Chicken Scratch

The Teenage Writing Site

Here's a piece I wrote last summer.  I'm still editing, and appreciate feedback! 

I don’t know where she came from. She just appeared one day, when I was about 7. I was sittin' in my bedroom, staring out the window towards Ol’ Widow Maggie’s manor as Momma braided my hair all pretty, with my favorite pink bow.

Old Widow Maggie’s place stuck out real bad on this side of town. It was all dark on the outside, because all the paint had worn off the sides and alls that was left was old, sick-lookin’ boards. All the other houses were painted real nice tan colors, but no one would bother to help poor Maggie out because of all the stories. Some people said she was a witch, and when smoke rose from the chimney, that was her, boilin’ frogs and newts and such in her cauldron. Momma and Da just said they were too busy to help and she didn’t want help anyway. My best friend Clarice says she has about 40 cats that she lives with, and when one dies, she buries it behind the house and that's why nothin' grows. I asked Clarice how she knew so much and alls she said was, " 'cus I lived here longer'n you, silly. I know things like that."

I suppose she must be right, 'cus nothing is ever behind that manor, not even kids cutting through backyards. I sat there thinkin' about that while Momma braided, and I thought that the inside of the manor was probably as black and lifeless as the outside, and that I hoped I'd never have to be any closer to it that I already was.

Momma was almost done with my hair when a girl came skipping out from the side of the house. I never liked looking at that house for too long, the vines creeping up the flat walls whispered of secrets and darkness and forbidden things. But somehow, with this girl skipping about outside, it wasn't quite so bad, and maybe a little more mysterious.

"Momma, who's that?" I had asked suddenly, twisting around in my seat.

Momma had scolded me for moving and messing up her braiding, and told me she didn't know, and it was none of my business and to stay away from her and the Old Widow Maggie.

"I don't want you going anywhere near there, Elise," she'd said, "You leave those poor people alone and focus on your piano studies. You have a recital soon!"

Well, there's one sure thing about the seven year old me, and that's by putting a taboo on the Widow and the new girl, I'd wanna know everything.

So I started asking around. Clarice said her Ma said she was probably Ol' Widow Maggie's niece or something, but my other friend Jack said she was a little girl that the Widow had kidnapped! He said he saw it happened one night at midnight. I told Jack he was a liar, and just a farmer boy, and he kicked me. He said I was just a rich snob, and if I didn't watch out, the Widow would get me, too. I didn't know who was right, but there was something about that girl, that was for sure. I said I wasn't scared, but I was.

I was kinda mad at Jack for calling me a rich snob, but I wasn't too sore. He didn't know that my Momma and Da were phonies. Halfway, anyhow. My Ma and Da weren't as rich as all the rest of the towns-folk, but they pretended they were. Da went and got an important-sounding job out of town, and got a loan so he could get a fancy-lookin' car. Momma went to load of fancy luncheons and business parties and took me everywhere. She even made me take piano classes all summer so I'll be like all the other folk's kids, all musical. One day, Momma took me to the grocery store, like always. I was bored outta my mind, but had to stay right next to Ma with my hands folded nicely, so I didn't embarrass her and give it away that we're not really that stinkin' rich.

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The day after that, it stormed hard, and lasted for days. Normally, folks wouldn’t complain, especially the farmers from the other side of town, but this storm was different. It was on the fourth day, when I went out to lunch with Momma, that I heard some men saying it was a cursed rain. It was destroying their crops and flooding their basements. Even I, seven year old Elise, knew something was going on. I thought about what folks had said about Ol’ Maggie being a witch.

Through that whole entire week, I didn’t see the little girl at all. Not even poking her nose out the window to taste the rain. I would sit out on the porch during the worst of these storms, I remember, and look over at the Widow’s house to see only an empty chair. I was sad, and a little angry, because I felt like this girl was my property, my very own new neighbor, my secret friend. I wanted her to be like me and like what I liked. Instead, it seemed like she had simply disappeared.

One day, though, the rain stopped. It was sudden, early on a Sunday morning, when the clouds ran away and the sun shone brighter than ever. And just like that, she was back. As if nothing had happened. I was entranced by her. She never stayed in one place too long, dancing around the yard, stopping to stiff a daisy, then leaping away through the tall grass of the side yard. Her toes were muddy, and the hem of her dress grew increasingly damp from the dewy grass, but she didn’t seem to care. Sometimes, I could hear a sweet, quiet hum, even all the way from my porch, as if she was twisting and twirling in time to a delicate violin ballad.

