by Nana Malone
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. “Everything 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.
I know you’ve probably heard the rumors, but I’m not crazy. I’ll try to explain in the short time I have left. I seem to have been given a reprieve for the moment, a few minutes of clarity, and I fully intend to use it to warn you. This house was originally built by your great, great grandparents, Jesse and Gretchen Billingham. They disappeared in nineteen twenty–eight. Jesse’s brother, Edgar, lived in the house until his suicide two years later. Naturally, it’s a part of the past no one ever speaks of.
When I researched and found the house for sale, I bought it, thinking I would restore it as a tribute to our ancestors and leave you a home of which you could be proud, as an apology for the years I wasn’t there for you. Please forgive me. If I’d only known, I never would have put you in danger. How foolish of me to discount the rumblings from the people in town. They like things the way they are and I simply assumed they didn’t want ghosts—real or imagined—resurrected. I should have listened. You must listen. I want you to leave this house alone. Don’t stay in it. Nothing I have is worth risking your precious life for. Do not let yourself fall under the assumption that it’s only the townspeople … I can feel them coming for me and know I don’t have much longer. The spirits are strong. Stronger than before. I think it’s the kindred blood running through our veins which puts us at a greater risk, so please —
And that’s where it ended. With
a large ink stain running down the rest of the page. It was dated the day my uncle died.
As I stared at the inky blob, the library door slammed shut. I jumped, dropping the book. When I ran to the door, the knob wouldn’t budge. I pounded and pounded on the barrier, hoping Devon was back and would hear me yelling for him.
A prickly feeling crawled up my spine and I just knew someone was standing behind me. I whirled around. No one. But out of the corner of my eye, I saw white smoke coming from the fireplace, where no fire was lit. It billowed out, filling half the room and moving closer to me. Sadness, anger and frustration swept over me. Not my emotions, but someone else’s. More than one someone else.
I turned back to the door, trying desperately to wrench it open. In the face of its refusal, I banged and kicked at it, tears streaming down my face.
Help us.
The words whisper–soft at first, continued to grow in volume, repeating over and over. Just those two words.
Help us. Help us.
Terror overwhelmed me; my legs shook and felt no more substantial than gelatin. I turned, as if in slow motion, not wanting to see, but needing to know.
The white mist had stopped a mere two feet in front of me. It swirled and danced, shapes took form in the midst of the cloud before dissipating. Another screech, the sound like nails on chalk board, pierced my soul.
I backed up to the door, gripped the knob and yanked as hard as I could. Sobs of terror ripped from my throat. The door pushed open from the other side and I nearly fainted from fear. I spun around ready to fight, claw, bite, when hands grabbed my shoulders.
“Serena! It’s just me.” Devon pulled me into his arms, but I continued to struggle until his words registered. I slumped against him, then remembering the mist in the room behind me, I jerked around.
There was nothing there. No shapes, no mist, no anything. Had I been hallucinating again? No. No! I wasn’t going crazy.
“What the hell was going on in here?” Devon moved in front of me, concern and fear evident in his face.
“I ...I …” My mouth opened and closed. Adrenaline still surged through my veins. I wanted to run. Instead I collapsed against Devon, sobbing.
He picked me up and carried me to the bedroom, laying me down on the bed. He curled up behind me, pulling the afghan over me. His body wrapped around mine, giving me heat and comfort.
Eventually I was able to speak and I told him what had happened. I felt him stiffen when I got to the smoke and the shapes, the plea for help. Soon he relaxed though, and stroked my hair.
“It’s just your mind playing tricks on you, sweetheart. You’ve been under a lot of stress and these stupid, small–minded people around here don’t help matters with all their stories and innuendo.”
I didn’t believe him, but I didn’t want him to think I was crazy either. Instead I pulled him to me, kissed him softly, then with more urgency. I wanted to feel alive. To know I was in control of something in my life. He only stopped me once, to make sure I really wanted to take this next step. After that, clothes disappeared, and our bodies moved together. I took everything he gave and demanded more. Finally sated, we curled up together and slept.
We woke to screaming. My screaming. The woman—Gretchen, I guessed from my uncle’s journals—was back. She held out a hand toward me, a plea in the sunken hollow of her eyes. Devon scooted back, pulling me against him. I felt his body shaking and his breathing came in gasps. He saw her too! I wasn’t crazy.
The apparition disappeared. We held each other for a few minutes before Devon got up and began getting dressed. “Let’s go get some breakfast.”
“What? Aren’t we even going to talk about it?” I was incredulous.
“Talk about what? Nothing happened. You had a bad dream and woke me up.” He pulled up his pants, zipped them and reached for his shirt.
I sat there numb.
“Come on, get dressed. The fresh air will do you good. Do us both some good.” He held my shorts and t–shirt out to me. When I didn’t take them, he dropped them on the bed beside me.
