A Ghost From the Past

A girl's father is murdered by her brother, and then he commits suicide. When she is starting to get over it she gets a nasty surprise.

I don’t like to think about my past, but this is a story I need to tell. The driving reason for me telling, is to find closure. I am Mandy Hunter, and this is my story. 

When I was three my mother died in a freak accident. She was trimming apple trees, when the step ladder she was using toppled over. She was on the top step, and landed on her back. She was rushed to the hospital, and put on life support. After a week, there was no improvement, so my father elected to take her off life support. 

I was only three, but I remember the funeral like it happened yesterday. The funeral parlor was overflowing with people who came to support my family. All the seats were full, and people crowded the walls. A woman, I had never seen, stood and spoke about my mom. With every word she said, the crowd grew louder, mourning. 

After the burial, everyone came to my house. They brought large platters of food, assortments of drinks, and many bouquets of flowers. Everyone told my father how sorry they were, and hugged me. My brother hid in his room. People stayed late into the night, singing happy songs and drinking alcohol. After everyone left, my father disappeared to his room, without even saying goodnight to me. 

For the next few weeks my father sulked around the house, not saying a word to my brother or me. He didn’t shower, shave, or clean. My brother was forced to cook, clean, and take care of my needs. He did a good job. 

One day my father at last spoke. We were at the table waiting for my brother to finish dinner, and he looked directly in my eyes, and said “I hate you.” He stared a few seconds longer, then turned away and spit on the floor. My brother came in with dinner, and had no idea what had happened. 

When my brother was helping me get ready for bed, I asked him “What does hate mean?” 

“Its a very mean word.” He told me. “You should never say it. Where did you hear it?” 

“Daddy said it to me.” I told him, tears welling up in my eyes. 

He finished helping me, kissed my cheek, and whispered Goodnight. He slipped out of my room, and I heard his feet pounding down the stairs. Everything was silent, then shattering glass echoed through the house. Followed by a scream barely recognizable as my fathers. 

“Who do you think you are? To talk to me like that boy.” 

“I won’t let my little sister be treated bad.” I heard my brother scream back. 

I heard flesh, meet flesh, and a moan. Foot steps followed, and I curled into a ball on my bed. As the foot steps got closer to my door, I heard my brother whimpering. I felt bad, because I knew it was my fault. After that night, I promised myself to always keep my mouth shut. 

The next morning my brother woke me up, and had me get dressed. He led me down the stairs, watching for my father the whole way. The door to his room was closed, and the house quiet. My brother pulled me, by the hand, to the front door. He opened it slowly, and led me outside. He left the door open behind us. 

We started down the sidewalk, and only made it a short distance before a car came to a stop beside us. It was our neighbor Mr. Vercek, he told my brother to get in the car. My brother put me in the backseat, then got in. The ride back to our house was short and quiet. 

Mr. Vercek walked us to the door and knocked. My father answered the door with a smile on his face. 

“I found your children walking down the sidewalk.” Mr. Vercek told my father. 

“Thanks for bringing them home, Tom.” My father said to him. 

My brother and I walked in the house and heard the door thud shut. My brother urged me towards the stairs, whispering “Get to your room, and lock the door.” 

As my foot hit the first step, I felt a hand grab my neck. Next thing I knew, I was on my butt, at the bottom of the stairs. My brother reached out to help me up, and my father punched him. It sent him flying, and he collided with a nearby wall. Turning his rage back to me, he slapped my face, and when I tried to turn away, he yanked me back by my hair, and slapped me more. After his rage was exhausted, he put my brother and I side by side, and screeched “If you ever try anything like that again, I will kill you.” 

After that day names were never used in the house. I was referred to as girl, my brother as boy. Life went on with us getting an occasional beating, and I got very good at hiding in my room. My father started drinking more, and my brother became more distance. 

On the night of my thirteenth birthday, I was sitting in my room wishing my brother would come home. There was a knock on my door and my spirits rose, thinking it was my brother. When I opened the door, my father was standing there, a twisted smile on his face. I tried to slam the door, but he blocked it with his foot. Pushing the door all the way open he slurred “Girl it is time to make you a woman.” 

I screamed and tried to shut the door, but he was to strong. I slapped him, scratched him, and did everything I could to stop him. He has his way. 

Afterwards, I sat in a scolding hot shower, crying, trying to wash away the feelings of disgust, self pity, and hate. I remembered my brother telling me to never use the term hate, but I really did hate him. 

