He lunged for my breast and I rammed the short scissors into his fat gut. It was sickening. There was a slight hesitation as the shirt sort of formed a wave of fat around it and then it went through all the way to my knuckles. I was scared he was going to pop, so I shoved him with all my strength and ran like hell. I washed the blood off my hand at the water fountain and ran all the way to my car. The remote didn't work so I pushed it again, and the sodding locks popped up and back down again. I pressed and wrenched the door open as they sprang up. If I'd killed him, I'd never be a lawyer. If I had to put up with fat rats like that to be a lawyer, they could stuff it where they liked. It was a long way home, although I usually enjoyed driving my car. Today was different my adrenaline too strong, to enjoy the ride.
Dad's car was in the drive when I swung in too fast, and I almost collided with it. He ran out of the house and exclaimed, "What the hell happened? I was called at the office and I tore home. They said you tried to kill a professor because he cancelled a lecture."
My temper had finally cracked and I flew out of the car, and yelled, "I told you Dingle was trouble and insane and you told me to rise above it. Well the insane, fat toad tried to rape me!"
Dad looked like a spastic puppet and he picked his hands up three times, even though they were up. He didn't dare touch a woman in a rage. "Are you injured?" he asked in a panic. He really did care. Unfortunately, it was almost funny. No wonder he had never married again, because women actually terrified him.
In a controlled voice, so I didn't laugh, I said, "No, I stabbed him with his scissors when he pushed me back on his desk. If the revolting man had not backed off, I'd have stabbed him until there was evidence hanging from the lights."
Dad looked at me in shock and suddenly burst out laughing. "Good for you, now let's do damage control lawyer style. We sue."
As I turned he barked. "Stop! Don't sit and don't touch your skirt!"
I looked back and a bloody hand had gripped my skit as I ran past him. It was all over my car seat. Thank god it was leather. Dad was calling the police. When they screamed in, he controlled their questions and I knew why I wanted to be a lawyer. They said the grab was after the stab wound, and he asked them how determined they thought the monster was if that was the case? He pointed to my heel with some blood on it, "She had to kick him off her!"
I waved a hand. "You'll find blood on the water fountain where I washed my hand off from the filthy pig. He stinks so bad I was scared he may have a disease."
In short, the University expelled me because I was vicious and Dad sued them for not taking note of the complaints and victimization proved by the remarked paper. For once in my life, I had faith in my father.
I had more faith in him when Dingle almost died from infection from his bloated gut that just went rotten. They operated and removed almost all of his intestines because he was riddled with cancer. Then he died because his liver was trashed from being a heavy alcoholic. Dad proved at the inquest that I had not caused his death because he should have been saved after he tried to rape me, but two other things had caused his failure to recover. Then he proved that in the state his liver was, he was already delusional and should never have been allowed near young people. I have no conscience over the death because I'd have stabbed him in the neck if he'd carried on. I'm not a virgin, but that repulsive thing was not on my welcome list.
Then Dad had sat at breakfast and said he'd get me right out of the way and into Boston University, which was one of the best universities for law, as long as I went and sorted out Grandma's house. I told him he was a cheat, and he laughed. I have a feeling that I finally won his respect as an adult.
So I was at the house, and he was in for a shock. I picked up the phone and it was as dead as a phone could be. I didn't have a blip of a signal on my cellphone and I was not even attempting the kitchen that night. So it was the town and a restaurant after a grocery store for a lot of cleaning materials.
I picked up my bag and walked to the front door. The fireplace in the dining room screamed with a child's voice. It was one of those heart-stopping moments and you wonder if you are going to live. FIND ME! YOU MUST FIND ME! The thing screamed. I stood still and stared for a few moments than shook my head.
The scream could be the wind, but words were definitely not. "Are you hurt?" I yelled back.
"He killed me!" the voice said.
My brain refused to work. Now I am hearing things. I called back, "I'll find you, but I need food."
