by Karen Glista
“Oh, for real.”
“Now, help me get these groceries inside and I could use your help to get this meal prepared. Carson and Frankie will be back soon from their hiking trip and they missed lunch. They’ll be starved.
“You got it!”
Ghost
Once the pantry shelves, which had been so thick with dust that Donja and her mother used an entire bottle of Mr. Clean, were spick-and-span, Donja put the groceries away. She then explored the huge kitchen with double aisles of white cupboards adorned by etched glass doors. The countertops were thick and crafted from solid wood which was heavily stained. The entire room reeked of age.
Donja ran her hands over the countertop. “These are awful.”
Lisa frowned. “I’ll bleach them out, but they’ll have to do for the time being. The upstairs, for you girls, is our main priority.”
“Thanks Mom.” She raised her hands and sniffed. “Phew! I think I’ll go upstairs and get cleaned up before we cook. The smell of Mr. Clean is not very appetizing.”
Lisa laughed. “Go ahead and take the bed pillows I bought for you and Makayla, they’re on the sofa.”
In the living room, where shadows from the oil lamps danced with demonic fingers, Donja found the plastic covered pillows. She scooped them up and headed for the door, the ancient floors creaking. She glanced back, all but certain someone was watching from the dining room. She stared. Nothing. She took a breath.
I’ll be glad when they install regular lighting, these oil lamps are too creepy.
Balancing the pillows, Donja sashayed down the hallway. She found the wide spiraling staircase with dark, well-worn runes which supported an ornate bannister. She slowly climbed, peering over the four pillows in her arms as the mournful creak of the wooden stairs echoed. Finding the landing, she set a brisk clip in the dimly lighted hallway adorned by antique lamps with diaphanous shades. She looked over her shoulder at Frankie’s bedroom door at the end of shadowed hall, then turned and picked up her pace. She passed the master bedroom, the door ajar, and spied unpacked boxes stacked against one wall. Something creaked and she looked over her shoulder. Seeing nothing, she moved on.
Outside the bathroom she laid the pillows on the hall rug. She pushed her hair behind her ears and gazed nervously left then right. That same eerie feeling washed over her. She shivered, then grasped the brass knob. The door creaked miserably as she stepped inside and locked it. She pivoted, then pressed her back to the door. The room was untidy and reeked of mold, dirty laundry and something else, something medicinal.
“Whew!”
She glanced about, evening sunlight stealing past the solitary window where dust particles danced to some unheard melody. She scanned the perimeter and noticed a spider web in the bear claw bathtub. She edged to the lavatory which was an ancient monstrosity of white porcelain with two black chips. Directly to the side where the floor looked warped and uneven, she saw a huge commode which rose from the floor with a coiled base that put her in mind of sea shell. She turned on the water and soaped her hands. A glance to the mirror with black splotchy stains on the edges revealed her shadowed eyes, which for the time of day looked pretty good. She dried her hands, then curious, opened the medicine cabinet which was filled with cork-topped apothecary flasks, Ben Gay and empty aspirin bottles. The dreadful odor wafting from the cabinet smelled so toxic that she closed the door with a snap. She turned away from the mirror as an eerie disquiet found her and try as she may, she couldn’t assuage the feeling that she was not alone.
She took her leave, grabbed the pillows from the floor and walked the hallway with her black ankle boots tapping in unison. Nearing her bedroom, she noticed a faint shimmer of light from beneath the door. She grasped the knob and with her foot, pushed the door which begrudgingly squeaked open. She stepped inside, and peering from behind the pillows saw Makayla and Heather sitting on Makayla’s bed. They were deep in conversation. Makayla stood up and the room fell deadly still. Donja headed for her bed and dropped the pillows. With a stealthy glance, which found Makayla and Heather staring, she offered up a smile as best she could, grabbed two of the pillows and cut the distance between herself and Makayla. “Mom said these are for you.”
“Thanks,” Makayla whispered as she took them, avoiding eye contact.
Heather stood up and put her phone in her purse. “My mom should be here any minute to pick me up.” She gave Donja a quick once over, then flipped her waist length, chestnut hair.
