Faceless
Listen (3 min) | Short Story | Creative Nonfiction/Horror
She stood in my doorway, staring without eyes.
I wish I could say I had doubts.
It was in my mother’s house—always an unhappy place—where this moment was the natural crescendo to a build of strange occurrences.
I was seventeen. Sitting up in the darkness, broken by an open door and the light beyond, I was angry. Annoyed at being wide awake for no reason. No dreams. No need to relieve myself. Everyone else in the house, asleep.
Rubbing face and eyes, I let my gaze drift to the doorway.
That’s when I saw her.
Standing at attention, she glowed money-green, not solid and not translucent. Her skirt expanded, girded underneath by crinoline, paneled with a darting, geometric pattern. Hair in a bun, close to her head. Facing me without a face.
No wounds. No Halloween-store gashes. Her face was mist, refusing to materialize in favor of clothing detail, but still seeing me. Taking me in.
I felt I’d opened a door to a locked and sealed room and bumped into someone making an exit.
One.
Two.
Three.
That’s when she rushed me. No wailing or hands outstretched. Just aggression. Hurry.
Gasping a prayer, I threw over the blankets and didn’t emerge till morning.
Days and nights followed, but I never saw her again. I thought of her. Wondering. They say the faceless ghosts in the Tower of London appear so because they lost their heads, but decapitation’s never been legal punishment in my hometown.
This is a story from my own life. I’m afraid I can’t offer any explanation beyond what I’ve written here. The entire experience lasted only a few seconds, but it’s etched in my memory.
I have to credit
and his frightening story “Negatives” with giving me the idea to write this down. I suggest you have a look.
The photograph is Woman Seen from the Back, taken by Vicomte Onesipe Aguado de las Marismas in 1862.
hellllllll
Holy cow that’s terrifying.