A home with a crooked spine Bent and notched with age Painted walls wrinkled and worn With telling marks of time

When the years come and go And thatched roofs crumble Or wallpaper peels And wooden steps rot and buckle At least the foundations will remain

A pitted depression in the ground Filled with fragments of memories Recollections of babies rocking in cradles Late Sunday brunches And lazy legs slugging to school

This place With its chipping wooden fences And crayon stained walls Will forever and always remain An ancient relic of the very beginning

I come up to the grassy field. My shovel scrapes the ground. This is where I buried my time capsule. I dig a deep hole and finally, I hit something hard. I drop to my knees and pull out the wood box. I open the lid.

First, I pull out a scrap of rusty metal. When I was 8 we sold our house. Right as we left the house,I ripped a piece of metal from our shed. I swore I’d always keep it. I lied.

Secondly, I pulled out an old photograph. It shows an 11 year old me, at a ballet recital. I was in a tutu and a black leotard. I smile,in spite of myself, this was the recital I had won first place on my solo dance.

At last, I pull out the thing I came here for. A stack of paper. I wrote this story when I was 13. I am now an author but I ran out of material. I told my publisher about this story and he loved it. So here I am. I buried this story for someone else to find. I guess I need it more.

                                                                2 months later

“The Darkest Night” is a bestseller. I never thought this would ever happen. I wrote this story when I was 13. I am now 37. “The Darkness Night” has been featured on talk shows,radio stations,and best of all, my hometown’s newspaper.

I stand in front of the gated house, no lights shining through except for the setting sun. I haven't been here in twenty years. The name of the building is faded so that 'Institute' is the only word visible. It was only a matter of time before I would've been standing here.

I push open the gate and pick my camera up. If I wasn't doing this for a potential promotion, I wouldn't even be walking towards the entrance. Leaves crunch with every step as my eyes kept going to the third story window.

I never believed in ghosts until my first visit here. Papa didn't think Mama was well and had her sent here. I would visit from time to time, but I couldn't help the feeling I was being watched. That same feeling is still with me today as I opened the front door. The common area is covered in dust, just like everything else in this wretched place.

I lift my camera to my face and start taking pictures. "If you want this promotion, show me the thing that scares you the most," my boss' voice rings through my mind. I wanted to protest, but knew that I can't keep living from paycheck to paycheck.

I walk to the kitchen and when I open the refridgerator, I scrunch my nose. No one bothered to clean it out so now, all the food is rotten and the milk is way past spoiled. I don't even know what to call any of the food in here since it isn't food. It's just a pile of bacteria.

My feet led me to the third story, fifth room on the left. I stopped outside the door frame. Like most of the rooms on this floor, none of them have an actual door. The nurses said that this is for the patient's safety.

On the bed is the old stuffed penguin I used to carry around everywhere. I thought I lost it during one of my early visits. It was one of the few times Papa and Mama worked together. Walking over, I go to pick it up when it gets cold out of nowhere. I look around me, and call out, "Is anyone there? Show yourself!"

One heartbeat.

Another.

Nothing moves and nothing makes a sound. I turn back and reach for the penguin.

"You came back," a voice whispers.

Startled, I look around. "Who's there? I know someone's here," I say as my voice trembles. I take my cell out of my jacket pocket my finger hovering over my roommate's number.

"You don't remember me?" A figure appears and glides over. As it gets closer, I see the frail body and limp hair. The sunken in eyes and cracked lips that can only belong to one person.

"Mama?"

I looked at the house I used to live in all those years ago. I walked past it the day a new family were about to make this house their home. Funnily enough, they looked oblivious to the horrors that had taken place five decades ago when I lived there with my family. Feeling generous, I went to their front door introduced myself as Anne and offered to help them settle in. The couple seemed eager to have someone helping them in this new neighbourhood, so they let me in. The interior struck me. It looked like the mirror image of how it had looked in my childhood. The rug on the floor flooded back the raw and painful memories. Even as a sixty-year-old, I could not erase the past that had scarred me for life. 

The drilling pulled me out of the dark memory lane. 

With a sigh of relief, I helped the young woman move the furniture around while her husband put a photo up on the wall. Out of interest, I asked, “why did you buy this property?”  In unison, they answered, “It seemed like the perfect place to start a family.”  The woman continued, “A quiet neighbourhood is great for children, they can play and be free, the air is cleaner than the city.” 

I smiled with a lack of emotion. My heart felt heavy, and tears suddenly sprung to my eyes. Overwhelmed, I promised I’d return tomorrow to give them a hand. We shook hands, and I walked back home, wishing I could hold on to the childhood I had lost. I ran a bath to calm down. My past was one I would not bring into my present and future. 

I stepped into the warm water that filled the tub. I went under. I had to erase any memory that would damage my sheltered life. After having trouble breathing, I emerged from the water. I dried myself off and sat in my living room. The walls were painted white, and every piece of furniture was white. There were no ornaments or decorations on any of the walls- they reminded me of my happy childhood. My head felt clear, and I went to sleep. 

