by Terri Reid
She pulled a piece of paper across the table, picked out a blue crayon and began to draw a pair of large wings.
Chapter Thirteen
Rosie locked up her house for the night and finally made her way to her bedroom. She flipped on the overhead light and bathed the room in brightness. Then she picked up the remote from the nightstand and turned on a news channel, so there was noise in the room. She hurried over to her bathroom and quickly completed her evening rituals and then made her way to her bed.
Her eyes were continually drawn to the closet door. Was it still closed or had it opened just a bit?
Even when she was in the bathroom, she kept looking into the mirror, watching the door. Expecting it to open on its own. A shudder slid down her spine and she wrapped her arms around herself. “Okay, Rosie, get a grip,” she lectured herself. “You’ve lived in this house for over ten years. You love this house. Nothing is going to hurt you.”
Taking a deep breath, she turned off the light in the bathroom and made her way into her bedroom. The noise from the television was comforting. She even got enough nerve to walk to the closet door and test it; to be sure it was shut.
She released a sigh of relief when the door was firm, and began to walk to her bed when she heard a slight click. Did something just turn the knob?
She turned quickly and faced the door, her heart pounding. She stared at the door, willing it to open, but praying it would not.
After a few moments, she moved back, away from the door towards her bed. Pausing halfway across the room, she walked over to her chaise lounge. Moving behind it, she pushed it across the room until it was in front of the closet door. She pushed it further, so it was jammed up against the door. “That ought to keep the door closed,” she said, brushing her hands together.
She didn’t turn off the overhead light until she had flipped on the lamp on her nightstand. Then she walked across the room to turn it off. The room was still fairly bright with the pictures from the television program, but the lamp made her feel even more secure.
Climbing into bed, the television and the lamp still on, she slid underneath the blankets. Her night mask stayed on the night stand, unused. She didn’t want to be that vulnerable. Purposely positioning herself away from the closet, she pulled the blankets up as high as she could, cocooning herself inside them.
Lying in bed, listening to the sounds of her house, she tensed at every creak and bump. Finally, after about twenty minutes, she allowed herself to relax. Her eyes began to drift shut and the tension began to slowly slip away. She could feel herself being drawn into sleep and she welcomed it. Just as she was drifting away, she heard the knob on the closet turn.
Immediately awake, her heart beating in her throat, she listened as the chaise lounge was pushed forward on the floor. She couldn’t move. Almost couldn’t breathe. She was paralyzed with fear. She gripped the blankets tightly until her knuckles where white and waited. The television turned off and the light on the nightstand darkened. Then she felt the bed give way and knew that something was beside her on the bed.
She felt nausea roll in her stomach and her heart pounded in her chest. She could feel the darkness of whatever was in the room with her. Her legs were numb; her voice was dry in her throat. She couldn’t even scream. She felt it move closer to her in the bed.
Pressing her eyes together, she gripped the blankets even tighter and did the only thing she could think of. She prayed. “Dear God, Please help me. I’m so frightened. Please make this thing go away.”
She felt the mattress shift, felt the presence lift away from her and finally, after a few moments, heard the closet door close. After what seemed to be an eternity, she could lower the blanket. Her bedroom was back the way it had been before she had gone to bed. The chaise was still against the closet door. The television was still running and the lamp was still on.
Biting her lower lip, she slowly shook her head. No, she hadn’t imagined it. There was something in her room. Something on her bed. Finally, she glanced down to the side of her bed and trembled when she saw the depression in the blankets next to her. Wordlessly, her breath coming out in short gasps, she slid from under the covers. She ran across her room and into her living room. Grabbing her coat, she slipped it on as she grabbed her purse and her keys. There was no way she was going to spend another night in that house.
Chapter Fourteen
Stanley sat in the dark, a high powered flashlight in his lap, and waited to see if any nocturnal visitors were going to pay him a call. “Come on, you lily-livered coward,” he whispered, “show yourself.”
