Among the aged wooden boards that lie below the bench, stuck in a crack in the thick oak is a wisp of golden blonde hair glowing in the moonlight. The strand of hair waves in the air like a beacon to the porch, fresh from the head of a woman sitting on a bench with a heavy look on her face. The view from across the street shows little else with the glow of the half moon but the sight intrigues me and almost calls me over. “Have you been here long?” I ask from the first step. “I didn’t mean to scare you…I just saw you from across the way.” She jerked on the bench when I posed the question and must not have seen me approach. “I…I…” was all she could mutter. She looked up at me with pain in her eyes extending to mine, her green eyes riddled with tears cut into me and I could feel the trouble. With her gaze retreating again to her hands she fell silent, now fully aware, however ignoring my presence. On the bench the woman is still and looking at her hands that are slowly twitching about, fondling each other with an eerie discomfort. Now from the second step “You’re on Laurens bench….do you know her? Her hands stop instantly however she does not look up or attempt to utter another reply. For a moment we exist together in silence, taking in the stagnant feeling of tension in the air. No breaths were taken or sound was made as the gnats battled for the dim lamp light above the porch door. I slowly climbed to the third step and the moment I did her head jerked up and she said “She’s my sister.” Her gaze was through me. The pain was not cutting into me as is it was before it just emanated from her in the way she looked. Her hands began to move nervously around again. When I reached the final step, after a small pause, she repeated “she’s my sister”, almost muttering it to her hands.
The door is just in front on me and I begin to reach for the handle when the woman rises to her feet and turns to me. “You shouldn’t go in there.” She says to me in a raspy whisper. “Why….Is Lauren alright??” my patience was diminishing with the mystery that surrounded my visit. When the woman did not answer I continued to the door and slowly entered the house. “Lauren…..Lauren are you here.” I moved to the kitchen where a light was left on and gazed down the hall on my way.
My heart stopped when I saw her. She was face down lying on the ground in the kitchen. A pool of dark red beneath her and a knife by her side, I froze with the sight. Before I could fully take in what happened I rushed to the porch and grabbed the girl claiming to be Lauren’s sister. “She protested repeating “we shouldn’t be here.”
“Did you do this?....Did you?” She just went limp falling to the ground, and sobbed to herself. “She was my sister, I just came to visit……she was my sister”. I looked at her and took in her pain. It was true, she was scared and distraught. Her pain was true.
Helping her up was more difficult than it seemed but I placed her back on her bench and kneeled in front of her. “When did you get here…how long has it been?” She looked at me not with her pain filled eyes but with a gaze of utter fatigue. “I…I…” she began “I…got here……this morning. She….she was on the ground and I couldn’t be in the house. I…I…sat here.” A deep gasp escaped me and I hunched back on the ground. We sat together in silence and again existed with no breaths or sound between us as the gnats made there way into the house by the open front door. I began to sift though the grief and gather a plan of what to do.
Looking at the woman I asked “what’s your name?” with a blank stare into the distance she replied in a soft voice “Stacey”. Stacey will you be ok if I leave to call the police. With a sharp turn to me “No…no don’t go!” the look in her eyes now like a scared child’s. “Will you get me my ring?” she asked me. “It’s on Laurens hand….she…..she was holding for me.” “No, absolutely not, I’m not going back in there and we need to call the police.” I replied. Her gaze once again retreated to her hands and they continued there nervous dance. “I need to think…Lauren has a phone in her hall. Come with me to it.” Stacey looked up at me like a child does when they know they have to do something they don’t want to do. We rose together and slowly moved off the porch into the house. The light from the kitchen with the gnats swirling around guided us there and I reached for the phone.
Blinding pain from my spine exploded as I fell to the ground, with the phone still in my hand. Stacey stood above me with the same pain in her eyes that cut into me just as hard as the knife in her hand. “You shouldn’t be here.” She whispered to me as she raised her arm again. The look on her face was so troublesome I had to look away, raising my arm in a vain attempt to protect myself. I made myself look back fighting the urge to hide. When I did Stacey’s face had changed. She was looking at the ceiling with a look of wonder in her eyes. She then fell to the ground next to me revealing above her a hunched over Lauren. Lauren struck down on her again and again assuring she was dead. Stacey and I lied on the ground eye to eye when she died, once again her eyes gazed thought me. I rose and hobbled with Lauren to the bench. We sat together and Lauren said to me “I didn’t know her.” With an utter look of confusion on her face she looked into my eyes and said “My mother told me I was a twin...when...when she gave me this.” She extended her arm, thumbing ring on her finger.
It was hours before either of us could break the silence and rise to the phone. We sat on the wooden boards of the floor and gathered ourselves in the glow of the moon, together existing as one with the shared event haunting us both. My point of view focused, and staring, at the waving golden strand of hair that was under the bench.
READER'S REVIEWS (1) DISCLAIMER: STORYMANIA DOES NOT PROVIDE AND IS NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR REVIEWS. ALL REVIEWS ARE PROVIDED BY NON-ASSOCIATED VISITORS, REGARDLESS OF THE WAY THEY CALL THEMSELVES.
"I absolutely love this story, it was intriguing from the first sentence and I love the ending! Fabulous!" -- Tamsin Butler.
TO DELETE UNWANTED REVIEWS CLICK HERE! (SELECT "MANAGE TITLE REVIEWS" ACTION)
Submit Your Review for The Porch
Required fields are marked with (*). Your e-mail address will not be displayed.