The next day I woke up and got ready into a simple outfit: jeans and a plain top. I never wore dresses since I was about ten years old. I detest to this day any girly outfits as it reminded me of my mother. 

My walk to the couple’s home was long but beneficial. My house had become a prison. I trapped myself within the walls, unable to cope with the reality I lived in. I was lonely and unable to form stable relationships; I could trust no one. 

The couple’s home still contained items from my childhood, such as the wallpaper; they had transformed it, so it was homely. I spent dinner with them, talked for a while, then trudged back home, feeling empty inside. I questioned whether life was worth living and went into a fruitless slumber. 

I wake up in my bed, and I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience in my old residence. My mother comes over to me and gives me a kiss on the cheek and says “I love you.” I am so satisfied I go back to sleep. When I wake up, something automatically feels off. I walk down the spiral staircase in the large mansion and go to my sister’s bedroom. She is in her bed; she is unresponsive. I shake her and pull back the covers. The sight is so sickening. Her neck is bruised black and broken. I pass out. When I finally wake up, I search rapidly for my mum. Suddenly I hear a scream, I rush downstairs and hide in my best hiding spot. To the corner of my eye, I see a woman and a man holding my mother down and stabbing her. The knife spurts crimson blood everywhere. My stomach lurches, and I want to scream; something stops me. I watch as they slit her throat. The blood drains as she gasps for breath. My body gives way, and I collapse on the spot. 

I wake up in a hospital bed and hear a voice saying: “Anne, are you all right?”

I reply with," Yes. Why am I here and where is my mummy?"

The doctor says," Calm down, everything will be all right." I cut through her talking and ask again," Where are my mum and Valeria?" 

The doctor replies," Sorry to inform, but your mum and sister are dead." I just laugh. This woman sounds stupid. How can she tell me my mum and sister are gone? The reality sinks in, and I cry uncontrollably.

My morning alarm is so loud I wake up. I am sitting in my large bed, and all the walls are white. I realised my visit to the house had bought back my dreams. I reached out and pour out one too many of the pills on my bedside table. I could end it all. Besides, who would remember me, Anne. The loner. The evil one who watched her family die before her eyes. Life has no meaning. I should be dead. I have lived for fifty years in misery. My ultimate wish is death. The pill bottle rattles and I swallow the amount in my hand with a smile on my face. Mother Valeria- here I come. 

I wake up in a hospital bed, and a voice is saying," You are lucky God has given you a second chance at life. You are fortunate to be alive." Unable to talk, a lone tear drops from the corner of my eye. 

The white walls are closing in on me, suffocating me. Blood is leaking down the walls. Mum on the floor-butchered. Blood spats everywhere.Valeria is walking towards me with a broken neck...

I was woken up by the knock rattling my windows on my barracks. “WHO’S THERE !?” No answer .. I get out of bed and frustratingly open my door to find nothing but a note on my door, whoever it was didn’t even have the decency to stay around. “I was told this way of contact was the only way possible, I’m afraid you’ll just have to trust in me, without ever meeting me. I am you, Dave. I have traveled from 2050 to try and warn you. I know how this must sound , crazy, like a prank. Trust me, I know myself well enough to know what you’re thinking”

Ha, what is this bullshit , why would I ever believe this. I know one of my buddies did this

“Maybe if I tell you a couple things about ourself you’ll at least give this a second thought. I know ; you’re scared of the dark because of your childhood, you have a birthmark on your ass in the shape of a Star, And trust me I’m not one of your bunk mates who decided to pull down your pants mid night just for an elaborate joke. “ “ Look you still might not believe me, but regardless- someone is after us ! You have to believe me, I’m trying to save you before something bad happens tonight. Long story short is you know too much information and there are people trying to cover this up, cover me and you up! I have a safe spot for you in the basement of the infirmary but you need to stay in your bunk till dawn, it’s not safe right now out there. I will send more instructions to follow. ”

I roll my eyes, I’m ready to head back to bed. As I’m trying to decide if I want to continue reading, I hear a loud aggressive knock at the door- I’m tired of wasting my time on this shit show, I had enough of this letter anyway. I crumpled the note into a perfect ball, threw it behind me and headed to answer the door - maybe I’ll find out who’s behind this nonsense anyway”

GUN SHOT FIRES

The end of the letter read .. “Just please trust me, whatever you do, don’t answer the knock on your door tonight ..”

To be continued... Possibly 😉

• Jo Elizabeth Pierce 🌻

***Authors note- I will come back and edit grammar in the morning. It was a quick 30 min write- writing as I go. 2nd piece done in years ! Getting better 😁 thank you all !

Where- no When am I? Why is it light outside when it is midnight? I don’t understand what these people are wearing. No one is walking around and it’s so quiet. The people that I see are covering their faces with some masks and they look like doctors. Their clothes are loose and they’re all staring at me. Probably because I am in my night shirt but that’s beside the point.

