Chapter 2
“Alright Mom, I think that’s the last of it.” I had shoved as much food into my grandmother’s fridge and freezer as was possible, plus the back of our pick-up had its fair share of food for our fridge. We’d have to figure something out. No food was going to go bad out here if we could help it. “We bringing all this over to the community building tomorrow?” I asked.
“I was thinking about it, but there really isn’t a way to warm up all those casseroles.” She paused thoughtfully. “Maybe we can bring over the desserts though.”
I glanced at the card table that we’d set up, still full of cakes, cookies and pies. “Guess, I should get out the plastic wrap. I’ll get started on it.”
As soon as we had finished wrapping the desserts, I started to wipe down the rich dark wood of the dining table, well-worn from generations of Haggarts.
“Ready to head on home, Krystal?” Mom called, exhaustion apparent in her voice.
“I’ll just finish on up here and head on back in a bit.”
“You sure you’re okay with that? Today?”
I knew what she was really asking me, you want to stay here with your grandmother’s corpse, and then are you sure you can keep it together to make it down the path through the dark woods to home. Really?
I took a deep breath and nodded, sure as I’d ever been. “I’ll be fine, I promise. I just need a few minutes to say goodbye proper without a bunch of other folks looking over my shoulder. Plus the moon’s almost full. I’ll be able to see just fine down the path.”
“Alright then.” She gave me a big hug, like when I was little. “Not too long. I’ll be waiting.”
The old rusty red Ford pickup roared to life outside, and I heard it rumble its way down the gravel drive. I sat down at the dining table, swirling my fingers over its smooth surface. After all of the company, the stillness and silence were deafening. I could feel the air around me, alive as it pulsed and vibrated. I was not afraid. I was peaceful. I was where I belonged. Moments later I forced myself to my feet to do what I dreaded to do, to do what I must. Say goodbye.
Until then, I could lie to myself. Everything is fine, everything is the same. Nothing has changed. She’s still here. I walked down the hallway, past her living room and the bedrooms. I stood rod straight in the opening of the parlor. She had insisted that when the time came she was going to have the same old fashioned wake of her relatives. No fancy wake at the funeral home for her.
The lights were all off in there, so I reached over flipping on the yellowed switch. The room brightened to life, and POP out the lights went.
Every. Single. One.
I could still see a little, courtesy of the faint glow radiating from the kitchen behind me. The switch was still facing upward. All of the bulbs couldn’t be blown out all at once. Could they? I flipped the switch down to OFF, and then turned it back to ON. Again, the room lit up. I checked and double checked every light fixture in the parlor, and all eight, damn it, were glowing. Feeling a little bit like an idiot, I flipped the switch up and down a couple more times, all the lights in perfect working order. I sighed. Whatever. Blame it on electrical issues in an old house.
I walked on over to the casket, a real nice cream and silver one. I could remember when Granny had picked it out some months ago, so proud she was going to be resting in style, and how thoroughly upset I had been with her at the time. And she had just given me that smile of hers saying, “All things born into this world, must also die from this world. It’s the way of life.”
And I had begun to cry then, telling her I didn’t want her to go, and she had held me until I had stopped crying. She said, looking into my eyes, “Resisting brings suffering, and when it is time for me, I will go. Don’t be sad for me for I will be in a most happy place. Just hold me in your heart, and when you miss me, I’ll be there. It is not time for me yet, but I am telling you this now, so you’ll be ready, my most special girl in the world.”
And with that memory, I knelt down in front of her, taking her now cold hand in my own. She looked so small in her navy blue pantsuit as she rested on the cream colored satin. Her white hair had been styled annoyingly in a way she never would have worn it. At least they hadn’t plastered thick makeup on her, she’d been pretty adamant about not having any. She had said, “Well, I never wore that God awful stuff when I was living, why start when I’m dead?” Her face was peaceful, the wrinkles seemingly fallen away. Her skin had a translucent quality, and there was the tiniest of smiles on her lips.
“I’m not ready to let you go.” I whispered as my voice caught in my throat. My tears began in a trickle and quickly escalated to an emotional downpour. I lay my head down in the crook of my other arm while still holding on to her hand.
I rose to my feet, feeling crazed at the depth of my loss. “Don’t you know I need you?” I ranted. “Where am I supposed to go now when he’s on the rampage? How dare you leave me like this!” I raged. “You didn’t have to go!” I raised my arms to the heavens, shaking my fists in anger-- my anger at her, my anger at God.
I paced back and forth across the parlor, my anger palatable. “How many times have you told me that our life is made of our choices? You chose to go! You chose to leave me and Mom all alone! How could you do this to me? How could you do this to us? How could you, how could you, how could you?” I asked, my voice full of accusation.
I collapsed down onto my knees in front of the casket, and I placed my forehead on the cool white of the coffin. I was exhausted. I felt so dried out no more tears could fall. The front of my dress was covered in salt water tears and snot, my face swollen and miserable. My head throbbed and felt like it was going to explode. Slowly, my heart went from pounding in my chest to its normal steady rhythm and my breathing returned to normal.
