Clash of Cultures

It has been a while (almost 5 months to be precise) I have still been writing, along side my Creative Writing Class, just not posting my work. I am in a bit of a dilemma, it is a couple of weeks before the Creative Writing Class once again begins and I am unsure if I should once again enrol? I do think that at the present time I have got everything I can over the last two years and much of what we will do in class will be repetative of previous courses, however, and this is the dilemma, attending the classes does encourage me to write, I am in the company of some great writers and I have thoroughly enjoyed each and every course. Anyway I have a week or so to decide so I will keep you updated.

Anyway back to my work. We were given a topic (below) which we had to incorporate within a piece of fiction. Duplicity was my contribution.

“The best way she could describe what had happened was; a clash of cultures”.

Successful Hotel Manageress Olivia Greenall, in an act of compassion, invites Polish exchange student Sofia, into her home and life.  Sofia soon becomes part of the family despite the initial pertinacity of her challenging husband Phillip.  When Sofia is discovered, brutally murdered, it becomes clear that Olivia’s empathy for the lonely girl has severe consequences.

Duplicity

Olivia was preparing omelettes for Phillip when she heard Sofia was dead.

As she meticulously melted the butter into the hot pan, the early morning news caused the fat to bubble and congeal as Olivia stared in disbelief at the image of Sofia seeping into her kitchen from the plasma screen affixed to the wall.  Sofia’s exquisite face stared back at her own and Olivia collapsed into the empty chair as the ambitious young reporter shamelessly unleashed the gruesome detail.  As his words permeated, Olivia screamed for her husband.

Olivia had met Sofia at the hotel she managed. A polish exchange student studying Immigration Law at Exeter University, the same university where her own daughter, Ella, had studied Zoology and who was currently buried in the heart of Africa doing her Master’s Degree at the University of Nairobi. “I am living the dream” she would tell her mother, often.  Sofia tugged on Olivia’s heart strings and she gave her the job as a waitress, despite her having no experience and clearly unsuitable for the position.

Sophia was intelligent, yet naïve, breathtakingly beautiful. but possessed no people skills.  Quite often Olivia was met with complaints from guests and customers, however Sofia had nobody and Olivia had an empty nest.  Finally, for the sake of her sanity and impending unemployment she suggested that Sofia may be better suited to a more personal role, as that of a housekeeper in her home.

Phillip took some persuading, he was bigoted and blatantly biased to this foreign intruder.  It had taken him an arduous adjustment to accept his only child, his darling daughter, had preferred to leave for distant shores, such departure did not come without tantrum and tears.   To now encouragingly replace her with an extraneous counter-part met with significant resistance.  Olivia persisted and as she dared hope, once Phillip had regained composure, conquered the culture clash, Sofia became part of the family.

However, it was not all plain sailing.  Phillip worked long hours as an Architect, often from home.  He was demanding and unreasonable, at times unbearable to be around.  Olivia had efficaciously re-established her identity, once Ella left for Nairobi, and successfully ran the Southern Hay Hotel with precision and poise, which often met with resentment and ridicule which Olivia grew to ignore.  This unnecessary umbrage was often unleashed on Sofia, who methodically made every effort to appease him and, little by little, day by day, Sofia managed to integrate herself within the family and Phillip succumbed to a mild intolerance.

Phillip’s thunderous footfalls brought Olivia back to the present, he plunged into the kitchen, dishevelled, disturbed, confused. Olivia fell into her husband’s arms, hysterical, and as he struggled to assuage his distraught wife, he too was drawn to the familiar face filling the screen.

“My god!” he whispered as he took a step closer to the horrific images being displayed.  He turned to Olivia whose hysteria had turned to stupor.

“My god!” he repeated “who would do such a thing?”

Olivia shook her head and began weeping, for all his belligerent bravado he was visibly shaken, taking Olivia into his arms he stroked her hair, feeling her trembling beneath his hold.  Although it was only early morning Phillip poured them both a generous brandy and with two hands Olivia gulped at the burning liquid.

“We need to contact the Police, let them know what we know!”

“What do we know Phillip?  She rarely talked about herself, where she went when she wasn’t here.  You were right Phillip I let sentiment rule sensibility, I invited her into our home and now she is dead, god knows what she got herself into”.

