Why mama why?: Difference between revisions

I live in an old three-room flat on the skirts of Chicago. About forty years it stays without repair, wallpapers are peeled off, plaster crumbles, and the stupidity of planning makes me ticked off time and again. The whole story happened partially because of that.

I skipped classes quite often and wore out the seat of my trousers at home, surfing the Internet and playing videogames. I used to sit late. That day mom went to work early in the morning as usual. As for me, I woke up at 2 p.m., turned on the computer, drank a cup of coffee and found out the absence of connection with the Internet because of non-payment. Even this vital necessity couldn’t kick me out of home, and I opened the folder with movies and continued to watch a serial.

 

 

I didn’t discern other features, except for scanty black hair, rather resembling a wig. I didn’t even understand what I was afraid of - the face or that was hiding over 2 meters of the wall and that my imagination visualized. My own wet hair on the back of my neck bristled and I tried to flatten myself against the small bath as hard as I could. I wanted not so much screaming as squealing to ease my fear. But I clenched my teeth that my jaw cramped. I had never felt such supernatural terror. The face looked at somewhere, pass me, as if enchanted with the view that it saw in the opposite “kitchen” window.