The Haunted and other short stories

The Haunted

October 28th, 1957

At night I cry. I have forgotten why. Fear, sadness, anger, they fade. Once I had them. Their comfort unchanging as the stars. My friends left me. They left me to die. "Anna?" I call. "Anna come back here. You are getting my carpet dirty. Silly girl. I won't buy you the red dress I promised, if you mess things up." Her green dress was muddied. Blood dripped down the side of her face. Soft brown hair tangled. She moves into the shadows. Gone, they are all gone. My lovelies went without me.The cabin is quiet. It has been abandoned for years. At times it feels lonely. The grandfather clock ticks. Her chimes gay. My ghosts keep me company at times. We laugh and dance. I do not know where the music comes from. I run my large rugged hands through my hair. My chair faces out towards the woods. Watching the barren road leading to me. My heart beats. I forgot it did that. My lips cracked felt a breeze upon them. Was that my breath? Glancing at my hands I notice them covered in blood. They are usually like that. I had better wash them. They incriminate me. I do not move. The clock ticks. Am I waiting for something?

Later that day...

This evening I will eat well. I had forgotten the meat. I had left it out. Flies landed on it. The heat from the pan will burn them out. How had I forgotten this treasure? I must have planned eating them. I left it out. It was mine. I made it so. I missed the smell of cooking flesh. Butter and herbs intertwined with the stench. Anna would eat some. I'd leave it out for her. What was that pounding? There was another knock on the door.

Micheal was at the door. I had missed Micheal. Micheal was my friend. He was my confidant. I invited him in. I couldn't say he was looking his best. His clothes were in taters. His face was covered in scars. "Please sit down. Sit down," I begged him. "I have longed for you so. You'll never leave me now. It will be just like we always wanted." Micheal was angry at me. He had to be so judgmental. He was the one wearing shoes in my house. It wasn't like he could say anything, but his stare told it all. Mummbling was all he could do. I made sure of that. He would never tell. He was my friend. He would never tell. I made sure of that. "This is the way I want it. I get things the way I want!" I shouted at him. I shouldn't have shouted at him. I marched away. Micheal broke the lamp by the chair. It doesn't matter now. Nothing matters now. I'll sit and enjoy my dinner.

October 29th, 1957

Last night, Martha came to me. Her skin was soft, just how I remembered it. She smelled of jasmine and honey. I was still angry with Martha. Martha wasn't suppose to go away. She was my enchanting sun. The unbreakable rays of god running through her strawberry hair. The rope burns on her neck were fresh. I laid her upon the bed. Sinking into her cherry lips, she was sobbing. Why was Martha upset? This was what she wanted. She made me do this. It was Martha's fault. It is always Martha's fault. She made me lose Anna. Anna, my Anna was gone. Martha was gone. "It is your fault, bitch. It is your fault. your fault, your fault..."

 I sat on my chair again. Facing outside, I count the rain drops. When I was a child, I hated rain. There was a reason. I remember my mother leaving. I was small. She had a suitcase. It was raining. She wore a red dress. Daddy let her go. Daddy let her leave me. The storm was screaming. Trees ripped in half. I could no longer watch the road. Someone was running down the stairs. They ran up the stairs. Then down the stairs away. This continued for the rest of the day.

October 30th, 1957

Micheal was loud last night. His heavy boots patrolled the hall. The thumping kept me up all night. At least the rain had ceased. I hadn't left the cabin in days. The smell of earth and trees called me into the woods. Leading me farther into the woods, I came across a deep pond. This was new to me. I did not remember it here before. I sat down on the grass and watched the pond. Time slowly ticked by as the water stood still. A part of me was waiting for something. It was time to go into the water. My feet fell into line. The pond came close. The cool liquid swooshed around my pant legs. I paused as the water reached my chest. Tears began to fall. Hands rose from the depths to pull me under. The cold fingers of death closed around my throat.

October 31st, 1957

Obituary

John Peters was confirmed dead early this morning. According to reports, he succumbed to delusions before committing suicide while waiting on death row in the state prison, for the murder of Micheal Grand along with John's wife and daughter. He left no family.