My Collection of Short Stories and Poetry

Never trust the living

With a roll of my eyes and a soft groan, I check out the new family moving into the house. Family of four. White heterosexual couple with a big sister and younger brother. The landlady with the nasally voice speaks up "I trust you were told the past of this house."

The husband looks at his wife and grabs onto his daughters shoulder. "No we weren't told anything." Confusion plays on his somehow handsome face for someone who's probably in their forties.

The landlady sighs and shakes her head. "There was an aggressive murder/suicide here long ago. The father killed his son and then himself. We're obligated to tell anyone potentially buying the house."
She looks at the wife who's face is in shock while the husband grabs her hand.

"Maybe that's why the prince price was so low," with a chuckle and a squeeze of the wife's hand he says, "what a deal."

Plopping down on the front step outside the house I watch this go down.

"Shut up Robert. What if it's haunted?" The wife is worried and Robert laughs.

"There's no such thing as ghosts." He says and begins to lead his family into the house, right through me with a smile on his face.

Groaning softly I walk behind them and go up the steps following the sister. Of course she's gothic. Wonder if she's going to try to reach out to "Satan" like the last gothic person here.

As the family finishes loading their boxes of stuff into the designated rooms, the landlady having left, the sister has claimed my room as hers.

Tapping away at her phone, she grins and moves to a box near the door. Opening it harshly tearing  the tape, she removes a board. Oh! It's a Ouija board. Then her black nails click against the planchet as she grabs it and places it on the board.

The room dark save for the flashlight on her phone, the time says 12:01. The days and nights seem to blend together now. Moving the planchette clockwise once she speaks aloud.

"Hello, is there anyone here?" Her eyes stay focused on the board, so I move the planchet to Yes.

Sucking in air through her teeth, she says "My name is Dara. What's yours?"
Holding her breath, I debate on scaring her.

D-A-M-I-E-N

"Damien huh. Were you the one that was murdered?" She asks and I glare at her. Goosebumps rise on her arms.

No.

A pause of long silence before she whispers, "Did you murder your son?"
Sharply directing her hand to Yes, she screams and lets go.