Thriller: Horror: Spirit Doll (Mystery Suspense Thrillers) (Haunted Paranormal Short Story)

by Stephen Kingston

  No matter who her father was I had raised my daughter, I had made sure she had a good childhood, and I had loved her with all of my heart. I never told her who her father was because I simply did not know. The memory upset me, it hurt me, and she had finally stopped asking but some of that hurt was for her, some of my concern had been for her own thoughts and emotions. How do you tell your child her father was a rapist, that she is a product of rape, possibly? It can be hard enough on parents explaining the birds and the bees. Telling a child she could be the result of a rape was impossible for me.

  However, she could be Adam’s child, my angel’s child. I tried to see some of either in Clara but she was my spitting image. As though my own biology had wanted to play a cruel trick on me, or perhaps spare me, my genetics proved the strongest and Clara was my double. I simply could not tell who had been her father so I hid the truth away and never told anyone.

  I had left Florida after a quiet settlement with my employer and moved back to Charlotte. Florida had been a dream that turned into a nightmare. I would never go back. People knew the truth there, people I had worked with, the police, the doctors and staff at the hospital I had been taken to. Then there were the reporters, those vicious hounds that had plagued me upon my release, begging for my story as the last victim of Travis Brown. When they’d discovered I was pregnant, the reporters went insane, trying to crawl into my windows as I waited for the settlement to go through.

  Jackie had finally come one night and packed me off to her house until the settlement was done. We waited until the money arrived in my bank so I could escape Florida and the reporters. I kept in touch with her through letters but I never saw her again and she died five years ago, her children grown and doctors now. Jackie had died peacefully and happy, just as she had deserved. I sometimes wish I could be that lucky.

  When Clara finally came along and she was in my arms I finally felt a moment of peace, tranquility, and love like no other I had ever felt before. I did not care who her father was, this tiny human life was my child, and that is all that mattered to me. Clara’s presence dimmed the Lurking Spectre for a long time and I thought he was finally going to disappear into the ether. That would be too much like letting me die in peace, however, and now the laughing, trick-playing Lurker was back. What fresh bit of hell did he have in store for us?

  He’d moved things in the house, knocked them over, and Clara had blamed me. I had ignored it at first, trying to discourage it. When he started playing with the girls I became terrified of what he wanted, of whether he could do more than he had let on. Those precious children, my own precious child did not deserve these problems. Then my ailment had come into play and I had lost quite a bit of time, lost in the fog of my memory.

  It is odd how we sometimes regress to our earliest years with this disease. It is as though our brains forgot how to reset themselves each day and are going back to the last save point our mental computer has saved on file. Isn’t that what people call it now, save points? That is how I imagine this disease, as a worm. Or is it a virus, perhaps? Is that what the computer bugs are called? Yes, I believe it is called a virus. Anyway, our data becomes corrupted, filled with these holes, until our brains can only reset to those early points and we are left with only our spotty memories and confusion as we try to place the people we are seeing.

  I know what’s happening to me and I dread the day I forget who my daughter is but I would not mind forgetting who her father was. I know she wants to know now but I still think she would be better off not knowing. I was hoping I would forget before she would think to ask again but it seemed not. Turning over in the bed, I decided I would tell her tomorrow. She wanted to know and maybe now she would be old enough to seek help from a professional when she learned the answer. I would try to be there for her but I was no longer able to make such promises.

  I wanted to tell her now but it was late and the poor woman was sleeping. I would try to hang on. The girls were going to a slumber party tomorrow and they would have the weekend for Clara to get through the initial shock without having to look after them and me. I just needed to hang onto those memories for a few more hours. The memories could buzz off forever after I told her the truth, but only after I had told her.

  I had a few spells this morning, moments of forgetting where I was, where the bathroom was, and it is becoming frustrating. I feel the urgency to tell Clara the truth pressing down on me even more now as the sunlight fades. I am not always aware of it but the disease gets worse in the evenings, as the sun goes down and my memory starts to fade with the light.

  Soon enough Wes came home and Clara put dinner on the table. We ate quietly, Clara or Wes occasionally breaking the silence by asking about the other’s day. It was a tense dinner and I was not the only one feeling that tension. I could see it in how tight Clara’s jaw was and the way Wes kept picking up his knife only to put it back down again. I finally could not take anymore and set down my knife.

  “Right then, the girls are gone for the weekend and instead of being relaxed you two are like two cats tied together that hate each other. I guess I know what it is all about so if you are finished let’s leave the dishes for later and go into the living room.”

  My daughter and her husband looked at me guiltily and stood up. Clara helped me into the living room and we all sat on the long sofa, Clara holding my hand. This was not going to be an easy story to tell.

  “So you want to know who your father is.” I say with a big breath. I was sitting on the edge of the couch, nervous, afraid, and uncertain. Either way this was not going to go well.

  “I would like to know, yes. If it is this bad maybe I do not want to know?” Clara offered, her hands trembling over mine.