The clock in the living room clicked with each passing second, echoing in the stillness of the night. He slowly scanned his house, from his vantage in his favorite recliner. A ray of light from the street lamp outside slipped through the closed curtains and drew a narrow line across the middle of the carpet. Tiny dots of green and red from the instrument panel of the television and dvd player shone from the shelf of the TV stand. The digital clock light over the stovetop glowed a slightly iridescent green. But there were no other sources of light in the house.
He waited and watched. Finally, as the clock whirred on the hour and the chimes echoed eleven o’clock, he saw it. The hairs on the back of his neck stood straight up. A faint glow, the size of an adult, floated through the hall from his office to his bedroom. He felt his knees go weak, but forced himself to stand and silently follow; his flashlight in his hand.
He slipped around the kitchen counter and into the hallway. Sliding against the wall, he slowly made his way towards the open bedroom doorway. His hope that the glow was merely the reflection from passing car lights was immediately crushed when he saw it slowly moving back and forth in his bedroom. He stood in the doorway, his heart in his throat, his blood pounding in his temples and his eyes wide with shock.
The entity moved to his dresser and Stanley watched the top drawer slowly open. Items of clothing from the drawer were lifted up and thrown across the room; pairs of black socks landed on the bed, handkerchiefs were draped over the lampshade, tshirts tossed on the chair and, finally, a pair of boxer shorts flew across the room and landed at Stanley’s feet.
This can’t be real, he thought. I must have fallen asleep in the chair.
He closed his eyes and slapped his cheek. Wake up, Stanley!
But when he opened his eyes, the boxers were still on the floor at his feet and his personal items were still being thrown across the room. He looked back to the drawer and saw the small framed photo he kept of his first wife levitating in the air. The frame was a fragile heirloom and would shatter if it were thrown haphazardly across his room. “Now hold on there,” he called without thought, “you ain’t throwing that nowhere.”
The entity paused and allowed the frame to slowly drop back into the drawer. Then it turned and faced Stanley. He gasped in shock. Within the glowing light he was able to see a face, softly formed and wistful, the face of his dead wife stared back at him.
“Verda?” he called out tentatively. “That you Verda?”
A small translucent tear slipped down her cheek. She held her arms up towards him and nodded. And although her lips never moved, he could hear her whisper.
“Don’t forget, Stanley. Don’t forget.”
And then she was gone.
Chapter Fifteen
Frantic pounding on the door and ringing of the bell had both Mary and Ian springing from their respective beds and meeting at the top of the stairs. “Who do you think it is?” Ian asked as they jogged down the steps.
Mary shrugged. “Most of my visitors don’t knock.”
Ian reached the door first and opened it. Rosie threw herself into his arms, sobbing. “There’s something in my house,” she cried, tears running down her face. “I can’t go back there.”
Ian led her into the front room and guided her to the couch. “It’s okay, darling, you’re safe now,” he murmured. “There’s no reason to be afraid.”
She sat on the co
uch next to Ian. Mary tucked an afghan around her, sat on her other side and gave her a hug. “Do you want anything? A cup of tea? A glass of water?” she asked.
Rosie shook her head and took a few of the tissues Ian offered her. “No, no, I’m fine,” she said, catching her breath and mopping her face. “You must think I’m a goose. It’s just that I was so scared and didn’t know where to go.”
“Well of course you needed to come here,” Ian said. “We’re family.”
Mary looked over Rosie’s head and smiled at him. “Yes, we are family,” she agreed. “Now, what frightened you?”
Taking a deep breath that caused her to shiver, Rosie waited for a moment and then began to speak. “For the past two nights I thought there was something in my room,” she explained. “The closet door was open when I woke up and I know I closed it tightly. I can’t sleep with the closet door open. Then, the feeling in my room, it was...darker. And when I woke up, there was a body-sized imprint in my bed right next to where I was sleeping.”
“Are you sure...” Ian began.
She held up her hand and interrupted him. “Tonight I pretended to be asleep,” she said. “I heard the closet door open and I felt someone get into my bed next to me.”
