Haunted

Haunted

by Leslie Johnson

Five year old Lisa crawled into her bed, hugging a soft teddy bear to her chest as her mother pulled the cover up tight to her chin. “Make sure Buttercup and Cuddles are tucked in too, Momma.” She implored.  Her mother reached behind the girl and tucked the other two stuffed teddies under the covers. Lisa couldn’t bear the thought of either of them being alone and scared - especially in this new house. Everything here was strange and unsettling and her brother told her the house was haunted.

Her mother stepped to the door and turned off the light. Lisa looked at her mother’s silhouette and wished she had the courage to ask her to stay. But she knew she was meant to be a big girl - she was supposed to be strong. So she stuffed her fear deeper as she hugged Fuzzy Wuzzy closer.

The door slowly closed and the room dropped into darkness. For a few minutes, Lisa panted in fear. She reached behind her and pulled Buttercup and Cuddles under the covers in front of her - all three fluffy friends squished into her tight embrace. Comforted by their presence she allowed sleep to catch up to her and she drifted off.

~ ~ ~

The sun felt warm on her face as Lisa rode her horse toward the barn. She loved Paddy, her big bay gelding. Leaning forward, she lay down across his neck, dropping her arms down to hug him. Sitting up, she encouraged her horse to step into the barn. She knew she was supposed to lead him in, but she preferred using the manger to dismount since the ground was a long way down.

In the center of the barn, Paddy stood for a moment before the floor opened up beneath them. Hurdling downward, they crashed through one floor, then another and another. Too many to count. When they finally stopped falling, they were in a dark pit - seemingly unscathed. Though it was too dark to see where they were she knew there was no way out.

~ ~ ~

With a shudder and a muffled scream, Lisa awoke. It was the fourth time she’d had that dream. Laying there, her heart pounding in her ears, she slowly opened her eyes. The hair on her arms stood on end as she saw an orange glow near the foot of her bed. When she sat up she knocked Buttercup toward the light. She noticed that her bed and the other one in the room were positioned end to end in the corner. The beds and the wall formed a square where the light was coming from.  

Her heart skittered in her chest. She didn’t know what was happening, but everything in her was screaming at her to run. Buttercup lay exposed near the foot of the bed - she needed to save him. Rising to her knees she reached out to grab him just as a shadowy black arm slithered out from the orange glow and snatched the teddy bear, dragging him out of sight.

A little scream escaped her lips. “Buttercup!” Scrambling to the edge of the bed, she looked down into a pit. It seemed to go on as far as her eyes could see. There in the bottom, stood a horse and rider. The horse edged nervously in a circle - the little girl clinging to his neck and sobbing quietly. She didn’t know how - but she knew she was seeing herself in her dream.

She forgot about her lost teddy bear and the dark arm that had snatched him off her bed. She stared at her lost self as she slipped her feet over the edge. Suddenly, two arms reached out and grabbed her ankles. She screamed and kicked but it was no use. Those cold hands held fast.

Still shrieking, she twisted onto her belly and grabbed hold of the covers trying to pull herself toward to top of the bed. The blankets proved useless as they gave way. The shadowy arms pulled her off the bed, the covers falling down on top of her.

Landing hard on the floor, Lisa started to cry. Moments later, her mother was there, hauling her back onto the bed and yanking the covers off the floor. Buttercup lay where he’d fallen near the foot of the bed and Lisa hugged him close to her chest when her mother rescued him. It was a dream - it was all a dream, Lisa told herself as she curled her tiny body around her three fluffy friends. Her mother tucked the covers tight around her before stroking Lisa's soft hair off her forehead. Neither noticed the long shadowy fingers slithering out of sight under the bed.

Something Wicked This Way Comes

If you’re a watcher in this old world - someone who notices the subtle nuances that are all around us - then you won’t be surprised when I tell you that Fire, Wind and Heat are best friends. With hearts as black as the grass and trees they leave behind when they play together, they are a force to be reckoned with. They are as old as the universe and as young as today - everlasting - long living - youthful - crafty bitches.

