HauntingMelodyStClaire

by Ditter Kellen

  Melody sat straight up with a scream dying on her lips. Her heart pounded with fear and her skin crawled with dread. She blinked her bleary eyes and squinted in the dark. Where am I? It took a moment to take in the peeling wallpaper and lovely furniture. Kassa’s house. I must have had another nightmare. She reached for the familiar weight of her grandmother’s locket. In a panic, she realized it wasn’t there. Melody pressed her hand against her chest and flipped the blanket back. She untangled her legs from the sheet, lifted the pillow and felt around for the necklace. It was gone. Melody felt a burst of anxiety and reached to turn on the lamp. Golden light spilled out into the room and she blinked to clear her vision. Her towel fell open and she bent over to tuck it back across her breasts when she noticed the locket, safely lying on the nightstand beside the bed. Her pulse slowed and she reached over to pick it up.

  “There you are.” Her fingers traced the delicate flowers painted on the porcelain. She carefully opened it. On the left was a tiny snapshot of her grandparents kissing. The first few bars of their song lifted her spirits and filled her heart with comfort. It was then she noticed her skin tingling in bands around her chest. Its warmth wasn’t the memory of her nightmare. It was like…

  She peered down at the floor, frowning in confusion. Travis Santiago stared up at her through the shattered glass of the antique frame. Kassa was going to kill her. Melody jumped out of bed and ran to get the broom, snagging a robe on the way. Her grandmother’s necklace came around her neck in a heartbeat. She closed the case and tucked it under the material. Worry ate at her. Kassa had told her not to break anything. She grabbed a small trashcan and the hand broom. The last place she’d seen the dustpan was in the bathroom. She flicked the switch, but nothing happened.

  The last few hours before she fell asleep came rushing back. Her hands shook while she examined the vanity in the limited light from the bedroom where she’d left the frame and her grandmother’s necklace.

  How did they end up next to her bed when she’d left them on the sink last night? She drew the robe closed up to her neck and walked slowly back into the room. A quick inspection told her nothing else was out of place. She shut the door, blocking the view of the bathroom, and strode to the mess. All of the glass seemed self-contained, but small slivers always found their way to the bottom of her feet. She lifted the frame and gingerly dumped the glass into the trashcan. The picture fluttered down and she grabbed it.

  She flipped it over, hoping it wasn’t scratched. Travis stared back at her with a sexy grin. She couldn’t help but return the smile. “I’m happy to see you survived. I would have hated to see a scratch on that handsome face.” She put him facedown on the side table and finished cleaning up the rest. “You know, people would call me crazy if they knew I was talking to pictures of strange men.” She stood and surveyed the floor to make sure no shiny bits were left. Her gaze drifted to the back of the photo. She blinked slowly and squinted at the words. Beneath the faded script of his name and date was the word Believe in bold letters.

  She snatched it up and read it again. “I’m going crazy.” She knew it wasn’t there before. Turning on her heel and gripping the robe, she lifted it so she could run down the stairs. Her fist clenched the delicate cloth, but she didn’t care. Someone was messing with her and it wasn’t funny.

  She reached the kitchen and grabbed the phone. Kassa’s number was on the fridge. It took three tries to get her fingers to work, but she finally got through.

  “Hello?” The crackle over the lines made it hard to hear.

  “Kassa? This is Melody.”

  “Melody?” She sounded as if she just woke up. “Oh God. Are you okay? What time is it?”

  She glanced at the clock above the stove and winced. “Yes. I’m sorry it’s early, but it couldn’t wait.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  Melody paced the kitchen floor. “I broke something.”

  “What?” She sounded far more awake.

  “It was a frame. The glass shattered when it fell off the nightstand. I’m sorry.”

  Kassa sighed. “That kind of thing can wait until the morning.”

  “Right.” Melody placed the picture on the island and impatiently tapped her fingernails.

  “That’s not why you called.”

  “No.” She didn’t know how to ask.

  “Did something spook you?”

