Vein River

by Kellie Honaker

The scene fades like a morning mist.

  There is no trace of what happened to my body but yet I feel utterly and completely broken. Tears slip from my eyes without the effort of blinking.

  “Angelina…I am so, so sorry.”

  She steps to the side of the bridge and gazes out over the water.

  “You’ve tasted my life and how I lived it. You suffered in my death. Tell me, what did I ever do to deserve this?”

  I shake my head. I have no words to comfort her. It would be a waste of breath and an insult.

  “Where is your body?”

  One side of her mouth twists into a smile. “If you thought about it, you’d figure it out. Once the passion of their crime subsided, they knew they had to hide my body. If only they knew how poetic their choice in a resting place was.”

  I think back on how Diana suffered as well, in her own lonely way. “Why did you never show yourself to your mother?”

  She frowns and stares at the ground. “Abby claimed to love me. I was being brutalized, and she just…left me. That is what caused my soul to fracture. As I hung there and swayed from one murderer to the other, I cursed them. I cursed the entire town. I surrendered my soul to the vicious hatred within me.”

  She turns to me slowly. “They say that eyes are the windows to the soul. Look into my eyes.”

  I gaze uncomfortably into the dark abysses. “You don’t have eyes.”

  She smiles venomously. “Precisely. Evil makes you ugly. I didn’t want my mother to see me like this. I didn’t want Mrs. Brooks to see me, either. But I still wanted to keep my promise to her.”

  “So that’s why Mary Elizabeth became a nun? A guilty conscience?”

  Angelina snorts. “Mary Elizabeth didn’t have a conscience. But I forced her to grow one.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I haunted her until I drove her crazy. She ran to God with her tail between her legs. She thought a holy place could offer protection, for surely, I was a demon. No matter what I did, no matter how I tormented her, she never would confess to my murder. That’s the amount of pride in that woman, that’s the seed of her genuine evil. She thought good deeds would buy her peace, but it only made me angrier. She did not deserve praise for her good works. She fooled everyone but me. At last, she realized that I would never stop. I would never leave. My thirst for her misery would never be quenched. And so, she hung herself. She thought it would be tit for tat, as if hanging herself was an apology. She thought with her death she would escape me, but she only made herself more accessible. I delight myself in tormenting her. I drag her by the noose on a regular basis.”

  “And what of Sid?”

  “Oh, the delicious and creative ways in which I tortured him,” she grins devilishly. “Cuts and bruises appeared before his very eyes, with crushing periods of pain. Blood oozed from his penis on a regular basis, as if he were a menstruating woman. Eventually, they locked him away because he ranted and raved like a lunatic. There were periods in which I would rest, therefore letting my victims believe that I had finally abandoned them. It was during a brief period of clarity that I caught Sid staring hungrily at a nurse. This stirred in me a particularly vicious mood, so I supplied him with a knife. The orderlies found him the next morning, mindlessly chewing on his dismembered genitalia. He spent the remainder of his life in a straightjacket, and I still enjoy overpowering him.”

  I don’t know what to say to that, so I say nothing at all.

  After a few moments, I ask. “But why Copper? Why Charles Oates and Silas Ramsey? They’re just as innocent as you were. They’ve never hurt a soul.”

  “That’s the thing with evil. If you nurture it, it grows. I enjoy the power of cursing people.”

  I stare into her murky depths. “I don’t think you’re truly evil. I think you’re vicious, and rightfully so—but not exactly evil. You spared Aria when she probably didn’t deserve it.”

  She looks away.

  “What can I do to bring you peace?” I ask earnestly.

  She looks at me, her head held sadly to the side.

  “What would you want if you were me?”

  33

  Annie

  I wake with a jolt to the sound of the phone ringing.

  “Hello?”

  “Annie? Are you okay? Sorry if I woke you.”

  I glance at the clock. It’s eight in the morning, so I can’t really complain. “It’s fine, Copper. What’s up? Is your family alright?”

  “I’m actually calling to tell you that they’ve made a full recovery!” he says excitedly. “They’re getting discharged now.”

  “That’s great! I’m so ecstatic for you guys!”

  “What did you do? Do you know what happened to Angelina?”

  “Humph. Boy, do I ever. Listen, I’ll be over later and I’ll tell you everything; but first, there’s something I have to do.”

  I enter the nursing home with Angelina’s diary in hand. Since I’ve visited Abigail before, the receptionist gives me the key and tells me to help myself. I climb the stairs, boiling with anger with each passing step.

  I push open the door, and she’s sitting by the window, just as she was before.

  “Where is Angelina’s body?” I demand.

  She looks at me, shocked. Then her face turns hard. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  I approach her.

  “I know you were there that night. I know that Sid and Mary Elizabeth planned on ‘punishing’ her.”

  Abigail’s face turns even paler than usual.

  “How do you know this?”

