Harris

by Sarah J DiFalco

  Harris felt a lump in her throat. She could feel a light inside of her. Maybe this was working. Maybe this will keep the spirits away from her. Harris closed her eyes, and let God work his magic on her soul. She thought to herself, over the voice of Father Griffin, please God, help me.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The Bible sat on the nightstand near Harris. She had been aimlessly flipping open to pages and reading verses. It had to be helping. She had prayed. She looked up prayers, she made up her own, and she just prayed to talk to God.

  "I don't know," Harris looked over at Dylan, who was laying in bed next to her, reading a book. "I'm really trying, but this stuff is so not me. The stories, the language, the whole thing, it just doesn't make sense."

  "The Bible? Are you saying The Bible doesn't make sense? You are critiquing the most important religious text in most all of Christianity, especially Catholicism? Harris, you are reading it to cleanse your soul of evil spirits and demons. I mean, how nonsensical is The Bible compared to your actual life?" Dylan looked at Harris and chuckled.

  "Yeah, you're right. I'm not reading for enjoyment, after all. Jesus turning water into wine is actually more believable than a long haired ghost trying to strangle me in my bathroom," Harris replied.

  "Exactly. Wait, what?" Dylan did a double take.

  "Okay. Goodnight babe. That's enough of The Good Book for this spooky gal," she said to Dylan, then kissed him on the cheek and turned over to sleep.

  He shook his head and closed his book, too. "Night chickie."

  * * *

  Harris had to rub the sleep from her eyes four times before she could believe it was morning. How had nothing happened? Everything was getting worse and now, nothing. It must have worked. She ran downstairs to tell Dylan.

  "Babe! Babe, it worked. I slept the whole night without one visit in my dreams or in real life. Do you think Father Griffin was the key?" Harris was calling out as she made her way down the stairs and into the kitchen.

  Dylan wasn't there. That was weird. She was sure he had taken off of work. He told her last night. Where would he have gone? Maybe they called him in, she thought.

  Harris shrugged and made her morning coffee. Taking her coffee into the living room, she pulled up the news on her phone. The coffee warmed her belly and woke her up after her first truly restful sleep in ages. She was grinning at her phone, optimistic at the potential of a normal life.

  A shadow darted across the floor.

  "It's a mouse," she said aloud. She would not let something break her spirits, or her belief that Father Griffin had finally freed her. She scrolled to the next news story, ignoring the distraction. Out of the corner of her eye, a distorted face looked out from the framed mirror hanging in the hall. Should she look?

  "Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name," Harris recited a piece of prayer she had memorized. Then she looked up. The mirror was empty, reflecting the wall across from it. This was working. Maybe religion had saved her from this curse. Maybe. Back to her phone, she scrolled through more news.

  The front door opened. Harris hesitated. Reproaching herself, she put her head up and marched over to the front door.

  "Hey Dylan, how was your morning?" She called out as she approached the foyer. She turned the corner to see Dylan hanging up his coat by the door.

  "Hey babe," he said with a smile. "It was good. Sorry I ran out on you. I thought I'd pick up something to make for breakfast, but then I got sidetracked and just bought a bunch of groceries." He turned and scooped up two big paper bags filled with food and walked to the kitchen. Harris followed.

  "No problem. I have to tell you, I slept like a baby. I think it worked. No dreams, no ghosts, no scary business. Can you believe it?" Harris decided to omit the tiny occurrences this morning. They could have been nothing, after all. She didn't want to worry him.

  Dylan stopped unloading the bags to sweep Harris up and spin her around. He kissed her hard. "That is wonderful news. I knew Father Griffin could help you. Maybe we should start going to church." He winked at her.

  "Let's not get carried away," Harris said playfully, grabbing some cereal to put away, smirking at Dylan. She opened the cabinet to see a lock of dark hair fall down, hanging from the shelf. She yelped, slamming the cabinet shut and losing her grip on the cereal box.

  "Harris, what's wrong? Are you okay? Oh no, don't tell me you saw something. Damn I thought it worked."

