The Hauntings

Chapter 29

Christine stands at her kitchen counter bent over, writing her shopping list. This isn't good for her aging back but she ignore the jards of stiffness. 

She murmurs the list out-loud, attempting to stimulate her memory. 

"Cinnamon

Apples 

Butter

Flo-"

"Still at your witchy concoctions then, Christine?" The deep voice spits out. 

Christine drops the pen with a clatter. Her muscles shrieking in protest as they go rigid in her position.

No. Please No.

She instantly recognises that cold, malicious voice. It seems to have lingered after that dreadful night he visited her.

"Micheal." She confirms. 

After twenty one years he suddenly now has the urge to come and gloat that her beautiful, aspiring daughter has died because she no longer 'tinkled his fancy'. Christine had all along been against the relationship but had been powerless to prevent it because she wanted her daughter's happiness. Look where that got them, one murdered and the other one old and lonely.

Micheal himself had flashed into her home, very much like now, with Miranda in tow celebrating the news that had broken her heart. All Christine had done after her furious outcry, obviously fallen on ignorant ears, is just grit her teeth and smile, meanwhile inside being distraught and terrified for the future.  

"Nice, you remember who I am after twenty one years. Anyway who could even forget a person like me?" he boasts.

Christine pushes down her fear and hatred facing him, her back heavily leaning against the work top. 

"What do you want Micheal?" She asks with a hardened resolve.

"Right so we're skipping over the pleasantries now? You know, I'm still you're son-in-law Christine." Micheal folds his trunk like arms over his chest leaning on the door frame, cruelly highlighting the connection between the two.

He hasn't age a day since her daughter had brought him to naively declare she has fallen in love with the very creature she had made a living in hunting and slaughtering. 

A part of Christine is surprised the monster of a man has not demolished her cottage yet therefore she's shamelessly intrigued with what he could possibly want. Although another part of her just wants to scurry away from him as fast as her legs will carry her. He is a dangerous animal, Christine is fully aware of that, as well as him being completely unpredictable. 

"Yes we are. Now hurry up and tell me what terrible news you have to unload on me because some sort of disaster always comes with your arrival. I don't have time, unlike you supernatural beings." She roughly asks, wanting him to get out of her home as quick as possible.

"Pushy as always. You know I've always hated you." He smiles.

"Yet you're the one standing in my home, very clearly wanting something." Christine points out with annoyance.

"Well, how intuitive of you Christine. I do want something in fact." He says shooting her predatory grin. 

Christine is acquainted with this expression on his face, that would probably cause anyone's suspicious to arise and become hypersensitive to any movement and words he utters, it's the one he wore on that night. She slowly brings her frail arms behind her and grabs the pencil behind her, resting her hand on it conspicuously.

"Don't you know it's rude to keep an elder waiting." Christine snaps, as she nudges the paper near the pencil.

"I'm much older than you Christine than you could ever possess. You should be bowing down to me Orbital." He claims with his head held up high in snobbish pride not forgetting the unmistakable aura of power surrounding him.