Bound by Broken Memories
This girl is pure frustration today.
It’s like she doesn’t know me at all, but if that were the case, I’d have no reason to be mad at her. However, Sasha Johannesson has been my best friend since before we could spell out the words.
She was never meant to be more, and I told myself for the longest time that she wasn’t.
But it was hard to fight against the attraction to this usually bubbly little thing.
Even now, when I’m so frustrated with her, I find it hard to look away from her as she barricades the door with a chair from the nearby vintage dresser.
The large mirror atop it lets me keep tabs on her. The low light above, covered by a dusty shade, helps slightly as she seeps deeper into the room, walking on light feet like she’s one of the ghosts here.
“The one with no legs is no longer in the hallway, if you were wondering,” Sasha says.
She’s humoring me, that’s all it is, I lie to myself.
Sasha has had a gift for a long time. She’s able to see things the average person can’t. She was born that way. I, on the other hand, was not, and I was not expecting to see or hear the things I have while on this estate, and I just want to go home because of it.
“Oh, and our friends are all in their room, so they won’t be pissing either of us off again,” she says.
Now, she’s really humoring me, and it makes my eyes roll.
Sasha isn’t mad at our friends. Nothing they do seems to annoy her. Even the tagalong that drives everyone else crazy by picking her cuticles when she thinks no one is looking. Okay, I’m nitpicking, but it’s become common because I’ve been complaining nonstop about these people for days on end.
It’s not that I don’t like the people in this house. I introduced Sasha to most of them some time back, but I wanted this trip to be just the two of us, if I really have to be here.
But in truth, I’d rather we both go home.
“We don’t have to stay. I’m sure Old Man Venom has snow boots lying around,” I say.
“We won’t even get off the land in this weather,” shedeadpans.
Any excuse for us to stay.
Haunted and creepy mansions are Sasha’s idea of a good time. Mine would be a party, with punch, people, and pop songs. I like the vibe better, bright lights over gothic décor. Eyes on me, not my eyes watching for every creepy shadow.
But every so often, I do this kinda thing for her.
I let my nerves run wild and meet the girl I can never stop thinking ofat the gates to some creepy abandoned manor, and we sneak inside.
We never take anything we find, but it’s fun, for her, at least, to look around and discover the weird things these old rich guys filled their homes with before they vanished into who knows where.
This place was a little different, as the old rich stiff rents it out to people like us. It wouldn’t be the kind of place Sasha would like if there wasn’t a creepy story attached that Old Man Venom collects souls.
The last few days have proven that to be true.
I don’t remember signing myself up for any of the extras. The ghosts are meant to be a Sasha thing. I am just meant to tag along, smile, and nod when she points to the cool and quirky things we find. Listen as she tells me stories of those who haunt.
I figured that was what was happening here when I foundmyself downstairs with a very sore neck on an uncomfortable sofa, in a dark room full of even darker colors, that did nothing to ease what felt like the hangover from hell.
It’s crazy, but I don’t even remember the journey here.
I don’t remember the cold feet that I would have gotten from the weather on the walk here.
I don’t remember where I left my shoes or why I chose to wear this dress.
I vaguely remember an argument with Slayer—my boyfriend, who insists that even I call him that terrible nickname he got from the football pitch.
Slays every game, they say—his team, who hang on to his coattails.
It’s funny how I remember that trivial thing and not what we were arguing about. My head hurt as I tried to think of what caused that terrifying look in his eyes while I sat downstairs. Then Sasha rocked up here with a dozen friends and seemed surprised to see me.
All her friends, and I say that because each one of these girls has practically ignored me since I met them at the door, showed up with her in tow, almost like she was being dragged here against her will.
It wasn’t the norm.
But they are all still here, too, trapped in this house with all the souls that Old Man Venom definitely collects.
I don’t know if it’s them slamming doors and making creepy noises to spook one another or if it’s the spirits. Butdamn, if it doesn’t fuck me off.
I take a big breath, trying to force myself to stay quiet because I don’t want to anger anything supernatural.
Standing at the window, I keep my eyes from Sasha and focus my hate on the snowy field and the continuing blizzard that keeps us bound here.
She sits on the bed, surrounded by frills from the ancient décor of this room.
