LONE WITNESS

LONE WITNESS


We walk through the crisp, clear night, my buddies and I, along the rocky strip of narrow beach playing tag with the water. They must be my buddies, because the camaraderie is of having had long friendships, though their names elude me. "Skinny", "Minnie" and "Mo".

Only our ages are apparent to me as ranging somewhere between ten and twelve.

The beach is overhung with black jagged cliffs, which might have been menacing had the mood not been so festive. Leisurely strolling, engaged in casual conversation, one of us spots an old house built at the base of the cliffs.

It is narrow and tall, maybe three stories high, built on stilts to avoid the tides which encroach upon the craggy rocks born from the sand at its base. In disrepair and unpainted, the monstrosity borders on being no more than a shack, at best.

One of us has the idea to go in, look around, but I am hesitant. The house looms overhead, foreboding. "Mo" shoves against the front door, crooked; hanging from one hinge and it scrapes obstinately against the floor, giving in while screaming its protest.

To the left, looms a larger room, the doorway yawning to reveal the black empty void beyond its frame. Ahead, stairs to the upper levels cant steeply upward, turning sharply back on themselves in their ascent.

The steps groan in protest against the weight of our steps, one, two, three, --- fourteen of them climbed, then another fourteen, each, one behind the other to the third floor.

"Hey man, that's really weird, look". We'd passed the second floor and "Skinny" points,
"No landing, no doors! What'd they do with the second floor?"

As if the house had swallowed the second level, we continued to climb the ever steepening stairs to a tiny landing, one small open door to the left and an open archway ahead.

The others headed to the larger room on the left while curiosity drew me reluctantly toward the opening ahead. Entering, I felt all clammy, the hairs standing up on the backs of my arms.

The room was narrow, cramped and the walls to either side felt as if they were pressing in on me.

Almost beyond my vision, a faint light flickered as if daring me to enter further within. My feet moved against my will, more curious than I as to what lay ahead. I side stepped around a narrow partition and peered deeper into the murky, light, my eyes probing the distance ahead. My leaded feet pulled me forward three more steps.

A simple walk along the shore, an inquisitive journey up a flight of steps, turning into fright night.

Yellow flame flickered from behind, glistening through the wispy, straggly hair, gray from age and matted at the ends. Bones, thin and sagging skin propped on the bed, turned its head to look at me with a face older than time. Its milky eyes fixed on me staring into my frozen face and lifting an arm, beckoned me closer.

Somehow, I wanted to approach, but my feet having gained more sense, remained nailed to the floor and I almost fell from the forward momentum of my upper body.

I faintly heard my buddies on the landing and animated voices preceded them into the room. I sensed them puttering around, investigating just inside the entrance.

"Hey---HEY! Come here!!" My voice barely squeaked.

Both attempting to squeeze around the partition at once, created a bit of slapstick confusion. Even their giggles were not enough to conquer the gloom and their gayity seemed out of context for me, unreal.

"Look, don't you see it? On the bed? "LOOK!"

The air around me was suffocating, thick and silent. The others seemed oblivious to the scene before me and again the thing beckoned me to approach, its malevolent, cold eyes staring through me.

"HEY, COME HERE!!! LOOK!"

"Skinny" seemed annoyed at best. "WHAT man? What? Then, pointing at me, "Ha! Ha!", but no sound came out.

"DON'T YOU GUYS SEE IT?"

Only shuffling feet and clinks here and there, sounds of the remnants atop a shelf being rummaged.

"Mo" offered no more than a side glance and roll of the eyes, busy at his task.

"Look at all this junk."

The arm beckoned again in one last attempt, a faint, menacing smile lurking just at the corners of thin transparent lips, "Skinny's" voice, a muffled squeak, barely audible through the congestive atmosphere.

"Come on, let's go! Let's get outta here, there's nothin' here to find."

I found my feet again and my head slowly turned away from the vision barely catching up to the rest of me, fleeing down the steps and out through the door, hardly able to keep up with my legs.

A dream almost twenty years old, so real I remember and feel every detail. So precise, I struggle to determine its origin----in dreams or reality.

Still, all these years later, when the hair bristles from the back of my neck down the length of my arms and I get that clammy feeling, I'm glad I never approached that thing.