  “You thought you loved her,” I say, slapping the diary down on the table beside her. “But really, it was Angelina that loved you. Genuinely loved you. So much more than you ever really loved her.”

  She glances down at the diary, then back at me.

  “She was raped, Abigail. Twice. In every hole she had. They beat her. Your sister held her face down in the river as she tried to get away. Then they put a rope over her head and swung her back and forth like a puppet until she died. She was tortured, Abigail. The least you could have done was gone for help, and you did nothing. You’re a fucking coward. You deserve every misery you have coming to you.”

  Tears spill from the old woman’s eyes and her lips are trembling.

  “I didn’t know…I didn’t know they would hurt her like that. I figured Sid would rough her up a bit and then let her go. I never thought they’d be capable of murder. They said they gave her a ride into the city so she could enlist in the army.”

  “And you believed that?” I scream incredulously.

  She looks down at the ground.

  “You believed that because it was easier for you, not because it was the truth. You want to know the real truth?” I tap my finger on the diary. “Read it.”

  34

  Annie

  I flew to Copper’s house, I slung Sticky Bun around curves like a madwoman. I swear I climbed that mountain using only two wheels.

  When I pull up to the cabin, it seems like the house itself is smiling. The energy is lighter, happier. I knock on the door a little harder than I mean to. I’m so anxious to see Copper! I have so much to tell him, and I want to be sure that he’s okay.

  He answers the door and I gasp.

  He’s more than okay. He’s gorgeous.

  He’s the beautiful boy with the bronze skin that I fell in love with the first day I met him. He’s not just healthy, he’s glowing.

  “You’re okay,” I whisper, a sob catching in my throat. I run my fingers through his sun kissed locks, not a speck of white to be seen. “Do you feel alright?”

  He nods, his eyes crinkling into a smile. I cover his mouth with a kiss. I fall into his embrace and stay there, never again wanting to leave his warmth.

  “Alright, alright, you’re embarrassing the rest of us.” Charles stands with Silas at the threshold.

  My mouth drops open. Charles is the most striking. I’m used to seeing him look lik
e death warmed over, but now—now, he looks like a completely different man. He’s still wrinkled, but naturally so, his wrinkles nothing more than a kiss from time. But the touch of the curse has dissipated, leaving him looking twenty years younger. Unable to help myself, I pull him into a hug, our bodies rejoicing in the same relief.

  I pull back and look up at him. “You’re all healed! It must finally be over.”

  A shadow crosses his face and he shakes his head.

  “I’m afraid not. I was at the diner just this morning, and Rebecca still has The Cough. What did you do?”

  My heart sags. “I tried to coax Angelina into lifting the curse, but I did mention you three in particular. I guess sparing the three of you was only a favor to me. She still wants something, apparently, I’m just not sure what it is.”

  Silas makes a pot of coffee and invites Widow Jenkins over. I take the next hour relating what happened to the rest of the group. They listen intently until I’m finished.

  Charles scratches his chin. “There’s still unfinished business. Abigail didn’t kill Angelina, but she did nothing to stop it, either. I’d say part of the curse still lies with her.”

  “It’s also common knowledge that spirits stay agitated when their bodies haven’t been buried properly. There may be more than one loose end,” Widow Jenkins adds.

  I frown and stare at the table.

  “She said the placement of her body was poetic, that you knew where it was if you thought about it,” Copper urges.

  I ponder for a moment. “You’d think since Sid’s uncle owned a boat, that he’d have just taken her out to sea. Or put her in the river and let the river take her.”

  Silas shakes his head. “The current isn’t strong enough. The body would have been discovered. You have to travel several miles before reaching the ocean. Plus, there’s the fact that he would have had to load the body onto the boat where there’d be several other boats in the marina. This would have upped his chance of getting caught. Not to mention getting the body past his uncle.”

  “He could have stolen the boat and went in the middle of the night,” Copper offers.

  “Not all fishermen leave their boats,” Charles says, “Plus, there used to be a whorehouse right there at the docks. All sorts of prowling and roaming eyes at that time of night. I’d bet Angelina never made it out of town.”

  I think back to the diary and how romantically she wrote of Abigail. How poetic.

  “I know where she is!” I scream, scaring everyone at the table. “They put her in Crockett’s pond. They could have drove right up, under the pretense of checking on the old man. One could have distracted him with a visit while the other one dumped the body. He was blind. I bet they did it right under his nose.”

  “Holy shit…” Copper whispers.

  “I have to notify the authorities, but I doubt they’ll believe me.”

  “You just leave that to me,” Charles says with a knowing smirk. “Detective Robbins is used to strange. He’ll search the pond if I ask him to.”

  35

  Annie

  Turns out, Charles really did have some strings to pull. The authorities did some testing and it was confirmed that the bones at the bottom of Crockett’s pond belonged to Angelina. We, my mother and I, got to claim the body because we were the next of kin. We buried her properly in a plot next to her parents. Since it enraged Angelina that Mary Elizabeth was praised for her good works, I crept to the nursing home in the dead of night and removed the plaque from the wall. I tucked it into Angelina’s casket when no one was looking.