  Harris could see the disappointment on Dylan's face. She didn't want to let him down. Her haunting had become a burden to him, dragging him to hospitals, churches, causing him to worry endlessly for her. She couldn't tell him.

  "No, no it was nothing. I might have seen a mouse. I think I saw one in the living room this morning, too." She turned and smiled. "I'm fine. Well, except I hate mice." Harris giggled.

  "Crap. No big deal. I will pick up traps tonight." Dylan walked over and kissed Harris on the head.

  * * *

  Dylan diligently set out the traps before bed. Harris smiled at him every time he passed by her, showing a thumbs-up. Harris read another verse out of her bible, praying that it really was mice, and not her hauntings. Her lips quivered at the thought.

  "What's wrong?" Dylan notice her down-turned mouth and sat near her on the bed.

  "Huh? Oh nothing. I'm just bored to death trying to read more verses. This book is depressing," Harris joked, trying to cover her anxiety. Dylan took the book away and set it on her nightstand. He kissed her softly. She laid back in bed as Dylan leaned over her, pressing his weight on her, kissing her neck. Harris forgot all about the verses, the mice, and the ghosts.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The bedroom was dark. Darker than usual. It was the total silence and darkness that woke Harris up from her sleep. She opened her eyes, but without any light, she had nothing to focus on besides the black empty. She felt around. She felt the blankets, her bed, Dylan sleeping quietly beside her. She felt his back. His skin was warm. His back expanded with each breath. He was a safe feeling for Harris.

  Both alarm clock displays were off. The nightlight switch in the hallway was also off. The power must have gone out, Harris thought to herself. The blackness was almost less scary than the typical darkness of her house. She liked that she couldn't see anything to be afraid of. She laid down to go back to sleep, but her eyes would not shut. Her mind spun thinking of why the power might be out. There was no storm outside. It was eerily quiet. They were never late on utilities so it couldn't have been shut off by the power company. Maybe a transformer blew somewhere. Or possibly a car accident took out a utility pole. It didn't matter. She closed her eyes.

  Her lids sprang open again. What if there was a short in the house and there is a fire? What if someone or something in the house shut off the power?

  "Oh, come on," Harris scolded herself out loud.

  "Harris?" Dylan's voice came from his side of the bed.

  "Oh sorry, babe. I was just talking to myself. The power is out," she answered.

  "Oh. What? Why?"

  "I don't know. I just woke up. I was wondering the same thing. You think everything is okay? What if there is a short in the house and it will start a fire?"

  Dylan mumbled sleepily, "that's what the breakers are for. It's okay."

  "But, there could still be a fire, couldn't there? I can't sleep, I'm worried," Harris answered.

  Dylan moaned and pulled himself out of bed. "Flashlights?"

  "Next to the microwave," Harris spoke into the darkness, in Dylan's direction.

  He mumbled affirmatively and Harris traced the sound of his footsteps out the door and down the hall. She sat alone in the dark for a moment, listening for Dylan. The silence was loud in her ears as she tried to focus on any noise she could pick up. After a few moments, she decided she would just follow Dylan. It was better than being alone in the dark, unable to sleep, unable to hear anything downstairs.

  "Dylan?" Harris whispered into the dark. She was afraid to call out lo
udly, breaking the silence around her. She moved down the hallway, taking small steps, running her hand along the wall. Somehow, it seemed even darker in the hallway, even though she couldn't see any more or less than before. Coming down the stairs, she thought she saw the faintest glow coming from the kitchen. The breaker box was in the basement, through the kitchen, so she figured Dylan had found a flashlight and went downstairs.

  "Dylan?" She called out again, this time a little louder. She waited as goosebumps climbed up her arm. Still no answer. What if he fell or was hurt? She chewed on her bottom lip nervously.

  Harris walked into the kitchen slowly. Her breath shook with each wavering step. A light glowed from the basement door, which was wide open. Harris could hear movement in the basement. It had to be Dylan, he just couldn't hear her. She peeked her head into the door. A soft touch brushed across the back of her leg. She spun around.

