Fearsome Things: Five Short Tales of Horror and Suspense (3 page)

BOOK: Fearsome Things: Five Short Tales of Horror and Suspense
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The Frequent Visitor 

 

 

I HAVE ALWAYS FOUND train journeys to be tedious, and particularly so at night, when not even the scenery is visible to distract the wandering mind from lapsing into a stupor.

I was finding this particular train journey, from Manchester to London, particularly uneventful. This might, perhaps, explain why I ended up making conversation with the rakish gent with whom I occupied a small first class cabin.

He was reading a book of ghost stories, one of those leather bound volumes that are so good to consume in front of an open fire on a cold winter night, which was what made me think of my own story, something that had happened to me years before, the memory of which had been rekindled by a recent newspaper article.

“Have you ever seen a ghost?” I inquired, hoping to stimulate at least a few precious minutes of conversation to save me from the awful monotony.

He peered up, his eyes examining me over his book. After a few seconds, as if deciding that I was not a lunatic, or a bore he would be obligated to entertain for the duration of the journey, he set the book aside. “No, but I have heard several supposedly true ghost stories, none of which I am inclined to believe, and some of which are so utterly predictable that they become tiresome within the first few lines.”

“Would you like to hear another,” I said. “I can guarantee that it will, at least, be interesting enough to while away a few minutes, and I can assure you that it is true.”

He looked out of the window, watching the rain lash the panes of glass. Beyond this the darkness was almost absolute, only the occasional lights from some far away town or lonely farmhouse, breaking the blackness. “Well, it is certainly the night for ghost stories.” He shifted in his seat and placed his hands neatly on his lap. “Go ahead, and we will see if your tale is as interesting as you promise.”

I closed my eyes for a second, gathering all the details of the events I was about to recount, gathering the happenings from my far flung childhood memories. At length I recounted my tale. “This occurred when I was a child, maybe nine or ten years of age. I was living in Manchester. My parents were Irish. They had come over to England like so many other poor Irish families to escape the same poverty and unemployment that sent so many Irish immigrants to the New World. I don’t remember much about my life in Ireland. I do remember how bleak and rocky County Mayo was, how the wind scoured the land until only the hardiest of vegetation could take hold. It was certainly a different world in Manchester.”

I slowly drew breath. “We lived in a three floor house on Maypole Street, which was in one of the poorest districts of Manchester. There were seven of us including my parents. I had two brothers and two sisters. I was the youngest. Due to lack of space my brothers doubled up in a room on the second floor, as did my sisters. My parents occupied a room on the first floor, between the lounge room and the parlor, which was not uncommon in those days among large families. I occupied a small attic room on the third floor. I thought myself lucky to have a room of my own, even if the walls did slope, following the line of the roof. As I recall, the room was always dark and full of long shadows. There was only one window that barely let a drop of light in even on the brightest of days. My imagination created many a demon out of those shadows during the long winter nights I can tell you.”

“It sounds like the perfect setting for a ghost story. I do hope this spirit isn’t going to turn out to be the conjuring of a small boy’s imagination,” said my companion.

“I assure you that the apparition in question was no imaginary ghost raised from my subconscious, although that is not to say that the room itself didn’t create a few imaginary monsters for me at times. No, she was real, of that I am one hundred percent sure.”

“She? So the ghost was a lady then?”

“Female yes, though not a lady, a little girl with piercing blue eyes and an adorable face. At least she had an adorable face in the beginning, but we shall come to that. As I said, at first she had an adorable face... I remember the first time I saw her as if it were yesterday. It was midweek, a Wednesday evening I believe. I was reading in bed by the light of a small gas lamp. This was before the house had electricity, at least on the upper floors. It was common in those days for houses not be fully wired. I don’t know why I looked up from my book, but something drew my attention, perhaps the room turned colder, I don’t know. They say that a ghost will create a chill in the air, but I can’t recall it any change in temperature when she appeared.”

My travelling companion shifted in his seat, eager to hear more. 

