by Unknown
But it was eerie now. Horror show eerie. The shadows seemed alive.
Boris hustled to the kitchen, grabbed the knife and then sped back to his bedroom door. He’d almost thrown it shut, but was glad he’d decided to leave it open because he could see his room was still empty. He knew there was too much junk under his bed for anyone to be hiding there, and since the bed was against the wall along the far side there was no room to crouch behind it either.
That left the skinny closet.
Still ajar.
Boris put the near wall to his back and slipped along it, working his way quietly toward the hinge side of the door. He crept along, backing off every time the floor started to squeak and toeing around until he found a sturdier and quieter spot for his weight.
At last he came up to the door. Knife at the ready, he reached out toward the handle.
Slowly...inch by inch…nerves on edge…Boris’ fingertips closed in on their round brass target.
They found their mark.
In a single flourish Boris jerked back on the doorknob and then followed through by jumping back – rather awkwardly – to get himself as far away from whatever might be on the other side of that door as possible.
Nothing.
Nice big open space between the bottoms of his shirts and pants and his shoes. No murderer.
Unbelievably relieved, Boris fell back against the wall, panting as if he’d just run a hundred yard dash.
“Oh thank you thank you thank you!” he said, looking up at the ceiling with grateful tears in his eyes. He’d been totally convinced his dad’s killer was in there, sickly waiting to holler “Boo!” and then leap out and plunge a knife into Boris’ chest.
In a way, his paranoia wasn’t completely misplaced.
He called the cops. They searched the place and found nothing that incriminated Boris, but for his own protection they insisted on keeping him in protective custody overnight. They had a special non-cell, non-prison room with regular windows - although they too were barred - on the third floor of the police station, used to temporarily protect witnesses and other people whose lives might be in danger elsewhere. They wouldn’t let Boris stay in his own house that night for obvious reasons and he couldn’t talk them into it, so he ended up packing up some clothes and going with them.
“Hey,” one of the cops said. “What’s this?”
Boris saw him reach down into the closet behind his boots.
He came up with the blade
“It’s just a toy,” Boris said.
But that was obvious to the cop already; he was bending and flexing it.
“Careful!” Boris said. “That’s Tholla’s Dagger!”
“It’s not going anywhere,” the cop said, chuckling, and he set the blade back down behind the boots. “You ready to go, kid?”
A few minutes after midnight Boris got tired of playing Tholla. He’d lost three characters
already and not come close to capturing the blade, and besides that frustration, flashing mental images of Pop’s body kept distracting him. He set the controller down, grabbed another Popsicle from the mini-fridge and went over to flip open the window. Cold air blustered in, wrapping around him. It felt good, so he left the window open and sniffed the vaguely smoky breeze.
What was that glint?
He couldn’t quite make it out; amidst the stars on the western horizon hovered something that looked like a silvery strip.
It was growing wider.
Only at the last second – in his last moment – did Boris realize what it was. He had no more time to ponder the implications.
But Lieutenant Hayley Deacon did, when she checked in on him an hour later. First the chill hit her; the window was wide open and had obviously been so for quite a while.
And then she saw Boris.
He was lying flat on his back, a Popsicle stick still clutched rigidly by a hand covered in blue goo. The dark red puddle in the middle of his sweatshirt didn’t quite match that found on his dad, but the wounds were virtually identical.
Tholla’s Dagger ended up in a police auction. The buyer paid a surprisingly generous fifty dollars for it. Lieutenant Deacon happened to be on the job at the auction and she was the one who handled the transaction.
“Here you are, sir,” she said, handing it over in a new plastic bag to the odd-looking little man. “The original bag was sliced open down its length when we found it, but you can see that whatever was used to cut it open didn’t scratch it at all.”
“Thank you my dear,” the gentleman said, taking it and looking it over. He smiled strangely. “Tholla’s Dagger is a thing of wonder. It strikes down the enemies of the one who commands its power.”
“Not very hard,” Lieutenant Deacon said. “Pretty soft plastic.”
“Indeed,” the little man said, flexing the blade. “Certainly not very threatening.”
He nodded, bid her good afternoon and turned to walk away. But her curiosity took over and she called after him.
“Sir?”
He turned around. “Yes?”
“Could I…might I ask why you’d want to spend good money on that?”
He showed her another weird, though strangely warm, grin.
“It’s not about the money,” he said. “I have no enemies, so the blade is safe in my hands.”
That was enough for the lieutenant. She wasn’t much for engaging weirdos.
“Okay, thank you,” she said, smiling politely. “Have a good day sir.”
He nodded. This time she let him walk away for good.
He strolled off. Through the parking lot and a couple of blocks away to the city park he ambled, and there he very discreetly ducked behind a cluster of tall shrubs.
Once he was sure he was well hidden by the foliage he composed himself, took a deep breath…and began to waver! The air about him rippled like water and his shape distorted, growing much larger and far more physically impressive.
The wavering phenomenon faded out and the magnificently doomed warrior known across the cosmos as Tholla stood tall, the circle of huge lilac shrubs surrounding him barely providing him enough cover. He pulled the blade from its sheath and held it up before his face.