  “Well, you have asked me long enough, it is time to tell the secret. It was not that I was ashamed of you dear, or that I was ashamed of myself. It was solely that I wanted to protect you.” I let my words trails off as Clara’s face filled with anxiety. She wanted to know. “The truth is I do not actually know who your father is. The men responsible died the same night and I did not know about DNA then. It could be either of them.”

  Clara looked confused and I spent an hour explaining the gory details to her.

  “So I am the product of rape?” Clara’s voice shook as she spoke.

  “I do not know, my love. You could be the product of the only love I have ever experienced with a man. Or you could be from Travis.” I could only stare at my hands as I spoke. “When I woke up the bruises had healed, the cuts were healing, and my body was beaten but starting to recover. I could barely remember the little bit that I saw, it was very dark down in that basement but Adam came, he found me after hours of looking."

  It took a long time for the searchers to find me and the hospital administration insisted on not calling the police for the first few hours. I was down there for six hours when Adam finally found me. I was not in good shape; I was unconscious through most of it. He tried to help me and Travis cut his throat for it. I have had a lot to live with over the years.”

  Clara sobbed as my story finished, her shoulders shaking as she leaned down into her own lap. I wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close as Wes moved to encircle her from the other side. I knew it would hurt her, but I did not realize just how much her hurt would cut deep into me. My baby was shattered.

  “I want you to know something else, Clara. From the moment I saw you I had no doubts about loving you. I have loved you your whole life and never stopped for a moment. I would not give you back, even if you were from that man. You are mine and always will be mine. No matter how you came to be you are a beautiful person that deserves the life you have. The life you are going to have.” My words trailed off as she sat up and looked at me.

  “I just do not know what to say to you Momma. You are the bravest, strongest person I know.” She immediately started to sob again and Wes took her this time, holding her close.

  “I am going to take her up to bed, Betty. I think she needs a res
t. Will you be alright? I know that was a very tough story to share.” Wes looked at me with sympathy but I could see he wanted to take care of his wife.

  “You take care of my baby, Wes. I am going to have a bath and go to sleep myself. That took a lot out of me.” I sighed once more as they left, Clara held close to her husband, and then went into the bathroom. My poor child was devastated.

  I had done my best to provide Clara with a wonderful life, to guide her into the right decisions, and to help ease her way. Now I had torn all of that down and my heart ached. I could not fix this.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Clara…Clara wake up, something is wrong with your mother.” Wes shook me awake gently before he got out of bed. I threw on a robe and followed him down.

  I could hear heavy objects being thrown against the walls as my mother wailed from her bedroom below us. I ran down the stairs, my heart already pounding, wondering what the heck was going on in her room.

  I opened the door and stood back as a wind blew through the window so powerful it almost knocked me off my feet.

  “Clara!” I heard Wes call out as I stumbled.

  I stumbled but picked myself up, clawing my way to where my mother huddled in a corner, her hands over her head as she screamed.

  Mom tore at my face as I tried to pull her out of the destroyed room, furniture broken and lamps busted all around us. She fought against me hard, her screams never stopping as I tried to get her to come out with me. Finally, I gave up and called out to Wes over the roar of the wind.

  “Get her out of here and I will get this window shut. When did this storm blow up?” I hunched over to force my way into the wind and almost fell flat on my face as the wind suddenly stopped.

  I looked up to see that I was alone and the window was closed. I stood in the devastation of my mother’s bedroom and gaped at the window. It was shut, the scene outside calm and subdued. Where had that wind come from then?

  I blanked the incident out as I ran out of the room once more. Wes had Momma in the hallway and was trying to keep her calm. She had clawed three long scratches down his face and his arms were covered in welts from her nails. I ran to the phone and dialed 999.

  When they arrived we had to answer questions about what happened. Had anyone been abusing my mother? What happened in her room?

  “I do not know what happened. I have to assume she did it all herself. Our girls are at a slumber party and we were asleep upstairs. My mother has Alzheimer’s, apparently these things can happen.” I watched as realization dawned on the paramedic and went upstairs to dress to follow Mom to the hospital.

  I stayed with her until they decided to admit her, every time the medicines would wear off she would start screaming, then Wes made me go home with him. Wes took me home and made me a cup of hot cocoa before we went to bed. I cupped the hot ceramic cup in my hands, cold despite the summer heat outside.

  “What was she screaming, Wes? I could not make it all out.” I looked over at him and saw my own exhaustion reflected in his face.

  “I am not sure. It was something about the Lurking Man and how he wanted her girl now.”

  “She did not say the Lurking Spectre?” I asked, wondering if she had become confused.

  “Yes, maybe she has incorporated the girls’ imaginary friend into this Lurking Spectre?” Wes wondered aloud.

  “Perhaps so. There are parts of that story she told I am not sure about. Maybe some of it was her Alzheimer’s?”

  “I do not know Clara. There are certainly things in her story that can’t be explained but I think she thought she was telling the truth. And no matter what, there has to be proof about this man, Travis Brown, somewhere. I do not think she made any of that up.”

  I wondered how we’d gotten here, wondering if my mother was imagining things and making up stories at four in the morning with a destroyed bedroom to clean up.

