A paranormal short story...
Buried
It was night. The frozen field she hadn’t been able to leave was covered in a thick blanket of snow. The amount of cars on the road had become scarce, so she’d given up her task for a while.
Instead she stood, looking down at the little black shoe under the hedgerow. It was a size six and a half, ‘a big girl’s shoe,’ her mum had told her when they were in the shop.
Another car came zooming up the road, headlights full on. They blinked through the bare-bones of the bush. She waved even though she knew they wouldn’t see her.
She walked the five steps to the opening in the hedge. As the car’s lights left a white streak in front of her, she heard another one coming in the other direction. She stood waiting for it to arrive over the crest of the hill.
With its lights dipped, she could see the man inside. She waved. He had a white light running around his head and shoulders, the white of angels. She’d seen a few like that but none of them had stopped. He looked her way and with the expression he wore, she knew he could see her.
He drove on a little but was slowing and came to a stop on the opposite side of the road.
His car door opened and once stood, she saw the light traced his whole body. It was like someone invisible was standing behind him with a powerful torch, shining it right at him.
As he walked across the road, his eyes met hers. She wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. The burning inside her belly was rising, this was bad. She backed away, following the line of the skeletal hedge.
Clouds left his mouth as he breathed. You just have to show. That would be enough. So she stood beside the shoe, waiting and watching.
He walked through the gap in the hedge and turned towards her. Holding steady, she fought the urge to run away. This was important. He just had to see her body and everything would be alright.
He was a tall man, at least six foot or thereabouts. He had the dark skin of an African. He wore a beige woollen jumper and chequered white trousers.
She didn’t leave tracks in the snow anymore, he did though and his heavy footfalls crunched through the crusted blanket.
‘How can I help you?’ he said in a placid, concerned tone.
She wanted to answer but was too afraid. Let him see, that’s all. She pointed. He looked.
He did see it, her fallen shoe and the shredded sock and part of her foot the fox had decided not to eat. He leaned in for a closer inspection. She couldn’t stay here. The rest of her body lay further down the hill under the hedge. She blinked.
That was all it took to get from place to place.
She stood beside her mostly buried body. He was where she’d left him, examining the black shoe now in his hand. She needed him to see her again, and waved.
He looked up to where she had been. When he didn’t see her there he looked around but not down the hill. He rose and spun around searching the rest of the field and then looked down once more at the shoe, held between forefinger and thumb and walked off towards the opening in the hedge. She blinked.
She stood in front of him blocking his path. He stopped when she appeared and stared down at her, face full of concern and contorted. She still couldn’t bring herself to talk, instead she pointed. His face turned. She blinked.
From the top of the hill he saw her and started walking.
When he was near she gestured to the remains of her body. He looked and when he saw he crouched. There was a mound and all that was exposed was her old left leg, stringy and full of dirt mixed into dried blood, from where the fox had gnawed at it.
‘I’m sorry little girl,’ his words were soft and kind.
Something formed in her mind. It was like a photograph, tiny and distant, getting bigger as it drew near. There was a crowd; all dressed in black and standing in a circle. Dotted around were headstones of grey with black and gold lettering. She smiled. It was her burial, her proper burial.
‘Do you know what will happen now?’ she said in spite of herself.
‘Now there’ll be an investigation. Don’t worry, I’ll sort all this lot out and once it’s released they’ll bury your body. That should let you move on from where you are.’
‘You mean I’ll see, Grandad Eric, again?’
‘Yes, you will.’
‘Thank you.’
The image was right there, she could almost feel a part of it. So close she could see the half-sized coffin between the bodies in black.
She blinked.
She watched as the coffin, her coffin, was lowered into the pit. Her parents were there, standing at the head of the grave, huddled and crying. They both had black trench coats, which looked brand new and cosy in the falling snow.
She recognised half the people here as family, the rest she hadn’t a clue. There were three in the crowd with the white light around them. She didn’t look to see if any of them noticed her.
