“Here we are again.”
Yep, here we are again.
“What do you want to do?”
I dunno. The world is our oyster.
“We can do anything we want?”
Anything at all.
“Can we unbury you so you can hold my hand one more time?”
No. We can’t do that.
“I miss you.”
I miss you too, my love.
lift the shrouds from the faces of the dead
ghosts rise high into the night to say
life is too short to rest
but sleep well
sleep wisely
Read part 1 here first.
George sat on his rock well past twilight and into night time, but Rod Serling didn’t show up, despite what his brother, Rob, had said. The silence was heavy, the lack of insect voices or small animals shuffling about in the underbrush was unnerving. George felt like he was the only person left on earth. Perhaps he was.
He got off his rock and sat on the ground with it at his back. Eventually he dozed off. By the time he awoke, to a tapping on his shoulder, his neck ached, his rear-end was numb, and the sky had turned a deep indigo.
“George!” said a voice. George opened his eyes and saw it was Rob.
“What are you doing back? And why didn’t your brother show up?”
Rob shrugged. “Maybe because he’s dead?”
“As good an excuse as any, I guess. Hey, do you know the way back to town? I think I’m a bit lost.”
“Why didn’t you ask last night? I just came from there. Not planning to go back.” Rob looked up. “Oh hey, there’s Rod now.”
Rod Serling, or the ghost of Rod Serling, crawled out from behind the rock and sat beside George.
“George,” Rod said, “have you ever considered that bump on your head from yesterday might have made it unwise to go to sleep?”
“I’m beginning to think so,” answered George. “Am I dead?”
Rob spoke up, “Is this the new show, Rod?”
“Rob, it’s what we call, the Dawning Zone.”
A two-hour hike had turned into a six-hour-long ordeal. George sat on a rock and thought about where it had gone wrong. Was it possible that the bump on the head from not ducking low enough under the fallen tree made him miss the signpost? The markers along the trail were bright red. Then again, now that he looked around, everything seemed black and white, like he’d stepped into an old television show.
“You have,” said a voice from behind him.
“Rod? Rod Serling?” George asked the stranger.
“No, I’m Rob. Rod was my brother.”
“So, I’m not in the Twilight Zone?”
“Technically, no. This is just the sunset zone. Rod will be along in a minute.”
“Isn’t he dead?”
“Well, yeah. Technically.” Rob stepped closer and ran his hair over George’s scalp. “You really should have that looked at.”
“You’re telling me,” said George with a small laugh.
“Okay, gotta go. Say hi to Rod for me.” With that, Rob ran away down the trail that George had walked up.
To be continued
eyes closed
the music falls in patterned beats
from my fingertips
to the page
and when i feel you near
the breath of your aura
melting together with mine
in a rainbow of swirling energy
i smile
knowing that no matter what,
through life and through death,
you are with me,
the music that sustains me.
Your ghost haunts me, even now. I lay here searching the stars for the one that might be you, the cold ground beneath me, surrounding me; I know you are beside me. The first shovelful of dirt hits my chest and I wonder, why are they burying me at night?
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The facts are unshakable. Incontrovertible. I saw him with my own eyes, laying in the coffin, eyes closed, hands crossed on his chest. They had him in a black suit and a white shirt, with a boutonniere; a red carnation. He could have been going to the prom. Only he wasn’t. In fact he prevented my sister and so many others from going to their proms. He was a killer. And I’m glad he’s dead.
As they nailed down the lid of his coffin I laughed a little on the inside. Maybe it was nerves. I have them now – a week later. I got a call from the police, in fact I just hung up – contacting his other victims’ families wasn’t fun. He’s gone missing from the grave. Did someone dig him up? Or did he get out himself?
What I didn’t mention to the police, nor to the other families was the damned red boutonniere I found taped to the outside of my living-room window. Even after a week it still looked fresh. Alive, even.
This post is part of SoCS: http://lindaghill.com/2014/11/21/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-november-2214/ Join in the fun!
badge by Doobster @ Mindful Digressions
“Your ghost haunts me, like a shadow in the night.
“For the things I couldn’t do for You, for the warnings I tried to give You,
“and the signs You missed…
“I wanted to scream out!
“I wanted to touch You,
“But You couldn’t feel me there by Your side, aching,
“aching to convey the message.
“I could hear You calling. I could hear Your breath, ragged and painful.
“I wanted to comfort You but,
“try as I might, You couldn’t feel me.”
“Now I sit in the dark, trying to make sense of it all.
“I miss You. I miss Your presence.
“I am Your Angel.
“Always by Your side.
“Your ghost, it haunts me,
“You should be alive.”
“There’s a daemon in the room. Do you feel it?” asked the low-brow ghost, heretofore referred to as LB.
“No,” answered Marie, “I can’t feel it at all. What makes you say that?”
“There’s a disturbance in the air. It’s like a thousand bats are congregating on my forehead. They’re dancing in the space between my frown and my smile.”
“Wait! Yes, I feel it now! It’s like the rain spattering on the window. The beating of their wings…” Marie sighed, slowly exhaling the tension that LB brought with him. “What will the daemon do to me?”
LB chuckled in the dark, ghostly way she was used to hearing after so many years of visitations. “He will surely rape you if I don’t protect you.
“Come. Come to bed with me and I’ll look after you.”
“But,” gasped Marie, “how will you protect me? You are but a low-brow ghost!”
“You must trust me.” His whispery breath gusted gently against her ear.
Marie acquiesced. She shivered beneath the covers. “Am I safe from the deemon now?”
“Of course.” LB curled up beside Marie and mumbled gibberish to her until she went almost mad.
“Stop it! What is this blue language you speak?”
LB was aghast! “Don’t you recognize it? It is the language of exorcising daemons!”
Marie stared at LB–at least as much of the ghost as she could fathom. He was transparent at best.
“I don’t believe in you!” she exclaimed, at which point he disappeared.
Nine months later, she gave birth to a baby – with tiny horns between its frown and its smile.
_____________________________________
This post is part of Stream of Consciousness Saturday.
The note was weird, but I thought, okay, so I just wouldn’t take a bath last night. And yet it kept me awake all night. The date matched the day I found it, so I assumed the time was correct as well. But if someone had written it at 9:43 am, and I left home at 8:17am to go to work, how had the note ended up on my fridge before I got home at 5:56pm? I live alone.
When I got up this morning I looked for the note, where I had left it on the kitchen table. The note was gone. Nowhere to be found.
I assume it will be safe to take a bath tonight.
Linda G. Hill 