“Rosie,” Mary exclaimed.
“I lay there, terrified,” she continued. “And then I realized the only thing I could do was pray. So, I did.”
“And?” Ian asked.
“And it got off the bed and I heard the closet door close,” she said, her voice trembling. “And then I jumped out of bed, grabbed my purse and my coat and came here.”
Ian fell back against the couch and stroked his chin with his hand. “You know, Rosie, unless you want to abandon your home, you’re going to have to go back,” he said. “The longer you stay away, the more powerful this entity will become.”
She turned to him. “So, you don’t think I’m crazy?” she asked. “You believe me.”
Mary shook her head. “No, Rosie, we know you’re not crazy,” she replied. “There is something in your house. But you don’t have to go back alone. We’ll help you figure out who it is and how to get rid of it.”
“Aye, and you don’t have to go back tonight,” Ian said. “Just give me a moment and I’ll make up the bed in the guestroom for you.”
“But, Ian, that’s where you sleep,” Rosie argued.
Ian shook his head. “Rosie, me darling, no arguing tonight,” he replied, leaning over and placing a kiss on her cheek. “I’ll be back in a trice.”
Shaking her head, she turned to Mary. “I just can’t believe this is happening,” Rosie said. “Who in the world gets haunted the week before they are getting married?”
As he walked across the room, another frantic pounding on the door stopped him in his tracks. Ian walked to the door and opened it to find Stanley on the porch scowling at him.
“It’s okay,” Ian said. “She’s fine, just a little shaken up.”
“What the hell you talking about?” Stanley growled.
Ian cocked his head slightly to the side. “Why are you here, Stanley?”
“Cause I got a gol-darned ghost haunting my house,” he exclaimed. “And if that ain’t bad enough, seems like it’s my wife, Verda.”
Ian shook his head and grinned. “Well, now, isn’t that a coincidence,” he said. “Sounds like Rosie’s got some haunting issues too.”
He stepped back and invited Stanley inside.
Rosie turned and looked over the back of the couch. “Stanley, how did you know?” she asked.
Stanley harrumphed and adjusted his trousers at the waist. “So, you get in trouble and you come knocking on Mary’s door,” he grumbled. “Seems like you oughtta been running to me for protection.”
“And just where did you run to when you had a ghost issue?” Ian asked nonchalantly.
“Ain’t the point,” Stanley countered with a sniff.
Ian laughed. “Sit down, Stanley,” he said. “I’ll put a pot on and then we can all discuss your ghosts.”
Chapter Sixteen
Mary tiptoed down the stairs and nearly jumped when Ian walked out of the kitchen. He put his finger to his lips and motioned with his head. “Stanley’s still sleeping,” he whispered.
Mary nodded and motioned to Ian to follow her back into the kitchen. “It was so nice of you to give Rosie your room,” she said. “How did you sleep?”
Grimacing while rolling his neck, Ian picked up his cup of tea. “Well, your recliner is not the most comfortable of beds,” he said. “But I’ll survive.”
“Yeah, thanks for giving Stanley the couch,” she said.
Ian looked over towards the living room and rolled his eyes. “The way that man snores, I’m surprised any ghost would dare enter his bedroom,” he replied. “We’ve got to get Stanley’s ghost out of there if we’re to be getting any sleep in this house.”
Mary chuckled softly. “Well, I could hear him upstairs, so I’m sure it must have been shaking the walls down here.”
“Waking the dead,” Ian replied.
Laughing, Mary nodded. “And maybe that’s the problem.”
Ian grinned. “Aye, it could be. So, are you ready for what lies ahead of us today?”
She nodded. “As ready as I will ever be,” she replied, “I’m wearing my power outfit.”
Ian glanced at her navy blue suit, striped silk blouse and high heels and nodded with approval. “That’ll do nicely,” he said. “They’ll not be able to shake you on the witness stand. You look like a strong and competent professional.”
“Good, because I feel like a frightened and nervous fifth grade girl,” she admitted.