She watched as first her dad threw a handful of dirt into the pit, and then her mum. Everyone else followed suit.
The snow came down harder, great lumps of perfect crystalline flakes landed and stuck to all their heads and shoulders and backs. Two caretakers shovelled the big mound of dirt into the grave while the crowd crawled away. They gave up soon after there was no one left to watch.
She was still here, nothing had changed. Her Grandad hadn’t showed either. She crept forwards and looked down over her coffin, it was still visible. Could that be it? Did she have to be completely buried? It must have been. She waited.
A digger showed up some time later and shovelled great scoopfuls of dirt over her resting body, far quicker than the two men doing the job by hand. She closed her eyes in anticipated wait.
Her Grandad Eric would come now.
She listened to the sounds of the mechanics of the machine, not daring to open her eyes again, just in case.
It didn’t take long and soon the digger rolled away and then everything fell silent and still. She scrunched her eyelids a little more, hoping when she opened them again she’d be in heaven, or at least wherever, Grandad, was.
She opened them again. It hadn’t worked, she was still in the cemetery, a mound covered her grave and there wasn’t anyone around.
This wasn’t right. When you died you were meant to go somewhere nice, her mum had always told her. And there you would forget all about everything you went through in life.
She would have cried if her eyes worked properly. She let out a few moans instead and went and sat at the foot of her grave.
It felt weird looking across at her name on the headstone. Lucy James: it read. Not that it brought it all home, telling her that she was dead. No, she’d spent enough time in the field for that, it just felt weird.
She needed help and for someone to tell her what she had to do next. Her parents couldn’t, she was sure about that. Besides, they were busy with the wake and there was no way she wanted to be anywhere near that.
She sat a while, aware of her headstone but not looking at it, and thought and thought. She stood, the man who had helped find her body, he was sure to know what to do. She could picture him again, in his beige top and chequered trousers.
She blinked.
She stood beside him. The club was held high over his head, coming down. He saw her, mid-swing, and flinched a little, not enough to show unless you were looking. The club hit the ball.
It sprang from its tee and came straight at her face. She didn’t have time to duck. It went right through her nose and out of the back of her head. She didn’t feel it but imagined coolness where it passed through her.
The man looked off, tracing the trajectory of the ball. He looked pleased.
‘I need your help,’ she said. He ignored her and placed his club in his caddy and walked off trailing it behind. Five men, with similar chequered trousers followed. She ran to catch him up.
Walking beside him she kept asking for him to stop and talk to her, told him she was upset and needed his help. He ignored her, didn’t even look her way. He had to know she was there, he’d seen her as she appeared. He played another shot, straight down the centre of the fairway and still carried on as if she wasn’t there.
People were in groups dotted all around the course in fives and sixes. They were on different holes and from what she could tell, there was a hole between the groups, no group was playing the hole behind the group in front.
On the next shot his ball sailed too far right and landed among a small cluster of trees.
When he went in to look for the ball she followed him. He crouched down, looking away from her, ‘Where are you?’ he said, face searching the undergrowth.
‘Are you mad? Talking to a ball, I don’t think it will answer,’ she said.
He sniggered in a hushed tone. Not looking behind he said, ‘I’m talking to you. I just didn’t want my golf buddies to get frightened about what I do.’
Up this close the whiteness around his body shone brighter. ‘And what do you do?’ she asked.
‘I talk to the likes of you, the lost souls that have passed on from life.’
‘Is that what I am?’ He nodded. She looked around, no one was anywhere near, and no one could see him talking to her. Something else and it took her by surprise that she hadn’t thought it odd till now. The grass was lush and the trees were full and flowering. ‘It’s not snowing.’
‘No. It’s been five months since the day of your burial. I was there with you and saw you, but you didn’t look like you wanted to talk. You looked content.’
She was taken aback; she’d just leapt five months into the future with just the blink of her eyes. ‘I was just there.’ The man turned and gave her a puzzled look. ‘I mean at the funeral, I was just there and then when I blinked I came straight here. What does that mean?’
