I know you’ve probably heard the rumors, but I’m not crazy. I’ll try to explain in the short time I have left. I seem to have been given a reprieve for the moment, a few minutes of clarity, and I fully intend to use it to warn you. This house was originally built by your great, great grandparents, Jesse and Gretchen Billingham. They disappeared in nineteen twenty–eight. Jesse’s brother, Edgar, lived in the house until his suicide two years later. Naturally, it’s a part of the past no one ever speaks of.
When I researched and found the house for sale, I bought it, thinking I would restore it as a tribute to our ancestors and leave you a home of which you could be proud, as an apology for the years I wasn’t there for you. Please forgive me. If I’d only known, I never would have put you in danger. How foolish of me to discount the rumblings from the people in town. They like things the way they are and I simply assumed they didn’t want ghosts—real or imagined—resurrected. I should have listened. You must listen. I want you to leave this house alone. Don’t stay in it. Nothing I have is worth risking your precious life for. Do not let yourself fall under the assumption that it’s only the townspeople … I can feel them coming for me and know I don’t have much longer. The spirits are strong. Stronger than before. I think it’s the kindred blood running through our veins which puts us at a greater risk, so please
And that’s where it ended. With a large ink stain running down the rest of the page. It was dated the day my uncle died.
As I stared at the inky blob, the library door slammed shut. I jumped, dropping the book. When I ran to the door, the knob wouldn’t budge. I pounded and pounded on the barrier, hoping Devon was back and would hear me yelling for him.
A prickly feeling crawled up my spine and I just knew someone was standing behind me. I whirled around. No one. But out of the corner of my eye, I saw white smoke coming from the fireplace, where no fire was lit. It billowed out, filling half the room and moving closer to me. Sadness, anger and frustration swept over me. Not my emotions, but someone else’s. More than one someone else.
I turned back to the door, trying desperately to wrench it open. In the face of its refusal, I banged and kicked at it, tears streaming down my face.
Help us.
The words whisper–soft at first, continued to grow in volume, repeating over and over. Just those two words.
Help us. Help us.
Terror overwhelmed me; my legs shook and felt no more substantial than gelatin. I turned, as if in slow motion, not wanting to see, but needing to know.
The white mist had stopped a mere two feet in front of me. It swirled and danced, shapes took form in the midst of the cloud before dissipating. Another screech, the sound like nails on chalk board, pierced my soul.
I backed up to the door, gripped the knob and yanked as hard as I could. Sobs of terror ripped from my throat. The door pushed open from the other side and I nearly fainted from fear. I spun around ready to fight, claw, bite, when hands grabbed my shoulders.
“Serena! It’s just me.” Devon pulled me into his arms, but I continued to struggle until his words registered. I slumped against him, then remembering the mist in the room behind me, I jerked around.
There was nothing there. No shapes, no mist, no anything. Had I been hallucinating again? No. No! I wasn’t going crazy.
“What the hell was going on in here?” Devon moved in front of me, concern and fear evident in his face.
“I ...I …” My mouth opened and closed. Adrenaline still surged through my veins. I wanted to run. Instead I collapsed against Devon, sobbing.
He picked me up and carried me to the bedroom, laying me down on the bed. He curled up behind me, pulling the afghan over me. His body wrapped around mine, giving me heat and comfort.
Eventually I was able to speak and I told him what had happened. I felt him stiffen when I got to the smoke and the shapes, the plea for help. Soon he relaxed though, and stroked my hair.
“It’s just your mind playing tricks on you, sweetheart. You’ve been under a lot of stress and these stupid, small–minded people around here don’t help matters with all their stories and innuendo.”
I didn’t believe him, but I didn’t want him to think I was crazy either. Instead I pulled him to me, kissed him softly, then with more urgency. I wanted to feel alive. To know I was in control of something in my life. He only stopped me once, to make sure I really wanted to take this next step. After that, clothes disappeared, and our bodies moved together. I took everything he gave and demanded more. Finally sated, we curled up together and slept.
