Chapter Six
Becky’s Arrival
It was night. Headlights illuminated a gravel road flanked by snow and trees. The heat was blasting in Becky’s car. She wore earmuffs over her winter hat and had on three layers of clothing and two pairs of gloves. You could have mistaken her for a gargoyle she was sat so stiff in the driver’s seat, her brown eyes focused on the road ahead. She was ten minutes away thanks to a tried and true shortcut. She hated it. The roads took her past Robinson Manor. As its name suggests the manor belonged to the Robinson family. A distant relative of theirs owned it now, though he didn’t live in it. It’s rumored he keeps it solely for tax purposes.
Becky didn’t like the manor because of its history. Mrs. Robinson died giving birth to a child too big and too hideous to be allowed. She bled to death. In his rage at losing a wife, Mr. Robinson tossed his newborn child into the woods to die. He was arrested but never charged. Nineteen years later Mr. Robison was found in his study without his head. After a short search it was located in the woods, the spine still attached. His eyes, lips, nose and ears were gone. The police reportedly believed them to have been eaten.
Creeped out, Becky forced all thoughts of the manor from her mind. Not that it mattered. She still had to pass by that creepy pond where the little girl drowned to death. How much death there was in such a small part of Indiana struck Becky all of a sudden. Forcing such horridness from her mind she turned onto the long driveway that would take her to her parent’s old cabin.
The car squealed to a stop in front of the cabin, its headlights flooding it and her sister’s car in bright white beams. Becky unbuckled herself which took some effort considering her two layers of gloves, and reached into the backseat where her sister’s new computer rested. Computer in hand she got out and ambled towards the cabin, fumbling in her coat pocket with her free hand as she cut a path through the snow. Her sister said she would greet her with a cup of coffee and a smile, but there was no smile and no coffee. There was no sister either. This would have struck her as strange, but her sister was often selfish. And knowing her she was probably enjoying a cup of coffee inside while writing more of that smut. Sure she said she was going legit, and would use moving into the cabin to help the transition of genres, but Becky would believe that when she saw it.
“Excuse me, but no whales are allowed. And you’re far too big to be human.”
Becky wheeled around, raising a hand to block out the car beams. No one was there, or looked to be anywhere around. Was she hearing things? Was it the wind? Couldn’t be the wind, there was no wind. Blaming exhaustion she continued towards the front door. She finally fished out her keys, got the right one, and slid it into the lock in the front door. It took a few tries as her sizeable frame blocked out the light of her car, but she got inside and quickly locked the door.
The lights wouldn’t come on in the cabin. Becky flipped the switch over and over again as if trying more than once would help. The fire was out. The light from the car only lit patches of the house. “Darn,” she muttered. “I knew I should have taken the kerosene lamp from the trunk of the car.” Setting down the computer Becky moved to the door and unlocked it. Once more she searched her keys to find the one to her trunk. “Darn moon, lazy thing couldn’t bother shining some light down,” she muttered, as she found the right key. She reached the trunk, and with some effort, opened it. Inside was her kerosene lamp and kerosene. Both were bought as a surprise gift for Cindy.
A little while later Becky went to work prepping her kerosene lamp. It was tricky, even with the gloves off and scant light coming in from her car. But in the end she managed to get the lamp lit. Its light flooded the small living room. Nothing seemed amiss, and Becky was sure her sister was sleeping. But then the light of her lamp fell upon the kitchen. It glittered over something, many something’s, covering the floor. A sharp cold wind chose that moment to carry itself through the house.
“Oh goodness,” Becky muttered. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed a broken or open window before now. She had lived in this house long enough to know better. Granted she hadn’t for a long time, but some things should never leave you.
“Cindy!” Becky called out. Her words felt empty, like she was calling out to no one.
“Cindy!”
Becky jumped and wheeled around. She gasped, her chubby hands flying to her mouth. On the ground in front of her, laughing hysterically, little hands slapping together, was a small girl. Finding her footing Becky cried: “Be gone demon! This is a house of god!”
The little girl stopped laughing, her face a mask of shock. She breathed as though desperate for air. Slowly she looked up at Becky. “God?” she said. She was on her feet now and rounding on Becky. “There is no God.”
“Of course—”
“You’ll get lost, my sweet child of Jesus!” the little girl yelled, interrupting Becky. Her face was now a mask of twisted savagery. “I died. I died. I died! Did I meet Jesus? No! I was stuck here on this property, forced to haunt it for all eternity!”
“You’re…”
“Silvia Davenport!” the little girl interjected. “I’m the girl who drowned in the lake and never met god! I was a sweet child of Jesus. If anyone was supposed to go to heaven I was. So if I can’t, then anyone who dares build a cabin here, visit here, or get lost here, will die. I deserve all the company I can get. Get her!”
Becky’s face flushed with shock and confusion, mostly confusion. “Get her? What do you mean?”
Silvia pointed behind Becky. Becky turned around. The beast of a man stepped out of the darkened hall in front of her. He reached out large hands and snapped her neck. Her kerosene lamp fell and smashed open. Fire leapt into life with a mighty whoosh. But the beast of a man was gone, Silvia too. Only Becky remained twitching upon the floor as if in the midst of a fit. Her eyes were vacant. The fire enveloped her.
Caedes
Adam Mitchell
Ghostly Writes Anthology 2016 Page 7
