Loss, a paranormal thriller

by Glen Krisch

  A voice inside Angie screamed for her to run, but she couldn't move.

  "Come on now, Angeline. I'm trying to play nice here. I bought you these flowers. Thought it was high time we made our intros. You know, Paul wouldn't talk about anything but Angie, Angie, Angie. My sweet angel, he'd call you. Nonstop, that's all he ever talked about. But from the looks of you, in the light of day, you ain't no angel."

  Something clicked inside Angie. Survival instinct, or an even stronger instinct of the maternal variety, went into overdrive. Instead of running, she reached out slowly, watching for any sudden movements, and took hold of the roses.

  "Now, see there, that wasn't so bad. I ain't one to bite."

  Angie's heart was in her throat as she turned her back on Darrel and walked as casually as possible to the kitchen. Her mind raced as she tried to figure out what was happening, and how she could protect both herself, and by extension, her baby. When she reached the kitchen, Darrel was only a step behind.

  "Take it easy now. Don't do nothing we'll both regret."

  "I'd definitely regret not getting these beautiful flowers in some water."

  Darrel's smile returned, and as it lit up his face, he looked so much like Paul. She smiled, too, but could tell it never reached her eyes.

  He knows about the accident, she thought, as more and more started to make sense. No, he caused the accident.

  Angie walked around to the far side of the kitchen, hoping Darrel would stay where he was on the other side of the counter island. She breathed a sigh of relief when he did just that.

  She surreptitiously eyed the knife block near the sink as she looked for a flower vase. She didn't know if she could use a knife on anyone, even Paul's killer.

  Because that's who Darrel Landers was: Paul's killer.

  "So, it was you?" she asked, taking a flower vase from inside the cabinet beneath the sink.

  "Me? What did I do now?" His Paul-like smile morphed with oily ease into his own wicked grin.

  It sent a shiver through Angie's limbs. She busied herself arranging the roses.

  "The accident. It was you in the road."

  "Well, maybe it wasn't, maybe it was." That wicked grin, wider still.

  "Why are you here, Darrel?" she pressed, trying to learn what kind of ground she now tread. "These roses are beautiful, but you must understand how this looks."

  "I've always wanted a certain kind of life, you know?" he said and hopped up to sit on the counter island. "Nothing crazy. I never wanted to be in movies, or famous or nothing. Just... normal, you know? A house and family. A good job. That sort of thing."

  "Sounds nice."

  "Well..." Darrel said, his voice falling to a whisper. "It ain't fuckin' happened." He looked up from his hands in his lap, and his eyes had darkened. Any trace of civility had disappeared.

  "There's still time. For all of that."

  "Not for me. Not with my record. Not with all the bad things..." He leaned toward Angie, pressing his palms against the counter. "Not fuckin' likely, sister!"

  Angie's adrenaline surged. She kept her face as placid as possible as she grabbed the flower vase and smashed it against his temple.

  Darrel cried out as he tumbled to the kitchen floor. "You bitch!"

  Angie ran from the kitchen, hoping to get to her car keys and out the front door.

  "You better stop right now!" Darrel shouted.

  Bizzy was a frenzied ball of barking and snarls inside Paul's office. She wanted to stop to take the dog with her, but she didn't have any time.

  "I know all about you, sister! I know where everyone you love lives."

  Something in his tone made Angie stop in her tracks and turn around. Darrel held a bloody dish rag to his head with one hand and a butcher knife in the other. Of course he would grab a knife when she never thought she could do the same.

  "I know about Lindsey, how she's pregnant. I know about all the Chandlers. I'll slit their throats if you don't come back here right now!"

  She didn't walk toward him, but she didn't start running again, either. She didn't know if he could get to the Chandlers, but she could tell that she couldn't risk it.

  "Let's just talk this out," Darrel said, pointing to the couches in the great room. He looked at the knife in his hand as if just noticing it, and then left it on a kitchen counter. "See," he said raising his palms toward her. "I don't want to hurt you. That's the furthest thing from my mind."

  Angie moved slowly toward the couches, not sure what she should do. Sure, she was concerned about the Chandlers, but her first priority was her own safety. She sat on the armrest of the couch furthest from Darrel. She could reach the front door in a few strides. "Don't come any closer, and I won't run," she said with more confidence than she felt.

  "See, we can talk this out. Just there, we just compromised, didn't we?" Darrel took up a similar position on an armrest on the opposite side of the great room.

  "I don't know what you want from me," she said, trying to control the direction of the conversation.

  "Here's the thing, Paul and me, we hatched from the same womb, but that's when our lives jumped onto separate tracks. He got plucked from the adoption vine by the Chandlers. Fine, upstanding citizens, those Chandlers! But me... I ain't been so fortunate. Been a world of pain for me since Paul and me shared crib toys."

  "But that doesn't explain--"

  "Listen now, I'm talkin'! I want what's rightly mine. What could'a been mine this whole fuckin' time. A life... a god damn life to live!"

  "Do you really think you can just come into our lives and take what you never had?"

