Yearning for Yesterday

The burnt house near the town square, on Lob Rez avenue, was the most famous place in this little town. Growing up I had heard many stories about that place. Everyone had a theory of their own surrounding that house. But the one common denominator in all of them was Mr. Tom Morris. He had been living in that house since before I was born. Someone once told me he gave a man a heart attack just by staring at him. Most people had never met him but it didn’t stop them from concocting juicy stories.

My friends and I had just finished our coffee and were on our way to the junkyard. It was the place where all of us used to hang out. Not to gloat but I was a big deal in this town. The people of this town were proud of my accomplishments. I was the only person who had made it into the state’s football team. It has been seven years since we moved to the city. Since then we have visited a couple of times, the most recent being three years ago. But whenever we came to visit our home town, I was at times surrounded by loads of people. My mom loved it but I personally never enjoyed even a bit of it. Maybe it was because they only saw me for my accomplishments and nothing else. As we made our way through town we crossed ‘the ghost house'.That’s what everyone called it. Mr. Morris was standing on the porch with the morning paper in his hands. He was wearing a drab grey robe and white rubber slippers. Just the sight of him sent shivers down my spine. His glare felt like a thousand spiders were crawling under my skin. I tried not to look up but I couldn’t help myself. It was as if an intangible force pulled me towards it. My heart began to lurch as he looked towards us. His pale white skin was like that of a corpse. The only indicator of life were his dark blue eyes in midst of grey hair and a bony face. I had never seen someone as lean as he was. You could see the bones protruding through his paper-thin skin. He went into the house with one last glance as Matt made faces at him. But Mr. Morris seemed to be least bothered about it.

I hadn’t realized that I had been holding my breath until I was gasping for air. My stomach was in a knot but now it began to settle. I can’t explain the effect he had on me. It was like he could read my thoughts, see the parts of me that even I wasn’t aware of. I suppressed that thought as fast as I could. I walked the rest of the way in silence as I let my thoughts run free. I kept thinking about ‘The Ghost house’ and Mr. Morris. We arrived at the junkyard where a few of my friends were waiting for us. We just sat there for the better part of the day doing nothing. Matt was in his corner smoking whatever was new these days. You could tell by his red eyes and wrinkly skin that he was in too deep. If not for the smoking he didn’t look half bad with his strong jawline and black hair. He offered me a smoke but I turned it down. The rest of the day went by quickly as the sun began to set. Everyone asked me to stay for a while longer but I rushed out from there. This was the second time this week I had been out past the curfew and I couldn’t risk being late any further. I was racing past the Lob rez avenue when I heard a scream.

It was that of a young girl and it came from the ghost house. I paused for a brief moment to see what it was. I thought I would hear that noise again but there was a dead silence. Frankly, I didn’t know what was more terrifying, the scream, or the silence. My mind told me to go home, yet, my feet dragged me towards the house. It never ceased to amaze me. I always found myself trying to catch glimpses of it when the door was open. Though I could never see anything but burnt damage. There was a story behind this house but to my misfortune, no one knew what it was. Sweat trickled down my forehead and my hands were shaking but I kept going on. I had crossed the fence and was almost on the porch of the house when the door opened. A cold breeze blew across my face and I looked up to see Mr. Morris. He was standing right in front of me. There were goosebumps all over my hands. Dressed in the same clothes as before apart from a pair of reading glasses, he was holding a trash bag in his hand. My fingers were trembling at the sight of him. I thought he was about to yell at me or at least tell me to go away but he didn’t. He kept staring at me with his deep eyes. My heart was pumping faster than ever and I squeezed my eyes shut. After a minute he broke the silence.

