HereafterA Story by Aianarie (INACTIVE) 'His aura traps me here. I am bound to him. Until he moves on, I will remain here forever.'
Knock. Knock. Knock. I looked up from my sketch of a rose. “Mmm?” Dad poked his head in. “Hey. Whatcha doing?” “Just drawing.” “Shouldn’t you be unpacking?” I shrugged. He opened the door a little more and leaned against the knob. “I’m thinking of going into town and getting Chinese food for a late dinner. What do you think?” “Sounds good.” I said, not looking at him. I added some thorns to the rose’s stem. “You’re okay with staying here by yourself for a little while?” I looked at him then. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.” “Hey, it’s a big, not-so-empty house on the top of a lonely hill, it’s dark out and looks like a storm might me coming on, and you’re only sixteen--“ “Dad.” I said, laughing. “I’ll be fine.” He smiled at me and nodded. “Of course you will. See you in a bit. Don’t get lost if you decide to do some exploring.” He winked at me. And with that, he shut the door. I added some details to the rose’s leaves. Then I added some soil underneath the flower. Then there was nothing else I could add. I looked up, staring at the blank wall. It was this weird light brown color. I kind of liked it. Setting my sketchbook on the nightstand, I got up and wandered to the window. It was very dark outside, and I could hear a sprinkle of rain against the roof. I leaned my forehead against the glass and sighed. I was glad that we had moved. It was exciting. I hated my school. Nobody liked me. I was too weird. And our previous home held to many painful memories. My father and I were the type to just let go and move on. But I couldn’t help but feel this emptiness in my heart. I didn’t know if I was missing something, or if it was a spot that was never filled. It wasn’t Mom. Mom would always be with me. Then what was it? There I went again--thinking too much. I was tired, but I didn’t feel like sleeping. I left my room and meandered through the halls. The house was naturally dark, even during the day, due to the way it was built. And there weren’t enough lamps, either. It was quiet too. You could hear a pin drop from anywhere in the house. Dad was talking about putting carpet in the bedrooms and the library. The library. I decided to go check that out first. The stairs were very creaky. I would never be able to get away with a midnight snack. The library was not as large as I was expecting, but it was nice. It had a fireplace, two armchairs, a soft rug, a mahogany baby grand, and forty shelves on either side of the room stuffed with books. I scanned the spines with my eyes. Phantom of the Opera. Crime and Punishment. Jane Eyre. It was mostly classic literature, although there were a few music and history books. I wish I would’ve known my grandfather before he got sick. He seemed like an interesting conversationalist. I grabbed Spenser’s Faerie Queene off the shelf and made myself comfy in one of the chairs. I wished Dad had been there to start a fire. I opened the book to a random page and read aloud-- Where griesly
Night, with visage deadly sad, A crash
of lighting resounded outside, as if to respond to my chanting. I found this occurrence quite
interesting. A tumult of thunder
followed. Before I could read another
line, I heard a noise from somewhere behind me.
I turned. Nothing. It was an odd sound. Not the sort that an old home would typically
make. I ignored it and returned my
attention to my book. Then I heard whispering. Now, I wasn’t the type that was easily
spooked, but random whispering was definitely not okay with me. I stood up and moved to the center of the
room. “Hello? Who’s there?” “Hush! He is out there!” said a disembodied voice. It sounded young and masculine, and seemed to
have come from right in front of me. I staggered backwards and looked
around. “W-what? Where are you?” I heard a sigh, and the echoing
quality of it sent a shiver up my spine. “Are you afraid?” the voice asked. I shook my head. “No.
Just curious.” Was this boy a
ghost? “Promise me you won’t
scream.” he said. “I promise.” I felt the air in front of me go
cold, like standing in front of an open refrigerator. I kept my eyes forward. In a matter of seconds, the cold materialized
into a nose, a pair of eyes, a mouth--a face.
Curly hair and a body clothed in Victorian era fashion. I should have screamed,
maybe. I should have run away and never
returned to this house again. But I
didn’t. I was fascinated. Transfixed in those blue eyes that were so human
and so there. “Hello.” he said. “Hi.” I said, quietly. “What’s your name?” “Rue. Rue Philipps.” “Philipps? Are you related to Geoffrey?” I nodded. “Yeah.
He’s my grandfather. Or…he was.” The ghost frowned. “Was?” “Yeah. He died this past Sunday.” Did ghosts have any notion of time? I didn’t know. “A week ago.” The ghost put his hand over his
eyes for a moment. The air made a slight
woosh sound whenever he moved. Clearly my grandfather meant a
lot to him. “So…what is your name?” I asked. He dropped his hand and
sighed. “Tristan. Tristan de Mallerais.” “So you’re a ghost.” I said.
