A bone-deep chill greets me as I wake beside Grandmother's grave. Its icy fingers trail across my skin–a silent reminder of how long I've been held in its grasp.
The dirt I buried myself under has turned to mud in the rain, soaking through my clothes. It stains the white and bleeds into the black stripes of my dress. I don't care. I never did. Grandmother Jane always says pinstripes are for clowns, not young ladies. I agree, though I wore it anyway. Maybe I hoped she'd say something—just one more time.
A bitter, cloying sweetness coats my tongue. Not fruit—poison. The taste clings to the back of my throat like rot. Belladonna. I didn't gather enough.
My muscles groan as I push myself upright. I brace against the stone marker, fingers scraping the wet granite. Purple stains bloom across my skin—evidence of how close I came. I run a dirt-caked nail across my lips, wondering if the color's there too.
The rain falls harder now, cold against my skin, clinging to my lashes. The scent of wet earth surrounds me, thick and loamy. Somewhere close, water laps gently against the island's shore. It makes me think of her—buried deep, cradled by the Earth. At least the soil still gets to hold her close.
"I didn't take enough," I whisper, voice hoarse, my gaze fixed on her name carved in stone. I reach up and flick a patch of lichen from the top. "There you are. As good as new."
A smile touches my lips—small, fleeting. It vanishes almost as soon as it comes.
The poison didn't work; I have once again failed.
My trembling hands wrap around the very last thing I have of my dearly departed grandmother: a gold heart locket strung around my neck
At the sight of the setting sun and the manor with its steep roofs and turrets in the distance, my pulse races. If I'm late for dinner, Mother will stew my spleen.
"I've got to get going," I tell the gravestone, pressing a kiss to its cool surface. "I'll see you soon Grandma, I promise. We'll be together before long, you needn't worry."
I sprint to the dock, weaving through the damp forest. The trees around me seem to buckle under the weight of the rain. The wind whistles through their branches, carrying unintelligible whispers I don't bother trying to make out. It's as if the sky weeps for my departed grandmother, knowing I no longer can.
My boot catches in a slick part of the soil, and with a sickening thud, I'm sent sprawling on the ground with the air knocked from my lungs. Pain explodes in the back of my head as it connects with a grave marker, sending stars dancing before my eyes as I try to catch my breath. The world around me turns fuzzy and dark as I claw at the soil, reaching for anything to steady myself. Panic rears its ugly nails into my chest, twisting until it hurts to breathe as I struggle to orient myself in the darkness. I lie there for a fearful moment, gasping as I try to stop my head from spinning. The world tilts around me, distorting into something terrifying and chaotic.
I manage to pull myself up and stumble to the worn rowboat, the metallic taste of blood lingering on my lips. The journey back home looms before me, the distance seemingly insurmountable as I struggle to push through the pain and exhaustion weighing me down. The chill of the water seeps into my bones as I navigate the dark waters of the Great Lake; each row of the oars is painstaking.
As the sun shines lower on the horizon, casting long shadows over the landscape, I steel myself for the climb ahead. The cliffside stairs tower before me, stretching upwards, daunting and treacherous, but I have no choice other than to press on. I can't help but frown at the grandeur of it. Must everything be so pompous, so fraught with danger and uncertainty?
YOU ARE READING
Haunted
Mystery / Thriller"It was peaceful for a short while, as the sky turned liquid and my lips turned blue. Even the burning in my lungs was better than the ache in my heart." Bound by a lie, held by a promise. During the Reconstruction Era in New York (1877), Catherine...