I took a quick breath and continued. “The room was dark beyond the glow of the lamp. At first I didn’t see anything. Flickering shadows licked at the darkness, but one shadow seemed more intense, brighter than the others, and it seemed to be moving strangely. I was accustomed to the way the shadows moved, the way the flicker of the gas lamp made them dance over the walls, but this shadow didn’t dance. It had a fluid movement all it’s own. It glided. I watched it for several seconds, although to me the time seemed longer. My heart was beating very fast, and I remember wanting to cry out, but I couldn’t, my mouth opened but no sound came out. Of course, at this point I didn’t know what the strange shadow was, but I knew it was something different, and that scared me.”

I cleared my throat, pushing back the tight knot of fear I always experienced when thinking back to that time, and the ghost. “The shadow seemed to be growing darker, and more solid, until I could make out a shape, a human shape. An arm appeared to be reaching out from the shadow, and gradually the arm became clear, it seemed to pulse into focus. The rest of the shadow became clear moments later and I saw a pretty young girl standing translucent before me, dressed in a long billowing white nightdress. I could see my wardrobe through her, or at least the outline of it. I could actually see through her! I remember she had long blond hair, locks of which curled down over her forehead. I noticed her mouth was moving, but could hear no sound. I was terrified. Then, no sooner had she appeared, than she was gone.”

“What did you do?”

“I buried myself deep under the covers and stayed that way until morning, by which time I had convinced myself that what I had seen was merely a trick of the light, maybe a bad dream, or some such thing.”

“But it wasn’t.”

“No. I saw her again several times after that, although not every night, maybe once every few weeks. After a while I got used to seeing her, and she never harmed me, so my fear disappeared. It’s amazing how easily you accept things like that when you are a child, the world hasn’t taught you that they are impossible yet.”

“Did you tell your parents what you had seen?”

“No, I thought they wouldn’t believe me, and they probably wouldn’t have. I don’t think I have ever told them anything at all about the ghost.”

“Is that all that happened? I must say, that is not the tale you promised me!” My companion reached for his book again.

“Oh, there is more. Like I have said, the apparition came to me every few weeks on average. At first she was just a sweet child. Sometimes I wished I could understand what she was trying to say, but I could never hear her words, all I could see was her mouth moving. I always thought she was trying to tell me something important, but could never make out the words.”

“So when did she stop becoming just a sweet child?” I could see I had aroused the interest of my companion once more.

“That happened later. It must have been about six or seven months after I first saw her that she began to change.”

“In what way did she change?”

“It was slight at first. Her hair was a little unruly, her nightgown smudged with dirt. Then the changes really began.”

My companion observed me for a minute, taking this in, then bade me continue.

“Like I said, at first the changes were small, but soon they became unsettling. It was a cold night in December when I first felt uneasy. I know it was December because I had been wrapping Christmas presents that evening and had just climbed into bed, later than usual. She appeared at the end of the bed and began to speak silently, as usual, frantically trying to say something. I watched this with fascination as always, but then I noticed that something was different. There was smoke, or at least what looked like pale wispy smoke, rising from her nightgown. Of course, I could smell no smoke, or even see any flames, at least not yet.”

My companion raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

I continued. “The next time she appeared, about a week later, I could clearly see flames around her. In fact, it looked like her nightgown was on fire. She was frantic this time, much more than normal, although she did not seem to notice the flames that were licking up around her, catching her alight. Then she vanished, as suddenly as always.”

“What did you do?”

“What could I do? Of course I was rigid with fear at this development. The ghostly visits had been something of an amusement, once I had accepted them, but now they were frightening. She was burning up in front of me.” I wiped my forehead, removing a bead of sweat. “She appeared several more times after that, and each time her condition grew worse, until in the end all that remained was a ball of flames. It was quite disturbing, I can tell you.”

“And you never told your parents any of this?”

“No. I don’t know why. I just had a feeling that even though the apparition was a grotesque sight, the little girl meant me no harm. I never felt threatened. I came to the conclusion that she was desperately trying to tell me something, that I could help her, if only I could have understood what she was trying to say. Of course, by the time the visits stopped there was no way of telling even if her mouth was moving, all one could see was flames.”