“I serve you as I must,” he said to it. “For it was you who struck me down far short of attaining the vengeance I so desired. It was you who taught me that my selfish anger had made me my own worst enemy. My penance must I pay. This I accept and to this, I concede and agree. I shall continue to atone for my blind rage by delivering you to those who most desire to possess you. A servant of Anger I humbly remain. And for now I pass once again into the Realm of the Wandering Dead until the next selfish and angry fool summons me.”
“For the blade has been satisfied for now, not once but twice, by a man who did not realize he was his own son’s worst enemy and a son who did not understand that he had allowed himself to become just as bad.” He sheathed the blade and looked up to the fleecy clouds far above, set against a pale periwinkle sky. “Until my debt is repaid I remain Lord Tholla,” he cried up to it, “the Spirit of
Vengeance.”
And he rippled away.
Déjà Vu
Jennifer Redmile
Marcy
If Marcy still had a heartbeat, it would have been racing at the sight of the man peering through the window. It was him! She hadn’t seen the man for almost thirty years, and he had changed a lot, but she recognised the cold, empty eyes and the scar that ran from his left ear to the side of his mouth. She recognised it because she’d given him that scar. With the edge of a hockey-stick!
This guy was definitely the disgusting weasel responsible for her lack of a heartbeat and transparent appearance. And that particular window, currently clouding over from the rank breath she remembered so well, provided a view of her twelve year old niece Annabelle’s bedroom.
Marcy was frantic. She couldn’t let it happen all over again. Annabelle was the same age as Marcy had been when she’d ‘disappeared’. It had happen
ed such a long time ago, and she usually tried not to think about that day, but seeing the man brought it all flooding back.
She wondered for the gazillionth time if anyone would ever find her skeleton inside the old cupboard in the basement. Well, it was time someone listened to her! This was NOT going to happen again, not while she was around to stop it.
Marcy remembered back to how excited she’d been when the removalist truck had pulled up out the front of the house six months ago. The house had sat empty for the past thirty years, and she’d been lonely.
She’d known someone was moving in when the workmen had arrived a couple of weeks before that, but when she’d learned that it was her younger sister Sarah and her family coming back to live in the old family home, she’d flitted around the house in a frenzy, laughing and twirling like a lunatic.
Sarah had only been five when Marcy disappeared, and Marcy remembered her as an annoying brat with pigtails and freckles who used to follow her around everywhere she went. The family had moved away a year after Marcy disappeared, unable to live with the memories the house evoked. They’d had no idea her body was under the house the whole time. The weasel had been brilliant at covering his tracks.
Marcy would never have recognised her younger sister as the ditzy mother of three who entered the house carrying a screaming toddler in one hand, and trying to keep hold of the grubby, wriggling hand of a four year old in the other.
That was when she’d seen her niece Annabelle for the first time. It was like looking at her twin sister, except Annabelle was alive and Marcy was dead. Annabelle was standing just inside the front door with her mouth open, her eyes almost popping out of her head.
“Wow…..this place is awesome. I can’t believe it’s ours!” Annabelle cried, looking at her mother with a huge grin on her face.
“Well, it’s been empty for a really long time, but I’m sure once it’s fixed up it’ll be great. I’d forgotten how big it was. I was only six the last time I saw this place. Annabelle, can you please take Rory and find him something to do. I need to settle Becky before she makes herself sick.”
Annabelle grinned at her brother and held out her hand. “Wanna come exploring with me Rory?” Rory tore his hand from his mother’s grip and launched himself at Annabelle.
“Thure do!” he said, his newly missing front tooth making his lisp more pronounced. “Letsh go upthairs firth!” Annabelle laughed as she led him away, the sound of his babbling voice fading as they headed up the stairs.
Marcy had watched the scene unfold, sighing from a mixture of sadness and joy. She had a family again, even though they’d probably never know she was here.
Sarah had pulled a bottle of juice from the enormous bag she carried on her shoulder, and Becky finally stopped screaming, happily slurping down the juice. Sarah was looking around the entrance hall with tears streaming down her face.
“I’m so sorry Marcy,” she whispered to the walls. “I tried to make them stay, but I was too little and they wouldn’t listen. If you’re here, I’m sorry we left you here alone for so long. I hope it’s ok that we’re here.”
Marcy was stunned. Sarah was talking to HER! It had been such a long time since she’d heard her name, she almost didn’t recognise it. Marcy…it was a nice name. She decided she’d keep it.
In that moment, Marcy had been happier than she could ever remember being, even when she was alive. Her family was back and her sister still loved her.
That was six months ago, and now HE was back.
***
Annabelle
Annabelle shivered as the temperature in her room suddenly dropped again. If she believed in ghosts, she’d have said her Aunt Marcy had just entered the room. Not that it had ever been confirmed that Marcy was dead, but Annabelle had always had a feeling she was.
Knowing from experience it would pass if she just ignored it, she pulled on her dressing gown and dropped down in front of her laptop. She’d ‘Googled’ the whole ‘sudden drop in temperature’ thing the first time it had happened, scrolling endlessly through the sites that claimed it was due to paranormal activity.