I waited, and nothing came back, but the house was colder. All I wanted to do was get out of it. What I'd been blocking in my head for years flooded back. Screams that came from the fireplaces in the nights, when I was just a little girl. Grandma dug up half the property looking for Mary. Dad said she was batty, but Rose had spent the rest of her life looking for Mary. I knew why. That plea in her voice was not possible to ignore. I had to find Mary. The thought shocked and confused me. I had heard stories of Mary. The young girl who was left in my grandmother Rose's care and Grandfathers. Rumor had it, she went missing. No one knew where she went.
Chapter 4
It was twenty miles back to the town and I'd left the house open with lights on. I'd never taken my suitcase out the trunk, so I found a small hotel where people wouldn't know I was insane from my blank stare. I had to remember. Why did I know what Mary looked like? I knew her voice too. How did I know Mary was a ghost? I was confused and I was beginning to think that I was going slightly crazy.
I called Dad from the room using my cellphone, and he was shocked at the condition of the house. He had presumed it was overgrown and needed paint, but the damage I was describing was a demolition. With that kind of black mold, I knew from the garage that it just grew back every year no matter how much bleach we used. When the bleach dried, the mold was back as though we'd fed it. He told me he'd get a building surveyor out there as fast as possible, but in the meantime, he was making sure the house was still insured in case of fire with the electrics so bad. He told me to stay in the hotel, but I wasn't sure I wanted to. He was convinced his mother was mad, so I didn't mention Mary at all. Oddly, as soon as I was away from the house, I had little recall of Mary. It was as though she faded away in my mind.
We'd left after a few days the last time we were there and Dad had a hell of an argument with Rose over what she had told me Mary. Rose hadn't told me about Mary. I knew her. He told me I'd been having dreams, and then when we got home, I'd forgotten all about it. We'd never gone back again, and I had never been into the house when they went to lock it up. Mary had still not been found, and I had a compulsion to go back to look for her.
Supper was good, but my taste buds were on strike. I could smell mold from the mushrooms, and even though I liked mushrooms, I was clean put off the food. I had a soak in the bath and washed my hair, cleaned my ears and nose. I could still smell mold. I could still hear Mary's voice; Find me! Why? She was dead. How come nobody found her, or didn't she know she had been found. Rose had dug all over the place and even got people to dig with her. If she paid them, they dug, but they never found Mary. Who was Mary? She said he'd killed her, but who had killed her?
Then it all went out like the light I turned off and I slept soundly. I had driven from early in the morning and then the shock of the house had been exhausting. So had the frights it had given me.
If nothing else was possible, I had to make the kitchen, the bathroom and one bedroom habitable. I was a factual person, studying law. Well I was, but I would be again next year. An old house in Maine didn't have ghosts. It had Mary. I knew Mary so it had to be a ghost. Had she ever met Mary? No your honor, I have never met Mary. I dream about her. He'd call the men in white coats!
Jugs of bleach, cloths by the bale, gloves for my hands, and even overalls went into the car. I had hair caps and safety goggles, skin cream, nose masks, long handled mops, washing powder, brooms with hard and soft bristles, and my car was full. I didn't even know if the washing machine worked. I had seen
an ancient top-loader, and they went on forever. It was probably full of mold, but I didn't have place for a washing machine. It would not fit in my car if it was empty. It was a trusty Toyota Aventis, and it didn't smell of mold – yet.
Driving back to the house I got a sense of forbidding. The closer I got the stronger the feeling became and the more my nerves spiked up. I berated myself for being silly and parked my car as close as I could to the house, which wasn't very close, due to the bare talons and overgrown hedges blocking my path.
Looking at the house my nerves tinged with fear, my heart beat became strong and fast.
I am just being silly. I was only in there yesterday and nothing remotely bad happened. The heartfelt plea of the child's voice filled my mind and I shook it away, before I decided to drive the hell out of there.
