Any place but home

The house hadn't changed.



In fact it was only under close inspection that I could see the differences that had sprung up since the last time I had seen it. The garden was slightly more unruly then how mother had kept it. The roses needed pruning and the grass hadn't been trimmed since the neighbor had gotten bored with its looks and cut it, which was nearly three weeks ago. The paint had faded from the window shudders so that the bright red was more close to maroon.



Starring at the house I had once considered home I resisted the urge to vomit.



The horrors I had experienced there, had watched others experience, were still fresh in my mind despite the years that separated them and myself.



I shouldn't be here; it was just asking for the trouble I knew it would awaken. However, the five year anniversary of my parent's murders were fast approaching and I wanted something special for them, because they more then deserved it.



Inhaling as much as I could I put my foot on the first slab of cement that made up the sidewalk. When the sky didn't fall, I let out my breath and started to walk down the sidewalk. My heart was hammering as if I had just run a mile instead of walking the ten feet it took to get to the front porch as I skipped the single step and put my feet on the wood.



A low creek filled the air causing my heart to skip a beat, but the knowledge that the wood hadn't bared weight in years assured me slightly and the thought of my parents gave me the courage to take the three steps that would lead me to the door.



Putting my hand to my neck I pulled the chain I wore out from under my shirt and over my head. Two pieces of metal clanged together on the chain, one a dog tag that held my parents' names and the other a plain key. Inserting the key into the lock I turned it and heard the snick that sounded the bolted lock sliding back.



Taking another deep breath I tried hard to slow my heart beat before I pushed open the door.



It was like being thirteen again. Seeing the entry way to the house with it's multi colored rug and high faux crystal chandelier the stairs that led up to the second level the only separation from this room and the living room. It all looked so big still, despite the fact that I had gained almost a foot in height.



Moving from the door with slow steps I walked slowly through the house I only remembered in the nightmares that continued to haunt me from that night.



The vase I had tipped over as I had stumbled out the back door had been picked up and the shattered window He had broken so that he could get in had been boarded up. The kitchen appliances where exactly where they had been left, including the blender Mom had yelled at me for leaving out.



Starring at it a flash of guilt speared me and I moved to place it where it belonged in the cupboard. The police had given me permission to move things around, there was little evidence left that had not gathered. Closing the cabinet door I turned and faced the breakfast room before deciding there were some memories I didn't want to relive and turning away.



Sammy had been in there; the family dog who's barking had woken me up before he had been killed. The monster hadn't even left me him.



Heading out of the kitchen I moved towards the stairs. I glanced briefly at the banister before shuddering. A long gouge weaved along the wood, the monster's way of leaving his mark in the house as he had climbed the very stairs I was.



That thought in mind I quickly ran up the stairs and stopped at the landing. Three doors, all closed, met my eyes. I knew what each one led to, and I knew the one I didn't want to take.



The left door led to my room with it's pink paint and girly little girl clothes. The right door led to my parents' office, the room I had always been banned from playing in because if I moved things then mom and dad couldn't find them. That left the door straight ahead.



Behind it was the room that all my nightmares take place in and the place where the Monster had decided to torture me by letting me live.



I forced myself away from the door and towards the office, opening that door with the slight hesitation that came with a child who knew that they were disobeying a parent's order.



Light greeted my eyes when the door was fully open, for the dust on the large window could only block out so much light. The dark wood desk that faced the door way was coated in a fine layer of the same dust, as was the bookshelf behind it.



Moving towards the shelf I pulled one of the albums I knew resided there off and plopped it on the desk, nearly choking on the dust that was released into the air when I dropped it onto the surface.



Opening the cover I felt a pang in my heart when I saw the people smiling up at me.



Long blond hair and shining blue eyes, my mother looked beautiful in the wedding dress she wore, and with my dark haired brown eyed father boasting a rare smile standing next to her she appeared even more bright. Flowers bloomed in the garden behind them, adding color to the photo and making the picture seem as if the captured image was just a couple of days ago.



Flipping through the pictures my eyes began to water and I had to stop, the smiles on my parents faces nearly to much to bare as they blissfully went through their wedding, unaware of what would happen to them only years down the road.



Finally through with torturing myself I selected one of the photos and slid it into the cardboard envelope I had brought with me so that the picture would not get ruined.



Closing the photo album I slid it back into its place among the others and moved back towards the door, closing it behind me as I faced the door that let to my room. I had no desire to go in there, the life it held had been gone the moment I had woken up that night.



However, even as I turned from my room the other door captured my attention. It looked so plain to hold back the horrors I knew were behind it, the white wood looked so innocent that I found myself stepping towards it, my hand on the metal of the doorknob before I could kick some sense into my brain.



Then I found myself doing the incredibly stupid thing of telling myself to open it, just a bit, just enough so that I could see if maybe this was all a dream.



The cold metal turned easily in my hand, not at all like in horror movies where the people have to struggle to open the door. Closing my eyes and feeling a sense of familiar cold dread in the pit of my stomach I pushed my hand hard against the wood and heard it slam into the wall.



It didn't even creak.



Somehow I feel if it had creaked I could have prepared myself better for what I was about to face, for when I opened my eyes all breath whooshed out of me.



The room was almost completely bare.



My parent's king sized bed was stripped of sheets and all of the little knick-knacks from their bedside tables and dressers were missing. The carpet was immaculately clean, the blood having been washed away I presume, and the TV stand opposite of my parent's bed rested empty.



I should have left then, should have turned my back, gone down stairs and left the house. But I didn't.



Instead I stepped into the room and looked farther, just far enough to see the one thing that sent me spiraling back into my memories. The one thing that no clean up crew would ever think to take down because it was something so innocent that it looked as if it belonged.





But it didn't, the one photo that shouldn't hang on the walls in this room was the only one that had been left. Because He had made sure that it not get any blood on it, that the crew would see no reason to take it down. He had wanted it there to torture me because He knew I would come back here one day.





He had left it because He was in it.





The man who had killed my parents, my Uncle George.