GHOST 👻 (A Paranormal Romance)

Cover Girl

Jogging through my Boston neighborhood, the only sound I hear are my neon pink running shoes pounding against the hot, sticky asphalt.

Thwock, thwock, thwock.

Each labored step feels like I'm ripping my feet off of adhesive Velcro.

Maybe if I run like I've stolen something, I'll lose more weight.

I pause a moment in front of an elegant row of brownstone homes. The historic block's narrow reddish-brown buildings and brick streets shaded by ancient oak trees provide a familiar sense of security. I blow a loosed fringe of hair off my forehead, but the minute curl stays plastered to my forehead as I swipe  a dribble of sweat off my cheek with the back of my hand. Overhead, the canopy of trees create pockets of shade, but there's not a hint of breeze in the air.

Tugging at the collar of my t shirt, my shoulders sag. In this sweltering humidity, I know I look like an elephant navigating the Congo—a pachydermous with a cumbersome tent strapped to its back.

Despite this ego-buster, I'm determined to finish my morning run. Last week two obnoxious kids drove by and harassed me about my generous figure. Embarrassed by the incident, I changed my route to the secluded cemetery near my home.

Once I'm skinny, I'll wear hot pants and prance  through the neighborhood.

Rounding the corner, I note the street is completely deserted. Thank God, it's this hot—the sultry weather's keeping everyone inside.

As a carrot to keep running, I envision the cover girl from the latest Cosmo magazine. Dangling her in my mind, I mentally compare her body next to mine. She has a perfect figure with long, graceful legs. The exquisite model is a lithe hundred and ten pounds, while I'm closer to one eighty.

How long will it be before I'm as slim and pretty as her?

Honestly, I don't want to be a cover model. I just want to be more attractive. I have the same vivid hazel green eyes as the glamorous woman. My skin is pale and blemish free, but that's where the comparison ends. While her hair is burnished and sleek—an Autumnal russet color—mine's a halo of uncontrollable, red frizz. For the hundredth time that afternoon, I envision quenching my thirst with an icy glass of cold water and then plunging into a freezing shower.

Abruptly, I'm startled out of my daydream when a tennis ball-sized object smacks into the back of my head. "Oof!" Surprised, I watch a few sky blue feathers float to the ground and land at my feet. When I look up,  an angry bird is clutching strands of my hair in her scaly, black claws. Madly pumping her wings, the enraged creature fans gusts of hot air down on me. "Hey, what the heck are you doing?" Backing away, I nearly step on her fledgling who's hopping around my feet. "Oh, I didn't see your baby."

"Caw!" The angry bird swoops at my bare head. Before the feathered reptile can dive bomb me again, I take off at a fast trot.

"Alright, I'm leaving, hell-beast!" Tightly shielding my head, I run until the angry squawks subside in the distance. When I reach the cemetery access road, I discover that I've arrived at my destination in record time.

This must be nature's way of helping me while simultaneously kicking me in the ass. 

Breathless, I take a moment to scan my surroundings. Despite being in the heart of a busy metropolis, Lakeview Memorial has little foot traffic. The cemetery's built along a four lane highway that is reinforced with thick emerald hedging and bordered by an unscalable black piked fence. The park is unaccessible and remote, but I like the privacy—especially how the massive hedge blocks the traffic's view. At the cemetery's rear lot, I peer through the wrought iron fence and try to ignore the whine of racing cars on the highway. When a strong breeze from the passing vehicles almost knocks me over, I move closer to the fence to prevent one of these speeding bullets from slamming into me.

Most cemetery traffic enters through the front gate following a hearse, but I discovered a shortcut last week. A broken section in the fencing. Pushing a loose iron bar out of the way, I push my head and should through and observe the winding paths between the moss covered headstones that are sunken deep into the ground.

"Good, no one's here today." As usual, I talk to myself while addressing the silent gravestones.

Slipping into the park unobserved, I resume jogging along the graceful tree lined paths. The traffic on the other side of the hedge grows distant and then muffled as I move deeper into the manicured park.

A sharp crack rings through the air. I stop running mid stride and listen as a ghostly, rhythmic chant permeates the air. "Elizabeth!" It's almost too faint for me to hear, but an eerie voice is calling my name. "Elizabeth!"

"Is there someone there?" Holding my breath, I scan the tree tops. They're completely still. Not a whisper of wind moves the green boughs. Despite the heat, I feel chilled. Rubbing my arms, I continue along the narrow curbed path. My foot falters as the eerie sound intensifies, along with the feeling that I'm being watched.

Silly Goose, you're alone. No one else is here.

Walking as quietly as possible, I glance over the headstones. I can't shake the feeling that I'm being watched.

By someone or something.

'Whatever you are, leave me alone." My confidences fades and the words come out as more of a plea than a command.

It's true I'm the daughter of powerful psychic. My mother, Sarah Summers, could communicate with spirits, and like her, I often sense other worldly presences. The difference between us is that I'm not a professional medium. I only see faint auras shining around people and sometimes animals. My mother could call up and communicate with spirits on command. Although I often sense other people's intentions, I usually block these vibrations out of my consciousness. I've never explored these psychic abilities, certain my mother's clairvoyant gift is what drove her insane. Shaking my head, I try to clear these dark thoughts from my mind. Even if this chanting is my imagination, it's unsettling. Nothing from the afterlife has ever called out to me by name. After a few minutes, I sigh with relief as the whispering fades, along with my fears.

The heat must be getting to me. Whatever it was, it's gone now.

Midway into the park, I arrive at the cemetery's long, shallow lake. This man made reservoir is a favorite spot for newly weds and wedding parties to pose for pictures. Lilacs and flowering trees are mirrored in the glass-smooth water. Every time I see this area, I'm struck by it's serene beauty. Forgetting my previous fright, I glance at the lake's opposite bank. Wispy locust trees march up a path that leads to a large plateau that overlooks the entire cemetery. This is where the wealthier deceased are interred in ivory slabbed mausoleums that rise above ground. Their regal salt-colored monuments dot the hillside.

One white house of death looms above the rest. Every time I pass by, the heavy double alabaster doors magnetically draw me towards them.

I stop and read the name etched over the entrance.

Katheryn Stafford

I'm curious about the woman who's buried here. She was brutally murdered last fall.

Who killed her?

Why was her body was left in the woods with all her expensive jewelry still intact? I tilt my head sideways. Even though it's been less than a year since she died, none of her family members ever visit her grave.

Why has she been forgotten?

Was she such a horrible person no one cared about her?

Walking closer to the small, stone bridge that spans the lake, a movement in the corner of my eye catches my attention. With a shock I realize I'm not the only one here today. A white Volkswagen bug is parked near the edge of the lagoon colored water.

Thank you for reading! 👻