A HauntingA Story by TheAllegoristShe was aware of three things. One. There was a solution to every problem, when looked at from the right angle. Two. Once she found that solution, she would be able to work her way towards it unerringly. And three, the last but the most relevant. No matter how many thumps and bumps she heard, and no matter how many cold drafts pressed upon her skin, there was no such thing as ghosts. Mind over matter. Reason over fear. This was not the first time she had gotten separated from the group. This was not the first time, in fact, that they had abandoned her and stealthily followed her with cameras to make the experience all the more 'real.' "Good for the audience, good for the realism," Tod once said, a grin pulling up his pock-marked cheeks. Adolescence hadn't been kind to him. "People can tell when you're acting. But fear, real, deep-to-your-bones fear, ah, that's something that's beautiful on camera. You just remember that. Oh, and you signed a contract, so don't even think about doing any suing for maltreatment." Playing the psychic. Worst gig she could have possibly taken, but so many in the acting profession got their start in the horror department. So many were 'found' after being dug out of the gratuitous gore of a B-rated monster flick. So when the application for a ghost hunting show popped up in her field of opportunity, she knew it would be a good career move to grab at it. As her breath fogged the night air, Jenny began to wonder to herself whether it'd been such a brilliant idea. Rubbing her hands together and tugging her double-layer goose-down coat tighter about her, she pressed her aching feet forward. Three years on a show that was barely breathing, whose ratings were nearly off the charts in the negative category. Three years of enduring nerd-infested conventions and having to deal with every Tom, Dick and Harry asking for her signature while pointedly staring at her breasts. On the bright side, this shoot was somewhere in a supposedly haunted forest in the foothills of the Appalachians. And it was winter, which meant cold and, much to her joy, an inability to stuff the "ladies" into any tight low-hanging tank tops for the benefit of the viewers. "One step forward," she whispered to herself, hearing the snow crackle underfoot. "Two steps back. Place is like a God-damn maze." Another step, left foot in front of the other, left, left, left right left. Like dance steps. She'd always loved to dance, it was her favorite thing to do. To stand on her tippy-toes and pirouette. At the thought, she canted her head back, spinning around and watching the jutting branches overhead whirl. Her arms spread out at her sides, and she had the vague sense of wondering if her pretty pink skirt was swirling with her. Mum had made it for her, tirelessly weaving in the pleats so that when she spun just so, she was like a ballerina. Looking down now, Jenny could see the vibrant circle, spread around her like a flower 'round a pestle, rosy and splotched with funny red polka dots... Cold against the back of her neck. The shock of it drew a gasp, and she sprung up from the snow, scrambling to her feet and shuddering as some of it slid wetly between her collar and flesh. It felt like wraith fingers sliding down her spine. "Stop it," she spat, patting at the snow that had settled on her jacket. "Stop it, Jenny, keep it together." It struck her that quite a bit of the fluffy white powder had settled on her. Had she tripped, knocked herself out? "Of course," the woman murmured, trudging forward. "Yes. Yes of course, that's right. My head hurts a little, even." Reaching up, she pulled her hand away and saw scarlet on the fabric of her gloves. "Not serious," she whispered to herself. "Not serious, head-wounds bleed like a Mother. C'mon Jenny, get moving, get the circulation pumping, that-a-girl." It was getting dark. Somehow it was less creepy this way, though. So she was grateful when the last rays of the sun decided to disappear over the horizon. Now no more shadows lurked in the pale white blanket at her feet. The trees weren't silhouetted like naked skeletons. She couldn't see the stars, the cloud cover was pretty thick, but she had a flashlight. As usual, trusty old Jenny thought ahead. "See? Logic and reason." Reassurance flowed through her as she clicked the button and let the tiny golden ray illuminate her path. "Beacon in the night, Jenny," she chuckled to herself, "Now let's just find that cabin. Mummy won't like it if we're late for dinner. She always gets mad when we're late for dinner. Last time, she slapped brother so hard he lost one of his little baby teeth..." The giggle of a little girl echoed around her as she froze, her flashlight hitting on small, booted footprints on the snow. It was high, warbling, the sort of innocent laugh that should have made her smile. She wanted to puke. Her hand shook, and the light wavered erratically. Her breathing came in erratic gulps, panic spurring, hyperventilation starting to set in. She slapped herself. Hard. Three times in rapid succession, enough that she knew there would probably be a bruise on her cheek later. Breathing slowed back to normal. Her racing heartbeat followed suit, obediently. "Stop it Jenny," she snapped, lips curling into a snarl. "Just stop it. They're all bloody laughing at you right now, or hell, even better, they've called the psychologists in to analyze your mental health. Keep it together. Keep it together." Briefly she ran her tongue over her dry lips, and it came back with the taste of blood. "You split your own lip open, you idiot." She laughed, loud, too boisterously. "Oh, this is prime stuff right here, prime." The beam of light was stabilized, and she kept moving, letting herself keep the laughter up. It helped, made her feel lighter, freer. Everything was going to be perfectly fine. Everything was going