Green River Road – Anderson

Green River Road

II   Green River Road – 1708

III   Green River Road – The Maldonados

IV  Green River Road – 1716

V   Green River Road – Walker

VI   Green River Road – 1724

VII  Green River Road – The Hensons

VIII  Green River Road – Maty

He makes his way to the house, house number 1732 on this street. At this point Maty just wants to get in, look around and get out. He is hoping against all hopes that he finds nothing and that this nightmare would end finally. Looking around he sees a well kept yard, simple with flowers along the walk that leads directly to the house. No porch, no steps, just straight into the house.

He knows it is coming as soon as he steps into the doorway, that sudden jolt of pain and the names. Names of people that he can only assume actually live, or lived at the house before it was all decimated. Turns the doorknob and pushes the door open, trying to see what is inside without actually stepping on the threshold, He hears no noises and really does not see anything from outside the door, so bracing himself he steps in through the door.


Only one name? He only heard one name at the Walker house too, but then the names kept coming. They would not stop going through his head, but all he hears right now is nothing, absolutely nothing. He walks from room to room, waiting for something to happen. Dreading to walk too fast, or turn around too quickly, he moves slowly through each room, not really paying attention to what is there. Knowing only that the rooms all seem pretty small, He waits for something, anything.

He can tell that the house is kept clean, and there is a sense of comfort about this place. The furniture, the decorations, they almost make him feel at ease. All of the doors in the house are open, he has not come across a closed door yet. Walking through, hesitating before going into each room, he anxiously makes his way to every room except one. But that door is open too. Maybe this house won’t have any surprises for him, maybe this house used to be normal.

He walks into the last room, a bedroom. Nothing fancy, a bed with a bunch of stuffed animals and those small pillows that are only for show, because sleeping on them is not very comfortable. A black and white checkered comforter covers the bed perfectly. A dresser in the corner, wooden, 4 drawers, with a jewelry box and framed pictures on top with a large mirror hung above it. He walks over to look at the pictures, each of them has three people in the pictures. An older couple. arm in arm in each picture, smiling as if they did not have a care in the world and a young woman, maybe mid-twenties with them. But she did not seem as happy, never showing her teeth, with just a small sheepish grin on her face, thick framed glasses giving the appearance that her eyes were too large for her face.

Nothing else appeared out of the ordinary in this room, and it was the last room in the house. He wasn’t going to learn anything here so he slowly turned back toward the door to leave, and then he heard a noise. It was a scratching noise. It sounded like it was coming from behind the dresser. Maybe a cat got stuck back there? Who cares about a freaking cat, he was going to get out of this house with no incident. As he started toward the bedroom door, the scratching got louder, and he thought he could here a faint voice calling out, but could not make out the words. Then he hears


‘Dammit’ he thought as he stood and stared at the door, hoping that those noises would stop and there would be nothing further to look at. But they didn’t. Scratching and mumbling continued to come from near the dresser, but where? He walked to the dresser and looked around, but didn’t see anything. Moved over to the side of the dresser and tried to pull it away from the wall to see what might be behind it.

As soon as the dresser moved inches away from the wall, the lightning bolt to his gut hit him again.



The names repeated over and over in his head. He moved the dresser further away from the wall and could see that there was a small door behind the dresser and the scratching and mumbling was getting louder. He jumped back, wanting to run, but knowing that there is probably nowhere to run, he reaches for the small door.

Suddenly the door flew open and a blinding light hit him, almost knocking him backwards. The light was flashing, alternating in red and yellow colors. The voice he heard was now more of a scream, a cry for help, more than anything else. Looking into the doorway, the strobe effect making him dizzy, he gets down on his hands and knees and crawls into the small opening. As soon as he is inside, he smells something that makes him want to vomit.

‘What the hell is that smell?’ he thinks, ‘smells like something died in here.’

The flashing lights are too bright and the strobe effect of them is making it impossible to see anything clearly. He walks forward, reaching with his arms and legs in front of himself to make sure that he does not trip over anything or bump into anything. Sliding his feet forward, never picking them up while reaching for something, anything that might be in front of him with his hands. He bumps into something as he moves away from the door, it feels like a metal table of some sort. The smell seems to be coming directly from it. He makes his way around the table by feeling for the edges and moves away from it.

He finds another wall, feels like there are pieces of paper hanging all over it, everywhere he reaches for the wall, he finds more paper. The screams seem to be coming from this side of the room, a lot of them, coming from everywhere. Every time he touches another piece of paper, it seems to evoke a louder scream. He tries to make his way down the wall, trying to find a corner of the room so that he can get his bearings, the bright flashes of light forcing him to try to keep his eyes shut to avoid getting dizzy, but even with his eyes shut, he can still see how brights the lights are. He finds a corner where the adjacent wall meets this one, screams still coming from in front of him, he reaches for that wall and finds that there are no pieces of paper, just a smooth, flat wall. ‘Thank God!’