‘Time has changed for you. I’ve seen it often enough before. It’s hard to explain but in a nutshell, you have no concept of time anymore, you can pass through it, as you say, with the blink of an eye.’
She looked at him puzzled, she didn’t understand. It didn’t matter though, she could think about it later. She had other things burning for answers. ‘When I look at you, you have a light around you. Do you know what that is?’
‘Again something I’ve learned over time. It is your way of knowing who can see you and who you can talk to.’
‘But in the field I saw lots like you, none of those stopped, just you.’
‘Not all of us can see and talk to you. Some of us can only see, some can only talk, some, like me, can both see and talk to you.’
‘Oh, so how can I tell which is which?’
‘You can’t, but don’t worry. With my help you won’t need to.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean that something is wrong, that’s why you came to me. You might not know what it is though. I can help you.’
‘OK.’
He stopped talking for a moment. A thoughtful expression etched his face. ‘Do you know what happened to you? How you died?’
She knew alright, she remembered far too well. She couldn’t tell him though, not a stranger. A stranger, she laughed at herself. What does any of that matter now? She wouldn’t tell him though, not unless she really had to. Unable to speak she scrunched her face as if to cry and nodded.
‘It’s OK you don’t have to tell me, so long as you know. I think that whatever happened you have to make peace. If someone was involved go to them and make them understand that you forgive them.’ She didn’t like the sound of that. No, she couldn’t do that. ‘If it was an accident, then you need to forgive yourself. You didn’t let anyone down; it was just one of those things.’
She backed away from him. Here he was asking her to do something she couldn’t. No wouldn’t do. She refused to believe she should.
‘The only way to talk to anyone who can’t see or hear you is to get them while they sleep. Brush their temple with the back of your hand and tell them, make them believe that it’s OK.’ No. No way was she going to do that. But it was too late, his words had started a picture in her mind, a distant one of a man lying in a bed, sleeping. ‘I can see in you that you see whoever it is you need to speak to, so go and make your peace.’ No, she didn’t want this. It came at her though, the picture of the man lying in bed. Growing in size all around, consuming the trees and the shrubbery.
This time she couldn’t control it, somehow his words had done the job for her. She had no choice, she was going and that was that. The crouching man faded and she was there, in the darkened bedroom.
She felt cold inside, which she found odd. She hadn’t felt anything so far, yet here, in the room with this man she felt cold. She should feel the opposite, she should feel hot with fury and ready to, to… Well she didn’t know what, but cold? No, that didn’t feel right at all.
She didn’t want to be here; she should just blink herself away and go spend some time with her parents and stay with them till, whenever.
The room was filled with blue, dark blue all around. The man, in his single bed shifted in his sleep. He faced her; his dark beard ruffled-looking was flattened to one side. She backed away from the side of the bed unsure of what to do.
She thought of her Grandad, he was all she wanted, just to be with him. The only way to do that was to tell this man she didn’t care, that he was forgiven and then everything would be alright. She liked her Grandad, they had spent a lot of time together, always frolicking and laughing. She smiled. She had to go to him, to be with him, to be happy.
The man lying in front of her was in his early forties, and lived alone. This was the house it had happened, she was sure. Not this room, no, below her, in the cellar. The smell of dust came to mind and of mould and damp as well.
She crept forwards, one un-eager step after the other.
At his side, when he was just within reach, she leant forwards and placed a hand to the side of his head, just above his eye. The images of what he’d done flashed before her. It was different though, she wasn’t seeing it how she remembered, she was seeing it from behind him and watched him on top of her tugging at her hair, one hand pressed firm over her mouth.
She remembered the hurt, the pain she felt and the tears she wept. His strength too, the power he had in holding her down. The back of her head stung with the memory of her hair being held tight in his grasp. She’d been freezing inside and with every breath white plumes left her mouth and dissipated about his face. How could she tell this man she forgave him, how? Him doing what he was doing to her, the girl under him with the light-coloured hair.
