• When it was over, I flew through the old walnut doors and raced up the flight of twelve hardwood steps. I stopped at the landing, shaking with disbelief. I threw myself down and screamed. I buried my faced in my cold, ivory hands, gasping for air. The sun from the old open window beamed upon me, gently encouraging me to be brave. I looked up for a moment. My long brassy hair blew in the direction of the white lace curtains, clinging to my wet face. I calmed myself, wiped away the tears, and gathered the courage to finish my journey up the last three steps. Once I reached the top, I grasped the antiqued-brass knob without any hesitation. I turned it slowly and quietly stepped in. The room was so dark. I slowly walked to the north wall and pulled back the sapphire curtains. The sun filtered through the upper left corner of the picture window, past the ivy covered berry tree outside, emphasizing the dust, waltzing in the empty air of the room. The big window was covered with cobwebs in every corner, but the light still beamed through just as bright. The light fell upon the old oak library desk in front of the window where a copper vase sat, filled with a bouquet of dried wild flowers – the daisies and violets I had gathered three springs ago from the green pasture by Duck Pond.

    The walnut shelves mocked me with memories. The dust covered model Chevy smiled at me from the top shelf. I answered to the old toy with a tender look. To the right of the car sat four neatly placed photo albums. I dared not open them, in fear that my eyes would swell again. I passed those memories by quickly, turning to the west wall. I felt the auburn shag carpet between my toes as I walked to the second shelved wall.

    The bottom three shelves were filled with books – encyclopedias, children's books, novels. The fourth shelf was the home of three familiar framed children, smiling radiantly at me. I picked up the middle picture, wiped away the dust, and held it to my breast. Tears fell slowly as I smiled. I returned the picture carefully to its place and looked up. Three shelves up, on the very top shelf, sat an old doll house. I giggled, remembering the times it had been used to house my dolls and my brother's matchbox cars. I turned around, smiling. Then, out of the corner of my eye, below the old Chevy, the cabinets glared at me, grimacing.

    My warm body suddenly felt of cold marble as fear overtook the blood in my veins. I cautiously walked toward the possessed cabinet doors and aggressively threw them open, letting the entire evil out into the room. The empty air was soon filled with fear as I pulled out a long, hollow throated monster from the center cabinet. I held the hunting rifle in my hands. The light from the big window shined upon the barrel, reflecting back at the middle picture on the center shelf across the room. The picture was of my brother. The rifle was his. I dropped the monster at my feet. The room of peaceful memories smelled of fear and death. The nineteenth century, German clock ticked away on the top shelf of the east wall. The air was weighed down by the presence of old dust and the musty scent of old books. A spider fell from the old egg crate by the door. The empty, vintage bird cage, to the left of the old oak desk, screamed death. I then realized that those flowers I had picked three springs ago were just mummies – dead and well-preserved. Nothing in the library was happy. The portrait of my late grandfather glared at me while my brother's once radiant face overshadowed the room, taunting me. I fell to the ground. The coarse, red-brown carpet scarred my legs as the hollow, long throated monster scarred my heart, taking away the one I had loved and never giving him back.