EXCERPT
I suppose you
can say this whole thing began and ended with ghosts. Not all my life, of
course, but only all that ever really mattered. Everything before meeting Angie
happened simply to get me prepared for our life together. No real living had
occurred until that moment. After Angie died, I was left only with ghosts. Now tonight
I lie beside another woman who is not my wife, and who I have yet to touch. I
marvel at her even, peaceful breathing as I stare at the awful ghost that sits
calmly, but menacingly, near the foot of the bed.
Aunt Flora is dead and has been for several
months. There’s really no reason on God’s green earth why she should be here,
in my home, a place she’d never
visited in life, but here she sits just the same, and I’m sure I know why.
Perhaps it has everything to do with her not having a home of her own any
longer, or because she’s lost her husband once again. She seems to grin at me
as if she can read my thoughts.
Now she nods dramatically to say that she
can, indeed.
“What do you want, Flora?” I finally ask, whispering.
I try to be as quiet as possible. It seems like a useless proposition. Peace is
an illusion to me at this point; like something so far out of my grasp as to be
laughable.
“You know what I want, Paul.” Her voice is
low and calm, but seems to reverberate against the walls. “You know very well what I want,” she says as the
all-too-familiar lightning flashes outside probe into the bedroom and
illuminate her. A gust of wind rattles the window briefly. It must’ve been the
reason I awoke in the first place. I’m pretty sure it was just wind, but who
could know at this point? In any event, there’d be no more sleeping.
I see Flora’s terrible features—that aged and
deep-wrinkled skin pulled over high cheekbones; and that profound smile that
brings no pleasure, but only sets me on edge. Thunder roars in the distance as
if on queue. I am intimately familiar with this particular storm. Both it and
Flora seem to have followed me.
“I can’t help you with that, Flora,” I say.
“Yes, I know. All you can do is bring
everything to ruin.”
I stare at the ghost and say nothing further,
taking in the sight of her with her long-sleeved white blouse, dark slacks and
black shoes. It’s incredible to me that I’m having another conversation with my
aunt. It’s clear she holds me to blame for what’s happened. If I wasn’t afraid
before, there’s no denying it now.
Flora reclines against the winged-back chair
that was Angie’s favorite and smiles. Her arms remain atop the arm rests, the
perfect picture of quiet. Another bolt lights up the sky and my eyes
immediately find her claw-like fingers as they seem to be digging into the
upholstery. Now I know better and I shiver at this apparently perfect
culmination of events.
“It’s not over, Paul,” Flora says. Her tone
is firm and reminds me of a wild animal’s growl. “You know damn well what I want! It is all that I have ever
wanted. But you have taken that from me. You have taken far too much. Now I
shall do the taking. Do you hear me,
Paul? Do you understand what I am
telling you?”
Now I’m the one who leans back. I sit up
first, positioning myself against the tall headboard. Here is a trend I can’t
shake free of—me being awake as the night wanes. Another burst of lightning
flashes across the Central California sky and then disappears, casting the room
back into shadow. Thunder sounds. The storm is fast approaching. I say nothing
more as I recline and simply stare at my dead aunt who sits and stares back,
composed for the moment. It would seem I’ve become quite comfortable with ghosts,
doesn’t it?
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