This Is My Home

  I remember when the white paint on this house was wet and new. The sheer joy I had in stroking the brush up and down on the wooden planks I had sanded down myself. The pride that a person can take in creating something with their own two hands, it's a marvelous feeling. I knew it very well. My wife, Sara, never had to nag me about making household repairs, they were done before she ever noticed the need for them.

  My children were happy little souls and played with enthusiasm, as children should. Our home was full of love, and we were the envy of our neighbors. That envy would be the destruction of our perfect home.

  One night, we were sitting down for a meal, when we heard a frantic knocking at our door. The children grew quiet, and my wife looked at me with concern. I gave them a reassuring smile and went to the door.

  To my surprise, it was a man we called Sad Larry. His appeared disheveled, and tears were rolling down his face, quite wrinkled for a man of only thirty-five. He was uncommonly pale, and I feared he would faint.

  “Henry...sh-he left me! Eileen left me!”

  It struck me as strange that he would come to us with this news. We weren't friends, in fact we barely knew him. He had been to our home twice in the five years that we had lived here, for a backyard grill-out, and to borrow a mower that he had never returned. I should have turned him away, but I was not the type to close my doors to a person in need.

  “I'm so sorry, Larry, please come in.”

  He stumbled in the door, reeking of alcohol. Sara entered the room, leaving the children alone in the kitchen. She had been listening to the conversation, and being the nurturer she was, saw an opportunity.

  “We were just having dinner, are you hungry?”

  His eyes lit up at the sight of my wife, and I became uncomfortable as I noticed this. I couldn't deny that she was a beautiful woman, her long white blonde hair falling softly on her delicate features, and her large Amber eyes glistening in the light. I would think it crazy that any straight man wouldn't look at her with hungry eyes. Nonetheless, I was uncomfortable.

  As we ate, we talked about the local news, and bickered over politics, but he never mentioned anything about his wife.

  When I brought it up to Sara later on that night, she attempted to rationalize his behavior. She always saw the best in people.

  “Maybe he didn't want to discuss something so painful, especially in front of the children.”

  “But he didn't even tell us why his wife left, and don't you find it odd that he came to us for consolation?”

  “I think that he has no one else to go to..”

  I began to feel childish, and proposed that we go to bed and discuss it in the morning. There would be no discussion the next morning though, or any of the mornings to come.

  To my dismay, the visits from Larry began to increase. Then he began to visit my wife while I was at work. Sara had pitied him at first, she now feared him. The night finally came when I heard that familiar knock, and decided it was time to confront Larry.

  When I opened the door, I was knocked off of my feet, and I looked up to see Larry lying on top of me and holding a hunting knife to my throat.

  “It's not fair Henry,” he cried, his eyes blazing.

  “It's not right that you have someone like Sara, you don't deserve her! I did everything for Eileen, and she still wanted to leave, that's why I had to kill her, I had to!”

  While spitting out this confession, he dropped the knife and clenched his sweaty palms tightly around my neck. I was gasping for breath. Sara and the children burst into the room when they heard what was happening. She told them to run and get help, but they were paralyzed with fear, and I do not blame them for it.

  Sara tried to run to my aid, but Larry was quick, and he picked up the knife and plunged it into my chest before she could reach me. The blade was cruel and accurate, and I felt my spirit separate from my body. Soon I found myself floating up near the chandelier, looking down at my body, with Sara and the children crying in desperation.

  Larry stood up and kicked my body to the side. He was no longer a man, but a mindless killing machine, and I was forced to watch as he murdered my family one by one. No matter how hard I struggled, I could not remove myself from the ceiling, I was utterly helpless!

  When I finally gathered the strength to break free from my invisible bonds, it was too late, Larry was dragging away the corpses of the ones I cherished most, to whatever hell hole he kept his wife in. I attempted to chase him down, to make him pay for what he had done. With anguish, I realized that he did not even notice me, and when I tried to exit the house, I was repelled by a mysterious barrier. I was trapped in my own home!

  If only that were the end of my story. But it is not. I am still trapped , and I have witnessed one family after another try to create a happy home within these walls, only to be driven away by the great sorrow that lingers here. Things are falling into disrepair, and realtors have given up on selling this place. That is how things will stay. Until I know that justice has been served to the man called Sad Larry.