“How terrible. When did you stop seeing her?” My companion was sat on the edge of his seat.

“Oh, it must have been about ten months after I first saw her. In the end there was nothing recognizable as a human shape appearing, just a mass of flames, and then the flames started to get less each time she appeared, until the apparition literally burned itself out.”

“And that was it? You never found out who she was, or why she was appearing to you?”

“Yes, I did find out who she was but only recently. I had forgotten all about the ghostly visits of my childhood, or at least pushed them out of my mind, until last month. My family moved away from Manchester about two years after the ghostly visits stopped, and I only returned to the city last month when my job required me to start attending meetings there. It is my habit to buy a newspaper each morning, and on the morning in question I took my usual trip, from my lodging house, to the paper shop. When I arrived a headline in the local paper caught my eye, so I bought it, even though I prefer the national publications. The article concerned a house that caught fire and burned the previous night. The upper floors were completely destroyed. The sad thing was that the attic room had been turned into a play room and the eight year old daughter of the house owners had been up there playing before bed. No-one could get to her in time to save her. She was a pretty girl, they printed a photograph.”

“But what has that to do with the girl you saw so many years ago in your attic bedroom?”

“Well you see, the house that burned down was on Maypole Street, in fact, it was the very same house that my family owned when I was a boy. That poor girl that burned up in the attic last month was the very same girl that appeared to me as a ghost all those years ago. Her spirit appeared to me thirty years before her birth, to try and warn me of her death, in the hope that I could save her...” 

 

 

 

 

Whiter than White

 

 

MRS. BARBARA PORTER, Barb to her friends – who numbered precisely one – tore the package open with a zeal usually reserved for Christmas and birthday presents. She plucked the contents from the box, a round plastic container, and squealed with delight.

“It’s here. Finally.”

“What is?” Emily West, the sole recipient of Barbara’s friendship, knew what would be in the box, what was always in the box, but there was a ritual that had to be observed.

“For all your whites, to keep them bright, Whiter than White.” Barb recited the slogan on the plastic container.

“That stuff from the infomercial on Channel 10, oh Barb, you didn’t?”

“I most certainly did. They got red wine out of a white shirt with this. Oil too. You should see what it does to counter tops.”

“I’m sure it doesn’t work half as well as they make out,” Emily said as her friend fawned over what was surely the latest disappointment in a parade of underperforming products that had made an appearance in Barbara’s kitchen over the years. “Why do you always have to watch those infomercials?”

“And just what would you have me watch dear?” There was a hint of condescension in Barb’s voice.

“Why can’t you just watch quiz shows like all the other middle aged women instead of wasting your money on that stuff?” Emily wished she hadn’t agreed to come over for coffee. To tell the truth she rarely had the fortitude to visit her friend these days. That had not always been the case though. Barb had been different before, back in college. It was not until years after that the cleaning fetish had reared it’s ugly head.

“Quiz shows? Why ever would I want to watch those?”

“I don’t know. It’s better than infomercials.”

“Is it?” She placed the tub of cleaning powder on the table as if it were the most precious thing she had ever owned. “I can’t wait to try this stuff.”

“Why don’t you sit down and drink your coffee?” Emily looked at her own drink, at the white plastic spoon and oblong packet of sugar her friend had placed on a folded napkin. This was a new development. Barb had decided that no one could touch her silverware for fear of contamination. Apparently germs were everywhere.

“Nonsense my dear, there’s cleaning to be done.”

Emily sighed. The kitchen was a picture of perfection, scrubbed Formica surfaces, gleaming floor tiles, appliances that looked like they had just come out of the box. “The place is spotless, please sit down, you’re making me nervous.”

“Well, just for a few minutes.”

“Thank you.” Emily reached toward the plate of ginger cookies, her hand hovering as she decided whether to take one. It was a trap of course. There was always a plate of cookies. But where there were sweet treats there were crumbs, and crumbs would not be tolerated. She withdrew her hand and looked wistfully in the direction of the door, toward the umbrella that sat propped against the wall, waiting. The same umbrella she’d dared not open on the way over despite the rain. Drips of water on Barbara’s floor certainly would not do.

