The Terrors of Monterrey
After all was said and done, I still can’t believe I went back after all this time.
I grew up in the heartland of Pennsylvania in a sleepy community fifteen miles outside the capital, rich with warm neighbors and welcoming pastures. Nothing happened in that town that ever made it to national headlines. The occasional party bust and a house fire make up the majority of events that could possibly intrigue passersby.
The most peculiar part about this town was my local elementary school. Monterey Elementary was a drab old building, built off of an obscure back road near the interstate. The face of the school was fortified with rough brick, under faded pink and sickly green trim. The windows were installed seemingly for necessity rather than aesthetics, and the most colorful aspect of the property was the Stars and Stripes, proudly displayed in the middle of a roundabout out front. They ended up relocating every last one of the students and faculty to a new location when I entered fifth grade, and few former attendees know the reason.
I, unfortunately, am one of them.
The first day of first grade in that town was a very joyful memory for me. Despite its shabby exterior, I remember white granite hallways, homey classrooms, cheerful smiles from teachers, and new and exciting people to acquaint myself with. I quickly grew to enjoy this new place.
My friend group consisted of a few teammates from my Rec soccer team at the time and a crazy tomboy named Abby. Donning wild curls of dirty-blonde hair and an unwavering confidence that shocked most of the cootie-minded boys, we got along fairly well, given that we both enjoyed the same cartoons and the same sports. Together, we braved the meaningless scare tactics of the older kids that were deployed in the first week. We seemed to be the only two people that instinctively knew that there was no third floor, as many of them would have the newcomers believe.
Over the next few weeks, however, the older kids began informing us of a series of odd occurrences that seemed to capture the attention of their older siblings. They said that this school had been haunted by ghosts for as long as they could remember, and they called them the Terrors. Naturally, no one believed them, as we saw it as cliché intimidation.
Except for Abby. She became morbidly fascinated with the idea of a haunting. Every day, she'd come to class full of new theories about what the Terrors were and what it could all lead to. Her taking to this study began to interest me as well, slowly, but surely. I marveled at her findings from the school library and her numerous papers printed from the Internet on ghosts and how to find them. I began to wonder if there truly was anything from beyond the grave that roamed this peaceful abode.
* * *
The playground was running wild. Rough blacktop with kids of all ages playing hopscotch, four-square, and a slightly out-of-control game of tag filled the property behind the school building. Behind the playground, a small hill led to a massive, grassy field that was split down the middle, one half sporting a kickball field where only the most daring children would retreat to every recess.
I nailed my foot into a rubber ball and watched it soar over the heads of onlookers, a sure home run. I was feeling confident in my team's victory as I rounded the bases and exchanged high-fives with a line of teammates. As I took my place in the back of the kickers' line, I could have sworn I saw a large man out of the corner of my eye. With a dark mustache, a blue uniform, and a rifle in his hand, I felt uneasy about the way he seemed to stand there, feeling as though his gaze was burning into my skull. I turned and tried to focus on him, but he had vanished.
My gaze fell upon an enormous oak tree on the other half of the field, where I saw the man standing. I had acknowledged the tree's existence before in passing, and all of the students knew it as a landmark. That day, however, it seemed to draw me in. I left the kickers' line and began my small trek over to where the man had stood.
The massive trunk loomed over the field, its branches stretching to the clouds and its leaves offering total shade from the early fall sunlight. Suddenly feeling a bit tired, safe under the green protection it provided, I sat down at the wide base and laid my head back onto the rough bark, closing my eyes. I had only begun to doze off when I felt a rush of wind blow past me. Although fall breezes were common, this was a stale, artificial wind, as if a car had rushed past me. Every hair on my body instantly snapped to attention, and I immediately opened my eyes and scanned the area. Nothing out of the ordinary stuck out to me.
Nothing, that is, except for a young girl hiding in the brush several yards away, no older than I was. She possessed a noticeably pale face with a few distinct freckles, and she wore what appeared to be a dated nightgown. Her long, shimmering brown hair was braided and draped over her shoulder, and her bright green eyes pierced the air and found refuge in mine. I found myself taken aback. As she gazed into my widening eyes, she smiled sweetly and disappeared, seemingly into thin air.
After I came to my senses, I sauntered back to the kickball field, where the other boys had been standing, waiting for me to return to the game.
"Hey!" One boy shouted in my direction and walked up to me. "Where'd ya go?" He paused. "You look like you saw a ghost or something."
"Maybe he saw the Terrors!" another boy proposed, sending everyone else into a fit of nervous laughter.
I wasn't sure what I felt at the time. All I knew was that whatever I saw was not supposed to be there.
* * *
We all began to mature ever so slightly, as any kid who wants to be treated like an adult would. I started to mesh with the older kids' antics and actually forgot about what I saw as I got caught up in soccer, recess, friends, and collecting ever-elusive Pokémon cards. However, unbeknownst to me, the Terrors were mentioned more frequently, in hushed tones behind the playground and on the bus.
I found Abby one day standing near the oak tree, seemingly staring at the ground. Sparking my curiosity, I ran over to her.
"Hey!" I said, slowing down to a walk.
"Sup." Her focus did not waver.
I stood next to her and followed her gaze. A hole was visible under the thinning grass, and what appeared to be a gravestone set a few feet deep in the hole began to materialize. I couldn't make out the name or the epitaph, but I distinctly remember the year of death: 1864.
"Was this place...a graveyard?" I began to whisper, assuming there were other prying ears listening.
Abby looked deep in thought. "You know, I wonder if there were any actual ghost sightings around here," she responded, "not just a bunch of rumors from a bunch of morons." She looked over at me.
Suddenly, my memory pinpointed what I had seen near this very spot. I proceeded to tell her everything, from the wind to the little girl in the brush.
Abby looked down at the gravestone, then into the woods, back at me, then back at the gravestone. She told me what she had heard the other kids discussing. It seemed as though the sightings were increasing.
"Maybe they're mad," she suddenly exclaimed. "Maybe they're trying to tell us to leave!"
"Well, she didn't look mad," I responded. "She seemed nice. Why would they want us to leave?"
"Look at the ground! We're standing on top of their dead bodies." She put her hands on her hips. "We learn about them in that building while we play kickball over them!"
Abby shrugged and started to walk away. "I don't know. But I want some answers."
The look in her eyes told me everything as she turned back. "You up for it?"
* * *
The decision was unanimous, between the two of us, anyway. We had decided that once school was out for the holidays, we would go into the school at night to see if there really was anything worthwhile in this goose chase.
The day finally came when the "mission", as we called it, was to be executed. Tagging along with the two of us was another pair of curious partakers. Liam, a long-haired boy with a heart for Power Rangers, and Taylor, a tall blonde that had a playground crush on me at the time, increased our numbers to four.
The clock had just struck midnight at Abby's house when we were handed flashlights.
"Okay," Abby whispered, going down the line. "The school is just outside of my neighborhood. It takes about ten minutes to walk there."