I had to spend most of my days indoors; Momma made me practice my piano twice a day, and all Clarice ever wanted to do was sit indoors and play dolls. Occasionally, I would steal glances out my window to watch the girl. I was so jealous of her. Momma said jealousy was unbecoming, but I didn’t care. I wanted to dance and play all day like the girl, but Clarice and her sister Anne said jumping about was improper for a lady to do. I would sit inside, instead, and dream, and then wish for my dreams. On the weekends, I would walk past her house, but she would never see me. I wanted nothing more. Jack said, at church, that I was under a spell, but I knew that wasn’t true.

I noticed one day that the girl had a plastic clip in her hair all the time that was the same kind of pink as mine, and that made me like her even more. At church the next week, Clarice told me to stay away from the girl.

“You’re sayin’ the same stuff as my Momma, now!”

“No, Elise, we can’t be her friend, shes weird!”

“What do you mean, she’s weird?” I was getting angry, at Clarice, for being mean to my neighbor.

“She just is, okay?” And then Clarice shut up and wouldn’t say any more.

After the service, Clarice still wouldn’t talk, so I told her she was just jealous of the girl’s pink clip ‘cus it matched my ribbon. Clarice kicked me, harder than Jack did, and the locked her mouth and threw away the key. I kicked her back and pinched her ‘til she unlocked her mouth.

“Just leave me alone, Elise!” She whined.

But then I got all sweet and gave her a hug and said I was sorry, and she said she’d tell.

“When I was walking to your house, the girl asked if I wanted to come to a tea party in the Ol’ Widow’s house,” Clarice began, “I was scared! Her eyes felt weird. They made my tummy hurt. And she talked like a grown up.” Clarice was staring straight at the floor now, and had her hands folded all nice in front of her. And I was getting madder. Then, Clarice said that the exact same thing happened to Beth, and Jack, and even little Anne. I was furious now. Why didn’t the girl invite ME to a tea party? We were neighbors! We had matching bows! I didn’t understand.

Then Clarice looked me right in the eye.

“Please don’t go over there, Elise. My Momma’s right. That girl is bad news.”

But I was mad.

Right when I got home from church, I told Momma I was goin' for a tea party and Clarice's. I kept my Sunday best on, and put on my fanciest necklace, the one with the cross, and all the jewels, and I set out for the Widow's house. I could see the girl as soon as I stepped outside, her pink bow shinier than ever. I made sure that my bow was straight, and started out. The afternoon sun was dull, and the air was still. It felt like no one was around except me and the girl. I liked that.

She didn't seem to see me until I'd marched right up to her. She stopped twirling and turned to face me, her billowing dress falling into straight pleats around her waist. I looked up.

Her eyes were gold. They shone, and stood out like beacons in the speckled sunlight. I could not look away; I was enchanted. She blinked, smiled, and curtsied, her slim fingers spreading her faded blue dress out like a fan.

"Would you care to join me for a tea party?" She asked. Her voice rich and flowing, like a spoonful of molasses.

"Yes, please, thank you very much," I managed to remember my manners, and as she turned and gestured, I followed.

"We shall go in the back door," she cued.

The doorbell echoed throughout the house, bouncing off walls. It sounded like my own, but deeper. After a heartbeat or two, the Widow swings the door open, and steps aside to let us in. The door swung closed behind me, leaving us in a darkened entryway, similar to my own, and exactly like I'd imagined. I follow the girl, glancing upward at the Widow, half expecting to see a pointed black hat pressed down over her curls. Instead, the Ol' Maggie stops me.

"Oh, dear, that necklace!" My hand crawls up to my neck.

"Oh, darling, let me hold onto that. We wouldn't want you losing such a...pretty thing, now, would we?"

The girl smiles at me. The curled lips made my stomach churn, but as I glanced into her eyes, I felt reassured. Reaching up, I unclasped the dangling cross and handed it to the Widow. She accepted it between forefinger and thumb, as if lifting a dead mouse.

To my left, Widow Maggie ascended to a silent kitchen. All the walls were painted dark gray and were peeling, casting shadows where the sunlight hit. The girl and I went through a door on my right. It lead down to the basement. She walked without pausing, and I followed close behind. I longed to look into her eyes again. This next hallway was dark, but I was not scared; I was with my friend. The walls were white now, but the trim was black, to match the closed door at the other end. The blank walls screamed of abandonment and made me feel unwelcome. I knew, however, that I was safe. The girl opened the door and curtsied me inside, the pink, bow-shaped clip dipping down as her hair swayed.

“Welcome to the tea party, Elise. Everyone else is already here.”