Abandoned
Part One
I thought, what a bright moon; it is such a beautiful night. The moon was full and lit the way to my car. An eerie feeling came over me; I didn’t understand why. I shrugged it off and continued walking to my car. I looked up to the open blanket of the night sky. I thought it was charming. The heavens generously shared their radiant moon and glistening stars. I smiled as the stars resembled freckles with an irresistible glistening sparkle.
I was driving home and encountered an exciting experience. I distinctly remember getting a clue to take a different route. I couldn’t shake this notion; I typed my home address in the GPS. Different paths came up, which included the fastest way. It wasn’t a familiar route, but I wanted to get home quickly. I wearily put the blinker light on to turn onto Green Pond road. I drove a few miles and noticed a house adjacent to the sharpest turn I had ever seen. This house was very close to the road; there was barely enough space for a car to park. It doesn’t matter, yet I wonder, when was this house built?
I had the car windows down. The air was cool and refreshing. It was also carrying painful cries that echoed through the twilight. They grew louder as I approached the house. Chills raced up my spine. The agonizing screams were begging to be set free. The vibration of helpless desperation of a child’s spirit seemed to be coming from that abandoned house. For miles past that property, his sobs continued to share his story. The trauma of being abandoned by his parents imprisons him. They stole his innocence and left him to die. His moans defined emptiness and the pain of being hurt and forgotten. He was trapped, existing in a decaying hell.
I couldn’t get that experience out of my thoughts when I arrived home. I had to help that spirit be released into eternal peace. He should not have suffered that pain in life, and he should not continue to suffer into eternity.
The spirit that haunts my thoughts needs to find his missing piece to be whole.
Part Two
He has been called cold and callous; he is heartless and lives on autopilot. He doesn’t show emotion. A person without an inner child spirit will become numb and void of child-like happiness. That person is Max.
I don’t know much about Max. I went to school with him, and I know he lived on Green Pond road from when he was born until he turned ten years old. That’s when he was found and became a ward of the state. The daunting memories and wrenching awareness of his childhood abide there.
I walked past Max on our busy town street; I heard the child spirit whisper, “Please bring him home. For completeness, we must be one.”
I turned back, catching up to Max, “Hey.” I didn’t know what else to say. How do I get him to return to his horrific nightmare to find peace?
“I am Sara.”
“Yeah, I have noticed you,” he said with a low, monotone voice.
“Max, I love exploring abandoned houses. I hope you will explore the house on Green Pond road with me. Everyone else is chicken shit. You’re not chicken shit, are you?” Acting like I didn’t know his grim past. I felt horrible trying to force him to return to the place of his torment. He has to. His child spirit has been waiting in misery for him to return.
We stood at the boarded door of 13 Green Pond road. I could see the apprehension in his glossy blue eyes. He pried the boards away that sealed the tattered door shut; thick dust stirred with our movements. The smell of a forsaken past filled the air and invaded our senses. The second floor had collapsed onto the first floor. The decay of time was evident.
An old metal toy truck moved its way to Max. The rusted dump truck with peeling yellow paint banged into Max’s boot; he picked it up and examined its familiarity. A whoosh of cool air whirled around him. A boyish giggle echoed in the wake of the breeze. Max’s eyes changed. No longer distant. He moaned and threw his head back, lifting from the timeworn floor. The cool air picked up speed, whirling him in midair. Suddenly he dropped to the floor. He looked up at me and shared an innocent smile.
The house began falling. Section after section drops to the ground. Max grabbed my hand, and his sparkling eyes looked into mine, “Thank you.”
We stood outside and watched his painful past turn to rubble. Once the debris settled, he tapped my arm, “Tag your it!” and ran to my car.
THE END
Wysteria Baasel & Mojha MacDowell
