Well, my grandma Sophia is the kind of old, traditional, classic granny with white, shoulder-length hair, who loves cooking sweets, looking at her old photo albums and telling us stories, while drinking a cup of hot tea, next to the fireplace. Sundays is the only day of the week about which I'm excited the most because we spend it solely together. Her house is like it has eluded modern times, and is straight from a 18th century tale. It's a small, stony cottage with a garden that is huge, compared to the size of the house, with trees full of blossoms but isolated from the other houses in the area.
So, last Sunday, I visited her as I usually do. My mum drove me because no means of public transport are available in this place; there aren't enough residents, and the mayoress thought it wasn't worth sending an application to the council and requesting an increase in transportation. I still wonder why she garnered so many votes in the last election. After 3 hours driving, my grandma was waiting impatiently for me outside her house, ready to give me lots of hugs and kisses. Everything was always so calm and relaxed in this place. Birds were singing, flowers scented the atmosphere with their redolence; everything was absolutely perfect. My mum left, so we went inside the cottage and I sat on the big, comfy couch next to the fireplace, a huge window that brightening the whole room, while granny brought my favourite snack; homemade cookies with her delicious lemonade. After devouring a couple of them and sipping some of the cooling lemonade, I asked grandma, " Are you going to tell me a story, as you customarily do?". She was looking at me with a smiley face but suddenly, her facial expression changed and a bleak darkness replaced her happiness. I was greatly worried by this rapid change, but while I was thinking this, she told me,
"Today is going to be a little different for both of us. I'll tell you a true story that happened to me lots of years ago, when I was younger than you and it has remained etched on my mind all these years; to be honest, I'm not sure if it is ever going to fade. But please, pledge me that you will never, ever tell anything to anybody".
After listening to her, I was really shocked. What kind of story was this? And why didn't she want me to tell anybody about it?
'Of course, I won't say anything if you don't want me to', I answered and at the same time, an avalanche of questions and thoughts were crossing my mind.
'It was October 1930 when it all happened..
It was October 1930 when it all happened. I was about 10 years old and Martha, my younger sister, was 5. Our family has been moving houses very often because dad didn't have a permanent job. He wasn't an expert on a particular subject; he was doing anything just to earn a living for us. However, this year, it was really difficult to find one as more than 2 million people in our country were unemployed. So we moved to Kent, where some friends of ours were living. This couple wanted a better quality of life, with more facilities that the city could provide, so they rented the whole farm to us and left for a better future. Even though it cost a lot, dad thought that it was a good idea to live there and we had to take advantage of it.
The new house in the farm was spacious and had vintage decoration. The colourful wallpaper, the wooden furniture and the manifold paintings made you feel like you weren’t in a farm but in a classy, aristocratic house. While exploring the house, we heard the door knocking. Excited as I was, I went rapidly to open it. An unknown woman appeared in front of me and gave me the kind of goosebumps I had never felt before. She was at her forties, with short brown hair, pale skin and she was wearing a short-sleeved, white, way-too-formal dress.
"May I come inside?", she asked.
I didn't know how to answer as both my parents were exploring the barn and only Martha and I were at home
"Don't you remember me Sophia? Me and your parents have been very good friends many years now", she added.
"I'm sorry, but I don't. I'm going to tell them that you're here. What's your name, Miss?"
"I'm Miss Thompson, but you can call me Miss Jane".
"Ok Miss Jane. I'm coming back soon."
I left the weird visitor waiting in the living room with Martha keeping her company and I went to the barn so as to inform my parents about Miss Thompson. On my way to the stall, I put my thinking cap on to try and recognise the woman. When I reached the stall, nobody was there. A feeling of anxiety, fear and agony overcame me. Where might they have gone? I went back home, in case they were there and I hadn't see them. It had started getting late and the dark sky made it more difficult for me to go outside. Back at home, there were no lights on and I started shouting, but vainly. Nobody was answering. Suddenly, I realised something. There was one, particular painting which portraid a woman that was alike miss Jane, outside from her house which was our house now.
I have never felt fear like that in my entire life. My family was missing and I was in a remote house with a woman who didn't seem friendly at all. The woman then appeared in front of me, pendulous, with her white dress covered in blood and holding my family's heads in both of her hands.
"It's your turn, isn't it?" she asked, opening her mouth wide and screaming with a loud voice. What I did then was the stupidest thing anyone could do in the whole world and I still regret it. I burst into tears and I started running into the night as fast as I could. After a few minutes, I was out of breath and stopped, realising that luckily, she hadn't chased me and that I was almost in the city.
I had left my family alone, I hadn't even tried to do something to help them. They might not have been dead……. . I just didn't want to think about it. I would die with these regrets.
When I went back home, I couldn't stop thinking about grandma's story. It was just so unbelievable…….. But at the same time, I had mixed feelings for granny. Before I left her cottage, she reminded me of my promise and the last thing she told me was: " I'd like you to inform anybody out there about this event, but, after I’m dead. You can even write a book about it".
So that's what I’ve done…….