The Haunting of Anna McAlister (3 page)

It took only three days for the collection to arrive, complete with a note containing the auctioneer’s phone number and a bottle of champagne.
 

“Going, going, gone!” Anna crumbled up the note and tossed it into the trash.
 

Anna didn’t get an opportunity to fully inspect her collection after it had arrived. A phone call, an emergency meeting at the agency and several margaritas with Tom afterwards made her decide to wait until morning to enjoy her new treasures.
 

Before going to the meeting, she carefully retied every tiny ribbon. She had then closed and locked the chest before going to sleep.
 

Anna found the key right where she had placed it for safe keeping in the chipped coffee cup she used for such purposes.

“Yes!” Anna clutched it in her hand and walked quickly to her prize.
 

As soon as Anna entered the dining room she came to a sudden stop. Her mouth dropped and the key fell to the floor. The chest was open and on its side. The music boxes had been scattered around the room, as if thrown angrily aside by a spoiled child. . . or a madman. Anna imagined the voice from her dream, “
C’est moi, c’est moi
.”
 

“Bullshit!” Anna shouted. Her fury at the sight of the boxes strewn about blocked out the memory and fear. Now the only word racing through her mind was
Why?

Turning quickly away from the room, Anna marched up the stairs for some answers.
 

“What did you do to the music boxes?” she snapped as soon as she stormed through the bedroom door.
 

Tom, of course, didn’t wake up.

“Okay, fine!” Anna grabbed the glass of water next to the bed and turned it over directly above Tom’s sleeping face.

He woke up. “What the hell are you doing?” Tom coughed out the water that had splashed into his mouth and down his throat.

“What the hell did you do?” Anna asked back.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Tom jumped out of bed. His face and hair were dripping wet. “Are you crazy, Anna?”
 

He started to wipe his face with the comforter, but Anna yanked it away. It flew easily across the room. In some other state of mind, Anna would have been sure to notice exactly how easily she had managed to toss the heavy comforter away as if it were the lightest of blankets.
 

“You know very well what I’m talking about,” she yelled.

“No I don’t,” Tom yelled louder. He walked quickly to the bathroom. A moment later he walked out rubbing his head with a towel. “I really don’t,” he said somewhat more calmly.

“You didn’t touch my music boxes last night?”

“No.” Tom tossed his towel into the corner of the room. “I didn’t even go into the dining room after you had to go to your meeting.”

“Then who did?”

“How should I know?” Tom shook some water from his right ear. “What’s with the damn music boxes anyway?”

“Come see for yourself.”

Tom put on a robe and followed Anna to the dining room.

“How did this happen?” Tom looked around the dining room.

“I was hoping you’d have the answer to that question.”

Tom looked as surprised as Anna had when she first discovered the mess. “Not me.”

Anna and Tom moved through the room, quickly picking up the music boxes as they went. They very carefully, retrieved each one and placed it softly down on the dining room table.
 

Three of the precious antiques had been tossed into one corner of the room. Two others were under the table, and the rest were simply scattered about. Once they had lined up all 12, Anna placed the chest behind them.

Amazingly, none of the boxes or the chest were damaged in any way. There wasn’t a scratch or chip on them. In fact, if anything, they seemed to be brighter, and more reflective than before.
 

Anna ran her hand over the smooth tops. She paused at the black box with the rose. Holding the base with one hand, she slowly opened it with the other. The music box began to play a waltz that Anna could only describe as “Enchanting.” She knew she had never heard this particular waltz before. She would have remembered, because this particular waltz was
perfect
.
 

“It’s so beautiful,” she whispered as the waltz played on.

“May I have this dance?” Tom bowed low, holding one hand behind his back.
 

Anna turned to Tom. “Of course,” she curtsied.
 

Tom took her in his arms. As they danced, they kissed. Anna reached between them and untied the sash at Tom’s waist. His robe fell open and she pressed herself against him.

The waltz swirled through the room as Anna moved Tom’s robe off his shoulders until it fell free. Tom then gently lifted her jersey over her head. The two lovers lowered to the floor, where Tom moved between Anna’s open legs. He teased her for a moment, before pushing slowly into her. Anna inhaled deeply and moved to meet his thrust. When he was completely engulfed, and their pubic hair entwined, Anna’s climax started to roll through her body.

While they made love the music box had continued its waltz. When Anna’s spasms began. . . it slammed shut.

Anna’s orgasm came in waves, each more intense and violent than the one before. She waited for them to stop, but they didn’t until the intense pleasure approached pain. Finally, they began to subside. It was only then that Anna realized the music had stopped.

Chapter 3

“Details, girl. I want details.” Anna’s other best friend at work, Jeffrey, was excited as soon as he saw her face that morning. He said he could always tell when Anna had sex. Her response to this claim was generally, “bullshit,” although Jeffrey was almost always right.
 

Jeffrey haphazardly took a big sip of his just poured, steaming hot, cup of coffee, scalding his lips and tongue along the way. He quickly spit it out into a wastebasket next to the table in the ad agency’s coffee room.
 

“Yeoch!” Jeffrey cried loudly. “I guess Duncan will be on his own tonight.”
 

Jeffrey soaked a paper towel in cold water from the water cooler and wrapped it around his tongue.
 

Stacy meanwhile was beside herself with laughter.

“What’s so funny?” Jeffrey spoke with held tongue. “That hurt.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Stacy continued to laugh. “I just bet that was the first time you
ever
spit instead of swallowed.”

