Ghostly Writes Anthology 2016

by Claire Plaisted

Her cries echoed off the wall of the tomb in quiet hiccups. Her carefully curled blonde hair, which gave off the strong stench of bleach, tumbled over her knees as she hugged them tightly to her chest, while her cheek rested against her green dress. Suddenly, her head jerked up with a start, as if suddenly realizing the emptiness of the room. There had been a voice that wasn’t her own resounding in her head, coming from somewhere she couldn’t identify. She remembered the slick, cold feel of crimson silk sheets below her naked body and so much quiet that it hurt. Then crashing and screaming and hurting. Dark, faceless men; pill bottles that bore her name, but did not fit in her memory, being slung onto her bed stand carelessly. A pressure bore against her swan like neck, her palms beating against the slickness of the sheets that more often than not gave her comfort.

  “Stop!” she screamed to the nothingness, and her body lurched forward as if she might be violently ill.

  Although she felt that there should be panicked confusion of her location, there wasn’t. She let her head fall back like a weight against the beautiful, brilliantly white marble. Above her, a single red rose hung precariously out of a penny-colored iron vase and she craned her head to study it, wondering how often tombs received flowers. Roses were always her favorite.

  She sniffed away the tears, dabbing at her nose a little with the handkerchief pinned at her wrist, then lifted the wetness away from her eyelids with the side of her ring finger to preserve the makeup coloring her rounded cheekbones a cheery shade of pink.

  ‘It’s so quiet,’ she thought to herself. ‘So, so quiet.’

  “Norma?”

  “Yes?” Her head shot up instinctively at the call of her name.

  “Here again? I thought for sure our long talk yesterday had made you see things more clearly.”

  The man situated his hat upon his perfectly combed tawny hair. Not one hair out of place, she noted. He looked FBI; he was FBI for sure, or a very important policeman, for there was no other reason for the neatness of his suit with nary a wrinkle. But beneath the air of importance that stirred around his perfection, he looked kind. His brown eyes sparkled with a wisp of recognition that she couldn’t identify any more than the reason she was standing in the tomb that could have very well have been the burial place of the admirable Abraham Lincoln.

  ‘Oh wait, that’s not right. Am I in Washington, or New York?’ she thought. She didn’t know. The night before was only the swirling blur that seemed to be what her mind could churn up.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” she sniffled again, sounding like a little mouse. “Who – who are you?”

  “Norma, Norma, Norma,” the man repeated, his mouth turning up into a slightly menacing smile. His moustache, which was the same rusty color of his hair, rose like they always did in the movies; the kind of black and white movies where the images ran faster and faster with tinny music as the man in the suit tied the damsel to the railroad tracks. “I’m Jack, remember?”

  He took a step closer and it was then that she noticed he was smoking; he tossed it to the marble, leaving a smudge on the flawless stone.

  “Jack Malone. We meet here almost every day until the sun starts to set.”

  He stuffed his hands in his pockets. Norma shook her head, forgetting her tears for a moment.

  “We do? I’m afraid I don’t remember much right now,” she said, giving a nervous giggle that tinkled like very expensive crystal.

  “Yeah honey, every day. Come on, let’s get ya out of here…I’m not all that sure why ya still stay in this tomb. Just ‘cause he visits once a week and leaves flowers don’t give ya a reason to stick around. Besides, y’all aren’t even together anymore.”

  He offered an elbow, one hand still in deep in the pocket of his silver suit. Norma took a calculated look around, noticing just how cold the tomb was – but then again, tombs were supposed to be cold, right? She pushed herself up from the floor, careful that her Italian silk dress wouldn’t ride up and reveal her stockings too much, and she stood still for a moment, leery of the extended elbow.

  “Come on, doll. I’m not gonna bite. Come on,” Jack coaxed as though she was a frightened rabbit. Norma took a deep breath.

  “Alright, then.”

  She laid a delicate white hand, the color so very striking against the darkness of his suit, on his arm. Her nails were cherry red, with no chips; in fact they looked freshly painted. As she noticed this, she checked her left hand but found no ring. Not even a tan line where one might have been.

  “Why don’t I remember you? Or why I’m here?” she asked as Jack escorted her from the mouth of the marble like one would down a red carpet.

  “We all forget now and then why we’re here…just the name of the game, I s’pose. Ya see Franklin over there?”