  The dark, empty kitchen, dimly lit by the light coming up the stairs, looked back at her. Heart fluttering, Harris made for the steps to join Dylan. Noises echoed up from the basement.

  "Babe? That you?" Dylan called out.

  Relief settled over Harris at the sound of Dylan's voice. She followed the light toward the back corner of the basement. She spotted Dylan's hand flipping switches inside the breaker box, lit up by the flashlight. Click, click, click. Click.

  "Yeah it's me. I was lonely upstairs. And worried that you might need a hand, I guess," Harris lied. "How is it going?"

  Dylan sighed. "Well, it isn't going well. I reset the whole box. I tried every breaker. Nothing was tripped so I can't imagine it's anything going on inside this house. Maybe a transformer blew."

  It was logical. Harris liked it. "Okay, yeah probably. I guess we should go to bed, then. At least our house isn't about to burn down."

  They made their way upstairs. Dylan stood behind Harris, lighting up the stairs for her while they walked up. Once they reached the kitchen, Dylan stopped.

  "You know, it would be a shame to walk through the kitchen in the middle of the night, and miss out on an opportunity for a midnight snack." Dylan said wryly.

  Harris just wanted to go to bed, but she didn't want to ruin Dylan's mood. He seemed so much happier and playful, since Harris hadn't been consumed by her hauntings, at least not that he knew of.

  "I couldn't agree more," Harris answered. She decided she would force herself to enjoy this moment with Dylan. She wasn't going to let her fear ruin the good times they were going to have as a couple. Besides, things seemed much better for her. "But you know, it is closer to like, 2 a.m. or something."

  Dylan laughed and grabbed Harris by the waist, pulling her close. "Wise ass," he joked, then kissed her cheek. "Okay, somewhere there is a new pack of cookies." Dylan started opening cabinets, shining the flashlight into each one.

  Harris stood close, wanting to feel Dylan, but also not wanting to be alone. Dylan gasped.

  "Found them!" He practically shouted. He turned to put the cookies on the island, but dropped the flashlight at Harris's feet.

  Harris bent over and picked up the light. She pointed it toward Dylan as she stood back up. In the light, Dylan's face was different. His face was there, but overlaying his features, a skull-like face looked at Harris. Sunken cheeks and blacked out eye sockets stared into her soul. She dropped the flashlight and cried out.

  "Harris, are you okay?" Dylan sounded concerned as he reached for the flashlight and shone it up at the ceiling, reflecting light around the whole room. His face was normal again.

  Harris scanned the room quickly and brought her eyes back on Dylan. "I swear a mouse just ran over my foot." She lied again.

  "Son of a bitch. Maybe I need poison instead of traps," Dylan considered out loud.

  Harris felt guilty, but she couldn't burden him again. Maybe it was in her head this time. Maybe she needed to pray again. Maybe there was no helping her.

  Chapter Thirty

  After Dylan left for the office, Harris walked over to the coffee shop to do some work for a client. She figured she could get a project done while enjoying some coffee and pastries. It was her favorite way to work. She opened her laptop and pulled up the project she had started a week ago. High maintenance clients always stressed her out and this was one of the worst, so working in her favorite office today was the only reasonable choice.

  The coffee shop was busy this morning. Writers typed away on their laptops, weird little keypads, and actual typewriters. It was the most unusual thing to Harris. With all of the technology that was available, these people chose one of the most primitive writing machines. She compared it to her using a pencil and sketchpad to complete her work. While she enjoyed it, it just was not practical.

  One of the writers stopped and made eye contact with Harris. Embarrassed, she smiled and put her head down. She really needed to mind her own business and stop staring at people, she thought. Harris squinted as she moved in closer to her screen. Her eyes strained, sending her backwards to rub them. She needed more sleep.

  Once her eyes came into focus again, some movement caught her attention. A figure reflected in the window next to her. It seemed to stop in front of her table. She turned her head quickly to see who had approached her table, but no one was there. Harris shook her head to clear the fog from her mind. I must be losing it, she thought to herself. She definitely needed more sleep.