Jeffrey un-wrapped his tongue. “You’re right, Bitch,” he used his nickname for Stacey affectionately. “And I don’t plan on making a habit out of it.”

Jeffrey, Stacey and Anna had all started work at the agency on the same day. They instantly became friends. That friendship grew stronger as Jeffrey advanced from copy writer to creative director, Stacy bulldozed her way to become the head media buyer, and Anna kept signing up clients and making lots of money.
 

Anna had intended for the job to be a temporary money machine while she continued to write screenplays and collect rejection letters. So far, Anna’s fame had been confined to being rejected by some of the biggest names in Hollywood, and the temporary job had lasted eight years.

Anna had met Tom through the agency when she cold-called his office and set up a meeting about representing his small, but successful jewelry store chain. She ended up getting a lot more than the account.
 

The first time they started to make love Tom asked, “Is this the way you service all of you clients?”

Anna had looked up and said matter-of-factly, “Yes.”

Jeffrey had loved that story, finding it incredibly stimulating. He always wanted detailed, “inch by inch” descriptions of Anna’s and Tom’s adult activities. He would explain that he was only interested because he was a writer.

“You’re only interested because you’re a perv.” Stacy would counter.

“And you’re point is what?” Jeffrey always smiled. “Say it loud. . . I’m perv and proud.”

“You are so sick,” Stacey punched him in the arm.

“Say it quick. . . I’m sick for dick.”

Stacey gave up.

The three met every morning in the coffee room before work. This morning was no exception. Without joking about it, Jeffrey added a little cream to his coffee and returned to his original listening position at the small round table in the middle of the room.
 

“Tell, tell, tell, tell, tell, tell, tell.”

“Is stuttering a gay speech thing?” Stacy always kidded Jeffrey on his mannerisms, which he only displayed when it was time for, as he called it, “girl talk.”

Jeffrey flipped a wrist and lisped out his words. “Well, you know how we
guy
guys are.”

“No I don’t,” Stacy shook her head.

“How silly of me. Of course you don’t,” Jeffrey said “If you did you would dress better.”
 

Jeffrey knew that Stacy was not a lesbian. He just thought she dressed like one.

“And for sure you’d have more men.”

“Fag bag,” Stacy raised her coffee cup and toasted Jeffrey.

“Butch bitch,” Jeffrey toasted back.
 

It was a typical morning in the coffee room for everyone, except Anna.
 

“Hello?” Anna said. “I think I had the floor.”

“Well you certainly had it this morning, honey,” Jeffrey squirmed just a little.
 

Anna had started her story by telling them about what she and Tom ended up doing in the dining room.
 

“Please, Jeffrey,” Anna said. “You’re making it really hard for me to finish.”

Before Jeffrey could say anything, Stacy reached over and stuffed a hand full of napkins into his mouth.

“Continue,” Stacy said as Jeffrey started frantically spitting out chunks of napkin. “And hurry.”
 

Anna tried as hard as she could to remember something about the night before. She knew she was trying to remember a nightmare so real that it was probably best left forgotten. But, she just couldn’t stop being afraid, and that scared her.
 

Anna had hoped that the florescent reality of work, and the playful bickering of her friends would help. She had learned long ago that sometimes it’s a good idea to step away from a troubling situation in order to take a long look at it. In this case the technique was failing miserably. There were bits and pieces of memories from the night before, but nothing more. It was like trying to start putting together a jig saw puzzle with all of the corner and edge pieces missing.
 

Still, Anna had to try. “There was someone, or some thing in the room. I was on the bed and it was coming at me.”

“Tell me about it,” Jeffrey’s mouth was now mostly napkin free and moving fast. “I’ve certainly been there and done that. . . a lot.”

“No, Jeffrey, you don’t understand. I think it grabbed me and held me down. Then it hurt me. I just don’t remember.”

Jeffrey wanted to again relate, but Stacey’s balled up, napkin-filled, fist convinced him to speak not and forever hold his peace. . . at least until she dropped the napkins.

“It’s just not there,” Anna shook her head. She shivered as she tried to force her conscious mind back into the world of unconscious memories. “I think there was this smell. This horrible, awful smell. And pain. Incredible pain.”

For a moment Anna felt as if she were encased in solid ice, but then it was gone. She bit her lower lip. “So what do you think?’

“Hell of a dream,” Stacey said.
 

“Agreed,” Jeffrey stated. “And that’s from one who has had more than his share of, shall we say, unusual dreams.”

“But if it was all a dream,” Anna said. “Then how do you explain these?”

Anna quickly got up and locked the lunchroom door. She then lifted her turtle neck sweater over her head.
 

“Don’t!” Jeffrey screamed. He put his hands over his eyes and his head down on the table. The last thing Jeffrey wanted to see were breasts. They frightened him.
 

“She’s wearing a bra, jerk-off,” Stacy laughed. “Besides a little tit won’t kill you.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“Would you two please look at me,” Anna was almost in tears.

Both Stacy and Jeffrey stared at what Anna was pointing out. She traced a line of small, but definite purple bruises that dotted a path from her neck to her left breast and down her belly. She started to undo her slacks, but Jeffrey screamed that he had seen enough. He said he fully believed that the bruises continued on to a place that scared him even more than breasts, and that he didn’t need to finish the journey.

“Oh my God,” Stacy said. “Did Tom do that to you?”

“He says he didn’t,” Anna shrugged. “And anyway, these aren’t, like, hickeys or something. They’re different. They hurt.”

Stacy moved to Anna and gently touched one of the marks on her ribs. Anna pulled away.