Gender: Female
Status: Married
State: California
Country: US
|
|
|
|
Saturday, November 07, 2009
|
Current mood:  creative
Category: Writing and Poetry
Hi Everyone!
I know I usually only post one blog a week, but my good friend DJ Myke invited me to be part of a group poem and I wanted to share it! :)
Poetry isn't my strong suit, but in the immortal words of the Beatles... I get by with a little help from my friends! :)
Thanks to DJ Myke for inviting me...
Lisa
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Poets Round Table No. 140 ~ Trinkets of Time
Trinkets of Time
There are defining moments in life, far scattered and unrehearsed,
Unexpected wildflowers that appear, with bursting joy and color strong.
Those standout beats, mark our time, in the steady rhythm of the universe,
Unsyncopated treasures and truths, that make up our bold, authentic song.
Trying to hold back the tears hoping the pain doesn't show,
My heart is breaking, falling in love too young wasn't smart.
Telling me you'll return, lie if you have to, I know you must go.
Freedom calls and you must answer; now's the time to depart.
Because I'm sure that who we are is never where we burn, to be
Laughing, loving, scratched between the sheets; I hold your best,
But took your ring and threw it where desire bleeds destiny;
Such chains of silence flushed beyond the path where darkness rests.
Living with the shadow of death, taught me to appreciate life,
Knowing time is fleeting I struggle to make sure each moment counts.
Because I have only one shot at living, I try not focus on strife,
For in the end what is left behind is love in immeasurable amounts.
Loving, living and forgiving in the end, is really all that matters,
Cherishing those whom we love and care for, holding them close.
Even if I have cried enough tears to fill a bucket and it splatters,
Doesn't mean that I am not ready for love; I'm ready, for another dose.
Cursed with the scarlet shame of a wretched past by believing in its power,
Adorning this dreamcatcher's mandela with St. John's arms, wanting its
protection.
Burying the disdain, invoking the Serenity prayer's divination to stand and not cower,
To overcome this damnation and finally move on to where I belong, without hesitation.
The Players:
Poets Round Table is a weekly event.
If you would like to participate, let Myke know.
* * *
Powered by  | | English | | Albanian | | Arabic | | Bulgarian | | Catalan | | Chinese | | Croatian | | Czech | | Danish | | Dutch | | Estonian | | Filipino | | Finnish | | French | | Galician | | German | | Greek | | Hebrew | | Hindi | | Hungarian | | Indonesian | | Italian | | Japanese | | Korean | | Latvian | | Lithuanian | | Maltese | | Norwegian | | Polish | | Portuguese | | Romanian | | Russian | | Serbian | | Slovak | | Slovenian | | Spanish | | Swedish | | Thai | | Turkish | | Ukrainian | | Vietnamese |
|
|
|
|
Friday, November 06, 2009
|
Current mood:  frustrated
Category: Writing and Poetry
I've been trying to post this since Sunday night... MySpace wasn't cooperating! *fizzle*
Oh well...
Here it is!
I hope it's better late than never! LOL
Lisa :)
Hi Everyone!!!
No surprise here, but I love Halloween!!! Ever since I was a little I looked forward to deciding what I would "be". Unlike your teen years when you’re taking career testing and struggling to raise your SAT scores so you can "be" something cool that will make you enough money to move out to your own place, Halloween meant you could "be" anything!!!
What fun!!! Anything!!!
This year, I was some sort of pink-haired demon-ish thing, but I was more proud of the haunted porch! I hope I can post pictures soon. (My battery is recharging as I type!)
So I have some other news...
Across the Veil won the Paranormal Fight Club!!!!! WOOT!!!
Thanks for all your support and votes for the past month!!! You really made it feel like a team effort and I really appreciate everyone who took the time to participate!!! YOU ROCK!!!
In other news, Dead Souls, the anthology that includes my vampire stories, Immortal Beloved and Subito Piano is now available on Amazon!!!
Please grab a copy! With the creepy cool cover it would make a great After-Halloween gift! LOL Also just released is the 2009 Ladies of Horror Anthology which includes my never before seen stories, Phone Home and Hunted... They’re both very creepy and I hope you’ll enjoy them! :) While these anthologies aren’t Gone with the Wind, Interview with a Vampire, or the Da Vinci Code, I think the stories are strong and I hope you’ll check them out! Definitely let me know what you think! :) This week I’m bringing back and older Halloween story that I hope you’ll enjoy! It’s one of my favorites because it combines many of the campfire stories we used to scare the kids with... Happy Halloween!!! Lisa :) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The Storyteller - By Lisa Kessler
Jed hobbled off the bus, leaning heavily on his gnarled walking stick. He tugged down on the brim of his well-worn leather hat, and shifted the weight of his knapsack on his shoulder as he made his way out of the bus station. The trip up to Canada had been fruitful, but there was definitely no place like home.
Seeing no sign of his grandson's Jeep, the old man sighed and decided to settle on a bench to wait. A young woman toting a little boy on her hip approached with a tentative smile.
"Do you mind if we share the bench with you?"
"Course not," the old man replied with a warm smile.
"Thank you." She sat down and peeled her little man off to sit on the other side of her, before turning back to Jed. "So are you coming home, or just stopping in for a visit?"
"Oh I'm back home for a few weeks before it's time to travel again. How about you?"
"We're here to see my sister for a few days
"Auntie Rita!" the little boy corrected.
She nodded mussing his blond hair a little. "That's right, Auntie Rita." She looked at Jed again with a grin. "So you travel a lot?"
"Wherever I'm needed," he replied.
"Are you a doctor or something?"
He laughed and shook his head. "No Ma'am nothing so distinguished. I'm a storyteller."
She raised a brow. "A storyteller?" Was she scooting away from him? He couldn't be sure. "You make a living at that?"
"Most of the time. Results may vary from time to time, but I don't starve. I'm just getting home from a trip to Canada to collect stories."
"You collect them?"
He nodded, "Yes Ma'am. Some of the best stories are never written down. They're kept alive through the telling, so if no one collects them and shares them again, the stories die."
"So you're like a doctor for stories," the boy chimed in.
Jed grinned down at the little boy who was now standing in front of him, clinging to his mother's knees. "I guess you could say that."
"Tell me a story." He added with a sheepish smile, "Please?"
Jed glanced up at his mother for her consent.
"You don't have to," she said.
"Oh it's no bother," Jed said and looked down at the little boy. "So what's your name?"
"Nathan," he replied.
"What kind of story do you want to hear?"
"Ummm..." His eyes sparkled with a mischievous gleam and Jed knew what he was going to say before he spoke a word. "A spooky story!"
His Mom rolled her eyes and chuckled. "Nothing too scary."
Jed winked at Nathan. "All right, spooky is my specialty. Have you ever heard the story of the little vampire?"
The boy shook his head.
"All right then, I'll share it with you. Little vampires are rare, so this little vampire was lonely. He could only play at night, and the other kids were all inside after the sun went down. His only friend was his dog, Buddy."
"What kind of dog was he?" Nathan asked.
Jed grinned, "Vampires only like one kind of dog."
"They do?"
"Yep. Blood hounds!"
Nathan's mother chuckled in spite of herself and groaned.
"What's so funny, Mommy?"
She shook her head. "Just listen Nathan, don't interrupt the story."
