Grab your Crucifix

Mom Comes Home

Resource: My aunt Vickie

    Growing up in an Appalachian valley, certainly comes with its own set of culture. You have heard crazy stories from your ancestors about demons, the tooth fairy, or maybe if you're like me there are a few ghost stories that get told around the campfire. Either way, you are not a stranger to the word of mouth. Some people would rather blame drugs, alcohol or a tainted memory for the events I am going to cite. Although, I assure you these stories are true, and without hesitation we shall get into them.

   My great grandmother was a fighter. In her younger days she was not a docile or meek women. My memories of her she was always old as dirt. Despite my youthful age, and her decaying age we'd still make wonderful memories.

    When learning to read, I climbed up onto her hospital bed that sat in the middle of the room and folded the old multicolored quilt across my legs. As I opened the book she'd smile at me and nod her head letting me know she was ready and I would tell her stories. Not sparing her all the dramatics any young one would use. I would feed her those awful sugar cookies that are hard as a brick and came in those blue tins. No matter what I did , laying on her cords or dropping a cookie on her chest, she had my back.

    When it came to my aunt she was a worry wart, in the most loving way. For example if we moved to fast while feeding Evelyn those damn cookie she'd panic screaming "you'll choke her, SLOW DOWN. slow down". And before we could defend ourselves Evelyn had already spat "leave them damn babies alone! They're doing great." Vickie certainly mimicked her mothers carful thinking and spirited attitude.

PS Vic if you have figured out the internet and found this I love you!

A creek runs beside a narrow gravel road that' ll lead to a solemn blue house. The little blue house, built before I was born, sits back in the woods. The windows large and bulking used to stay open with laughter and voices now sit nailed down with faded white paint peeling from the weathered trim, glass cracked and blocked with sheets or cardboard. The porch sags at the steps where many a generation came and went. In it's prime the house was more than a cute house, it was home. But now, it is just an empty shell. A Skelton, if you would, of days passed.

    The house originally only had three rooms. The living room where you would walk into the house at through a tin screen door was a small room, yet it was just big enough to hold generations of our family and a loveseat and couch sat pushed against the far walls.

    All these walls were littered with an assortment of  picture frames. Some held family photos while others supported decorative landscapes and paintings of birds or people praying. One of the paintings would always hold my attention as it felt like it sucked the energy from the room. A single 12x16 picture of a nun with blurred scenery behind her. She held a pink bouquet of flowers and a daunting stare. Yet, as cliche as it is, her eyes would hold yours and it was like no matter where you went in the room she was watching.

     If you turn left after walking through the door you'd find a kitchen with a small stove and the back door sitting behind and old metal dining table that fills the small room. In the houses lively years you'd find old men chewing the fat, hooting and hollering,  around the table. The smell of home cooked foods and tobacco would hang in the air.  The outhouse sat about a hundred yards away from the back door. The single bedroom was on the back of the house, with enough room for a full sized bed and a vanity. Realistically the home wasn't big enough to house the growing family. Eventually, There was three rooms added to the house. On the back of the kitchen they added a dining room and onto that dining room they added a bathroom. They also added another bedroom beside the original. This gave us all the room we needed.

  In the later years of her life Evelyn slept in the living room in a hospital bed and my Aunt Vickie, who worked nightshift, would sleep on the couch beside her. She was her full time keeper when she was not at work. She had five living brothers at time. They lost their oldest brother to cancer after he was exposed to agent orange in the war. The five brothers would take turns watching after their mother on and off, while Vickie worked. I believe it was what kept the family together those last years.

    The only other houses on the property was the old house they grew up in as children, it had been burnt down before this house was built. Then later a trailer sat to the left of the burnt house. Their brother Roger stayed in because of good ole' family drama.

   Toward the end of a humid summer day. The sun begins to sit and the frogs begin to croak. The humming birds are grabbing their last bite to eat. Vickie takes her last breath of summer air before shutting up the doors and locking them before heading to the kitchen for and evening cup of joe.

  Vickie hears Evelyn calling her. When Vickie comes to see what she is in need of. Evelynn points to the door. It was locked Vickie was sure of it.

   "Someone is trying to get in." her voice was raspy and cold. Vickie's hairs stand up on her neck. She knows it's locked and she knows they're not in any danger but something gave her a cold chill, so she opens the door. There was only a small deer standing in the yard. Its dark eyes peeping at her. She interrupted his meal. She shuts the door and turns around to see her mom.

   "Now, mom you know that no one was out there." You can hear someone come up the road as soon as they hit gravel, everything echo's into the clearing the house sits on.

   A few months pass and Evelynn passes away. Vickie comes home from the funeral service. She is at the kitchen table smoking a cigarette as the TV plays local news station in the living room. It was the only station you got out that far.

  She stood quickly, rotating on her heels. She heard the door knob jiggling, like someone was twisting the doorknob while it was locked. Except, the door was not locked. It was open.

   She was expecting guests after the viewing. The scary thing is that she heard no car outside when it started not even that. She let it go on for a second to make sure that is what she heard.

Then when she stood the door slung open. At the sound of the door hitting the walls, she springs toward the living room to take a look.

Not even Rogers car was outside. No one was outside or around the house.

The door has never slung open again, nor has the door handle moved.