Young Writers Society

                                                                 Maybell

                                           It all started with an old photograph.

The cardboard boxes were stacked high around me. The room we had relinquished for stacking the filled boxes ready to be carted out proved much too small for the insane amount of boxes we had. The sheer amount of random things we had in our house, that just ‘could NOT’ be left behind, was surprising. I was feeling extremely grumpy- basically at anything, but mainly at my parents. They wouldn’t let anything go, and it was becoming more than I could handle. “Just throw it away!” I had told them. But no, no they had to keep it all. Every little trophy, painting, and cobweb.

I wiped a stray strand off my face, as I marched up the creaky old stairs, leaving a trace of dust along my cheek that I would later discover. I was told to clear out the attic, my sister was too scared of the place so my parents texted me to tell me I had to do it. That had not helped my mood. Why should she be able to stay downstairs while I had to go do all the work! It was too bad they were out of town for a few days or I could have argued it out with them. I spent probably a good 15 minutes fuming to myself and running arguments through my head as I shoved stuff randomly into the pile of boxes I had brought with me.

That was when I spotted it. An old black and white photo wedged deep into a crack in the old dresser drawer. It was the dresser I had used as a child until I was about eight and had demanded more space for my clothing. Yet I had never seen the photo before in my life. It was obvious enough in the drawer that I should have seen it when I had cleaned it out before it had gone to the attic many years before. Yet I couldn’t remember ever seeing it before.

I stared at it in my hand. It was a picture of two people, a man, and a woman. She was laughing, a large warm smile on her face like she had just been told something very funny. The man behind her wasn’t smiling, but he had a twinkle in his eyes as if he shared her amusement. That was all I could see. The couple was close to the frame so I couldn't make out anything behind them except what looked like a few leaves from a tree in the background.

It was interesting I thought, they looked somewhat like my grandparents when they were young but also different. Nothing seemed amiss to me then, it could easily just be a misplaced family photo.

It was when I set it down in the box and it fell over slightly, revealing its back, that I saw it. Written in dark red ink on the top right corner in sharp, precise handwriting was the word:

Maybell

That was it. Nothing else.

Why was my name written on the back of this photograph? My heart had begun beating faster than it should. I tried to stay calm. There were so many perfectly normal situations with perfectly logical explanations to this I told myself. Maybe my mom had written my name there because she wanted to remember to show it to me. Ever since her mind had begun slipping up she had turned to scribbling on things to remember. Or maybe that was the lady in the picture's name. Maybe I had been named after her, and she was some old relative I never met - she did look a bit like me, I realized as I looked more closely at her face. She had the same wide smile and tiny nose. She was lucky she didn’t have glasses as I did. I thought abstractly pushing my thick, red-rimmed glasses up as they began to slip down again.

I think I could have been pretty without these big clunky circles swallowing up my face. This lady was pretty. I began liking her a bit. Then my mind circled back to the writing. I took the photo out of the box and returned it swiftly to the drawer where I had found it. I didn’t want it, and if anyone missed it, they could come find it.

….

The rest of the day went by uneventfully. But that night my dreams were filled with uninvited terror. I would jolt awake sweating profusely, my heart pounding but with no recollection of what had occurred. Only left with the image of my name on the paper.

It was like it had been seared, branded into my brain.

The next morning after getting hardly any sleep, I decided to tell my sister about it.

“I told you I don’t like that attic. It's creepy.”

“But what do you think it means? But maybe it doesn’t mean anything. Am I just going insane?”

“Show it to me.”

“What? No. I’m not going back up there.”

“You just said that it's probably nothing so then what are you afraid of?”

“I’m not afraid.”

“So, go get it.”

I looked at her, hoping that my immense irritation with her showed. She just sat on her bed watching me. Long, dark brown hair perfectly framing her face. She knew she had me.

“Fine.”

…

I opened the drawer to find the photo exactly where I had placed it. Only one thing was different. It was lying on its back and instead of the singular word, it now had two. That was all I needed to see.

I ran out of that room faster than I had ever moved in my life. My gym teacher would have been proud. My feet pounded down the stairs, surprisingly I didn't miss a single step. I must be more agile than I ever gave myself credit for was my last thought before earth-shattering pain shot through my head and then everything went dark.

…

I must have only been unconscious for only a second, as I was awake when my sister came out from her room. Opening the door I had just crashed into.

“What were you thinking! You could have broken the door.”

“It was open when I left.'' That was all the explanation I could muster.

“I closed it, obviously.” she emphasized the last word with a roll of her eyes. Then as if on second thought. “Are you ok?” 

“Yep.” That was only partly true. My head hurt like - well like I had just bolted into a solid wood door. Why was I so stupid! How I had I not seen it was closed.

“I’ll grab you an ice pack.” She left before I could respond.

I just sat there until she came back.

