesterday night wet the concrete stairs, causing a small splash to rise each time I step down. Finally I reached a grey door on my right side. While inside my garage I also took a flashlight. I turned it on, brining alive a diminutive light, but suitable enough for me to search around, and know where I am at. I pointed the circular light at the door, and was shocked a bit to find it ajar. Dust floated in the air wherever I pointed near the door. The smell emitting off from inside the door was that of garlic and sweat, and another smell. I couldn’t quite grasp it, but somehow I knew what it was, but at the moment I denied it, for my own sanity. It was the scent of blood. I took one deep breath in, relaxed my skin and bones, and rushed inside the door, pushing the steel, and entering in. I caused a low crashing noise, but nothing too loud to wake up neighbors. For some reason, the air around the room caused my eyes to squint, so I couldn't see that perfectly. A cold breeze blew by from outside the door, causing goose bumps to erupt from my hair. I closed the door behind me, not realizing I locked myself inside the reeking room. It was pitch dark, and the only source of light I had was my flashlight, but somehow inside the room made the circle barley brought any welcoming light. I had it raised above myself, aiming at the ceiling. There were rectangular white tiles, and attached to those tiles were copious amounts of chains. Black, fat chains like the one trapping the gate outside. I shifted the flashlight all across the ceiling, and I was introduced with the same sighting over and over again, chains, all leading down to the floor, maybe. Quickly I moved the flashlight down, not having an exact statement to say about the chains. What I saw below were rows and rows of chair, all neatly placed close to each other. Chairs were right in front of me, and all around the room. They were wooden chairs with four legs and a place to relax your back. They were organized a way a classroom would contain chairs. I didn’t notice at first, but once the picture came alive I almost jumped. There were people sitting in each and every one of those chairs. Every time I saw the legs of a chair, I saw the legs of a person, perhaps boys? Children? They were tiny legs, containing tiny feet and cute little shoes kids wear. I saw racecar shoes, Hello Kitty slippers, those Heelys shoes kids wore that had wheels on the soul of the foot. Each chair contained a child, each child was sitting in a chair. I was terrified to point the flashlight up towards the middle. The image of seeing horrific, scared faces of children who were probably tortured or slaughter inside here taunted me. The stench inside the room grew, such a loathsome scent! My eyes were practically closed by how much the air burned my eyes, like lemon juice being squeezed into my pupils. I grew the courage to raise the flashlight, but of course I did it slowly. The circle of light ascended, showing the bodies of these people. I was correct, they were children. Dozens of them, all wearing different clothing. The eerie thing about these children however, was the fact that every single one of them held the same position. Their legs were straight down, barley reaching the grey ground below, and their hands were closed together on their laps, like an angel in school, eager to learn. Their bodies and legs all looked so innocent and pure, not a single sign of devil in them. I rose the light to their faces, expecting the worse. Bleeding eyes. Gaps in their mouths, indicating their terror. I was welcomed with smiles. And chains. Sinister grins. Each and every one of them were smiling. Their lips curves upwards, their lips as red as blood, and to top it all off their eyes were very alert. They were dilated wide, the opposite of my squinting ones. Every child, boy or girl, had placed in their faces the same expression. Each and every one of those kids were staring at me, and whenever I moved my head to look away, another child was watching, trapping me in their glaze. And the chains, oh that was an image. Each child had a chain wrapped around their throats like a necklace. At the beginning of the chain, near their necks, the metal was coated with cold, dried blood. There was pieces of skin sticking to the chains, embellishing the demented sight. The pain that those chains must have caused, yet these children smile. It was insanity. I sank into the ground, my legs feeling like jelly, and hugged my knees. I dropped the flashlight, leaving the circle to point at a child. I shook back and forth, wanting the image of those children’s eyes to disappear from my thoughts. Their smiles. Their pain. I looked at the direction of the flashlight to where it was aiming at, and was puzzled. It was aiming at a child alright, but somehow I knew this child. His face was familiar, but his eyes and smile weren’t. I quickly rose to my feet while grabbing the flashlight, and aimed at the child closer. Ignoring the stinging on my eyes, I opened them wide to see who it was. It was Jack. “Now, children, let us not haunt the boy now shall we?” I heard a woman’s voice speak. This shocked me, and I quickly shifted the direction of the light towards the middle, where I thought I heard the voice come from. I saw