A Visitation

The Children's Room

I was walking down the hallway into the parlor of the house I lived in. There was nothing amiss, save the crooked picture of me and my dead wife, the absence of life, and the feeling that I wasn't alone. I thought nothing of it, I haven't been alone for a long time, and since my wife passed, I have been adjusting to living alone yet again.

The children were gone as well, died from the fever twenty years ago. My wife and I loved them dearly, but apparently that wasn't enough. And now my wife is dead, apparently my love wasn't enough for her either. So now I live in this house alone.

The walls were a dreary color of green, like the pea soup my grandmother liked to make for me when I was sick. On them hung pictures of the children riding bicycles and eating ice cream. There were a couple of my wife and I, sitting on a bench or of our wedding day. But they were mostly of the children.

The house was old, probably more ancient than I was. I feared that it would collapse during a storm, but if the house lasted this long, surely it would last longer.

It was mid-spring, rainy too. The windows were clouded, and if I listened hard enough, I could hear the rain pouring down the outside of the house.

There was a garden, but I hadn't been around to take care of it. My wife used to take care of it but she's gone now, and I'm too old to do it. I wouldn't want to anyway, it's easier to let my life slip away without any work to fill it. And the garden brings back painful memories of my wife, some I wouldn't want to remember.

There wasn't any sound in the house, besides my footsteps, the rain, and the occasional mouse or rat scampering through the house. The silence in the house only reminded me of the gaping absence my wife had left me with. Without her, who was I?

When I entered the parlor, I closed the blinds so I couldn't see the garden. I sat for a while, listening. I heard a crash in the kitchen.

"You darn mice, my back isn't what it used to be."

Regardless of that, I still got up to see the damage the mice had done.

I entered the kitchen, and surveyed it. On the floor there were a few broken plates but nothing serious, on the counter there were a few broken mugs but again, nothing serious. There was an odd fragrance coming from the kitchen sink, it was like my wife's perfume. Another thing that I noticed was that my wife's favorite mug was missing. It hadn't fallen out, or broke because of the mice. It was just gone. I thought I heard footsteps on the stairs and childish laughter, but it was only my imagination. Right?

"Where could you be?" I decided to ignore the mystery for now, it could wait for later.

Later, I walked up the stairs of my house to take a nap in my room. Halfway up I heard one of my children's music boxes. I listened for a while, before I realized that it winded up itself. There couldn't be anyone inside the house. I don't have anything valuable, I'm just an old man withering away. This was harder to ignore, so I didn't. I gathered up some deep courage and started walking towards the children's room.

Their room was a baby blue. The furniture was covered with a white cloth, exactly how I left it. Their toys were packed in a box and left in a stack at the right hand corner of the room. I saw the music box on one of the tables. It was open, the little clown twirling, the erie music slowing down to a stop.

I shut the music box as I heard the door close and footsteps following behind it. I felt fingers close around my shoulders, I didn't scream. I felt my heartbeat start to increase, faster and faster every second those ice cold hands gripped my shoulder. I heard it say, "We missed you..." in a slithery, quiet voice. I willed myself to turn around, to see who was behind me. I started slowly, the grip lessened. When I turned entirely around.

No one was there.