Cellar Door: Short Horror Stories by Jackson Arthur

Cellar Door: Short Horror Stories by Jackson Arthur

Author:Jackson Arthur [Arthur, Jackson]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Velox Books
Published: 2022-12-14T16:00:00+00:00


***

After leaving the office of my psychologist, I didn’t waste any time. I was desperate and finally had a possible resolution in my sight. Like a sleepy bullet, I shot from the office and drove directly to my Grammy’s house. I had to keep moving. I had to keep the momentum going, because if I stopped, I may not have the energy to start back up. Something in the back of my mind told me that Dr. Pemberton was right. There was more to my night terror than just bad dreams, and I needed to find the answer.

After knocking lightly on Grammy Eustace’s front door, I let myself in. Once inside the home, a long-lost memory washed over me like a warm ocean wave. At first, it was filled with forgotten emotions. Sadness. An overwhelming feeling of loss. And the total devastation of having just lost both of my parents in a single blow. I was a tiny, broken little boy walking into my Grammy’s house. I wasn’t there to visit or stay the night, like it had been every other time before. I was there for good. My entire life had changed, and I was helpless to do anything about it. But then, when my Grammy hugged me tight, I felt her love warming me from the inside out.

I would be okay.

Or so I thought.

I went straight to the living room and found my Grammy’s tiny form sitting in the same comfortable chair that I had earlier remembered, her television set on some show that appeared to be as old as her. Grammy had her head slumped to the side and looked like she had been dozing toward a nap. I immediately felt somewhat guilty for rousing her, but she didn’t seem to mind the visit.

At least, not at first.

“Darryl?” she greeted in her light voice. “I wasn’t expecting you. Come in. Sit down for a spell. How are you, dear?”

I told her that I was good, before giving her a quick hug and sitting down on the worn loveseat a few feet away. The look on her face was easy to read. Concern. She knew that I was lying. She knew that I wasn’t good. And I was just too damned tired to fake it.

“You haven’t been sleeping,” Grammy said. It was not a question. It was a fact that she could see a mile away.

“I need to talk to you about something, Grammy,” I replied.

“Talk to me about what, dear?”

“About my parents,” I answered, my hands trembling.

My Grammy and I had never discussed what happened to them. It was like a black spot in our lives that we purposefully never filled in with color. I can’t be sure whose choice it had been, but part of me believed that, a long time ago, we both had silently agreed to never discuss it. But I needed to break that unspoken agreement. It was time. I was ready. Or I hoped I was, anyway.

“Lovely people,” Grammy replied. “What about them, dear?”

“I want to talk about the house I grew up in,” I said.



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