After he finished on the telephone with the Police, Phillip disappeared into his office leaving Olivia to ponder, awaiting the knock on the door.

That knock did not come until almost ten hours later.  Olivia had all but given up and after taking a long hot soak in the bath was securely settled into the swell of her settee, watching the incessant rehash of Sofia’s fate.

“Phillip, they’re here.”

DC Brindle and DI Larkin, were already sat at the vast breakfast bar, before Phillip made an appearance.  Olivia noticed his swollen red eyes and ashen complexion, but said nothing.

“Mr and Mrs Greenall, what can you tell us about Sofia?” and there it was, Olivia thought, such a simple question for such a horrendous crime.  Regardless, Olivia calmly conveyed the last six months that Sofia had been in their life, talking of her fondly as though she were still alive.  Phillip sat, hunched, head bowed saying nothing.

“What about you Mr Greenall?  What was your relationship like with Sofia?”

Before Phillip even had time to digest the question, Olivia reciprocated “oh it was fine, just fine, great actually, took a bit of adjustment didn’t it Phillip? Well it did for both of us I suppose.”

“Adjustment?”

“Yes.  Sofia was Polish, new to our country and traditions, she had a certain way which was different to ours, interaction in the beginning at the hotel, here at home, well it was difficult, caused problems.”

“What sort of problems Mrs Greenall?” asked DC Brindle.

“Well, the best way I could describe what happened was; a clash of cultures?”.

“But you resolved these issues?”

“Oh yes, of course, Sofia is like a daughter to us, part of the family, we are absolutely devastated by what has happened.  We have no idea who could have done such a thing and we are hoping that you can help us find out” pleaded Olivia.

“Well we have, of course, been considering Sofia’s life and we have a few questions to ask you Mr Greenall”

“Phillip?” Olivia looked confused.

“Mr Greenall, before you say anything at all let me finish what I have to say”

A tense silence fell upon the quartet.

“Mr Greenall, as part of our investigation we look deep into the victim’s life.  Phone records, bank records, that kind of thing.  It is clear from those records that you and Sofia were more heavily involved than that of employer, employee.  Well what I am trying to say Mr Greenall is that, it would appear, you were in an intimate relationship, with Sofia.  It is also apparent, from what we have recovered, Sofia was procuring rather large sums of money from you, which she was sending to her family living in Wroclaw.”

“Family?” Olivia whispered.

“Yes Mrs Greenall, Sofia has a husband and three children.  She is, well was, 34 years of age.”

“But she was a student?”

“Yes, Mrs Greenall, she was, a mature student.”

“I didn’t kill her” everybody turned to look at Phillip, as he uttered his first words since the Police had arrived. Tears spilling down his cheeks.

“Mr Greenall, as I was saying” DC Brindle continued “according to the information we hold, you were giving Sofia large sums of money, it is clear from the messages between you that she was blackmailing you.”

“Phillip? You didn’t? You couldn’t?” Olivia whimpered.

Ignoring her DC Brindle continued. “Mr Greenall, you fell in love with Sofia, didn’t you?  You became obsessed with her and agreed to end your marriage and start a new life with her.  She didn’t want that, did she Mr Greenall? You were a means to an end, a way of supporting her family and she emphatically rebuffed this suggestion.  How did that make you feel Mr Greenall?”

DI Larkin continued “the last call received by Sofia on the night of her murder was from your phone Mr Greenall, it lasted three minutes, what was that call about?”

“I didn’t kill her” Phillip repeated but with more purpose “I would not harm a hair on her head, you have to believe me.  Olivia, please believe me, I made a mistake. I am so sorry” he reached for her hand.

Olivia snatched it away “Sorry? What for? Sleeping with Sofia or killing her?” Olivia ran from the room, as DC Brindle arrested her husband.

There was a gentle knock on the bedroom door and DI Larkin’s head appeared.  “Mrs Greenall, your husband has been arrested and taken to the station, forensics will be here shortly, is there anything I can do for you?”

Olivia shook her head, not daring to speak and as the detective’s monotonous tones re-percussed deep within Olivia’s conscious, she thought of Sofia.  The anguish and heartache that soon evolved into a deep simmering rage when Olivia discovered the truth about Sofia and Phillip.  The burning resentment as she discovered the messages of unrequited adoration so flippantly bestowed upon the, not so naïve, not so innocent Sofia, who had destroyed her life after Olivia had shown her nothing but kindness and compassion.  So arrogant were they in their duplicity that they never once conceded that she may know.  The rest was easy.