I sighed in frustration. I had a challenging task of hauling all the cleaning equipment down the long gravel driveway and into the house. I would be exusted before I even got to the cleaning part. At that point I hated my father for giving me such a degrading job to do in the form of blackmail. It wasn't like he didn't have the money to get an outside company in. He just wanted to get me out of the way. The rumors that had spread around town about me were hilarious at times.
I pulled a hair band off my wrist, which I keep on me just in case I ever need one and tied my hair into a messy bun.
I then set about carting the various items, which my father would swear broke his bank balance down the drive. The stones crunched loudly under my feet. I was glad I had slipped on a pair of flat shoes rather than my heels that I prefer to wear. I would have found myself more on the ground if not.
I unlocked the door with ease this time. I opened it, and it made a creaking noise. I balanced as many things as I could in my arms. I stepped into the doorway. The door slammed shut behind me with a vicious bang that vibrated throughout the house. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. The house was silent.
I piled the items into the kitchen and looked around. It was going to be another long day. The smell was turning my stomach so I sprayed nearly half a can air freshener into the kitchen alone and then sprang into a coughing fit. That was probably not one of the best of ideas I had come up with.
Opening the fist cupboard I recoiled back and placed my hand over my nose. I was disgusted. Out of date items lined the shelves covered in mold and dust. The smell that was emitting from the confined space knocked me physically sick.
Placing the mask over my mouth and nose I emptied the contents into a black bag. I scrubbed the cupboard the best I could. Still evidence was left behind. Horrid brown marks covered the shelves. There was nothing I could do about them. The kitchen would need replacing.
The sound of footsteps echoed above me. I froze. I was unable to move my body, which became stiff with fear. They stopped as quickly as they started. Just the pipes I told myself. My nerves had got the best of me at this point. My stomach was wrenched in knots and the act of shivering become painful. The temperature and dropped. I was sure it was below freezing. My breath came out in visible puffs that slowly evaporated.
I felt like eyes were burning into my back. Slowly I turned around. There was nothing there.
Chapter 5
I must have inhaled way too much bleach and cleaning products. Pulling off the bright yellow cleaning gloves, I decided to go gather logs to start a fire. The fresh air would do me good.
The front door wouldn't budge. I yanked on the door handle but it was jammed. I kicked the door in frustration and then yelled at it "God dam it I just want to get some wood for the fire," I pulled on the door handle again and flew back landing firmly on my rear with a pain that shot up my back. The door opened with ease. Unsteadily I got to my feet and brushed myself off all the while staring at the door like it had a mind of its own.
I walked through and stepped into the afternoon sun. The warmth felt good against my skin after the chill of the house. I had thoughts about leaving and not looking back but the prospect of following my dream and becoming a lawyer was too strong.
Walking around the side of the house I came upon the coal bunker and the log shed. Unlucky for me there was just a few scarps of coal and couple of sticks. I guess the sticks would help to start the fire.
I spotted an old rusty axe by the tin shed that looked worse for wear, just as bad as the house. Claiming the axe I went in search of some wood.
The woods were silent as ever. No birds chirping just the sound of the autumn dry leaves crunching under my feet was heard. I came to a clearing I vaguely remembered from my childhood.
My grandmother was digging. She did that a lot. This time was different. She seemed more determined, and each strike of the shovel hitting the ground was more aggressive.
The memory played out in my mind like it was happening there and then. Her long floral dress that reached just above her ankles had been splattered with the soggy dirt. It had done nothing but rain all week and it was the first dry day we had. The white apron that was a constant clothing accessory no longer held a hint of its pristine condition.
She was looking older than usual. Her graying short hair was sticking up in odd angles. I doubted that she had brushed it that morning. Her face was paler and held a grayish tint. "Mother!" a voice called. She slightly turned her head to look at the person who was stepping through the cluster of trees. My father emerged and crossed his arms over his chest. He didn't look impressed at all.
