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MidReal Story
Tempted by My Mom’s Friend
Scenario:I stared at the clock, counting down the seconds until Veronica knocked on the door. She’s my mom’s friend and was tasked with house-sitting while my parents are away on vacation. Apparently, they didn’t trust me to be alone at the house.
Finally, I heard the knock. Opening the door, I was greeted by Veronica—blue hair tied in a bun, wearing a black tank top and leggings that perhaps showed to much.
"Heyyyy! Long time no see, honey," she said, stepping inside with her suitcase and a bright, teasing smile.
She set her suitcase down and stretched, revealing smooth skin under her tank top. "Looks like we’ll be alone together for a while," she added with a wink.
Her gaze shifted toward the backyard. "I heard you have a pool... Maybe I'll let you watch as I swim with my bikini on."
Create my version of this story
Christine Windsor
young adult, relationship with Veronica and parents, petite with curly brown hair, curious and naive
Mateo Windsor
Christine's father and Veronica's friend, relationship with Christine and his wife Nicolette, tall with greying hair, protective and trusting
Veronica Carter
house sitter and friend of Christine's mom, relationship with Christine and her parents, striking blue hair in a bun, seductive and manipulative
My parents are going out of town for a few days.
They're visiting his sister and their family.
I'm not going with them, but I'm not staying here at the house alone either.
I'm going to stay with our friend Veronica.
She's also watching the house and walking the dog my mom and I got last week.
My mom says that she's a totally responsible person.
My dad trusts her completely, so I'm supposed to do the same.
I watch as they pull out of the garage and then head down the driveway.
I wave at them until they disappear at the end of the street.
Then I go back inside and up to my room to finish packing.
A few minutes later, I hear a car pull into the driveway.
I look out the window and see Veronica get out.
She's definitely a unique looking woman.
Her hair is an almost electric blue in color and she has it up in a bun on top of her head.
I zip my duffel bag closed and then take a final look around the room to make sure I haven't forgotten anything important.
I hear the sound of high heels clicking on the front porch.
My heart starts beating faster as I lift the heavy bag up onto my shoulder.
Then I head for the stairs, taking each step one at a time like I'm moving in slow motion.
I can see her through the decorative window on the right side of the front door.
She's standing there, waiting for me to come out.
Her blue hair is still visible even though she's stepped back from the window.
I grip the banister tightly as I make my way down the final steps.
My duffel bag thumps against each stair as I go.
The glass in the window distorts her figure, making her appear blurry and indistinct.
I can see her blue hair and black tank top, but not much else.
My hand hovers over the brass doorknob for a second before I turn it.
The door creaks open, revealing Veronica in sharp detail.
She's wearing a tight fitting tank top that shows off her smooth skin and a pair of black leggings that hug her legs in all the right places.
She's standing with her weight shifted to one hip and a knowing smile on her face.
The evening sun catches her hair just right, making it almost glow.
I hesitate in the doorway, holding my duffel bag against my chest like a shield.
The words get stuck in my throat as her intense gaze sweeps over me.
My fingers fidget with the strap of the bag as I try to think of something to say.
The air is cooling now that the sun has started to set.
It drifts between us and I can smell her sweet perfume.
One of her perfectly shaped eyebrows lifts up as she waits for me to speak.
"You're nervous," she says, her voice smooth and teasing.
"Yeah, well, it's not every day I stay with someone who has a secret room in their house," I reply, trying to sound casual.
Veronica chuckles softly, "Guess it's time you find out what's really behind that door."
She steps forward and grabs the handle of my duffel bag.
I let her take it from me and she slings it over her shoulder with a surprising amount of strength.
Then she turns and walks back toward her car.
I follow behind her, watching the way her hips sway with each step.
We cross the lawn and head for the front door of her house.
The sun is almost completely set now and the sky is painted with hues of pink and orange.
Veronica opens the door and gestures for me to go inside first.
I step into the house, feeling the cool air envelop me.
The entryway is dimly lit, but I can still see the framed photos of exotic places on the wall.
There are also some abstract art pieces that I've never really understood.
Veronica closes the door behind us and then takes my bag off her shoulder.
She sets it on the floor next to her own suitcase. "You can put your stuff upstairs," she says, pointing up the narrow staircase that leads to the second floor.
I nod and start up the stairs, hearing Veronica follow behind me.