“Devon. I know you saw her. I could tell you saw her. Please …” I pleaded with him.
“No. It was just the power of suggestion, Serena. With all the rumors, the lack of sleep, just everything got all mixed up. There was nothing there.” He sat on the bed to tie his shoes.
I dressed and made my way to the kitchen. I started the coffee.
“Aren’t you coming with me?” Devon had followed me and held keys in his hand.
I shook my head. “No. I’m going to get started going through the bedrooms upstairs. You can bring me back something, though.” I paused. “If you’re coming back.”
“Of course I’m coming back, but I don’t think you should stay here right now by yourself.” Worry clouded his eyes.
“Why? If there’s nothing here to be afraid of, then there’s no reason for me not to stay. Right?” When he said nothing, I raised my voice, “Oh. I get it. You think I’m crazy. Just like Uncle Fred.” I slammed the cabinet door. “Well, I’m not crazy! And neither was Uncle Fred.”
The look Devon gave me was a mix of fear and pity.
“Just get out.” I left the kitchen and started up the stairs, determined to figure out what had happened to Uncle Frederick, one room at a time. I didn’t want anyone to pity him or think him crazy. I knew he wasn’t. He was haunted.
Just before the door slammed shut, I heard Devon call out, “I’ll be back with breakfast.”
After just a few minutes in one of the upstairs bedrooms, my clothes were filthy. Dust was everywhere and I disturbed it with each drawer I opened and object I moved. Bent over a trunk, I startled when my cell phone rang. Beth’s number showed on the screen. The interference had been so bad; I hadn’t been able to talk to her in a few days. It didn’t matter which of us called the other, we usually only heard static.
“Hi Beth. I hope—”
“Serena! Get out that house now!” Beth shrieked. The terror in her voice had my feet moving before my brain even registered the words. I ran down the stairs but as I stepped into the foyer, they were waiting on me.
I screamed and dropped the phone. They enveloped me within their ethereal bodies. They moved through me, shredding my soul. My flesh felt torn and bruised. High pitch screeching burst in my head, the rest of the world devoid of sound. After what seemed like hours, it stopped and I fell to the floor.
~ * ~ * ~
When I awakened in the hospital, Devon informed me I’d been unconscious for six days. I’d lost weight. More weight than I should have in six days. Gray streaked my hair, which had lost all its former luster. My cheeks looked sunken and my eyes devoid of hope. Just like Beth had described from her dreams.
She was there, too. She brought me a change of clothing and offered to drive me to the airport on my release. And because I so desperately wanted to be released, I told no one about the voices in my head, begging me to help them.
Over the next few days, Devon apologized repeatedly for leaving me that morning and begged my forgiveness. He even acknowledged he’d seen the ghost.
The doctor signed the discharge papers and Devon rode with me in the back of the Navigator. As we approached the city limits, my skin tingled, burned. My nerves screamed at me to stop. The voices grew louder, more urgent. I held on to Devon’s hand squeezing it so hard, I’m surprised no bones broke.
“I can’t … I can’t leave. Turn around. They’re killing me.” I begged.
“Keep going.” Devon ordered Beth. He held me tightly against him.
Beth’s worried glance met mine in the rear–view mirror and I felt the car accelerate.
A pain like nothing I’d ever experienced shot through me and I cried out for them to stop. Blood seeped from my pores, the agony so intense I thought I would die. Moments later blessed blackness descended.
I once again awoke in the hospital. Upon my release a few days later and after arguing with Devon and Beth for the better part of the day,
they finally took me home—to Uncle Frederick’s house. The spirits wouldn’t let me leave. They needed me.
And I’d either help them or I’d be consumed.
~ ~ ~ THE END ~ ~ ~
A Note from Rhonda Hopkins:
If you’ve enjoyed this short story, please share your thoughts with your friends and others by writing a review. Thank you!
And here's a taste of my upcoming Courting Justice book series:
Predator: A Courting Justice Series Novella
With one young girl dead and two more missing, Fort Worth detectives Greg Matthews and Caleb Simmons are fighting against the clock to catch a predator. One of the missing girls is a pawn in a nasty custody case assigned to family court investigator, Tori Matthews. Could the cases be related? Teaming up with her brother and his partner, they’ll stop at nothing to find the missing girls before another child is lost forever.
'Predator'
Mystery/Thriller/Romantic Suspense
Available late-Fall 2013
Sign up for release notices at:
www.RhondaHopkins.com
* * * * *
About Rhonda Hopkins
Award–winning romantic suspense and horror author, Rhonda Hopkins, has learned firsthand that truth is stranger than fiction. Her two decades of experience as an investigator for her state and family courts give her characters a depth and realism that gives truth a run for its money. She lives in Texas with her cat, Samantha, who has trained her human well.
Connect with Rhonda at:
Website and Blog: www.RhondaHopkins.com
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