He makes his way down that wall, feeling his way, he finds a light switch, no, two light switches. One is in the up position and the other is in the down position. His finger flicks the one in the up position down and the flashing lights immediately stop. He stands there, breathing heavy, still with his eyes closed, trying to think of what to do next. He moves his finger over to the other switch and flicks it up. The room is filled with light, normal, soft, white light. He opens his eyes and sees the switches and the wall in front of him. Slowly he turns to look at the room.

He can only see part of the room in front of him, his arc of vision is definitely getting smaller now. Seems like it is about half of what it was from when he was in the first house. He sees the edge of the metal table in front of him, a red liquid dripping off the side of the table. Blood? Looking down at the floor he sees streams of red covering the entire floor, running away from the table. He moves closer to the table. Someone is lying on the table, but not moving. The screams getting louder as he moves toward the table.

The body he sees is completely covered in blood, emanating from deep crimson slashes across his entire body. Looks like hundreds of them. Who or what could have done this he wondered? Surprising even himself, he does not panic. Who ever is laying there has got to be dead, but he is still hearing screams from off to his right. From the wall that had the paper on it. He convinces his feet to move in that direction, against all better judgment he thinks, and approaches the wall.

Each paper that he felt on the wall is a picture. Picture of a man and a woman. The woman is the same one he saw on the dresser, and in each picture the man is screaming, as if he is trapped a hundred times, once in each picture. The woman just grins, never showing her teeth. But these are not just pictures, the people are moving in them. He is crying out for help and she is just staring at Maty, shaking her head no…..a hundred times. In the middle of all the pictures, someone had written on the wall in what looks like blood,

“Dear Raymond.

If I cannot have you,

then nobody can.



Suddenly the lights go out and the flashing ones come back on, he turns toward where he remembers the small door being and tries to move in that direction. Something slashes his leg and he crumples forward in pain, catching himself with his hands on the blood soaked floor. Another slash across the back of his leg, he cries out and falls flat on the floor. Something is slashing him, over and over, all over his body. He tries to crawl across the floor to the door, feeling like someone is cutting him with a very sharp knife repeatedly. Starting with his legs and moving up his body. As he reaches the small doorway, a stinging sensation crosses his face, but he cannot see what is hitting him. He tastes blood in his mouth, hot, salty and metallic. He can see the outline of the small door ahead of him and makes a desperate lunge toward it, knocking into the dresser as he rolls out the door, knocking it over, the pictures crashing to the floor all around him.

He stands up and looks in the mirror that had been above the dresser, his entire face is covered in blood from a large gash that runs from the corner of one eye, across his nose and almost to the other ear. The same kind of gash that he saw on that body in the room. Looking down, he is completely covered in the crimson liquid. Then he hears the scratching and the screams coming from that small opening again and stumbles toward the bed room door, which seems to be undisturbed other than the dresser that is now laying on the ground with glass picture frames scattered all around it.

He makes his way back through the house and to the front door, which is still standing open from when he walked in. Walking out he stops, trying to once again catch his breathe and slow his heartbeat down before he passes out. He bends over to put his hands on his knees and notices that there is no blood. His clothes are back to how they were before he had gone in this house. He feels for the cut on his face, but it too is gone.

He stands up. He remembers that he was going to look for a phone so he could try to call someone. He figures that as long as he stays out of that last room, he should be OK. He walks back toward the front door, but it is locked.


“Come on!” he shouts “Leave me alone! Why are you doing this to me?!”

He bangs on the door, shaking the door knob trying to get it opened, to no avail. He falls on his knees and starts to shake uncontrollably, tears of rage flowing down his face.

“What the hell is going on?!”


About joatmon14

Man in recovery from everything, looking for a little help, inspiration and direction.... Have spent the last 25 years working in big business, getting lost in all the chaos, not feeling like what I did mattered. By no means am I a professional writer nor do I even think I am that good, but it is something I love to do. Getting lost in a world of words, even for just a little while is why I started my blogs. In reality, at the age of 49 I am trying to find my voice. To find my passion. Maybe starting a little late, but better late than never. I write for me, I enjoy reading other's thoughts very much as well and look forward to the day that I can hold an extended, intelligent, meaningful conversation with YOU View all posts by joatmon14

4 responses to “Green River Road – Anderson

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