"Hang on, hang on," Liam piped up as a flashlight was dropped into his hand. "W-what happens if we get caught?"
Taylor looked at him. "By who?"
"The police! Duh!"
"Well," Taylor replied calmly, "I guess we need to make sure we don't get caught."
I was a bit unsure myself. "Easier said than done. What about your parents, Abby?"
Abby smirked. "They're the heaviest sleepers in the world. We don't need to worry about them."
I sighed. "I hope you're right."
* * *
As we approached the dimly lit school, covered by the complimentary shroud of frigid winter air, I noted how different it looked in the moonlight. The already bleached and dead bricks seemed to lose their color entirely. The blacktop was void of all light, except for a few flickering lampposts lining the fence. Playground equipment cast eerie shadows on the ground. I suddenly got an uneasy feeling as I zipped up my coat closer to my neck.
We made our way around the back towards the kitchen and the older kids' classrooms, searching for any possible way of entry.
"Hey!" Liam whispered excitedly, fidgeting with a window lock. "This window's kinda open. We could go through here!" He gestured to a slightly ajar window that creaked in the midnight wind.
One by one, we inched our way through the window into a silent abyss. As each of us switched our flashlights on, we found ourselves in a third-grade classroom. Cursive writing lined the chalkboard, and colorful posters with encouraging phrases stood out amongst the drywall. Under normal circumstances, we would feel right at home. However, the ominous atmosphere made the colors fade and the drawings seem as though they would pop out and scare us at any moment.
I realized that I wanted out already.
Making our way into the long hallway, illuminating drawings, room numbers, and class pictures with our flashlights, that feeling of dread increased with every step we took down the echoing corridor. What if we didn't make it out? What if there was really something here, something that really was angry and wanted to be left in peace? What if-
My thoughts were interrupted by a sudden, single tap from behind us. Overcome with terror, we all whirled around, frantically searching with our flashlights for something that might have been out of place. The only thing that seemed to be out of the ordinary was the girl's restroom door, which was barely open. As we slowly approached, the tapping noises seemed to fade away. Then, they started again.
Tap.
The door moved. We jumped.
Tap.
Another inch of the bathroom was revealed.
Tap.
We could barely make out the sinks lining the wall.
Tap.
We all stood, frozen in horror, too frightened to move.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
As mysteriously as it had started, the tapping stopped. We could all see straight into the bathroom. No one dared to take a breath and disturb the vast silence that now occupied the building and our fearful little minds.
BANG!
The door slammed shut with such force that the echo that shattered the thick veil of quiet made our hearts jump to our throats. We turned and sprinted as fast as our young legs could carry us back to the classroom and out the window.
As I was preparing to hoist myself onto the windowsill, that uneasy feeling returned, this time so intensely that I nearly gave up my dinner. I regret turning around.
That girl was standing in the doorway. She seemed slightly transparent, glaring at me with an angry, almost livid expression. Her green eyes, once soft and soothing, now flared with an intensity that made them appear totally white, almost blinding, casting an eerie, green aura around her and the room, illuminating everything in sight. Cuts were visible on her face and arms, and I haven't a shadow of a doubt that there was a bullet hole in her head through her forehead, positioned above her left eye. The mere, horrifying spectacle before me was enough to send me sprawling out the window and sprinting away from the school as fast as I could until my lungs could catch up with the pounding of my heart, still keeping time with that damned tapping.
* * *
We were all extremely hesitant to start school again the following spring. We now held in our palms a perspective of reality that nobody else in that building could fathom. As a witness to a crime who is thought as a suspect based on the sheerest proximity had to the dastardly deed, so we were now, walking the very halls that changed our childish countenance.
Fortunately, yet unfortunately, we didn't need to give anything away. After our terrifying escapade, the Terrors seemed to have begun showing up everywhere. Students began reporting odd occurrences in the bathrooms, near the oak tree, in the hallways, and even in the cafeteria. Naturally, this was all dismissed by the adults.
That was the case until the teachers began seeing them too.
After frantic reports from staff describing evil voices and bookshelves being disheveled with one fell swoop of the wind, everyone was on high alert. Local officials came to investigate, the news channel dedicated a segment on the five-o-clock broadcast, and the faculty even hired security guards from the police department to conduct a night search. We had never seen a buzz quite like this.
* * *
After that first night mission was deemed successful, we decided to do several others over the next year, coming closer and closer to solving the mystery behind the Terrors. However, over the summer before the next school year began, Taylor moved to another school, and Liam lost interest in our adventures altogether. Word began to spread through the student body of our escapades, and we began to be viewed as underground heroes, willing to do the work that no other kid was prepared to do.
Abby and I were the heart behind this crack paranormal investigation team, and for the majority of the next several missions of observation and research, many sleepless nights passed our curious minds (and many parents were miraculously evaded). It was just the two of us, alone in those dark school hallways with the ghosts of ages past.
* * *
Here is the summary of all the information we had gathered about the place and its history: the building was built in the early 1960s on cleared-out woodland property owned by a family that had been in the area for around one hundred and fifty years prior. When the last remaining family member died in the late 50s, that land was bulldozed, and an office complex was built on top of it. The company in that complex eventually moved to another location, and in 1990, the building was bought by the town and renovated into a school named after the family that had owned the land. It officially reopened as Monterey Elementary the following year.
The details get fuzzier, and much darker, from here. Richard Monterey, the patriarch of the family at the time, fought in the Civil War. He became wounded in battle and was sent home to his estate to recover. His immediate family on the land at that time consisted of his wife and his daughter named Emily. During the months following his discharge, he began to show symptoms of PTSD, which progressively became worse. Given the lack of medical knowledge and technology at the time, his breakdowns were never treated.
One dark night in 1864, while Richard's wife was out of town, Emily walked in on her father wearing his old Union uniform and brandishing his gun. Richard startled and shot her in a flurry of fear and trauma. After coming to his senses, he turned the gun on himself, wallowing in his grief.
At the sound of the shots, a patrolling policeman entered the home, finding the bodies. They took the corpses to the morgue until the wife returned. When she found out, she claimed both of them and buried them in the backyard. The land behind their home later was later converted into a graveyard for troops after the war. Among the headstones were those of Richard and Emily.
Based on our knowledge of the property and the chilling deaths in the Monterey family, we believed the ghosts we saw to be Richard and Emily. No matter which spirit we encountered during our investigations, they both seemed angry and, as we assumed their motives, demanded that we leave. Despite their warnings, we continued to press further and further into this enigma, unaware that we were waking a sleeping giant.
Our last mission is engrained in my memory forever. Thrown together rather haphazardly in the April of our fourth-grade year, we abruptly concluded our journey into the unknown.
* * *
Every year before school let out for the summer, the entire body of students, faculty, and staff would throw an end-of-year party. Music played, Italian ice was served to all, and no one seemed to mind the heat that increased as the day came and went.
