by Marla Meyers
Her daughter just waved, and after the front door closed, Stella stared at her meal and decided it really wasn’t worth it. She’d likely be up all night with stomach problems, and she wasn’t all that hungry anyway. Perhaps it was because her sandwich had a few green, fuzzy carpet fibers decorating the bread. But it had felt good to be a rule breaker.
She snickered and set the plate on the table beside the couch and picked up the remote control for the television. She began to channel surf, as her granddaughter, Kristin, called it. Stella paused briefly to watch a man preparing seared ahi tuna before she landed on reruns of The Twilight Zone.
Leaning her head back against the couch, she settled in and pulled the afghan back over her legs. She’d meant to ask Jennifer to help her figure out where the draft was coming in. At certain times of the day, it was cold in the house. Sometimes in the living room or her bedroom, but mostly in the kitchen. The atmospheric way of putting Stella on a diet, she reckoned. She could see her breath in the kitchen sometimes, as if it were forty degrees in the house.
When she looked back at the television, it was back on the man cooking the fish again. She glowered at the remote control next to her on the couch, thinking her leg must have nudged it. But then all of the lights in the entire house went out.
Power outage?
Apparently not, since the chef was still preparing his tuna on TV. But whatever the reason, now the lights were off the way she liked them to be when she watched television.
She picked up the remote control and punched buttons until she was back on The Twilight Zone. The eerie music took her back in time. Alvin had loved this show. She missed her husband, but she didn’t miss the assisted living apartment they’d shared for three years before he died. He’d needed the extra care that Stella hadn’t been able to give him. But Alvin’s life insurance had allowed her to buy her own house. Even if it was cold and had shifty floors. It was hers, and Stella planned to be here until she died. No assisted living facility for her. Jennifer would have to drag Stella from her house feet first.
But then the tubular speaker—Alex, she recalled—lit up, the bright red lights circling the upper rim like it was a rocket preparing for liftoff.
Stella tapped a finger to her lips, remembering that Jennifer said to say Alex to wake up the machine. She hadn’t spoken his name, but maybe something on the television had triggered the thing.
“Go back to sleep,” she said aloud, shaking her head. Jennifer had probably spent her hair money on the contraption. Stella rethought her plans for the night. Since she wasn’t sleepy, she decided to have a little fun with her new toy. “Alex . . .” The red lights came alive. “Who was the fifteenth president of the United States?” Let’s see just how smart you are. She waited.
James Buchanan was the 15th president of the United States from 1857 until 1861. He served just before the American Civil War.
“Ha. You’re pretty good.” Stella decided this might be fun after all. “Alex, how much money did my daughter spend on you?”
Hmm . . . I’m not sure how to answer that.
“Not as smart as you think.” Stella reached for one of the evil pretzels. “But I do love your British accent.”
She tuned back into the show just as a light flickered in the kitchen. She’d only been in the house two months, and she’d never had an electrical problem like this. But she was cozy in the dark and decided to risk the sandwich after all. She took a big bite, savoring the honey wheat bread. She preferred white, but she hadn’t mentioned that to Joan when she asked her neighbor to get bread at the grocery store. It was still much better than the gluten-free stuff Jennifer had stashed in the refrigerator. When The Twilight Zone went to a commercial break, Stella pondered another question to ask Alex. After she finished her bite of sandwich and another chip, she turned to the machine.
“Alex, what time is it in Seattle, Washington?”
The time in Seattle is five-thirty p.m.
Stella smiled as she looked at the clock on her mantel. Alex was correct again. Seattle was two hours earlier than Houston.
“Alex, what year did Elvis Presley die?”
Elvis Presley was born January 8, 1935. He was an American singer-songwriter and actor. He died August 16, 1977.
Stella glanced at the television. The Twilight Zone was back on, but there were fuzzy lines on the screen. Her eyes traveled around her house as she wondered what could be causing the problems. There definitely wasn’t an issue with the air conditioner. She pulled the afghan up to her chest. If she hadn’t been so comfortable, she would have found her way to the thermostat. Just as well that she didn’t fumble around in the dark too much. Another fall, and it might be off to a nursing home.
Shivering, she thought about what else to ask Alex. “Hmm . . . Alex, what is the square root of four hundred and eighty-two?” Not that she cared, but she was curious about Alex’s virtual IQ.
The square root of four hundred and eighty-two is twenty-one, point nine-five.
Stella laughed. This was more entertaining than The Twilight Zone reruns, especially since the screen was fuzzy now.
“Alex, how old are you?”
The red lights spun around the rim.
I am two years old.
“You know a lot for a baby.” Stella’s stomach rumbled a warning. “It was only a few pretzels,” she said as she patted her stomach.
“Alex, let’s play Jeopardy.” She pressed her palms together as she let out an excited gasp. She’d almost forgotten Alex could do that.
The red lights spun. Longer this time. Much longer.
“Alex, did you hear me?”
I heard you loud and clear, woman, and I’m tired of this game. Now, put the television back on the cooking show!
Stella’s lip trembled more than ever as her heart pounded, but with a shaky hand she finally switched the television back to the chef show.
