As the wolf closed in, he brought the blade up to his neck. There was something whispering in the back of his mind that sounded like Emily's voice. The words were hard to hear, but they gave him a negative impression, like she was telling him no.
He tried not to listen. He was too scared. The wolf wasn't far. But maybe he could bleed to death before it got to him. He clutched the handle and dug the blade into his skin.
Purgatory
Noel found himself in pure whiteness. Everywhere he looked he was surrounded by a blank white slate. There were no shadows, no floors, no walls, no ceiling. No end in sight. But he felt himself standing. "Hello?" he asked.
No Echo.
He walked forward, but nothing changed. He felt himself move, but it was as if the world moved with him. He turned around, hoping to find someone behind him. There was no one. No one but him.
He walked endlessly, searching around. His own inner light seemed to dim as he made his aimless journey. "Hello?" he asked again. His voice sounded sadder this time.
And then the realization dawned on him that he was trapped here forever. Just like a ghost in the cottage, he couldn't move beyond this nightmarish location. There was no fire or blistering heat here, but it felt just the same.
Panic engulfed him and he screamed for someone to answer him. He ran and ran and ran, and still, nothing changed.
And then he woke up.
His vision blurred at first, then everything slowly came into focus. He smelled leather and felt that his orientation was off-kilter. Pushing himself up, he found that he was laid across the back seat of a car.
There was a woman sitting in the driver's seat staring at the road. She had curly brown hair and big, thick glasses.
He turned his head and looked out the window and saw the peaceful, snowy landscape whiz by.
"Are you awake?" the woman asked, glancing over her shoulder.
"Yes," Noel said, uncertain of who she was or what was going on. He tried to remember the last thing that happened to him, but he was drawing a blank.
"I found you out in the field," she said. "Just about had a heart attack when I saw you. But I scooped you up and got you into the warmth before you froze."
And then it started to come back to him. He was escaping from the cottage, bounding through the snow, and then he was approached by the wolf. He remembered holding the knife to his throat, but not what came after. He racked his brain, but it wouldn't come to him. What had he done? Had he cut himself? Was any of this real? Was he really in a car being driven away somewhere by a strange and unlikely savior? He couldn't remember.
But his memories from before flooded back to him. He could still smell the pungent smoke from the burning cottage. His father's face standing behind the glass of the back door splashed across his mind like cold water. His memory of his repeating dream he would have night after night of his mother dying in the car wreck came next.
And then he cried. He was so overwhelmed by all of it and how fast everything in his life changed and came crashing down.
"Don't worry," the woman called over her shoulder. "We'll be at the hospital soon. Just grit your teeth through the pain for now."
Noel didn't know what pain she was talking about. But then he looked down and saw that his hand had been crudely bandaged with an old t-shirt.
The cut on his palm. Samantha had done that. It was starting to come back to him now. But what about the knife? Had he done it?
"What happened to the wolf?" Noel asked.
He saw the woman's face scrunch up in the rearview mirror. "Wolf? What wolf?"
"When you found me."
"There wasn't a wolf there," she said with certainty. "Might'a seen some tracks in the snow nearby, but it was just you out there, facedown in it. It's a miracle I got to you in time."
Noel thought about it, trying to solve the puzzle. Then he remembered the photograph of his mother that he took with him when he left. He stuffed his hands in his coat pockets. They were empty. Thinking back, he realized that he forgot to put it in his coat at all. His face turned down in sadness, knowing that he would no longer have a picture to remember his mother by. But he prayed that his memory of her would always remain.
Just before he removed his hands from his pockets, he felt something small and round. His fingers wrapped around it and he pulled it out.
It was a small glass marble with a twist of colors spun inside of it. A reminder that even if it seemed like he was trapped, he was always free.
And then he remembered. When he was about to cut his throat, he heard Emily's voice in the back of his head. He didn't know if it was really her or not, but he hoped it was. She told him not to do it. She told him to drop the knife.