That particular sunny day, the two of us, along with another boy named Vincent, were sitting underneath the oak tree. As our Italian Ice disappeared slowly into our mouths, we were at peace in our minds.
"Hey!" Abby suddenly blurted out, sitting upright. "I just got a great idea.”
Vincent opened one eye casually. "Define 'great'." He was prone to bouts of sarcasm.
"This better not be another idea for a mission," I replied. "I'm starting to think that this stuff is getting out of hand."
"What do you mean?" Vincent sat up and finished his Italian Ice with one gulp. "It's gotta be so much fun! I mean, you haven't died yet."
"Yet." I emphasized. "Ghosts can kill people, you know."
"No."
"Uh, yeah they can."
"Uh, no they can't."
"I'm prreeeettty sure they can."
"I mean, sure, kind of."
"What is that supposed to mean? You can't just "kind of" kill someone. You either commit or you don't."
"I mean, they can move stuff to try and kill you, but they can't just punch you in the face-"
"Guys!" Abby was fed up. "Listen!"
We did.
"What if we did a mission? Right now? There's practically no one in the building AND it's during the day! There won't be any security guards to worry about."
Vincent closed his eye. "I thought you said this was a great idea."
"It is!"
"How? Tell me, please. I'm dying to know."
He sat up suddenly. "It's the middle of the day. No security guards. So what? We have literally EVERYONE else here besides them. Teachers, students, janitors, the freakin' lunch ladies...it's gonna be hard to even get near the door."
"I'll take my chances," she retorted. "Let's just do it." She looked at me, expectant. A grin spread across her eager face. "Now, the big question...where was Emily murdered? The approximate location?"
I exchanged looks with Vincent, and I reluctantly brandished a map of the school printed from the Internet. Red ink smudges and sloppy notes in the margins littered the wrinkled paper.
"The house stood in this area." I made a circle with my finger on the map. "The room she was murdered in was the father's bedroom. And that was right around here." I pointed to a room on the far side of the school.
We all looked closer. Something clicked in my head.
"Is that..."
Abby nodded. "The music room."
"And there are a lot of graves underneath..."
"Where the bathrooms in the fourth-grade hallway are, yeah." Vincent stirred.
"So this area," I put my hand over the entire hallway on the blueprint, "is the hotspot."
She nodded again. "We need to get in there and get whoever's in there to tell us something."
"Like what?" Vincent asked, suddenly taking an interest.
"I don't know. Something about why they want us to leave."
"Screw it." Abby stood up. "Let's go."
Within a few short moments, we took cover in the trees lining the playground and made our way to the side door. Looking over our shoulders the entire time, Vincent proceeded to pick the lock while Abby made sure no one was following us. The door clicked open and we filed in one by one.
The atmosphere was different. We had never been in the school building alone in broad daylight. Even though we had carried out missions like these countless times before, we all shuddered as we passed a ray of sunlight gleaming through a nearby window. This was all wrong.
This was all wrong.
Tension rose between our trio as we listened to our own footsteps plodding along in the hallway. We heard a janitor coming and we all ducked behind a corner in the dark. He moved on undisturbed.
As we made our way past the fourth-grade wing, we turned into an adjacent hallway. Here, the floor dipped into a declining ramp. tile walls seemed gray in the darkness, and the dust on the floor nearly padded our steps with every move we made. There was only one door in this corridor, on the farthest end on the right. As we approached, our cautious eyes never leaving the door, the walls brightened with sunlight through the distant window. We gathered around the door and found it unlocked.
"Well..." Abby stepped forward. "Here goes nothing." She crossed the threshold. Vincent and I cautiously, blindly, followed suit.
The only source of light came from two windows on the opposite wall. Only a small TV, a few posters, and a long chalkboard with a music scale were of any interest. As we entered, none of us took notice of the decor. What captured our attention more was...
...the music.
A soft, haunting piano was heard, the tune from the ivory keys wafting through thin air in an unfamiliar, yet soothing, melody. We stood in the center of the room, entranced, disturbed. With each passing minute, the music swelled. The notes began to intensify, building ever so slightly with each played until it seemed to be distorting inside us. I gritted my teeth as I searched for the source. My eardrums rattled. It no longer sounded melodic, but scratchy and warped.
Defeated, I stepped back and fell to my knees, clutching my skull. I couldn't stand another second in that room. The sound was driving me mad; it became my very being, clawing at my mind in a desperate attempt to get out. Every note that played was a blade in my brain, screeching, hissing, gnawing. The door, still open, seemed to shrink in the distance as I strained to focus on the fading light. Then, with a horrific crash, it swung shut.
I had to get out. Now.
I sprinted to the door, my hands still over my ears, and threw my weight against it. The door wouldn't budge.
"We're locked in!" I shouted above the noise.
"What do we do?!" Vincent yelled, looking around desperately for an escape. He fumbled frantically with the window latches as his eyes darted back and forth, looking for any sort of comfort.
"Guys!" Abby hollered. "Run at the door! See if we can all force it open!" With all the force and emotion we could muster, we slammed, tugged, and kicked at the wooden door, but to no avail.
The music stopped abruptly. At the jarring silence, our heads instinctively looked at the ceiling, searching for answers. We turned slowly, taking in the stillness of the air restricting our lungs.
"Guys..." Abby's whispers broke the eerie silence, fear rattling in her voice. "There's something in the closet."
A series of thumps, nearly as loud as our own heartbeats, was coming from a closet across the room. The closed, wooden door vibrated ever so slightly at each thump, and accompanying it came a faint scraping noise.
"Who's gonna open it?"
We were frozen in time. I remember my feet suddenly moving, almost compelled to open the closet door. I could feel my hand grasp the handle. I couldn't warn myself to back away quick enough before I yanked it open. I immediately jerked away and sprawled on my back, paralyzed.
Slumped over on the floor in front of me was a corpse, or what was left of one. Bits of flesh hung off of yellowed bone, and its long hair was knotted and greasy. A rotting jaw seemed to disgustingly compliment the empty sockets, which had the impression of a smile, a sinister, gross grin. Its point was made: we were caught, and it had trapped us, alone in that room.
What follows was a blur in my mind. From what they told me, it took the staff a few minutes to hear our cries, then another fifteen to get the fire department to come and break down the door. When we were finally freed, the corpse was in plain sight. After being questioned by authorities, we told them about our past excursions and everything we knew about the ghosts. The property was combed and coffins were located and exhumed. When they came to a particular coffin, they found it to be shattered and the body missing. Forensic experts said that this was no prank; the corpse we found was, indeed, what remained of Emily Monterey.
Nothing made sense after that. Our mission was, for all intents and purposes, complete. There was nothing more to search for, nothing more we hoped to discover. Every question we could conjure was answered with Emily staring at us in our memories. She was finally put to rest, but where was the rest for us?
Abby and I felt horrible about dragging Vincent into this, who never quite recovered after the incident. His sense of humor seemed to wane and his gaze constantly swept each room he entered, never resting on one thing for too long before looking over his shoulder. He moved to a new school shortly after.
