Her Grandmas' Hair

Reads: 20  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 0

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Invite

Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic

This is a story my mom told us. One of many of the experiences our family endured.

Monsters are a child’s fear of what they do not yet know.

 

She remembers seeing the spirit under her bed. Her newly deceased grandma saying goodbye one last time. 

“She’s just as I remember her.” She thought as she stared at the vacant, yet familiar face, blankly looking from a place beyond a child’s understanding.

Her grandma’s face faded, forever embedded in the child’s mind. She went to sleep comforted by her grandma’s last visit. It would later occur to her that she should have been more scared. The foreboding calm would haunt her for the rest of her life.

She somehow knew in her gut that there was nothing to fear, that the apparition meant no harm. She didn’t dwell on the fact that if her grandmother could reach out to her from beyond, then could other things come through the ether as well?

In the morning she woke up in her warm bed, the smell of maple sausage filling the house. Her parents were talking downstairs loud enough she could hear every word.  Outside her window she saw the new fallen snow on the roof top, close enough she could taste it as it melted on her tongue.  She threw off the covers and landed her feet in the bright orange shag carpet. Her feet sank in to the warmth of the long strands, and she shuffled through the orange sun. Once outside the bedroom the carpet changed to a Muppet’s head of blue shag, which was equally inviting to her feet. Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle, down the hallway down the stairs, and onto the brown tile squared linoleum.  The sudden change in texture and temperature sent a chill through her body. More of a chill than when she had seen her dead grandmother the night before.

She sat down at the breakfast nook between her little sister and her father. She stared out the window overlooking the back yard. She remembered walking with her grandmother out there on a tepid summers day six months earlier. Her grandmother had bent over and whispered in her ear; “You are my favorite grandchild, and I will never be far from you. “

She remembered how the Black-Eyed Susan had felt weaved into her hair, after grandma had picked it from the garden and put it there. She remembered the way the sun had shimmered off her grandmothers silver hair, in the middays light. The smile she had seen that summers day was the same one she had seen last night.

“Grandma visited me last night.” She blurted out. Half still waking up and half daydreaming she shocked herself when it came out.

Her father didn’t look up from his paper, it didn’t rustle one bit. Her mother said “That’s nice dear.”, without even thinking, her usual response to her children, while busy in the kitchen.  

“You did not!” her little sister yelled.

Her little sister was 4 years old, and could have yelled that about anything. This morning however her mother stopped midway through buttering a slice of still warm toast.

“Sometimes our heart guides our imagination, making the things we want to see most seem real. Grandma’s in heaven looking down on us, and she will always be in our hearts.” Her mother stated matter of factly.

She knew better. Her grandma really had visited her, and her mother was wrong she thought as she ate her toast and slightly crispy bacon. Everything tasted so plain in her mouth as something so magnificent as her grandma’s visit swirled through her mind. Her sister, satisfied with her mom’s confident statement, continued picking at her food, expecting something better to soon appear.

All day she moved through a haze of anticipation and afterthought of what had occurred the night before. The day flew by her the minutes melted away like wax down a lit candle, until bedtime once again arrived.

Her parents didn’t even need to mention the time that evening. She bolted upstairs five minutes earlier than usual. She brushed her teeth in such a rush she missed a few spots that she hadn’t missed in weeks. She ran from the bathroom, down the hall and over the shag carpeting. Hitting the light switch off, and landing in her bed almost simaltaniously. She threw her yellow down blanket over her head and prepared for another visit from grandma.

She looked under her bed ten times that evening, her heart was racing at a speed faster than  the expectation of Christmas morning. She didn’t sleep a wink that night each time she peered under her bed there was nothing, nothing more than a long lost pink bunny stuffed animal.


Submitted: May 29, 2021

© Copyright 2021 Keith Balen. All rights reserved.

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Invite

Add Your Comments:


Facebook Comments

More Horror Short Stories

Other Content by Keith Balen

Poem / Romance

Poem / Non-Fiction