Four posts shadow her, making her look small in a pink, cropped hoodie that doesn’t match the vibe of this place.
“Please don’t sulk. We only have a few days here together,” Sasha begs.
“You act like we’ll never see each other again,” I retort.
“Things can change in the blink of an eye,” Sasha states.
“Well, if you feel that way and are worried about one of us dying in our teens, why did you invite half of the town?” I question her.
“They invited me, actually,” Sasha states nonchalantly.
“That doesn’t even make sense. You’re the ghost hunter.”
“I’m not sure they knew the ghost story, and if they did, I doubt they believed it,” she replies.
“Seriously, Sash. I know you love this kinda thing, but how are you not bothered about us having to stay here for a few more days?”
“They won’t hurt you,” Sasha whispers.
“Even if that’s true, I don’t even have my phone to let my mom and dad know where I am,” I say.
“They know.”
“They know?” I question her.
“Yes.” That’s all she says.
“You saw them before coming here? Because I’m not sure I did.”
“Yes, actually. Your Mom was in the store when I picked up snacks for my stay,” Sasha states.
“Which are long gone because we’ve stayed too long.”
“It’s fine. Trust me. We’ve stayed in worse places.” Sashasmiles, and her eyes twinkle in a way that makes her look sad when I glance over my shoulder at her.
“If you can name three, I’ll let it drop,” I grant the fake promise while knowing it’s exactly that. “Three places worse than this cold, old manor that’s owned by some pervert.”
“We don’t know he’s a pervert,” Sasha retorts.
“We know he’s a creep. You said it yourself.”
“Yeah, because of the weird stuff I’ve seen in this house. The guy has some…odd choices of collectibles.”
“Yes, souls, and what if we’re gonna be next!”
Her long blonde hair, so different from my dark waves,whips around as she pats the mattress at her side.
“I’m good here, where I can watch and wait for the first opportunity to leave,” I respond.
“Okay, but you might be there for a while. And to answer your question, that car on Old Farm Road.”
“We stayed inside it for two hours. Hardly even close to being this bad,” I tell her.
“It was icy cold inside that car.”
“We were low on options.”
“We could have stayed at either of our houses, Lee,” she deadpans again.
I snort, and it’s an unladylike sound. “Sure, can you imagine what my mom and dad would have said if I’d brought a girl home?” I ask her.
“But it was me. They know me. They like me.”
“They like you as my friend,” I tell her.
“But we didn’t really have to tell them any different.”
“Are you kidding? Do you not remember the noises coming from that car?” I ask.
“I remember you throwing yourself into every guy that glanced your way over the course of the next month. I don’t assume your parents were too happy about any of that either,” Sasha states.
“They didn’t need to know about a few random kisses and a lot of flirting. Nothing ever went further,” I respond quickly.
“Until Slay—” she starts.
“I don’t want to talk about him.” Why? I plague my own brain.
“Do you remember what happened when you saw him last?”
“We argued.” I almost cut her off with my fast reply, that’s a little too snappy.
But Sasha isn’t the type to back down. “About?”
“Don’t avoid my question by asking one of your own.
I already said I don’t want to talk about him!
” My tone is aggressive again, more than intended.
Kinda like it was downstairs—where I didn’t want to be, even for the mere seconds we spent there, grabbing Sasha’s backpack.
One of the girls diverted the conversation from the things that were creeping them out and had made a joke about something I used to do—begging for a man’s attention in the hopes it would be enough not to crave it from a woman.
It was definitely a joke, given this person was a friend of a friend and barely knew me, but it hit too close to home.
And I lost it.
Feeling angrier than I ever have, I snapped, screaming over everyone.
My angry tone didn’t bother the group, but throwing a wine bottle through the air did.
It smashed against a fancy oil painting of Old Man Venom and likely ruined it.
The red liquid dripped from his chin and looked something like blood.
The sounds of screaming in the distance angered me more.When I turned around, everyone had left the room exceptSasha, who made multiple attempts to talk me down from my heightening bad mood.
After a while, she suggested spending the rest of the trip alone, which was already planned before getting the snacks, and still, I couldn’t help but deliver a, “Gee, do you fucking think?”
I probably would have stayed calm if we’d gotten to this room without seeing half of the fucking afterlife.