Abby and I remained friends after the new building was built and school resumed, but it was evident that the counseling we endured afterward drove a silent wedge between us. We talked only about the latest TV shows and the coolest fads, but our conversation never delved any deeper. All talks of paranormal activity were left unsaid. We both did our best to move on and grow up as best we could as we entered middle school and started a new stage of life, away from that cursed school.
* * *
The passage of time separated us as we graduated high school and began our adult lives. She stayed in that town and took up community college to study nursing, and I attended a university out of state. Whenever I visited my family, either on breaks or on leisure, we would do our best to reconnect and catch up on each other's comings and goings. Our friendship never ventured past anything platonic; it soothed me to know that, in this aging town, something stayed constant amidst the old businesses closing and new roads being paved.
However, we made a grave mistake: we moved on. We assumed that our eyes would never again graze that school. We thought Monterey was out of our lives forever.
We have never been so wrong.
* * *
Over the recent holidays, I found myself back on my old stomping grounds. Abby planned a get-together with some classmates from our high school days and was courteous enough to invite me. I was not particularly fond of driving all the way across town after the snow advisory cautioned with more than enough emphasis to stay indoors. However, I told myself it was worth it to get out of the house and share in reminiscing with old friends.
As I drove down the busy road, crossing over the interstate, I took in the landscape that I used to lay eyes upon so often. Mountains loomed over the town, filtering the freezing northern gales cascading over its peaks. Light gray clouds covered the valley in a blanket. Snow was expected to fall any minute, the first of the year. A gas station that my father and I used to frequent for snacks after school had long closed, its walls now lined with graffiti and grime. The hotel that took in many a lost soul for the night looked less vibrant than it had in years past. I realized that I had not been on this side of town for years. Not since...
I glanced at the street sign of an intersection. The green metal sign with bold, letters jumped to life.
Where had I seen those before?
It all hit me at once. I slammed on my brakes in the middle of the intersection, nearly causing a collision with the drivers behind me. They honked aggressively and swerved, narrowly missing my bumper. I didn't care. I couldn't think straight. Ringing started in my ears, and I refused to return the gaze of the old backroad that was now calling my name.
This was the street that Monterey Elementary used to be on.
I suddenly gasped for breath. I hadn't laid eyes on the place since that fateful April day. Every fiber of my body was telling me to drive quickly away, to keep going straight until Abby's apartment was in view. Despite all of the thoughts swimming in my head, one little, quiet voice asked from the void:
"What's the harm in looking? It's all over, remember?"
It's all over.
I made up my mind. I pulled out my phone and called Abby while cranking my steering wheel hard to the left. I slammed my foot on the gas and peeled out of the intersection, down the long-forgotten road.
"Hey man!" She instantly picked up, changing the atmosphere in my car. Her inner tomboy had never left her. "Where are you? Everyone's already here." I could hear playful banter in the background.
"Hey." I continued, hesitantly. "Look, I'm...I'm gonna be a little late, okay?"
"You don't sound good." She always was a straight shooter, another quirk that didn't change with time. "Everything alright?"
I paused, then sighed. I forced my hands to stop shaking. "You remember Monterey, right?"
There was a brief silence on the other end.
"Bro," she responded tersely. "Don't talk about that goddamn place." Her vocabulary was the one thing that did change, and not for the better.
"I'm just gonna check it out real quick. I'll be at your place right after."
"Wait! You're actually...there? Like, right now?!"
"No, not yet! I was just about to-"
"Don't you dare. You promised you'd never go back there. Turn around right now!"
"I'll be fine! I'm not going in. I'm just...gonna walk around. You know, bring back some memories."
"Memories? Is that what you think?! Damnit, I had almost forgotten about that place. Thanks a lot."
It had sounded better in my head, but then again, my head hadn't stopped swirling. The forest lining the road looked familiar, yet it seemed like a foreign expanse the farther I drove.
"Alright," she finally caved in. "But be careful, you hear me? I don't wanna turn on the news tomorrow and find you missing."
There was a pause. “And don’t forget the beer.”
The line went dead, and I glanced back at the six-packs, now strewn about the backseat. I began to accelerate faster.
* * *
As I pulled into the long-forsaken roundabout, I couldn't help but stare. The building itself was still standing, having been converted into a retirement home since its closure. The stone letters that spelled "Monterey Elementary School" were covered by a banner that advertised a Sunday morning church service. The wing closest to the road, which used to house the cafeteria and the kitchen, was boarded up and abandoned. I was overwhelmed at the sight of the familiar brick, the old windows, and the rusted flag pole that no longer bore the Stars and Stripes.
Everything came flooding back. The endless nights of exploring, the countless days of research, and that ill-fated day when my world changed forever reeled through my mind, a kaleidoscope of flashing pictures and walls of screams.
I parked my car and wandered around the side of the building to the playground. It had been completely gutted; the only things remaining were the faded designs of four square and hopscotch etched into the blacktop for eternity. The kickball field had long been overgrown; the bases were no longer visible. The metal gate that surrounded the home plate and outlined the forest beyond was damaged beyond repair. Holes in the wire gaped open, revealing foliage that poked through, contrasting the black and brown rust with evil green vines.
"What a dump," I said out loud.
My gaze fell upon the old oak tree, still standing firm. I found myself walking over to it; I felt as if I was floating. I couldn't feel my legs as I stepped over long grass and mossy stones. It finally began to snow.
The tree seemed to have shrunk in my absence. Its limbs stretched to the sky with more effort than in years past. The bark was now rough and chipped, and old leaves were scattered around the trunk. Its twigs were shriveled, finally accepting its age.
I gazed down at the old gravestone, or where it used to be. Holes where bits of epitaph used to be visible were now covered with dirt. The grass had long stood guard over the dead. I stood there for what seemed like an eternity, pondering everything. It was a relief to realize that nothing could hurt me. With so little life experience, everything is a danger. Only when one grows up and sees the world does one realize that danger spurs growth. I grew up, indeed. Nearly twenty years ago, that journey began.
My hair began to stand on end. I knew this feeling well. I slowly looked up to see Emily, staring at me from several yards away, emerging from that same brush that she introduced herself from all that time ago.
I didn't feel scared. I didn't feel excited. I didn't feel anything. The air around me thinned as Emily's eyes locked onto me. Hers were not the ghastly green orbs that haunted my dreams for years. They were not the gaping sockets in an empty skull that stared down at me from my bedside.
These were the soft, gentle, kind eyes that had blissfully, wonderfully, taken me aback by as a young child. I couldn't help but feel a flash of anger toward those glimmering eyes. They threw me into this mess without a care in the world. At the same time, just resting in them made me unaware of my slowing heartbeat.
Emily looked down at the base of the tree, then looked at me. As she walked across the field and stopped in front of me, her small, ghostly frame now minuscule compared to mine, I noticed the shyest of smiles on her freckled face. A voice, a child's, rang out in my head.