“I just can’t do it, Granny. I just can’t say goodbye.”
“Don’t worry,” came a hushed whisper followed by a soft pause. “There are no goodbyes.”
I jumped to my feet. I wasn’t alone. Someone was here. I turned in a tight careful circle, my senses heightened. It was as if the world I had been living in were 2 dimensional, and all of a sudden, the objects looked like they were in 3D, popping out at me. I could hear every tiny little creak and moan in the old house. I stole a quick glance down at my arms, every little hair stood on end from goose bumps so pronounced that I looked like a walking advertisement for some horrible new skin disease. I began to shake as it dawned on me that some sicko must have hidden themselves in the house during the wake.
It had definitely been a man’s voice I had heard. Right. In. My. Ear. The left one, if you’re wondering. The bastard couldn’t have gone far. I was too afraid to go back down the hallway with all those dark rooms. He could be hiding anywhere, right under a bed just waiting to reach out and grab me. I took in a deep breath to get ahold of myself before my imagination did me in. What to do?
The front door was in the parlor to the left of the casket, if I could just make it over there. I knew from experience the front door was rarely used, but it had been open during wake. One step at a time, I gingerly walked backwards hoping I wouldn’t give my whereabouts away to the intruder. But can you call someone you’d welcomed into your home earlier an intruder? I rolled my eyes at my brain. Passing by the coat closet, I placed my hand on the knob. I debated. Could he be in there? The shot gun was in there. I didn’t want to open the door if he was, um, in there with a shot gun that was loaded, obviously. But I sure wanted Granny’s shot gun if he wasn’t. I took a chance and as quickly and quietly as was possible, opened the door sending out thanks to my granny for her love of WD40 as my hands fumbled around in the dark corner of the closet, only finding empty air. Denied, I felt crushed. Why isn’t the shot gun here? Where is it? My eyes widened as reality dawned on me. He must have it!
“I better get the fuck outta here.” I mouthed. I had to turn around to undo the chain lock. I fumbled in my haste. I opened the heavy door just enough to fit through. As soon
as I pushed it closed, gently as possible, I began a sprint to my left, launching myself over the porch railing and off the covered porch. I landed with a thud and was off and running again.
Usually, I enjoyed moonlit nights; they’d always seemed magical and full of possibilities. Not this night. All I could see were shadows, and each and every one was a potential hiding place for Mr. Creepy.
When I made it to the path that led to my house, I turned around to look back at the house, certain I was hidden in the cover of darkness provided by the woods. The kitchen and parlor still had their lights on. In the window above the kitchen sink I could see the silhouette of a man, a fedora haphazardly resting on his head. I took a couple of steps back, grateful he wasn’t following me. Then the silhouette turned to face the window blocking out most of the light from within. A scream escaped my lips as I fell on my rear in shock. I scrambled to my feet, certain the man had heard me and started a mad dash down the path through the woods to my home.
I swear, I must have tripped over every single root along the way, the tree branches reaching out to whip against my face. Briars dug into my dress and bare legs, threatening to grab me and never let go, but still, I plunged on. I fell more times than I could count on one hand. Of course, it didn’t help that I kept looking backwards over my shoulder into the near blackness of the woods, the canopy of tree branches making any moonlight impossible to filter through to the path, as I looked for the man from the house, certain he would be following. I knew he wouldn’t have the least problem knowing which way I was headed with all the racket I was making, but I just couldn’t help myself. It was fight or flight, and I had chosen to run. I could still hear the rough, raspy sound of his voice, and it echoed and bounced around in my frazzled brain.
After what felt like an eternity, I broke through the woods and out into the clearing where I called home. My lungs ached and my legs burned from lactic acid overload as I pushed myself even faster, this time not even daring to look back out of fear for what I would see. I bounded up the rickety steps to the front door of our trailer, nearly throwing the screen door off its hinges as I swung it and the front door open in quick succession, landing in a heap on the worn brown carpet of the living room floor.
My mom stood up from her favorite chair, a flurry of used tissues fluttering down around her, her mouth agape on her red, tear stained face.
“Mom, close the door, quick,” my voice croaked. She stepped around me and closed the door, and I heard the distinct sound of the lock being turned.
“Krystal. What the hell?” Her mouth was still open. I was still catching my breath, but I pulled myself onto my knees.
“Mama, someone was still in the house. He’s got Granny’s shotgun.” I paused taking in a deep breath. “I got outta there just quick as I could, and I saw him-- he was looking out through a window in the kitchen straight at me.”
Mom sighed. “You mean this shot gun?” Her mouth pulled into a thin line as she pulled Granny’s shot gun out of the corner next to our front door. “I didn’t want to leave a loaded shot gun at Granny’s during the wake so I brought it on home. And unloaded it, too.” I didn’t say anything for a few seconds.
“Oh. When it wasn’t there in its place, I just thought….but Mama, there’s still somebody over there.”
“Krystal, are you sure?”
“Honest to God. I saw him in the window; he looked at me. And he said something to me too.”
“Well, what did he say?”
“Something about there aren’t good byes.”