Jed started in again, regaling the boy with a fun tale of the child vampire and his dog. It was one of his favorite stories for kids under five. Not really scary at all, but the little ones thought it was spooky because the main character was a vampire. Just as Jed finished up the story, his grandson's Jeep pulled in.
"That's my ride."
"Thanks for the story!" Nathan said.
"Yes thank you," his mother added. "You're a very good storyteller."
He tipped his hat and slowly straightened up until he was standing. "Always love to share a good story. Thank you both for listening."
"Hey Grandpa! Sorry I'm late." Jason said as he reached for Jed's knapsack and carried it back to the Jeep.
Jed bent down and placed a hand on Nathan's shoulder. "Nathan, it's your job to share that story with others. This is very important. Don't let that story die. You keep it alive by sharing it."
Nathan gave him a solemn nod. "Yessir."
Smiling, Jed gave his shoulder a squeeze and nodded toward his mother. "You've got a fine boy here."
Jed hobbled to the Jeep and carefully gripped the handle to pull himself up into the seat. His grandson Jason was already behind the wheel, starting the engine.
"How was the trip, Grandpa?"
"I collected five new stories from Nova Scotia, and shared some Montana cowboy tales with three different library systems."
"That's great," Jason replied.
Jed looked over at his grandson. Jason was twenty-one now, but he still had the gangly limbs of a fifteen year old. He was a good-hearted young man, with bright blue eyes and a smile that could light up a room. But tonight his grandson wasn't smiling. In fact, Jed frowned, Jason was gripping the wheel so hard that the muscles all the way up his arms were tight. A bead of sweat rolled down from his hairline, along his cheek.
"Are you all right, Jason?"
Jason glanced over at him, and nodded. "Yeah I'm fine."
Jed noticed his eyes looked haunted, or worse. Jason looked... terrified. He reached over to place a hand on his shoulder and Jason flinched, swerving on the road.
"You don't seem fine to me," Jed said.
Jason shrugged without taking his eyes off the road. "I saw something on my way over to pick you up. I guess I might be shaken up a little, but it's nothing."
"What did you see?"
"I thought I saw Llorona went I came over the bridge tonight. It sounds stupid to say it out loud." He offered Jed a weak attempt at a smile before turning back to the road. "I'm fine, really."
The color drained from Jed's face. Stories of Llorona had been recorded all over North and South America since the 1500's. Although the details of her story often change, the root remains the same. She killed her own children and has been weeping for them ever since. The sight of her is beyond unlucky. Seeing her at night was perceived as an omen of death.
"It's just a story Grandpa."
"I taught you better than that." Jed looked over at Jason. "In the heart of every story is a nugget of truth. That's why it's so important to preserve the stories. You know that."
"Yeah, well I saw a woman in white weeping at the edge of the water. That's it. I don't know if it was really Llorona or not. It just spooked me a little, that's all."
Jed let it go for the moment and stared straight ahead. Fog was rolling in thick, and Jason had to slow a bit. A chill shot down Jed's spine when he saw the shape of a person ahead.
The tall gaunt man jutted out his thumb, but Jason didn't slow. Jed glanced in the side mirror as they passed, but the man had vanished.
He peered over at Jason, wondering if he had seen the vanishing hitchhiker too, but he was too unsettled to ask. He was tired, and with all the talk of seeing Llorona, his imagination was probably getting the best of him. He hoped that was it.
The rest of the drive passed in awkward silence. Jason pulled into Jed's driveway and helped him with his bag.
"All set?"
Jed nodded and gave Jason a firm embrace. "Thanks for the ride Jason. Be careful on the drive home."
"I will. See you tomorrow!"
Jed watched him pull out of the driveway before he turned to open his door. He stepped inside, leaned his walking stick against the wall, and hung his hat on the rack before heading down the entry hall to the light switch. Moonlight lit the dense fog outside giving it a muted glow. In the faint lighting, he caught a woman's reflection in the mirror and gasped, wiping at his eyes. She was still there, shadowed, staring at him.
"Bloody Mary?"
The wind moaned outside, screeching through the window sills.
"It can't be..." He stopped himself from repeating her name.
According to the stories saying her name to a darkened mirror three times would trap you inside of the glass with her. He reached out with a trembling finger and flipped the wall switch. Light flooded the hallway, revealing his own face in the mirror. His heart fluttered in his chest, and he let out a nervous laugh.
He could hear the panic in the echo through the empty house.
Shaking his head, Jed shuffled toward the kitchen. He needed a shot of whiskey, and a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. The bottleneck clinked against the shot glass as he poured it with a trembling hand. Tossing back the whiskey, he grimaced, welcoming the spreading warmth in his gut. The tremors in his hands calmed slightly, and he poured one more shot. He lifted the glass to his lips when he heard it.
"Myyyyyy arrrrrmmm..."
The glass shattered against the tile floor. Jed slipped in the whiskey on the floor, and fought to keep his feet as he made his way back out to the hall closet. His old shotgun was right where he left it propped against all the coats in the hall closet. He snatched it up and pumped a cartridge into the chamber.
"Who's there?" He called out.
Only the wind answered with a howl that made his old house groan in reply. Jed kept the shotgun up at the ready. He spun toward the living room when he heard a noise by the window.
Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeech. Tap. Scratch. Tap. Screeeeeeeeeeeech.
The hair on his forearms stood on end as he made his way to the window. Fighting the terror rising in his throat, Jed pushed the drapes back with the barrel of the shotgun.
Nothing was there.
He let out a sigh of relief, when the front door burst open. Jed didn't hesitate, he twisted toward the door and fired off a single deafening shot.
Jason fell to the floor.
Jed's eyes widened. He dropped the shotgun and rushed to his grandson's side. "Dear God what have I done? Jason! Stay with me..."
He reached out to grasp his grandson's hand. It was ice cold. Jed wiped his tears and started searching for a pulse. Instead he found a hook lodged deep in Jason's back.
Jed jumped with a gasp, waking to find himself still in his seat on the Greyhound bus. He hadn't gotten home yet. He wiped his eyes, taking a deep breath in an attempt to slow his racing pulse. It had all been a dream; just a dream.
Or was it?
"At the heart of every story is a nugget of truth," he said to himself. "This wasn't just a dream. It was a warning."
He dug in his pocket for his cell phone and called Jason to let him know he was getting a cab to take him home. Jason fought him on it, but eventually gave his consent.
"Just stay inside, all right?" Jed said, "Do your Grandpa this one favor."
"You're not making any sense. Are you sure you're all right?" Jason asked.
"I will be if you stay inside. Don't be on the roads tonight, Jason, okay?"
"Fine Grandpa. Just call me when you get home so I know you got back safe."
"Will do, Jason. I love you Boy."
"Love you too, Grandpa."
Jed closed his cell phone and slid it back into his pocket. Even if it was all just a dream, this way he could be sure Jason wouldn't see Llorona at the bridge tonight. No harm in being careful. He settled back in his chair, just as Nathan, the little blond boy he had met in his dream, walked down the aisle. The boy stopped and looked up at Jed with a smile and a spark of recognition in his eyes. Could he possibly remember him? How could he know?
"Will you tell me a story?" The boy asked.
Jed's old heart stuttered a little, but he nodded at the boy with a chuckle, "Oh boy, do I ever have a story for you..."