  He pointed across the vast emerald lawn, which was lined with thousands of multicolored roses, pink and white carnations, and lilies with mouths wide open. There was a fountain in the middle, with flowing water that looked almost golden against the setting of the sun. The twinkling lights of the city danced like Christmas lights against the horizon as every window seemed to catch the light.

  “Franklin? I’m not sure I know who –” Norma began.

  “Hells bells, he’s chasing squirrels again. Well, never mind then, he’s mighty forgetful himself. He’s from South Dakota. Used to work for the Senate before he went Looney Tunes after a big…um, well, it’s not begettin’ of a lady. Let’s just say he abused his power. Anyhow, he wakes up every mornin’ wonderin’ where he is, who he is, but by about…oh, say nightfall, a little light flickers on and he’s his old self. Too bad it’s nearly nightfall now. Doesn’t do him much once the sun sets. That’s curfew.”

  He gave her pale hand a squeeze when her wide blue eyes turned towards him sharply. “We’re alright, though. No hurry.”

  “Franklin’s from South Dakota. Is that far from here?” Norma asked, shading her eyes from the bright orange sun.

  “Mighty far. We’re in Hollywood, darlin’,” Jack smirked, that devilish mustache curling.

  “Hollywood? Oh goodness, really? I was almost sure we were in Washington! I was very sure.” She gave another nervous, almost childish, giggle. “I thought I was in Abraham Lincoln’s tomb. Isn’t that silly?”

  “You always talk about Washington. A little, anyway. Sure wish you could tell me why it’s so important.”

  “I know a man there. A real important man, I think.” She scrunched her brow. “Oh golly, I just don’t know. It’s important, I know. He’s very handsome and I think we were together.”

  In her mind, she could see expensive hotel rooms, tables of champagne, candles everywhere, and her fingers trailing over a string of pearls at her throat.

  “Ah, love. That’ll give you many a reason to want to forget. I was with the belle of the county before I traveled here. She was a real beauty. But life gets in the way and I had to leave her behind…oh well. I get to walk with you every night because of that, huh?”

  “Do you? I just feel so silly not knowing you, Jack, especially when you know me,” she said shyly.

  “Don’t worry ‘bout that. You usually remember me eventually, so don’t give it another thought.”

  “Who’s that over there? That sad man?”

  Norma raised her hand to point. With that action, the man she’d spoken about up looked up from his book, revealing large, lava dark eyes and soft brown hair. He gave a nod and returned to his reading.

  “He’s like a little boy, isn’t he? So prim and proper and handsome.”

  “That’s Cornel. He doesn’t talk to many people, least of all women, especially those that are as pretty as ya. He’s as shy as they come.”

  Jack gave a wave himself and received, as Norma had, merely a nod of acknowledgment.

  “So, uh, giving that I don’t really know you, where are you from?”

  Norma returned her hand to Jack’s, feeling the nip of the chilly evening settling carefully onto her flesh and raising goosebumps over her
arms.

  “Originally from Atlanta, but I moved to Alabama for work. I use to be a cop down there. It was a real mess when I left. Damn, ain’t nobody getting along down there. Last incident was a riot between black and white. Always white against black. Sad…mighty, mighty sad. That was my last night there.”

  He pursed his lips, an air of sadness and longing for somewhere far from where they walked hovering over him.

  “Goodness, a cop? That sounds awful scary…all those angry people out to get you.”

  Norma felt the nudge of the night before, or the memory of some night – perhaps years ago, she wasn’t sure. The crashing of broken vases, shades being hastily pulled down, causing a loud snap to resonate in her ears. There was her own voice, calling out, calling out for someone – anyone – to please come and help her. Surely the maid below would hear her screams, even as muffled as they were? The maid would come to stop the pressure on her throat, the knees in her back as she felt her eyes bulge with pressure…she could taste the silk as it was forced into her downturned face…not enough air, not enough air…snap!

  “Norma?” Jack’s voice cut through the nightmare. He pulled her close with one arm so that her face, wet with running mascara and tears, was welcome to fall against his shoulder. “Hey, you’re alright. Just a bad dream, alright? Wakin’ dreams. My mama always told me bad dreams can come back to haunt you even when the sun’s out. Did you know that?”

  “No, I never heard that. Something bad happened, Mr. Malone, something real bad, but I just can’t place it. Someone wants to hurt me, or already hurt me. I feel it.”

  She raised a hand to her throat, feeling around the thinness of it as if the answer would be there, pressed into her flesh.

