Writer's Cramp Entries

Private Residence

Written for the: "The Writer's Cramp" 
Prompt: For this prompt, make a sign your starting place -- and title -- of a STORY or POEM.
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PRIVATE RESIDENCE it said in chipped white paint on weathered wood. Bonnie watched it swing lightly in the wind, the slow creaking sound it made beginning to grate on her nerves as she waited for Jake to get out of the car. There was something about this place she didn’t like. Perhaps it was the quiet – too quiet in her opinion. They had left the highway five miles back in the hopes of finding a phone. It was a miracle the car had driven this far on a flat, but as luck would have it, Bonnie had spied the rooftop of the house in the distance.

“Can’t believe I forgot to charge the damn cell phone,” Jake grumbled as he jogged a little to catch up to her. He stared at the winding path, past the sign, raising a brow in silent question at the way it seemed to disappear into a thick cloak of trees and vines.

“You saw a house.” It was a statement, one filled with skepticism. Bonnie, recognizing the familiar tone, rolled her eyes and began to walk.

“You see the sign, don’t you? Obviously people must live in here somewhere, so let’s just find a freaking phone and get some help.”

However, after what seemed like an eternity, the oppressive heat and constant swiping at bugs and branches, got the newlyweds quite irritated and ready to give each other a piece of their minds. Perhaps this had been a bad idea from the start.

“Oh look! Finally,” Bonnie gasped in relief as the Tudor-style mansion came into view. It was a shocking sight really, for after the seemingly endless trek through the woods, its appearance was quite sudden. It loomed larger than life before them, its architecture bringing a reluctant smile to their faces. It looked like something out of a fairytale, complete with the beautiful gardens and the faint smell of freshly baked bread.

“Don’t see any cars,” Jake murmured as they walked up the driveway. A fountain sat in the middle of a sea of daffodils, the statue of an angel, gray with age, held a bowl within her hands, forever emptying its contents. “Maybe…no one’s home?”

“Don’t be so pessimistic,” Bonnie countered. She walked up the steps and was just about to knock on the door, when a motion above caught her attention. “Jake!” she whispered, her heart slamming hard within her chest with a terror she could not comprehend.

“What is it?” came the impatient voice.

“I…” She looked again. Nothing. The lace curtains in the window looked as if they hadn’t been moved in ages. However, she could have sworn she had seen a little girl’s face—

“May I help you?”

Bonnie gave a breathless squeak of surprise at the sound of the voice, staring almost comically at the statuesque woman standing before them. She was wearing a high-collared calico dress, which brushed the floor. Her features were stern to match the tight bun of her auburn locks. Dark eyes peered at them cautiously, her lips tightening with disapproval at the sight of her visitors. The smell of bread was much stronger, but there was a faint smell beneath that – a smell that reminded Bonnie of mothballs and old attics.

“Ah…we…”

“Jake and Bonnie Chesterfield,” Jake interrupted with a smile, holding out his hand. When he saw it wouldn’t be taken in a handshake, he coughed in slight embarrassment. “My wife and I would like to borrow your phone, if it’s not too much trouble. You see we have a flat and my cell phone is dead--”

“We do not cater to your kind,” the woman interrupted curtly.

“What…?!”

“Please leave. You will wake up the children,” the woman was saying, while stealing a quick glance behind her. “Go to your room this instant, Robert!”

Bonnie and Jake could hear the faint sound of giggles and then nothing. For some reason, it made their skin crawl and to break out in goose bumps. Bonnie squeezed his arm gently. She was trembling. “I think we should leave, Jake. You heard the lady.”

He looked like he was ready to argue, but seeing the look in his wife’s eyes made him change his mind quickly. With a slow nod, he turned to thank the woman, only to have the door slammed in his face, and the subsequent sounds of heavy locks behind it.

“What the…?”

“Let’s just go, Jake!” Bonnie said fervently, her voice hitching with tears that were now streaming down her cheeks.

Nothing was said as they made their way back to the car. The journey was much quicker this time. In fact, they were sure that the path was much wider – as if the trees had found favor with them and decided to give them a safe passageway home. To make things even better, Jake discovered that he could get a signal on his cell phone again.

However, it was Bonnie’s crying that had him quite concerned. She hadn’t stopped since they left the house, and once in the safety of their car, he dared to ask the burning question.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart? Sure she was a mean cuss but--”

“…Robert…”

“Huh? Robert? That was the name of the kid she called right?”

Bonnie nodded and reached into the handbag to pull out a small diary. It was a keepsake from her grandmother who had passed away a year ago. As Jake opened it to stare at its contents, he felt a clammy coldness wash over him, for the sepia portrait, within the leather-bound cover, showed the very woman they had just seen sitting with two young children on her lap.

Winifred, Robert and Mildred Manchester, circa 1918.

“That was my great grandmother, Jake,” Bonnie finally whispered into the thick silence. “And the little girl I saw at the window was my grandmother, forever watching over me.”



Word Count: 969