It wasn’t a question. “Yes.” He glanced at me after saying it. “Does that
bother you?” “No. And what did you mean when you said ‘he is
out there’?” Suddenly he looked very
weary. “Nothing slips pass you, does
it? He
is a phantom whom Geoffrey--your grandfather--named Dark. He isn’t…pleasant. And he doesn’t like it that you’re here.” I swallowed a lump in my
throat. “What do you mean?” Tristan looked
uncomfortable. He started walking around
in a way that only a ghost could. “Since
Geoffrey left, Dark has become very restless.
Sinister, even. Well, even more
than usual. He…” I waited expectantly. “He…just isn’t happy that you
and your father are here.” My heart was beating very fast
and very heavy in my chest. “I--should
call my dad.” “Now wait a minute. Is your father quite practical?” “What do you mean?” “Would he believe you if you
told him?” “Yes.” I said, crossing my arms. “He’s a writer.” Tristan stared at me. Suddenly, a crash rang out from the dining
room area. My first instinct was to
cling to Tristan’s sleeve, but luckily, I caught myself before I attempted to
do so. Tristan looked back at me and put
a finger to his lips. “I’ll go look.” he whispered.
“Stay here and be quiet.” He vanished, and I panicked a little. I listened.
I could hear absolutely nothing except the storm outside. I felt coolness behind me. It was Tristan. “Well?” I said. He shook his head. “A window is open in the dining room. The wind blew a lamp over.” I went into the dining room to close the
window. Tristan followed me. I had rather gotten used to having him around already,
but the idea still weirded me out a bit. “So…um…are you just going to
follow me around everywhere?” I
asked. It wasn’t exactly what I was
trying to ask, but oh well. He laughed and winked at
me. “If you want me to.” I couldn’t hold back a
laugh. “Naughty naughty, Master de
Mallerais.” I said, sitting down at the dining table and folding my hands on
the table top, “Sit down, if you please.” “Well, I can’t really sit, but…” he said, laughing. He motioned to the chair across from me. He managed to make it look like he was
sitting. “Why are you here?” I asked. He thought for a moment. “What do you mean?” “From what I know about ghosts,
they only remain in this world because they are attached to something…“ He hesitated before he
spoke. “Or trapped.” I swallowed. “Trapped?” Tristan looked very sad
now. “Yes. I am trapped here.” “Why?” “Dark’s aura traps me here. I am bound to him. Until he moves on, I will remain here
forever.” “How does that work?” “I’m not sure. All I know is that Dark is much stronger than
me.” he said, lowering his eyes. I reached across the table top and put my
hand over his. It went straight
through. All I could feel was a slight
decrease in temperature. “How long have you been trapped
here?” “Almost a hundred years.” “I’m…I’m so sorry.” He looked up at me, trying to
smile. “Where is Dark?” “Here. Everywhere.
I would be careful. If you see or
hear anything suspicious, let me know.
And if I can’t be found, run away.
Far away. Dark’s soul is attached
to this house. He cannot leave.” “W-what do you mean, if you
can’t be found?” “I have to go, Rue. See you later.” he said. I wanted to yell out Wait!, but he instantly vanished. I felt
empty and lonely after he left. I
wandered around the house. Looking for
him, maybe. I refrained from calling
Dad. I didn’t have the desire nor the
energy to explain everything to him right then.
Instead, I explored the kitchen, the living room, and a few of the other
bedrooms on the second floor. The house
was really beautiful. I understood why Dad
didn’t want to sell it. This house meant
a lot to my grandfather. Apparently it
had been in our family for generations. I wondered to myself if Tristan
was a distant relative of mine. Two doors down from the room
that I had dubbed mine, was a small room stuffed to the brim with boxes and old
looking furniture. I had to use all my
weight against the door to get it open.
When it finally gave, I fell in and unto the floor, dust flying
everywhere. I coughed and coughed for a
while. I got up and shut the door
behind me. To keep Dark out. I realized not long after that a door
wouldn’t stop a ghost. My idiocy annoyed
me sometimes. The boxes were full of random
papers. Recipes, letters, sheet
music. Lots of sheet music. Some were really old sheets of parchment
covered in narrow calligraphy that I couldn’t read. As I dug deeper into the mountain of clutter,
I found boxes containing photographs.
All of the photos were black and white and of people that I had never
seen before in my life. None of them
looked familiar, either. There were
other things in these boxes, old things.
A matching hairbrush and mirror, some small statues, a tea set. I subconsciously wondered how much these
things would be worth on the internet. While paging through a journal
of the same illegible handwriting, a looked up and noticed an odd looking panel
on the wall, now visible since I had moved the tower of boxes that was in front
of it. I got up, dusting my hands off on
my jeans. The panel was a shade darker
green than the rest of the room, and fit into the walls like a puzzle piece. I pushed and pulled on it. I tried to slide it like a Japanese
door. Nothing happened. I guess I was thinking that it might somehow
open, to reveal a secret passageway. Not
going to lie, I was really excited for that. I stood there, arms crossed,
feeling disappointed that it wasn’t.
