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May 18, 2017

Flash Fiction Challenge – The Subgenre Smash-and-Grab

Filed under: flash fiction challenge — Tags: — Eva Therese @ 5:38 pm

A new round of Flash Fiction and we’re back to the Subgenre Smash-and-Grab as always courtesy of Chuck Wendig. I rolled and got Haunted House and Paranormal Romance.

 

Sylvia was wandering around the overgrown garden looking at the house from outside when a face peered at her from over the fence.

Unless the man was standing on something, he had to be huge; what her great-grandfather used to refer to as ”a big shit-house of a man”. He looked like an Uruk-hai and when he sent her a smile he probably thought was ingratiating, it made her clench her first in her pockets.

”The house is haunted,” he said in a low confidential tone. He must have mistaken her silence for disbelief because he continued: ”The last family who lived her, nice couple, two sweet children, they only lasted a month. And the look on their faces when they left, in the middle of the night. I’m telling you: that house is haunted.”

Sylvia finally replied. ”Aren’t we all?” Then she turned on her heel and walked back inside.

The real estate agent was standing there, an anxious frown on her face. No doubt she had seen the man talking to Sylvia and had worried about what he might be saying, but short of running outside and forcibly dragging Sylvia away, there had been no way of interrupting the conversation.

”I’ll take it,” said Sylvia. ”It’s cheap and it fits me just fine. You said all the furniture comes free?”

The real estate agents face lit up like a Christmas tree, with no hint of a guilty conscience. ”I’ll get the papers sorted out right away!”

 

There were cold spots in the house. Places here and there where it suddenly felt like you had walked into a freezer. There weren’t many and they weren’t big, but they kept moving around, making it impossible to avoid them completely.

Sylvia shivered whenever she walked into one, but other than that, she ignored them.

Somebody pushed copies of newspaper clippings under her door, probably the neighbor. They were about the gruesome murders that happened back in 1956 when a whole family of two adults and five children had been slaughtered in their beds with an axe. The murderer had never been caught, but during the investigation, it turned out that on the ground upon which the house stood, had previously been a small grove of trees and in 1919, a man had been hanged there. Cecil Alderson, she read, had been suspected of having murdered his brother with an axe, to avoid having to share the inheritance after their late parents and he had bribed the sheriff to acquit him, but the brother had apparently be a popular man, because soon after a mob of enraged townspeople dragged Mr. Alderson out of his house, put a noose aorund his neck and the rest, as they said, was history. Noone was ever convicted of that murder either.

Sylvia read it all carefully. ”If there’s a moral here, it would seem to be that the local police are really, really bad at their job,” she said out loud.

The rest of the articles were about the hauntings. Supposedly both the ghosts of Alderson and his victims, the Ainsley family, recided on the premesis, unwilling of unable to move on.

Then she crumbled up the papers and used them light the fireplace. The last family to live here had chopped lots of firewood, so she lit it almost every night.

The neighbor watched her, but she pretended not to see him as she did the dishes. He looked like he was trying to figure her out, how she could be unfazed by living for six weeks in a house, where the last residents had only lasted a month before fleeing with only the clothes on their backs.

She could have told him, that nothing in this house could scare her. They’re just ghosts, she thought, and my heart is a graveyard full of dead. She stopped in the middled of scrubbing a plate and made a face at the emoness. When she looked out again, the neighbor had gone.

There were a lot of noises. It had started as soft whisperes, then quiet sobbing and now every night there was a rucus of crying and children begging for their lives.

Sylvia talked to her manager and got her to switch her to the nightshift so she could sleep during the day, when the house was quiet.

”I told you,” she said, ”as she pulled the dark curtains shut and climbed into bed, ”I’m not scared of you and I’m not going anywhere.” She turned over on her side and muttered, already half asleep: ”There are worse things than you out there.”

The noises stopped after that. The cold spots went as well. Instead she started to feel something like hands touching her. Sometimes they just grazed her like invisible moths, but occasionally she felt them grab her, carefully, like she was made of glass. The hands seemed eager and curious.

Once she felt a hand being placed upon her arm and felt the thumb caress her skin. She smelt something like clean skin and a hint of soap. Sylvia closed her eyes and for a moment she could swear that someone was sitting right next to her, could even hear the faint sound of their breath. In her mind’s eye, she could see a young woman, hardly more than a girl, with curly hair and warm brown eyes.

Then the sensation fadede away and when she opened her eyes, of course there was nothing to see.

 

One morning, when she got home from work, Harrison was waiting for her in a car she didn’t recognize, parked across the street from her house, which was why she didn’t notice it untill it was too late.

Harrison got out of the car and approached her. She ignored him, even though she knew it was no use pretending like she hadn’t seen him. He, onthe other hand, didnøt try to call her name, knowing that she wouldn’t respond.

She didn’t run for the front door, knowing that he could move much faster than her. He caught up with her at the garden gate and walked next to her as she went up the path.

”Sylvia,” he began.

”Don’t,” she said.

”I want you to forgive me.”

”I want you to leave.”

”Sylvie, why are you doing this? Living like this?” Harrison made a gesture towards the ramshackled house, that also emcompassed the overgrown garden.

She wanted to say something, a sharpd, witty reply that would make him leave forever, but right at that moment she tripped over a broken flagstone and almost fell.

He made a grab for her, but she shook of his hands so violently that it almost made her lose her balance for real. She gave of any pretence at dignity. ”Leave me alone!” she yelled and stalked the few feet up the the house, limping on the twisted ankle.

Her hands shook as she got the door open. She walked in and tried to slam it in his face, but of course he easily caught it and pushed it open again, before walking in.

”Jesus, what a dump,” he said, disgusted, not even trying to be polite now.

”Get. Out.” She said it through clenched teeth.

”Or what? You’ll call the police? You and I both know that you’re not going …” He paused and shivered. ”Jesus, this place is freezing. How can it be freezing in the middle of the summer? Do you have damp in the walls or something?”

”Or something,” answered Sylvia. ”She suddenly felt relieived. No, more than that. Safe. Like she had come home.

She heard a whisper, but this time, it was not directed at her.

Harrison heard it to and she saw a look of horror slowly creep over his face. ”No,” he mumbled. ”Nononono.” His eyes swirlved to Sylvia. ”What is this?!” He sounded pleading.

”There are worse things than you in this house,” she said as an unseen toddler started to wail, the temperature dropped so low that they could see their owns breaths and a gust of wind ran through the whole house and made every open door slam shut and every closed door spring wide open. Including the front door. Harrison bolted out the door and ran to his car without looking back.

As he drove away with tires schreecing like cursed souls, she closed the door, but not before she had caught a glimpse of her neighbor, looking after the car. That man really needed a hobby, she thought.

The temperature was back to normal now.

”I figure that gust of wind took care of all the disting I haven’t been doing around this place,” she said and giggled. She didn’t know if Harrison was gone for good, but he was gone for now and if he came back, well, he would be made to leave again, somehow.

She felt more alive today, than she had for years. She closed her eyes and it felt like someone hugged her from behind, arms wrapped around her to keep her snug and safe. The air smelled of soap.

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2 Comments »

  1. This is a really nice take on the old haunted house story. I always love being surprised, and this story did that for me. Nice job!

    Comment by Adan Ramie — May 24, 2017 @ 1:42 pm


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