“Yes, what do you want?” he asked in a gentle tone. He was standing right there but it felt like he was speaking from somewhere far away. There was tiredness and a surprising lack of anger in his voice. He asked me once again but I had no answer. My tongue was tied and I couldn't think of a single thing to say. I blurted out the first thing that came to my mind. “I am sorry for disturbing you sir, and sorry for the way my friend behaved earlier today.” The tension from his shoulders was alleviated and his grip on the trash bag loosened, but I was still on my toes. “Is that all you came for?”, he asked. I took a deep breath to calm my fidgety nerves but nothing helped. I had never been this nervous before. Even during the most important matches I managed to remain calm. But here I had lost all of my composure. A part of me wanted to ask about that voice but I was too afraid. Was it even my place to ask him anything? Meanwhile, he was waiting for an answer. “I heard - ” I didn’t say anything else, but he understood me. He was as quiet as a meadow but his face portrayed everything. His pale white skin had turned blood red with anger and his jaw tightened. He took a step forward, his eyes struck terror in my heart. Before he could say or do anything I backed down and ran away as fast as I could. The chilly wind had turned my nose pink, as my damp hair clung to the back of my neck. There was a rising ache in my chest but I didn’t stop. I kept looking back to see if he was following me, even though I knew he wasn’t. After a few minutes of running, I stopped to catch my breath. I sat on a bench in the town square and closed my eyes.

Hundreds of voices were ringing in my ears. The town square was completely packed. It must have been some sort of event that I wasn’t aware of. I had chewed through my nails on the right hand when I felt a hand on my shoulder. My heart sank into my chest for a moment. I couldn’t bear to look back. “Liam? What are you doing here?” It was a soft familiar voice. My mom was standing behind me with a surprised look on her face. She was wearing a black trench coat with a light blue scarf which complemented her eyes perfectly. “Honey, what are you doing out here in such cold weather? And why are you sweating so much?” she asked. My heart still hadn’t come to a rest. In my nervousness my hand came to my mouth and mom saw my nails. She practically dragged me away from there. We walked back home in utter silence. The wind kept blowing her hazel hair onto her bright face, which through the years had lost most of its dark colour. My hand kept coming up as I fought the urge to bite into my nails. It was an impulse, beyond my control. But this time I let it get too far. My hands were completely numb so it took me a little time to feel the blood on my fingers. My mother couldn’t bear to look at it. Her sigh was enough to make me realize my mistake. We reached our house and sat down in the living room.

“Didn’t we talk about this Liam?”, she asked. “What happened?” I tried to think of an answer but the tapping of my leg against the floor echoed through my mind. “Nothing happened, I am sorry. I won't do it again.” I said. “I know this habit of yours. Why were you so tense?” she asked. “I don’t know. I was on my way back when I heard a noise from Mr. Morris’s house. I looked around to see what it was. But there was nothing. I apologized to him and ran away from there.” I said. “How many times have I asked you to stay away from that house Liam?” she asked. “I am going to give that man a piece of my mind.” She was stomping her feet as she usually did. The lines on her forehead grew deeper and her breath was audible. She looked like a ferocious lion that was ready to pounce on its prey. “It wasn’t his fault mom. I was the one who disturbed him. Don’t drag him into this.” But her anger kept her from hearing anything I said. “Go to your room, Liam.” she half shouted. I couldn't take any more of her anger so I hurried up to my room. She wasn’t the kind of lady whom you could argue with. I let the door shut behind me and laid down on my bed. My sore legs were aching. They had stopped shaking but I still couldn’t move them. All I could do was look up at the ceiling that was covered in (glow-in-the-dark) stars. They alway lifted my mood. The rest of the room was painted blue (which I was not a big fan of).

I was throwing a ball around the room when my mind started to drift off. Ultimately landed on the ghost house. It would make a great painting. The rustic texture and charcoal finish. The burnt portion made it all the more special. The blend of beautiful colours gave it an incredible finish. The imperfect mixed with the perfect. The little imperfections made everything perfect like the small crack on our staircase. I had bumped my head against it playing catch with my elder brother. That day is imprinted in my memory. I was weeping, mom was running around the house looking for a bandage, dad was calling the doctor. The whole house was in chaos. The only one enjoying it was my brother Dylan. He was laughing so hard. I was in incredible pain, still it was the sweetest memory of my childhood. My old drawing file was kept on the top shelf of my study table. The thought to sketch the ghost house crossed my mind, but I decided it was best not to. The thought of that file ached my heart. It was a constant reminder of a life that could have been. Back in those days, I wanted to major in Arts but instead I chose football. There was no point in remembering the old days so I turned off the lights and got some shut-eye.