“Well that doesn’t sound too threatening. But still, did it sound like somebody we know?”
I thought for a second, and shook my head no. My mom started muttering something about Bobby never being around when she needed him, and I rolled my eyes.
“Guess I will give a call out to Donny. He’s off duty, I saw him at Granny’s tonight. He’ll know what to do.” She pulled out the old faithful rotary phone and dialed the number.
Now that I was home and sitting quiet, I started to feel uncomfortable about telling the Sherriff what had went down. I hoped he’d take me seriously, and I mulled over what I was going to say during the fifteen minutes or so it took him to make it our house.
Chapter 3
Sherriff Don wasn’t in uniform since he was off duty, and he’d changed out of his suit from the wake. He was wearing jeans and a flannel. My mom had went to school with him, and they’d been friends back in the day. Word was they’d even been on a date or two. Folks talk like my mom and the Sheriff would have eventually gotten on together if my mom hadn’t run off with my dad. And then my father ran off on my mom when he’d found out my mother was pregnant. With me. When she’d come on home, the Sheriff had already married Patty Brown, and it was too late for them. Least that’s what the old biddies talk about. They don’t think I hear, but I do. I figure they talk just for the heck of it, and that’s all it amounts to. Nothing.
“Donny, thanks so much for coming,” Mom reached out to shake his hand. “Krystal thinks she saw someone over at mama’s house after we finished cleaning up for the evening. I figure must be one of the old timers straggling behind from the wake. I just hated to call down to the station for something like that.”
Sherriff Don nodded real thoughtful, turning his gaze to me.“Alright, Krystal can you please tell me what happened?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Donny, please have a seat. Any where’s fine. Would you like some tea?” My mom asked from the kitchen.
“Yes, ma’am, I’d love some.” he said, finding a seat on the old tan and yellow plaid couch. Its ugliness ran a close second to that of the ugliness of the knarly brown carpet. But, hey, they matched.
I nervously cleared my throat, still sore from my tirade of crying earlier. My voice started off real raspy and started to clear up as I spilled my story. Every now and then the Sherriff would interrupt me to ask a question. He wrote down little notes in the small note pad he always seemed to have with him.
A few minutes later when I was all done, the Sherriff stood up saying, “Better go next door and have a look.”
“Alright then. We’ll follow behind you so we can lock on up,” Mom said.
The Sherriff took a good long look at my mom for a moment. “Where’s Bobby at this evening?”
“Went to town.” We all knew what that meant. I was mildly surprised the Sherriff had even bothered to ask. Maybe he thought old Bobby would lay off for one night knowing there was a funeral to attend early the next morning, but my mom and I knew how deep Bobby’s love was for the, ahem, bottle. The Sherriff barely shook his head. I knew what he was thinking, what a waste of a life, ‘cause I was thinking it too.
Since Granny’s house was right next door, we were there in a matter of a few minutes. In fact, if you took the path through the woods, it was shorter to walk than drive. The kitchen and parlor lights were still shining brightly through the windows. Sherriff Donny turned on his huge flashlight, what we kids would call a “shit kicker” flashlight. It could cause plenty damage all on its own. His other hand floated where his gun holster should be. I figured he must be packing under that flannel. He strode over to our truck.
“You ladies hold tight in the truck while I take a look around.”
My mom nodded and locked the truck doors.
The Sherriff slowly walked up to the back door, cautiously opening it. After a moment, he disappeared inside. We watched as every light in the house came on in turn, and every now and then we’d catch a glimpse of him through one of the windows. After about fifteen long, tense minutes, we saw Sherriff Don walking up the drive toward us.
“There’s no one in there. No signs of anything being disturbed. Maybe you ladies can take a look and see if everything is still in its place. But far as I can tell, the house is all clear.”
Mama and I went in went in and all was just as we’d left it, even Granny resting quietly in her fine casket. Mom checked Granny’s jewelry box, not that she’d
had much, but still, and not a thing was missing. We turned out the lights and locked up. Out in the driveway, my mom and the Sherriff talked in hushed voices. I caught pieces of their conversation. “Under lots of stress.” “Hearing things.” “Not taking it well.” I wanted to throw my hands up when my mom said maybe I needed to go to the hospital and be evaluated. Like Hell. I had to speak up then.
“Sherriff Don. Mom. Really, I’m fine. Surely, it’s just all this stress from losing Granny. And I was in there with her body. My mind must have been playing tricks on me, but I swear I’m okay. Thank you, sir, for taking time to come and check everything out to be safe,” I added for good measure. Throwing out the good manners was sure to work.
I thought back at the rant I’d had at my dead grandmother’s corpse earlier before all the drama. I was certain they would lock me away, key and all, if they knew about that. I felt waves of shame. But they didn’t know, and I wasn’t bound to ever tell a soul. I smiled my best fake smile. Mom just looked at me, and it fell from my face. She wasn’t buying it. But Sherriff Don did, probably hankering to get home and back into bed. Not that I could blame him.
The Spirit Who Loved Me: Spirit Whispers Book One Page 2
