Okay dudes, I got the idea for this story last night, and I haven't been able to stop writing!! So, I will get Part 2 and Part 3 written soon...hopefully. My whole idea behind this, is that every horror writer, has at least one story about a haunted house, so here is mine...
The Haunted Saga
Part 1: The Spector
Ghost n.
1.The spirit of a dead person, especially one believed to appear in bodily likeness to living persons or to haunt former habitats.
2.The center of spiritual life; the soul.
3.A demon or spirit.
__________
The corn was tall, and swayed in the gentle breeze outside of the car, when my family and I drove to our new home. They were silent, each lost in their own daydream, faces blank and unseeing. I turned my head and gazed at the crops, my eyes scanning the endless abyss of fields, and I should have known something was wrong then. I have an uncanny ability of sensing danger, an inner alert button that always manages to sound off when something is not right. As we drove, it remained quiet.
Before my father decided to uproot his family across the county, for a new job prospect, we lived in the suburbs. One of those cliché white picket fence houses, where everything on the outside appears perfect, yet once inside, utter chaos. Mom and dad constantly fought, and at one time it had been behind closed doors, and then it was out in the open for everyone to see. My little sister Elizabeth, at an age where she was just beginning to comprehend what was happening, would run to my room, seeking my comfort and reassuring words.
The fighting continued and eventually escalated to the point where furniture was broken, walls punched in, and the cops were called. Dad spent a night in jail, and when he came back, everything had changed. A few months later, dad left for work, like any other normal day, and mom went in their bedroom and locked the door behind her. My inner alert system was sounding off, but I ignored it…and then I heard a resounding blast. In it’s wake, it left a quiet emptiness, and the blast was but a memory that had once disturbed the peace. I walked through our home, but I knew it was not a home anymore, because someone very important had just left it. At their bedroom door, I hesitated for a moment, hoping that time would reverse before I turned the knob, and then I opened the door…
My dad and sister sat at the front of the car, while I lounged in the back, taking up the whole length of the seat. Looking back, I realize subconsciously I was trying to fill the void of my mom. There is a space inside me, now empty, where she use to reside, and at any time I could conjure up her voice, scolding and harsh, or relaxing and gentle. I preferred her gentle voice, like silk, and her calming words would wrap themselves around me.
Finally, we arrive at the doorstep of our new home. The house sits away from the road, and is flanked on all sides by tall corn. It looks as if it was mistakenly placed there, dropped by Dorothy’s tornado in the middle of a field. It’s an old farm house, built in the late 1800’s, you can see a hole in the roof from the front yard, and a busted window on the second floor.
“Wow, Dad, you really know how to pick em’.” Sarcasm was something I had picked up recently.
He glared down at me, but said nothing. I think he’s getting used to my new attitude and my new look. Naturally, I’m a blonde, but a few weeks ago I colored my hair black. I went to my stylist that I had been seeing since I was little, my mom would always take me there to get my hair cut. When I walked in alone, she gave me a quizzical look, and I said matter of factly, “My mom committed suicide a month ago, can you color my hair?”. I emerged 2 hours later with a new black shag, to match my new dark inner turmoil.
My dad led me to my room upstairs, it has wood flooring and really tacky country wallpaper. He explained to me how it was my temporary room, because the room that should be mine has the busted window. I just nodded and dropped my suitcase on the floor, and he took this as his cue to leave. Our furniture had been delivered the day before, so my bed, dresser, desk, and bookshelf were already waiting for me. I sat on my bed and contemplated what I should unpack, considering that I would have to move anything anyway. Then I thought, screw it, I would just pick through my suitcase for my clothes, and the only thing I did unpack was a picture of my family.
That night for dinner, Dad decided to make dinner and reminded us of how we were to attend school tomorrow, that is, if we survived his cooking. Elizabeth and me sat opposite each other at the table, and made faces at each other. Another thing about me lately, I’ve become obsessed with death. So for my next face, I made sweeping motions with my arms, to suggest tying a noose, putting it around my neck, and closing my eyes, head hung low. Unfortunately, Dad saw this one and went off on a tirade about my manner and self esteem. His suggested solution was psychiatry, my solution that I voiced vehemently was not moving across the country and leaving behind the one place that reminded me of how we once were a family.
At night, I laid awake in my newly made bed, staring at the ceiling. I kept going over the dinner table argument, and coming up with quips. My personal favorite was, “Well, Dad, maybe the only solution is death. Perhaps Mom was right after all.”. So many ways to do it, bullet to the head, slitting your throat, wrists, take your pick, drowning yourself in the bath tub, hanging….
My thoughts were interrupted by a steady tapping coming from the door. I sat up straight in bed, eyes locked on the door knob as it slowly turned. It opened and stayed ajar for a minute, all I could see was the inky blackness of the hallway. My sister’s hand came into view, and she opened the door fully and came in.
“Holy shit, Elizabeth, you actually managed to scare me.”
“Sorry, I was afraid you were asleep, and I didn’t want to wake you up.” She came and sat at the edge of my bed, she had her duck pajamas on.
“It’s okay…so…what’s on your mind?”