Then I started looking around for a trigger of some sort. I moved more boxes around. One was very heavy and I dropped it; several
stacks of glass dishes fell out, some shattering across the floor. The sound pierced the silence of the room and
made my heart stop. I hoped that Dark
hadn’t heard that. There was an old bedframe in
this corner of the room. Many smaller
boxes were stacked on top of it. I got
on my hands and knees and looked underneath.
Sure enough, I found a lever. My
heart skipped a beat. I let my hand rest on the lever
for a moment. Oh, how I hoped that it
did something. I pulled the lever, and panel
slid into the wall, almost soundlessly.
A puff of dust clouded my vision, and I had another coughing fit. When the air cleared, I stepped into the new
room. It was tiny, just big enough to
fit a spiraling staircase into. I looked
up. It was completely dark. I whistled.
The sound didn’t go very far.
Reaching into the pocket of my jacket, I found my keys. I switched on my mini flashlight and shined
it up into the darkness. The staircase
led to an attic door of some sort on the ceiling. Attics were not my favorite
things in the world. Against my better
judgment, I began to ascend the stairs.
When I reached about the halfway point, the sliding door shut below me,
seemingly on its own. I started to freak
out a bit. The lamp light from the room
was gone, leaving only the light from my tiny flashlight keychain. “Crap.” I said aloud. My voice sounded weird in that little
space. “Crap, crap, crap.” Thunder roared
outside in response. I continued. When I reached the attic door, I held my
flashlight in my mouth while I tried to shove the door open with my
forearms. Something was on top of the
door. Probably a box filled with more
crap. I didn’t come this far for nothing.
I thought. I took a breath
and shoved as much of my body weight as I could up into the door. It flew open with a loud crash. After my arm stopped throbbing I climbed up,
and found that a small trunk had been on top of the door. It had fallen over, spilling its contents
across the attic floor. Just as I
thought. Crap--excuse me, junk. There really wasn’t much to see up there. It was a large attic, but there wasn’t much
in it. Lots of boxes. An armoire.
A few old lamps and paintings. What had I been expecting? Some sort of treasure? I sat down, feeling more than a
little let down. The storm outside
seemed to grow louder and louder, until it suddenly stopped. The house was silent again. “You shouldn’t be up here.” said a voice from somewhere in the room. I stood up and looked around, flitting my
flashlight back and forth. “Who’s there? Show yourself!” I said.
My voice came out really shaky. I
didn’t sound resilient at all. The voice laughed--I recognized
that laugh. “Tristan!” I cried.
“Don’t do that!” I sat back down on the floor with a loud
thud. Tears had started in my eyes, and I honestly hadn’t any idea why. I wiped them away. Tristan materialized in front of
me, in the same manner as before. He had
a sincerely penitent look to his face.
He knelt (sort of) in front of me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I was only joking.” I shook my head. “No, don’t be sorry. I’m fine.”
I tried to laugh, but it came out as a jagged sob. “I’ve had a long day.” “No kidding.” said Tristan, smiling now. “Why did you disappear so suddenly…earlier?” I asked. “I had to. It’s kind
of weird. Hard to explain. Sometimes I just have to leave…you know?” I shook my head again.
“No. Not really.” I found myself staring at his hands. His hands.
White as sheets.
Transparent. Fuzzy and ice-blue
around the edges, like in movies. “I wish I could feel you.”
I said, reaching out to touch his hands.
Of course, my fingers went right through him. “I want to believe that you’re real and I’m
not just dreaming. Or crazy. I want to believe that you’re the only friend
I’ve ever had.” Tristan looked at me then, really looked at me. I stared back.
I pinched myself, hard.
I wasn’t dreaming. He was right
there. And he was real. He raised his hand and turned it so that he was looking
straight into his palm. He frowned. It was like he was trying to somehow turn his
hand into flesh and bone with his mind.
I watched his hand. Nothing
changed at first, until his hand seemed to glow a little brighter. A little more human. He reached out his hand to me, and I met it with mine. It was such an odd sensation. The air was denser where his hand was, and
much colder. I closed my fingers and
imagined that I was holding his hand, and it seemed to work. I smiled at Tristan, who smiled back. “That’s amazing.” I
whispered. We dropped our hands and sat
in silence for a moment. The storm had
picked up a little outside. “Tristan.” I
said. He looked up at me. “Why are you still here? I mean, why
are you trapped here?” He didn’t hesitate this time.