Donja turned away. Heather was not only glitzy, but the damn girl reeked of money with diamond stud earrings and a diamond necklace so bright it would blind you. Her spiked heels were so high that Donja wondered how she could walk in that tight, blue miniskirt and that sequined halter top beneath her waist length jacket was so low cut it was sinful.
“I’ll walk you down,” Makayla said.
Donja bit at her lip.
Yeah get going, you little rich girls. Cinderella’s ashes might rub off on you!
Donja watched as they took their leave and just before the door closed, she heard Heather say, “this house is totally creepy.”
Donja ripped the plastic covers off her pillows. She tossed them on her bed which looked like something from the Middle Ages. It was huge with an eight-foot headboard carved with lion heads and ornate swirls. She scanned the room’s sixteen-foot ceilings and papered walls, the smell of moth balls all but forcing a sneeze. She sighed heavily, then tucked her hair behind one ear and for the second time in as much as an hour, felt as if she were being watched. The nape of her neck prickled.
“Are you here, Lady of the Manor?” she whispered with her eyes darting about the room.
Silence.
“Are you really a ghost?”
Wind from the open window tossed the lace curtains. Donja jumped, then catching herself, hugged her arms to her chest.
This place is horrible!
She turned, arranged the pillows on her bed then reached out and touched the ornate headboard.
Lion heads on the steps, brass knocker, the mantel, the entry gate, the bannisters and the furniture. What’s up with that?
Something creaked, God knows what, possibly the house settling, who knows but it frayed her last nerve. She rushed for the door. In the hallway she hurried past twisted shadows which she now feared weren’t shadows at all. She bolted down the stairs and felt a bit of relief as she reached her destination, for the kitchen was bright with light, the smell of garlic and Parmesan enticing. She was surprised to see Makayla leaning on the countertop talking with her mom, who was busy at the stove. She approached with jaundiced caution.
“Makayla’s a little unnerved by the house,” Lisa said.
“I can see why,” Donja said, her expression guarded. “It’s grim and dark with shadows that seem to touch you and I have to tell you I could all but feel a spirit in that upstairs bathroom.”
“You too?” Makayla said with eyes that grew into saucers. “I thought it was just me.”
“Okay, you two, let’s don’t let our imaginations run away with us,” Lisa chimed in. “The house is just old, but the workers will be here tomorrow and before you know it, this place will be beautiful. I promise.”
Makayla pushed her blonde locks behind her ear, perfectly arched brows topping her sky blue eyes. “Well to be honest, I’m relieved to have Donja sleeping in the room with me. I’m not sure I could handle it alone.”
“Ditto,” Donja said, before thinking, surprised by Makayla’s disclosure.
Carson and Frankie came barreling in, Frankie’s locks falling across one eye.
“Mom, we have woodchucks?” He gushed, brushing his hair back from his face.
Lisa spiked her brows. “Outside I hope.”
Everyone laughed.
“Is dinner ready?” Carson asked. “My little buddy and I are starved.”
“Yeah, Mom, we’re starved,” Frankie laughed and Donja noticed he was mimicking Carson’s stance with a sense of admiration in his eyes. She felt herself
soften.
Carson extended his hand and tussled Frankie’s locks. “This tough guy and I hiked the trails down the river; they’re actually well groomed. You guys have to see the views, they’re spectacular.”
Lisa kissed Carson’s cheek, then Frankie’s. “After dinner, why don’t we all go?”
“I need to unpack,” Makayla said, avoiding eye contact.
“Yeah, me too,” Donja said. “Maybe later.”
“Alright, you girls can do the dishes and I’ll join the guys.”
“Donja and Makayla shared a look.
“Sounds good,” Makayla smiled.
“Then it’s settled,” Lisa replied. “Carson, you and Frankie get washed up. Dinner’s served.”
After a rather nice meal of lasagna and piping hot garlic bread followed by a store-bought apple pie, Lisa, Carson, Frankie and Maestro took their leave.
Donja started picking up the plates. “Wash or dry?”
“I’ve never done dishes,” Makayla said with a sheepish look.
“Never?” Donja smirked. “How’d you pull that off?”
“We always had a housekeeper and she did everything.”
“Wow!”
