character sketch

There was something strange about the house. You could feel it in the air as you passed it, as if, well, as if the house itself was alive. I was 14 the first time I drove by it. The bus picked me up at 6:30am so by 6:43am we were driving by the house. There were never any lights on. Ever. It was a small, yellowish-white house that had once been loved. Now it was nearly forgotten. Statues of deer frolicked in the yard. Merry as merry could be. The shades were drawn. There were never any cars in the driveway. Bear in mind that I only had a few minutes each day when I wasn't sleeping on the bus to observe . Day after  day the house remained silent and unchanging. The withered panes grew paler, their luster completely lost forever. 


There was no way for me to know what really lay behind the weathered door. How could I or anyone else know poor Ms. Strickland was laying in a pool of her now dried, dark blood? Her beating heart may have stopped, but her cries of help did not. It took her nearly a fortnight before she realized no one heard her. It took her twice that time before she realized she was dead. And even until this day, she cannot remember just exactly how she died.


Poor, old Ms. Strickland. She was never really jolly. Maybe if she knew she was dying anyway she just might be able to rest now. In her prime she was stout woman- somewhere between robust and portly. You could never quite tell. She had thick glasses- didn't believe in make up, thought it went against God's intentions. Adam and Eve came into this world with nothing and yet they loved and lived well. Clothes were mandated by society and therefore permissible. Everything else went against the laws of nature and thus of God too. Her once golden red hair faded, but the fire within her refused to gently into the night. She bore a striking resemblance to the queen mother. But she was not royalty. Therefore the proud, indignant attitude was unjustified. Her father had been a sergeant in the military. She led a strict life and was an even stricter teacher. She taught second grade and proof of her sternness manifested itself on rainy days. While the other classes played, Ms. Strickland made the students sit silently in their seats. Discipline was essential in becoming a good member of society. 


So when love came knocking at the door she was caught off guard. Completely off guard. She had long since given up on love, marriage, and children. She had been cleaning, changing the sheets while she aired out the house when the first knock came. It was slight, small, almost inaudible. She thought she had heard wrong. No, no. There was another knock. Silence. Knock, knock. She went to the door and picked up the bat from the umbrella stand. She looked through the peep hole. "Who's there?" Silence. She could see nothing. An empty porch awaited her. Very slowly, she cracked the door ajar. No one appeared on the other side. Or so she thought.