Christopher Reed wanted to start a new life in Leavenworth, away from people, hoping to escape the grief of losing his wife Janice in a terrible car accident.
The charming cottage he bought with the most alluring garden was perched on a plain near t...
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The sun peeked in through the lounge windows, sending a gleaming yellow radiance all around the room. The curtains billowed slightly from the breeze that entered from outside. Stilly, when compared to last night. The rustling pine trees threw shadows into the room and with it came its sweet fragrance. Christopher pulled his arms over his head and stretched out his stiff and tired body.
Rubbing his tired eyes, he felt annoyed at the sun for waking him so early. He forced himself to the kitchen for his morning coffee. Grateful was not even close to what he felt towards Robin Anderson, the real estate agent who had helped him buy the property. When he had let her know that he was sending his furniture and all his other personal belongings, she had offered to have the house cleaned out and everything unpacked.
Now, he could enjoy a cup of java without scratching through boxes. The invigorating aroma of joy filled the air as soon as the hot water started prickling through the ground coffee beans. A comforting warm rejuvenated feeling went through his body with the first sip he took.
After he had taken a shower, he looked into the mirror and dragged a hand through his disheveled mahogany hair looking into his tired, slightly red eyes. The last time you looked this bad was when Janice died. Get a hold of yourself. You are here to start over, he scolded himself.
He decided to check the grounds to see where someone could have entered the property. He found no signs of footprints near the window nor anywhere else around the house. He checked all the fences and found nothing out of place. All the gates leading into the property were securely locked.
Christopher made his way over to the garden and stood there gazing at it. Butterflies and bees were competing for the nectar of the flowers. The most wondrous scene. He would have loved for Janice to have experienced it. A mixture of scents lingered in the air. The tang of the sweet peas flowed over his shoulders from the house behind him. It looked so tranquil, but an uneasy feeling came over him.
He brushed it off as the stress he had experienced from moving. The only thing he couldn’t understand is why he was having nightmares about Janice. His nightmares had stopped six months after her death. Why were they returning now? He got the feeling that she was mad at him. Could it be? He had blamed himself for the accident, for killing her. He could have seen in time that the pick up truck had skipped the stop, and prevented the accident. He subsequently thought of thousands of ways he could have prevented the accident.
Feeling drained and in need of another cup of coffee, he returned home. At first, he didn't notice it, but when he heard the swing creaking into motion before he entered the door, he turned and saw it. With a pale face, he spun around and stormed down the steps.
"Who's there? Get out here and come and face me, you coward!"
His yelling echoed, bouncing from tree to flower and back to him.
"I'm waiting!"
Rabbits darted, birds fluttered out of the trees and squirrels sprinted for cover. His voice bellowed, releasing pent-up rage and frustration.
Nothing happened. Nobody came. Stepping onto the stoop again, he looked at the bunch of darkest red and green Amaranths. He happened to know they were also called 'Love-lies-bleeding'. Janice used to use them as accent plants, especially in dried flower arrangements. The rope like, breathtaking tassels cascaded over the seat of the swing. He stepped closer to get a better look.
Who left this here? He whispered to the flowers, "Are you trying to get my attention?" Raising his voice, he called, "You've got my attention! What do you want?"
Turning around, he checked for any movement. Nothing.
***
Christopher went to bed as late as his tired eyes would allow him. He double checked that all the doors and windows were closed and locked and all the curtains drawn.
Going into his bedroom, he walked over to the bed. He glanced over at the door when he heard it creak and saw a blur passing. The door slammed shut and made him jump. He slowly went over to the door and opened it. Peeking down the hall, he saw or heard nothing. Shaking his head at himself, he laughed at his own stupidity, blaming the apparent draft from the open window.
Locking the door behind him, he was just too happy to go to sleep but still hated the feeling of being trapped like a prisoner in his own home. The bedroom was surprisingly cold. The hairs on his arms and neck raised.
It didn't take him long before he fell asleep. The feeling of somebody sitting on the corner of his bed, and his covers heavy like they were pinning him down, woke him up. Christopher was trapped, his hands and feet bound to the bedposts. At the bottom of the bed, he saw a woman. He strained to hear what she said, but only hissing sounds came from her mouth.
"Janice?" He tried to wrench his hands from his constraints.
Her long hip length, light brown hair covered in blood, dangled in her face. She was wearing a short white satin nightgown. She slithered onto the bed like a snake. The white nightgown was now turning cherie red as the blood of the wounds on her body seeped through it. She was slowly moving closer to him. Blood spilt from her eyes and mouth and he couldn't make out any of her features.
Panicked, he jerked his arms and kicked his feet, all the while calling her name in fear, "Janice! Janice! What are you doing? Stop!"
Now on top of him, the bloody eyes turned into black pools, her mouth stretching wide with a spine-chilling shriek. He wished that his hands were untied so he could protect his ears from the unearthly sound. Her mouth came down on his, sucking the breath out of his lungs. His cognac brown eyes were wide with fear and he couldn't breath. He felt her hands around his neck, ragged gasps escaping his throat. His heart was racing. The screeching stopped and everything went quiet.
He struggled to a seating position, grabbing at his throat. When he calmed down, he got off the bed, coughing and spewing out dirt. His bed was covered in dirt and on the edge of the bed he found a flower. A yellow Dahlia. He left the room without another look at the flower and stumbled to his phone that he had left downstairs. He dialled 911 and they immediately responded to his call.
Ten minutes later blue and red lights turned outside the main gate. He decided to wait there for them, not spending another minute alone in the house.
"Mr. Reed."
Christopher took the hand the officer stretched out to him.
"What seems to be the problem?"
"Officer," he nodded his head, "I think someone broke into my house and tried to kill me."
"Let's check out your house, Sir." They questioned him about the events and went through the entire house and searched the grounds.
"Sir, there is no sign of someone entering your house from the outside. We've checked everywhere. We'll send out someone in the morning to come and check again."
The police officers left just after three o'clock. Christopher was too alert to go back to sleep and sat awake the rest of the night.