~~~~~The End~~~~~
(For Marvin we had No Surprise Here, Gone with the Wind, Interview with a Vampire & Da Vinci Code were the Bestsellers & Llorona, Little, Late & Love were my L words... Happy Halloween! :)
Powered by | | English | | Albanian | | Arabic | | Bulgarian | | Catalan | | Chinese | | Croatian | | Czech | | Danish | | Dutch | | Estonian | | Filipino | | Finnish | | French | | Galician | | German | | Greek | | Hebrew | | Hindi | | Hungarian | | Indonesian | | Italian | | Japanese | | Korean | | Latvian | | Lithuanian | | Maltese | | Norwegian | | Polish | | Portuguese | | Romanian | | Russian | | Serbian | | Slovak | | Slovenian | | Spanish | | Swedish | | Thai | | Turkish | | Ukrainian | | Vietnamese |
|
|
|
|
Sunday, November 01, 2009
|
Current mood:  nervous
Category: Writing and Poetry
SPECIAL MID-WEEK BLOG ALERT!!!!
Hi Everyone - This is the last week I'll beg for you to please go vote... Across the Veil is in the final round of the Paranormal Fight Club!!!! :) Thanks SO much for all your support in this!!!
I never would have made it this far without your votes!!! I really appreciate all your help... You Rock!!! They'll announce the winner on Halloween Night... Yikes!!! *fingers crossed* Thanks again! Lisa :)
 | Currently listening:
Rocky
Release date: 2006-12-05 |
|
Powered by | | English | | Albanian | | Arabic | | Bulgarian | | Catalan | | Chinese | | Croatian | | Czech | | Danish | | Dutch | | Estonian | | Filipino | | Finnish | | French | | Galician | | German | | Greek | | Hebrew | | Hindi | | Hungarian | | Indonesian | | Italian | | Japanese | | Korean | | Latvian | | Lithuanian | | Maltese | | Norwegian | | Polish | | Portuguese | | Romanian | | Russian | | Serbian | | Slovak | | Slovenian | | Spanish | | Swedish | | Thai | | Turkish | | Ukrainian | | Vietnamese |
|
|
|
|
Saturday, October 31, 2009
|
Current mood:Spooky!
Category: Writing and Poetry
Hi Everyone!
I just realized tonight that I passed 30,000 blog views and over 6,000 comments!!! WOW!!! Thanks SO much for reading and commenting everyone!!! I'm so glad we get to interact here every week...
I really do appreciate all your support!!!
And speaking of support... Across the Veil made the Finals of the Paranormal Fight Club!!!! YAY!!! Later this week I'll be begging you to please go read the conclusion and vote... Almost there!!! :)
On to the story! With Halloween being right around the corner, when I saw that the topic was "Always on the run" the Headless Horseman popped in my head.
After doing some research I was shocked to find that Washington Irving didn't invent the Headless Horseman we all know from SLeepy Hollow! It was actually German folktale collected in writing in the 1780's. It wasn't until 50 years later that Washington Irving crafted it into a story about a schoolmaster.
The story took off from there... I hope you enjoy it!
And be sure to listen late at night. And if you hear hoof beats in the distance... RUN!!!
Happy Halloween everyone!!!
Lisa :)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Horseman - By Lisa Kessler "Hush a bye, don’t you cry, go to sleepy, little baby..." Her voice warbled as the aged tune left her thin lips. "For when you wake, you shall have all the pretty little horses."
Kelly blinked in the darkness, trapped in the space between dreams and reality. Her grandmother had been dead for over twenty years. But she could feel her grandmother’s gnarled fingers smoothing back her blond hair from her forehead. Her entire body tensed as she fought to free herself from the dream.
"I want a big black horse, Grandma. A stallion. I want to ride him so fast that no one can catch me."
Her grandmother laughed with a gleam in her dark eyes. "Of course you do, Sweetheart. It’s in our blood."
"Our blood, Grandma?"
Oh God Kelly, please wake up! She moaned into the clutches of her nightmare.
"Oh yes, Little One," her Grandmother whispered, leaning in closer as she tucked the covers up under her chin. "Every Hallows Eve he rides. His black stallion is always on the run. If you listen closely, you can hear his ghostly hoof beats echo through the woods as his search continues."
"Whose search Grandma?"
She folded her hands in her lap, while her lips curled into a conspirator’s smile. "The headless horseman, of course."
Kelly saw herself as a five year old child. Trapped in the memory she watched her younger self in the bed. The child’s eyes widened. "From Sleepy Hollow?"
Her grandmother shook her head. "He was never form Sleepy Hollow. That was a story. A legend. But all legends grew from the roots of truth, Little One. He came to this country in spirit when the rest of his family moved to America with dreams of freedom."
Kelly writhed in her bed trying to wake herself as the dream unfolded her long-buried memories.
"There was really a headless horseman?" Her tiny fingers gripped the edge of the blanket, ready to hide at any moment.
Her grandmother sighed. "There still is, Little One."
"W-Where?" Her blue eyes shifted from side to side in search of any sign of a headless monster.
"He will ride again tonight." She bent over to kiss Kelly’s forehead. "He comes for me this time."
Now Kelly was trembling. "I want my Mama."
"No need to be frightened, Little One. It is my time. He rides for us."
"I don’t want him to ride for me."
Her grandmother leaned in close surrounding her in the stale scent of moth balls and talcum powder. "You have no choice. He is your great-great-great grandfather. And he will come when the time is right." The moonlight glowed off of her paper-thin skin as she bent to kiss Kelly’s forehead. "Ich liebe dich, Little One."
"I love you too, Grandma," she whispered as a tear spilled
down her cheek. "Are you afraid?"
"No," she whispered. "I can hear his black stallion now. I am ready."
As she got up and tottered out of Kelly’s bedroom, the dream finally released her from its clutches. Kelly bolted out of bed in a cold sweat.
With wide eyes she reached for her lamp and clicked on the light. Nothing looked out of place. Relief oozed from her pores as she turned on the television. She hadn’t dreamed of her grandmother in over ten years. Why now?
The infomercial babbled on about some new collection of Mozart’s concertos, but Kelly wasn’t paying any attention. Since that late night bedtime story with her German grandmother, Kelly had researched the tale of the headless horseman.
She’d tracked down relatives of Johann Karl August Musäus, the original collector of the tale of the Headless Horseman. Washington Irving used the German folk tale and crafted the town of Sleepy Hollow, adding in the schoolmaster, Ichabod Crane. But the truth behind the legend took her all the way back to Germany.
She’d traced the tale back to a lover’s quarrel. There was to be a duel with pistols, but when her great great great grandfather started to walk his ten paces away from his opponent, the other man spun around, drawing his sword and trailing it right through her grandfather’s neck. According to the legend, his head cursed the man and he vowed to ride again.
Someone else heard his curse that morning, and as the story goes, and with the kiss of a demon, her grandfather’s black stallion was also granted eternal damnation to ride on All Hallows Eve. The horseman, eager to be whole again, could track his family blood and when their time was finished in this world. He came for them.
Kelly rubbed her forehead. Her grandmother did die that night she told her the story of the Horseman. Her mother told her that her grandmother passed away in her sleep, but now Kelly knew better. When she was older, she searched through old newspaper and police reports to discover that her grandmother’s body had been found decapitated.
Her head was never recovered.
For weeks after learning that information, Kelly had been plagued by nightmares, visions of her grandmother’s frail head atop an inhuman horseman’s body, her eyes showing him the world he’d lost.