  “Call me Jack, and no, no one wants to hurt you. No one can hurt you anymore. You’re with me and that ain’t ever gonna happen,” he tried to assure her. His words, although the perfect lines of comfort, merely buzzed above her head, never making contact. She pulled away, her eyes locking with his in fresh horror.

  “Look here, look at my neck. I feel something there, like a bite or a cut – there has to be!” Norma tugged back her blonde hair. “Look,” she said more forcefully.

  “You ain’t ever been this assertive,” Jack said with concern but he complied, brushing back her blonde hair and eyeing her flesh carefully. “Awful lot a makeup back here. You got a hanky or something?”

  Norma’s heart was racing as she took out her beautiful white handkerchief, with the rose sewn into the corner, and placed it in his large, calloused hands.

  “Here.”

  “Hold still, Norma, I’m gonna see.”

  Jack dabbed the cloth against his tongue and, using the dampness, rubbed away the caked makeup that looked as though it would most certainly stain her very expensive green dress.

  “Yeah, you got some bruises back here. Big ones – looks like someone got a hold of ya, darlin’.”

  Norma snatched the handkerchief from his hand and pressed it to her lips to hide the cry that would escape like a bird call. The panic returned…the sounds…the pain...she took off running, despite being in her heels. She could feel every clump of dirt rise up behind her, almost nipping at her heels, and she yelped at this feeling but kept running. Of everything she’d experienced today, this seemed the only thing that she recognized. Fear. Wanting to run, wanting to scream, but being painfully denied by powerful hands, rough and hard, wrenching her life from her.

  “Norma, wait!” she heard Jack yelling behind her.

  She kept running, the world around her whizzing by as if she were in a fast moving automobile – a baby blue Cadillac, with shimmering silver rims. The top down, her arms up into the air as the wind tossed up her hair like flying cotton. Her thin-strapped, ruby red dress allowed the fresh California air to rush over her flesh like a warm bath. Her laugh, high and squealing as the road streamed by, a young gentleman beside her laughing at her antics.

  The brief image dissipated like a slap when she tripped onto the wet, freshly cut green grass.

  “Whoa there, you need to slow down. All these stones, you could really hurt yourself,” a woman’s voice – deeper than her own – piped up, offering a slender hand. Norma accepted it and it helped her up from the damp earth.

  “I got spooked, I guess,” she said shakily and that same burst of giggles tumbled out of her aching throat.

  “You’re Marilyn, right?”

  “Uh, no, I’m Norma.” She was shaking hard but not from cold, her eyes looking around for Jack. She hadn’t meant to really leave him behind!

  “Oh, well,” the other woman said. “Can’t remember them all, I suppose. I’m Bettie.”

  Though Bettie was smiling, she didn’t look entirely kind. Her hair was the color of ravens and fell down her shoulders like water and her bangs were cut sharply across her forehead, revealing eyes that were equally dark but soft.

  “Bettie,” Norma repeated, hoping it would stick in her frenzied brain, “do you know why you’re here? Or me?”

  “Oh, honey,” Bettie said sadly, shaking her head and bringing a lit cigarette to her blood red lips. “Life’s a bitch, huh?”

  “Norma, don’t go running off like that,” a voice chided from behind Norma. “You look damn near close to a blonde haze when you run that fast and I don’t wanna lose you before sunset.”

  Jack looked as though he had run himself but he wasn’t out of breath.

  “Oh. Hi, Bettie. How are you this fine evenin’?”

  “Very good, Jack,” Bettie smiled, looking at him carefully from underneath her long lashes. “Having fun with the babysitting, are we?”

  “Don’t be upsettin’ her like you did last week!” Jack snapped. “You can be just downright cruel. You didn’t, did you?”

  “No, I didn’t go upsettin’ Blondie,” Bettie sneered, turning her head sharply, and crossing her arms, no doubt wrinkling her blue and white polka dot dress that stretched tautly around her full figure. “Pray go find another side of the yard to spend the rest of your evening. I prefer to be by myself.”

  Norma found herself glaring but she wasn’t sure why.

  “Come on Jack,” she said coldly. She took Jack’s arm again, turning him away from the dark beauty before her. Once they were out of earshot, she whispered, “I don’t like her. She frightens me.”

  She clung to Jack now. By his side was warmth; warmth against so much coldness that reverberated around her next to that Bettie woman.

  “You just don’t like each other – never have. She’s rude and she ain’t no lady, not by a long shot,” Jack growled, giving Norma’s hand an assuring pat.