from the light the figure of a tall woman with a black robe wrapped around her like blankets. She appeared very skinny and place. I placed the light at her face, and it was covered by a mask, a bird mask. The one those plague doctors wore. Somehow that mask brought fear to bubble up inside my warm blood like boiling water. “So, state your name and the reason your presence is here, child.” I swallowed hard, the saliva traveling down my throat felt like blades were cutting me from the inside. I found my voice. “So it’s true then. You do exist. You are a witch, or something horribly close to one.” “You didn’t answer my question,” the woman said, her voice sounding stern. “Yes I’m the woman who has haunted this town. Now answer me.” “My name is Robert,” I said. “But you should know that by now, since you took my brother.” My eyes went skinny once again, but not from the air, but from anger. “He was never your brother, Robby. He was never even supposed to-“ “Do not! Call me Robby,” I dropped the hammer. The hand that once held it clutched a hard fist. “Jack used to call me that, and I never gave you permission to say that name.” “Don’t be talking about applying rules here, now.” The woman stepped closer to me. “You must know where the tables lay, now do you?” “The table can always turn.” “Yes, but in your situation I highly doubt that.” I stared deeply into her eyes that were the only thing not covered by the mask. I could see her staring back at me. Her eyes were wide, almost as huge as the children around me. They contained the same icy look I was probably giving her. After a while of staring, she spoke again. “Jack, honey,” she said sweetly, like a caring mother. “Come over here, I have to tell you something about the man here. He’s very special.” “What are you doing?” I said, but received no response. I heard the noise of chains being rattled and pointed the flashlight to the direction of where Jack was seated. He got up from his position, and began walking towards the woman, still with the same expression. Little Jack, hasn’t changed a bit since the last time I saw him. His eyes were focused on the woman. He looked so familiar, yet there was a huge part of him that was altered. The chains moved with Jack, making movement for these children arduous. Jack was in front of the woman, and only a couple of feet away from me. “Now, Jack,” the woman said. “I want you to tell this man here who your family is.” Jack nodded his tiny head, and began walking towards me. I was frozen in the moment, only realizing now what was going on. My Jack, my little brother, was returning to me in my own hands. I can free him, yes I could. I still had the hammer. I can break his chain, and hell I’ll bash the crap out of the woman’s skull for doing such a sick thing to these kids. Jack was in front of me, his eyes on mine. “Oh, Jack,” I whispered. “Come here, buddy. It’s m- it’s me, Robby, remember?” I had to fight tears accumulating inside my eyes. “Remember bud?” I went to give a hug, but cold, sharp hands stopped my arms from fully closing around Jack. They were his hands. He held a tight grip on my arms, not wanting me to give him a hug. I looked horrified at the action, and when I looked at Jack’s face to find any source of sympathy or feelings, I found nothing. Nothing but a smile. Jack tippy-toed to reach my ear, and placed his bloody lips next to my ear. “My family is Rebecca now, Robby, Rebecca and these children. You can go die for all I care.” He went back to his normal position, still smiling, and bowed down. He skipped back towards the woman, Rebecca, and somehow I knew she contained a grin under that mask. I was heartbroken. All emotions and anger I once had fell down and crashed into hell. Where my legs once felt like stone when I walked in here, now felt soft and frangible. There was a great, prodigious weight of depression that just went on top of my shoulders that made it seem impossible to walk any further. I felt dead inside, losing Jack one more time. This time, however, I knew it was his choice, somehow. “See,” she began, “the chains places a spell on their brain, making them my children. Here, we have fun every day. New adventures, new stories. And your life is about to become a part of our wicked and joyful story.” Rebecca clapped three times continuously, and immediately every children stood up, their legs straight, an army posture. “Go after the man, and place him on the chains.” Gingerly, each child started to walk towards my direction. I began to crawl backwards, trying my hardest to avoid panic and elide the children. They walked like zombies, each with their smiles and eyes, haunting me. Jack stood in front of the crowd of children, as some sort of leader in this parade of madness. Soon enough they closed around me, each and every one of those wicked children, and their hands began to wrap around my whole body and head. I was consumed by the evil of the children. I screamed, but my yell only lasted seconds before a child placed their hands over my mouth, shutting any noise I could give off. Before a child closed my eyes with their freezing little hands, I saw Jack one last time, and for a quick second, I saw a little source of light in those eyes. Hope. All life was cut, and I fell into blackness. END. 