Olivia left the house just before midnight, after calling Sofia from Phillip’s phone. She took his jacket, gloves and hat and drove his car.  The look of bewilderment on Sofia’s beautiful face upon confrontation, turning to fear and ultimately realisation as Olivia plunged the kitchen knife deep beneath Sofia’s ribs, straight into her heart. The sweet release for Olivia from the ultimate betrayal. Disposing of the weapon, merely minutes from their home and the bloody DNA smeared on Phillip’s clothing, lying dormant, awaiting discovery in his precious office.

“Mrs Greenall?” Olivia jolted back to the present.

“Sorry, what did you say?” asked Olivia.

“Is there anybody you need to call?”

“Oh right, yes, yes there is, I need to call my daughter.”

The End

Broken Chains

Another 10 week course done and dusted.  How time flies.  Final course of 2016/2017 will commence after Easter and that will be me completing 2 years of Creative Writing. I would like to say I am well on my way into my first draft, but I have barely scratched the surface.  The courses keep me busy and with a 55 hour working week, time is a luxary at the moment.  Anyway we finished the course with the mandatory group fiction.  Location was a derelict theme park, within a seaside town with a dark secret. We created our own character and had to pick a further 2 characters to interact with.  Great stories all round, my character was Rebekah a reporter who was returning to the fictional Mysthaven against her will. 

Broken Chains

I scream as the bugs skulk, scratch and pierce my skin, they crawl in my eyes, mouth and nose until I am drowning, plummeting in a sea of black.

I wake up shivering in my own sweat, spots of dried blood on the crisp linen sheets make me shiver more.  Familiar angry gashes pepper my pale skin, throbbing a warning as the demons return and descend, bringing faded scars back to the surface.

When my editor called me to his office yesterday morning, nothing could have prepared me for the bombshell.

“Becky, we’re sending you to Mysthaven” as his words sliced my soul, a thousand images tore through my heart, mainly of my beautiful family.  Whilst he continued with his empty assurances, I stopped listening.

Suddenly my life spooled five years, the fateful day when happiness and laughter turned to screams of terror.  When families were savagely torn apart.  Hundreds of innocent lives snuffed out.  When I became an orphan.  The last place on earth I wanted to be was Mysthaven.

Nana Childs was my saviour, at the ripe old age of seventy-eight she welcomed me with open arms into her home, into her life.  She rocked me when I was tortured by nightmares, soothed me when I missed my family so much my heart was breaking.  She wiped my tears, tended my cutting and slowly brought me back to life.

The drive to Mysthaven was isolated.  Nobody came here, why would they?  I spotted the mottled flag depicting the highest point of the now abandoned roller-coaster.  Further in the distance was the dysfunctional Power Plant, scapegoat for the monstrosities that occurred five years earlier.  I never believed it, still didn’t “Genetic Predisposition” the words caught in my throat and I hurriedly pulled over, jumped out of the car and threw up.

As I approached the desolate town, the familiar bulk of Wilkes (now Mayor Wilkes) blotted the pristine gardens, located just left of the Town Hall.  Despite the raging summer temperatures, there he was, full attire, left-foot awkwardly bent inwards, clutching his trusty stick with the serpent’s head close to him.  I had an impulse to take his stick and beat him with it.  Instead I advanced, slowly.

“Rebekah, long time no see” he sounded jovial, pleasant, however his face sang a different song.  I noticed beads of perspiration, slowly rivet down his podgy face, like a cold glass of beer on a summer day. “What brings you here?” he added breaking the stifling silence.

“My paper sent me. So you’re Mayor now?”

“Paper?”

“Yes, I am lead reporter for the Daily Echo, never thought Mysthaven would be making headlines, five years too late if you ask me.”

“What do you mean headlines?”

I revelled in his obvious disquiet. “Seems a lot of folk have been disappearing.”

“Disappearing, don’t be ridiculous. You allegedly disappeared but here you are, large as life, don’t go picking scabs Rebekah, there is no story here, never has been, just an unthinkable tragedy that ruined this town and everyone in it.”

