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The Walls Have Eyes And They Whisper
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The Walls Have Eyes And They Whisper
I find that sometimes actual nightmares, when they are lucid ones and are remembered with clarity, can make for good storytelling.
Jason P Neubauer
I've lived a lot of places and seen a lot of things that stick in my memory. So far, I have been standing in awe of the rest of the world.
AUTHOR'S E-MAIL ADDRESS
|AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (4)
A Close Facsimile (Short Stories) The fax machine made me do it. [2,412 words] [Comedy]
Magic Button (Songs) Dark but light at the same time. Triumph. [178 words]
Retrospect (Songs) About all those kids who thought they had it then... [222 words]
The Skeptic (Short Stories) Kind of a character sketch. I wanted to write something that included a guy who was kind of a jerk and a real loser and I think I did well with this. It's kind of funny in parts. [6,703 words]
The Walls Have Eyes And They Whisper
Jason P Neubauer
So I wake up to this unfamiliar “Kachunk kachunk kachunk” sound
and as my eyes stir under their lids I think to myself there’s
not enough liquor in the world for me to have forgotten falling
asleep in a grave yard the night before and then get awakened by
some redneck’s pickaxe biting away at the earth. I open my eyes slowly like unbaiting a trap—almost like I’m sitting in a horror movie and I’m afraid of what I will see. The room fades into focus around me. I am alone. The walls are dirty and yellowed. I am on the floor.
There is whispering coming from behind the faded plaster on the
walls. A girl walks in and she’s young. I mean really young, maybe
six or seven and tells me her name is Macy. I look down at myself
and I am covered in filth and get the notion that I’ve been walking
for days trying to get somewhere. I get the further impression that
it wasn’t intoxication that brought me meandering to this stumbling
end in an eight by eight space, but pure exhaustion. Macy tells me
she is thirsty and there are no other adults in the house and asks
if I will get her some water.
We walk into a dilapidated kitchen and after searching for a short time
I locate an old mason jar on a shelf, which I hand to her after filling
it with tepid water. She gulps greedily and looks like she’s never had
a decent meal in her entire life. Every iota of goodness in me wants to
reach out and grab her and hold her and tell her not to worry too much
about living in the squalor of a shithole and that things can get better.
We walk out to a corrupted couch in a separate room that smells of urine
and sit down. She hands me the glass and the water in it is cloudy and
thick but I’m too thirsty to care and I can feel it oozing slowly down my
throat quenching the bilious fire that’s been burning there for three days
or more. The whispering grows a little louder.
“What the hell is that?” I ask through lips clamped down around a stale
Her answer comes too quickly, “Nothing. I mean what? I mean what’s what?”
The whispering grows steadily more rapid.
“That. That whispering,” Macy’s eyes widen as I ask the question like I
am sentencing the both of us to a sudden and violent end.
“What whispering? There’s no whispering.”
I shrug and take a long slow pull off the cigarette. It’s like I’m slowly
making love to it in a long kiss while it peels back into its ashy abyss.
The smoke comes out my nostrils and feels good. Macy stands and walks across
to a doorway and motions for me to follow her.
She leads me to the end of the hall where there is a closet and we step in.
After she closes the door behind us all is dark and peaceful and the only sound
I can hear is her quickened but still as yet innocent breath. I can kind of
tell that she is grasping at any shred of composure that she can muster and
teetering on the edge of losing the inward battle she’s fighting to remain calm.
“They watch us all the time and talk about us and we aren’t allowed to talk about
them,” she had an urgency in her voice that turned my ears like a dog’s turn when
you call it’s name, “we can hear them whispering about us and walking in the walls
and sometimes they knock too. Mommy and Daddy asked about them too much and first
Daddy disappeared and then Mommy a few days later when she called the police. My
brother brought you here but said you can't stay because they won't like it.”
I nodded in a tacit signal that I understood and she held her finger up to her
chapped lips as she turned the doorknob and the harsh light flooded into our haven
The whispering was uncontrolled and unrestrained by now.
We returned to the couch that now reeked of both piss and stale smoke from the cigarette
I’d left burning next to it. An abandoned love affair always does seem to leave behind
semblances of ugliness wafting through the air. We sat and she drank from the jar again.
“Where is your brother?”
The whispering grew closer.
“He’s at work. He works on the corner. That’s where he found you when he brought you
“What does he d…”
The whispering cut me off.
I was growing more agitated.
“What does he do?”
KACHUNK KACHUNK KACHUNK.
As the whispering escalated into a vast cacophony that was neither inconspicuous nor any
longer intelligible my anger got the better of me. An angel on one shoulder sat down to
rest and the devil on the other began to scream with the intensity of hell. Somewhere deep
within the recesses of my psychology a red beast of rage took over the steering wheel and I
could no longer contain myself.
“SHUT THE FUCK UP!! STOP TALKING ABOUT ME!! GET OUT HERE RIGHT NOW IF YOU’RE SO DAMNED INTERESTED
At the first syllable of my irate scream Macy had cowered in the corner of the couch and now
had her hand over her face in a fetal position. I was standing in the center of the room
staring at the walls as I bellowed. The last thing I remember seeing was the wall coming
down and the white dust billowing around me from the crumbling plaster as the watchers, these
unseen men or whatever it was they were, began to come out of the walls.
When I woke up in my own bed from the nightmare saturated in my own salty perspiration and
clenching my fists I could clearly and distinctly hear my reclusive neighbor out in his yard
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"Wow. It's really suspenseful. I was on the edge of my seat. If you're considering continuing this, please do! Best story so far on this website...on a scale of one to ten, I give it a fifty." -- Rachel.
"This is a good horror, really well written. I'd have done what he did, and yelled! " -- Debbie Kean, Auckland, New Zealand.
"Wow! That was totally awesome!!!!" -- Jordan.
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© 2004 Jason P Neubauer
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