Sure, her Aunt Marcy had disappeared from this house thirty years ago, but come on…..a ghost? Seriously? She shrugged and typed ‘how do you contact a ghost’ into the search engine anyway.
She clicked on a site that offered a step-by-step guide to verifying the presence of a ghost. She felt ridiculous, and almost snapped the laptop shut, when a headline on the page caught her eye:
DO ANY OF THESE THINGS EVER HAPPEN IN YOUR HOUSE?
She scanned the list of questions and bit her lip. Ok, so stuff like that happens around here all the time. It doesn’t mean we have a ghost!
But Annabelle knew deep down that the unexplained coincidences were piling up. Things like an electrical appliance turning itself on or off, or things she could have sworn she’d left in her room appearing on the kitchen table. And then there was the weird cold thing. She hated that the most!
She scrolled further down the page to another headline:
HOW DO I COMMUNICATE WITH MY GHOST?
Annabelle giggled to herself. She was glad none of her friends could see her sitting here actually reading this bunch of palaver. She’d never live it down! Ok, so according to the web-site, in order to communicate with her ‘ghost’, she had to actually believe ghosts existed. Made sense. But how was she supposed to convince her brain to believe in something so ridiculous!
The chill in the room suddenly got worse, and it felt like someone was breathing icy air on the back of her neck. Almost as if someone were looking over…
Annabelle slammed the laptop shut and jumped up from her bed. The short hairs all over her body were standing on end, and the hundreds of goose bumps popping up made her shiver so bad her teeth started to chatter. What if this really was a ghost?
Then an even worse thought flashed through her mind. What if it wasn’t Aunt Marcy’s ghost? What if it was one of those ghosts that possessed people and made horrible things happen?
And that was when Annabelle finally admitted to herself that she really did believe in ghosts. She took a deep breath and looked around the room.
“Is….is that you…aunt M-Marcy?” She whispered into the air around her.
“Yay! Finally…..” a voice answered, and the air began to coalesce as the faint outline of a girl’s body formed in front of her. Annabelle watched dumb-founded as a girl the exact image of herself stared back at her, a huge grin on her pale face.
“Hey, I’m Marcy…..pleased to meet you Annabelle. And it’s about time! I’ve been trying to talk to you for months!”
***
Marcy
Marcy watched Annabelle’s body crumple to the floor in front of her.
Of course she’s fainted! Seriously? How am I supposed to work with this? Marcy sat and tapped her foot impatiently, waiting for Annabelle to wake up. When she finally did open her eyes, they looked like they were going to pop out of her head.
Annabelle groaned. “Damn….you really are here then? I was hoping to wake up and find it’d all just been a horrible nightmare.”
Marcy crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Gee…thanks…just what I needed to hear from the first person to speak to me in thirty years. Hello to you too!”
Annabelle blushed. “Ummm…sorry…I didn’t mean you were…Damnit, I can’t believe I’m actually sitting here apologizing to a ghost!”
“Hey, just ‘cos I’m a ghost, it doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings. Sheesh, I’m starting to think maybe you’re not even worth helping!”
That got her attention! Marcy couldn’t hold back the chuckle at the look on Annabelle’s face.
“How could you do anything to help me? And why would I need help anyway, I don’t even have a problem!”
Marcy glared at her. “Aahh, okay…so the guy I saw hanging around outside your bedroom earlier, who just happens to be the same guy who murdered me thirty years ago, isn’t your problem? Silly me, how c
ould I have been so stupid. Well, I’m outta here…so glad we had this lovely chat! Talk to you again….ummm…never!”
Marcy was devastated. She’d so hoped that her and Annabelle could be friends, it had been such a long time since she’d had anyone to talk to. She sighed and floated towards the door.
“I’m so sorry… please don’t leave Aunt Marcy,” Annabelle whispered from the other side of the room. “I didn’t mean to be such a cow, it was just the shock of seeing and hearing a real ghost. Can we please forget all that just happened and start again?”
Marcy turned and zipped back to where she’d been standing. “Sure, that’d be awesome! It’s not like I have so many friends I can afford to lose one. Oh, and seriously, no more of the Aunty thing…we’re practically the same age, if you don’t count the thirty years I’ve been dead!” She grinned and winked at Annabelle.
Annabelle laughed. “Ok, consider the aunty thing over with! Ummm…is it just me, or have you noticed we like so much alike we could be twins?”
“Yep, I noticed that too! Except you’re definitely a bit more ‘solid’ looking than me.”
They both laughed, and the remaining tension from their first conversation evaporated.
Marcy frowned. “Ok, so we need to be serious for a minute. Did you get what I was saying before about the slime-bag who murdered me?”
Annabelle paled as she nodded her head. “So you really didn’t just run away from home? You were murdered?”
Marcy was stunned. “Of course I didn’t just run away! Why would anyone think that?”
Annabelle sighed. “It’s just that you disappeared without a trace! There were no signs that anything had happened to you, so eventually the police closed the case and called it a ‘runaway’. You didn’t know?”
Marcy felt like she’d been slapped. “I had no idea…so that’s why they stopped looking? No body, no crime…pity no-one would listen to me when I tried to tell them where my body was…”
