Tales From The Mist: An Anthology of Horror and Paranormal Stories

by Scott Nicholsonan

  “I’ll call it a day, too. Tomorrow, I’ll help you in the bedroom and see if we can’t get some of Fred’s stuff out of there.”

  Devon followed me outside and waited as I locked the door. “Hey, Serena. Don’t go in the library if no one’s here. That door really was jammed. I don’t know what caused it, but I wouldn’t want you to get stuck in there. I’ll look at it as soon as I can and see what I need to do to fix it.”

  “Okay. I’ll have enough to do in the master suite the next few days, anyway.”

  I watched him saunter down the walk to his pickup, the tight jeans molding to his butt. My hands wanted to follow suit. Sheesh. I needed to stop thinking about him that way.

  I groaned and got in my car.

  ∼ ∼ ∼

  The next couple of days passed in a blur of dirt, grime and sneezes. I went through all of Uncle Frederick’s clothes, emptying pockets and folding them. Once packed, I helped Devon load the boxes into the back of his truck and watched him drive off. He returned a short time later.

  His face flushed red. A vein throbbed in his temple. “There are a bunch of idiots in this town.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  “The homeless shelters wouldn’t take the clothes. They know I’m working here and that those were Fred’s. All three made it clear they wouldn’t take anything from this house.”

  I was just beginning to understand the realities of small town life. Everyone knew everyone and everything about everyone. My poor uncle. Who could blame him if he went a little mad with all the rumors, innuendo and small–mindedness.

  “It’s not like he died from an illness someone could catch from his clothes.” I threw my hands up. “The man had a heart attack for Pete’s sake.” Unexpected tears ran down my cheeks. It had all been too much. Sorrow over my uncle’s death and the lost years crashed over me.

  Devon was by my side in an instant pulling me to his chest. “Shhh. It’s not really Fred they’re afraid of. He was well–liked when he moved here. It’s just the stupid superstitions, myths.”

  My fingers curled around his shirt. I breathed in his scent—all male. I became aware of his hard chest beneath my cheek, the way my body pressed against his. I pulled back, wiping the tears from my face.

  Devon kept a steadying hand at my waist. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry. I guess I’ve needed to do that since I heard about his death. I’m sorry I did it all over your shirt though.” I tried to smooth out the wrinkles I’d made.

  He caught my hand against his chest. “It’s fine. It’ll launder. If not, I’ll give it to the shelter.”

  I laughed. It wasn’t that funny but in that moment, it was. I needed the laugh, like I’d needed the cry.

  “Go wash your face. We’ll drive into Asheville, drop the clothes off at a shelter there and have some lunch while we’re out.”

  “But …”

  “No buts. Go on now. You need a good meal, too. I’ve seen the junk you’ve been bringing for lunch.” He smiled and brushed the hair out of my eyes.

  He was right. Protein bars and chocolate—not exactly the most nutritious of lunches.

  “Okay. Be right back.”

  Stepping into the bathroom, I again thought I saw something in the mirror from the corner of my eye. I whipped around, but nothing was there. Tired. That’s all it was. Plus the crying jag had left my eyes watery.

  I washed my face and toweled it dry. Voices raised in anger filtered through the wall. An icy cold passed over me, making my spine tingle. The temperature dropped until I had chill bumps on my skin. What the heck? Who was Devon arguing with? Had he turned down the thermostat? I shivered and rubbed my arms.

  Entering the living room, I saw him sitting on the couch, his head back, eyes closed.

  “Who were you talking to?”

  He opened one eye and looked at me. Opening the other, he said, “What? I wasn’t talking to anyone. Just waiting on you.”

  “Devon. I heard two people arguing. We’re the only two people in the house that I know of, so it had to be you talking with someone. Did they leave?” I opened the front door and stepped out onto the porch, looking down the street. The heat of the August sun warmed me enough that I could almost forget about the unnatural cold I’d felt in the house.

  He walked up behind me and closed the door. “No one else was in the house. Maybe the noise filtered in from the neighbors.”