“So, what did you see? Do you have the photo?”

The photo? I pondered it, then it all suddenly rushed back.

“There's more written on it.”

“Like more since you last saw it yesterday?”

“Yeah"

“That's weird.”

“I know.”

“But not weird enough to run into a door.”

“Okay”

“Let's go together, then you can show it to me.”

I just shrugged. Taking it as an agreement, she grabbed my arm and yanked.

“Oww!” I protested

“Oh come on. Don’t be a wimp”

I wished for the hundredth time that I was the older sibling so that I could shove her around instead.

…

I pulled open the drawer with one hand, still holding the ice to my bruised head as Chelsey watched.

1982

Had been added next to the name. And just below it, written in the tiniest possible letters were the words:

come find me

‘What the hell?” My sister's eyes were wide. “Okay so sometimes you like exaggerating stuff, but this is actually kinda weird.”

'Okay cool. Now let’s go. We’re moving in two days. We'll just leave this here and not tell mom and dad about it.”

“What do you mean? Of course we’re not going to do that! Let's research it, maybe we can find something about it. That would be really cool.”

“Are you kidding me! We are NOT doing that. This isn't one of your little shows! I don’t know what’s going on here, but I sure don't want to find out.”

‘Yeah, well you're going to. Or maybe we won’t find anything. See then we know, it's better than just leaving it.”

“How. How is that better?”

“It could follow us. Moving out doesn't ensure whatever this is will disappear.”

I rolled my eyes at her.

“You watch way too many movies. Let's leave it and go downstairs.”

That was when a soft creek of a door hinge made both my sister and I jump in shock to face the attic door that was slowly closing. It shut with a soft click.

We were left in partial darkness, the only light coming in was filtered in through the one small, cobweb-riddled attic window.

“It was probably the wind,” Chelsy said softly

“What wind?” I hadn’t felt anything.

“We have windows open downstairs.”

‘Okay, then go open it. I want to get out of here.”

“No way! You can do that.”

“You just said it was the wind.”

“Yeah. But I’m older, and I said you must.” she tried to make herself look taller by lifting her chin higher -or maybe more stern I wasn’t too sure. Either way, it wasn’t working.

“Nah ...”

My words died on my lips. Something had moved off to my left. I just noticed the slight shift out of the corner of my eye. I tried to peer into the darkness to see what it could have been, but I could only make out the lumpy, dark shapes of the boxes I had been stacking the day before. Nothing seemed out of place.

My gaze snapped down. I stared hard at the picture, willing it to have an answer. The two people stared right back- frozen, still, captured in time. Suddenly, what had first seemed to be a joyful, friendly photo began looking spooky and strange. What once looked like a joyful smile looked eerie and forced. The twinkle in the man's eyes looked more like a glisten. What was the meaning of this photo? Why was it here?

“Maybell? Maybell!” my sister's voice sounded distant, I glanced back up to find her staring at the same spot I had a few moments earlier

“Did you see that?” she whispered her voice so quiet it barely reached my ears.

I shook my head ever so slightly, then realized she wasn’t looking at me.

“No.” I said, matching her quiet tone.

“Let's get out of here.”

…

We moved as one, sprinting out as fast as our legs could carry us. But not before I caught a glance of the shadow that moved towards us, as if to follow. There was something about that shape, the size of the figure - it looked familiar as if this wasn’t the first time I had seen it before. But from where?

It was only once we reached my bedroom and locked the door behind us, that I realized I was clutching the photo in my hand. I had no recollection of grabbing it. I tossed it on her bed as if it was a hot iron, I didn’t want to touch it. Ever since it had appeared everything seemed to have gone wrong.

BLEEP. My phone sounded. I picked it up to see that it was a text from our mom.

Sorry honey, your father and I will be staying another night here. Some small issue just popped up that we must deal with - don’t worry about it, it's nothing of consequence. There should still be some lasagna in the fridge. Don’t stay up too late. We’ll be home in the morning. xo mum

“What is this?” 

“Mum says they are coming home tomorrow instead of today.” I said misunderstanding her question.

“Okay, but what is this?” My sister bent down, picking up a small scrap of paper up from the ground.

“What?” I asked moving towards her to glance at it as she opened the neatly folded sides.

‘I think it's a poem.”

Written in the same red color as on the photo were the words:

Grass whispers

Leaves chatter

No one can talk

For they are stuck, fastened to their stalk

But you can

Avenge this death

Or that will be your last breath

“Whoever wrote that is extremely bad at poetry. It makes no sense, and hardly rhymes at all”

“I don’t think the point was to create a good piece of poetry, Chels.”

“I know. I’m just trying to lighten the mood.”

“Well, it's not working.” I had to make a plan, this was feeling way too real now. “I think we should take this to the police.”

“And say what?”

“Everything! We just tell them exactly what’s going on.”