  "I never just came into your lives! Paul tracked me down. He saw my mugshot in the paper for a little ol' B & E. After we met, he decided I wasn't good enough to be in his life. When he turned his back on me, and after I saw what he had, what was never afforded me... well, let's just say I decided to use the skills my upbringing taught me in order to make it mine."

  "You can't just take over a person's life!"

  "Oh, I'm already well on my way, sister," Darrel said and stood from the armrest.

  Angie tensed, ready to run.

  "You know, I wonder what my life would've been like this whole time if I'd just choked the life from him before we were ever born. I'd have this nice house, brothers who care for me. A wife that loves me... that lusts after me."

  Darrel's wicked grin widened. "Oh, Paul might've called you his Angel, but that's cause he wasn't fuckin' you right. Not at all. If he done you right, he'd know you got the devil in you. Dear lord, you're a crazy bitch." Darrel turned away and lifted his shirt. Thin scars traced his back. "See them? Those are from you."

  "No..." Angie said, and she couldn't help looking at the envelope with the test results on the coffee table between them. "It can't... it was Paul. It... was... Paul..."

  Angie felt the wind leave her lungs. This whole time, thinking that some supernatural force had brought her and Paul together on that night.

  "And what do we have here?" Darrel picked up the papers that had drawn Angie's attention. "Paternity results, dah-dah-dah," Darrel skimmed the pages aloud. "Conclusive match, dah-dah-dah..."

  "Please, don't!" Angie begged.

  "Dah-dah-dah, dah-dah-dah, oh Jesus Christ. Listen to this: 99.97% paternal genetic match: Paul Chandler."

  "That's not you."

  "The hell it ain't. That's why Paul tracked me down. He said our genes are identical. That's why he wanted my spunk, so it could get scrambled up with your eggs and make a baby that's half him. Oh, the irony!"

  "It's not. It wasn't you. It was Paul. I swear it."

  "Come on, now, Angie, we both know that ain't true. We were both there doing the deed. I got the scars, and you got the bun in the oven. That's simple math, you ask me."

  "It's not yours." Angie's stomach twisted, the evil spawn of Darrel Landers swimming in her amniotic fluid. She put a hand over her mouth, knowing she would never get out of here alive if she starting vomiting now. "The baby is
Paul's. From before he died. I'm four months along."

  Darrel stepped closer still and touched her cheek with the back of his hand. Gently, so gently. So like Paul. "Give it a rest, sister. That ain't true, and you know it. Hearing this glorious news, dear lord, I do believe I'm even more invested in our new family."

  She tried to read his intentions in his eyes, but behind the hard edges, all she saw was unstable and unpredictable.

  "If you want that, if you want to start a family with me, how would we ever make it work?" she asked, trying to diffuse his anger.

  "Hard work and determination, just like any other red-blooded American family."

  Darrel was close enough that Angie could smell a sour sweat creeping through his filthy suit. It was difficult to look into his eyes, to see Paul mixed with something spoiled.

  "Okay... Darrel. I... think we can make this work."

  Darrel beamed with happiness, and it took all of her control not to drive her fist into his throat. He looked so much like Paul just now. She hated Darrel for taking him from her, for so closely mimicking his telltale expressions of joy.

  Darrel swept her into his arms and hugged her tightly, nearly squeezing the air from her.

  She knew in that moment that she could never run far enough and get away from Darrel. There was only one way out of this.

  "If we're going to do this, be a family, then we should do this right," Angie said and ran her fingers down his back, raking her nails across the filthy fabric of his suit coat. "Let's... consummate things."

  She hoped her smile now reached her eyes, because if it didn't he would know how she truly felt about him.

  He smiled, and once again it was a bastardized version of Paul's smile reflected back at her. That sealed her decision. There was only one way out of this.

  "Oh... yes, I like your thinking."

  "Let's open a bottle of wine to celebrate!"

  "Even better!"

  She grabbed his hand and lead him toward the kitchen. When they reached the counter, Angie grabbed the butcher knife with her free hand and swung it at Darrel's heart.

  He blocked the thrust with his forearm, then smashed his other hand down across her wrist.

  The knife skittered away, as did Angie's last and only hope. She eyed the knife, so close, just ten feet away at the threshold of the great room. It might as well have been a mile.

  "You must think I'm stupid, sister! Just because I wasn't raised with a silver spoon in my mouth like my dearly departed brother doesn't mean I don't got the same smarts."

  The rage in Darrel's eyes paralyzed her. He smacked her across the cheek and she fell back against the counter. He pulled his fist back, ready to gut-punch her. "No! Not the baby!"

  The daytime sunlight vanished like the light from a snuffed candle.

  Angie and Darrel exchanged questioning looks.

  "What the fuck...? Darrel stepped away from Angie and looked from one window to the next. A black-gray fog blotted out the outside world. Roiling shadows danced across the kitchen floors, the cabinets and walls.

  Angie took advantage of the confusion to inch closer to the butcher knife. She made a lunge for it, but Darrel caught her hair in one fist and pulled her so hard her feet came out from under her. She screamed in pain and tumbled to the floor.

  "That's not going to happen, Angeline. You said we could be a family. You lied to me. Just like everyone else's lied to me!" Darrel reached the knife with his toe and pushed it up toward his free hand. He lifted the knife in his grasp, raised it high above his head. "I can't have nobody lying to me! Even you!"