  I didn’t know him well enough to know if he was telling the truth. But, since he didn’t look as if he’d just been in an argument, I shrugged it off.

  ∼ ∼ ∼

  The bedroom, finally clean and all personal items removed, looked even more massive. With some light paint on the walls and soft fabrics around the windows, it would be sophisticated.

  I needed to go buy paint, so I searched for Devon to see if he wanted anything while I was out. I called, but he didn’t answer. The house was so big though, it wasn’t unusual not to be able to hear each other.

  Something hit the floor in the library with a small thump. I figured Devon was there, so I stepped inside. The room was empty. I hadn’t spent any time in the room so far, as I’d focused on getting the main living areas habitable.

  Uncle Frederick had a treasure trove of classics. Books lined the floor to ceiling shelves and littered the floor and desk top. A large mahogany desk sat on the far side of the room, covered in dust, like everything else in the room. Gossamer cobwebs joined unrelated objects. Papers were scattered all around the room and stacks of what looked to be personal leather journals rested open on the desk. Some lay on the floor as if thrown there. I picked one off the rug and my gaze locked on the hand–written words.

  No more will. no more fight. one’s in me now no escape

  jesse edgar gretchen why why why

  no one believes

  help me help me helpme helpme helpme help. me. HELP ME!!!

  A bolt of cold fear shot through me and I dropped the journal on the floor. From other documents, I’d gone through, the ramblings looked to be in my uncle’s writing. Even though I didn’t want to touch it again, I picked up the journal and flipped to the front. Frederick T. Wilkins had been carefully handwritten on the first page.

  What had happened to my uncle? Had he been crazy like the people in town whispered? I couldn’t bear to go through any more of the journals just now, so I stacked them on the corner of the desk. Just the thought of reading more incoherent passages caused my stomach to twist. A prickly sensation crawled over my skin and I felt physically ill.

  Devon made an appearance as I picked up scattered paperwork.

  “Hi, Serena. Did you call me?” He leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed. The muscles bulged in his thighs and biceps.

  “Hmm …” My gaze locked on the man and I definitely appreciated the view. Six feet of snugly clothed muscles and those green eyes which smiled wickedly at me as if he knew what I was thinking. “Oh. Yeah, I did about fifteen minutes ago.”

  Devon looked confused. “No. Just before I walked in. I thought you called out for Jesse. Hurt my feelings a little you called me the wrong name.” He winked.

  Now it was my turned to be confused.

  “No, I’ve been here straightening up for at least fifteen minutes, although you can’t tell it. And I came in here looking for you when I heard a noise.”

  Doubt shadowed Devon’s face as he took in my reaction.

  “I definitely didn’t call you Jesse or any other name. I don’t even know a Jes—” I stopped. A chill crept over my body, and something flickered in my memory. Jesse. The journal. Jesse, Edgar, Gretchen.

  I raced for the stack of books and unearthed the bottom one. Scanning through the pages, I found the one I wanted and handed it to Devon.

  “Look at this. What do you think?” I watched him as he read; looking for signs that he was as freaked out by the writings as much as I was.

  “Weird. What is it?” He eyed me briefly before he started flipping
through the pages of the book.

  “I’m not sure. It looks like my uncle’s writing. But, it makes no sense. I’ve never heard of the people he mentioned. I don’t think they’re family.” I chewed on my bottom lip, a nervous habit I’d picked up in the last few days.

  “Well, that explains the Jesse part. I guess I heard you readin’ it.” He shrugged and held the journal out to me.

  I didn’t want to touch it.

  “Devon, I wasn’t reading out loud. I didn’t call you Jesse. I don’t know who or what you heard.”

  We stared at each other for a full minute. I have to confess, for a second, part of me thought maybe he was trying to scare me. Make me a little uncomfortable, so he could be the big hero and swoop in to the rescue. He’d made no effort to hide his attraction to me, which I still found unbelievable considering what a hunk he was. His type usually went for the Beths of the world.

  No. Even though I’d only known him a week, Devon wasn’t like that. He had integrity; he faced things head on. He didn’t play silly head games.