  “I think I’m going crazy.”

  “Why?” She instantly perked up. Melody’s annoyance gained ground on her irrational fear. Was Kassa setting her up for something?

  “Just things that happen here at the house. The light blew in the bathroom.”

  “Was it a bright light then a loud pop sound?”

  “Yes.”

  She sighed “You have fresh light bulbs. I’ll talk you through how to replace it. You’ll want to flip the breaker first so the next light doesn’t pop.” Her instructions were clear and precise, further calming Melody’s racing heart and making her fear seem even more ridiculous.

  “Does the stuff with the lighting happen often? Is it the wiring?” There was still a hint of uncertainty in her voice.

  “It’s an old house. I’ve had several reputable electricians out there and they assure me the wiring is sound. My grandfather had it replaced when I was a baby.”

  She rested her forehead against the cool surface of the refrigerator. “Thanks for your help, Kassa. I’ll get the light fixed and replace the glass on the frame as soon as I can get to a store.” Her words came in rapid succession.

  “Melody.” Kassa’s voice was very calm.

  “Yes?”

  “Did you seriously call me about a broken light and a frame?”

  Melody sighed. “You’ll think I’m crazy.”

  “Try me.”

  “Okay. There are weird things happening. Not just the light, but things moving around. My personal things.”

  “Like what?”

  “My necklace and that frame I told you about. I found a photo yesterday of a man. The back said it was from 1982.”

  An amused sound came over the line. “Travis Santiago?”

  “How did you know that?”

  “He’s your ghost.”

  “I don’t believe in ghosts.”

  “Doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”

  “That’s not the point.”

  She chuckled. “Is there more?”

  “Yes. When the frame fell, I was cleaning up the mess and noticed the back of the picture had the word Believe written across it. It wasn’t there before.”

  “Believe? Well that’s a weird word choice.”

  Seriously? I tell the woman words appear magically and she’s disturbed by the word?

  “I think the entire thing is weird.”

  “Is it still on the back of the photo?”

  She flipped it over. Believe. “Yes.”

  “Do you know why he would use that word?”

  Melody wrinkled her brow. “Why would I know what a ghost thinks? If they were real, I mean.”

  “Why don’t you ask him?”

  “What?”

  “Just ask him. I’m sure he’d tell you.”

  This woman was a fruitcake. “Thanks for your help, Kassa.”

  “No problem. I’m heading out of town for the day, so I’ll give you a call later.”

  They hung up and Melody muttered, “Why don’t I just ask him?” She glared at the photo. “If you’re truly a ghost, then listen up. I don’t like being scared out of my wits. So stop with the parlor tricks and let me put my life back together. I’ll be out of your hair and you can go back to haunting this house with all the enthusiasm of a kitten in a yarn factory for all I care.”

  There was no answer. No moan or freezing touch against her neck. “And I’m talking to myself again. Nice.”

  She left the kitchen and stalked back upstairs. It took a minute to get changed into a t-shirt and cut-off shorts. A wave of dizziness had her sitting on the foot of the bed. Too man
y days with too little rest. Sleep deprivation could be why she didn’t remember things very well. Predawn light peeked through the slats of the shutters. It would be daylight soon. The dizziness passed and she pulled on her sandals.

  She grabbed the small trashcan and walked out into the hallway. Something caught her attention at the end of the corridor. There was a broad window with sheer curtains fluttering in an invisible breeze. Melody’s throat closed and her heart thundered. The shadow of a man stood within them. He had his broad back to her, staring out the window. Melody stepped forward and a floorboard creaked. She shut her eyes for a moment, cursing in her mind. When they opened, the fluttering had stopped and the man was gone. She shook her head. Was she hallucinating?

  Melody took hesitant steps toward the window with her palm open. There was no breeze. She touched the curtain and ran her fingers against it. Nothing out of the ordinary. The curtains began to flutter again and a cool morning wind swirled lightly around her. Melody smiled in relief. It was an old drafty house, and this was a single-pane design. It wouldn’t surprise her if every window was this way. She put her forehead to the glass to adjust her vision. Was that a lone lemon tree in the overgrown gardens?