And he had. He remembered dropping it into the snow and watching as the wolf turned away and headed back for the woods. Then he was too tired to go on any farther and he blacked out. He touched his throat now and felt a tiny gash, but the rest of the skin was unbroken.
Noel watched the scenery through the window. A sense of calm came over him and washed away some of the sadness. He didn't know why or how, but suddenly he felt older; more experienced. A long road stretched ahead of the car, but he didn't bother to look at it; he didn't need to. Despite his terrible sadness and loss, he had some satisfaction of right choices made. And so he had no worry of the road ahead at all.
Siege
The pirate ship cut through the bay's dark waters like a hot knife through butter. The bayou stood ahead in the distance, just beyond the channel funneling water from the Mississippi River Delta into Black Bay. And perched upon a cliff next to the channel, the mansion.
The deckhands quietly scampered around the ship, pulling ropes and adjusting the sails. And standing solemnly like a statue amongst them was Gaspar. His eyes narrowed on the luxurious home. Decadent, he thought; ripe for the taking.
He pulled a rough hand across his mouth, wiping the bitter salt of the water across his lips. His hand fell to his chest and yanked on the golden cord around his neck. He pulled the amulet out from under his ragged shirt and overcoat, the thick skin of his thumb running over the emerald set into it. He grunted and slipped it back inside his clothes.
The whole area was quiet; everyone was sleeping. "Steady!" he whispered just loud enough so his crew scampering around him could hear it. They ran like a well-oiled machine as they pulled the large ship into the channel, nestling it up to the back of the mansion's grounds. Gaspar stretched his hand out as if his fingers longed to touch the shore. The land came closer and closer. He stared at the mansion like he could see the treasure through the walls. Like it was beckoning out to him. His eyes narrowed further, his outstretched hand tightening into a claw. The bottom of the boat gently bumped into unseen land below the water's surface. "Drop the anchor!"
The anchor plunged into the water with a mighty splash, sinking to the depths below. The sound was a small aberration in the otherwise quiet night. Nothing stirred or chattered save for the crickets bounding from grass blade to grass blade.
The gangplank slapped against the ground and the pirates stormed off the ship like locusts. Cutlasses were gripped in their filthy hands, their sights collectively set on the mansion above as they climbed up a steep and winding path on the side of the estate, affording them a stealthy approach. When they reached level ground, they hurried around to the front, assuring that the way was clear and that there would be no obstacles.
The face of the mansion was monstrous in the night. Fiery torches were affixed on either side of the entrance, the stone the house was constructed of seeming to stretch so tall that it blended into the sky.
The pirates waited on either side of two mighty and elaborately carved doors. And Gaspar came up the middle, slowly but purposefully marching toward his destiny.
The doors burst inward and splintered wood exploded into the darkened estate. Whoops and startled cries rang out from the bowels of the house by unseen inhabitants. The scallywags rushed in as Gaspar remained in t
he doorway, a glint of fire in his eyes. He knew what he was here for and he would take it. He would take all of it.
A young woman screamed as she came around the corner into the large, marbled entrance hall. The lantern in her hand fell and crashed to the floor. The glass shattered and the flame was snuffed out, leaving her in silhouette. Before her frightened figure could move, a pirate grunted and bared his teeth at her gleefully before cutting her down with his cutlass. She uttered a horrible, guttural cry before crumbling to the floor.
"What's this?!" a man demanded as he shoved open a set of doors at the far end of the hall. As soon as he saw the two dozen invaders, his jaw slackened then he turned and ran. The pirates howled and followed him. Gaspar scanned his eyes across the hall and traced the layout of the mansion in his mind. The wing at the back of the estate: that was where it was. That was where all the treasure was kept.
A young pirate, not quite as degenerate-looking as the others, stopped by Gaspar and grabbed his arm. "Not her!" he pleaded.
Gaspar looked sidelong at him, his lips peeling into a grimace. He just grunted and threw the pirate's hand off him, giving him a reluctant nod.
