There’s Something Haunting My Parent’s House And She Looks Just Like Me

haunting twin jack follman
God & Man

Drip. Drip. Drip. The godforsaken drip. The kitchen sink was far from the safety, warmth and comfort of my bed, down a flight of rickety stairs and across a sea of darkness. The journey would be difficult, but necessary. There was no way I would be able to get back to sleep with the sound of the sink dripping echoing through the house and I had my first job interview in five years at 8 in morning. I had to get some sleep.

The hard tile of the kitchen was freezing on my bare feet. It took me back to my childhood days when I would run into the kitchen from the yard, no shoes on, still wet from the sprinkler on a summer day, feet dusted with blades of grass. My mom would scold me, but still present me with a popsicle (hopefully not grape) and then escort me back outside.

That warm thought was a welcome distraction from the reality of the situation I was in at the moment. It was three a.m. The snow was still beating down outside and I didn’t have the money to turn the heat on the way my mom would have back in the days of our nuclear family – before the cancer and the deaths of both my parents. Before I felt haunted. Before I felt dead.

I cranked the nobs of the sink off as hard as I could. It seems like the dripping stopped. I shot a look out the window as I readied myself to rush back upstairs to my bedroom and lock the door. I wish I hadn’t.

I usually love staring at the snow falling in the night – the thick fluffy flakes light up the world and create a comforting softness and kind of claustrophobia that I enjoy. It usually reminds me of watching the snow fall in the night as a child and knowing that it likely meant that the much-celebrated Snow Day was on its way the next morning.

That nostalgic drug started to drip into my brain for a few moments before I noticed something off about the snow just outside the window. About five yards from the window and from the door that led into the kitchen, was a break in the snow. The snow just appeared to not be falling in a little patch, it stopped and collected about 5 feet above the ground.

At first I thought my mind was just playing tricks on me, but then I saw that patch move closer to the door, the snow seemed to just hang on the air as it moved towards me. I walked over to the door which led out the kitchen and into the backyard and opened it up.

I stood in the open door for a few seconds, mesmerized by the moving absence of snow until it was right in front of me, a swirling patch of nothing holding my attention even more than the dripping faucet had minutes before.

About the author

Jack has written professionally as a journalist, fiction writer, and ghost writer. For more information, visit his website.

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