Fire and Heat had been having a wonderful summer - burning grasslands and forest with great delight all across BC and Montana. After last year’s battle in Fort McMurray it was calming to think that our province would be left unscathed this year. But Mother Nature had other plans. She was tired and more so after a long hot summer. A nice burn was what she wanted, so she clapped her hands and brought the girls together, setting them on the cusp of Waterton Lakes National park. When a new playground opened up, those little bitches laughed with delight. Not only did they have fresh ground to cover, but this was the area where wind lived. They could hardly contain themselves when they imagined the havoc the three of them would wreak.

At first they were coy with one another - trying to best one another - test out the alpha in the group. As they grew more familiar with the hierarchy, they became bolder. By the time they hit the peak on Monday - they knew it was going to take a mighty big hand to rein them in. Laughing with joy, Fire looked over her shoulder as dashed across the expanse, her long red hair flowing across her shoulders, her dress flouncing around her knees. Reaching up along tender tree trunks her mirth skittered upwards before leaping from the top of one tree to the next. Her left hand was held tightly by Wind who pulled her along, relishing the chaos left behind.

Heat was everywhere. She paved the way - making it easy for Fire to leap up and to run fast. She swirled among the ashes left behind and laughed with delight as she watched Fire touch and destroy the beauty before her. Heat’s long honey-brown hair whipped across her face and she shook her head, laughing as Wind tousled it again.

Wind became stronger - gathering momentum from Heat - she grabbed at Fire and threw parts of her ahead. She didn’t need to aim - wherever Fire landed was good enough for her. A tree top - some bushes - tinder dry grass - she shrugged nonchalantly. It was just so beautiful seeing the orange glow whoosh from a speck to a large force.

Hand in hand, these three raced to the top of the mountain and as they crested it - they heard the Firemen call out to one another - “Something wicked this way comes!” The girls whooped with delight at the fear they evoked. They exploded down the mountain side, not caring what they left behind. Wind realized the danger of being stopped, so she grabbed Fire’s hands and pulled her back and away - setting parts of her in a whole new direction.

Heat and Fire continued to race to the bottom, licking at the roof tops and hoping to find sanctuary. They’d been here before - this was familiar territory - but they were rebuffed by their old foe - that playground bully - Water.

Water, her blonde hair pulled tight to her head was ready. She knew those three bitches well. She detested them. She was strong in her own right - a force of nature - capable of doing great things and capable of great destruction as well. Today, she stood ready to protect those vulnerable structures that were unable to look after themselves. Showing no fear, she wrapped herself around her charges and waited for Fire and Heat to do their worst.

The three wenches were not worried about Water. They pretended to push forward, all the while ensuring the expansion of their territory to the north. Here, they had free reign again - free to run - free to carry on wreaking havoc. Excited with the freedom they found here, they pushed forward, leaping across highways, fording creek beds and roaring across meadows. Nothing could stop them - they felt invincible.  

Houses - barns - corrals - sheds. It was all the same to them - something to destroy - a way to leave their mark. They left vast green spaces behind - places where water was sure to have the upper hand. They refused to play her game. Onward they ran - hand in hand - laughing and skipping like they hadn’t a care in the world. Wind lifted Fire across the river and they rushed up another hill - slowing from the upward momentum. Cresting the top - they fell on their sides and rolled downward - stripping away the native grass and leaving nothing but blackened soot behind.

Tired and uneasy now, they skipped back across the river. Another house, another barn but they faced a band of fearless fighters, intent on keeping what was theirs. They hit again, circled back and attacked from another direction. They went low - then they went high and at every juncture - they were met with resistance. Weak and tired from a long night’s journey, Wind gave up. She realized that the fight was useless against these humans. Without her guidance, Fire and Heat felt a little lost. They retreated back to the mountaintop to rest and lick their wounds.

The battle had been a long one. Heat succumbed to her wounds and Fire was on her own. Valiantly, she battled on - her destruction minimal without the help of her playmates. But she doesn’t care. She knows she’s a bitch - she’s proud of it. And she’ll live to fight again - and again. But she has a lot more fun when it’s the three of them - that deadly combination that makes her job unpredictable and delightful.

She’s not dead - she’s biding her time - waiting for Heat to resurrect herself - waiting for Wind to come back to the playground from wherever she has gone. And then the three of them will join hands once more and run and skip and play like they haven't a care in the world.

