The Haunted Mansion

A Damned Daughter

 ~~Prologue~~

    I was about 11 years old when I realized my father's cursed desire would always be bigger than his proclaimed love of fatherhood. Winnie did the absolute best she could raising me, and I would always love and appreciate her for that. But for how long could a curious child ignore something her father always disappeared to partake in?

   "Have a great day, honeybell," momma shouted as she drove off to work. It's been my dad, Terrence's, job for about 2.5 months to drive me to school because my mother's job is in the opposite direction. Walking through the dew covered grass, I thought of what 90s jams dad would force me to listen to this morning. Yesterday had been a mix of BMX, Jodeci, and Tupac; slowly I'd grown to love our morning karaoke drive to St. Rosandra's Catholic Academy. I didn't become weary until I was on the front porch, looking through the windows because the door was locked and the lights were turned off. 'He must've slept in,' I thought reaching for the spare key Mom had made for me.

   "Dad!" No answer. I stared at the dining room table in front of the door, nothing. He'd taken a liking to making breakfast for me, a small atonement for the mornings from before my memory, mornings he missed. "Dad?" I paced over to the right, walking into the den, maybe he fell asleep on the couch watching some ridiculous game again. Nothing. Turning left, I walked finally to his bedroom; already understanding what could've happened. A child that felt like an old woman who can read the writing on the wall. I had already known from the heady, pregnant silence when I'd arrived. Not even bothering to knock, I flung open the door to see a room far too clean to belong to my father. The closet door hung open with naked wires, shelves slowly settling homes for dusts, and a dresser once home to a TV looks closer to a cemetery. From the still deadness of the house alone, a part of me knew that he'd done it again. I wanted to grasp at any other logical explanation other than the obvious that a man I call father chose a drug over me.

    I let out a comprehensive sigh dragging myself back to the kitchen. I knew where he'd kept everything, and felt the need to make an egg and bacon sandwich. I pulled Grandma Valenya's old cast iron skillet from the cupboard beneath the stove, and quickly washed it before laying bacon across it in an orderly fashion. My momma taught me that it was always easier to place the bacon on before the pan gets warm. Turning on the heat, I stare back out through the large French windows facing the backyard.

    I stared at the tree line for a long time. Wondered if it was me, the stress of fathering me or the weight of negligence for the first decade of my life that pulled him away again. The bacon sizzled touching my left hand when I groaned from the pain. Looking away from the forest, I stared down at my now cooked bacon. Removing them from the skillet, I cracked two eggs into the pan. I allowed myself to contemplate, just for a moment. 'It's Monday, he's been personally responsible for taking me to school for about 70 days...he knew.' Flipping the now sunny side up eggs onto my plate, I turned off the stove and walked over to the counter. He'd always put his favorite large croissants in the fridge, so that they'd keep longer. Opening the fridge and reaching for them, I thought 'why didn't he consider me like that'?

    Assembling my sandwich, I paced over to the backdoor and walked outside. "Lord, let this meal be consecrated to you. A consumed covenant that you alone are my Father. Guard my heart against the rage that builds there. Amen," I uttered before taking a huge bite. I ate like I'd never be fed again only because I never planned to make this vow again, no one would ever be given an opportunity to hurt me like this. Stomping through the woods I'd never been allowed to play in, I almost laughed. A drug addict who couldn't even define responsibility had all but forbade me from going into the forest. The sun was high in the sky now, the misty fog of dawn slowly burning away to a bright, clear day.

    I was greeted by thick, dark wood trees as far as the eye could see, and loud birds singing in every direction. Smiling as I swallow the last of my sandwich, I begin to hum along to their tunes as I march forward every tall, thick grass. There was no exact moment that I realized that the forest was no longer singing with me, at least not until the sound of a whisper found its way to my ears on the wind.

   "Pr- Propius." A chill ran from left ear across my entire body. It was a voice, but it wasn't quite right like hearing a friend imitated by another. There was no beaten path ahead of me, only thick forest. But I could've sworn that for a second that from the tallest tree to the most finite blade of grass that what almost looked a trail panned out ahead of me. Suddenly the wind was at my back and strong pushing me forward, and with a slew of more voices. All of them so jumbled and mixed together that I could hardly make out a single word, but every one of them felt like a push toward it. The path the devolved into a dark, thick forest that I swore to never explore.

     I dug my heals into the ground. The winds and voices picked up, urging toward the sprawling forest. "Propius mortalis!" raged the voices in one crescendo that resounded through head. I threw my body weight over my shoulder, and fell to the ground facing the house. The winds didn't relent, picking up more like it was angry I had the gall to stand resistant. Looking down at my old pair of hightops, I pressed my toes into the ground using the traction to propel myself forward to the house. My legs were like sandbags, but I pressed on. "Heavenly Father, protect me" I let out in between my steps, and suddenly the winds halted and the voices stopped mid-word, as if their tongues were seized while speaking.

   Heaving out breaths from running, I walk back into the house. "9:57 am" I don't think I've ever been this late to school, and it not be my fault. The kitchen is where the phone was, so I grabbed the handle to call Valenya, my grandmother, to bring me to school because I didn't want to miss my education on account of my father's idiocy. She answered on the third ring, "What do you need, Terrance," she breathed on the othered already sounding annoyed. "MiMi, Dad's gone, can you bring me to school?" Sixty seconds is a long time to pretend to be shocked, especially to someone who you think you're convincing.

    "What do you mean he's gone? No, he just had to take a quick business trip, Zyvea, it's fine." Rolling my eyes, "Seriously MiMi, I have never been slow, I know where he is. Can you just come bring me to class?" I could audibly hear the sound of her mouth closing, truly at a loss for words for once in her life. "Alright, I'll be right there." Curtly, I nodded and set down the phone. I'd already processed my paternal emotions and mentally begun the work to move on, but something else was strange now.

   I actually matured in many ways that day, both in situational awareness and awareness in general. When MiMi's car pulled into view of the driveway, I thought no more of my father as I walked out the door into her passenger seat. Putting on my headphones, I turned away from MiMi and watched as she pulled off.

    For whatever, reason I could help the feeling that whatever I'd experienced in the woods this morning was gravely more important. Gazing as we drove away, that same part of me that knew all that happened this morning, knew something was looking back.