  They were ripe and she grinned. Lemonade. Spinning around, Melody raced down the stairs. The small trashcan was dumped off in the kitchen. She grabbed a floppy hat and an old basket from hooks and opened the back door, trudging through the dew-covered grass to the tree. The ripe ones were plucked first and tossed into the basket. Too few were ready to be picked. “You need some trimming, honey.” Her mother had loved trees. She’d taught her how to prune them when they were overgrown.

  “Oh Mom.” She smiled at the memory. “I sure wish you were here.” It has to be loneliness causing me to conjure up ghosts and talk to myself. An image came to mind of the sexy Travis Santiago in the photograph she’d found. Believe. There had to be an explanation. Could it be… Her thoughts trailed off when hot breath touched the back of her neck.

  Her heart kicked up a beat. I’m going crazy. No one’s here. The foundation of her reality shifted and she wasn’t so sure anymore. “Get a grip. It’s just exhaustion and I’m talking to myself again.”

  Melody turned to watch the sun come up over her small town, smiling at the memory of her childhood. The smells around her changed and fresh morning dew would burn off soon.

  The scent of overripe lemons drew her attention to the ground. A few had fallen. She knelt and picked them up, sniffing each one and checking for excessive bruising. The ones that were fine she put in the basket, while those that had split open or were too bruised would have their peels tossed in a pot of boiling water.

  “Believe.”

  Melody jumped and turned at the sound of the strange voice. Nothing. “It’s official. I’m going crazy.” It was time for some professional help. Or a straitjacket. Maybe both.

  Running a hand over her face, she picked up the floppy hat from the ground, gathered the remaining fruit and ran back toward the house.

  Melody made it safely inside. Her heart pounded and she managed to close the door before sliding to the floor and wrapping her arms around her legs.

  She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, sitting there thinking of everything that had happened recently. Ever since her parents’ deaths, she’d been in a kind of limbo, going through the motions, wanting to belong. Was she so starved for love her mind was willing to believe the impossible?

  Music spilled in from the den. An electric guitar intro to a familiar song brought her to her feet.

  The first haunting words of Conway Twitty’s Slow Hand drifted in.

  As the midnight moon was drifting through the lazy sway of the trees.

  Melody recognized the lyrics while she walked into the den and made her way to the turntable. Cool air brushed around her legs, leaving chills in their wake. A Conway Twitty sleeve sat on the side.

  I saw the look in your eye, looking into the night. Not seeing what you wanted to see.

  Her mind was curiously numb while she tried to process what was happening.

  Energy surrounded her and she froze. Breath caressed her cheek. “Close your eyes.” The voice of her resident ghost was a low rumble next to her ear. “I won’t hurt you.”

  “Wh-what?” Her voice shook, and not from fear.

  “Relax.” Fingers trailed over her shoulders and down her arms as though her clothes weren’t even there. “Can you feel it?”

  “Okay. I’m definitely certifiable.” Nerve endings lit up where he touched, warming her from the inside. Slow desire unraveled low in her belly.

  His laugh uncoiled the knots of tension in her chest. “Close your eyes.”

  They fluttered shut and the sensation of his touch grew more intense. The warmth behind her solidified into a hard body. He lifted her hair and let it tumble over a shoulder. “Dance with me.” Lips touched her throat and she shivered.

  He pressed against her back and interlocked their fingers. Travis wrapped their arms around her stomach and swayed gently to the music, drawing her away from the record player and into the center of the room.

  Everything about him was so real. “How is this possible?”

  “Shh.” His mouth brushed her ear. “Relax against me.” He began to sing along with the music, a gorgeous low tone that had her toes curling in appreciation.

  She let go of her worries and doubts and just let him guide her. All too soon the song was over and she sighed against him. She didn’t want this moment to end. “I love that song.”

