Chapter Eight: The Happy Old LadyA Chapter by Not here“Weather reports tonight call for some heavy rain beginning later in the evening and carrying on until late morning. Chances of thunder and lightning tonight, folks, so unless you have an emergency, stay inside and get some rest. Tomorrow, we’ll have highs in the lower 90s and lows around….” It had been an uneventful week. Brandon reported that he had not seen the lady recently, and, in fact, it seemed like she may have gone away. Michael took this as a good sign, along with Christian and Crystal. If she would leave, then everything would be back to normal, and they could enjoy their summer vacation. “And they all lived happily ever after,” Michael read as he closed the book. Lilly was sitting on his lap, intently staring at the picture book. This was one of her favorite books; in it were a handful of fairy tales, but with bright, colorful pictures, especially of the princesses. “Can you read the first one again?” she asked, craning her head back to smile at him. “I like that one.” “Oh, I guess so,” he grinned at her. “Let’s see here... page one…” Nicole Walker, or Mrs. Walker, looked on smiling, ignoring the weather forecasts of rain and thunder. Michael had always been great with his little sister, much unlike his father. Ever since Jim had left her, Nicole slowly morphed into a hard-working, tough-skinned mom, doing anything to earn money, and doing more to hold onto it. Working double jobs, in the afternoon as a waitress and the mornings and evenings as a janitor for the town hall in Marcy, she had enough to live comfortably in the small, two story house. After the divorce, which went rather horribly, even for a divorce, she got rights to the house, the car, and full-time guardianship of the kids. Even a little money came her way. Jim did get, or want, anything to do with the kids, but that was typical of him. Mrs. Gray, oh what a nice lady she was, drove Lilly around most days, with Mrs. Moore doing the same for Michael. Besides driving in to Marcy, Michael stayed in Hardy most of the time, getting where he needed to go on a bike. In such a small town, a bike was just as handy as, and much cheaper than, a car. Whenever they got together here at the house, it was always special, and she longed for the day when working could morph into family-time. Inside, she feared that day might never come, and worried that she would spend her whole life watching Michael and Lilly grow up without ever having a hand in it. It was watching your own children grow up, while you were more of a hotel-manager, a landlord who gave them room and board, more than a mother; it was torture. “Mom, is it Lilly’s bedtime?” Michael asked. “Huh?” she responded. “Oh, um yeah, I suppose it is. Would you mind taking her up for me? I hurt my knee at work today; slipped on the mop.” A pang of guilt shot through her, but it was true; her knee really did hurt. The truth was, she could hardly bend it, but hopefully a few painkillers would take care of it tomorrow. “Sure, Mom. Come on, Lilly.” “What about the book?” she asked. “I’ll put it back,” he said, and with a heave picked her up in his arms, “right after I put you to bed. Seems like you need to eat less, missy. You’re getting heavy.” She giggled when he walked away, dipping down into lunges as if she was too heavy to carry normally. “Quit, quit,” she burst into laughter again. “That tickles my tummy.” “Oh, you won’t like rollercoasters then when you’re older.” “Neither do you,” Nicole commented. “‘Cause they’re so freaking high,” Michael said, as if that was an obvious reason. “What’s a rollercoaster?” Nicole heard Lilly ask while Michael carried her upstairs. They were such good kids, although the older could hardly be called a kid anymore. Sure, he was only fourteen, but so mature for his age, and so sure in himself. He’s the perfect mixture of his father’s confidence and whatever I gave him, she thought to herself. Now, Lilly, she’s just plain cute, nothing else to it. And that thought made her smile. It was dark outside now, and much later. Nicole was asleep downstairs, Lilly tucked in under her blankets; Michael was not asleep, though. His eyes opened quickly, and without making any noise he turns in his bed to face the window. Everything was quiet and still; he could see the street light outside, which was a rare sight on Country Road but one happened to be by his house, directly across from it actually. Besides that, there was a house off in the distance, and a house close nearby, both smaller than his and quieter. No kids, just a lonely farmer in one, and a farmer couple in the other. There was not much to hear in the house. Wind screeched quietly outside, like nails on a chalkboard; the rows of soybeans moved slightly, but were not yet tall enough to be affected much by the gentle breeze. Rain was pounding on the roof like a thousand little drums, each with its own rhythm and notes. It was not what he could see or hear that woke him and kept him awake. It was what he felt; a sensation. The sensation of being watched. Throwing the blankets off him, a sudden rush of adrenaline erased all sleepiness. His eyes were sharp, mind alert, and every little detail seemed to stand out. If someone was watching him, that meant his family could be in danger. His mom, Lilly; they were who he feared for. Straightening himself, he looked around the room. The doorway was dark, but he could have seen if someone was standing there. Much like his mother, good eyesight had been passed on to him. Nobody else was in the room, or if they were, only the shadows of the corner behind the door would hide them. Grabbing a flashlight from his dresser, he warily approached that area, ready to fight. If it was a dangerous man, he could catch them off guard, maybe land a punch. If it was