The floorboards creak under our feet as we climb higher.
The walls are lined with more abstract art pieces, but I don't recognize any of them.
They're not like anything I've seen before.
When we reach the top of the stairs, I pause in front of a long hallway lined with doors.
Veronica stops beside me, breathing softly as she looks at me with that same knowing smile from earlier.
"Ready to see what's inside?" she asks, reaching into her pocket to pull out a small silver key.
"Depends," I say, trying to keep my voice steady, "are you finally going to tell me why it's locked in the first place?"
Veronica's eyes glint with mischief as she replies, "Let's just say some things are better seen than explained."
She slides the key into the lock, turning it with a soft click that echoes down the hallway.
The heavy wooden door creaks as Veronica pushes it open with a dramatic flourish.
I step back, feeling the air rush past me as it's released from the room.
The hallway is dimly lit, but the room is even darker.
I can't see anything inside as I stand in the doorway.
My fingers trail along the doorframe as I step forward, my eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness.
The air inside is stale and musty, with a faint scent that I don't recognize.
Veronica steps behind me, her warm breath on the back of my neck as she places her hands on my shoulders.
She guides me forward into the room, her touch firm but gentle.
My shoes sink into thick carpet as we move deeper into the room.
When I stop, Veronica reaches past me to flip a switch on the wall.
A dim light flickers to life, casting long shadows across the room.
"Welcome to my little sanctuary," she whispers, her voice barely above a breath.
I glance around, eyes widening as I take in the walls lined with photographs of people I've never seen before.
There are dozens of them, arranged in a collage that stretches from floor to ceiling.
Some show people laughing or smiling, while others are crying or screaming.
Each photo is intimate and detailed, capturing every expression and emotion.
I scan the walls, taking it all in.
Veronica's hands are still on my shoulders, her thumbs making small circles that send shivers down my spine.
My gaze falls on one particular photo—a woman with brown curls similar to mine.
Her expression is frozen in what looks like fear.
I step forward, reaching out a hand to touch the edge of the frame.
Veronica's grip on my shoulders tightens slightly as she murmurs, "Each photo tells a story."
She reaches past me to trace the edge of the crying woman's portrait.
"Some stories are still unfolding."
I lower my hand from the photo of the crying woman and turn to face Veronica in the dim light.
Her fingers still grip my shoulders as she steps closer, pressing against my back.
She reaches past me again to trace the edge of another photograph—this one showing a young woman with a terrified expression.
"Each picture captures a moment of truth," she murmurs, her breath warm against my ear.
"When people show their real selves."
Her hand slides down my arm as she guides me toward a blank space on the wall.
"Soon, your story will be here too."
I pull away slightly, my voice barely steady as I ask, "What do you mean, my story?"
Veronica's eyes meet mine, her smile both reassuring and unsettling. "Everyone who steps into this room leaves a part of themselves behind."
She gestures to the empty spot on the wall. "It's your turn to reveal your truth."
I step back from her grasp, my heel bumping into a small table near the wall.
A camera teeters on the edge of the table, falling toward the floor.
I catch it before it hits the ground, feeling the solid weight of it in my hands.
The camera feels professional-grade, with buttons and dials along the side.
Veronica steps closer, reaching to take it from me.
She inspects it quickly, then turns it on.
The display screen flickers to life, illuminating Veronica's face in the dim room.
She scrolls through saved photos, and I realize they're the same portraits hanging on the walls.
My throat tightens as I recognize the crying woman's photo on the screen again.
Veronica's voice is soft, almost tender, as she says, "This camera has captured every soul that's passed through here."
I swallow hard, trying to keep my voice steady. "And what happens if I refuse to be part of your collection?"
Her eyes lock onto mine, a hint of challenge in her gaze. "Then you leave without ever knowing the truth you came here to find."
I grip the camera tightly, my hands trembling slightly as Veronica circles behind me.
Her fingertips trail across my shoulders, sending a shiver down my spine.
The dim lighting casts strange shadows on the photographed faces surrounding us.
I try to set the camera back on the table, but Veronica's hand stops me.
She guides my fingers to the buttons and dials along the side of the camera.
Through the viewfinder, I see my own reflection in a dusty mirror on the far wall.
My curly hair looks wild and untamed, and my eyes are wide with uncertainty.
As I stare at my reflection, I hear footsteps coming from the darkened corner of the room.