  “So do I.” He held her tighter, as though afraid to let go.

  The solid weight of his body began to dissipate, and a panic tightened in her chest.

  “Don’t go.” She turned around in his arms, bringing her eyes open, but he was already gone.

  A light touch caressed her cheek and she tried to hold it against her skin. She reached out and clenched her fist when it met no resistance.

  Her hands lowered to her side and she turned off the record player. It was time to find out more about Travis Santiago.

  Chapter Three

  Melody climbed the stairs. When she reached the landing she turned her attention to the first step. No answering creak followed. Did that mean he wasn’t coming with her?

  Her fingers trailed up the banister and she ran all the options through her mind. “Of all the things I’ve lost, I miss my computer the most.” She muttered the altered quote under her breath. Without the internet at her fingertips, she would have to do things a little old-school. Kassa had mentioned some photos and papers in the attic. Maybe there was something about Travis up there. The access panel was easy to spot and she dragged down the ancient ladder.

  You danced with a ghost. This is nothing. Strangely enough, that thought actually calmed her while she climbed.

  Dust swirled in the shards of light peeking through the attic windows. It was far roomier and cleaner than she’d imagined. She expected spiders and rats, not neat and orderly boxes and trunks. A pile of books, papers and photos caught her attention. It nestled on a window seat among a bank of well-worn pillows. Excitement and frustration made her nervous, but the idea of finding out about his ghost was too alluring to pass up. He could be a murderer for all she knew. She chuckled and put a halt to that train of thought before her imagination went wild.

  Melody sat on the cushion and sorted through some of the photos. They didn’t seem organized in any way. Faces she didn’t recognize and places she’d never been. She grabbed a small pile and put it in her lap. The morning passed while she read articles and sifted through photos. Nothing popped out at her until she reached the bottom. Her attention snagged on an image of Travis wearing only jeans and nothing else. The expression on his face was semi-amused, but you could tell by the disheveled hair and sleepy grin he’d just rolled out of bed. Her stomach flipped. She tugged gently on her locket, drawing it back and forth along the chain. He seemed so…alive. She cleared the seat and stretched out. How did he die?
>
  There was a folded newspaper article in the last stack of papers. It was yellow with age and smudged from being handled often. She held her breath in anticipation. She knew this was important and opened the clipping with trembling fingers. The unsmiling face of Travis Santiago caught her attention. So did the headline. Local Man Killed by Drunk Driver. The grainy image below was difficult to make out, but it was obviously a serious wreck. She read the date. January 17, 1983.

  “Find anything interesting?”

  Melody cried out. She jerked to her feet, scattering pictures and papers across the floor. Her heart pounded with something very close to terror. “Dammit, you frightened me!” She looked up and was captivated by a pair of pale-blue eyes. Her gaze traveled down across broad shoulders beneath a tight t-shirt. The stark white material was tucked into a pair of snug-fitting jeans that emphasized powerful thighs from a walking wet dream. Shock and some good old female appreciation registered. It was as though he’d walked straight out of the picture. “I can see you.”

  His slow smile was devastating. “I noticed.”

  She couldn’t seem to make her mind work enough to form words.

  “If you’re looking for porn, I keep it in that trunk over there.” He pointed to a spot behind her. She flushed in embarrassment and laughed to cover her nervousness.

  Emotion flickered in the depths of his eyes. He knelt down and surveyed the scattered pile. Even in death, this man could fill out a pair of jeans. He was sin on a stick. His attention caught on the article she’d been reading. A strange sense of voyeuristic guilt built inside her and she nibbled on her lower lip.

  “I had just had that car painted too.” He grew quiet and the heat surrounding him seeped away. Sunlight bathed his skin and kissed his brown hair. Her fingers itched to touch him.

  “You died in a car wreck over thirty years ago. Why are you still here?”

  “Because I have to be.” He looked up at her, and she was caught by an emotion she couldn’t name.

  “That’s a long time to be alone.” She flicked the corner of the article with her finger.