Update, I’m being taken to what looks like a hospital. I just coughed once and a woman started crying and took out some metal box. She tapped on it then started speaking into it in a hurried tone. I really don’t understand, it was just my allergies because it’s pollen season.

Isaac limped slowly towards the shattered gates of the old garden. Once stood proud, and delicate, the wrought iron snaked and coiled full of imitations of many vines and roses. Even now, bent and broken, and overgrown with a thick tangle of thorns and weeds, they remained strikingly beautiful. He recalled many memories of when he was a child. All the times that he would reach his little hand up to unlock the latch and push the gates open into the unknown. Now the unknown lay before him. And the latch hung just above his waist.

The house of his youth was now a stranger to him, like a forgotten sweetheart remembered in the occasional dream. He knew that he had known this place once, but no longer. The inner garden, unkept for years, had overgrown. Where beautiful fountains and sculpted hedges once stood, he now peered through gluttonous overgrowth for a glimpse at broken stonework. Even the great oaks, once watchful guardians, had adopted sinister bends in the bows of their branches.

Not a sound came from the garden around him, but for the gentle crunch of the gravel beneath his boots. Occasionally he thought he heard a twig snap, or a bush Russell, but he knew his imagination well. “There is no life in this place.” He said aloud to himself. He limped further up the garden path for some time, until finally his old home came into view. The garden had not forsaken the great building, which appeared heavy with overgrowth all across most of its right side. His childhood home, built long ago by his own kin, stood three stories tall. With beautiful pillars and balconies, mighty oak doors and heavy stone. We’re it not for the lack of stained glass windows, one would even swear it were a cathedral. Nevertheless all of the windows save the highest and leftmost one, were broken.

As Isaac peered up at this remarkable glass survivor, a shadow darted from within its frame. His pulse quickened, as this time he was not sure if his imagination had surfaced once more. He had learned to not trust his own eyes, but his gut also felt sudden unease. He painfully quickened his pace towards the front door, dragging loudly through the gravel. He bounced up the few steps before the door, and thrust both his hands forward to push it. To his surprise, it had been locked. He gave another push, but to no avail. Again he tried, but not an inch gave way. Then he heard it, the unmistakeable groan of a chair being pushed along the floor inside.

“Who are you?” He said. Now trusting that someone was indeed within the house. “I demand you let me in!”

“Demand does he?” Croaked a shrill voice from behind him. Isaac turned quickly on his heels, despite the sharp pain in his right leg. His nose filled with the smell of rotted flesh. He knew immediately who had followed him.

So many years Have come and gone The past is but A memory The future is unknown A faded photograph The only link Nothing again Will be the same, Move on Adapt Do not forget

The weather is perfect. A breeze sends the leaves dancing and the branches clattering together like bony fingers. I love autumn.

But there is a sadness here that permeates all the beauty. The trees that grow so lush and thick hide the crematorium’s towers from view. My soul is screaming in agony for my people. 6 million of them and 5 million others.

My great grandparents died here, and so did my great aunts and uncles. Only my grandmother survived, but she refused to speak about the horrors until I was “old enough”. She cried the whole time she spoke:

“Train tracks normally mean a journey. Excitement. But these ones mean death. They bring the cattle cars right into the camps to make the process even faster. It takes time to wipe out a nation.

Some didn’t even make it to the high, barbed wire fences. They died, and we had to sit with their bodies for days, sometimes propped up against them in the stifling heat. My uncle was one of them, but I only found out after.

Their hate makes the Earth bitter, and nothing grows. It’s all mud. All grey. Or maybe that’s the way my mind remembers it. There was grass and forest around the camp, but not inside. No life could survive with so much evil. There was so little food and less hope than that.

I don’t know why I survived when my family did not. I do know how. The guards thought I was beautiful and they called me to dance for them at night. I danced while my parents and siblings and neighbours and friends perished from disease and gas. I will live with that guilt forever. “

The tour guide leads us through another gate and another. I see ghosts. Gaunt faces and shaved heads and walking skeletons. The inside of this gas chamber is scratched from the nails of people who struggled to the end. Most of us break down crying.

I have never felt closer to my people- to my own family, in fact. When I go home I’m gonna visit nonna and tell her all about this trip. I’ll bring her some flowers too. She could never get enough of those. She’ll be my first stop on my return, if the cemetery is open when I get back.

I hold in my hand The photograph This small, square, thin paper The colors match the day I became a mother

It feels like so many years My body has changed Face more wrinkled The shape of the baby Is no longer the shape of a baby

With every passing day This photo stares at me From the fridge of our new home Well, no longer new But to the girl in this picture It would be

When I see her, I think of all the things I didn’t get to do Because new responsibilities Take priority

I always wanted to go to England See the Globe Theater Go to Spain And speak Catalan with the natives Or take a plane ride to Well, anywhere.

This picture reminds me Of everything sacrificed And everything won

Love.