The Holes
- Submitted by: finney256
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- Category: English: Creative Writing
- Date Submitted: 11/06/2012 09:51 AM
- Pages: 5
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The Holes
When I was about 7-8 years old I lived with my grandparents in Oberlin, Ohio, slightly South of Lake Erie. They had this big house that used to be a stop on the Underground Railroad and I used to love discovering all the cool passageways that ran all over the place. When I wasn't doing that, my grandfather took me fishing and hunting while my grandmother would teach me how to sew and cook. Kind of girly things for a little boy to be doing, but those skills definitely helped out in the long run.
My mother was in the military, and my father had gotten into some legal trouble and currently was in prison. So rather than drag me around and traumatize me with multiple moves, she had me stay at my grandparent’s. My room sat at essentially the middle of the house. It was surrounded on all sides by thick walls which used to house passageways but had since been sealed off. I had hung up pictures and cool things befitting an eight year old's room. I loved the house, but it started to feel a little off after a while.
I noticed that my things started disappearing. Nothing incredibly valuable, just trivial things like my toothbrushes and combs. No, they never reappeared at some random place, and I would never see them again. My grandparents spent a fortune on my various grooming products, I imagine. It was just my stuff though, which left me and my family in confusion. They used to joke that a ghost must have taken a liking to me.
They were kidding of course, but I started to get really un-nerved about this notion. At that age, ghosts were at the top of the list for scary thoughts, so I started paying attention to very minor noises and details, and whenever something odd did present itself, it would frighten me more and more. I remember drying a favorite shirt of mine, in the basement, only to come back five minutes later to find the dryer door open and my shirt gone. My things would be moved. Pictures of me that were on the walls would go missing. Most...
When I was about 7-8 years old I lived with my grandparents in Oberlin, Ohio, slightly South of Lake Erie. They had this big house that used to be a stop on the Underground Railroad and I used to love discovering all the cool passageways that ran all over the place. When I wasn't doing that, my grandfather took me fishing and hunting while my grandmother would teach me how to sew and cook. Kind of girly things for a little boy to be doing, but those skills definitely helped out in the long run.
My mother was in the military, and my father had gotten into some legal trouble and currently was in prison. So rather than drag me around and traumatize me with multiple moves, she had me stay at my grandparent’s. My room sat at essentially the middle of the house. It was surrounded on all sides by thick walls which used to house passageways but had since been sealed off. I had hung up pictures and cool things befitting an eight year old's room. I loved the house, but it started to feel a little off after a while.
I noticed that my things started disappearing. Nothing incredibly valuable, just trivial things like my toothbrushes and combs. No, they never reappeared at some random place, and I would never see them again. My grandparents spent a fortune on my various grooming products, I imagine. It was just my stuff though, which left me and my family in confusion. They used to joke that a ghost must have taken a liking to me.
They were kidding of course, but I started to get really un-nerved about this notion. At that age, ghosts were at the top of the list for scary thoughts, so I started paying attention to very minor noises and details, and whenever something odd did present itself, it would frighten me more and more. I remember drying a favorite shirt of mine, in the basement, only to come back five minutes later to find the dryer door open and my shirt gone. My things would be moved. Pictures of me that were on the walls would go missing. Most...