“Don’t worry, it can’t be that hard,” Makayla blinked as if trying to convince herself. “I mean, I’ve seen it done.”
Donja simpered. “I’ll wash, no worries, but I do hope that Carson gets the dishwasher installed soon.”
“Yeah, me too.”
Standing side by side at the sink, Donja felt a little uncomfortable.
Makayla’s cell phone went off.
“Get it if you need to.”
“No, it’s okay,” Makayla said. “I’m sure it’s Heather. She’s pretty upset and I really think it best if I stay out of it.”
“Hmm, you sure?”
Makayla flashed her baby blues. “Her parents sold her Porsche this morning and she’s not happy.”
“Why would they do that?”
“No choice,” Makayla shrugged. “They’re moving back to London and they’ve enrolled her in a prep school.”
“Oh, that’s too bad.”
“Yeah, we’ve been friends since ninth grade.”
“Believe me, I understand. I’m gonna miss my friends.”
“I bet. It must be tough to move so far away.”
Donja was amazed that she sounded sincere. “Yeah, it is.”
Makayla’s phone, which had a ring tone of ‘Sign of the Times,’ by Harry Styles, went off again.
“Why don’t you get it?” Donja said. “I can finish up.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I don’t know Heather, but if she’s feeling what I’ve been feeling, I feel bad for her.”
Makayla dried her hands on the dishtowel and took the call, leaning against the countertop.
“Yeah, sorry,” she said with the phone to her ear, “I was helping Donja with the dishes.”
“Don’t be crude, I can do dishes and anyway, it’s actually going well.”
Donja listened, she couldn’t help but hear, she was right next to her.
“No, not as bad as I thought it would be,” Makayla said with a stealthy look which Donja didn’t fail to notice.
“Just let it go, Heather. Sometimes we just have to go with the flow.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Makayla questioned with a concerned glare.
Silence.
“No, I can’t, not tonight, I need to unpack, but tomorrow night would be good.”
Donja noticed Makayla roll her eyes, listening to whatever Heather was spewing. “Well don’t drink too much and get Becky to go with you.”
Silence.
Donja pulled the plunger and the sink made a sucking noise as the water disappeared. She dried her hands and noticed her fingers were wrinkled like a prune.
“No worries, just give me a call tomorrow after the reunion.” Makayla whispered.
Silence.
“You too,” Makayla said as she ended the call.
“She’s hurting, huh?” Donja asked.
“Yeah, really bad and she has to attend this huge family reunion tomorrow.”
Donja raised a single brow. “Hmm, not sure if that’s good or bad.”
“Both, but she’s going out tonight with Becky, a friend of ours, which should lift her spirits. Tomorrow night we’re stepping out for some party time. You should join us. Saturday nights in the big Soo, are wild.”
“The big Soo?”
“Ontario Soo, the big one across the border.”
“Right,” Donja said, “my Mom told me that.”
“It’s gonna be fun, you really should come. It will be Heather’s last night before they move.”
Donja dropped her head as Kevin flashed in her head.
Hope it’s better than my going away party.
Donja raised her head and realized Makayla was waiting on an answer. “Hmm, I’m not sure. Could I think about that?”
“Absolutely.”
An awkward silence settled between them.
“Why don’t we go upstairs and get unpacked?” Makayla blurted.
“Sounds good,” Donja said as she grabbed her phone and checked it. “Ahhh, I have a text from Debbie wanting to know how things are going.”
“Is that your friend that was at the wedding?”
“Yeah.”
“Miss her?”
“Bad,” Donja said, her fingers flying over the phone. Finished with the text, she joined Makayla and side by side, they sauntered toward the stairs. From within the living room, a grandfather clock which Donja didn’t even realize existed, chimed. They both flinched.
“Holy crap!” Makayla shrieked.
“Do you think we should fetch garlic and holy water before we go up there?” Donja asked staring up the gloomy stairs.
“Might not be a bad idea,” Makayla whispered as if fearful something or someone might hear. “Is this not the spookiest old house you’ve ever seen?”
“Absolutely,” Donja said, “and I’m glad to have you with me. This would be pretty unnerving on my own.”