“So my dear, what’s new with you?” Barbara asked, finally settling into a chair, her hand resting on the tub of Whiter than White.

“Nothing much. Harold, my oldest, is going to college in the fall. He got into UCLA.” She could feel hives breaking out on her face. She always got hives in stressful situations, and coffee with Barb more than qualified.

“Really? UCLA. That’s a good school.” Barbara said.

“Yes. It was the first one he applied for.”

“You must be very proud.”

“I am. He’s grown so much since you saw him last. Would you like to see a photo?” Emily reached down toward her purse.

“Well of course I…” Barbara paused, her eyes shrinking to deep narrow slits. “What’s that?”

“What?”

“That.” Her voice rose in pitch, a faint tremor creeping in around the edges. “Those red marks on your face.”

“Oh, it’s nothing. Just hives, that’s all.”

“Well they look dreadful.”

“I’m sorry.” Emily had no idea why she was apologizing, but it seemed like the right thing to say.

“Don’t be sorry, get rid of them.”

“I can’t. It happens sometimes when I’m stressed.”

“Stressed?” Barbara pushed the chair back and sprang to her feet. “Why would you be stressed? Make them go away.”

“Don’t worry about it, they will go down soon,” Emily said. “Just give it a few minutes.”

“I don’t have a few minutes.” Barb drummed her fingers on the table. “They’re not clean. Oh my, just think of the germs.”

“There’s no germs, and getting mad at me won’t do any good.” Emily wondered if it was time to leave.

“Of course there are germs. Make them go away this instant.”

“Barb, I can’t, you’re making them worse.”

“Well if you won’t make them go away, I will.” Barbara lunged across the table, sending the plate of cookies crashing to the floor. She fell upon her startled friend, gripping her by the hair. With her other hand she reached out and found the tub of cleaning powder.

It only took  second for Emily to regain her senses. She lifted her arms, pushing back against Barbara, trying to dislodge the heavier woman, almost doing so.

But not quite.

Instead, Emily’s chair shifted and started to tilt, the front legs lifting from the floor. It teetered for a few seconds, fighting gravity, and then toppled. She let out a brief scream before her head cracked hard on the gleaming white floor tiles. The thud reverberated around the kitchen.

Barbara sat astride her dazed friend and pried the top off the tub of Whiter than White, throwing it to aside. She reached in, her fingers finding the round abrasive scrubber and closing over it. Next, humming a tune that had been rattling around her brain for days, and with a wide grin on her face, she loaded up with powder and went to work…

 

***

 

Barbara sat on the floor, her chest heaving from the exertion.

The screaming had finally died down to a wet gurgle, and then stopped altogether. It was funny how she’d noticed all those other blemishes once she started scrubbing, a mole here, and a freckle there.

The tub of Whiter than White lay half empty on the floor next to her, it’s top lost somewhere under the table. It had certainly done its job though.

She admired her handiwork, studied the gleaming white skull that stared up at her without so much as an ounce of appreciation. At least Emily would not have to worry about those unsightly hives now. Not that she had said thank you of course, that would be too much.

Barbara looked down at herself, at her dress, her legs and arms, all covered in her friend’s blood. That would never do. She picked up the tub of cleaner and dunked the scrubber down into the powder once more, and went to work. She rubbed, moving the pad over her knees, her thighs, ignoring the pain that flared with each pass. Soon she’d be spotless just like Emily, and it was all because of her new tub of cleaning powder. Thank heaven for Whiter than White…

 

The End

 

 

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Some places should be left alone.

It’s been fifteen years since Ben and his father buried the time capsule in the woods. Now Ben is returning to dig it up. But things have changed. The woods are not the happy place they once were. What starts out as a weekend camping trip to rekindle old memories and have some fun turns into a nightmare for Ben and his girlfriend, Sally. By the time they realize their mistake, it’s too late. There’s something evil at the old campground, and it doesn’t want them to leave.

 

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BOOK: Fearsome Things: Five Short Tales of Horror and Suspense
13.15Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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