storiessylviane (storiessylviane) wrote,

Original story: The wall

The wall

By Marea67
About: Mrs Jennings
Rate: G
Summary: It's purple, it frightens her.
Disclaimer: Any resemblance to real people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.


The wall is purple. Purple! .... Of all the colors that could have been picked... someone, someday, somewhere decided that it should be purple. Mrs Jennings hates purple. She can't help it. She just hates purple. Especially this color of purple. Dark, almost velvet-like, deep purple. She shudders. She has no idea why, but she has always hated the color. No. Wrong. She had always been afraid of the color purple. Somehow it had always been a color that drew her in, haunted her, filled her with the desire to run away and hide. She takes a step back. Away from the purple wall. ?And yet... The wall keeps drawing her attention to itself.
The house had seemed so inviting from the outside and the 'For Sale' sign had seemed to call for her. She had been most excited to make an appointment to see this house. Now, she's not so sure anymore.
She tries to find out if she can hear the realtor, but she hears no sound from the other room, where the woman, who had been showing her this house, had disappeared to, to take a phone-call.
Despite the warmth, she shivers. She feels watched. Observed. Like someone is breathing down her neck. She turns around, but there's nothing there.
A soft touch on her neck, like a velvet ribbon that she used to wear in her hair, when she was a child. She turns back to her original position, staring at the purple wall. She shivers again.
The wall seems to pulsate. Ridiculous, of course. Still she feels as if she's pushed forwards, towards the wall. One step. A second step. She lifts up her hand to touch the wall, but then, almost mentally struggling her own decision she takes her hand away from the wall.
This is to ridiculous! It's just a wall! A purple wall! Nothing to be afraid of. Nothing to hate. Nothing a can of white, red, blue, green or yellow paint can't fix. Get over yourself! With a resolute look on her face, she places the palm of her hand against the purple wall.
It's weird. She had expected a cold hard flat wall. Instead this feels like moss. Small. Soft. Wet. She tries to retrieve her hand, but the harder she tries, the firmer her hand remains glued to the wall, like getting sucked in by the wall, disappearing into the wall.
A tingling sensation creeps up her arm. As if her arm is going numb. She tries to scream, but when she opens her mouth she can't make a sound. She can feel getting pulled closer, a tingling sensation goes up her arm, followed by a numbness that makes her feel sick.
Foolishly she tries to push herself away with the other hand. Now, both hands are trapped. In wild panic she tries to kick herself from the wall. She slams against the wall, but it seems to open up for her. The wall engulfs her, she feels like she's drowning in some oil-like substance. She opens her mouth to scream.
The thick dark-purple liquid comes in her mouth. She has no choice but to swallow. She can't breathe! She can't breathe! Her nose is blocked! So is her throat. The blood thunders in her ears. She can hear her heart beat. Hard. Fast. And then there's silence.


"Mrs Jennings?" The realtor enters the room where she had left the woman who wanted to view the old house. Mrs Jennings is gone. If only she hadn't been on the phone for so long. Mrs Jennings probably got sick and tired of waiting and left. And though the realtor considers it impolite to just run off without a word of goodbye, she can't help but find an excuse for it as well. She had noticed Mrs Jennings' growing discomfort with the place.
This house has always had a bad reputation. Divorce, abuse, sickness, death. This house had seen too much of it. She shivers despite the stale warmth in the house. She doesn't like this house. Never did. Never will. She always feels watched here. Like there's something off with the house. Take this room for instance. She could have sworn that the wall had been painted purple. Yet, now it turns out the wall is just white. This house just gives her the creeps. Always.
She quickly takes her keys and leaves. Once outside, she takes a deep breath, feeling like she, once again, escaped some fate worse than death. She shakes off that feeling of fear. It's just in her head. The house has been empty for too long. That's just it. Maybe she'll have more luck with that nice man she had on the phone, just an hour ago. He was looking for a house for his family. The big garden would certainly be great for their two small children....
With this revitalizing thought she gets in her car and relaxes. She doesn't know that the green car parked two cars away from hers is in fact Mrs Jennings' car. It's a clear sign that Mrs Jennings hasn't left the house after all. And she never will.

Tags: short-story

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