Sample of Snatched
Prologue
Evelyn paced the living room of their new home, her fists clenched at her sides. “I don’t like this house, Charles. I don’t care for it one bit.” She raised her chin and pinched her lips together. “It’s much too big for our needs, especially now that Derrick is gone.”
Derrick had been their houseboy for a while, but he’d just up and vanished one day. That was how it happened sometimes. A soul did a certain amount of penance here on earth following their death. The length of the stay depended on how badly they behaved while alive. Then they were taken from this life and hauled to the next. Evelyn hoped that never happened to her or Charles. It would be dreadful if one of them were taken before the other. Evelyn had slit her wrists to be with Charles.
Her husband sighed. “Well, dearest, we knew Derrick wouldn’t be with us forever. And we had a nice home for a while, which you shouldn’t have burned down.”
Evelyn shrugged as she pushed her lips into a pout. “It was an accident.”
“Now, Love, dousing someone with gasoline and lighting him on fire can hardly be considered an accident.” Charles raised a bushy gray eyebrow. “After Stella had cleared out of that house, I thought we were well on our way to getting rid of the new occupants.”
“The new owners were horrible, and that husband was an unpleasant man. He didn’t treat his wife well, and he just seemed like a worthless human being, in my opinion.”
Charles walked to his wife’s side and latched on to her wrists. “You know what happens when you get upset or excited. Your wounds spew blood everywhere.” Her husband smiled. “I’m sure we will settle in just fine here.”
Evelyn wiggled out of his grasp, walked to the window, and gazed out upon the field that stretched on forever, without another structure in sight. “It’s barren out here. Not a soul for miles.” She turned to him and tapped the toe of her red stiletto. “You’ve relocated me to a farm. Do I look like a farm girl to you?”
Her husband chuckled. “No, dearest, you don’t. You belong in a Victorian mansion, and one day you shall
have such a home. But I have a surprise for you.”
Evelyn gasped, then turned to face her husband as she pressed her palms together. “I love surprises.”
“Yes, Love, I know.” He smiled, looking handsome in his black slacks, white shirt, and burgundy-colored smoking jacket. He’d started wearing the garment after he’d resumed smoking again, deciding the old habit couldn’t hurt him anymore. Charles was considerably older than Evelyn but he didn’t look a day over sixty with his gray hair and neatly groomed beard. Evelyn would have been fifty-five this year, but she’d stopped aging the day she died.
“What is my surprise?” she finally asked, hoping it was a replacement for their houseboy. The lad had cooked, cleaned, and even laid out their bedclothes in the evening. Charles and Evelyn didn’t eat anymore, but she enjoyed the aroma of a meal cooking. It gave their home a warm family feeling.
Her husband pointed to the window. “What is the one thing you told me you wanted, Love? The thing you wanted more than anything in the world?”
Evelyn hung her head as her bottom lip trembled. “You’re being cruel, darling. You know that is something you can’t give me. You couldn’t in our past life, and you surely can’t now.”
Her husband smiled, then pointed to the window. Evelyn slowly turned around and went to the window, fearful her husband was going to disappoint her again. “Oh, bloody hell. It’s that awful realtor woman coming to show the house again.” She shook her head, then looked at the empty space around them. “The only good thing about someone buying this awful place would be the furniture that would come with them. But then we’d have to scare them out of here, and they’d likely take their belongings with them. Or if we kill them, a string of greedy children will come and take everything. It feels like a no-win situation. I don’t understand why I can’t have a furnished house without extra people in it. I just want it to be you and me, Charles. And maybe a maid or butler, but no one else.” She rolled her lip under, expecting him to comfort her, but he smiled again and held his position, pointing back at the window.
Huffing, Evelyn marched back to where she’d been standing and rolled her eyes as the familiar real estate agent eased out of the driver’s seat. Then a young man stepped out of the car, followed by a young woman, presumably his wife, with a bundle in her arms. Evelyn gasped as she brought a hand to her chest, then she ran to her husband and threw her arms around him.
“Oh, darling.” She squeezed tightly as she leaned up and kissed him. “You got me a baby.”
“Of course, Love. You said you wanted one, so I found a way to let this fine young couple know about this house.”
She eased out of the hug and clapped her hands together. “Oh, darling, tell me, is it a boy or a girl?”
“Now, Love. What did you tell me you wanted?” Charles winked at her.
She lifted up on her toes just as blood began spewing from both wrists. She didn’t even try to stop the flow, she just ran to the window and watched a woman with long blonde hair carrying Evelyn’s future child.
“It’s a girl. I wonder what her name is?” The child was bundled in a pink blanket and looked like she couldn’t be more than a few months old.
Charles joined her at the window. “We will know soon enough.”
Acknowledgments
To Come
About the Author
Marissa Dow is back at the farm where she grew up, settling her mother's estate. The last thing she expects to find is a man performing a strange ritual out in the barn. The stranger provides few answers, but they share one passionate night together. A night that will forever change Marissa's life. Her traditional beliefs will not only be challenged, she will gain a new realization that the supernatural forces among us are stronger than we can understand.
Even on her wedding day, Marissa vows to take her secret to her grave, sharing it only with best friend, Becka. It will take years for either of the women to comprehend what happened on that life-changing night. But time brings everything full circle. Time . . . and a child named Tara.