“I told you before. It’s
Dark. I’m trapped here with him.” “But why?” He cocked his head to the side, as if he found my curiosity
cute. I narrowed my eyes at him. “Sir Derrick--Dark--loved many things when he
was alive. Art, literature, music.” he said.
“This was his house. I believe he
was your great-great-great uncle. Now
your uncle knew how to play many instruments.
His favorite was the violin. He
was also a piano teacher. I was his student. Nay, I wasn’t just his student. I was his protégé. I came here almost every day to practice for
recitals and such. He told me that I was
like a son to him. He and I shared a
very special relationship.” He paused,
and I noticed that he was smiling at the floor.
I felt immensely sorry for him. “As the years passed, however, we seemed to grow farther and
farther apart. I still wanted to learn
piano, but he refused me on a regular basis.
Soon I graduated from grade school and was to move on to further studies
in Europe. It had been months since I
had seen him last.” he continued,
looking very distressed, “I found out, one
day, that Sir Derrick had been involved in the pinching of several very valuable
paintings from Paris. So I paid him a
visit. I confronted him on this matter,
and he got very angry with me. He said
that it was none of my business. I
threatened to report him to the police, and before I could say another word,
he--“ “Killed you.” I said,
my whole being trembling. “Yes. He pulled out
his pistol and shot me dead right then and there.” “What happened to him?
Sir Derrick?” “He shot himself, of course.” I covered my face with my hands. “That’s terrible. Who would know that this building holds such
things?” “There are many in the world like this, I imagine.” Tristan said.
“…And now, we are both stuck here.
Sir Derrick and I. The house was
abandoned for a long while, until your grandfather moved in. He kept me company. I very much liked him. And Dark seemed calmer when he was around.” A thought occurred to my mind. “If you’re bound to Sir Derrick, what is Sir
Derrick bound to?” “I don’t know.” said
Tristan, looking disinterested now. “My
guess would be the house.” I nearly had a heart attack.
“No. I know what it is!” I cried.
“Follow me, Tristan, if you can.” I left the attic and went down the stairs. I was very, very relieved when I found that
there was another lever on the inside of the secret door. I exited and went into my room. I stared at it, sitting on top of the dresser. It was a beautiful, ornately carved violin,
resting on its pedestal. It had to be
it. Sir Derrick’s most prized
possession. “Tristan?” I called
out, but he didn’t answer.
“Tristan? Tristan!” I heard the crash
of something like a chandelier falling in the living room. The storm outside was very angry. I heard many things falling and breaking. Dark. Said my
mind. Dark. I ran across my room and picked up the violin
with the intention of crashing it onto the edge of the dresser. But something swept me off of my feet and
unto the bed, leaving me shocked and out of breath. I had dropped the violin on the floor. I got up as quickly as I could and leaped to
retrieve the violin, but some invisible air current swept it away from me and
out the door. I didn’t have time to think about it. I followed the violin down the hallway,
running as fast as I could. I chased it
down the stairs and into the foyer-- All along the way, I heard Sir Derrick’s voice hissing things
at me. Leave. Go home. You do not belong here. Leave. --I completely forgot that there was a huge hole in the center
of the foyer, where the floor had caved into the basement. Dad said that was caused by molding wood and
termites under the house. He had talked
about patching it up before Christmas. All I saw was the violin, floating in the air above the
hole. I jumped, grabbed it, and held
onto it. I would not let it go. I fell. Fell. My head hit something very sharp and my vision darkened
immediately. I heard terrible shrieking
sounds from somewhere above. With all
the strength I had left, I looked at what remained of the violin in my bloody
hand. A splintered neck, attached to
half of the violin’s body. It was
broken. I thought about Dad, and how angry he would be at me. I thought about the Chinese food he was
bringing for dinner. Wow…he was sure
late. I was starving. But those thoughts soon faded. I love you,
Daddy. I thought of Jesus and Mary and the saints. I thought of Mom, who was surely in Heaven
with them. I wondered if my grandfather
was up there too. Suddenly, all of my pain disappeared. Tristan. I
thought. You are free. I gave myself up to the black. The last
thing I remembered, or rather, the last thing that I can describe in this
humanly means, was a very bright light.
I discovered that this bright light was Tristan. He was so beautiful and so real.
It seemed to me that he wanted to say something, but then he made this
apologetic face, as if he had just remembered that he couldn’t. He took me by the wrist, and we went up. © 2012 Aianarie (INACTIVE)Author's Note
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Added on September 11, 2012Last Updated on September 11, 2012 Tags: short story, paranormal, YA, ghosts, spirit, haunted house, first person Author
Aianarie (INACTIVE)Eugene, ORAbout**IMPORTANT: This account is inactive. To keep up with me, A.M. Wied, follow me at the Facebook link below! Thank you for your support!** Hello~! My name is Ashley and I am a great many things, .. more..Writing
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