We woke to screaming. My screaming. The woman—Gretchen, I guessed from my uncle’s journals—was back. She held out a hand toward me, a plea in the sunken hollow of her eyes. Devon scooted back, pulling me against him. I felt his body shaking and his breathing came in gasps. He saw her too! I wasn’t crazy.
The apparition disappeared. We held each other for a few minutes before Devon got up and began getting dressed. “Let’s go get some breakfast.”
“What? Aren’t we even going to talk about it?” I was incredulous.
“Talk about what? Nothing happened. You had a bad dream and woke me up.” He pulled up his pants, zipped them and reached for his shirt.
I sat there numb.
“Come on, get dressed. The fresh air will do you good. Do us both some good.” He held my shorts and t–shirt out to me. When I didn’t take them, he dropped them on the bed beside me.
“Devon. I know you saw her. I could tell you saw her. Please …” I pleaded with him.
“No. It was just the power of suggestion, Serena. With all the rumors, the lack of sleep, just everything got all mixed up. There was nothing there.” He sat on the bed to tie his shoes.
I dressed and made my way to the kitchen. I started the coffee.
“Aren’t you coming with me?” Devon had followed me and held keys in his hand.
I shook my head. “No. I’m going to get started going through the bedrooms upstairs. You can bring me back something, though.” I paused. “If you’re coming back.”
“Of course I’m coming back, but I don’t think you should stay here right now by yourself.” Worry clouded his eyes.
“Why? If there’s nothing here to be afraid of, then there’s no reason for me not to stay. Right?” When he said nothing, I raised my voice, “Oh. I get it. You think I’m crazy. Just like Uncle Fred.” I slammed the cabinet door. “Well, I’m not crazy! And neither was Uncle Fred.”
The look Devon gave me was a mix of fear and pity.
“Just get out.” I left the kitchen and started up the stairs, determined to figure out what had happened to Uncle Frederick, one room at a time. I didn’t want anyone to pity him or think him crazy. I knew he wasn’t. He was haunted.
Just before the door slammed shut, I heard Devon call out, “I’ll be back with breakfast.”
After just a few minutes in one of the upstairs bedrooms, my clothes were filthy. Dust was everywhere and I disturbed it with each drawer I opened and object I moved. Bent over a trunk, I startled when my cell phone rang. Beth’s number showed on the screen. The interference had been so bad; I hadn’t been able to talk to her in a few days. It didn’t matter which of us called the other, we usually only heard static.
“Hi Beth. I hope—”
“Serena! Get out that house now!” Beth shrieked. The terror in her voice had my feet moving before my brain even registered the words. I ran down the stairs but as I stepped into the foyer, they were waiting on me.
I screamed and dropped the phone. They enveloped me within their ethereal bodies. They moved through me, shredding my soul. My flesh felt torn and bruised. High pitch screeching burst in my head, the rest of the world devoid of sound. After what seemed like hours, it stopped and I fell to the floor.
When I awakened in the hospital, Devon informed me I’d been unconscious for six days. I’d lost weight. More weight than I should have in six days. Gray streaked my hair, which had lost all its former luster. My
cheeks looked sunken and my eyes devoid of hope. Just like Beth had described from her dreams.
She was there, too. She brought me a change of clothing and offered to drive me to the airport on my release. And because I so desperately wanted to be released, I told no one about the voices in my head, begging me to help them.
Over the next few days, Devon apologized repeatedly for leaving me that morning and begged my forgiveness. He even acknowledged he’d seen the ghost.
The doctor signed the discharge papers and Devon rode with me in the back of the Navigator. As we approached the city limits, my skin tingled, burned. My nerves screamed at me to stop. The voices grew louder, more urgent. I held on to Devon’s hand squeezing it so hard, I’m surprised no bones broke.
“I can’t … I can’t leave. Turn around. They’re killing me.” I begged.