"Thank you.”
I grew up in the heartland of Pennsylvania in a sleepy community fifteen miles outside the capital, rich with warm neighbors and welcoming pastures. Nothing happened in that town that ever made it to national headlines. The occasional party bust and a house fire make up the majority of events that could possibly intrigue passersby.
The most peculiar part about this town was my local elementary school. Monterey Elementary was a drab old building, built off of an obscure back road near the interstate. The face of the school was fortified with rough brick, under faded pink and sickly green trim. The windows were installed seemingly for necessity rather than aesthetics, and the most colorful aspect of the property was the Stars and Stripes, proudly displayed in the middle of a roundabout out front. They ended up relocating every last one of the students and faculty to a new location when I entered fifth grade, and few former attendees know the reason.
I, unfortunately, am one of them.
The first day of first grade in that town was a very joyful memory for me. Despite its shabby exterior, I remember white granite hallways, homey classrooms, cheerful smiles from teachers, and new and exciting people to acquaint myself with. I quickly grew to enjoy this new place.
My friend group consisted of a few teammates from my Rec soccer team at the time and a crazy tomboy named Abby. Donning wild curls of dirty-blonde hair and an unwavering confidence that shocked most of the cootie-minded boys, we got along fairly well, given that we both enjoyed the same cartoons and the same sports. Together, we braved the meaningless scare tactics of the older kids that were deployed in the first week. We seemed to be the only two people that instinctively knew that there was no third floor, as many of them would have the newcomers believe.
Over the next few weeks, however, the older kids began informing us of a series of odd occurrences that seemed to capture the attention of their older siblings. They said that this school had been haunted by ghosts for as long as they could remember, and they called them the Terrors. Naturally, no one believed them, as we saw it as cliché intimidation.
Except for Abby. She became morbidly fascinated with the idea of a haunting. Every day, she'd come to class full of new theories about what the Terrors were and what it could all lead to. Her taking to this study began to interest me as well, slowly, but surely. I marveled at her findings from the school library and her numerous papers printed from the Internet on ghosts and how to find them. I began to wonder if there truly was anything from beyond the grave that roamed this peaceful abode.
* * *
The playground was running wild. Rough blacktop with kids of all ages playing hopscotch, four-square, and a slightly out-of-control game of tag filled the property behind the school building. Behind the playground, a small hill led to a massive, grassy field that was split down the middle, one half sporting a kickball field where only the most daring children would retreat to every recess.
I nailed my foot into a rubber ball and watched it soar over the heads of onlookers, a sure home run. I was feeling confident in my team's victory as I rounded the bases and exchanged high-fives with a line of teammates. As I took my place in the back of the kickers' line, I could have sworn I saw a large man out of the corner of my eye. With a dark mustache, a blue uniform, and a rifle in his hand, I felt uneasy about the way he seemed to stand there, feeling as though his gaze was burning into my skull. I turned and tried to focus on him, but he had vanished.
My gaze fell upon an enormous oak tree on the other half of the field, where I saw the man standing. I had acknowledged the tree's existence before in passing, and all of the students knew it as a landmark. That day, however, it seemed to draw me in. I left the kickers' line and began my small trek over to where the man had stood.
The massive trunk loomed over the field, its branches stretching to the clouds and its leaves offering total shade from the early fall sunlight. Suddenly feeling a bit tired, safe under the green protection it provided, I sat down at the wide base and laid my head back onto the rough bark, closing my eyes. I had only begun to doze off when I felt a rush of wind blow past me. Although fall breezes were common, this was a stale, artificial wind, as if a car had rushed past me. Every hair on my body instantly snapped to attention, and I immediately opened my eyes and scanned the area. Nothing out of the ordinary stuck out to me.
Nothing, that is, except for a young girl hiding in the brush several yards away, no older than I was. She possessed a noticeably pale face with a few distinct freckles, and she wore what appeared to be a dated nightgown. Her long, shimmering brown hair was braided and draped over her shoulder, and her bright green eyes pierced the air and found refuge in mine. I found myself taken aback. As she gazed into my widening eyes, she smiled sweetly and disappeared, seemingly into thin air.
After I came to my senses, I sauntered back to the kickball field, where the other boys had been standing, waiting for me to return to the game.
"Hey!" One boy shouted in my direction and walked up to me. "Where'd ya go?" He paused. "You look like you saw a ghost or something."
"Maybe he saw the Terrors!" another boy proposed, sending everyone else into a fit of nervous laughter.
I wasn't sure what I felt at the time. All I knew was that whatever I saw was not supposed to be there.
* * *
We all began to mature ever so slightly, as any kid who wants to be treated like an adult would. I started to mesh with the older kids' antics and actually forgot about what I saw as I got caught up in soccer, recess, friends, and collecting ever-elusive Pokémon cards. However, unbeknownst to me, the Terrors were mentioned more frequently, in hushed tones behind the playground and on the bus.
I found Abby one day standing near the oak tree, seemingly staring at the ground. Sparking my curiosity, I ran over to her.
"Hey!" I said, slowing down to a walk.
"Sup." Her focus did not waver.
I stood next to her and followed her gaze. A hole was visible under the thinning grass, and what appeared to be a gravestone set a few feet deep in the hole began to materialize. I couldn't make out the name or the epitaph, but I distinctly remember the year of death: 1864.
"Was this place...a graveyard?" I began to whisper, assuming there were other prying ears listening.
Abby looked deep in thought. "You know, I wonder if there were any actual ghost sightings around here," she responded, "not just a bunch of rumors from a bunch of morons." She looked over at me.
Suddenly, my memory pinpointed what I had seen near this very spot. I proceeded to tell her everything, from the wind to the little girl in the brush.
Abby looked down at the gravestone, then into the woods, back at me, then back at the gravestone. She told me what she had heard the other kids discussing. It seemed as though the sightings were increasing.
"Maybe they're mad," she suddenly exclaimed. "Maybe they're trying to tell us to leave!"
"Well, she didn't look mad," I responded. "She seemed nice. Why would they want us to leave?"
"Look at the ground! We're standing on top of their dead bodies." She put her hands on her hips. "We learn about them in that building while we play kickball over them!"
Abby shrugged and started to walk away. "I don't know. But I want some answers."
The look in her eyes told me everything as she turned back. "You up for it?"
* * *
The decision was unanimous, between the two of us, anyway. We had decided that once school was out for the holidays, we would go into the school at night to see if there really was anything worthwhile in this goose chase.
The day finally came when the "mission", as we called it, was to be executed. Tagging along with the two of us was another pair of curious partakers. Liam, a long-haired boy with a heart for Power Rangers, and Taylor, a tall blonde that had a playground crush on me at the time, increased our numbers to four.
The clock had just struck midnight at Abby's house when we were handed flashlights.
"Okay," Abby whispered, going down the line. "The school is just outside of my neighborhood. It takes about ten minutes to walk there."