“I agree,” Makayla said as they took to the stairs. “I’m glad to have you, too.”
A smile played on Donja’s face and in that moment, she felt a weight lifted from her soul, for in Makayla’s eyes she saw what looked like truth. She took a deep breath, climbing the stairs and a bit of hope flowed through her.
Crossed Paths
Cruising down Huron Street beneath the shimmering glow of street lights, Torin slowed his Ferrari to a crawl eyeing the bustling city of the Ontario Soo. He braked as a group of young females oblivious to the dangers took to the streets in spiked heels with miniskirts, cell phones to their ears. He eased forward and at the light, watched as others, male and female alike crowded the busy intersection. Torin scrutinized them especially the males, but none looked out of sort, just typical teens intent on a night of dancing, drinks and fun.
The light changed to green and he took a sharp right, parallel parked and got out. He hit the lock on the remote then headed for the sidewalk where two females stood chatting. They gave him the once over. “Nice car!” One of them called out. “How about a ride?”
“Thanks,” he said, but kept walking despite the look in her eyes which he could read like a book, not to mention her heartbeat which had increased dramatically. He hurried on, no time for females, not that there ever was, he had a job to do, a heartfelt promise to uphold.
Navigating the crowds, he noticed a line of bodies that spanned half a block, waiting for entry to ‘Observers,’ one of the more popular night spots in the Soo.
He waited in line, taking in and filtering the scent of every male within a hundred feet, a few females too, especially the plump raven-haired beauty four bodies to his rear who reeked of menstrual blood. He instinctively slid his tongue over the front of his teeth then forced himself to look away.
Must feed soon.
Inside the club, the music was so loud th
at he instantly felt the bass tones thumping in his head. The disco was packed, as much as any time he could remember, strobe lights swirling, and on the dance floor, a smoke machine belching out thick silver fog. He took a moment, scanning the bodies lost in rhythmic dance, arms high, some grinding, with one couple gyrating their hips seductively. He moved on, the cacophony of music, voices and the occasional seductive simper by the D.J. on the intercom—maddening. He scanned the establishment testing the air.
Come on, chance your luck you no good, murdering bastard.
A couple, arm in arm bumped into him from the side, already intoxicated. He stepped back, searching for a seat, but the tables were packed, the night in full swing. The music settled upon him, the D.J.’s husky voice piping, “Get it on, baby!” A girl with platinum tresses and a mini skirt so short that it was immoral, moved in eyeing him up and down. He moved on for that was the last thing he needed. A fucking killer was at hand, a sadist, a blood sucking Iridescent psychopath. Hell, he might at this very minute have his eyes on victim number four. Torin took in air, his chest expanding.
Are you here?
A scantily clad waitress in fishnet stockings with black pumps and a spandex mini buzzed past him working the group, a tray full of drinks over her head. He caught the scent of rum and coke, tequila and grenadine. He licked his dry lips and turned, meandering through the crowd.
Nearing the bar, which dominated an entire wall, he noticed his reflection in the mirrored collage of bodies and his face was taunt.
Stressed to hell and back. Gotta catch this monster, get the Council off my ass.
He exhaled and relaxed his jaw then eased in to the packed bar. The bartender, a shirtless, steroid induced freak with numerous facial piercings, tattoos and a blonde buzzed head leaned toward him. “What’ll it be?”
“Spritzer with lime.”
Sipping his drink, Torin mingled with the crowd from the tables to the dance floor, scanning the faces, taking in every scent. He moved to the back corner, approaching the V.I.P. section which was an elevated arena overlooking the mayhem below. He took in air, his lungs expanding. Nothing.
Dismayed, he finished his drink, dived into the sea of bodies and tread a path into the hallway where the men’s bathrooms occupied the left and women’s the right. The middle of the sixteen-foot aisle had leather ottomans which were packed with mostly females laughing and talking, some texting. Down the wall he noticed males, sipping drinks, loners, eyeing the females, wolves, hoping to find easy prey. Torin noticed lust shimmering behind their eyes and he caught the scent of arousal. He walked the entirety of the hallway and then went into the bathroom to relieve himself. He inhaled, sorting the different scents of men inside the stalls while washing his hands, nothing.