Veronica's voice is a whisper, almost lost in the shadows. "You weren't the first to ask that question."
A figure emerges from the darkness, a man with familiar brown curls and eyes that mirror my own.
He steps into the light, his voice steady as he says, "And you won't be the last to find out why."
I grip the camera tightly, studying the man's features in the dim light.
He shares the same curly brown hair and dark eyes as me, but his face holds a haunting calmness that I don't understand.
I take a hesitant step forward, the creaking floorboards echoing through the room.
Veronica's hands slide off my shoulders as she moves to stand beside the man.
The dim light casts shadows across their faces as they watch me intently.
When I open my mouth to speak, the man raises his hand, silencing me.
His voice is calm, yet carries an urgency that demands attention. "Before you ask, know that the truth isn't always what you expect."
Veronica nods, her eyes never leaving mine. "It's time you see the part of yourself you've been avoiding."
The man steps closer, his gaze unwavering. "Are you ready to face it?"
I grip the camera tightly, my heart pounding in my chest.
The air feels heavy with anticipation as I wait for Veronica's response.
But before she can answer, a woman emerges from the shadows, her footsteps soft on the carpet.
Her long brown hair falls around her shoulders like a curtain, and her eyes are kind as she approaches me.
She raises her hands, palms up, to show she means no harm.
As she reaches for the camera, I instinctively pull back.
The woman stops in her tracks, sharing a look with the man who shares my features.
Then, she speaks in a voice that's both gentle and firm.
"I once stood where you are now. Holding that same camera. Discovering truths I never knew."
Her words are like a gentle breeze that rustles through the room, carrying with them a sense of understanding and empathy.
Despite my fear, I find myself lowering the camera, drawn to her words like a moth to flame.
The woman smiles softly, her eyes meeting mine with a knowing look, as she says, "It's your turn to decide what you do with the truth."
I grip the camera tightly, my eyes fixed on the woman with brown hair as she extends her hand toward me.
The dim light casts shadows across her face, accentuating the tears that glisten in her eyes.
My feet move forward, seemingly of their own accord, drawn by some magnetic pull I can't explain.
The creaky floorboards beneath my feet echo through the room, a haunting reminder of the secrets that lie within these walls.
Behind the woman, the man who shares my features stands perfectly still, his gaze unwavering as he watches me approach.
Veronica remains by the wall of photos, her blue hair blending into the shadows as she observes our encounter.
The camera feels heavier with each step I take, as if it holds the weight of a thousand untold stories.
When I finally reach the woman's outstretched hand, our fingers brush against each other, sending a shiver down my spine.
I extend the camera toward her, my hands trembling slightly as I relinquish my grip.
She takes it gently, her fingers enveloping mine for a moment before releasing them.
The man behind her nods slowly, his curls shifting in the dim light.
As the woman checks the settings on the camera, her movements are precise and practiced, as if she has done this countless times before.
The display screen flickers to life, casting a blue glow across her tear-stained face.
She raises the camera to her eye, pointing it at the blank wall space where Veronica said my photo would go.
But instead of taking my picture, she turns and captures an image of the man who shares my features.
The flash illuminates the room, revealing a truth I never expected to see.
I stand rooted in place, the flash fading from my vision.
The woman lowers the camera, her eyes filled with tears as she gazes at the digital display.
The photo appears, but something feels off.
The man's features seem to blur and shift, as if they're not quite fixed in place.
Veronica's hand brushes against mine, making me jump.
She steps closer, her blue hair glowing in the dim light.
"There's something more to this than you think," she whispers, her fingers intertwining with mine as she guides my hand toward the camera's screen.
The image continues to transform, revealing a face that looks eerily familiar.
And then, it hits me - I've seen this face before.
In dreams and fragmented memories, hidden deep within the recesses of my mind.
I clutch the camera screen, my fingers trembling as I stare at the shifting image.
The man's features settle into a face I haven't seen in fifteen years - my brother Marcus, who vanished when I was just five years old.
The crying woman's hand extends toward me, holding out a worn photograph from her pocket.
It's an old Polaroid, one that shows young Marcus and me playing in our backyard.
I glance between the faded photo and the man standing before me, my mind struggling to accept what I've long refused to believe.
His dark curls and eyes mirror my own, a resemblance so undeniable that it shakes me to my core.
When I try to speak, my voice catches in my throat.