"Hang on, hang on," Liam piped up as a flashlight was dropped into his hand. "W-what happens if we get caught?"
Taylor looked at him. "By who?"
"The police! Duh!"
"Well," Taylor replied calmly, "I guess we need to make sure we don't get caught."
I was a bit unsure myself. "Easier said than done. What about your parents, Abby?"
Abby smirked. "They're the heaviest sleepers in the world. We don't need to worry about them."
I sighed. "I hope you're right."
* * *
As we approached the dimly lit school, covered by the complimentary shroud of frigid winter air, I noted how different it looked in the moonlight. The already bleached and dead bricks seemed to lose their color entirely. The blacktop was void of all light, except for a few flickering lampposts lining the fence. Playground equipment cast eerie shadows on the ground. I suddenly got an uneasy feeling as I zipped up my coat closer to my neck.
We made our way around the back towards the kitchen and the older kids' classrooms, searching for any possible way of entry.
"Hey!" Liam whispered excitedly, fidgeting with a window lock. "This window's kinda open. We could go through here!" He gestured to a slightly ajar window that creaked in the midnight wind.
One by one, we inched our way through the window into a silent abyss. As each of us switched our flashlights on, we found ourselves in a third-grade classroom. Cursive writing lined the chalkboard, and colorful posters with encouraging phrases stood out amongst the drywall. Under normal circumstances, we would feel right at home. However, the ominous atmosphere made the colors fade and the drawings seem as though they would pop out and scare us at any moment.
I realized that I wanted out already.
Making our way into the long hallway, illuminating drawings, room numbers, and class pictures with our flashlights, that feeling of dread increased with every step we took down the echoing corridor. What if we didn't make it out? What if there was really something here, something that really was angry and wanted to be left in peace? What if-
My thoughts were interrupted by a sudden, single tap from behind us. Overcome with terror, we all whirled around, frantically searching with our flashlights for something that might have been out of place. The only thing that seemed to be out of the ordinary was the girl's restroom door, which was barely open. As we slowly approached, the tapping noises seemed to fade away. Then, they started again.
Tap.
The door moved. We jumped.
Tap.
Another inch of the bathroom was revealed.
Tap.
We could barely make out the sinks lining the wall.
Tap.
We all stood, frozen in horror, too frightened to move.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
As mysteriously as it had started, the tapping stopped. We could all see straight into the bathroom. No one dared to take a breath and disturb the vast silence that now occupied the building and our fearful little minds.
BANG!
The door slammed shut with such force that the echo that shattered the thick veil of quiet made our hearts jump to our throats. We turned and sprinted as fast as our young legs could carry us back to the classroom and out the window.
As I was preparing to hoist myself onto the windowsill, that uneasy feeling returned, this time so intensely that I nearly gave up my dinner. I regret turning around.
That girl was standing in the doorway. She seemed slightly transparent, glaring at me with an angry, almost livid expression. Her green eyes, once soft and soothing, now flared with an intensity that made them appear totally white, almost blinding, casting an eerie, green aura around her and the room, illuminating everything in sight. Cuts were visible on her face and arms, and I haven't a shadow of a doubt that there was a bullet hole in her head through her forehead, positioned above her left eye. The mere, horrifying spectacle before me was enough to send me sprawling out the window and sprinting away from the school as fast as I could until my lungs could catch up with the pounding of my heart, still keeping time with that damned tapping.
* * *
We were all extremely hesitant to start school again the following spring. We now held in our palms a perspective of reality that nobody else in that building could fathom. As a witness to a crime who is thought as a suspect based on the sheerest proximity had to the dastardly deed, so we were now, walking the very halls that changed our childish countenance.
Fortunately, yet unfortunately, we didn't need to give anything away. After our terrifying escapade, the Terrors seemed to have begun showing up everywhere. Students began reporting odd occurrences in the bathrooms, near the oak tree, in the hallways, and even in the cafeteria. Naturally, this was all dismissed by the adults.
That was the case until the teachers began seeing them too.
After frantic reports from staff describing evil voices and bookshelves being disheveled with one fell swoop of the wind, everyone was on high alert. Local officials came to investigate, the news channel dedicated a segment on the five-o-clock broadcast, and the faculty even hired security guards from the police department to conduct a night search. We had never seen a buzz quite like this.
* * *
After that first night mission was deemed successful, we decided to do several others over the next year, coming closer and closer to solving the mystery behind the Terrors. However, over the summer before the next school year began, Taylor moved to another school, and Liam lost interest in our adventures altogether. Word began to spread through the student body of our escapades, and we began to be viewed as underground heroes, willing to do the work that no other kid was prepared to do.
Abby and I were the heart behind this crack paranormal investigation team, and for the majority of the next several missions of observation and research, many sleepless nights passed our curious minds (and many parents were miraculously evaded). It was just the two of us, alone in those dark school hallways with the ghosts of ages past.
* * *
Here is the summary of all the information we had gathered about the place and its history: the building was built in the early 1960s on cleared-out woodland property owned by a family that had been in the area for around one hundred and fifty years prior. When the last remaining family member died in the late 50s, that land was bulldozed, and an office complex was built on top of it. The company in that complex eventually moved to another location, and in 1990, the building was bought by the town and renovated into a school named after the family that had owned the land. It officially reopened as Monterey Elementary the following year.
The details get fuzzier, and much darker, from here. Richard Monterey, the patriarch of the family at the time, fought in the Civil War. He became wounded in battle and was sent home to his estate to recover. His immediate family on the land at that time consisted of his wife and his daughter named Emily. During the months following his discharge, he began to show symptoms of PTSD, which progressively became worse. Given the lack of medical knowledge and technology at the time, his breakdowns were never treated.
One dark night in 1864, while Richard's wife was out of town, Emily walked in on her father wearing his old Union uniform and brandishing his gun. Richard startled and shot her in a flurry of fear and trauma. After coming to his senses, he turned the gun on himself, wallowing in his grief.
At the sound of the shots, a patrolling policeman entered the home, finding the bodies. They took the corpses to the morgue until the wife returned. When she found out, she claimed both of them and buried them in the backyard. The land behind their home later was later converted into a graveyard for troops after the war. Among the headstones were those of Richard and Emily.
Based on our knowledge of the property and the chilling deaths in the Monterey family, we believed the ghosts we saw to be Richard and Emily. No matter which spirit we encountered during our investigations, they both seemed angry and, as we assumed their motives, demanded that we leave. Despite their warnings, we continued to press further and further into this enigma, unaware that we were waking a sleeping giant.
Our last mission is engrained in my memory forever. Thrown together rather haphazardly in the April of our fourth-grade year, we abruptly concluded our journey into the unknown.
* * *
Every year before school let out for the summer, the entire body of students, faculty, and staff would throw an end-of-year party. Music played, Italian ice was served to all, and no one seemed to mind the heat that increased as the day came and went.
That particular sunny day, the two of us, along with another boy named Vincent, were sitting underneath the oak tree. As our Italian Ice disappeared slowly into our mouths, we were at peace in our minds.