The mention of scabs had me squirming as the scars on my covered arms started crying out to me.  Suddenly the superiority had shifted.

“Don’t be going upsetting folk now, there’s a good girl.” He lifted himself cumbersomely from his seated position and just like that he was gone.  I suddenly felt like the orphan I was five years ago, my eyes filled and I let the tears flow unashamedly for this godforsaken town and everybody it had taken away.

This was a crazy idea, there was no story here just a lot of theories, innuendos and conspiracies.  Jumping in my car, I headed for the road out but once again my eyes were drawn to the summit of the roller-coaster. A lonely skeleton for five long years. The poles jutted into the sky-line no more vibrant than a naked winter tree. Back when I was a young girl it was a promise of the summer to come, but now, destroyed, decaying it was a symbol of death and despair.

“Becky” a familiar voice made me slam on the breaks. A mop of dark hair appeared in my wing mirror and there he was, Keir Massey.

“Keir, you’re still here?”

“Yeah, afraid so. I am so glad to see you Becks, I thought you were gone for good”

“Yeah you and Wilkes both”

“Wilkes?”

“Doesn’t matter, I can’t believe you’re still here after everything”

“No place for me to go Becks” his face darkened and I realized I wasn’t the only orphan in this town.

“I’m going to the fairground Keir, one last look around before I leave here for the last time.  I am supposed to be doing a piece on the disappearances but nobody is gonna talk to me are they?  Wilkes brushed me off as though I was dandruff.”

“You’re a reporter?”

“Yeah, for my sins.”

“Listen Becks, don’t go sniffing around, everyone who does disappears.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, one minute they’re here asking questions, next thing they’re gone.”

“Keir, if you hadn’t shouted me I would be gone too.  Could it be that they just did a U-turn out of here?”

He shrugged his broad shoulders, maybe, who knows, would hate anything to happen to you.”

“Nothing is gonna happen to me Keir.  Do you fancy coming with me to the fairground?”

“Sure, but we had better watch out for Straikes, he still patrols that place”

We link arms like it’s the most natural thing in the world.  “I miss them Becks, all day, every day.”

I pulled him to me, I knew exactly how he felt.  As we entered the derelict fairground he pulled out his wallet and passed me a picture of his family. I gazed at the happy, smiling faces “that’s the last photo I have of them Becks, took it myself at the flume.”

“Oh, god Keir, I had completely forgot you worked at the booth”

“What? You mean to tell me you forgot our little trysts?” We both laughed as memories of cider-fueled fumbles blanketed the bad.  I felt my heart lift a little.

Suddenly a memory surfaced, of my own family plunging downwards into the trench of water, wet faces, laughing faces. Maddie clinging on to our dad.

I looked at Keir smiling down at me. “Keir, we need to go to the flume.”

We stumbled around the abandoned logs, pitted and rotting.  “Why are we here Becks?”

“Think about it Keir, my family were on here.  Your family were on here.  For crying out loud a third of Mysthaven were on this ride. Keir looked at me, realization distorting his features. “You think it was the flume?”

“I don’t know Keir, I’m grasping, do you still have all the pictures of that day?”

“No, everything was left in the booth and I never went back.” We both turned and looked where the booth once stood.  Now just a pile of rubble. Coincidence?

I started to furiously scratch at my scars, blood came through my long-sleeved shirt.  If Keir noticed, he didn’t comment. “I didn’t go on the ride Keir, afraid of water, but I watched them, they were laughing as they hit the trench.

“That’s what they all do Becks, mouths wide open.”

“Where is the trench Keir?”

“Over there” he pointed.

We walked over to the now defunct trench where the logs landed, it was still attached but the plastic was rutted and cracked. A yellow slime lurked at the bottom.  I took out my water bottle, emptied it on the dry grass and with shaking hands attempted to scoop the slime into the bottle.  “Jesus Becks, watch what you’re doing.”  My arms throbbed angrily and Keir gently took the bottle from me and successfully deposited a small amount inside.

“What are you going to do with it?”

“I have no idea, but we need to get out of here.”

Just as we turned to leave a voice cried out “hey?”

I turned expecting to see Straits, but was surprised at Wilkes hobbling over, his stick fighting for even ground. “What are you two up too?”

“Trip down memory lane” I replied sarcastically.

“I would have thought this is the last place you two would want to be?”