“Keep going.” Devon ordered Beth. He held me tightly against him.
Beth’s worried glance met mine in the rear–view mirror and I felt the car accelerate.
A pain like nothing I’d ever experienced shot through me and I cried out for them to stop. Blood seeped from my pores, the agony so intense I thought I would die. Moments later blessed blackness descended.
I once again awoke in the hospital. Upon my release a few days later and after arguing with Devon and Beth for the better part of the day, they finally took me home—to Uncle Frederick’s house. The spirits wouldn’t let me leave. They needed me. And I’d either help them or I’d be consumed.
About Rhonda
Award–winning romantic suspense and horror author, Rhonda Hopkins, has learned firsthand that truth is stranger than fiction. Her two decades of experience as an investigator for her state and family courts give her characters a depth and realism that gives truth a run for its money. Connect with Rhonda at rhondahopkins.com., on Facebook and Twitter.
ADDICTION
By Marty Young
As Billy lay in bed in the middle of the night, he stared at his hands, illuminated by the crooked bedside lamp. His palms were going black, a smudged newspaper ink stain; he rubbed at the skin, wiped his hands on the faded fighter jets covering his tattered bedspread, he even went into the bathroom and scrubbed them there. But the stains remained.
And there were things within the stains too, reflected in each palm. Things he didn’t like.
His hands didn’t hurt to touch and the skin wasn’t cut, so he hid them under his covers and turned off the light. He hoped things would be better in the morning.
∼ ∼ ∼
Things were no better by morning.
He studied his palms and could see more images in them, different images from the night before. Faint, ghostly scenes. His sister and her ever–present pigtails, her face a shocked look of—
Billy closed his hands into fists and thrust them back under the covers, not liking what he saw any more than he had last night.
If things didn’t improve, he would have to wear gloves.
∼ ∼ ∼
Things didn’t improve.
∼ ∼ ∼
They shadow–hopped down Knight Street, the afternoon sun a flicker behind the foliage of the maples lining the road, the surrounding houses silent behind their fences. Billy carried Dolly by one arm, her dangling body smacking against his leg with every step, her face a fixed expression of surprise at this indignity.
“You’re hurting her, Billy. Carry her properly!”
He looked down at his sister with her intolerable brown pigtails, the freckles over her nose. She’d gotten their mother’s delicate looks while he took after their ape–like dad and his cow–licked hair. He took a steadying breath. “Gina, keep quiet. We don’t want anyone to hear us, do we?”
“But you’re hurting her,” she said again, whispering this time.
“Fine.” Billy thrust the dumb doll towards her and she took it and held it against her chest. It didn’t matter; they were far enough along now that she wouldn’t be able to find her way home without him. “You can have it back, but I’m warning you, if you turn and run ...”
“I won’t, I promise.” Her bottom lip was trembling again, like it had when he’d first stolen Dolly after meeting her outside school. He stared at her a moment longer before his stomach cramped and he had to look away. He winced and held his breath.
“Are you okay?”
The pain in his gut didn’t last but it was coming on stronger each time, more razor blades jostling for position. He knew that by tonight it would be unbearable. “I’m fine,” he said, wiping at the sweat tickling his temple with a gloved hand. “C’mon, let’s go.”
“Why are you wearing gloves?” she asked him then. “You weren’t wearing them this morning. It’s not even cold. No one else was wearing gloves today.”
“Just stop asking questions, okay?”
He thought about the stains on his hands and wondered if that was what was inside of him, coming out. All his mean and nasty thoughts, everything he wanted to say or do, coming out like the rotten stuff it was. Showing everyone what type of person he was.
They reached the end of the street and sneaked across the vacant lot, creeping between the Robinsons’ to the left, the Jacobs’ on the right. Neither had dogs and no one was home this early in the afternoon.
“Stay close,” Billy whispered—needlessly, as Gina clung to the back of his shirt like a leech.
