It's time for the WEP/IWSG April challenge. I've been missing Yolanda Renee's grisly stories, so I thought I'd go grisly myself with a little ghost thrown in. I know. I know. It's April, not October, but sometimes the story won't be denied. I wanted to retell the Aladdin story. It was the first thing that came to mind when I saw Jewel Box and the wonderful image our image guru, Olga Godim found. But Aladdin wouldn't be retold, so I plunged in another direction.
DISCLAIMER; Don't read this late at night...
DISCLAIMER; Don't read this late at night...
Sorry.
Sorry. Sorry.
Since the murder, I could hear a mouse wearing
bootees tiptoe through my house. Otherwise, I would not have heard the faint footsteps
creaking up the stairs. Sitting up so fast I cracked my head on the poster, I screamed,
‘Who’s there?’
The bedroom door handle turned slowly.
I squeaked like a frightened mouse, my voice scarcely
audible over the thump of my heart. ‘Who’s there?’
Someone. In my room. I strained my eyes in the
darkness. A small shadowy sinister shape stood on the threshold.
‘Sorry, Sheila. It’s me.’
OMG! My arm hairs prickled. A shiver sprinted
down my spine.
It was him...
But … I’d buried him a week ago. I’d tossed the black rose onto his coffin. I’d watched the gravediggers set about their grisly task. He’d risen from the dead? Tread quietly into my house like he’d been
working night shift and didn’t want to wake me.
‘It really is me.’
I’ve never seen a ghost. But like they say in the
old cliché, there’s a first time for everything. I’d heard there are two types
of ghosts – benevolent and malicious. If this was Drew’s ghost, it’d be
malicious. After what I’d done.
‘Sheila.’ He mouthed my name again, his voice wavering
like he spoke underwater.
Far from oblivious to the threatening tone, I grabbed
my throat. ‘Drew? How … why … whaaat?’
‘I had no time to give you your birthday gift. Sorry.
Death came to me … so suddenly.’
Did he know I hired the assassin? Did he know about
Leopold? Had he come home early one night and caught us? Maybe in that
place where he’s gone, he’d figured out his sudden demise.
He stepped out of the shadows.
I gasped. Clutched the bedclothes to my throat. He looked
the same but different. Was I expecting blood dripping from his slit throat?
He smiled his kind Drew smile. ‘I came back to give
you something for your birthday. I don’t want you to go to your grave
thinking I don’t care.’
Grave? A strange turn of phrase? I shuddered. Did he
have foreknowledge? Did he know the time and hour of my death? Was I dreaming
this whole creepy episode? I just wanted him gone. ‘Please don’t worry yourself.
Go back where you came from. I, er, know you care. Or did. Once.’
And he did care. He was the best husband a woman
could want, but not the one I wanted. I wanted glitz and glamour. Nights on the
town. Not nights sleeping alone waiting for my husband to finish night shift.
Leopold gave me the glitz and glamour I craved, but
he stressed I had to deal with Drew.
I rubbed my fingers over the gold necklace I never
take off. So much better than those cheapo chains Drew gave me. Did he make the
onerous journey back from the grave to give me another cheapo chain? I chewed
the sheet so I wouldn’t laugh out loud.
Closer and closer he came. His
shape grew bigger and bigger. His black presence filled the room. Or had a
black moon stumbled through my bedroom window?
I flicked my eyes around the
room. There was no escaping this looming presence standing between me and the
door.
He opened the curtain that hid the safe, exposing
the shiny steel. Flicking the dial, he said, ‘Someone’s changed the code.’
I didn’t miss the flash of anger in his voice.
Drew had been locking the safe when the assassin
broke through the window and slit his throat.
I’ve since torn up the carpet. Repapered the walls.
Hung new curtains. But like Lady Macbeth, I can’t get the blood off my hands.
The smell of Drew’s death lingers.
By some magic, he wrenched the safe open. Apparently
where he came from, you don’t need a code.
His shape turned to me, holding another, more
concrete, shape in its hands.
‘Sheila. Your belated gift. I hid it in the secret
compartment no one knows about, not even you.’
Walking to the side of the bed, he threw aside the
filmy curtain I liked to sleep behind. Gave me a sense of mystery. Tonight, seeing
his shapeless face, I’d had more mystery than I wanted for a lifetime.
‘Take it.’ In his cloth-covered hands he held out a
small, sparkly box.
There was something vaguely Aladdin-ish about the
scene. If I obeyed his wishes, maybe he’d disappear into the miasma from which
he’d appeared. If he didn’t hurry and get this over with, Leopold would return.
I crossed my fingers. I touched one the wooden posters of my four-poster bed.
Ghosts killed.
The box was smooth, satin to the touch. Jewels studded
the lid and sides. They looked like precious jewels, but, no, Drew never gave
me precious jewels.
‘Open it.’ His shape leaned closer, but stepped
back when I gasped in fright. He wandered aimlessly around the room seeking distraction while I examined his gift. When he picked up our photograph
where I’d slashed him out of the picture and added Leopold, I nearly vomited.
The
phone rang. I lay the box aside. If it was Leopold, I’d warn him
to stay away. "Hello," I said, "Hello." No one there. I
hung up at the same time the lights went out ...
Beside
me, I heard faint music. What the? I picked
up the box and lifted the lid. Loud music crashed around the room like
out-of-tune violins played by a cat.
Then
it stopped. Like my heart was about to.
‘Ghosts don't exist!’ I screamed as the horrific
visage gurgled, approaching my bed.
Drew’s hand reached into the box and chose a shining
emerald necklace. ‘Your birthday gift, Sheila. I came back to put it around
your throat.’
I struggled. I screamed. I twisted. But he was a ghost. A malicious ghost. He ripped off Leopold’s necklace and replaced it with his. His ice-cold hands
bunched it behind my neck. He pulled … and pulled ... tight … tighter. I gurgled loud ... louder... I was
vaguely aware of the door opening and Leopold’s chilling scream.
‘Sorry.’
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