First of all, let me say that you, my friend, are a genius. A freaking genius.
This story was simply amazing. It combined what could very well have been a historical happening with a truly frightening ghost story. I love how the suspense builds slowly, closing in gradually until it is almost claustrophobic. Masterfully crafted. I could go on and on about how much I adored this story, but I think you get the idea. Now I will get on to nitpicks, which is really hard for me because I feel like I'm poking holes into a beautiful white sheet; but I think it will help me as much as you, so here goes. . . .
The Blooms were well aware of this building’s past. A middle class black family lived in the house before them. However, Louisiana was hostile in the 50’s and blacks never felt completely safe. The middle class had it especially bad. Their own people resented their relative success and shunned them for it. Unfortunately, the supremacist whites did not differentiate between the higher-ups and lower-downs of black society. All blacks were hated equally. As a result, the family who occupied this humble country home before the Blooms could not be spared the wrath of the ignorant and the hateful. The Blooms had heard all of this, but their unfortunate circumstances pushed it all aside. It's good that you give us a little backstory here.
“I want to tidy up things with mom,” said Elijah during a break.
“No sir, that’s work for a woman,” said his father, “you’ll stay out here and help me.” His father, a city man by nature, found the manual labor liberating. “I have to go ask your mother a question though,” he said, “why don’t you work at bringing that table over there into the kitchen in a little bit.”
Elijah watched him disappear into the house and then went over to the table. It was awkward trying to find a way to haul it in. He dipped under the top and placed his shoulders in a supporting position, but he hurt his back trying to stand up. He placed his hand on his lower spine and cranked himself upright. All of this is well written, but do you really need it?
To Elijah, Wynton looked strange. He couldn’t figure out precisely what it was about him, but he almost looked empty, like his skin was a shell holding nothing inside. I like this sentence; it's a great and unique description.
One evening brought the incident with Wynton back into Elijah’s mind however. His father, grateful for work he had been provided, invited a neighbor over for dinner. The man owned a farm two miles west of the Bloom’s home, and he had offered Mr. Bloom temporary work picking sweet potatoes. To thank him, Mr. Bloom had Mrs. Bloom prepare a simple meal for the four of them to enjoy one autumn evening.
Everyone at the table was quiet as they ate, and Elijah would sneak glances at the man in between spoonfuls of stew. The man’s grey hair hung down to his shoulders, and his eyes were olive-black but radiant. Elijah felt himself drawn to the man’s eyes throughout supper, but he would sink his head whenever they made eye contact.
“Fine meal Mrs. Bloom,” said the man after everyone was finished.
“Thank you. Lord knows this is the only dish I can cook well.”
“No, no, you don’t do yourself justice,” replied Mr. Bloom as he placed his hand over Mrs. Bloom’s. “Besides, we’re just happy to have a neighbor over for dinner. We’re only just starting to meet you all,” he continued.
“Oh yes, everyone’s real excited to meet you folks,” said the man. Once again, well written; but most of it seems rather unnecessary. Skip the small talk and get straight to the part that furthers the plot.
The man continued anyway, “they found him washed up on the swamp bank still holding a piece of driftwood up to where his arm used to be.” I didn't quite understand this. Why is he holding a piece of driftwood where his arm used to be? To stop the bleeding? To stay afloat?
One such night was different. Elijah noticed Wynton in the yard, but he was closer to the house than normal. Like usual, Elijah hid under the covers and waited for sleep to come. A noise kept him awake though. It started as a humming coming from the floorboards, but it slowly grew in intensity. A melody became clear. It sounded like a dirge, and its limping tune echoed through the upstairs hallway. Trombones, tubas, and trumpets all played together in a twisted figuration that reminded Elijah of New Orleans jazz bands. Where it was coming from he didn’t know. No one in his parent’s room was responding to the noise, and Elijah was worried. Eventually, the music died down and was replaced with a mournful whistling which sounded unmuffled in his room. He screamed and passed out. I love this paragraph. LOVE.
“Elijah, what in God’s name...” she stopped to survey the hallway. “Oh my God Elijah, the floor is covered in water. What did you do? ” She was yelling and shaking him by the shoulders. He looked back into the hall and saw the bathroom door was open and the room was dark. He could hear the faucet overflowing onto the floor and into the hall.
He passed out again. Poor boy. He passes out a lot, doesn't he? XD
Wynton’s right arm had been replaced by a lumpy mass of bone and skin, he looked unnaturally thin, and there was a swamp lizard clinging to his bare chest. Whoa! Awesome sentence, dude.
The next time Elijah saw Wynton was during a midnight trip downstairs for a snack. He ran to the kitchen, fearful of the possibility he might begin hallucinating again, and quickly grabbed a milk bottle out of the fridge. Before he shut the fridge door, he began hearing a whistling coming from near the sink which sent a wave of cold through him. He looked over to the noise and saw Wynton leaning over the sink, staring down into the drain. He kept flipping the faucet on and off, watching the water disappear in the sink. Elijah tried to speak to him this time, and Wynton seemed to acknowledge him. He briefly looked in Elijah’s direction, but he then focused on the house’s back door and moved towards it. Elijah watched him lumber himself across the kitchen and out into the yard. This paragraph is quite possibly my favorite of the entire story. In my mind I could see Wynton leaning over the sink and playing with the faucet. Brilliant.
Elijah watched him lumber himself across the kitchen and out into the yard. How does one lumber oneself?
The last time Wynton was seen in the house occurred on the first spring night of the year. Don't use the passive "was seen" here. Something like "The last time Elijah saw Wynton in the house" would sound better.
“Sir, what is that sir? Sir I don’t know what I did to make you come at me like this! Put it down please sir,” pleaded Wynton. Good dialect and characterization here, but punctuation is needed!
He smiled when he thought about the night before. His right leg started to itch, and he tried to scratch it. The look on Wynton’s face! The itch wasn’t going away. That look of desperation and regret! The itch was getting worse. Wynton was gone for good! I like this, how it alternates between his physical sensations and his thought process. I also like how it shows, dare I say a crueler side of Elijah?
Irritated by the persistent itching, Elijah threw the covers off him with his left arm and nearly vomited. In place of his right arm was a lumpy mass of bone and skin covered in dried blood. He screamed but no sound came.
In his mind, the brass music played again. Haha. Great ending!
But I can't say I quite understood the last two sentences. He screamed but no sound came. What is going on here? Why does no sound come when he screams? He can't be dead if his leg is itching, and you give us no cause to believe he got his tongue ripped out or anything.
Overall: This is getting repettive, I know; but I must say one more time how amazing this story is. I could totally see it getting published; in fact I think you should look into that. Congratulations on winning the grand prize, and I can't wait to read more of your writing. PM me if you ever need anything!
~Warrior Princess