Grass grew up to their thighs. A solitary bush stood in the midst of the lot. Somewhere far ahead of them, a lonesome crow wailed; Billy felt Gina’s hand find his and hold tight. He glanced behind them.
The gun down his pants radiated heat, but it was comforting. Welcome. It gave him the strength to push on.
Soon, they were in the woods, where the firs rose tall, sentinel, their branches held high above them like dancing ladies hoisting up their skirts. Billy led Gina through their legs, weaving their way onwards towards the rock. It was much darker here and the shadows skipped along with them.
Unseen birds chirruped. The schree of a cicada cut off, and then started again once they were passed. The air was filled with the smell of damp earth and pine.
More pain clutched his stomach, making him hunch forward. He sucked deep on the forest air, hoping its coolness would help. The pain diminished but didn’t go away. Only one thing would do that. Slowly, he let out his breath.
“I want to go home,” said Gina. “I’m scared.”
Billy put his arm around her. “It’s okay. I’m here. I’ll make sure nothin’ happens to you, all right?”
About them, the woodlands waited, eager to hear his lies. They crowded in for acres about, jostling one another on the hills northwest of town.
“Why do I have to come with you? You could have left me at home, you know.”
The vision he’d seen in his palms flared in his mind. The scene didn’t change; it just played over and over, over and again. A loop of footage that cut him every time. Billy closed his eyes. He forced his breathing to slow.
“Mum won’t like you taking me into the woods. She said not to come out here. You wait ‘til I tell her.”
He rounded on his sister and gripped her by the shoulders. Mum’s an alcoholic whore who’s loaded on crack more often than not, he wanted to yell at her. She won’t even realize what’s happened until it’s too late— but he caught the words just as his tongue formed them.
Gina stared up at him, her mouth a big O of surprise.
Billy relaxed his grip. He tried to smile. “You can never tell her, no matter what. This is big kid stuff, and I’m trusting you to keep it secret, okay? If she finds out, I’ll never talk to you again. I’ll disown you and tell everyone it was you who told, and you don’t want me to do that, do you?”
“No,” said Gina, her eyes as wide now as her mouth had been, her head shaking back and forth in exaggerated movements. “I won’t tell. I promise.”
“Good,” he said, letting her go. He made sure his leather gloves were on tight. Again, he cast a look behind the
m, listening, searching. “That’s good. Now c’mon.”
They walked on, but his mind was plagued by the vision he’d seen all morning; his mom asking Gina where he was and Gina not knowing, saying that he’d dropped her off after school but then went out again. His mother skittish and angry at her being left alone, Gina scared, trying to console her, telling her he’ll be okay, and their mom lashing out, knocking Gina over, her head hitting the table...
Again, he tried to suppress the images but they wouldn’t go away. They were too ingrained now, too deeply etched into all he saw.
Another surge of pain in his gut, pulling him over. He gripped his stomach.
“Billy …?”
“I’m okay,” he said, straightening again as the pain slipped away. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to steady himself, remembering the peace that suckling on God’s breath had given him when he first tried it, and wishing for it again.
“You don’t love mum anymore, do you?”
The words hit him with a different type of pain, but one no less severe. He looked at his sister, at the unsteady adulthood shimmering in her eye, and that just made it worse; that didn’t belong there. Not now, not yet. “Of course I do,” he said, trying to find his way. “It’s just that, mum’s sick, and I get angry about it sometimes. I just want her better.”
Gina stared down at Dolly, her brow knotted. Dolly was the only toy she had left. She didn’t say anything for a while; she was getting like that now, falling silent for days at a time. Before she spoke, she looked up at him again. “I hope she doesn’t die, too.”
“C’mon,” he said, unable to handle the conversation any longer. “Let’s go. We’ll be okay. I promise.” He couldn’t look at her.
A gentle wind played amongst the leaves and the trees tried to shush it away. Their dancing shadows revealed their true desires though.
Tales From The Mist: An Anthology of Horror and Paranormal Stories Page 5