  “What do you mean by ‘don’t upset her’? Do I know her?” she asked carefully, absentmindedly trying to smooth her windblown hair back into place.

  “She’s always had a knack for upsettin’ you. She knows all about you: your history, all the…men…you’ve been acquainted with…she says that’s why you’re here. Because of the men you know. Or rather, knew.”

  “Men I knew?” Norma’s eyes darted around as she searched her memories. “Yes, men I knew. A man wanted to hurt me in my apartment, but it wasn’t him that did it. Someone he called to do it…”

  “Don’t do that, Norma, it ain’t worth it. Honey, believe me, you’re a goodhearted person. No matter what anyone says here, you’re a lady through and through. You just loved the wrong person, that’s all.”

  “Wrong person?”

  “Yeah, kinda like Franklin over there. He just loved too many people and it got him in trouble, it wasn’t like he was being vengeful or nothin’ – just got caught up with the wrong people.”

  Jack crafted this speech very carefully, which made Norma suspicious.

  “You know what happened to me, don’t you? And you’re not telling me,” she glared, pushing her hair away from her eyes.

  “I’ve told ya before and ya just got upset with me. I don’t wanna be upsettin’ you, that’s all.”

  Norma sto
pped them firmly in their tracks.

  “Tell me, Mr. Malone…Jack, please.”

  “Can’t we just enjoy the rest of the evenin’?”

  Jack was pleading with her, which surprised her. He had hold of both of her hands, looking deep into her eyes, and he stroked one cheek. But not like a beau would; it was simply a gentle gesture of care.

  Norma glanced at the waning sunlight, where the sun sank into the horizon as if the city were a great ocean swallowing it up. A song found her ears; a voice, tinkling like her own, murmured in the air far away from where she stood; “Happy birthday to you,” it crooned. She rested her fingertips on the revealed bruised flesh; she looked down at the soft green dress covering her body and then her eyes wandered back to the tomb where Jack had found her on the marble floor.

  It had all been too quick for her to remember in full but everything that night was staged; though whether people believed it afterwards, she wasn’t sure. She wasn’t sure if she really cared. They had knocked timidly, giving her the impression that she knew them. After all it was ‘their’ knock – one that no one else knew about. One rap, two quick raps, three soft ones. For every evening they spent together, that knock was like a song; it was the opening to every happy night of their time together.

  Wrapping the silk around her hour-glass figure, she tiptoed giddily to the door. They rushed at her, pushing her from the door. Swish! Crash! A hand over her mouth, her body pressed to the mattress…one man sat on top of her and she could feel his knees pressed into the bends of her arms, so all she was able to do was slap her palms to the silk. It sounded like water; hard, deep, water. She was drowning under the weight of the unknown man; darkness was closing over her senses as her will to fight gave way…and so did her neck.

  It was very much like bursting through the surface of a frozen lake; she gasped so loudly that she felt herself falling back. Jack caught her before she could fall this time, murmuring a soft string of, “Shh, shh.”

  The sobbing from earlier returned and she fell into his arms, burying her face into his crisp, white shirt. He patted her back like one would a small, crying child.

  “They can’t hurt you now, Norma,” he soothed. “No one can hurt you.”

  “I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t breathe,” Norma cried, trying to pull herself out of the rising tide as it lapped over her head forcefully.

  “Stay with me, feel your feet on the ground…look at me, darlin’,” Jack said, his voice more forceful now.

  “No, no! Stop, please!”

  Norma pushed him, spinning around in her heels, the green lawn blurring like an oil painting with too many colors.

  “Norma!”

  Jack’s voice sounded like an echo down a long, deep cave as he fell farther and farther away from her into the blackness. His touch was no longer felt…coldness swept over her…and the tide took her down into the color of white that blinded her.

  She woke up on brilliantly white marble, to voices murmuring like spent whispers and then silence. She rolled onto her back, eyes locking dizzyingly upon the red rose perched above her as if looking down onto her with pity, its petals dry and crumbly. There was dying sunlight finding its way in through the door of the tomb.

  “What happened? Who are you?” she asked the looming figure in the walkway.

  With somber, dark eyes, he looked upon her with a gentle humor – or sympathy, she wasn’t sure – and reached out a large hand, palm up.

  “Hi, Norma. I’m Jack. Let’s take a walk.”

  Chaconne

  Neil Newton