But the dreams eventually faded.
So why did it haunt her tonight?
Then she heard it. Her hands trembled as she held the remote toward the television to shut it off. At first silence calmed her frayed nerves. It was all in her head. Her mind playing tricks on her because it was Halloween night.
Nothing more.
She held her breath. Far in the distance she heard it again. The clang of iron against pavement. Hoofbeats. Faster and faster.
It couldn’t be, she thought to herself. She clicked off her light and peered through the drapes toward the street. Nothing moved in the moonlight. She looked out further toward the forest of trees in the distance.
Something shifted.
She squinted, fighting to focus her vision. Maybe it was all in her head. But it looked like something was out there.
A black figure erupted from the trees, racing along the main street. Her pulse throbbed in her throat while her mind fought against what her eyes saw. A horse with read eyes galloped toward her. As he got closer, she could make out the shape of a rider.
Half of her wanted to run out and take pictures, while the other half wanted to sprint for her car. No way a horse could keep up with her Camaro.
He got closer until she realized she was watching instead of running. She didn’t have time to wait and see if he wore her grandmother’s head or someone else’s. Kelly snatched up her keys and hurried into the garage. She fired up the engine and backed out. Her tires peeled out as she gunned the accelerator. But in spite of her speed, every time she looked into the rearview mirror, the horseman was closer.
Her hands broke out in sweat.
He didn’t have a head.
His stallion raced through the night faster and faster. She couldn’t outrun him. And then in a flash he was in front of her. Kelly screamed and slammed on the brakes. Her car skidded to a halt right in front of the headless horseman.
He raised his hand, pointing at her. Kelly shook her head. "No. It can’t be my time. Not yet."
He unsheathed his sword and pointed at her again. Tears ran down her face as he dismounted his horse and walked over. There wasn’t time to jump out and run. Her pulse throbbed, and Kelly screeched when he punched his gloved hand right through her driver’s side window.
Then she woke up in her bed with the lamp still on.
A sigh of relief escaped her lips. It was all a dream. She reached over to get a drink and froze when she saw the long black horse hairs on her night stand.
Her grandmother’s voice echoed through the dark house. "Go to sleepy little baby. For when you wake, you shall have, all the pretty little horses."
The hoof beats were getting closer. The Horseman Comes.
THE END
(For Marvin we had "Always on the Run" "Hush a Bye was my lullabye and Mozart was the composer)
Powered by | | English | | Albanian | | Arabic | | Bulgarian | | Catalan | | Chinese | | Croatian | | Czech | | Danish | | Dutch | | Estonian | | Filipino | | Finnish | | French | | Galician | | German | | Greek | | Hebrew | | Hindi | | Hungarian | | Indonesian | | Italian | | Japanese | | Korean | | Latvian | | Lithuanian | | Maltese | | Norwegian | | Polish | | Portuguese | | Romanian | | Russian | | Serbian | | Slovak | | Slovenian | | Spanish | | Swedish | | Thai | | Turkish | | Ukrainian | | Vietnamese |
|
|
|
|
Sunday, October 25, 2009
|
Current mood: nervous
Category: Writing and Poetry
MID-WEEK BLOG ALERT!!! 
Hi Everyone - Well I'm in the semi-finals of the Paranormal Fight Club!!! Thanks for all your votes!!! (Now I'm back to beg for more! LOL) The third part of Across the Veil is now posted and in desperate need of your votes! I believe she resets the votes everyday at noon so you can even vote more than once if you like! Woot! :) I hope you enjoy the next part and thanks SO much for all your support!!! I really want to post the ending next week.... *fingers crossed* Lisa :)
Powered by | | English | | Albanian | | Arabic | | Bulgarian | | Catalan | | Chinese | | Croatian | | Czech | | Danish | | Dutch | | Estonian | | Filipino | | Finnish | | French | | Galician | | German | | Greek | | Hebrew | | Hindi | | Hungarian | | Indonesian | | Italian | | Japanese | | Korean | | Latvian | | Lithuanian | | Maltese | | Norwegian | | Polish | | Portuguese | | Romanian | | Russian | | Serbian | | Slovak | | Slovenian | | Spanish | | Swedish | | Thai | | Turkish | | Ukrainian | | Vietnamese |
|
|
|
|
Saturday, October 24, 2009
|
Category: Writing and Poetry
Hi Everyone!!!
I hope you had a great weekend!
I have some excellent news...
Night Walker finaled in the On The Far Side contest from the Paranormal RWA chapter AND thanks to all of you, Across the Veil made it to Round 3 of the Paranormal Fight Club!!!! WOOT!!!
The third part should be posted on Thursday! :) I'll be sure to put up a link once it's up... Thanks for all your support!!! I really appreciate your votes!
I've also been busy editing Moonlight and I've got 100 pages done so far. I feel like I'm going for broke right now! LOL
One last piece of news... I've got more Christmas songs posted from my new Christmas CD! You can hear them here... http://myspace.com/LisaKesslerVocalist
No musicals this time, no My Fair Lady, just Christmas songs... :)
Ok on to the story!!!
With Halloween so close by, I wanted to bring something spooky and paranormal your way, plus I'm wearing my Wolfram and Hart t-shirt (The evil law firm in the tv series Angel) so I thought, what if you could still prosecute people after you die? Hmmm...
Now if only I were really magical like Harry Potter and Professor Snape, then I could wave a magic wand and my blog would be posted... *dreamy sigh*
Sadly, I'm over here typing the old fashioned way!
I hope you enjoy Lowell's story!!!
Thanks SO much for all of your support!!!
Lisa :)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A Final Cry - By Lisa Kessler If you are reading this then I am already dead. Damn! Sorry, I don’t mean to curse, but I was really hoping to get out of this mess alive. I wonder how it all ended. Was it quick and painless? God I hope he didn’t drown me. I’ve always hated the water. But I guess I’ll never know now, will I?
Anyway, I’m writing all of this down so that if I do lose my life, and I guess I have if someone is reading this, I might still beat these assholes at their own game. And yes I know I’m cursing again, but hell I’m dead, who’s going to care now, right? And they are assholes, so watch your back.
First and foremost, I want you to know that I did not take my own life. No matter how it might have looked, I have never wanted to die. I don’t care if they left a suicide note scrawled in my own handwriting; I did not want to die.
That said, I guess I should start at the beginning. A very good place to start, right? Wasn’t that in a musical? Never mind I’m just delaying the inevitable. Can’t blame me for being afraid to write this down though, right? None of what I’m about to tell you was a joke or a fantasy, it really happened. And if someone is reading this, then I’m really dead…
It all started when I answered an ad in the paper. Help wanted… What an understatement that was!
I was hired on as a courier for a large law firm in downtown Los Angeles. The city of angels left a lot to be desired, but my bus ticket from Kansas was one way, and my pockets were empty, so I was stuck in Los Angeles. Looking back on it now, that’s probably why Thinkman & Turner hired me in the first place.
No one would miss me if I disappeared.
I loved my job at first. I got to work outside, riding my bike all over downtown and even up into Beverly Hills and Hollywood, which is nothing like you would think. Back in Kansas, I always envisioned Hollywood being full of glitz and glamour, with polished sidewalks and the stars on the walk of fame, but once you drive through it you realize it’s less of a paradise and more of a city of broken dreams and even more broken hearts. The stars don’t shine very brightly underneath some homeless man’s sleeping bundle. I can’t call it a sleeping bag because most of them are lucky to own a blanket, but I’m getting a little sidetracked here.
