Staring Into the Grotesque Beauty of Terror Amber Asher- CWP Silver Award Winner
The hallways were dark and messy, and a tinge of mildew rode on the breeze infiltrating the old school from the broken windows. Cardboard boxes and crumpled papers lay about on the dirtied tiled floor.
Remi imagined what the place must’ ve been like before, colorful and full of life, kids running about as if they were ants in a big colony. Now, it was abandoned, placed in the back of a mind like an old memory. Floors crafted of beautiful bright blue and white tiles now grimy and cracked with neglect. He continued to walk and ponder the possibilities this place held, and he thought about how crowded the old halls used to be.
After a few minutes of walking down the musty corridor, Remi could make out the end of the hall. It was no less dirty than the other walls, which were painted with watermarks and mold. However, it was decorated with plaques and trophies, as well as an old oak door that stood tall in the middle of the wall. The doorknob was a unique bronze, but its shine was diminished from passed time.
He opened the door, the cool knob sending a shiver down Remi’ s spine as he turned it and pushed through. He coughed and squinted his eyes as dust erupted into the air, swatting at it for a moment until it finally settled. Looking around, he saw that the room looked like it had been a teacher lounge— and a comfortable one at that. A sagging chocolate couch sat in the corner accompanied by a low coffee table the same color. Light cascaded into the room through a missing window, dancing around on the furniture and casting shadows on the decrepit walls. The lounge also featured a large counter that spanned across the far end of the room. It held an old cherry-red microwave. Remi could see the splatters of past meals on the window of the open door, which clouded the glass panel with a brown residue. In the closest corner to the door stood an old closet, tall and proud, decorated with pictures of students and staff. He stepped forward, careful to avoid disturbing more dust as he walked around the piles of paper and other garbage. When Remi made it to the closet, he grabbed the handle and yanked on it, the wood scratching against his palm. It budged slightly, letting out a small creak. He sighed as he let go of the handle, wanting to save himself from a splinter. Remi abandoned the idea of opening the closet. Instead, he made his way back over to the counter and began studying the glass cups and paper plates thrown about. He leaned forward and grabbed a cup, lifting it off the counter to reveal a colony of roaches. The cup slipped out of Remi’ s grasp as he jumped back and shrieked. It shattered on the tiled floor, slivers of glass flying across the room.
It was quiet … and then … a door opened, slamming against a faraway wall as a straggly voice bellowed out“ Who’ s there?!”. Remi’ s chest tightened, and his breath caught in his throat. A cold bead of sweat slid formed on his brow as his heart hammered against his ribs. He ran towards the closet, yanking on the wooden handle frantically, his dry palms chaffing on the oak. His mind raced, panicking as he tried to open the closet. After a few long seconds the door finally opened. Remi could now hear the man’ s footsteps echo like a drumbeat as he closed in as he ducked into the closet and shut the door.