to be right-O, supremely okay. See? Right ahead, that was the cabin, all rickety-looking and run down. Half-broken porch, door slightly ajar with broken hinges, dark inside like some hungry monster's gullet. All the comforts of home right in backwoods Pennsylvania. "Gotcha," Jenny breathed. She felt her legs lock as she stared at the structure, knees trembling. The sense of evil was palpable. The aftermath of what was done within those four measly walls. The wind made a soft moan as it pressed insistently against the half-rotting wood. It sounded pained. It sounded like someone dying. Now her steps were mechanical. The old cabin got closer. She felt inexplicably drawn to it. In body only, as her mind was quite insistent that she should just turn around and leave it there. "Got a job to do." Her words were mostly babble, forced through gritted teeth. Sweat trickled along her hairline. Belatedly she thought this odd, considering the bitter cold. After unlocking her jaw, her teeth began chattering. She pressed her weight to the porch, and instantly something wrapped itself around her ankle, biting down with a fury. Sharpness entered her flesh, like the teeth of a wild coyote. She remembered when her daddy used to bring scores of them back, skinned them over the fire, hung their bloody pelts out to dry. Mummy used to always get so angry, so angry, when he got the sink and the counter all bloody. Always screaming and yelling, chopping up the meat with a sharp, sharp knife. Sharp like the pokey-bits on daddy's animal traps. It probably hurt, having that all clamped around his ankle. So pointy. The axe was pointy too, and she brought it down, and down, as she cut him up into little tiny pieces. She didn't see her though, Jenny was such a great hider... Her own scream snapped her back. "Oh GOD!" Her hands fluttered over her foot where it had fallen through the rotted pine. It burned like hellfire, and she could see some of her own blood pooling into the wood. Jenny brought her scarf up and stuffed it between her lips, bit down on it, shrieking again as she grabbed hold of her pant leg and tugged. The foot came free, and she toppled amidst a series of whimpers, alternating between high and low. Vaguely she was aware that some of them weren't her own. But that was ridiculous, silly even. She was the only one out in these woods. Her whimpering turned to laughter. She couldn't feel her foot. It hung precariously by a few sinews. By threads. Should the damage be that extreme? Did it matter? Medical miracles these days, they'd stitch her right up at some hospital. Her laughter was manic. Somewhere in her head she knew that this was a bad sign, as she pulled herself forward, over the porch, over the threshold. Dragging herself past the hanging door and into the cabin. She couldn't stop laughing, even when tears started streaming down her face. "V...very funny guys!" She gasped. "Hah...hahah...hah! You...you can stop now. I. I think we've got enough filmed, right guys? Right? Guys, I think I need a doctor. I need...I need..." Shoulders shaking, she let her head sink to the ground, smelling that familiar moldy odor of the old rug. That old rug was ancient. She remembered how she and her brother made up a story about how the old bear was an evil king, and how his subject had revolted and carved his guts out and sold his hide to some traveling merchants. "You need to shut up, Jenny." The voice cracked like a whip. She knew that voice. Mummy always used that voice when she was really, really angry. "Andrew wouldn't shut up either, he was a very very bad boy. Like you, you're a bad girl. You've got blood all over your pretty pink skirt." Something rough and scratchy moved around her neck. Mummy's foot was pressed between her shoulders, and she couldn't breathe right, not with the old bear-pelt getting its fur all stuffed up her nose. "You know that when you're a bad girl, you have to be punished." Jenny was so little, and mummy was so big. She picked her up like a big cat picks up her little kittens, carrying her easy-as-you-please. Jenny wiggled her toes as she looked down at them. They were all bare, a funny whitish splotchy color, like a dead, bloated toad. The stool mummy stood her on was all funny looking too, all cracked, with mossy speckles. It needed some cleaning. Maybe that was what she did wrong, maybe she was told to clean it and forgot. "You know you've been a bad girl, don't you?" Mummy held her chin, smiling at her. She was crying. "You know that you have to be punished, don't you? You and Andrew, you shouldn't have been spying on mummy. You shouldn't have been spying, and you shouldn't have talked. And now you have to be punished." Jenny looked down at her hands. Her pretty pink skirt wasn't there. She was wearing an ugly brown jacket, all brass-buttoned. Like daddy wore out trapping. She didn't like it, she wanted her pretty pink skirt, with the pleats, and the... "This isn't happening. Mind over matter. Mind over matter. Pull yourself together." Puffs of white escaped her mouth as the woman in front of her smiled. She had brown eyes, warm eyes, with hints of crow's feet. Her hair was speckled with silver. The brush of her fingers over her cheek made her want to gag. Mummy moved in closer, face inches from hers. "Reason over fear," Jenny wheezed, as the noose tightened around her neck. Strangled, her windpipe started closing. "Reason over fear." The older woman lovingly patted her cheek, putting her foot between the stilts of the stool. "There there, Jenny-the-psychic," she murmured soothingly. "Ghosts don't exist." She kicked the seat to the side, and Jenny fell.
© 2014 TheAllegoristAuthor's Note
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2 Reviews Added on April 25, 2014 Last Updated on April 25, 2014 Tags: horror, possession, ghost Author
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