If Only Walls Could Talk

I know you’ve heard it said - if only these walls could talk… well - it’s not wishful thinking. They really can talk. Not everyone can hear them.

I don’t know why I hear them. It’s like that movie kid - “I see dead people”. Only I hear the memories of those who’ve gone before. It takes patience and an almost uncanny willingness to let the voices in where the heart can interpret them. They can’t be heard with your ears - can’t be understood by your brain - it takes your heart.

Maybe since I’ve been through so much - my heart is different than most. It’s scarred and battered - bruised and mutilated - but strong and resilient. It keeps beating despite my sometimes overwhelming wish for it to stop.

I was eleven the first time a house spoke to me. We had moved to this old house in Parksville a month before. Dad had another new job - the third one that year. I was in bed, wrestling with some demons in my brain - the ones with two legs, evil minds and black hearts.

My heart broke open as I relived the events of the day. Some mean girls dropped me head first into the toilet - an unclean toilet - and then flushed.  The water rose up - over my eyes and nose - almost reaching my mouth before it finally receded.  My tormentors were elated as I lay retching on the tiled floor, my long hair soiled with excrement. Mrs. Henderson heard the laughter and came in to see what was going on. The girls scattered and were gone.

I didn’t tell her their names - though I’m sure she knew them. She took me to the staff room where she washed my hair in the deep sink. She was so kind, I wanted to curl into her arms and never leave. Why can’t all mothers be that loving?

But back in bed, I heard a noise that made my hair stand on end. I sounded like voices, but I was home alone? Mom and Dad were over at the neighbours. I could hear them laughing through the open window - I knew it wasn’t them.

I waited - the silence smothering me and nothing. I turned off my light and slipped down deeper under the covers and there it was again… a moan or a murmur? My ears tingled with anticipation. I strained to catch the sound, my heart pounding wildly in my chest. Nothing. I quit trying and the sound washed over me again. Another moan, another murmur and then a baby cried.

The murmuring became louder, the baby stopped crying and I heard her name, Ella. As clear as if I had said it aloud myself. Ella.

I didn’t hear the house speak to me again for over a year. I thought I dreamt the whole thing. It was about the same time of year, only this time we were getting ready to move. Dad had another new job in another new city. My room was a jumble of boxes and bags. My tormentors from school were leaving me alone for the most part. Tripping me in the hallway, or accidentally jostling me into the lockers - nothing I couldn’t handle. I was thinking about them though, because I wouldn’t get to see them - I wouldn’t get to see their expressions when they each opened their lockers in the morning to a big surprise.

I snuggled down under the covers and was about the fall asleep, when I heard the sound again. Just like last time, the hair on my head stood on end and I strained to hear more. It was quiet. Then I remembered that if I didn’t try, it came more naturally, so I relaxed.

Ella was chattering away, making sounds maybe even a mother wouldn’t be able to understand. She sounded happy. Her mother came in and Ella squealed with delight, clapping her little hands… I lay there in the dark, listening to them talk to one another, one making sense, one not so much and I smiled at how lovely it was to share this space with so much love.

In my next house, the sounds came more often and they weren’t good sounds. The sounds of doors slamming, glass breaking, shouts of anger and rage hurled around many of the rooms. My mom found me crouched behind the sofa one Saturday afternoon, crying. She wanted to know what was wrong and I tried to tell her that the house had bad memories, but she didn’t understand. She sent me to see a psychiatrist who was very curious about my life. I made up stories to keep him from finding out what was really going on. I don’t know if he bought it or if he knew I was lying. I didn’t care.

Listening to house - to the walls talk became easier as I grew more confident and less afraid of the sounds. The stories ran the gamut of life’s adventures - happiness - to sorrow - love and adoration - pain and suffering and even murder. It was this latter that got me involved with the police. I offered my help and was rebuffed many times until one detective decided that he was willing to try anything to get answers. He took me to the house. I was a little nervous - well - I was a lot nervous - so the house wouldn’t talk right away. It took some coaxing on my part before it began. I listened quietly, nodding from time to time while to detective hissed at me to tell him what was going on. I just touched my finger to my lips and listened.