Truth of the matter is I’m scared to death to write any of this down. By writing it, I’m admitting that this is real, and I really wish I could wake up from this impossible nightmare.
The dream job didn’t turn dark at first. In the beginning I was just taking contracts from here to there, and then back to the Thinkman & Turner office, nothing out of the ordinary for a law firm courier.
Until a week ago.
Last week Mr. Turner called me into his office. I’d never been up in the tower. I usually picked up my parcels down in the mailroom, and later I delivered them back to front desk. She then forwarded the packages to the appropriate counsel.
I only knew what Mr. Turner looked like from his photo hanging right inside the front door of the high-rise office building.
His secretary was gone when I exited the elevator. His wing of the office building was silent. Nothing moved or announced my arrival. When I got to his office, I rapped my knuckles gently against the door and waited. I couldn’t hear anything. I turned to leave, when the sound of a voice stopped me.
"Come in Lowell," he gasped.
Once I was inside his spacious office filled with dark cherry wood furniture, I couldn’t stop fidgeting. I wanted to put my hand in my pocket, but I didn’t want to seem disrespectful. There were chairs, but I wasn’t sure I should sit in them. How long was I going to be there?
Finally the high-backed leather executive chair, pivoted around to reveal a gaunt older man with thin transparent skin. His blue-tinged veins made a roadmap all over the back of his hands, and along his tall forehead. When he smiled, his coffee stained teeth made him resemble a zombie more than a top notch litigation attorney.
"Lowell," he coughed and cleared his constricted throat. "Thank you for coming. Please take a seat."
He gestured to a chair across from his desk. I hurried over to the chair and sat with my hands in my lap like I’d been instantly transported back to first grade. The chair felt cold against the back of my legs, sending a chill up my spine. He slid a large manilla envelope toward me on his desk.
"I have an unusual delivery for you to make for me."
I took his parcel and tucked it under my arm. "What’s unusual about it?"
The old man’s steel gray eyes sparkled, "Just take my word for it." He slid another piece of paper across the desk with a contact name and address scrawled in red ink. "The recipient is difficult to find, so you’ll need to be discreet."
I nodded, folding the slip of paper before I tucked it into my pocket. "Will do, Mr. Turner."
"Another man will meet you at the delivery to assist you in making contact with the recipient."
I shrugged. "I don’t need help, Mr. Turner. This is straight-forward."
He laughed. It was really more of a raspy, chest-rattling guffaw.
"Nothing about this delivery will be straight-forward." His laughter died away. "Or simple."
In an effort to end the meeting, I stood up. "I won’t let you down, Mr. Turner."
He got up and gave me a handshake. His hands were bony and ice cold.
"Good luck Lowell," he rasped.
When I got to the meeting place, I couldn’t find a woman named Louise Nabern anywhere. When another tenant showed up to check his mailbox, I interrupted.
"Excuse me, I’m looking for Louise Nabern?"
The man frowned. "She hasn’t lived here in over a year."
"Do you have a forwarding address?"
The man tipped his head back and laughed, shaking his head.
"For her sake, I hope it’s heaven."
"Heaven?"
"Yeah. She died just over a year ago."
"She’s dead?" No wonder Mr. Turner said she would be hard to find.
"She hung herself in her bathroom up on the third floor."
I thanked the man, then jotted down the details surrounding her death. With my notebook securely tucked away in my messenger bag, I got back on my bike, but before I could pedal away another man was walking toward me with one hand inside of his coat.
"Lowell?" He called.
I almost answered him, but my instincts were screaming to run. I spun my bike around and took off at full speed. In the distance I could hear the man yelling that Mr. Turner had sent him, but I didn’t slow down.
Mr. Turner had just sent me to deliver a lawsuit to a dead woman.
I didn’t slow down until I got back to my apartment. With the door locked and all the windows closed, I logged on to my computer and headed to google. A few quick searches later, I found the story about the woman’s suicide.
Mr. Turner must not have known. That’s what I told myself.
Until I saw a related story further down the page. The headline read: Respected defense attorney, Redmond Turner, shot in the head by his estranged wife.
That’s when I decided to write this letter.
See, I don’t believe Louise Nabern committed suicide. I think Mr. Turner still has contacts in the living world. Contacts who are willing to exchange their morals for money.
I know it sounds insane, but how else could you explain it?
A ghost lawyer hired me to deliver a lawsuit to another ghost. No wonder his goddamn chair was so cold.
The next question was, if Mr. Turner was dead, and he already knew Louise was dead, why would he be trying to serve her with legal documents? And how was I supposed to deliver docs to a dead woman?
Unless I was dead too.
The realization felt like a truckload of sand had just been poured over my shoulders. That’s why Turner’s "other man" was still following me.
It’s only a matter of time before I’m a ghost too.
But it won’t be suicide.
And I want justice...
Even if it comes after the grave.
The End
(For Marvin I had Going for broke, my Audrey Hepburn movie was My Fair Lady and I used Harry Potter and Professor Snape :)
Powered by | | English | | Albanian | | Arabic | | Bulgarian | | Catalan | | Chinese | | Croatian | | Czech | | Danish | | Dutch | | Estonian | | Filipino | | Finnish | | French | | Galician | | German | | Greek | | Hebrew | | Hindi | | Hungarian | | Indonesian | | Italian | | Japanese | | Korean | | Latvian | | Lithuanian | | Maltese | | Norwegian | | Polish | | Portuguese | | Romanian | | Russian | | Serbian | | Slovak | | Slovenian | | Spanish | | Swedish | | Thai | | Turkish | | Ukrainian | | Vietnamese |
|
|
|
|
Sunday, October 18, 2009
|
Current mood: anxious
Category: Writing and Poetry
Hi - Thanks to all of your support, I made it through the first round of the Paranormal Fight Club!!! THANK YOU!!! Now comes the part where I beg you to please go read part 2 and vote for Across the Veil again so I can put up part three next week... Please? *sad puppy eyes* Hope you enjoy the next installment! Thanks again for all your support!!! You really do ROCK!!!! Lisa :)
Powered by | | English | | Albanian | | Arabic | | Bulgarian | | Catalan | | Chinese | | Croatian | | Czech | | Danish | | Dutch | | Estonian | | Filipino | | Finnish | | French | | Galician | | German | | Greek | | Hebrew | | Hindi | | Hungarian | | Indonesian | | Italian | | Japanese | | Korean | | Latvian | | Lithuanian | | Maltese | | Norwegian | | Polish | | Portuguese | | Romanian | | Russian | | Serbian | | Slovak | | Slovenian | | Spanish | | Swedish | | Thai | | Turkish | | Ukrainian | | Vietnamese |
|
|
|
|
Saturday, October 17, 2009
|
Current mood: breezy
Category: Writing and Poetry
Hi Everyone -
Thanks SO much to all of you for voting for Across the Veil in the Paranormal Fight CLub last week!!! Thanks to you I made it through the first round so I'll be posting the next part of the tale this week!!!
(Yes I'll be begging you to vote again... Sorry!)