"Hey!" Abby suddenly blurted out, sitting upright. "I just got a great idea.”
Vincent opened one eye casually. "Define 'great'." He was prone to bouts of sarcasm.
"This better not be another idea for a mission," I replied. "I'm starting to think that this stuff is getting out of hand."
"What do you mean?" Vincent sat up and finished his Italian Ice with one gulp. "It's gotta be so much fun! I mean, you haven't died yet."
"Yet." I emphasized. "Ghosts can kill people, you know."
"No."
"Uh, yeah they can."
"Uh, no they can't."
"I'm prreeeettty sure they can."
"I mean, sure, kind of."
"What is that supposed to mean? You can't just "kind of" kill someone. You either commit or you don't."
"I mean, they can move stuff to try and kill you, but they can't just punch you in the face-"
"Guys!" Abby was fed up. "Listen!"
We did.
"What if we did a mission? Right now? There's practically no one in the building AND it's during the day! There won't be any security guards to worry about."
Vincent closed his eye. "I thought you said this was a great idea."
"It is!"
"How? Tell me, please. I'm dying to know."
He sat up suddenly. "It's the middle of the day. No security guards. So what? We have literally EVERYONE else here besides them. Teachers, students, janitors, the freakin' lunch ladies...it's gonna be hard to even get near the door."
"I'll take my chances," she retorted. "Let's just do it." She looked at me, expectant. A grin spread across her eager face. "Now, the big question...where was Emily murdered? The approximate location?"
I exchanged looks with Vincent, and I reluctantly brandished a map of the school printed from the Internet. Red ink smudges and sloppy notes in the margins littered the wrinkled paper.
"The house stood in this area." I made a circle with my finger on the map. "The room she was murdered in was the father's bedroom. And that was right around here." I pointed to a room on the far side of the school.
We all looked closer. Something clicked in my head.
"Is that..."
Abby nodded. "The music room."
"And there are a lot of graves underneath..."
"Where the bathrooms in the fourth-grade hallway are, yeah." Vincent stirred.
"So this area," I put my hand over the entire hallway on the blueprint, "is the hotspot."
She nodded again. "We need to get in there and get whoever's in there to tell us something."
"Like what?" Vincent asked, suddenly taking an interest.
"I don't know. Something about why they want us to leave."
"Screw it." Abby stood up. "Let's go."
Within a few short moments, we took cover in the trees lining the playground and made our way to the side door. Looking over our shoulders the entire time, Vincent proceeded to pick the lock while Abby made sure no one was following us. The door clicked open and we filed in one by one.
The atmosphere was different. We had never been in the school building alone in broad daylight. Even though we had carried out missions like these countless times before, we all shuddered as we passed a ray of sunlight gleaming through a nearby window. This was all wrong.
This was all wrong.
Tension rose between our trio as we listened to our own footsteps plodding along in the hallway. We heard a janitor coming and we all ducked behind a corner in the dark. He moved on undisturbed.
As we made our way past the fourth-grade wing, we turned into an adjacent hallway. Here, the floor dipped into a declining ramp. tile walls seemed gray in the darkness, and the dust on the floor nearly padded our steps with every move we made. There was only one door in this corridor, on the farthest end on the right. As we approached, our cautious eyes never leaving the door, the walls brightened with sunlight through the distant window. We gathered around the door and found it unlocked.
"Well..." Abby stepped forward. "Here goes nothing." She crossed the threshold. Vincent and I cautiously, blindly, followed suit.
The only source of light came from two windows on the opposite wall. Only a small TV, a few posters, and a long chalkboard with a music scale were of any interest. As we entered, none of us took notice of the decor. What captured our attention more was...
...the music.
A soft, haunting piano was heard, the tune from the ivory keys wafting through thin air in an unfamiliar, yet soothing, melody. We stood in the center of the room, entranced, disturbed. With each passing minute, the music swelled. The notes began to intensify, building ever so slightly with each played until it seemed to be distorting inside us. I gritted my teeth as I searched for the source. My eardrums rattled. It no longer sounded melodic, but scratchy and warped.
Defeated, I stepped back and fell to my knees, clutching my skull. I couldn't stand another second in that room. The sound was driving me mad; it became my very being, clawing at my mind in a desperate attempt to get out. Every note that played was a blade in my brain, screeching, hissing, gnawing. The door, still open, seemed to shrink in the distance as I strained to focus on the fading light. Then, with a horrific crash, it swung shut.
I had to get out. Now.
I sprinted to the door, my hands still over my ears, and threw my weight against it. The door wouldn't budge.
"We're locked in!" I shouted above the noise.
"What do we do?!" Vincent yelled, looking around desperately for an escape. He fumbled frantically with the window latches as his eyes darted back and forth, looking for any sort of comfort.
"Guys!" Abby hollered. "Run at the door! See if we can all force it open!" With all the force and emotion we could muster, we slammed, tugged, and kicked at the wooden door, but to no avail.
The music stopped abruptly. At the jarring silence, our heads instinctively looked at the ceiling, searching for answers. We turned slowly, taking in the stillness of the air restricting our lungs.
"Guys..." Abby's whispers broke the eerie silence, fear rattling in her voice. "There's something in the closet."
A series of thumps, nearly as loud as our own heartbeats, was coming from a closet across the room. The closed, wooden door vibrated ever so slightly at each thump, and accompanying it came a faint scraping noise.
"Who's gonna open it?"
We were frozen in time. I remember my feet suddenly moving, almost compelled to open the closet door. I could feel my hand grasp the handle. I couldn't warn myself to back away quick enough before I yanked it open. I immediately jerked away and sprawled on my back, paralyzed.
Slumped over on the floor in front of me was a corpse, or what was left of one. Bits of flesh hung off of yellowed bone, and its long hair was knotted and greasy. A rotting jaw seemed to disgustingly compliment the empty sockets, which had the impression of a smile, a sinister, gross grin. Its point was made: we were caught, and it had trapped us, alone in that room.
What follows was a blur in my mind. From what they told me, it took the staff a few minutes to hear our cries, then another fifteen to get the fire department to come and break down the door. When we were finally freed, the corpse was in plain sight. After being questioned by authorities, we told them about our past excursions and everything we knew about the ghosts. The property was combed and coffins were located and exhumed. When they came to a particular coffin, they found it to be shattered and the body missing. Forensic experts said that this was no prank; the corpse we found was, indeed, what remained of Emily Monterey.
Nothing made sense after that. Our mission was, for all intents and purposes, complete. There was nothing more to search for, nothing more we hoped to discover. Every question we could conjure was answered with Emily staring at us in our memories. She was finally put to rest, but where was the rest for us?
Abby and I felt horrible about dragging Vincent into this, who never quite recovered after the incident. His sense of humor seemed to wane and his gaze constantly swept each room he entered, never resting on one thing for too long before looking over his shoulder. He moved to a new school shortly after.