“It is and we’re going, right Becks?”

I stared right into Wilkes’ eyes, wondering what secrets lurked behind.  The bottle felt like a bomb in my hand and I desperately wanted to put it into my bag, but not wanting to draw his attention to it.

“Yeah that’s right.” I replied, finally looking at Keir.

We started to walk away, “I am sorry to you both for your families, I really am, I wish that things had turned out differently.” I had no idea what those words meant, but neither Keir or I looked back.

If we had, we may have seen him take out his phone, see him banging his stick into the hard earth.  Maybe if we had looked back, Keir and I would have made it out of Mysthaven.

The End.

NYC Midnight Short Story Challenge 2017

NYC Midnight Short Story Challenge 2017.  Maximum word count 2500.  My prompts were suspense genre, being followed and coach of a sports team.  When I first read the prompts, I was half asleep (being a USA competition it was early morning) and I thought it was a suspense, being followed and set on an actual coach carrying a sports team, the idea had already began to form when I realised my error so I stayed with it! Whether or not I get through to the next round will be decided in March.  I will keep you posted.

Devil's Ridge

Sarah cowered against the raging torrent and disappeared within the confines of the shelter, temporarily held prisoner with the others by the rumbling storm.  Her Mary Jane’s squelched soddenly beneath her freezing feet.  She cursed her stupidity and mother nature in equal measure. Gingham cotton clung to her legs and her light jacket groaned under the weight of the rain.  What had started as a beautiful autumn morning soon turned to a light breeze with a smattering of rain, which rapidly descended into a screaming squall as soon as she left the comfort of her gallery.

The cold inky darkness sank into the marrow of her bones.  Bouts of lightning burst on the streets and steadily made its way from one end of the town to the other, followed by explosions of thunder in great waves of discordant and demented sounds.  As she huddled, head bowed, hands thrust deep in damp pockets she peered at the strangers who, like her, were captured by the tempest, they too were cold, wet, and miserable.  The noise level became so intense that it viciously rattled the glass panels, startling Sarah making her and the other hostages tremble.  Nobody seemed able to speak, deafened by the roar and one by one her fellow captives were rescued until Sarah stood alone.

He watched her, revelling in the cataclysm of the chaos.  He groaned as her hair danced to the rhythm of the howling winds, pathetically rendered helpless beneath the pitiful shelter she sought.  The unleashed erratic elements thrilled him and his mind hungrily devoured her vulnerability.  The gusty blasts ripped at her thin clothing, becoming transparent through the curtain of rain.  This storm was different.  He had never experienced such wrath, like the black gates of hell had been opened.  Terror dripped like the rain itself from her face he illiberally absorbed her peril.  Suddenly the lights extinguished and she was gone.

Ringing David for the umpteenth time, his familiar cheery voicemail infuriated her.  Was he still at the school?  She glanced over to the huge building and just as she was contemplating hunting her husband down, the floodlights from the sports field flickered and darkened, casting an eerie gloom over her weather haven.  As she listened to the rumbling retreating into the distance, felt the rain wane to a mild tolerance, she opened her umbrella and with furtive steps set off home.  

She was only a couple of minutes into her journey when her trusted umbrella collapsed against a sudden gust of wind and in sheer temper she threw it in the nearest garbage bin.  Battling against the wind, with arms folded firmly over her chest, sheer determination pushed her forward.  Sarah heard a stifled cough behind her and she increased her speed, footsteps mimicked her own and tentatively she turned her head.  There was nobody there.  Again, she plunged onwards but sensed a presence which unnerved her, however each time she turned the streets were empty.  Now afraid she took her phone from her saturated bag and held it close to her.  Sarah didn’t believe in ghosts, but she did believe in predators, in psychopaths.

A growl of tyres, the sudden illumination of headlights startled Sarah to a standstill.  Glancing toward the road, temporarily blinded by the full-beam she watched as the vehicle pulled in toward her, dimming the lights.  The doors opened and a jolly voice called out to her “Mrs Hart, what the devil are you doing out in this weather?” Sarah scrunched her eyes, only making out a silhouette in the door of the vehicle.  “I’m sorry” she said “Do I know you?”  The stranger jumped down, and for the first time Sarah noticed all the juvenile faces peering through the steamed windows.  “It’s me Sarah, Coach James” he laughed thrusting his hand forward, we met a few months back, I work with your husband David?”