  Looking back down at her screen, a new document had opened. It was a word processor, but the background was black. She looked at it for a moment, confused. The white cursor blinked a few times, then suddenly moved across the screen as letters appeared, at a slow, but steady pace.

  N o w I l a y m e d o w n t o s l e e p i p r a y t h e L o r d m y s o u l t o k e e p

  Harris couldn't look away. She knew the prayer. She remembered the toy in her room. The cursor blinked in place for a moment more.

  i f i s h o u l d d i e b e f o r e i w a k e i p r a y t h e L o r d m y s o u l t o t a k e

  The cursor stopped, blinking in place.

  Harris rubbed her eyes again. She looked around trying to see if something seemed off, but everyone went about their business just like normal. She could feel sweat dampening her spine. On the screen, the cursor blinked, expectantly. Should she? She wondered. Harris placed her wrists on the table and put her fingers above the keyboard. Biting her lip, she hovered her fingertips over the keys, then she began to type.

  Who are you?

  The cursor blinked in place still. This was a stupid idea. What did she think was going to happen? Who did she think she was talking to?

  s a m s a m s a m s a m

  The cursor moved. The hairs on the back of Harris's neck stood up.

  What do you want? Harris typed.

  n o t m e t h e m

  She ticked at the keyboard, again.

  Why do you want to hurt me?

  Harris trembled, staring at the screen. She wasn't sure if she wanted answers. Maybe she could give them whatever it was they wanted and they would leave her alone. Then the cursor began to move. Letters appeared steadily, filling up her screen.

  n o w I l a y m e d o w n t o s l e e p

  I p r a y t h e L o r d m y s o u l t o k e e p

  i f I s h o u l d d i e b e f o r e I w a k e

  i f I s h o u l d d i e b e f o r e I w a k e

  i f I s h o u l d d i e b e f o r e I w a k e

  d i e b e f o r e I w a k e

  m y s o u l t o t a k e

  Harris slammed the laptop shut. The noise startled some customers and they glared at her as she packed up her belongings. She sulked her head down and stormed out of the coffee house.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Music bumped in the background as Harris made her way through the crowd. It was someone's house that she knew, but she didn't know exactly who. She wandered through the party, aimlessly. People from highschool passed by, waving, laughing, and chatting. Friends and acquaintances that Harris had almost forgotten about laughed together, and she found her
self glad to see them. Out from the crowd, one girl stood out.

  Harris could feel it was a dream. It was a happy dream, at least. The girl, Janelle, had not been a close friend, but they had known each other since the first grade. Harris was always fond of her and they did hang out in the same crowds.

  Shortly after high school, Janelle was killed in a hit and run accident. It was terribly sad. The whole school, and probably half of the town came to her services. She was adored in life and death. Harris was enthralled to see her again.

  "Janelle! Oh my God, you're here!" Harris almost shouted, running over to her.

  Janelle greeted her with a huge smile. Something felt different with Janelle. She had a different presence than everyone else in the dream. The others were all characters. Janelle was separate from Harris. Janelle was her own person, in Harris's dream.

  Suddenly, Harris remembered the accident and blurted out, "You're dead." She paused, stunned by her own bluntness and insensitivity. "I miss you. We all do."

  "I know. It sucks. I miss life, but it's good here. Tell my sister I love her and miss her. I'll be here." Janelle answered.

  Harris felt overwhelming calmness. She beamed and sat with Janelle a bit longer, fortunate to be in her presence once more.

  "Oh. Time to go. Bye Harris," Janelle said, as she wandered off with her dream-sister and dream-friends.

  "Bye."

  * * *

  Harris opened her eyes slowly. She felt so relaxed. Out the window, the sun was shining brightly for the early hour. A cloud directly out her window was shaped like a heart. Right next to it, a cloud shaped like a 'T'. She knew immediately, it was a reminder from Janelle. 'T' was for Tara, Janelle's sister.