Anyway, I really appreciate all your support!!! And if you missed the first part of Across the Veil, you can read it here... http://www.romanceinthebackseat.com/fightclub/blog/2009/10/across-veil.htmlWith Halloween coming up, I've decorated the haunted porch and I'm feeling spooky! So I had a lot of fun with this week's story. I have to credit the ending to my amazing Hubby!!! I had 3 different ending options but I wasn't happy with any of them, so I bounced ideas around with Ken and he came up with the great last line that led me to realize how to wrap this tale up... Thanks Sweetie! I couldn't have finished this one without you!
I hope you all enjoy it...
Thanks again for all your support and for coming through for me when I need you most!!! You really are the best MySpace friends in the world!!!  Lisa ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The Scarecrow - By Lisa Kessler
The corn fields moaned in the wind, their stalks bending and swaying like waves on the ocean. Bobby hardly noticed. He kicked the flattened Dr. Pepper can across the dirt road, then hustled to the other side to kick it ahead again. He stayed focused on the can, keeping it from sailing off the road into the rows of corn.
Right now, Aaron and Kelly would be watching Cartoon Network or playing on Aaron’s X-Box. Bobby missed his cousins in California. Every year he spent the summers in San Diego with his Aunt Libby and his cousins. They taught him how to surf the internet, talk in chat rooms, and even to download music onto an iPod.
Going back home to Kansas was like landing on another planet.
The afternoon sun hung low in the sky and the October wind hinted that winter lurked right around the corner. Rows of corn stalks started to thin out as he got closer to the next house.
He gave the can one last hard kick, and then snatched it up and hurried his pace. Old Man Porter’s farm was not a good place to dawdle. Bobby kept his eyes straight ahead, trying not to glance over at the old miser’s dilapidated farmhouse.
He didn’t have to look to know it was watching him.
He could feel the ratty old scarecrow’s black eyes on the back of his neck, with that rat infested grin that never changed. The corn crops came and went, but the scarecrow stayed behind like a forgotten sentinel. Old Man Porter never replaced it. Every year the same weather-beaten scarecrow stood, strapped to a post, gawking at the world. Watching.
Bobby stopped when he heard the screen door open.
"Bobby? Is that you, boy?"
He swallowed hard and turned around to see the withered old man with eyes that bulged from his wrinkled face. His overalls draped off of his skeletal body as he raised a gnarled hand.
"Rich man, Poor man, beggar-man, thief."
Bobby took a couple of steps back, away from Old Man Porter. "Uh, Afternoon Mister Porter. I gotta get home."
The old man wrung his hands and grinned, showing a mouthful of rotted teeth. "You’re supposed to say Doctor, Lawyer, or Indian chief, remember boy?"
Bobby had no clue what the old man was rambling about. He’d overheard his Mom and Dad talking about how Old Man Porter’s cheese was slidin’ off his cracker. The old man was going a little bonkers. Bobby’s Dad said Mister Porter’s nephew was gonna have him locked up soon.
It wouldn’t be soon enough.
So far everyday this week Old Man Porter had called out his nonsense every time Bobby passed by. Bobby yelled, "I’ll remember, but I gotta go now. See ya later!"
He turned and hurried toward his house, but he heard the old man’s cackle behind him. "You’d best be remembering Boy! Never know when you might need it. Words are weapons Boy. Weapons and shields. Remember..."
Bobby checked back over his shoulder as he rounded the corner to his driveway. Nothing lingered behind him but the dust from his footsteps. He slowed and heaved a sigh of relief.
Crazy Old Man Porter.
He finished up his homework before dinner, and by the time he washed up, he’d forgotten all about his afternoon brush with Old Man Porter.
"Mom, why can’t I get an X-Box? Aaron has one out in California. I could even talk to him on the X-Box live chat while we play."
"No you couldn’t. We don’t have internet here, remember?"
He rolled his eyes and took his plate to the sink with a lugubrious sigh and pair of very slouched shoulders. "I hate it here," he mumbled under his breath.
"What did you say?" His Mom mussed his hair as she passed by to put her plate in the sink.
"Nothing Mom." He glanced over at her before he left the room. "Are we ever gonna move somewhere closer to the city?"
She turned with one hand on her hip and a "silly boy" smile on her face. "You can’t grow corn and alfalfa in the city."
"I know," he whined. "But maybe we could stop being farmers."
"Bobby, this farm is all your father has left of his family. His heritage is buried in these fields and someday they’ll be yours."
"You don’t understand." He paused and then shook his head. "Never mind."
Bobby plodded down the hallway to his room and closed the door. He lifted the window over his bed and rested his arms on the window frame, staring up at the stars. The sky was littered with the sparkling lights, teasing him with their freedom. He wanted to run away and live in California with his cousins. He wanted to be where the city lights twinkled like the stars. He’d have cable television and high-speed internet. Maybe even a cell phone.
Something rustled through the corn, interrupting Bobby’s train of thought. He looked toward the noise and frowned. It was probably just the wind. A chill shot down his spine and Bobby pulled the window closed. He yanked his drape across the glass and settled back on his bed. For a minute, he thought about looking for his folks, but talked himself out of it. He was twelve now. The last thing he needed was his Mom telling people about what a cute "boy" he was.
Bobby changed into sweats and slid into bed. After he turned out the light and closed his eyes, something scratched against his window. Goose bumps erupted along his arms as he shot up from his bed.
It had to be the wind. He turned toward the window and reached out to clasp the drape, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull it open. His pulse raced while he held his breath waiting. When he didn’t hear anything else, he peeked through the drapes. He couldn’t see anything out of place, just the corn stalks swaying with the wind in the moonlight.
The wind. It had to be.
He closed the drape and snuggled under the covers when he thought he heard a whisper.
"Rich man, poor man, beggar man..... Thief."
He squealed into his pillow, muffling his terror. It had to be his mind playing tricks on him. No one was outside. But he had to check. He had to know. Bobby’s hand trembled as he gripped the hem of his drapes.
Closing his eyes tight, he pulled back the drape and then carefully peeked through his right eye. Staring back at him from the rows of corn was the weathered scarecrow from Old Man Porter’s farm. Straw poked out through the corner of his blackened mouth like drool from a rabid dog.
Bobby’s legs gave out and he collapsed onto his bed. For a minute he couldn’t breathe. His heart pounded in his chest as he slid down onto the floor. Forget being brave. He needed his parents. With the speed of an Olympic sprinter, he was down the hall and opening their bedroom door.
"Bobby?" His dad growled. "What’re you doing up?"
"Dad. I saw something. It’s in the corn."
His Dad groaned. "Nothing’s in the corn, Bobby. Go to bed."
"I can’t Dad," he protested, waving his hands and pointing back at his room. "It’s watching me. It can see my bedroom window."
"It?"
"Please Dad just come see."
His father sighed and got out of bed. Dressed in his boxers and a pair of fleece-lined slippers, he grabbed his shotgun from the gun locker and opened the front door. His Dad scanned the area with the gun at the ready. When he rounded the corner to the backside of the house, Bobby held his breath.
But there was nothing there.
His Dad lowered the shotgun and looked back at Bobby with a not-happy-smirk. "It was all in your head, see?"
He peered around his father. "But it was here. A scarecrow. The one from Old Man Porter’s."
His Dad shook his head. "You watched too many horror movies in California this summer. Come on, let’s get you back to bed."
Bobby kept glancing over his shoulder as his father walked him toward the front of the house, but nothing moved behind them. By the time he got back to his bedroom, Bobby felt stupid. He was sure he had seen it. It was in the corn. It whispered that crazy stuff Old Man Porter was always saying.
