Scary ghost stories and stuff (1)

New Roses

One part of Cora prayed that Billy would hurry, while one part of her prayed that he would not come at all. Through it all she knew that it did not really matter what she prayed for, because he would come, as he always did, and he would not be late. No, he was never late.

She stood at the parlor window throughout the night, hoping and dreading as she looked down into the darkness at the spot where the dead rose garden lie. She could not see the garden in the darkness, but she could see it perfectly in her mind’s eye, the image engrained there in flawless detail after decades of looking upon it in the sunlight. She prayed again, this time asking only for the strength to do what she knew she had to do.

The grandfather clock ticked behind her like someone tapping on her shoulder. She did not turn to face it. She did not want to look at the time and know how close Billy was to arriving, because then she would have to admit how terrified she was, and if she admitted that then she might lose her nerve. She could not let that happen. Not this time.

The sun broke over the hills and lighted the yard, the dead roses, the broken trellis. She pressed one hand against the window and tried to remember the times she'd spent with her mother in the garden, but the memories would not come. They had not come for so terribly long now. Cora stiffened, pulled her hand away from the glass, and waited.

The doorbell rang in the same instant that the clock’s seven o’clock chime sounded, startling Cora so badly that she nearly cried out. She composed herself and walked briskly to the door, opening it quickly so as not to allow herself any hesitation, lest she lose her resolve altogether.

"Mrs. Fiortura," Billy beamed a toothy smile. His sandy hair, blue eyes, and gleaming teeth all looked exactly the same as they had the first day she'd met him, over one hundred years ago.

“Hello, Billy," Cora stepped aside.

“How is my favorite customer?” Billy asked, walking into the parlor.

“Fine. And you?”

“Excellent. Business has been booming, even with the present challenges to the economy. Luckily for us, our business is one hundred percent recession proof. People always want to live to see better times, right?”

He took a seat at the table in the parlor, set his briefcase down, and took out a file. “Well,” Billy said, "I don’t want to keep you from your business, so I’ll just get the paperwork going for the standard annual plan, again. Unless you’d like to upgrade to our decade option?" He lifted his eyebrows at her. "It’s actually become the company standard. It offers substantial savings."

"No. No, thank you," Cora muttered.

"Well, my philosophy has always been to give the customer what they want. Nobody likes a pushy salesman, right? I'll get the paperwork going on the standard annual plan,” he set out the paperwork, whistling quietly as he worked.

Cora stood opposite him at the table and watched him flip through the papers. She was paralyzed, the same way she'd been during the salesman’s last dozen visits. She could feel herself losing her grit, but then she thought of another year of staring out that window at dead flowers, another year of being unable to remember any of the people that she had once cherished, the ones that made life worth living in the first place, and from that sad and fearful feeling a little "no" squeaked out of her.

"Pardon me?" Billy smiled.

Cora cleared her throat, "I don't want the standard annual plan, either. I don't want any plan at all." Billy sat looking at her, an uncomprehending smile frozen on his face. "I'm sorry," Cora said, hating herself for apologizing. She walked back to the window and looked outside. She knew he was going to try to talk her out of it, and if she looked him in the eyes he might succeed.