Tale of the Week 285: Haunted - TIE-BREAK!
Haunted
Image from https://publicdomainpictures.net by Linnaea Mallette
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Submission 1 In the city of Exeter in the Kingdom of England there was once a narrow lane that terminated at a circle of tall houses, ringing the cobbled road in on all sides and leaving only one entrance, or exit, depending on your perspective. It was a common enough place. The buildings were all built after the fashion of the time, with perhaps a slightly genteel air about them, but there was nothing else to mark the spot as unusual or intriguing. However, the houses of Bridgemont Court were in no way usual, and to call them unintriguing would be an untruth of terrifying magnitude, akin to calling Dr. Frankenstein a “cooky fellow”.
I saw their aspect near the close of --37, a cold wind rattling the late autumn leaves that desperately defied the coming winter, and as I walked past the trembling shrubs and sarcastic crows I was struck by the loneliness of that neighborhood. The pumpkins of the harvest festival, some few weeks prior, still lay forlornly scattered over porches and lawns, mists curling over and through them without leave or mercy. The postal boxes stood with peeling paint amidst small mounds of old newspapers and forgotten letters, relics of happier more lively times. But most cutting of all were the swings set in the small green at the court’s center. Their chains were rusted and rigid, and yet the winds still struggled against them, setting a melancholy melody throughout the area.
I ignored those sights and sounds as best I could and proceeded up the steps of the farthest house. You see, at the time I was acting as a solicitor for the local magistrate, and the resident of that place was set to receive a summons, one I was to deliver.
The steps creaked beneath me but held, and I rang the door’s bell with forced alacrity. At first there was no sound, nothing to mark a resident of any kind, but soon enough a candle appeared in the utmost rooms. It descended, passing across every stained and weather-worn window on its way down, but eventually reaching the landing on which I stood. I smoothed my vest and conjured a weak smile on my cracked clay-cold lips.
Nothing happened. The panes above the heavy oak door showed a light behind, and its dim rays could be seen dancing in the gap on the floor, but nothing happened. I rang the bell again, but again to no effect. After some moments of consternation, and, I must admit, rising irritation, I began to hammer on the door with my hand, demanding to be seen.
Then, suddenly, the candle went out, taking with it every ounce of illumination on that street, and in the black vault that ensued a chorus of voices whispered in my ear and through my soul: “We see you.” I ran, and since that day have never again returned to Exeter or indeed to the Kingdom of England, and I dare say you should not either.
Submission 2 A cold mist clung to the windows, as Alex took his seat at their regular corner booth, placing his phone down on the worn oaken table. The café wasn't too crowded, the delicate frostfalls of early winter keeping all but the most determined caffeine addict away. Whilst a few of the usual suspects where scattered about the establishment, still shivering and trembling after coming in from the cold, it was largely empty. Yet Alex would always be here, every November 4th, regardless of the weather. And of course, so would Joanna. It was their anniversary after all.
"I ordered your favourite," he told her, looking over with a mischievous grin. She looked back at him unblinking, wearing her best 'oh, you're such an idiot' expression; the ghost of a smile playing at the edges of her lips, one painted eyebrow raised, and a twinkle in those deep hazel eyes of hers.
Chuckling to himself, Alex lent back in his chair, casually looking around the café whilst his fingers absently toyed with the screen of his smartphone. "Do you remember that Jo? Our first date?" he asked her, as his eyes wandered around the room.
He turned back to Joanna, who was rolling her eyes, giving him one of those 'of course I remember' looks. "You got so anxious about ordering a pumpkin latte after Halloween," he reminisced fondly, "as if the barrister was going to laugh at you. In all these years, I've never seen you so insecure."
Joanna gave him a piercing stare, nostrils flared and eyebrows narrowed. He quickly put his hands up in surrender. "Sorry, sorry!" he told her quickly, before adding: "it was cute though."
He glanced at the clock in the top corner of his phone. It had been a few minutes now; there weren't many other people there, so his order should have been ready by now.
"One pumpkin latte for...Joanna!"
There it was. Even though it was a different barrister, a different voice, the words were the same, and he closed his eyes, letting the memories of that first date wash over him one more time. He remembered Joanna haughtily stalking up to the counter to collect her drink, then sitting back down, all back-straight, prim and proper, whilst she slowly sipped away at her favourite childhood drink. He had fallen in love with her then and there; seeing that childish side of her for the first time, otherwise locked away in the body of a woman who had tried to grow up far too fast.
Far too fast, and far too young. Alex sighed and opened his eyes. He took the phone off the table, closing it and putting the photos of Joanna away for another year. He stood up and waved away the barrister, telling her not to worry about the latte. Sliding on his coat, he made for the door. It had been four years now since the accident, but he still couldn't let go of the past.
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