  When Darrel brought the knife down at Angie, the French doors came crashing open and a dark gray fog swept in. At the base of pile, ephemeral feet stepped free of the murk, a torso followed. Finally, a body resolved. The fog filled the great room, bringing the walls claustrophobically close.

  Darrel stopped his kill thrust in mid-arc, mesmerized by the figure in the fog.

  Paul stood facing his brother. It was like looking in a mirror.

  Darrel released Angie's hair, and as soon as she was free, she pushed away with her feet until her back crashed into the far wall.

  Darrel approached the apparition, the knife tight in his grip, his smile melted to a sneer. The fog crept over his ankles, snaking up his legs.

  "Paul...?" Angie whispered. "Paul, honey?"

  When Paul turned to look at Angie, Darrel struck. The butcher knife didn't pass neatly through him; there was some semblance of substance to his form. Its progress slowed when it hit Paul's chest, but it still moved, still cleaved deeper.

  Paul let out a groan of pain.

  "Oh, you dirty bastard! You think you can stop me from taking what's mine?" Darrel cried as he pulled the knife free from Paul's chest and struck again. The knife sunk into Paul's neck. Black blood poured from his wounds. When it dripped from his ethereal body, it poured droplets of black smoke into the gray fog surrounding them. Darrel struck again and again, the knife becoming a silver blurring streak.

  Paul's ghost dropped to his knees, his eyes searching for and finding Angie's.

  "Oh, Paul..." Angie called out weakly. She futilely reached out to him.

  The black smoke rose from Paul's many wounds, bleeding into the gray fog, darkening it even more. Paul fell over on his side, and Darrel continued his assault. The fog deepened, burying both brothers in its gloom.

  Angie got to her feet, her voice a croak. "Paul!" She ran to the edge of the fog and searched for any signs of movement. Waves of fog washed against her legs, an unruly slurry of inky shadow. Its touch was icy cold to the touch, no, not icy, but literally stealing of her warmth. Touching and taking hold of her life force.

  A hand rose from the fog and took hold of her thigh, using it for leverage. The rest of the body lifted from the morass, and from the wicked smile greeting her, she knew it was Darrel.

  "Hello, sister." When he raised the knife to strike her down, a rope of black fog lashed out from the roiling shadow and coiled around Darrel's wrist. It jerked down so hard Darrel dropped the knife and Angie heard bones snapping in his arm.

  Angie backed away as more ropes of fog lashed out to snake around Darrel's limbs, its frigid touch crackling as it touched his skin.

  Darrel opened his mouth to cry out in pain, but the black fog funneled in through his lips, silencing his voice. It throttled into his writhing body, seeping from first his nostrils, then his eye sockets, before his eyes darkened completely. Darrel began to slump over, his fight long gone, but the fog caught him in its grasp, and on a bed of blackness, ferried him out through the French doors, over the balcony and away.

  Angie stood on the balcony, content with the quiet of the early Fall morning. She checked her cellphone, smiled, then powered it off.

  "Bryce just texted me."

  Angie stopped and listened to the air, nodding in agreement. "You were right. They want to buy your share of the company."

  Angie rolled her eyes. "Fine, our share of the company. It's a fair offer, too. We'll be comfortable, and your dream will stay with me."

  The chilly breeze picked up, caressing her face. "Okay. I'll let him know."

  A sharp cry came from inside the house. Bizzy rushed out and nudged Angie's ankle with her nose, before running back through the door. "Just a second, Little P. Momma's coming!"

  Angie went into the nursery and picked up her son from his crib. The converted office was small but big enough for the needs of a baby. Baby Paul cooed into her ear, and it was the happiest sound in the world.

  She carried him down the hall, through the great room, returning to the balcony. As she held Paul close to her heart, he smiled up at her. His smooth gums showed between his soft, pink lips, exuding joy and every enviable quality she'd ever seen in her husband.

  A chill was in the air. Summer had come and gone. A low churning fog weaved between the trees surrounding the old Winchell place. While the sun would burn it off through the rolling hills, the house never seemed to get c
lear of it. Angie smiled, comforted by the view. The leaves had started to turn; golden maples, orange oaks, all burnished, all the pinnacle of beauty.

  Just like heaven.

  THE END

  Newsletter

  I have many projects that will come to fruition over the next year. To keep up to date on my release dates, and other exciting news, sign up for my newsletter.

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  Books by Glen Krisch

  Novels:

  The Nightmare Within

  Where Darkness Dwells

  Twice as Dark: two novels of horror

  Nothing Lasting (forthcoming)

  Brother’s Keeper, Book 1 (forthcoming)

  2-in-1 Novels:

  Twice as Dark, Two Novels of Horror

  (omnibus containing Where Darkness Dwells and The Nightmare Within)

  Novellas:

  Loss, a paranormal thriller

  Brother’s Keeper, a post-apocalyptic novella

  Collections:

  Commitment and Other Tales of Madness

  Through the Eyes of Strays (coming soon from Dog Horn Publishing)

  One last thing…

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