Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-26705150-20151231015431

I came home one night from work, only to find a dozen fire trucks and just as many firefighters surrounding my burning home. They were blasting water into it but the blaze lasted for several hours. They were able to put the fire out and keep it from spreading after a while. But what was left of my home was completely covered in smoke and char. Some of the walls had collapsed on top of everything inside and all kinds of debris was scattered across the ground.

The only thing I had left then were the clothes on my back and the people around me. It was suspected that the cause of the fire was arson but there wasn’t enough evidence to prove anything or point to any particular suspects. But I wasn’t concerned as much about who or what caused the fire as much I was about my ability to return to life like as usual.

I had been a practicing catholic all of my life up until that point and I had been going to the same church ever since I moved into town. I got very involved there in missions, bible study, and many other activities. Since then I had grown close to the other church members and even more so of Father Jacobs, who led the church. I had been there for so long and gotten so involved that I was able to become a deacon. This brought me even closer to everyone and it was only then that I was really able to fully appreciate the friendliness of all the members.

Everyone there was known to be very talkative with each other and they were always willing to offer warm greetings to everyone, even newcomers. They were generous too, with their money and time. I had known this firsthand since I had been involved in some of the local and international missions. We had donated so much food, clothing, and clean water to people in need. We also built shelter for those who didn’t have any and we tried to be as supportive as we could.

But now the tables had turned and I was the one who needed that much. Fortunately for me, the church returned the favor in full with donations of food, clothing, and money. I was all the more closer to getting back on my feet again when Father Jacobs offered me one of the most vital parts of life – a new home.

He made a deal with me where I could move into his old house. He was already moving out of it and transitioning to a new one. When he told me about this I remembered trembling and stumbling over my words. My eyes got blurry with tears and it was difficult to process what he had just said. There was no way I could’ve passed up the opportunity. So I moved into his old home and he moved into his new one.

Now I had almost everything I needed and was well on my way to getting back to life as usual. I was happy about the house as well. But I couldn’t help notice that it was still in somewhat mint condition considering the fact that it had been around for so many years and it was a used home. The paint had worn off in most of the rooms and there were some weird markings all over the living room walls. It looked like a group of small dark circles, in sets of three, all over the walls. The floorboards would creak too and I swore I could hear some thumping and banging noises in the living room walls.

Don’t get me wrong, I was happy about getting a new house. I needed it badly, as with everything else, but I could tell this one was a fixer-upper.

I started doing some research online to see if I could find anyone who could inspect the house. I wanted to turn up whatever problems there might be and get everything fixed as soon as possible, before the winter snowstorm.

One morning I was going about home improvement research on the computer, in my office, when I heard some knocking on my front door. I got up, wondering who it was, went through the living room and answered it. Two men were standing there in coats and one was holding up a police badge in front of my face.

“Are you Father Jacobs?,” the badge guy asked.

I sort of tilted my head when I looked at him and I wasn’t even sure what to think of the question.

“No, he doesn’t live here anymore. You’re looking for him?,” I asked.

“Yes, do you know where we could find him?”

I stumbled over my words a bit and I tried to focus on my response. I couldn’t understand why they were here and why they were even asking about him.

“Yeah, I can give you his new address. Is there something wrong?”

<p class="MsoNormal">They just silently looked at each other and then back at me.

<p class="MsoNormal">“I’m sorry sir but we really can’t disclose anything right now. If you could just give us his address we’d really appreciate it.”

<p class="MsoNormal">I was a little annoyed by their unwillingness to tell me anything about what was going on but I still agreed to point them the way. That only took a moment or two of my time and then they left.

<p class="MsoNormal">I had a hard time sleeping that night as I thought about the two detectives and their questioning. The possible reasons for their visit raced through my head as I laid there under the covers. I was growing sweaty under there too, as I completely mummified myself with the blankets like a child. It was getting sweaty down there but I didn’t care. Those thoughts were bothering me. The wind howling outside my bedroom window and the bizarre thumping from the living room only made things worse. It must have taken me a few hours before I could drift off to sleep. Eventually I actually managed to pull that off and I was long gone in the dream world.

<p class="MsoNormal">Sometime during then, I jolted out of my bed when I heard the loudest banging noises in the walls. It was like the previous noises from before, but louder and rapid now. Then I swore I could hear screaming too and I almost wondered if it wasn’t just the wind at first. But after a few moments of careful analyzing, it was clear it wasn’t.

<p class="MsoNormal">I ran from my bedroom, into the living room to see what the hell was going on. I nearly tripped in the hallway as I desperately searched with my hand for the lights. I saw it then, when the light illuminated the walls. There were dozens of faces screaming behind them, their mouths and eyes wide open. They were screaming and there was something distinctly unnatural about them. My chest felt heavy when I looked at them and the walls looked like they were closing in. Everything felt distorted and I could barely move.

<p class="MsoNormal">I turned towards the front door and tried to run there. I pried the front door open towards me and then I tried to push the glass door outwards but it wouldn’t budge. The snow outside had piled on so much that it was blocking the path.

<p class="MsoNormal">Then I paid attention to the glass as words marked in red appeared suddenly on the glass. When I read those words I knew it was the end. Something was terribly around about this house, Father Jacobs, and those faces behind the walls.

<p class="MsoNormal">The red marking on the glass read,

<p class="MsoNormal">“Father isn’t who you think he is." <ac_metadata title="The House and the Father (Revised version) (Unreviewed)"> </ac_metadata>