The Past Doesn't Always Stay There
I thought I got rid of her the night we broke up, but apparently I wasn’t that lucky; here I am, 15 years later, staring at her in my son’s bed. Boy, do I know how to pick the crazy ones. I never told my wife about her. Thought it would be best to keep the past in the past. She was gorgeous, tall blonde legs that went on for miles, and a smile that could knock you to your feet in a second. My dad always told me “Watch out for those extra beautiful girls, son. They always have a hidden agenda.” I didn’t think he was right at first, but then the phone calls, the accusations, and the creepiness started. She stole my shampoo and made a shrine of things she found in my trash. Who does that? I mean, come on, a bear needs his shampoo. I remember the day I walked into her “special room” that was locked at the end of the hallway. I had never been so scared in my life. The shrine was sitting in the middle, and a picture of us hung on the wall with the word “forever” scribbled across it in what looked like red lipstick. I ran out of there as fast as I could, packed up my stuff, and moved to a new state. I never thought I would see her again. Unfortunately, I was very wrong.
It was a perfect day. The sun was shining, and my son was building a new contraption. He liked to build things out of the wood we would find in the forest. It looked like he was making a little crib for his baby sister who was going to come in a few months. My wife was in the kitchen making my favorite: porridge. The smell filled the house. Junior was almost done with his new project when he discovered there wasn’t any more wood left, so I told him we would head out and find us some, since the porridge needed time to cool anyway. My wife decided to come along - the doctors told us fresh air was very good for the baby.
As we walked out of the house, I could have swore I saw someone run behind the tree next to the house, but figuring it was just my imagination getting the better of me, I went on walking. Junior said he needed a small piece of wood, so we all went searching. After about 20 minutes, he was finally satisfied with his selection and we headed back towards the house. I helped my wife the last ten yards or so ‘cause she was feeling tired. That’s when I saw it: the front door had been forced open with what I can only assume was a crowbar. I sat her down and told Junior to stay out here with her so I could see what happened.
I crept slowly into the house. Everything seemed in place. I went into the dining room and didn’t notice anything, until I inspected the porridge. Someone had tried mine, and my wife’s, and eaten all of my poor son’s porridge. This is where I began to get pissed. Like really, it’s one thing to break into my house, but to eat my favorite meal! Someone was going to pay. I saw one of Junior’s baseball bats on the floor, picked it up ready to beat someone senseless. Okay, I guess that is a little over dramatic for a pot of porridge, but hey, I was hungry and a bear. If you have watched animal planet, you know that isn’t going to end well. As I make my way throughout the house, I notice that whoever was in my house broke Junior’s chair. They really didn’t like him, first the porridge then the chair - can’t cut the boy some slack. I was just about ready to give up my search for the bandit when I thought I heard a noise coming from the bedrooms upstairs.
Bat in hand, I moved slowly up the stairs, doing a sort of James Bond thing, trying to stay as close to the wall as I could. The giant belly and brown fur kind of made it hard, but I worked with it. First, I looked in my room; other than the sheets being messed up a little, it didn’t look like anything major happened here. That’s when I heard the noise again. It sounded like a giggle. A vaguely familiar giggle. It was coming from Junior’s room. I kicked open the door, mostly for dramatic effect, and realized the room was pitch black. Someone had boarded up the windows and broken the lamp in the corner of the room. That’s when I went from super cool spy to scared little girl in a horror movie.
She lunged toward me but somehow I was able to dodge the attack. Standing by the window now, I started to claw at the boards hoping for an escape. As soon as I got the last board loose, I felt hands pulling the fur on my back. Wailing out in pain, I reached behind me and threw her as hard as I could out the window.
Oh god, what have I done? I didn’t want to hurt her, just wanted her out of my house. Well, I mean, I guess she technically is out of my house, but I fear the worst. I might have killed her. I slowly inched toward the window and looked down. There was nothing. The grass was bent down where she must have landed, but other than that, everything seemed normal. I looked up towards the woods and saw the faintest glow of golden hair and what seemed like a menacing grin.