Maybe he was dreaming.
Bobby climbed up on his bed to close the drapes, and a round burlap head was pressed against the glass.
Bobby jumped back as it brought a tattered arm up to the glass, scratching the sun-bleached straw down the window. The high pitched screeching made Bobby cover his ears, but even with his ears covered he could hear it whisper, like the wind sweeping through the corn fields.
"Rich man, poor man, beggar man..... Thief."
"Go away," Bobby whimpered.
It’s soulless black eyes narrowed, and it’s torn grin stretched until the rip split even further, exposing more moldy straw. "Come outside and play Boy."
"No!" Bobby snapped, scooting back on his bed, unable to look away from the madness at his window.
"Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor, rich-man, poor-man, beggar-man... Thief. Let me in."
He shook his head. "Go away." He added in a desperate whisper. "Please leave me alone."
"Thief," it hissed. "Beggar man, thief..."
"I don’t know what you want."
It raised a straw arm with a mangled hand. "You..."
Bobby felt a tear roll down his cheek. "No. I-I-," he stammered. Then Old Man Porter’s voice cackled in his mind. Words are weapons and shields.
His eyes widened. That was it. The words Old Man Porter kept telling him to remember. But what were they?
Outside the wind howled and the scarecrow jammed straw underneath the window pane, one piece, then two, the more he wedged under the window, the louder his whispered became. Over and over he called to Bobby. "Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor, rich-man, poor-man, beggar-man... Thief."
Bobby covered his ears, struggling to block out the unearthly hiss and remember the old man’s rhyme. What was it? The wind whipped into his room as the scarecrow finally pried the window pane open. The cold air rushed in and the sound of crunching straw invaded his bedroom as the thing crawled in the window and onto his bed whispering, "Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor, rich-man, poor-man, beggar-man... Thief."
Suddenly it came to him. Bobby gasped, "Doctor, Lawyer, or Indian chief!"
The scarecrow’s twisted grin sagged and the musty scent of smoke stung Bobby’s nostrils. The straw man bent to look down at his chest and Bobby’s eyes followed. Orange light glowed through the scarecrow’s shirt. It looked back up at Bobby and the sickening grin burst into flame.
Bobby scrambled back off of his bed as the inferno erupted, drowning the straw man in fire. It rose up from his bed, trying to follow him, but its legs crumpled. Suddenly his father rushed past him with a fire extinguisher, dousing his entire bed with white foam.
What was left of the scarecrow fell lifeless onto Bobby’s bed. His father dropped a big hand onto Bobby’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "Doctor Lawyer or Indian Chief." Bobby turned to look up at his Dad. His father gave him a wink. "I told that crazy son of a bitch to keep his goddamn scarecrows off our property."
THE END
(For Marvin we had Rich man poor man beggar man thief, lagubrious, and mentioned chat rooms. :)
Powered by | | English | | Albanian | | Arabic | | Bulgarian | | Catalan | | Chinese | | Croatian | | Czech | | Danish | | Dutch | | Estonian | | Filipino | | Finnish | | French | | Galician | | German | | Greek | | Hebrew | | Hindi | | Hungarian | | Indonesian | | Italian | | Japanese | | Korean | | Latvian | | Lithuanian | | Maltese | | Norwegian | | Polish | | Portuguese | | Romanian | | Russian | | Serbian | | Slovak | | Slovenian | | Spanish | | Swedish | | Thai | | Turkish | | Ukrainian | | Vietnamese |
|
|
|
|
Saturday, October 10, 2009
|
Current mood: artistic
Category: Writing and Poetry
MID-WEEK Blog Alert! 
Hi everyone- Apparently I'm a glutton for punishment because while I'm knee-deep in editing Moonlight, I agreed to participate in Romance in the Backseat's "Paranormal Fight Club"! Each week the excerpts are voted on and the one with the most votes makes it through to the next week... Anyway, I could use your votes! My story is "Across the Veil". (I'm up against Elemental Rain) At the bottom of my story excerpt is a "Survey" button, just click that to vote. No registering, it's very simple... Also, if you leave a comment on my story, you'll be entered to win free books!!! Woot!!! (But only voting in the survey will count for me)
If you have other friends who like paranormal short stories, please send them over to vote too! I'm going to need all the help I can get! LOL
Thanks everyone!!! Lisa :)
Powered by | | English | | Albanian | | Arabic | | Bulgarian | | Catalan | | Chinese | | Croatian | | Czech | | Danish | | Dutch | | Estonian | | Filipino | | Finnish | | French | | Galician | | German | | Greek | | Hebrew | | Hindi | | Hungarian | | Indonesian | | Italian | | Japanese | | Korean | | Latvian | | Lithuanian | | Maltese | | Norwegian | | Polish | | Portuguese | | Romanian | | Russian | | Serbian | | Slovak | | Slovenian | | Spanish | | Swedish | | Thai | | Turkish | | Ukrainian | | Vietnamese |
|
|
|
|
Saturday, October 10, 2009
|
Current mood: scared
Category: Writing and Poetry
Hi Everyone -
If you didn't already know this about me, I'm also a singer, and I have a new Christmas CD coming out in a couple weeks! Can't wait!
Anyway, I posted the cover art & I should have song samples up tomorrow... You can check it out here... Lisa Kessler's MySpace Music Page
But now back to October!!! I just got my haunted porch put up today!!! Yay for Halloween!!! :)
I still don't know what I'm going to be this year though... Hmm...
In the spirit of the season, my stories usually get a little creepier this time of year, so if you enjoy a good scare, turn off the lights and enjoy The Attic...
Thanks for reading and commenting!!! You support means SO much to me!!!
Lisa
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Attic - By Lisa Kessler
Deep in her jacket pocket, she rubbed her thumb over the cool smooth surface of her Brazilian worry stone. The house moaned as the night wind whistled through the worn window frames, rattling the eroded shutters.
She shouldn’t have come back here.
Haley took a deep breath and pointed her flashlight in front of her dusty tennis shoes. The stairs were right around the corner. When the beam of light bent along the first stair, she stopped. Mrs. Granger died right here. This was the place she’d found her body, crumpled in a puddle of her own blood.
The floor didn’t even reveal a stain or even a shadow of the carnage.
That was the day her life shattered completely. She had already lost her father the year before when he asphyxiated in his den. Somehow the flue of the chimney closed while he was up late reading. Then when she found Mrs. Granger at the bottom of the stairs and her mother screaming at the top, nothing had ever been the same.
She turned the light back toward the stairs and her heart fluttered in her chest. The grand spiral staircase was now covered in a thick layer of dust and finished in years of cobwebs, like tattered lace. Hayley didn’t want to think about where all the spiders might be right now.
With a tentative step, she started up the stairs. The squeaking of the aged wood steps sounded like the house was speaking to her, announcing her arrival. She prayed the dry rotted steps would hold her weight.
When she reached the landing of the second floor the house went silent.
"Who are you?"
She gasped, spinning her light around in the darkness that blanketed the house. "Is someone there?"
Silence. She wasn’t sure which would be worse, to get an answer or no reply at all. Her pulse was pounding in her ears while she waited. As the seconds ticked by, her mind was already rationalizing away the voice she heard. It was probably the wind. She thought she heard words because she didn’t want to be here in this house alone. That had to be it.