The young pirate ran off into the mansion after the others. "Not her! Not her!"
The buccaneers split up from each other, swarming through the mansion like some deadly disease in a network of veins. Screams and cries of horror erupted throughout the rooms and halls like small pockets of fireworks. The sounds of their sharpened swords echoed across the bare walls as they rent flesh, cracked marble, and chinked off metalwork. The savage men's bloodthirsty grunts and groans of pent-up longing wailed through the elaborate estate. It was a strange dichotomy, a brutal ballet between the erudite esteem of the inhabitants and the moralless conquest of the have-nots.
A poor soul, fleeing from the chaos, ran right into Gaspar. The man looked up in horror, seeing the grimy face, the diseased teeth, and the wind-blasted and wiry black of his hair and his beard. Gaspar's eyes glowed like burning embers, and the man saw that he may as well have run into the devil himself.
Both of them screamed in unison—the bewildered man in his pajamas in a fit of terror, and Gaspar in a drawn-out cry of rage. He drew his short sword from its sheath and ran the man through. He bent over Gaspar's arm, his eyes going wide and glossy. His blood ran off the tip of the sword sticking out his back and dripped onto the fanciful marble below. Gaspar shoved him back and clanged his sword on a statue of a cherub, splashing some of the blood away.
He strode through the entrance hall to join his shipmates when a large portrait hanging on the wall caught his eye. The painted man sat upright, dressed in an expensive suit, his hands folded neatly in his lap. A slight smile parted his lips.
With a howl, Gaspar lunged forward and sliced at the portrait with his cutlass. The thick canvas peeled apart like a fruit rind, letting out an obnoxious sound. It was music to Gaspar's ears. And with that, he turned and joined the rest of his crew in the slaughter.
When they were done, they all stood in a crowd at the rear of the mansion. The men looked around anxiously. They wanted more; their swords weren't finished tearing limb from limb. But now the mansion was as quiet as a grave.
Gaspar wasn't satisfied either, but knew his conquest would be complete when they fulfilled their true reason in coming: "There!" he bellowed, pointing the tip of his sword at a closed door ahead. His men rushed forward and kicked it down, then flooded inside. The clinking of metal and the creaking of hinges could be heard a few moments later.
"It's here!" a voice cried out.
"Good, good." Gaspar said to the room as he waited outside, the rage making his throat quiver. "On the ship!"
The men ran out of the room two at a time, carrying their spoils. Gaspar supervised as they quickly pilfered all there was to pilfer. The gold flashed by in front of him, glinting and joining with the furious fire swirling in his eyes. He inspected the remains of the treasure room himself, and when every coin was taken, every jewel, bobble and trinket, he left and headed back to the ship.
The distant wail of someone not quite dead could be heard, but Gaspar didn't stop; that didn't matter now. They had what they came for, and now they would be leaving as quickly as they had arrived.
With the treasure loaded up on the ship, they withdrew the gangplank and retrieved the anchor.
"Hard to starboard! Take us out!" Gaspar instructed from the deck of the ship. His crew ran around, pulling ropes and adjusting the sails as he turned the wheel. His hands ached from the slaughter and he took a moment to close his eyes and tilt his head up to the night sky, letting the gentle mist of the bay cover his face. It was refreshing. He felt the water moving beneath them. The ship peacefully cut its way through, waves splashing to either side as gentle as a lullaby.
"Captain!" someone shouted.
Gaspar opened his eyes and his gaze darted back toward the mansion, now small again in the distance. Something looked different about the land sitting next to the mansion at the edge of the cliff. But what it was, he couldn't see. And it was already too late.
Gunpowder exploded, only a soft pop in the distance. They almost might have said it was some other innocuous sound until the mast was ripped apart. A shower of splintered wood rained down on the men as the crow's nest toppled over. The pirate perched up there screamed as he fell to the deck below. More pops in the distance. Explosions rocked the ship as the cannonballs tore it apart. One hit a man squarely in the chest and knocked him into the bay. He hardly made a sound before the water claimed him.