  “Well, maybe it was someone outside,” I suggested, not really believing it, but wanting even less to believe what I was thinking. We did have the windows raised in several rooms to air the place out.

  “Could have been, I guess.” He nodded. “So what were you looking for me for?”

  I paused trying to remember. “Oh. Paint. I’m ready to start painting the master bedroom and bath in the morning. I’ll go by the hardware store first in the morning. Do you need me to pick anything up for you?”

  “I’ll text you a list of supplies. Just a few things, nothing big.” He shut the window. “I’ll lock up.”

  “Great. I could use a shower. I’m afraid every time I walk into the hotel they’re going to send me around back to hose off before they’ll let me enter the lobby.”

  He laughed. “I guess I’ll see you in the morning.”

  As I got to the door, Devon stopped me. “How about having dinner with me?”

  With reluctance, I shook my head. “I don’t think so. I have a ton of things I still need to do.”

  My refusal had nothing to do with lack of physical attraction. I’d wanted him since I opened the door that first day. Devon and I could definitely have some fun together. No doubt about it. And even though he’d been all business, lunch the other day had been fun and relaxing.

  But, there was more to it than that. I didn’t want to ruin a perfectly good contractor. If we messed things up by starting a relationship, or more likely ending one, then I was left with no one to do all the repairs to my humble abode.

  “Please, Serena. I want to get to know you better.”

  Just a simple statement, but my heart did a little flip within the confines of my chest. And I relented. He did say please after all.

  “Okay. You can pick me up at seven.” I smiled.

  ∼ ∼ ∼

  Devon arrived right on time wearing jeans and a nice dress shirt which made the green in his eyes dark and smoldering. He looked me up and down, taking in the heels and the little black dress, I’d chosen, and when his gaze met mine, my breath caught in my throat. Butterflies performed a ballet in my stomach. Before I could do something stupid like pull him into the room and to my bed, I grabbed my purse and closed the door.

  While not as chic as some in Miami, the cozy Italian restaurant Devon selected offered small–town charm, bordering on cliché with red–checked tablecloths and candle–dripped wine bottles. The food was heavenly, the air filled with the aroma of sauces, spices, and garlic.

  Some of the other customers temporarily ruined the ambience. People stared at me, whispering to each other. Some even looked angry, although I had no idea why my presence would anger anyone. When Devon saw that I’d noticed, he took my hand.

  “Don’t let it bother you. You’re new and this is a small town. They’re just talking about how beautiful you are.” His thumb caressed my palm.

  “I’ve heard the whispers every time I’m in town, Devon. They’re wondering if I’m as crazy as Uncle Frederick. Thank you for trying to spare my feelings though.” As much as I liked the feel of my hand in his, I pulled it back and picked up my wine glass, sipped. “Does it bother you to be seen with the kook living in the haunted house?”

  “Of course not. I know you’re not a kook. A little kooky maybe.” He wiggled his eyebrows and I laughed.

  The rest of the night we focused on each other. Besides a great sense of humor, Devon was charming, intelligent, and knowledgeable on a variety of topics. He had brains and a great butt—basically the whole package.

  After dinner, he dropped me off at my hotel with a kiss on the cheek.

  I called Beth, told her about everything that had been going on and caught up with her life and the latest gossip back home. She tried to sound happy about Devon, but she wanted me back in Miami.

  “I know you’re not ready to come back, but the dreams are getting worse, Serena. Please be careful. Okay?”

  The fear in her voice caused me a moment’s panic when I remembered the journals. But there was a logical explanation for everything that had happened. There had to be—I refused to believe in ghosts.

  “I will. Love you. Tell everyone hi for me.” I hung up and did my best to ignore the apprehension spreading through my body.

  ∼ ∼ ∼

  The next few days passed in a blur of activity. I sanded and painted. I stocked the pantry with food. I showed off my culinary skills which Devon seemed to appreciate. I’d catch him watching me several times a day with a goofy grin on his face. I probably had a matching one when he caught me watching him. We took advantage of every opportunity to touch one another, however briefly.