someone else, he would back up and let them come towards him. When he was a few feet away, still having made no noise, he clicked the button, making little sound, and looked where the light pointed. Only a pile of shoes lay behind the door. A burst of wind outside screamed loud, making him jump. Rain continued to beat the roof, which helped to calm his nerves. It was just the wind; being watched was just his imagination; this was just a normal night. Looking over to the alarm clock, he found it was only 10:49. That meant he had been asleep for... well, it did not matter. More importantly, he had a calming handful of hours ahead during which he could sleep. When he woke up, this would all be just be like a dream. Just a dream; just a memory, like what happened at Brandon’s house that one night, what seemed like years ago. Such a strange occurrence, a scary tale for sure, but peculiar most of all. Those types of things never happened in real life; you never saw a woman outside stalking you. Without knowing, he had drifted slowly towards the window curtains, behind which lay a beautiful moon. He could see the light coming through a crack between the two breezy coverings. It was pale and full, like a bowling ball in the sky, painted white. When he was little, people told him stories of how the moon was made of cheese, but that could not be true. It looked more like a… What were those? On the window, there was lines, scratches it seemed. They were faint, but he could see them with the light of the moon shining directly towards him. Starting near the top, they tore downwards, farther down, and eventually stopped near the bottom. To the sides of them were smaller marks, some wider and some thinner. What caught his attention, though, was outside. Directly across the road, among the soybeans, stood a lady with a black hood on. If asked for a comparison, he would say the Grim Reaper’s wife, and indeed, she looked the part. Although she did not carry a pitchfork or a sickle, the way she stood tall with a slight slouch, her head bowed and arms hidden in the many folds of her long robe or dress, whichever it was, made her seem all the more powerful. Glimmering with the lights shining down on it, he saw long, white hair. What once had been traces of black were entirely gone now, but still he recognized it, recognized her. He stared, awestruck and fearful. Maybe, if he stood dreadfully still, she would not sense his presence, and not look up at him. Seeing those awful eyes with that terrible smile... no, he could not bear it tonight. Go back to bed, he kept telling himself. She won’t see you if you leave; she wouldn’t dare come closer. But despite his best efforts, both feet remained where they were, and both eyes took in the scene, not wanting to believe it. With a movement so sudden it must have hurt her neck, the lady looked up at him, and there were those eyes, there was that smile. One gnarled finger raised to point at him, speaking a thousand words with that one movement. She was taunting him, beckoning him, testing him. Quickly, Michael lept away from that spot and raced into the hallway, then down the stairs. Hoping his mom would not wake up, he opened the front door, which was right by the steps, and raced out onto the front porch. There she was, still standing, although now both arms stayed at her side. A smile was carved into her features, and lines visible from here marked her face like writing. “Who are you?” he whispered, before saying it louder, and then still louder until he shouting it towards her. Everything went quiet for a moment as he waited; even the wind died down and the rain seemed a little less noisy. “You have already named me,” she said. He heard the words crisp and clear, but the voice was not what he had expected. It seemed familiar, menacingly so, but comforting. In a sick way, he longed inside of him to reach out and touch her, to feel her clammy hands and see into those eyes deeper. Her voice called him closer, even without saying the words. Words were unnecessary; her voice and tone said it all. From out behind her stepped two little girls. The first, he shuddered to think, was someone he recognized. With black hair braided behind her head, and smooth, dark skin, it was Grace Gray, holding the hand of the woman. Such a sight was unnerving and heartstopping, but what he saw next was heartbreaking. Lilly had her warm, small fingers firmly wrapped around the cold palm of her hand. Everything seemed to stop for a moment, and time halted in its nightly walk, while he stared, full of agony and dread. Her face was as happy as ever, a bright smile forming and her little ears perking up at the sight of her brother. Soaking, red curls were falling down the back of her head, separated from those in the front by a hairband. The free hand was waving to her brother, fingers outstretched and glistening with rain. This was fear to Michael; seeing her, his cute, beloved sister, out there with a monster, the monster. She had taken her. “No!” he screamed into the cold, wet rain. Dashing towards the few steps leading down to the grass, he took off with a leap, determined to catch her, hunting for justice. She had taken her. His foot slipped on the wet stone, and he came crashing down, head smacking across rock while he watched them slip away into the soybean fields and in the direction of the forest. He could hear his sister giggling all the way while his vision blurred and then was lost as blood trickled from his forehead. She had taken her. She had taken her.
© 2015 Not hereAuthor's Note
Reviews
|
StatsAuthor
|
prev chapter
![[send message]](https://www.writerscafe.org/images/mail.png){kind=small}
![[befriend]](https://www.writerscafe.org/images/friend.png){kind=small}
Share This
Email
Facebook
Twitter
Read Request
My Library
Flag Writing