Sarah had no idea who the man was, but in all honesty, she had been introduced to so many of David’s ‘colleagues’ that they all merged into one unintelligible blur.  “Get yourself on here sweetheart and we will see you home safely.”  Sarah was tempted, extremely tempted she was frozen to the bone and she was sure somebody was following her, after all a bus filled with sullen teenagers did not really pose much of a threat.  “Are you sure?” she probed “It’s not going out of your way, is it?”

“Not at all, always happy to help a damsel in distress, isn’t that right boys?” a collective murmur echoed around the bus.  Sarah smiled and let Coach James help her onto the bus, taking the only available seat at the front.  She flinched as the Coach sat himself down next to her, too close, thigh touching thigh.  She tried to push herself further into her seat and crossed her legs to avoid his touch but he just edged closer.  

“Did you know I used to teach David football? Ten years ago now, he was a damned fine player too, one of the best, but he preferred the science lab rather than the playing field.”  Sarah sensed a bitterness to his words.  “No I didn’t know that, I thought he had always been a geek.” The coach laughed at this and the mood lifted.  “Well he has done okay for himself, back here at Brookfield, head of the Science Department at the age of twenty-six, all those hours spent in the lab were certainly worth it.” Sarah smiled.

“Where did you meet?” he probed.

“We met at university. I was doing my Art Degree, I got lost looking for the studio and somehow found myself in his Lab.  He was working on a thesis and I was his audience.  To this day, I have absolutely no idea what that thesis was, however after class I went back and listened to him talk passionately for three hours” Sarah laughed at the memory, she loved telling that story.  Coach James fell silent and she glanced at him, the wrinkles and folds on his face were not necessarily prominent but she assumed he was well into his fifties.  She wondered how he kept up with this cluster of boys.  Suddenly he was staring at her again and she withered under his scrutiny.  “You are a beauty Sarah, David is a lucky man.”  He edged even closer and Sarah felt claustrophobic wedged between him and the window.  A small knot of fear coiled deep in the pit of her stomach.

“I think I will get off here, I’m almost home” she declared jumping up quickly, almost knocking Coach James off his seat.  Thank you so much Mr James for your kindness.”

“Oh Sarah, it’s William to you and sit yourself back down, we’re almost at Devil’s Ridge and you live over the other side.  David would never forgive me unless I got you home safely.”  So anxious was Sarah to get off the bus that it did not occur to her that he knew where she lived.  “No I am fine, honestly, I need to pop to a friend’s first anyway” she lied.

“Well if you’re sure?” he replied, disappointment dripping from his lips.  Sarah glanced at the boys who were either staring out of the misted windows or glued to their phones.  None of them acknowledged her in any way whatsoever.  “Don’t mind them lot” he breathed down her ear, “got a proper thrashing tonight, they’re sulking.” Sarah laughed nervously as the bus came to a standstill and she hurried through the open door, fearing the lecherous Coach was about to pull her back inside.  Head dipped she scurried forward and only as the bus passed did she glance up at the sorrowful muddy faces, now staring back at her, nowhere did she see William.  She turned but the street behind was deserted and as the bus headed round the bend toward Devil’s Ridge, Sarah was plunged back in darkness, with only a faint gleam from distant street lights creating monstrous shadows.

This was a bad idea, a terrible idea but Sarah could not have spent a second longer on that bus.  The rain was now a very fine drizzle and the wind had dropped, she couldn’t take the bend, there was no sidewalk and therefore decided to take the shortcut through the park.  Sarah had moved here only six months earlier, newly married and filled with vision, but Brookfield was dull and grey.  Sarah was an artist, she lived for colour, she longed for it, but David was so excited to be returning to his home town, to the school he had attended growing up and Sarah loved David.

He was watching her from within the shadows. His expression was of one being forced to endure the most unpleasant urges. His gaze was unwavering and unabashed. Those grey eyes did not travel up to her face or down to her Mary Jane’s, but they followed her as if really focusing on something a couple of feet further away. Perhaps his brooding nature lead him to be locked in agony as he observed, it was hard to know. She quickened her pace as though detecting his existence, this just intensified his urges.  He silently followed.