  I finally moved my few belongings to the house and checked out of the hotel. Relieved at not having to go back and forth, I unpacked, made the bed and spread out all my items on the now immaculate bathroom vanity. I’d stopped checking every time I thought I saw movement in the mirror. There was never anything there. It had to be the way the light moved on the surface at different angles.

  I was happy but tired and thankful Devon had suggested a movie and late dinner, so I didn’t need to cook.

  After he left, I showered, washed my hair and shaved my legs. I stood in front of the sink, one white towel wrapped around my body and another on my head. I fluffed my hair with the towel and then used it to wipe the steam from the mirror.

  A woman with sunken cheeks and sallow, rotting skin stood behind me. I screamed as I spun around. There was no one there. The towel slipped from my hand and into the pool of blood on the floor, the white fabric soaking up the red. I screamed again and ran to the door. As I reached it, I turned back to see if ‘she’ was following me.

  My stark white towel lay on the floor undisturbed. There was no blood. I blinked and stopped screaming. I moved cautiously back toward the counter with all my familiar items. No crimson stains marred the towel. I picked it up. Turned it over. Looked at the floor. Nothing. I straightened and turned slightly to the left and from the corner of my eye could see no one but me in the mirror. I faced it head on. Again there was nothing but my reflection.

  I thought about getting in my rented Navigator and leaving. But the vision of me dressed in a towel and driving from North Carolina to Miami, almost made me giggle. Almost, but the adrenaline from the frightening encounter still coursed through my veins.

  As I searched for clothing, I thought about all the reasons, I couldn’t have seen what I saw. I reached for every possible explanation. The lighting was bad. I’d been doing more physical labor on a daily basis. I was too tired. Too hurried. Too emotional. Too … ‘fill in the blank.’

  I dressed as quickly as possible, applied mascara and lipstick with a shaky hand and combed out my wet hair. Foregoing the blow dryer and curling iron, I walked outside to let my hair dry in the sultry breeze and waited for Devon.

  “Eager to see me, are you?” He brushed my lips with his, then stood back and really looked at me. “Ever
ything okay?”

  “Yeah. Just got cold in the house.” And that was true. After hallucinating the decaying woman, my teeth chattered and I couldn’t get warm. It seemed the cold spots were getting worse in the house. “We really need to figure out what’s wrong with the A/C.”

  “I’ve looked at it, but I’ll see if I can get someone who knows them better than I do to come out to check it in the next couple of days.”

  “We both know you’re not likely to find anyone local, so let’s just skip that step and call someone in from Asheville. I’ll pay their fee.” It was a good thing I made good money as an architect and lived simply. The money I’d saved was helping to cover the restoration and my living expenses.

  He nodded and opened the car door for me.

  When we returned to the house, I was a little apprehensive. Okay. A lot apprehensive. But, I refused to be scared by an over–active imagination brought on by the inescapable rumors of the townspeople. The night passed with no more incidents.

  Over the next couple of days, however, things began to disappear, causing frequent arguments between myself and Devon. He would insist I’d moved his tools and I’d insist he’d moved other objects around the house. Neither of us admitted to doing so. I knew I hadn’t moved his things. But items were gone, sometimes for minutes, sometimes for hours before showing up somewhere nearby.

  I decided to tackle the library one morning, soon after he left to get supplies. Upon entering, I felt a familiar cold draft blowing across the room. I shivered and reached for the sweater I’d taken to wearing tied at my waist for when I ran into one of the inevitable cold spots. I had just put my arm through the pink sleeve and wrapped the soft material around me when I noticed the journal on the desk. Open. I hadn’t left it that way. Maybe Devon had been doing some reading.

  As I picked it up, the words jumped out at me, made me tremble.

  Serena,

  My dear niece, if you’re reading this, please know I never stopped loving you, and I continued to keep track of you through the years. I’m so proud of the many things you’ve accomplished in your young life. You’ve designed some beautiful buildings and your legacy will live on.