Abby and I remained friends after the new building was built and school resumed, but it was evident that the counseling we endured afterward drove a silent wedge between us. We talked only about the latest TV shows and the coolest fads, but our conversation never delved any deeper. All talks of paranormal activity were left unsaid. We both did our best to move on and grow up as best we could as we entered middle school and started a new stage of life, away from that cursed school.
* * *
The passage of time separated us as we graduated high school and began our adult lives. She stayed in that town and took up community college to study nursing, and I attended a university out of state. Whenever I visited my family, either on breaks or on leisure, we would do our best to reconnect and catch up on each other's comings and goings. Our friendship never ventured past anything platonic; it soothed me to know that, in this aging town, something stayed constant amidst the old businesses closing and new roads being paved.
However, we made a grave mistake: we moved on. We assumed that our eyes would never again graze that school. We thought Monterey was out of our lives forever.
We have never been so wrong.
* * *
Over the recent holidays, I found myself back on my old stomping grounds. Abby planned a get-together with some classmates from our high school days and was courteous enough to invite me. I was not particularly fond of driving all the way across town after the snow advisory cautioned with more than enough emphasis to stay indoors. However, I told myself it was worth it to get out of the house and share in reminiscing with old friends.
As I drove down the busy road, crossing over the interstate, I took in the landscape that I used to lay eyes upon so often. Mountains loomed over the town, filtering the freezing northern gales cascading over its peaks. Light gray clouds covered the valley in a blanket. Snow was expected to fall any minute, the first of the year. A gas station that my father and I used to frequent for snacks after school had long closed, its walls now lined with graffiti and grime. The hotel that took in many a lost soul for the night looked less vibrant than it had in years past. I realized that I had not been on this side of town for years. Not since...
I glanced at the street sign of an intersection. The green metal sign with bold, letters jumped to life.
Where had I seen those before?
It all hit me at once. I slammed on my brakes in the middle of the intersection, nearly causing a collision with the drivers behind me. They honked aggressively and swerved, narrowly missing my bumper. I didn't care. I couldn't think straight. Ringing started in my ears, and I refused to return the gaze of the old backroad that was now calling my name.
This was the street that Monterey Elementary used to be on.
I suddenly gasped for breath. I hadn't laid eyes on the place since that fateful April day. Every fiber of my body was telling me to drive quickly away, to keep going straight until Abby's apartment was in view. Despite all of the thoughts swimming in my head, one little, quiet voice asked from the void:
"What's the harm in looking? It's all over, remember?"
It's all over.
I made up my mind. I pulled out my phone and called Abby while cranking my steering wheel hard to the left. I slammed my foot on the gas and peeled out of the intersection, down the long-forgotten road.
"Hey man!" She instantly picked up, changing the atmosphere in my car. Her inner tomboy had never left her. "Where are you? Everyone's already here." I could hear playful banter in the background.
"Hey." I continued, hesitantly. "Look, I'm...I'm gonna be a little late, okay?"
"You don't sound good." She always was a straight shooter, another quirk that didn't change with time. "Everything alright?"
I paused, then sighed. I forced my hands to stop shaking. "You remember Monterey, right?"
There was a brief silence on the other end.
"Bro," she responded tersely. "Don't talk about that goddamn place." Her vocabulary was the one thing that did change, and not for the better.
"I'm just gonna check it out real quick. I'll be at your place right after."
"Wait! You're actually...there? Like, right now?!"
"No, not yet! I was just about to-"
"Don't you dare. You promised you'd never go back there. Turn around right now!"
"I'll be fine! I'm not going in. I'm just...gonna walk around. You know, bring back some memories."
"Memories? Is that what you think?! Damnit, I had almost forgotten about that place. Thanks a lot."
It had sounded better in my head, but then again, my head hadn't stopped swirling. The forest lining the road looked familiar, yet it seemed like a foreign expanse the farther I drove.
"Alright," she finally caved in. "But be careful, you hear me? I don't wanna turn on the news tomorrow and find you missing."
There was a pause. “And don’t forget the beer.”
The line went dead, and I glanced back at the six-packs, now strewn about the backseat. I began to accelerate faster.
* * *
As I pulled into the long-forsaken roundabout, I couldn't help but stare. The building itself was still standing, having been converted into a retirement home since its closure. The stone letters that spelled "Monterey Elementary School" were covered by a banner that advertised a Sunday morning church service. The wing closest to the road, which used to house the cafeteria and the kitchen, was boarded up and abandoned. I was overwhelmed at the sight of the familiar brick, the old windows, and the rusted flag pole that no longer bore the Stars and Stripes.
Everything came flooding back. The endless nights of exploring, the countless days of research, and that ill-fated day when my world changed forever reeled through my mind, a kaleidoscope of flashing pictures and walls of screams.
I parked my car and wandered around the side of the building to the playground. It had been completely gutted; the only things remaining were the faded designs of four square and hopscotch etched into the blacktop for eternity. The kickball field had long been overgrown; the bases were no longer visible. The metal gate that surrounded the home plate and outlined the forest beyond was damaged beyond repair. Holes in the wire gaped open, revealing foliage that poked through, contrasting the black and brown rust with evil green vines.
"What a dump," I said out loud.
My gaze fell upon the old oak tree, still standing firm. I found myself walking over to it; I felt as if I was floating. I couldn't feel my legs as I stepped over long grass and mossy stones. It finally began to snow.
The tree seemed to have shrunk in my absence. Its limbs stretched to the sky with more effort than in years past. The bark was now rough and chipped, and old leaves were scattered around the trunk. Its twigs were shriveled, finally accepting its age.
I gazed down at the old gravestone, or where it used to be. Holes where bits of epitaph used to be visible were now covered with dirt. The grass had long stood guard over the dead. I stood there for what seemed like an eternity, pondering everything. It was a relief to realize that nothing could hurt me. With so little life experience, everything is a danger. Only when one grows up and sees the world does one realize that danger spurs growth. I grew up, indeed. Nearly twenty years ago, that journey began.
My hair began to stand on end. I knew this feeling well. I slowly looked up to see Emily, staring at me from several yards away, emerging from that same brush that she introduced herself from all that time ago.
I didn't feel scared. I didn't feel excited. I didn't feel anything. The air around me thinned as Emily's eyes locked onto me. Hers were not the ghastly green orbs that haunted my dreams for years. They were not the gaping sockets in an empty skull that stared down at me from my bedside.
These were the soft, gentle, kind eyes that had blissfully, wonderfully, taken me aback by as a young child. I couldn't help but feel a flash of anger toward those glimmering eyes. They threw me into this mess without a care in the world. At the same time, just resting in them made me unaware of my slowing heartbeat.
Emily looked down at the base of the tree, then looked at me. As she walked across the field and stopped in front of me, her small, ghostly frame now minuscule compared to mine, I noticed the shyest of smiles on her freckled face. A voice, a child's, rang out in my head.
"Thank you.”
THE END
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