“And, how do I look?” he asked, turning in a little semi-circle and sending her a wink over his shoulder.
It felt good to laugh, loosen the knots in her stomach. She really dreaded seeing Gary Copper again and feared, even more, what her reaction might be. “You look just fine,” she finally said. “But...”
Ian turned back around to face her. “But?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.
“But, really, the black spandex shirt would have been better.”
He laughed aloud and then immediately quieted his voice. “You are a tease, Mary O’Reilly,” he said and then he put a comforting arm around her. “And you’ll be fine. He’s not a big bad boogieman, he’s naught but a wee evil man and you already beat him once.”
“Jeannine beat him,” she replied.
“Jeannine beat him using your skills,” he answered. “He’s no match for you, remember that.”
A loud snore interrupted their conversation and Mary placed a hand over her mouth to muffle her laughter. “Shall we wait for Bradley outside?” Mary finally asked.
“It’s about ten degrees above zero out there,” Ian replied.
Another snore vibrated the room. “Aye, what are we waiting for?” Ian asked, grabbing his coat. “Lead the way.”
They had just closed the door behind them when Bradley pulled up in the cruiser. Hurrying to the car, Mary slipped into the passenger seat and Ian sat in the back. Bradley leaned over and gave Mary a quick kiss. “Good timing,” he said, “were you watching from the window?”
“No, we were escaping with our hearing intact,” Ian replied.
“Excuse me?” Bradley asked.
“Stanley spent the night on the couch,” Mary explained, “and he has a bit of a snoring issue.”
“Aye, like the Titanic had a bit of a water issue,” Ian said. “The man shakes the house with each breath.”
Bradley smiled, put the cruiser in gear and pulled away from the curb. “Why did Stanley spend the night at your place?” he asked.
“He and Rosie have both had encounters with ghosts in their homes,” Mary said. “Stanley thinks his dead wife is haunting him, but Rosie has no idea who is entering her bedroom at night.”
“Her bedroom?” Bradley responded. “That would be creepy.”
“Aye, especially when it decides to cozy up to her witho
ut her permission.”
Bradley stopped at the corner more abruptly then he would have done under ordinary circumstances. “What the hell? It’s getting into bed with her?” he asked. “Is she okay?”
“Yes, she’s fine,” Mary said. “She came to the house late last night and Ian gave up his room to her.”
“Aye, the recliner is no place for a grown man to rest,” Ian said.
Nodding, Bradley smiled. “You have my full sympathy.”
He turned left onto South Street and headed towards Highway 20. “So what are we going to do about these ghosts?”
“We thought we’d check them out tonight,” Mary replied, “see if we can figure out who they are and why they’ve suddenly appeared.”
Bradley glanced over to her. “Do you have any suspicions? I mean, Stanley’s wife appearing to him a week before he’s supposed to marry Rosie sounds a little more like cold feet and a lot less than a cold grave.”
“So you’re thinking Stanley’s insecurities about getting married again are manifesting themselves in the form of his dead wife?” Ian asked.
Bradley glanced at Ian through the rearview mirror and shrugged, “I probably wouldn’t have put it exactly that way, but, yes,” he agreed. “He’s nervous about getting married again and he starts seeing things.”
“Actually, you have a fair point there,” Ian agreed. “But there’s also a chance that his dead wife might have been visiting him all along the while. And he just didn’t see her.”
Mary turned in her chair and looked at Ian. “I don’t understand,” she said. “Why would he suddenly be able to see her now?”
“Because of you,” he replied. “I’ve done some research about ESP and someone’s ability to see spirits and a great part of seeing is just believing you can do it. Most of us either don’t want to see a ghost or don’t believe we can. When we open ourselves up to the possibility, we release our minds to see what has often been there all along.”
“Since Stanley and Rosie have been helping Mary, and you, with some of these cases,” Bradley said, with a little skepticism in his voice, “you think their minds are more open to the possibility of ghosts and so now they can see them? I don’t know if I buy that one.”