“You realize that they are just going to think that we are some paranoid young teens who are scared of their attic. We have absolutely nothing to show.”

“Come find me” that's something nobody would write on their photo..” I stopped as Chelsy pointed to the photograph lying facedown on the bed where I had left it. The back was clear, like nothing had ever been written on it.

My voice shook a little “Your last breath” . They threatened us with death. That's pretty serious.”

“It's printed. And who? How? Our story sounds only possible if there’s a literal ghost living in our house!” she looked directly at me “No one’s going to believe it.”

A soft creak of a floorboard outside in the hallway made us both freeze. My heart was pounding so loudly I was worried everyone in the neighborhood could hear it. Every muscle was tensed, ready to run. But there was nowhere to go. It was fight or flight. Every ounce in my body urged me to choose the latter, but I couldn’t. I glanced at Chelsea, she shook her head at me - knowing exactly what I was planning. I ignored her.

Out of the two of us, I was the more scrappy one. Having even participated in a school fight once. I had been grounded for two weeks after, when my parents found out - but nobody made fun of my glasses again so it was worth it. Or so I thought.

As Chels had just said, we didn’t have anything to show. Our backs were against the wall - we had to fight. She didn’t seem like she was going to do anything, so I would be on my own.

I grabbed the first weapon-like object I could see - which turned out to be a curling iron. Praying that it would hold, and the dainty pink plastic handle wouldn’t snap at first contact, I slowly eased open the door. Carefully peering out the door, eyes darting back and forth, I glance over to the attic stairs. There was nobody there. Taking a step out to see past the door jam to my right- I just saw the black shadow disappearing as it took a right turn, heading to our kitchen.

Adrenaline surging through my veins. My heart in my throat I set out quickly but quietly. My socked feet barely made a noise as I jogged across the floor. Turning down the hall to the kitchen I spotted the figure in black. My brain quickly registered the situation. I still had the element of surprise as its back was turned to me. Broad shoulders told me it was a male. He was carefully picking his way across the floor as if trying not to make a sound.

I counted to three, sent up a prayer to anyone that was listening and then stormed. I sprinted the three-yard distance separating us with lightning speed before launching myself right at him. In retrospect, this was a bad move on my part to simply fling myself at the intruder in a hail mary attempt to take him down.

The man half-turned as I was flying at him mid-air so I hit him from the side. All the momentum I had gathered was enough to make him stumble and to my surprise, he fell down. The impact of the fall winded me, as his elbow dug deep into my stomach. I was left gasping for breath, and my head started spinning. I could feel my victim getting away and I desperately tried to grab his jacket, but I didn't have the strength left.

A high-pitched, wailing scream met my ears. My sister, a hardcover book in hand, dashed over screaming the entire time. The terror in her eyes matched my own. She smashed the book on the escaping man's head.

“Oww!” he whined “Guys chill okay. You know me. I’m your neighbor, Larry Larson.” he turned, hands in the air “I thought it would be a fun little prank to pull before you left” a cheeky smile crossed his face “I got you good”

The book hit hard into his arm.

“Ouch. Could you not?”

Thunk!

I pushed myself up, having finally gotten my breath back.

“A funny little prank, or a way to get back at me for embarrassing you in front of the entire school?” I asked, but I already knew the answer.

“You know how long it took for me to recover from that?’ he spat out, his eyes turning a ugly, dark black I could see the fury roiling inside “I became the sissy that got beat up by a girl. Everyone made fun of me. Two years. There isn’t a single person in the whole school that hadn’t heard of it.”

“I’m sorry for you, but at the same time, you deserved that.”

“I hate you.”

“Likewise.”

His hand twitched, as his muscles strained with pent-up anger. He was much bigger now- he could probably take me out with one punch. I swallowed, I didn’t want a second concussion today. My sister chimed in, breaking the silence.

“I think it's about time you left.”

Miraculously, he turned on his heel without a word. When the front door shut behind him my sister turned to me.

“Do you want to tell his parents, or should I?”

“Let's just leave him.” I really didn’t feel the need to pursue it, we were leaving the next day anyways and would never see him again.

“Are you sure?” She sounded very skeptical. “He broke into our house and wrote threatening notes.”

I wanted to tell her what I knew. How his dad had left, and his mom barely managed to care enough to remember his name, but I knew that if I told her by tomorrow, half of the town would have heard as well. So I just left it at that.

…

We moved out the following day, and life went back to normal. My sister still spent most of her time in her room, and only spoke to criticize me on my disgraceful behaviour.

Larry had never explained how he had accomplished the feat, and it was only until later that I realized we had simply assumed that he had been behind all of it. I still wonder to this day if perhaps the whole thing wasn’t completely his doing. Some parts seemed a little too sereal for a lone teenager to pull off, but perhaps he was simply gifted at it. I guess I will never know.