"You, should be in bed," he stepped towards her and she started to dig more frantically. This was the worse I had ever seen her. My grandmother was a composed woman most of the time. She had a mission to find the girl that haunted her dreams. Sometimes she would go weeks without one of her mad episodes of trying to find her. In those weeks she was like any other grandmother. She wanted to bake and do all the fun stuff.
I was just a young girl, watching from the tree lines. I never really understood back then, but now I am starting to. The voice I heard last night is the kind of voice you can't ignore. I don't know the full story of Mary. All my father ever told me was that she went missing one day while in my Grandmothers care. Watching her dig up the ground was one of the last memories that I had of her.
I can only guess that she knew that her life was coming to a close. I knew she vowed to find out what happened to Mary and to find her. She had her suspicions that I knew. Sometimes she would share them with me and my spine would feel like it was replaced by ice. She always suspected that her husband was the culprit. She never explained in what way. She just said that she knew he did it.
Dad always said that when she got the impulse to dig and search for Mary it was her guilt that was the driving force.
I gathered as many fallen logs as I could and stacked them up. I knew I should have grabbed the old wheelbarrow that was propped up against the shed. Now I would have to carrying what I could back to the house.
The walk back to the house was short. I didn't stray that far. I gave the house a look of resentment before I entered.
I stacked the wood next to the fire place and started placing the larger logs at the bottom. I had seen my father do this on a number of occasions. Once I had arranged the logs I realized I had no way to light them.
I didn't smoke and the thought of it made my stomach turn. I had no need for lighters or match sticks. I surveyed the room and remembered that my Grandmother used to keep match sticks in one of the sideboard drawers.
I rooted around the first drawer with no luck. It was filled with junk. I scanned inside the second drawer and froze.
I pulled out a glass frame that was coated in thick dust. I could still make out the girls black hair and blank stare. I wiped the dust away and I saw her. My stomach curdled. Dread crept down my spine, like a carful spider. I could feel her feet on my skin until I was almost frozen to the spot. My stomach was full of lead.
I knew who the girl was. I had seen her before. Her long black hair framed her delicate childlike face. She had a look of pure
innocence. It was Mary.
I can still recall the day I walked into my room and there she stood. Her head was tilted down. I couldn't see her face as her hair framed her features. The room was colder than normal and the cold licked at my skin. Still I wasn't afraid. I was lonely. There was no one around for miles and I was the only child in the house. I liked the thought of someone to play with.
"Hello," I said and stepped forward. She lifted her head at a snail pace. Her face was whiter than snow and her lips had a bluish tint. I had always been taught to never judge a person on how they looked so I brushed it off.
"Hi, I am Amelia but you can call me Mia," I extended my hand like I had seen my father do and she looked at me with confusion.
"Find Me!" her child like voice rang around the room. I was then afraid. When she spoke her eyes were firmly on me. Her irises were mostly white. That is not what scared me. Her lips never moved as she spoke. I didn't understand. She disappeared before my eyes. There was no smoke or a puff that you see in the movies. She just disappeared. I had hid the memory in the darkest part of my mind. I did tell my father but that resulted in an argument with my grandmother. He had thought that she had filled my head with the nonsense. That wasn't true. He just didn't believe, in ghosts.
The fire burst into flames and I recoiled back. I stood starring. I couldn't move. Fear had turned my limbs into cement.
The cold around me turned to ice and crept into my spine. It travelled in my veins and made my bones ache.
The flames leaped high and twirled in a fiery dance. "Find Me!" it screamed. My adrenaline came alive. I spun around so fast I nearly toppled over. Gaining my footing I made for the front door. One by one I heard the windows slam shut. My heart was hammering so hard in my chest it sounded like a stone rattling in a tin box.
The door wouldn't open. I pulled and yanked but nothing happened. I dug around in my pocket for my cellphone. I didn't get a firm grip and it clattered to the floor. Quickly I retrieved it and tears sprang to my eyes when I saw I had no service.
Find Me : Novella Page 2