She snapped her hand back. Her hair was auburn. What she had just seen was not happening to her at all. He was doing it to someone else, but who? What had just happened? What was all this? She didn’t know and knew she had to find out. Her mouth fell open. Was there was a girl down there now, trapped and tethered just like she’d been? She pictured the cellar again and blinked.
It was dark, with no light at all but she could see. The way her eyes used to get used to being in the dark, she could see a dim outline of the room she had spent six months, alone but for his visits. He came sometimes with dolls and they played, and those were rare and were the better days.
It was all changed and instead of the pallets and thin mattress she remembered, there was a small bed, a child’s bed, all clean and neat with pink under sheet tucked over a deep red blanket and matching pillow. The bed was empty.
Had she been seeing a memory? Of something he’d done already or was what she saw something he hadn’t done yet? Was that possible? Could she see into the future? She didn’t know. She’d have to ask the man on the golf course. First she had to go back, back up to The Monster’s room. She needed to do it again and find out all she could.
Back in his room, he snored. She placed her hand as before and took in every detail. She saw red, the red of the blanket spread out all around them. Her eyes were glazed, deep green eyes under a curtain of blonde. They looked frightened and looked up at her, yet they did not see her.
That was enough, she lifted her hand. The man shifted and turned away from her. The bed in the cellar had been too clean and tidy, and something inside told her that what she had seen, he hadn’t done yet. For it to be such a vivid dream she knew he’d seen the girl before, so it had to be something he was planning.
She thought of the man in his beige top and was about to blink but stopped. She needed to know where she was. She headed for the window with its blue curtains drawn. There was a gap, not wide enough to see clearly so she leant forwards placing her face right up to the drape and beyond.
She imagined the fabric tickle the tip of her nose as she pushed her head through. There was a row of houses opposite.
Houses she did not recognise. Beyond them a spire, the church spire she’d seen many times from her garden at home.
Not from this angle though, from the side, left from where she was seeing it now. She looked that way, her house was there somewhere: 12 Parker Street.
With a rough idea of where she was, she blinked.
The man in his golfing attire was walking. She appeared behind him and followed. They were heading out of the golf house, ready for another round. Remembering last time, she said nothing, ran on ahead to let him see her then waited.
At the tee-off, he excused himself saying that he’d mislaid his wallet and was afraid he’d left it in the toilets. He left his caddy and wandered off towards the building, she followed.
Instead of heading inside he bypassed the main entrance and walked out towards the car park. She saw the car he was headed to and blinked.
Sat in the back seat, she waited and when the driver’s door opened she could contain herself no longer. ‘Someone needs your help. Will you, please?’
‘Slow down girl. Start from the beginning.’
The only way to get his help was to tell him everything. She told him about The Monster and what he had done to her and what she’d seen when she put her hand against The Monster’s head. He sat quiet un-interrupting.
When she had finished, the man looked at her with sad eyes, eyes that understood. ‘I see why you found it hard to forgive him.’
‘I will do that if that’s what it takes to be with, Grandad, but not until I have stopped him doing it anymore.’
‘You might not have to. It might be enough that you help this other girl. I believe what you’re telling me and yes I’ll help you. But we have to do it right, we have to be certain before we get the police involved, OK?’
She nodded, ‘OK.’
‘So, where do I find him? We’ll sit outside his house for a while and watch. When I see the girl, we’ll have him.’
It took them a while but the man was clever and they soon found the house where The Monster lived.
He didn’t come home till late that night, alone. ‘Do you want to come back to my house? We can come back tomorrow,’ he said looking at her through the rear-view mirror.
‘No it’s alright. You make sure you are here and I’ll turn up, OK’ He nodded. She saw him in his car in her mind and blinked.
The next night was the same, and the next and the next. On the fifth night she felt a little foolish, she’d kept him coming here for nothing. His name was Tony, and he had two kids and a wife at home. ‘You can go if you want. You should be at home, with your family.’
