31 Days of Halloween Tales ~ Dinner Anyone??

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Dinner Anyone??

Looking back on that day, the storm, the darkness, the coldness of the summer wind, I should have known that something was wrong. I should have been more aware.

A late summer storm had relieved me of electricity and without a television and the Red Sox to keep me occupied, I found myself napping in the darkness of my living room. I was in the middle of a very strange dream involving a child’s grave and some shoes that didn’t fit when I was awakened by a soft tap upon my front door. The storm had washed out a good portion of the driveway that led to my house so it was quite a surprise when I discovered an elderly woman standing upon my front porch.

“Good evening Mr. Kelley” the ancient voice cracked.

I stared at the strange figure before me. She was tiny, barely five foot tall with short stubby arms and legs which seemed to protrude from an oversized torso. The skin on her face was smooth but it was her eyes that gave away her age. Ancient, blue eyes the color of frozen ice, sunken deep into her skull, stared out at me over smooth, pale cheeks. A tight, silver bun sat on the top of her head and not one single hair appeared out of place although a cool, stiff breeze was still blowing. Her matter of dress was stranger yet, a floor length dress with a high ruffled collar, which given the summer heat, seemed quite unbearable. I had seen similar clothing in the yellowed photographs of my great-grandmother as readied for church garbed in her Sunday best. The woman’s dress appeared ironed and stiff as one would expect but it was covered with a coating of dust which I also found quite odd.

I could not say anything for a moment, taken aback as I was by her unexpected appearance and I had no idea how the woman knew my name as I had just recently taken residence in the house. After a fashion, I was able to speak.

“Can I help you?”

“As a matter of fact, I believe you can Mr. Kelley. I prepared an elaborate dinner before the storm arrived as I was expecting some friends but now it appears that with the main road closed, my company will not be able to make it. Would you care to join myself and two of my neighbors for dinner? I live just past the bend in the road, you know the place, don’t you? And you will join us?”

I nodded amicably. I was embarrassed that I did not know her name and ashamed to admit I did not know the whereabouts of her house but I felt I could find it without much trouble. Besides, all I had in my refrigerator was a now, luke warm beer, and some congealed leftover pasta that would not be fit to eat without the assistance of a microwave.

“When you see my mailbox, take the little path towards the house, it is quicker than the road. I will expect you within the half hour. Do hurry Mr. Kelley. Waste not, want not.”

And then, she was gone, disappeared actually. I thought it was a trick of the shadows that now covered my front entrance and driveway combined with the fact that I had been awakened so abruptly so I shook off the feelings of apprehension, closed the door and went up the stairs to my bedroom and bath. 

I splashed my face with cold water and tried to wrap my head around what had transpired. I found the entire event bizarre but still found myself desiring to go. I quickly changed my clothes into something better suited for dinner with an obviously proper lady and hurried out into the darkening evening. For some reason, I thought it best not to be late for this dinner.

I had just reached the end of my driveway and stepped onto the pavement of the road when a white bolt of lightning struck the large oak tree outside of my house sending it crashing into the living room where I had been sleeping just a short time before. I stood in shock as a watched the scene play out before me and I must have been a sight in my jeans and suit jacket standing in the road as my house crumbled before me. Needless to say, I forgot about my dinner plans.

It was some days later after the emergency vehicles and the insurance claim adjuster had come and gone; that I remembered the elderly woman and felt I should find her and explain my absence. In the coolness of the early evening, I headed down my driveway once more and walked the short distance to the bend in the road that the woman spoke of.

I found the mailbox right away, a rusted clump of metal with the letters, “Clar_  S_lliv_n” still attached. I took the path she suggested but instead of arriving at a house, I found myself at the entrance of a small cemetery. It consisted of only three headstones and I shivered as I approached them. The largest of the three stood in the middle. As I looked at the stone, I felt the hair stand up on my arms and the graze of cold fingers upon the back of my neck.

Clara Louise Sullivan

Beloved Teacher and Friend

1830 – 1925

“Waste Not, Want Not”

The evening shadows were hanging from the stones and I felt it best not to linger any longer in this makeshift graveyard when my wits were clearly not about me. I turned to go and leave the unholy place but paused when I noticed some scratchings which looked like letters in the soil.

The ground in front of Clara’s stone was void of grass and the dirt was soft and newly turned which I found quite peculiar since the cemetery seemed otherwise to be quite unkempt. I knelt down and strained my eyes to better see what was there but upon reading the message, I became terrified and fell backwards into the damp grass.  

