The House - 8

That night I lay on the bed, my two little ones snug against me, sleeping. Their contented breathing sounds comforting me. My eyes wide open, thinking. I didn’t get up and type. I didn’t want to leave the children, not with Georgia in the house. I tried to understand what may have happened to her but could not make any sense out of the little I knew. She had seen Stan. I was tempted to get up and confront her but I didn’t. The little I did know was already overwhelming me. I went through a lot of emotions, anger, frustration, confusion, and loneliness but I must have fallen asleep at some point because I was waking up just as the sun was rising. I heard Georgia talking. She must be on the phone. The talking got loud and soft as though she were pacing back and forth. I wonder if she slept at all. I got out of bed covering the babies back up. In the kitchen Georgia was pacing. The look on her face told of a stressful night. She didn’t see me at first. She was complaining about the house to someone on the phone. It’s old and run down. No running water, doors won’t open, no food in the fridge or cupboards. Not fit to be lived in. I walked into the kitchen and turned on the coffee maker. The sun was shining into the breakfast nook. Rainbows danced on the wall behind the couch. I had placed a few crystals in the window, just right to catch the first rays of morning sun. She must have tried to sleep on the couch. I turned the tap on, cool water streamed out. I stuck my hand in the stream and let it run over me. Maybe she means the hot water. I turned it on and waited until it became warm, it didn’t take long and it was too hot to keep my hands in. Perhaps she was talking about something else. Anyway, the house is not run down and the fridge is amply stocked, she must be talking about a different house. I went to the bathroom. The door was closed. I opened it. As I was turning around she rushed past me breathing the words out, “Finally!” Her tattered suitcase nearly knocking me over.

I took my coffee to the breakfast nook. It would be great if we could talk before the kids get up.

A rush and she was out of the bathroom, “I’ve got to get out of here. You better come with me.” She announced breathlessly. “This place isn’t fit for living in.” Her voice becoming shrill.

“Excuse me!” I looked at her squaring my shoulders.

“Well,” she said, “If you won’t, at least let me take the kids to a safe place.”

I was standing up now. The house groaned. It was loud. She shivered.

“Get your stuff, let’s get going.” She turned nervously around as though to help me with something.

“The children and I aren’t going anywhere.” I glared at her. Last night she needed a place to stay, today she’s planning to relocate us. “You’re crazy!” I said. “You’re not taking my children anywhere. You need to leave now.” I said it firmly and looked at her. I wish I knew why she thought it was her business to check up on us and decide if our place was suitable or not. She looked at the counter where a cup of coffee waited for her. I had thought to sit down and have some coffee with her, talk to her and find out what was going on with her. But that was before she began blurting out statements about the safety of my children.

She began to drink the coffee, black. “We all need to go.” She said.

“Why?” I asked, curious.

She began to speak but changed her mind and continued to drink, as though in a hurry. Presently she said in a rather whiny voice. “I came to see how you are doing!”

“Who sent you?” I asked, “Stan sent you, didn’t he?” I should have figured but still I was surprised. It’s not like him.

“Stan!” she sneered. Then who, I wondered. “You would be so much better off.” She added quickly. “Now that you’re not with Stan anymore. There’s nothing stopping you.”

“Where would I be better off?” I demanded. Then it dawned on me, the cult, but I kept quiet.

“It’s been a long time Lottie.” She said in a kindly sweet tone. “You probably don’t remember much. But things are different now. We’ve changed. It’s great. We can do so many things now. You belong with us. The children belong. She paused.

“So you-all are allowed to cuss now too?” I mocked. “Look at you! Driving up here in a beat-up old car, wearing torn up clothes, acting like a God-forsaken orphan, needing a place, telling me you know what’s best for me, and my children? I don’t want to know who put you up to this, but I have a pretty good idea.” I stopped and walked towards her. She backed away.

“Do it for the children, Lottie.” She begged as she gathered her bag in one hand her sweater in the other. “Think of them. They belong, you belong.” She turned to go, tripped over the rug in the hallway and crashed into the wall. A string of expletives poured out of her mouth. She started to cry as she pulled herself together and left the house. “I can’t believe you want to live here. It’s haunted. I had the worst night ever.”

I can’t say that my night had been that great either. I watched as she drove away. It was such a relief to hear her noisy car getting quieter as she drove further and further away. I turned toward the house. Greta was standing in the doorway. “Is the bad scary lady gone now, Mama?” she asked. 

By Elizabeth Williams, writing exercise, 1,004 words. 
The next chapter of The House:  The House 9Previous chapters of The House:   The House 7,  The House 6, The House 5 , The House 4 , The House 3 , The House 2 , The House 1