Gaspar squatted down and instinctively drew his cutlass. He scowled at the line of cannons that had been hidden when they approached the estate. Dark figures ran back and forth behind them, loading and firing them.
The glint of the golden treasure loaded aboard filled Gaspar's mind, and suddenly he watched it sink down through his consciousness, just like the boat was sinking into the water.
Some men jumped overboard, trying to flee the bombardment. Others defiantly stayed, attempting to operate the ship and bring it to safety. But it was all too late.
Gaspar stood at the stern of the ship as the front end began to sink into their dark and patient grave. He watched a silhouette standing on a large balcony in the mansion overlooking the bay. The silhouette seemed calm and unmoving, like he was simply enjoying the spectacle. There was a glint of something red in the person's hand, and then it was gone.
Gaspar's teeth gritted together. The ship sank and sank as the water bubbled all around the damaged wood. They were too far from land for any of them to make it back; all of them would die at sea. Gaspar resigned himself to his fate. He reached underneath his shirt and pulled out his amulet, clutching it tightly in his hand.
And then all of them perished.
A Modest Proposal
Three hundred years later, Bridgette sat on her bed reading a romance novel and twirling her chestnut hair. Her chest heaved and she let out a long sigh as she read about a dashing pirate who got washed ashore after an attack and fell in love with the young woman who saved him. She traced her finger along the page, soaking in the words of the particularly sweet passage. The dialogue rolled off the page and off her mind's tongue, making her skin prickle. Her fingers fell on her grandmother's old necklace, and she pulled it away from her chest and played with it as the romance rushed through her.
Just as the handsome pirate was about to profess his love to her, there was a knock on Bridgette's door. She looked up then slipped her bookmark between the pages and clamped the book shut. The door opened and her boyfriend Dawson walked in. He had a rather cheeky smile on his face and his hands were folded together behind his back.
"Hey, handsome," Bridgette said, flashing a smile back at him. She set the book down and got up from her bed, and she wrapped her arms around him in a long overdue hug. "I missed you."
"I missed you too, babe," he said. He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. She wrapped a finger under his chin and guided his mouth to her
s, telling him the cheek wasn't enough. The emotions from the book had flooded through Bridgette and made her swoon.
"What's got you all hot and bothered?" Dawson asked.
"Oh, nothing. I'm just happy to see you."
Dawson looked over her shoulder and saw the book on her bed. "Ah, I can see you still got your rose-colored glasses on."
Bridgette suddenly tugged at his arm. "Come on!" she said. She guided him around her bed to the French doors leading onto her upstairs apartment's narrow balcony. She flung them open and she pulled her boyfriend against the rail as they both gazed at the beautiful blue sky overlooking the edge of their small Texas town. She looked up at the bright sun and squinted. "Isn't it all so romantic?" she swooned.
Dawson shuffled back a step, his body as rigid as a statue compared to her languid and flowing form. "Listen," he said, "I came to see you today because I wanted to..."
"Wanted to what?" she asked, placing her hands on his hips.
His face turned red. "I don't really know how to say this. I thought when I got to this point, it would be, uh... a little easier. But I forgot how I was going to say it."
"Say what?" she encouraged with a smile. She kissed him on the tip of his nose. He started sweating.
"Um... I..." He slipped his hand into his pocket and nervously wrapped his fingers around the engagement ring. "Bridgette... you and I have been going together for quite a while now, and..."
"And there's going to be so much more!" Bridgette cried. "So many things to do! So many adventures to go on." She clasped her left hand into his right and began twirling them around in a tango. "That's what you were going to say, wasn't it?"
"Baby," Dawson said, his lumbering form more like Frankenstein's monster rather than a dancer. "Hold on a minute, this is serious."
"Oh loosen up, baby. You know I'm just teasing you."
Dawson swallowed. "I just... can we go back inside for a moment? There's something I want to ask you."
The Box Set of Hauntings and Horrors Page 37