The next day, when I came down stairs, my father called me. I walked to him with my head down trying not to cry. He ordered me to lift my shirt. I did as I was told. Next he took a cigar and burned my breast with it. He laughed and said “Now anyone that looks at that will find you repulsive.” Then he sent me on my way. He continued the cruel deeds, through my teenage years, leaving scars everywhere on my body. 

One day my brother walked in my room while I was changing. He saw the scars covering me, and his face contorted in rage. He left my room, not saying a word. 

I went through the day, as I do everyday, mind numb. Getting ready for bed, I heard my father scream “What the fu--” Then a loud snap thundered through the house. A second later the sound repeated. I ran downstairs, to find my father in a pool of blood, my brother opposite him, in his own pool. I called the police, and told them what had happened. 

After the police left, I went into my brothers room. I touched his things, and thought about all the things he did for me, when I was a little girl. How he helped when mom had died, and the beating he took, when my father told me he hated me. That’s when I found it. A plain white envelope with my name scribbled on it. I opened it and read. 

Dear, Mandy 
I am so sorry I had to do this, but he had 
too be stopped. He never would have quit. I don’t know 
what he was doing to you. He was abusing me, and it was more 
just hitting. I had to take my own life because I could not protect 
you. Maybe in death I can watch over you, and keep you safe. 

Love always, 
Spencer 

After she finished, tears rolled freely from her eyes. 



-2- 

A couple years have past since then, and I was starting to adjust to normal life. I no longer stared at the ceiling all night long, and didn’t break down in tears, when something reminded me of my brother. I even had a friend. Life was great. Even with the three year anniversary of my brothers death looming. 

I started a tradition to celebrate my brothers life, and tonight was the night. 
I was lighting candles to begin the celebration, when there was a knock on my door. It startled me, I wasn’t expecting anyone. 

When I opened the door a translucent form was there. It transformed in front of my eyes, turning into my father. With an evil grin he said “Its been awhile, girl.” 

I slammed the door, running though my apartment towards the bathroom. He floated through the door, following. I slammed the bathroom door, and locked it. He just came through it. 

I cowered in the corner crying not again. Eyes shut tight, so I didn’t has to see what was coming. I felt icy fingers on my arm, the other hand on my stomach. The icy fingers started reaching for the button on my pants. Then the fingers were gone. 

I opened my eyes, expecting to see that evil smile in my face. Instead, I saw two translucent figures, fighting. As they whipped around my bathroom I saw the other figure was my brother. 

He was winning the fight. 

The two battled, ramming into the walls, the mirror, and the toilet, leaving no damage. My brother threw my father on his back, and jumped on him. He pulled something long and pointed out of the air. With a quick movement he drove the object into where my father’s heart used to be. 

My father squirmed and screamed, as a large black talon appeared over him. With a final scream, the talon hooked my father, and pulled him into a mist. 

Still staring, I felt warm arms surround me. I turned, and my brother was hugging me. 

“See I told you, I’d take care of you in death.” He said 

“Thank you.” Was all I could offer in return. 

“I have to go now, but he will not bother you anymore.” 

I nodded, and touched his face. I watched as he faded into a brilliant white light. 

I went to the living room, and sat on the couch, in a state of shock and awe. After a bit I started to wonder if my tradition had anything to do with what happened. 

I know my life will never be normal now.

Author's Note

Was a story to kill writers block. Let me know what you think.

Reviews

[Blue tailed kite]

This is an interesting write.... I liked the part when the brother comes back to protect his sister even after he died...

I just have a suggestion.. the line "After she finished, tears rolled freely from her eyes." could be changed to first person as the rest of the story is in first person too.

Enjoyed it.

[RDOriginal]

What an excellent result from a case of writers block! My efforts to un-clog the literary machine normally results in horrendous nonsense.

You've managed to get a bit of everything in here: a little 'kitchen sink' drama, action and a dose of the supernatural too.

It's quite a brave act to submit a spontaneous piece like this on here as the point of writing to clear a block is that it's like training before a big sporting event: vital, but not going to attract a huge number of spectators. However, you have a good short story here that if you wanted to spend some time polishing and embellishing would stack up nicely against some of the much more considered stories on here.

[Jess.]

I liked this. It was dark and sad, but a somewhat happy ending, as the girl gets to live on, and hopefully have a happy rest of her life.
Again, I like your choice of words, they fit perfectly.

[Coyote Poetry]

The story was powerful. What hate and disappointment can do to us? The story started with strength. Making each characters strong. The poor girl mind would be twisted. To live a life of torture and abuse. The brother had to do what he must. A powerful story with a sad ending. The mind can create ghosts for protection.
A excellent story. You brought me in and held me to the last word.
Coyote