Good Stuff Issue #12 04/13/2013

The Long Walk Home

Written by Jacob Burke / Good Stuff staff

April 13th 2013

I remember the walk home that night very well. It was late in October, near the end of the month, I think. It had been a cold day, and there were dark clouds piling up in the west. They had hidden the setting sun and were moving quickly over me, for there was a strong wind blowing. The dark and bare trees along the lonely road creaked and moaned as they were blown this way and that. Their branches seemed to reach and clutch at me like old and thin hands. I wish the bridge wasn’t washed out so I could have taken my usual way home.

As I hurried along, I noticed that the lights of my friend’s house had disappeared around the bend, and the other houses on that long, gravel road were dark. As I walked along among the cold, dark, houses I saw the old Finster house on the hill. A strange feeling occurred as I approached. I remembered all the tales the kids have told. I didn’t believe them or that the house was haunted and I didn’t believe the rumors about Mr. Finster either. I told the kids the road past Mr. Finster was the fastest way and I had to get my chores done before Dad got home.

I looked at the house closely as I walked along the road. Some of the windows were cracked, the paint was pealed, and the roof was caked with moss. I decided to take a closer look and see what all the rumors were about. I brushed through the cobwebs and cleared though the bushes and emerged closer than I planned. The house was huge and more like a mansion. There were spiders of amazing sizes climbing on the windows and a few rats scurrying on the floorboards. I started to see why kids would call this a haunted house. A lump formed in my stomach as I thought about my choice of coming this way to get home but still believed there was nothing to the ramblings of zombies and undead pets.

I looked in the window as I was walking along and I thought I saw a shape move from inside. The shadow was spiky and big. It was a creepy sight and I wondered why I chose this route to my home. I started getting goose bumps all over me. I heard a creak from the roof just as a big black bat flew into the sky. I started wondering and hoping that I would make it home.

My parents had told me Finster was a quiet old man and he had moved out two years ago. The rumors from the playground at school told of a grumpy man, mean to children who died in his home and each evening his zombie body arose from the dead and left his house to seek vengeance on the world for his death.

I shook off those thoughts as I saw the “For Sale” sign. I told myself no one could be home. The house must be empty; it should be empty. As I neared the backyard I saw rotted plants, mole holes, and creepiest of all a little cemetery made for Finister’s pets. Many of the kids said their zombie bodies followed Mr. Finster when he rose from the dead. I heard a crackle of lightning in the distance and saw old bones in the ground by a gravestone labeled “Ole Snoopy”. The lightning flickered again and I swore the bones moved. The rumors were true about Finister’s undead pets. I was wrong to ignore the warnings and stories. I had made a grave error.

I was paralyzed with fear and it took all my strength to force my feet to move. With what seemed ages I moved one foot then the other, building speed as I used all my strength to I ran away from the old mansion. As I ran away I thought I heard a ghostly voice moaning, “I will get your soul.”

As the distance grew between the Finster house and me I began to calm down. As I entered my neighborhood I felt safe being among the well-kept yards and friendly pets. As I managed my way up the front path to the door I put Mr. Finster out of my mind. I stared to list off the chores that need to be done before my father came home.

To this day I never take the long way home and advise all children to avoid Mr. Finster’s House.

THE END