‘It’s OK. This is important. Neither of us knows when it’ll happen, just that it will. Be patient.’
She bowed her head and said nothing. They sat in silence a while. ‘Do you think you can go to the cellar again?’ he asked not looking at her.
‘Yes why?’
‘You should check to make sure she isn’t there.’
She pictured it and blinked. When she saw that it was empty, she blinked herself right back. ‘She’s not there.’
They watched in silence as the lower landing light went out, and then a short time later, the light from the upper floor window winked out.
‘Do you think you can remember what you saw when you put your hand to his head? I know it’ll be hard but it’s important.’
She didn’t want to, never wanted to see that again, but he’d asked and if it helped. ‘Yes,’ she said in a whisper. Closing her eyes she saw it all again, The Monster on top of the girl.
‘Just concentrate on her, never mind The Monster and what he is doing, ignore him. Tell me what you see?’
‘She is about five or six, with blonde hair, cut shoulder length. It’s messy now and all tangled and needs a good wash. She has green eyes.’
‘What else? What is she wearing?’
‘A white dress covered in flower-heads; lots and lots of red flower-heads with yellow centres.’ The car’s engine started and they moved off.
They stuck to the main streets, following the signs to the town centre.
When they came to a stop they were outside a clothes shop. There in the window was the girl’s dress; except it wasn’t a dress but a nightie.
‘I’m no detective,’ Tony said, ‘but that tells us one of two things. He either took her at night, or he bought that nightie. Tomorrow I’ll see if I can find out more about it, see if it’s only sold here. That way if the police ask, we have something to tell them. They may be able to find out who he is, if this is the only place they can be bought.’
She nodded, pleased that she had been a good help.
The next night, Tony had come with two flasks and a box full of sandwiches. ‘We’re staying all night, just to see if he goes off anywhere.’
The Monster came home at his usual time. Tony told her that his investigations had proved that there was only one place to find and buy that nightie. Which although wasn’t solid proof, it was something and something was always better than nothing.
Soon all the lights went out.
‘Can you think of her again? I know it must be difficult, but it is important. I’m a believer in things happening for a reason, and I think that is the case here in that you came to me. I want to see if I can recognise her.’
She did so again, recounting everything she’d told him the night before.
‘Look at her,’ she heard him say. ‘Really look. Is there anything distinctive about her?’
When she looked she couldn’t see anything, then the girl’s head turned and looked away from her. ‘Below her left ear is a birthmark, so small it’d be hard to see if you had your hair done right. It is star-fish shaped and looks to be coming out of her lobe.’ She let the memory fade.
Tony looked off in thought and looked to be trying to piece her together, in his mind. She looked across the way at the house. Beside The Monster’s house was a gap between it and the one next door. It was dark as pitch there but she could tell there was no one in the alley.
A light came on round the back, on The Monster’s side. The car rattled into life and lurched forwards. ‘I think I know who she is.’
‘Go, I’ll find you in a minute.’ She took note of his light-blue shirt under cream coloured jumper and then blinked.
In the alleyway she walked forwards, guided by the dim light. When she was near the end she saw The Monster walking away from her, white plumes left his mouth as he ventured over the thin-trimmed grass. He was dressed in dark colours from head to foot and when he put his hand down to his side she saw a small orange glow between his fingers.
He was headed to the rear of the garden, where a four-foot high fence awaited him. In its centre was a gate, he left the garden without a sound and headed left along the back alley.
She blinked.
The car had come to a stop. Tony was looking out at a house on the fringes of the town.
‘Where did you go?’ he asked. She told him The Monster had come out and which way he’d gone. ‘That alley goes to the railway station. If you cross it, there is another alley that comes out over there.’ He pointed to a lane further along the road. It was near the end of a large garden attached to the property they were now watching.
‘This is Hal’s house,’ he told her. ‘He is the caretaker of the golf course. I’m sure his daughter has the same birthmark you described.’