  “I know one thing, Clara. She can’t be around the girls like that. I love your mother and I know it is not her that is causing her to act that way but the girls can’t be around that.” He would not look at me as he spoke and my anger and hurt started to rise.

  “She is my mother, Wes! Of course she will stay here!”

  “No, I will not have it!”

  “Wes, that is my mother. She is not just some woman off the street. She endured decades of misery for me! I will not put her in a home!” I slammed my hand on the table as he stood, ready to walk away.

  “All I know is our girls do not deserve to be exposed to that level of violence and terror. I simply will not have it.” Wes picked up his own cup and walked away.

  I could not believe it! Our first real argument and he walked away! I could not leave my mother in a home. I simply could not. It was unimaginable. Wes would see, she would be fine tomorrow. Then feel silly for all but throwing her out. He would see.

  I woke up the next morning and could finally see there was some sense to what Adam had said. The girls did not deserve to see their grandmother like that and it would do them harm to wake up to things like that every night. I felt like a failure but I knew my girls came first.

  I went to the bathroom, started down the stairs, but then came to a stop. Something was wrong down on the first floor. There was shiny stuff all over and I could hear noise outside. We had specially treated windows that blocked out cold air and all but sealed us off from sounds from the outside. I could hear the birds singing.

  I took another step and looked down at the carpet on the stairs. The shiny substance was on it too. I looked around and saw that the substance was glass. Looking up I saw the picture over the stairway was uncovered with no glass protecting the portrait inside. The tiny shiny particles all over the floor was glass!

  I went through the entire lower floor and found that anything glass in the house, even the screens on our phones, had been pounded into a fine dust.

  “Wes!” I call out loudly and shrilly. I had planned to make him a cup of coffee and wake him up in bed but this was just creepy.

  I looked around the house as I continued to call out for him and finally came to my mother’s room. I found an explanation there on the walls.

  Scrawled in large red letters, some liquid of some kind because the letters dripped down the walls, were the words that made my heart stop as Wes finally came rushing down the stairs.

  “She stays or you all die.”

  “Wes!” I screamed once more, my body telling me to flee as I stood rooted to the floor, too afraid to move.

  “Come on, out of here, let’s go!” Wes pulled me out of the bedroom and we threw on some clothes from the laundry room before we headed outside.

  We sat on the bench in the backyard staring at the house for several long minutes. My heart had finally started to stop racing when Wes cleared his throat.

  “Well then. Did you hear anything?” Wes asked, his voice shaking.

  “Not a thing.” I replied, my own tone monotone.

  “I guess that is some pretty definite proof. Your Mom was definitely telling the truth.”

  “I think she was. What has she been living with all of these years?”

  “I am not sure myself. I do not know what this is. I do know we can’t allow the girls to come home with this mess.” Wes picked up his phone and looked at the empty hole where the screen should be. “I will go get new phones shall I?”

  “You are not leaving me here alone with that!” I cried out, taking off for the car. “I am going with you!”

  We both picked up new phones, filing claims with the insurance company, and then went to pick up wood and a shop vac. The insurance company for the house was arranging replacement windows and sending over an agent to assess the damage. We called the girls with our new phones then arranged with the girl’s Mom to have them stay another night. Then we went home and started the cleanup process.

  It took several hours and I am not sure all of the glass was gone but we had every bit of it we could see vacuumed up. We had to throw out any cloth, r
ugs, and anything else with fibers because it all held the glass even after vacuuming. The glass had been crushed that finely. This was a devastating blow to us and if we could not get the insurance company to pay, our savings account was going to be decimated. Even the curtains had to go. Luckily the second floor of the house was unharmed so those rooms were fine.

  Cleaning up the mess in the kitchen was hardest. Even the fridge took a beating as the glass within it was pulverized and liquid went everywhere. We had to turn off the power to dig the lightbulbs housing out of the sockets and the pile outside grew higher as we took out the shattered television and some other appliances. We’d try to have the laptops repaired because of the data on them but the rest just went into a pile outside. Wes put a sign on it that told anyone thinking of picking it up to beware because it was full of glass.

  Finally, at five in the afternoon the house was cleared up. We only had the kitchen chairs to sit on downstairs so we sat in the kitchen, looking at each other.

  “What are we going to do?” I asked my husband, wanting only to settle in his arms and forget the world existed.

  “I do not know. I really do not. Shall I go out for pizza? I can get one more piece of wood to finish off that picture window in the living room.” Wes asked, knowing pizza was my favorite comfort food.

  “Sure. I hope whatever caused all of this had its little hissy fit and is done now. It should be fine. Besides, there's no glass in the house to be a danger is there? Even the glass in the doors is gone.” I said with a sad laugh as I looked at the antique doors with boards secured over them. Wes had done that while I did most of the vacuuming.

  “Alright, I will not be long. I will pick up a six-pack on the way home.” Wes said with a grin, trying to make me smile.

  “Thank you babe. Be careful.” I kissed him goodbye and went into the living room, watching him go. I did not like being alone here but I was not going to be frightened out of my own home.