Night Terrors Vol. 8: Short Horror Stories Anthology

The Windman

By Nika Župan

When I was young, we lived in this old red-brick house. It belonged to my grandparents, but my granddad invited my family to move in once my grandmother passed. We were a family of six: Mom, Dad, my big sister, me, and my little twin sisters. We lived in an apartment in the city, but as we grew, our living arrangement seemed to be getting smaller day by day. And besides, we loved our grandparents’ house. It was old but cozy and it had a big backyard with an orchard. My sisters and I used to climb the trees every day to pick apples and cherries. The house itself was spacious, too. Rooms had stone walls painted white and high ceilings that made us feel so small. It also had a large but very dusty attic where we used to play for hours. Our grandparents stored way too many things, so to us, it was like a treasure hunt every time we got up there.

I was six when we moved to my granddad’s house. Mom and Dad took my grandparents’ bedroom since Granddad didn’t sleep there anymore once grandma passed. He slept in his study ever since then and said he was fine staying put.

The house also had two spare rooms. The twins took one room, while my sister and I were supposed to take the other room. My sister was about to turn ten and made a huge deal about sharing a room with a boy. She threw temper tantrums every day, but my parents kept repeating that right now, she doesn’t have a choice. We sold our old place and moved to the house in the springtime. And even though my sister wasn’t particularly happy about sharing a room with me, we settled in nicely. The house quickly felt like our home, and soon, we forgot about the small apartment in the city. We were very happy.

For my sister’s tenth birthday, my granddad decided to make her even happier. For her birthday gift, he offered her his room and said he would move to the attic. My sister was ecstatic. She hugged him so tightly, he joked that his bones could crack. My parents weren’t too pleased with his decision as they didn’t want Granddad to walk so many stairs every day, but they still went along with it.

Before his retirement, my granddad was a contractor, so with Dad’s help, they shortly had a plan on how to renew the place. But then, almost immediately, they hit a problem. My granddad didn’t want to get rid of the junk from the attic. To him, it was precious and priceless. After some arguing, they concluded that the attic was big enough to make a huge room for Granddad to stay in, one small bathroom so he wouldn’t have to walk downstairs at night, and one big room for his storage. He still had to get rid of about half his clutter, but both Dad and Granddad felt good about their decision.

Following the initial setback, they started to fix the attic. Everything went according to plan, and the place was ready in a few months. It was amazing what they did in so little time. Granddad’s room was made entirely from oak wood, which gave it a rich aesthetic. Large windows let rays of sunshine inside, and that made the room bright and open.

Mom and Dad bought him new furniture, but he still insisted on his favorite pieces to be moved from his study. That included his old sofa chair, from which he told his many stories over the years, his mahogany table that he made himself when he was younger, and his extensive collection of plants. Most of his favorites didn’t go with his new room. Still, my granddad kept repeating that a person should always prioritize sentiment over style. He insisted that the storage room was always locked and for him to be the only owner of its key. My sisters and I were a little sad we couldn’t go treasure hunting anymore, but we weren’t too upset because his room had plenty of exciting items, too.

After he relocated up into the attic and my sister settled in her new room, we were even more blissful. Granddad looked after us when our parents were at work or busy. He took us to the woods, where we helped feed deer and explored nature. We helped water his plants and played in the orchard. He also took us to the city to see our friends anytime we asked him. But what we loved most was listening to his stories. He sat in his sitting chair, and we gathered around him on the floor to listen. He told us all sorts of tales from the classics like Little Red Riding Hood to the ones he entirely made up. The most requested stories were about the Windman. They weren’t exactly stories but short rhymes that Granddad made up:

The Windman comes,

When the wind blows.

Once you see him,

You are his—

And he is yours.

The rhymes were always different but ended on the same note. It made us crazy.