Sarah once again sensed a presence.  Her body temperature was depressed and exhausted.  Was she just imaging hot breath on her neck, icy tentacles on her face, the slither of fingers exploring her hair? Was her imagination creating an extraordinary frightening ambiance that really didn’t exist? She stopped several times, but the darkness ate away at her perception, she could barely see.  So certain she was not alone, Sarah called out “hello” but her voice evaporated within the cold murky night air.  Hurrying now, not far to go, she quickened her pace.  Footfalls echoed, were they her own? She didn’t pause, she didn’t stop, she didn’t look back.

Falling through the front door the warmth engulfed her.  What she needed right now was real comfort, strong arms and reassuring words.  “David” she called at the top of her voice.  He appeared in an instant, worry etched over his unshaven face.  “Jeez babe, where have you been?  You’re soaked to the skin, why didn’t you call me?” he reached into his pocket and looked up shamefacedly “you did call me didn’t you? Goddam phone is in the lab.” He pulled her to him, “I’m sorry Sarah, I’m an absolute imbecile, what can I say? I can’t believe you walked all the way home, and in this!”

“Not all the way, I managed to get a ride from a very peculiar colleague of yours” Sarah laughed, all anger and fear dissipated now she was back in David’s arms.  “Well most of my colleagues are rather bizarre, which one?” he questioned. “David, I need to get out of these ridiculous wet clothes, we can talk about it later, why don’t you make it up to me and get me something delicious to eat whilst I defrost in a hot bath.”

“You have got yourself a deal gorgeous” he winked, “anything in particular you fancy?”

“Surprise me.”

Later, David and Sarah sat snuggled on their couch, glass of wine in hand as the flames from their trusted log burner licked, curled and swayed.  “Mmmm David, let’s stay here all weekend, just the two of us” she tickled his neck with delicate butterfly kisses.  “That sounds wonderful, but I have that memorial to go to in the morning.  Tell you what, I will show my face and come straight back, you don’t even have to get out of bed.”

“Nahhhh it’s no fun in bed without you there” she teased, “and what memorial? You never mentioned it?”

“Did I not? Thought I had baby.”

“No, you didn’t, just like you didn’t remember to pick up your phone!” she reminded him.  “What’s the memorial for?”

David sighed “I am the worst husband in the world, aren’t I?” taking Sarah into his embrace he explained “It’s a remembrance thing, an anniversary.”

“Of what?” Sarah probed.

“It happened a long time ago, well ten years ago tonight to be precise. The school football team were returning home after a game, when the bus they were on swerved, possibly an animal ran out, nobody really knows, anyway the bus swerved and went hurtling over the edge of Devil’s Ridge.”

Sarah stared at him “what?”

“I know, it was awful, all the boys were killed, such a tragedy, but you know what made it worse Sarah?” she just stared and shook her head, momentarily stunned.

“I should have been on that bus Sarah; can you believe it? That’s why I must go tomorrow.  I should have been playing that night, but I got stuck in the lab, lost track of time, you know, like I do? They went without me, weird right?”

“Oh my god David” tears filled her eyes and he pulled her to him.

“Hey now don’t be getting all upset, it was a long time ago, divine intervention or whatever you want to call it kept me in the lab that night and I am here to tell the tale.”

“I don’t understand, I saw them, they were there, they were real, everybody was killed?  Are you sure?” she whispered.

“What are you talking about? Saw who?”

“Everybody was killed?” she repeated.

“Yeah, all sixteen boys on board, coach and the driver, the drop was horrific, you know, you’ve seen Devil’s Ridge.  What was strange though, they never found the body of Coach James, they think that he probably got thrown from the carnage of the wreck, ended up in Brookfield River and got swept away.”

He looked at her ashen face, held her trembling body “babe what’s the matter? Are you okay? You’re shaking.”

Sarah stared at him, digesting his revelations and the last few hours became a scrambled mass of confusion, with no reasonable or plausible interpretation.  Did she imagine it? Was she going mad?

“Sarah, Sarah, are you sure you’re alright.

She looked at him, stroking his stubble, “yes, sorry, it’s just such a shock to think that you could have been gone before I even got to meet you.” She curled back into his embrace, oblivious to the cold grey eyes at the window, and released her mind of the terrible images circulating within, after all, Sarah didn’t believe in ghosts.

The End.