If Walls Could Talk

Hello again!  So earlier this week I had a huge brain fart and put up my three things instead of doing some flash fiction for y'all.  So today, instead of some groovy Internet links, I'm gonna do a quick short story.

This one came to me when I heard the phrase "If these walls could talk."  It got me thinking, how creepy would that actually be if walls could talk about what has happened?  Yeah, it'd be cool to know some of the history of your home, but let's be honest, I wouldn't want a play-by-play of events probably better left as private.  So here it goes, and I'm giving it apt (and cheesy) title of...


When Walls Talk

Jane wiped her forehead with one dusty hand, taking a deep breath as she surveyed her living room.  After four years of storage while Jane was away for college, her belongings had collected a lot of dust and more rat feces than she cared to admit.

Jane never had much from her parents' house.  An old recliner with faded lime green upholstery sat in the corner with her plywood bookcase full of her old textbooks.  A hand-me-down couch she found at a local yard sale sat directly in front of her twenty inch monster of a television, perfectly placed on plastic storage bins until she could find a suitable entertainment center.

In the kitchen sat a folding card table and two rusty fold-out chairs, her current dining set complete with the stereotypical water rings and stains.  All along the walls were tacked up posters she had accumulated since childhood, as well as a few framed mementos.  Her favorite, prominently displayed above the television, was her bachelor's of arts degree for English.

Jane stacked the plastic bins in the corner, hunger rising in her stomach with a fierce growl.  As she made her way to the Formica-covered kitchen (that she defensively called "retro") she heard a soft rustling and what sounded like a whisper from her bedroom.

Immediately her adrenaline spiked, the world becoming slightly brighter and sharper while the booming of her heart in her ears played like a soundtrack.  Grabbing a knife from her still packed utensils, Jane tiptoed her way towards the bedroom.  Flicking on the light, she saw only her twin bed and plywood dresser.  Clothes had exploded all over the room, a habit Jane had never quite fixed from her youth.

Checking the closet and bathroom, Jane found nothing.  As the adrenaline rush faded she chuckled to herself as she shook her head, retreating to the kitchen for her forgotten snack.

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Hours later when Jane slept, she was jerked from her dreams by another voice.  This one was louder, more gruff, and was coming from her bathroom.  Having no window to the outside, Jane idly assumed it was thin walls.  Getting up to check to be sure, she entered the bathroom, but didn't turn on the light this time.

When he stepped in, a low masculine voice was talking in a steady stream.

"She said yes.  We're going to be married next year, after she finishes nursing school.  No, we don't have the money, but we figure a courthouse wedding with family and a small barbecue would be adequate..."

The voice continued for several minutes before it faded.  Jane was thoroughly confused and half convinced she was still asleep.  The voice had sounded close, not muffled by plaster and insulation, so it couldn't have been the neighbors.  As if on cue, a nasally voice issued from her living room.  She went that way, stepping carefully as another adrenaline rush hit her system.

Was it a trap?  Were burglars distracting her to get in so they could tie her up?  Did they want to kill her, or worse, rape her?  She had not thought to get a weapon and cursed herself silently for it.  Thoughts raced like clouds on a stormy day, trying to think of a way out of her apartment.

Cracking open the door, Jane peered out in the inky blackness, the half moon giving little light through the drawn blinds.  The voice sounded young, like hers, but after a night of drinking and dancing and too many cigarettes.

"Thank you for the ride home.  Can't risk a DUI these days, and cabs are just creepy.  Want to come in for a bit, have a night cap with me?  Oh don't worry, Todd's away on business.  Come on, we can have a bit of fun and no one needs to be any wiser..."

Jane promptly closed the door, her face red.  Were people breaking in mistakenly?  Did they think this was their home?   The sounds in the other room quickly turned to grunts and moans until they too faded.

Jane, beet red, opened the door and went into her living room, turning on every light.  No one had been there.  The door was triple locked and the only sound now was the low howling of the wind.

A chill ran down her spine as a familiar voice then echoed from her bedroom.  It was Jane, earlier that day on the phone to her mother.

"No Mom, everything is fine.  The place is actually in decent condition, if a little outdated.  The neighbors seem nice enough and the area is known as family friendly.  I promise I'll be fine!  It may not be the country like back home, but it is nice.  Yes, I start Monday.  No, I'm teaching tenth graders..."

Rushing into her room and turning on the light, Jane's own voice cut abruptly with the light, like a phone hanging up.  She looked around, now wild-eyed and fearful.  Turning on all of the lights, she examined every nook and cranny of the apartment.  Jane didn't find any electronic equipment or holes in the walls.  Nothing to indicate eavesdroppers or burglars or prank-playing neighbors.

Jane then heard a single voice, from no room in particular but loud none the less.  It was an older man, a sickly rattle present in his speech.

"If these walls could talk, they would have some interesting stories to tell."

And Jane knew, at that moment, that she was not being pranked, or burgled, or even haunted.  Her walls were telling the tale of everyone that had ever lived there.

As Jane promptly began changing her clothes as more voices began talking, overlapping in a cacophony of memories.  She ignored the tales of car accidents, sex games and children's bedtime stories as she packed a small suitcase and rushed to unlock her door.

She was going home, and to hell with this place and all her belongings.  She would get another job and live with her parents until she could find a place that didn't talk.  Jane didn't care much at that point about all the details.  She would work them out later.  All she knew is that no amount of freedom, job security or financial independence could keep her living in a talking apartment.

As she started her car and drove towards the interstate, Jane laughed as she remembered her mom's advice.

"Be careful in the city.  It's old and full of ghosts and tales better left alone.  Keep your head down, your nose clean, and come home if it gets to be too much."

Jane scoffed at the time, but now she knew her mom was right, and she was going home.

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Well there we have it!  Let me know what you think in the comments, and I hope you all have a great weekend!!!