"The sooner I get to the attic the sooner I can get out of here," she reminded herself.
Hayley walked down the hallway past the darkened bedrooms. Her eyes remained focused on the light at her feet. If she started poking around those rooms she might never make it to the attic. Too many memories.
Bad memories.
"I whistle a happy tune, and ev'ry single time, the happiness in the tune, convinces me that I'm not afraid..." She hummed under her breath. The silence was driving her nuts. She wasn’t sure why a song from The King and I came out to keep her company, but she welcomed anything at this point.
At the end of the hallway a cord dangled down from the ceiling. She started to reach up for it when she heard the voice again, "Who are you?"
Goosebumps covered her arms. Her eyes widened in the darkness as if that might help her see who was hiding there. A gust of wind slammed into the side of the house, rattling the windows. Hayley jumped, fighting the urge to scream. She shined her flashlight in a circle all around herself, but she still couldn’t see where the voice had come from.
Every instinct was screaming to run, but if she left now, she’d never be able to make herself come back again. The house was closing escrow tomorrow. This was her last chance for answers. Screwing up her courage, Hayley reached up and grabbed the cord. She tugged on the worn rope and the door swung down. The springs squealed through the empty house as she unfolded the ladder leading up into the attic.
The scuttling of tiny feet scratched overhead as she started up the ladder. Her head poked up through the floor of the attic and she swung the flashlight around, lighting the shadows. Dust covered everything like a thin layer of snow, masking the colors that lay hidden underneath. Thick cobwebs stretched from the rafters down to the floor, weaving the abandoned pieces of furniture into the fabric of the long-forgotten past.
Hayley climbed the rest of the rungs of the ladder and stood up in the attic. Her chest heaved as she struggled to bite back the sneeze that threatened to erupt at any second.
"Who are you?"
Terror stole away her sneeze as Hayley turned around. "Who’s there?"
"Who are you?" It asked again.
She still couldn’t see anyone. "Hayley Greene. I used to live here when I was a girl."
The house fell silent. In spite of the cold evening, a bead of sweat ran down between her shoulder blades while she waited for a reply. A squeak drew her attention to the corner of the attic. Her flashlight beam reflected back in a pair of tiny red eyes.
She jumped back. Just a rat. Nothing more. Forcing herself to move, she made her way toward a large chest of drawers. Her mother’s name used to be engraved in the top drawer, but the chest was covered in so much dust, she couldn’t tell if her name was still there or not. Carefully she pulled the top drawer open. Cobwebs lined the inside, protecting its contents. She dipped the flashlight inside, using it to wind up the spider webs like spaghetti noodles. Once she had a clear path, she reached in to remove the leather bound journal.
"Who are you and what have you done with Mary?"
Hayley dropped the book back into the drawer. Her throat went dry. "Mary’s dead."
The house groaned. She told herself it was the wind, but even the floor under her feet shifted and rolled. The walls cracked and dust filled the air. Hayley coughed and sputtered, squinting as she reached for the journal again.
"Where is Mary?" The house whispered.
Hayley tucked the book into the pocket inside of her jacket, never releasing her hold on the flashlight. "I told you she’s dead."
"No!" The house roared this time. Timbers cracked and the jolt nearly sent Hayley to the floor.
Struggling to keep her feet underneath her, she stumbled back toward the ladder. While she climbed down, the old rusted springs snapped, sending Hayley and the ladder crashing down onto the hallway of the second floor. She hit the ladder hard, feeling one of her ribs crack on impact. Pain speared through her chest as she fought to drag air back into her lungs.
She had to get back downstairs.
Hayley crawled away from the ladder while the house rumbled around her. Blood burned the back of her throat when she finally stood, and stars danced around the edges of her vision. If she fainted now, the house would win.
As she neared the steps the floor pitched again, sending her toward the stairs. Hayley caught the railing, stopping herself just short of falling headfirst down the stairs.
Just like Mrs. Granger.
She looked around at the walls and wheezed, "It was you. You killed Mrs. Granger." The house creaked and moaned. "You knocked her off-balance so she would fall down the stairs."
The house whispered, "She wanted Mary to leave."
Tears welled up in Hayley’s eyes. "My mother died in prison for shoving her down the stairs. I found her body. Everyone thought my mother killed her, you evil piece of shit."
The house shrieked in reply, shattering every window simultaneously. Slivers of glass cut her arms as she covered her head. Hayley shook the glass out of her hair and pulled herself back to her feet. Gripping the dust covered railing, she made her way down the stairs. Each step groaned and creaked as she made her way closer to freedom.
Ten stairs above the floor, the dry rotted wood gave way. Her foot crashed through the stair. Hayley screamed as the sharp edges bit into her ankle. The blood from her cuts mixed with the dust on the railing to make a thick paste that detailed her fingerprints along the once pristine cherry wood banister.
"Let me go!" Hayley screamed up toward the attic.
Suddenly the house stilled, all the creaking of the wood silenced, and finally she heard a whisper, "You stay."
Hayley shook her head, trying to work her foot free from the stair. "No way in hell I’m staying here."
The word "STAY!" exploded through the house like a cannon, leaving her ears ringing. A tidal wave of hot air spewed up and rolled over her. Hayley covered her face from the heat while she wriggled her foot free from the broken stair. She started to race down the remaining steps, only to meet a wall of black smoke.
Fire.
She fell to her hands and knees trying to move underneath the thick smoke. The ringing in her ears eased, allowing her to hear the roar of the fire. It sounded hungry. She coughed and winced as her ribs cried out in protest.
Flames licked at her jacket as flaming wood beams fell around her. The thick smoke blinded her, disorienting her until she wasn’t sure she was still heading toward the front door. Tears ran down her soot-covered face, lining her cheeks.
Suddenly a gloved hand appeared through the smoke and clasped her arm. Hayley tried to get to her feet, stumbling toward the cool night air. Once she was outside, she could see the rotating red lights of the fire trucks. The paramedics took her from the fireman and put an oxygen mask over her face, helping her down onto a gurney. While he examined, her cuts and burns and her sprained ankle, she couldn’t take her eyes off the inferno that had once been her home.
The paramedic opened her jacket and started to move the old journal, but Hayley stopped him. She opened the book and skimmed the first entry. Her mother wrote it the first day they moved in.
There’s something about this house. It breathes. I feel it. It needs me.
She closed the book and watched the firefighters, shooting water at the hellfire that had once been her mother’s house. The house had taken everything she ever loved from her.
While the paramedics lifted her into the ambulance, Hayley never took her eyes off of the fire as she whispered, "Burn in Hell you bitch."
THE END
(For Marvin - We had "Who are you and what have you done with..., Brazil was my country from South Amercia and The King and I was my broadway musical... :)
Powered by | | English | | Albanian | | Arabic | | Bulgarian | | Catalan | | Chinese | | Croatian | | Czech | | Danish | | Dutch | | Estonian | | Filipino | | Finnish | | French | | Galician | | German | | Greek | | Hebrew | | Hindi | | Hungarian | | Indonesian | | Italian | | Japanese | | Korean | | Latvian | | Lithuanian | | Maltese | | Norwegian | | Polish | | Portuguese | | Romanian | | Russian | | Serbian | | Slovak | | Slovenian | | Spanish | | Swedish | | Thai | | Turkish | | Ukrainian | | Vietnamese |
|
|
|
|