We watched The Grudge way too young

One small moment can change the course of the rest of your life forever;

However long that life might be.

One step past a raised floor, shoes left behind on the tile by the door that has since shut tightly behind you.

You hear the quiet air around you.

Not a sound can escape reaching your ears as the house is still in shock from the new visitor.

A brief tense time that is soon broken as the house, whose anxious energy turns to rage rouses a mother and son to come greet you with ghoulish eyes.

The boy sits atop the stairs; hands clutching the wooden bars and his head turned down almost to hide the fact he is staring at you.

You say hello, but he gives no reply.

Distantly you hear a thud.

And then another.

And then another.

And then another.

Soon enough you consider that the person approaching has finally reached the corner to reveal themselves and their walking aid that could make such a noise.

Instead, you see a sliver of white and the rustling of plastic pass barely visible above the railing.

A blood-curdling groan floods your ears and paralyzes you with fear.

The movement passes the boy’s back and starts its descent down the stars.

Step by Step the noise draws closer; rustling plastic, thudding limbs, and a woman croaking for air.

Her jet-black hair finally became visible now she was halfway down her trek. She lifted her face.

Her eyes were wider than you had ever seen and stained with blood-red rage locking on you as her target.

Her descent lasted another eternity trapped within a second, then she vanished.

The boy still sat where he was, but now color had returned to his skin and a cat purred beside him.

His mother was out of sight and another voice joined the horrid chorus unfolding upstairs.

A clamoring of shouts, smacks, and thrashes at the wall brought the two vocalists to sight once more.

It was the woman again, though this time her hair was not tangled, eyes not full of blood and hate casting her victim into an endless pit of fear. But instead, she herself was afraid of the man following close behind her. Her hair which once clung to her ghastly face, now swung to either side as she varied between watching her footing and keeping an eye on her aggressor.

An action which ultimately led to her ankle twisting behind her on the next step torward the landing. She fell and landed on her stomach; she began to crawl as she once did but her gaze still sought sanctuary from the ghoul chasing her intent on revenge.

The palms of her hands guided her down to the safety of the first floor but that was short-lived.

Her ghoul had walked tauntingly slow behind her; only progressing to the next step when she had done the same. He knew that there was no chance for his victim to escape so now his killing was a hateful game; used to soothe some dark sinister burn in his soul from the assumed betrayal from this woman. A wound he felt entitled to soothe by causing her harm.

You could not move.

Not when she landed on the sanded wood at the bottom of the stairs and stretched towards the door.

Not when his boots bound against the same grain a moment later.

Not when her desperate hands nearly brush the ends of your feet

And especially not when the man stooped to pull her wrangling body back towards him.

He snaked his hands around her neck and slithered up until he found the base of her chin.

And just as soon as his dirty hand twisted, snapping her neck with a final crack, a commercial for carpets and flooring with a catchy jingle pierced our ears.

My sisters and I sat up and scrambled to turn down the volume. After that brief moment of rushed movement, we became still again and turned to one another. Discomfort would have been the word we used if we could speak at all. After a minute or so of commercials, my eldest sister looked at the blue sky outside and said she wanted to go. None of us wanted to fall back into the hellish story of this brutally fated woman.

So we rose, put on our creek shoes, and trampled down to the water behind the house; leaving behind the boy who could not leave his home and his mother who captured others. We ran quickly towards the outside to feel the sun on our faces, the wind in our hair, and the water on our ankles. Our fear was dissolved with this untraditional baptism back into the peaceful world of youth we didn’t know we were holding for each other. At such a young age, we had seen what anger, rage, and hate can do to a person and we wanted no part of it.

We mourned for that woman and her son who did not choose that existence, and yet we kept our heads clear of the poisonous thoughts of revenge that drove them to continue after death. When one of us would cause another to drop their drink, tell a secret, or lose internet privileges the anger within our group was short-lived. It had no time to fester and mold into resentment as we would remember back to the boy and his mother. We would remember how the rest of their existence on Earth was to bring nothing but pain to more people as they continued to let their anger win; an existence we did not wish for ourselves or one another. So we learned to let go, communicate where we would cause each other wounds, and aid in their dressing as best we could.