Ocean Township High School - Sandpiper Yearbook (Oakhurst, NJ)

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Jeffrey Fish man '82 As the gray gull soars Upward, his beseeching cry Echoes his lone-ness. Loretha Blank '80 Eternity A lone butterfly Winds its never-ceasing path Among the daisies. Loretha Blank '80 339 Alice Madden '80

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THE HOUSE On a hill above the beach stands the house. It almost has a majestic aura about it, a place of grandeur there on that hill. The iron gate at the end of the driveway stands closed, looking old and rickety from disuse. Once inside the gate, an air of mystery prevails. I can't easily describe it, but I still feel it there around me.'lt hangs heavily, as if pressing down on me. There is a feeling of anticipation; as if I'm waiting for something. For what? I feel as if something has happened here; that perhaps the house is scarred. Yet, what could have caused these scars? I go on climbing further up the hill. The road twists and turns. I fling back branches and briars that seem to fly in my face. Dim sunlight peeks in through the tall tree branches and the trees cast a shadow on the driveway. I reach the garden in front of the house. Brownish-looking weeds and crabgrass have taken the place of a once blooming and green lawn. I walk up the small pathway to the steps of the house, trying to tell myself that this is an old house, that no one has been living here for years. I try to convince myself that nothing here can hurt me. The steps creak as I go up them, and I see that the handrail is now nothing more than a rusty, metal, slanted pole. I open the door. It too is creaky and rickety. I step in- side, and almost as if I were in a horror movie, the door slams shut behind me. I jump, as if that were the proper thing to do. The inside smells musty and damp. I look up and see an old chandelier that had once been shiny and bright. But now it is covered with dust, and I notice that pieces of it are broken off. I hear a noise. I think that it might be a creaky board, and so I go along to the next room. It is empty, and I see that some of the windows are boarded up. Far in a corner I see a door swinging slightly. It makes a funny noise. Not really a creaky sound, but it sounds almost as if someone had just given it a very hard push. I go through the doorway timidIy, wondering if there might be someone waiting for me on the other side. Of course, I think, therets no one there. Then I laugh at myself for being so foolish. I look around and see that this room has only a table in it, and no windows. My eyes ad- just to the darkness . . . and I realize that this must have been a ballroom or banquet hall. Again I glance carefully around, and see that there is another door. There is not only one - but two. I pretend that I am the man in the ring, choosing between the lady and the tiger. I choose the door on my right and walk to it. It opens easily, and I see a very narrow spiral staircase. I figure, why not? and begin to go up it. All of a sudden, I come to yet another door. I open it. It opens onto a wide staircase, and I assume that this must be the main one. Again I decide to investigate, but have the strangest feeling that someone else is present. I turn around, and a portrait in amazingly good condition stares at me. It is the portrait of a man, a man with a white beard and high cheek bones. But I dont notice these. It is the eyes that fascinate me. Something about those eyes make them look real! I laugh at myself again, and go further on up the stairs. Each time I take a step, however, it seems as if someone is there behind me. I glance around and see nothing. I go on, looking at the very worn and red car- peting, until something catches my eye. A spot or a stain that seems to be the wrong shade of red. I bend down to look at it more closely and notice that it looks like blood. I touch it, and realize that the spot is still damp. A chill runs up my spine as I wonder if that is fresh blood. And then, almost as if it was planned, I hear a strange whistling sound, like the wind whipping through the eaves. I go on. I have nothing to be frightened of. I reach the top of the steps and see a door right in front of me. I go up to it, and carefully open it. And there I see the back of a man! I can tell he is an older man, but I know immediately who he is. I am stricken with fear as I realize he is bending over a body, one that is apparently dead. Terror hits me as the man turns around, and then I see his eyes. My legs feel like jelly, my knees shake. I take a step backward as I see him come toward me. I try to blink. I'll wake up. I am only having a nightmare. I feel for the doorknob. I grip it and a wave of relief sweeps over me. I turn around and run. Right down the steps and around the corner until I see the front door. I glance behind me and see the man practically right behind me. I tug at the door with great force, and to my surprise it swings open easily. I charge down the steps and along the walk, not daring to glance behind me. I run all along the driveway again, swinging frantically at branches in my way. I don't stop running until I get to the iron gate, and then I look quickly back. I see him there, that man standing on the porch with the door open behind him. lfeel his eyes looking at me, as I climb hurriedly over the fence. But when once more I look back, he is no longer there. I breathe in deeply and walk slowly down the hill. Wendi Sacks I83 341