  I finally came clean with my mother. She was upset that I didn’t tell her about Angelina sooner, but I guess it all worked out in the end. My mom was never haunted by Angelina, so I guess Miss Jenkins was right. I was the target. Angelina never meant to do me any real harm, she just wanted to be understood, and apparently, I had just the right gift to do so.

  I never had to attend my father’s wedding, not that I would have ever done so to begin with. His fiancé broke it off. And then my father had the nerve to try and get back into my mother’s good graces. She told him to go to hell. I’ve never been so proud.

  Instead, I’ll be attending the wedding of two very dear friends. Widow Jenkins and Silas Ramsey will be married in the spring.

  Two days after I gave Angelina’s journal to Abigail, she was found hanging from the rafters by her bedsheet. It’s a marvel how she managed to pull it off, considering she was a frail, ninety-year-old woman. I sometimes wonder if perhaps she had some help. Or maybe a guilty conscience provides its own sort of fuel when it comes to making things right. She left a suicide note detailing her part in the crime and what she believed happened to Angelina. What she wrote is exactly what happened, because it is exactly what I told her.

  Copper and I are still going strong. We spend every spare minute together. We’re looking forward to starting school next week.

  Once Abigail died and Angelina was buried, it’s like a fog lifted over the town. People smiled brighter, the streets seemed cleaner, and the air was sweet and uplifting. One by one, like snowflakes falling in the snow, people got better. Even Aria with her stripe of white hair made a full recovery. She speaks softly now, a most timid soul, her hair a reminder to always be kind.

  Every so often, I see Charles walking the bridge at night. I guess old habits die hard. I think maybe in his own way, he was just a little bit in love with her, himself. He’s much happier now, with a renewed sort of energy, and he doesn’t seem quite so lonely.

  I no longer feel Angelina, anymore. I’m no longer haunted or watched or harassed. But sometimes I think I see something on the bridge at night, especially when the moon is round and bright. It’s a sort of mist that swirls and dances within itself. A specter of energy not of this world. Sometimes the orb splits into two different forms very much resembling the figures of women. The images face one another, their hands intertwined, and then they pool into one, once more. I’m not the only one that sees them. I’m sure Charles watches them in his silent way. It’s odd how urban legends change. People used to tempt fate by teasing Angelina, just to see if they could bring on the curse. Now the bridge is different, the aura changed to a much gentler and loving hue. Instead of a place of darkness, it is a place where lovers meet. People claim to see two women walking hand in hand along the bridge, their fingers interlaced. It’s good fortune to see them together. Even better if they smile at you. Lovers make it a point to walk along the bridge at night. They claim that if you see the ghosts, you and your lover are soulmates, bound together for eternity. My heart warms at the thought.

  Copper asked me once if we should try the superstition.

  I told him “no” and kissed him gently. I don’t need Angelina’s blessing. I know exactly who my soulmate is.

  The Water Doesn’t Hurt

  A Vein River Story

  Bindi Birmingham needed an escape. What better place than in a tiny cabin in a town called Vein River? All is peaceful until an old man warns her of a ghost haunting the covered bridge in front of her property. She scoffs at the idea until she sees the specter herself. Will she manage to break the curse or will she join countless others in the murky depths?

  Available only in Something Wicked: A Collection of Haunted Tales.

  Get it on Amazon (Click here!)

  Acknowledgments

  A very special thanks to Marie Bridgeforth, Brittney Cassity, and Christina Lockheart. You are a constant stream of support and encouragement. I’ve bitched and moaned over how hard it is to be a writer, I’ve sent you confusing chapters out of sequence, and I’ve asked questions that only writers and very curious six year olds would ask. Thank you for never losing your patience.

  Thank you to Kim Thompson for the help and support. May we die contented old ladies; rich in every way that matters.

  Love and gratitude to my much better half. It can’t be easy supporting a wife who writes in your least favorite genre. You never give compliments that haven
’t been earned, so you are my most valuable critic. I hope I can continue to impress you. You are my well of happiness.

  About the Author

  Kellie is the author of Grandfather Hollow and The Web Weaver, two short story collections available through Amazon. When she isn’t rescuing animals or fueling her book addiction, she’s busy mastering the art of becoming a hermit and a writer. Kellie incorporates her pets into her stories at every opportunity. In fact, her author picture features Salem, the kitten who makes his debut in Vein River. Even though the fictional Salem is robust and into mischief; the real Salem is blind. It doesn’t slow him down though. He still manages to climb his cat tree and catch the wayward fly. Once his bug-catching duties are over, he lounges around with a French Bulldog named Dumplin’.

  Find more of her stories on Amazon-

  http://www.amazon.com/author/kelliehonaker

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