Eventually, he stopped asking and went outside. When the house had given up her secrets, I met him on the front lawn and told him what the house had said. He was elated. He knew he was on the right track all the time. He felt assured that now he would get his

conviction. He found the gun - right where the house said it would be - behind the fourth brick from the floor on the right side of the fireplace. Fingerprints and the ballistic reports would seal that evil man’s fate.
I know there must be more like me out there in the world. It would be really nice to meet someone who listened to houses like I do. It’s rather lonely not being able to share my experiences - although the detective has called me more than once - wondering if I’d like to go to dinner. I think the next time he calls - I’m going to say yes - because even though he can’t hear the walls talk - he believes I can.

The World (In All Its Glory) Was In Bloom

The World (In All Its Glory) Was In Bloom

By Leslie Johnson

It was long past Groundhog Day - when the world in all its glory was in bloom. I’m on an emotional roller coaster and right now, I’m madder than a wet hen.

First off, I  caught the apple of my eye with his hand in the cookie jar. He has a face only a mother could love and it caught me off guard - again. Thankfully he wasn’t caught with his pants down. That would be a sight for sore eyes. He started giving me the old cock and bull story. How many times had I asked him to change his tune?

“All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy!” Jack started. I cut him off at the pass.

“An Idle mind is the devil’s playground you imbecile. And the early bird gets the worm.”

“Another day and another dollar is another nail in my coffin.”

“Are you a man or a mouse?”

As luck would have it, we were interrupted. It was his mother who is built like a brick shithouse. As always, she was as welcome as a skunk at a lawn party. She batted her baby blues and said, “Can’t you see his back is against the wall. Give him a break, for crying out loud. He’s a babe in the woods not bad to the bone. Don’t send him back to the salt mines.”

She turned her attention to me. “I see you’re having a bad hair day.”

If she was trying to get a rise out of me, she was barking up the wrong tree. Even though it was not the eleventh hour, I could tell she was bombed - plastered - out of her gourd, three sheets to the wind. “Get a life.” I sneered. “I believe in calling a spade a spade. Your son sits around like a bump on the log most days. If I didn’t have a bun in the oven he wouldn’t need to burn the candle at both ends. But I am - so it’s business as usual.”

“Can it.” My husband interrupted. “Cry me a river, Jill. You can’t get blood from a stone if you catch my drift.”

His mother patted his cheek, “You’re a chip off the old block.”

“As usual, it’s pretty cut and dried - isn’t it.” I snapped. “That makes me chief cook and bottle washer.”

“Now cut that out!” My father-in-law, who’s a few fries short of a happy meal, shouted. “If you want him to do something, dangle a carrot in front of him. Don’t chew him out.”

“Shut up! You all drive me crazy! And you,” I said pointing at Jack, “Are a thorn in my side. A good man is hard to find.”

“Now dear,” my father-in-law interjected, “Seriously, it’s really as easy as pie.” He was firing on all cylinders now. We were heading for a Mexican standoff. I needed to cut to the chase.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot here.” I said. It was a good rule of thumb to give a glimmer of hope to a half baked idea. I was beginning to think I should cut bait and move on to greener pastures despite the creature growing like a weed in my belly. I’ve had it up to here with this Jack of all trades and master of none. Except I know which side my bread is buttered on! I live in the land of milk and honey.

A leopard cannot change his spots. It was time to let bygones be bygones and let sleeping dogs lie. My husband can be like a bull in a china shop but love is blind. There is more to him than meets the eye. And though we are as different as night and day - as chalk and cheese - he is my knight in shining armor. I guess there is no accounting for taste. Besides, there is no place like home. I decided to take another stab at it.

“I’m not asking you to work like a dog.” I ventured.

Jack replied “There’s more than one way to skin a cat, babe.”

“True, but there’s something fishy about that.”

“You’re tugging at my heartstrings, babe. I’m gonna turn on a dime here.”

“Are you yanking my chain?”

“Nope. I’ll do it - you can take that to the bank!”

You could have knocked me over with a feather. “One man’s garbage is another man’s treasure.” I hollered as Jack took the trash out.