In the soft, dark dirt in front of the gravestone, written by what I, in my fear, supposed to be a finger, were the words,

“You are welcome Mr. Kelley.”

I have not been back for dinner.

Friday Flash Fiction.. The Monster in the Closet

I want to start the weekend off on the right foot! A little flash of horror...just for you...

"Jeez, Tom. What's that for? I thought we was gonna play baseball?"

"It's call a Ouija Board…it lets you talk to ghosts."          

"Uh uh."

"Yes, it does. Just watch."           

"But I don't wanna talk to no ghost, Tom. I wanna go outside and play."

"We will. After this, okay? Just sit down on the floor and cross your legs like an Indian."

"Okaaaay."

"Now, put your fingers on the pointer just like me. Okay, now we ask the ghost a question."

"What ya gonna ask 'em?"

"How about… "What's your name?"

"Why you pushing it, Tom?"

"I'm not…it's the ghost. Now be quiet."

"What's it doing?"

"It's spelling out its name I think."

"Whats it spell, Tom?"

"W-E-S-T-L-E-Y"

"That's a funny name. Who is that?"

"Got no idea. Wait, it ain't done moving yet."

"D-O-D-D"

"What's that?"

"I don't know what it means, Frankie. Hey, did you hear that?"

"Yeah. What do ya think it was, Tom?"

"Don't know."

"I'm cold and this ain't no fun no more. Let's go."

"Wait. He's saying something else."

"D-O-N-T-O-P-E-N-C-L-O-S-E-T"

"Don't open closet? What's that mean?

I don't know. Okay, I'm done. Let's go outside. Where's your baseball bat, Frankie?"

"In the closet."

"Let's play on the swings."

WeWriWa 3/30/14

It's time for Sunday Snippets where writers of all genres get to strut their stuff!!! Take a look, there's plenty to like!

The last snippet from Bid Love's Return...it's nearly time to send it to the alpha readers..

Amanda has run away to the isolation of the Marblehead Lighthouse on the eve of her ex-husband's wedding but instead of finding solitude, she has discovered a stranger named Christian and his dog, Captain...

We stood in silence, watching as Captain chased the ball about the grounds and waiting for the sun to go down. I forgot about investigating the lighthouse and taking photographs for it was Christian that held my attention that afternoon at Marblehead, him, and trying to figure what I could possibly say that could make him remain a little longer.

Night comes early that time of year however, and as dusk settled in and the cottage behind me began to disappear into the pending darkness, I knew it was time to leave. I looked at him, without embarrassment this time, taking in his silhouette knowing perhaps I would not see him again. I wanted to remember the curves of his face, the clear coolness of his eyes. 

With nothing more to say, I whispered a simple good-bye, turned away from the shore leaving Christian and Captain behind me in the fading twilight.

I held my breath as I walked, waiting for a response from him but none came. As I reached the cottage and opened the door, I turned back towards the cliffs, hoping for one more glance of them. only to discover they were both gone.

WEWRIWA 3/9/14

Visit here for more Sunday Snippets!!!

A little snippet from a ghostly romance tentatively titled "Bid Love's Return"

Do you believe?

I've asked that of myself more times in the last twenty years than I can recall, usually as I am lying alone in my bed surrounded in shadows and questioning both my memory and my sanity.  But my answer has always been the same.

Yes, I believe.

When I first returned home from Marblehead that snowy February day, I was worried that I would forget it all, or even worse, that I would come to believe it never happened. Age and wisdom have taken their toll on me, age more than the other I think, but it is just as effective for stealing my memories. I have learned the hard way however, that there are some memories that remain when all else has disappeared.  

Although I struggle more with each passing decade to remember everything clearly about those days in Marblehead; I've discovered that the sound of his voice, the scent of his skin, and how his hand felt wrapped around mine, are permanently etched on my soul. 

Wednesday Snippet...

I thought I would post a little snippet of a story that I recently wrote...At the moment it lingers on the pages as a short story but it may turn into a novelette in the future.

A heaviness settled over the inn as it does on these evenings when the darkness comes early and lasts an eternity. There was no one else in the tavern spare the four of us and the blazing fire warmed the room so that the traveler's eyelids soon became heavy in the heat. I thought that perhaps the couple would retire to their room once their bellies were full but instead of taking their leave, the young man turned to Clara, his eyes heavy with exhaustion, and asked her about the portrait that hung above the heavy oak mantle of the fireplace.

Clara smiled as she always did when asked about the Woman in White. It was a tale she liked to share and a cold winter's night such as this one was perfect for the telling of it. Perfect for a ghost story.