Whilst they waited he told her more of Hal’s daughter, which school she attended, and the times she’d been up to the course. Of a party he’d attended right here for Hal’s daughters’ sixth birthday. ‘There was a bouncy castle over there,’ he pointed. She pictured it in her mind, with kids jumping and laughing and screaming.
After a time, a dark figure emerged from the very spot Tony had indicated. He skulked along the pavement, coming towards them, then crossed over, looked about then jumped the two-foot wall bordering Hal’s garden. He stuck to shadows, creeping between tall bushes.
Tony opened his door, slow and quiet. When he was out he closed it too, with only one click, then quick footed his way to the house. He dived over the wall and stuck close to the house while making his way to the rear. At the corner he peered out. The Monster was lurking, twenty paces from a set of patio doors, hidden behind what she thought was a fuchsia bush.
The Monster came out and headed for the doors. Tony ran around the corner, straight for him, yelling for Hal as he went. She blinked and appeared ten paces behind Tony. He took another two strides and lunged at The Monster. ‘Hal!’ he called again. Lights went on somewhere in the house whilst the two men battled. She thought she saw something glisten while the two men brawled on the floor.
Light appeared right next to her and soon a short man in pyjamas and dressing gown fought with curtains and opened one of the windowed doors. He came out and ran at the fight.
The Monster had rolled over and lay on top. She had seen something glisten; it was a knife he now held, poised and ready to stab into Tony. Hal stopped him though and dragged him off. Tony was quick to react and leapt up, helped Hal and somehow managed to retrieve the knife. Hal took a blow of The Monster’s balled fist to his head. On his way down, Hal punched the feet from under, The Monster, who went down as well.
The two fought whilst on the ground, one hitting the other. Blow after blow on head and chest. The monster managed to roll on top of Hal and punched him again and again. Hal kicked out trying anything he could to get him off.
Tony shoved him and he rolled off and onto his back. He then stamped on The Monster’s head and kicked him in the side. The Monster swung out with feet and leg and caught him a blow to his shin. Tony went down over him. In the panic and confusion he let the knife fall from his grasp. It went down, stabbing into The Monster’s chest. Tony landed on top.
The Monster screamed.
Everything went still and quiet.
She walked over. There was blood coming from The Monster. She wasn’t sure if she should be happy or sad but couldn’t ignore how the cold in her belly was diminishing.
Another figure emerged at the foot of the garden. An old looking man, with grey hair and clad in a white cloak. He came at a leisured pace towards them.
‘Go to him,’ Tony said. Hal grunted, quizzical. ‘Don’t worry about it. I’ll tell you later.
The newcomer smiled at her as he came closer. She saw him then, it was Grandad Eric. She ran to him and jumped at him. He caught her and held her tight to his chest. He turned and walked back the way he had come. As she spun she saw the two men still sitting on the ground. ‘Thank you,’ she said.
Tony winked at her and smiled. The Monster’s body, lay unmoving beside him, was glowing red. There was movement. A glowing copy of The Monster rose, it was transparent. ‘Grandad,’ she said in a quavering tone. ‘Look.’
‘What is it?’ he said putting her down. When he spun, The Monster was fully upright and walking towards them. He looked confused. She could see right through him, red covered his entire new self.
Her granddad walked on to meet him. For a moment she thought he’d hit him, but he didn’t. Instead he leant forwards and spoke in his ear. When he turned, The Monster vanished.
He picked her up again and carried her away. ‘Where did he go?’
‘Don’t you worry about that, let’s just say not anywhere near where we’re going.’
‘You mean hell?’
‘No, there’s no such place. No, he’s going somewhere to take penance for what he did to you. He’ll endure suffering, not like you did, but bad enough.’
‘How long will he be there?’
‘For as long as they see fit.’
‘Who are they, Grandad?’
‘Oh enough questions, come on, we have some fun to catch up on.’ His hand rubbed her back.
She looked once more at Tony and Hal. Beyond them a figure was standing among the net curtain of the patio doors, a girl. She wore a nightie, a white coloured nightie covered in red flower-heads.
The End