“You, Dad, the usual. Actually, he’s pretty worried about you. Even though I’m 3 years younger than you, I seem to be handling this way better than you. Finally I’m better at something, coping with the loss of a loved one.”
“Coping with the loss of a loved one? Been reading many bereavement brochures for psychiatrists?”
“Don’t knock the bereavement brochures, they’re very helpful. Well, goodnight.” She smiled and shut the door behind her. I heard her walk down the hallway, but she must have crept back and gave a few more taps at the door to annoy me.
__________
My new school was absurdly medieval. It had no air conditioning, no soda machines, and no free period. Oh, the horror. To top it all off, these kids had probably never in their lives, seen a goth, emo, whatever label they give me, and proceeded to stare at me. I was reminded of something I had heard once, a proverb or quote, about anything perceived as different was immediately considered wrong or evil. In these kids eyes, I was Satan himself.
At lunch I had the pleasure of sitting at a table all by myself, and all the tables surrounding me, the people were seated as far away from me as possible. Maybe they believed I had some horrendous disease, easily spread, and if they inhaled the same air as me, would immediately become infected and die.
A few tables over, I spotted someone that most resembled me. She had dark hair, a long pale face, and wore jeans with a crimson tank. Her head was bent low and she was scribbling furiously over a notebook. Her arm was making wide arcs and flailing wildly. I noticed a few other people were sitting at her table, but there was an impenetrable space surrounding her, her own little bubble. While I was looking at the other people, she must have laid down her pencil and saw me staring. Her eyes met mine, they were black, soulless eyes, and seemed to be fathoms deep. She gathered her things swiftly, and walked over to my table, sat down, and started talking like we had been in a conversation already.
“I think you’re the new me.” She said while withdrawing her notebook.
“I’m assuming that you used to be the new kid…”
“I was, and then I made a friend. Her name was Haley and she used to live where you do now.”
“Really?”
“She’s dead.”
Silence. I had no idea what to say. I’m not the type of person to apologize profusely for someone’s death that I didn’t even know.
“Wow…”
“Her mother killed her…the rest of the family, and then herself. In your house.”
“Good. I’m fascinated by death, and it seems like I’ve hit the mother-load.” I can be really insensitive.
“I have some of her old things still, if you wanna see. Come to my house after school.”
So I did, how could I resist? My new acquaintance lived a mile from the school and promised to drive me home after we were done looking at her dead friend’s possessions. Her room was dark and twisted, a nightmare illustrated with dark walls and carpet, and her own morbid drawings depicting demons, zombies, death.
“My name is Mallory.” She said.
“I’m Effie.” We were now friends.
Mallory opened her closet and grabbed a box, obviously she had made it because it was covered in more of her drawings. While looking at me, she slowly opened it, and light fell over the objects inside. She took them out one by one, showed them to me, and explained their significance.
The first was a digital camera, her friend Haley wanted to be a photographer when she grew up. She also had a dark nature and her pictures were often depicting death, and mutilations. The next one was a black bracelet with the word “best” on it, and Mallory held up her wrist, and hers said “friend”. No explanation necessary. She pulled out a couple pictures she had of Haley, she was a thin scrawny girl, pale, dark hair, like her best friend, except she had blue eyes. Mallory said these were the only pictures she had of her, that the photographer rarely liked to have the camera on her. The last thing she pulled out was a plain black hoodie, it was her favorite, and I looked back at the pictures, and she was wearing it.
“I was a jerk earlier. I’m sorry that Haley is no longer with us.” I really was sorry. Mallory looked at me with her dark eyes and smirked.
“Effie, she never left.”
__________
Once again, I laid awake in bed, thinking about my day. School was a complete loss, not that I was counting on it to begin with, although I did make a new friend. A new disturbing, possibly insane one, but a friend nevertheless…
My sister was tapping at my door again. I sighed and readied myself for tonight’s barrage of questions, but the door never opened. I sat there and waited for Elizabeth to open it and to see her skinny white arm.
“Elizabeth, you can come in, I’m still awake.” I said, loud enough for her to hear, but not loud enough to wake my Dad.
Still, she didn’t come in. Maybe she didn’t hear me, so I got up, opened my bedroom door, but she wasn’t there. I looked down the hall, hoping to catch a glimpse of her lithe body, racing back to her bedroom. She probably had already made it back, she was little and fast, so I walked to her room and tapped on the door. No response. I tapped louder. Nothing. Ever so lightly, I began to open her door, blackness, and then I saw she was lying down on her bed, facing me, fast asleep. Her soft snores filled the room, and I knew she was not faking.
Walking back to my room, I became annoyed at myself. Imagining tapping at my door, the next stop was the psych ward for me. I flopped down on my bed, closed my eyes…
More tapping, much faster and louder tapping. This was definitely not imagined, and my sister has to be the greatest actress ever. I swiftly got up, ran to the door and swung it open so fast, it hit the wall and made a resounding bang. Still, the hallway was empty. It was ghostly empty, and so dark I couldn’t see a few feet in front of me.
Shutting the door, I leaned against it, and I realized how cold my room had become, so cold in fact, that when I opened my mouth, my breath came out like a little puff of fog.
“Haley…” I whispered…
