The Song Of The Bombers

Elisabeth

The old mansion stood against the clear blue sky under the hot summer sun. On the gray stone walls grew brown and burned grapevines and the garden was overgrown, its tall weeds and flowers touching the wooden exterior shutters covering the lower windows. On the steps of the front porch a sparrow knocked a snail shell against the stone trying to break it. On the lawn, between the common plantains and meadow buttercups a lost, lonely toad croaked in a sad tune. The mansion was decayed, its basement filled with water damage, the red paint covering the inner walls had lost its former glory, and the attic had been taken over by rats and bird nests, but I loved the building nonetheless. It was mine, and I had gotten it for a fair price. The war had left the land torn, the countryside worn out, and the mostly abandoned villages struggled forward slowly towards better times. As a woman, I had benefited from the war since there had been a lot of work for me after men left to the battlefront. That was how I had been able to save enough money to buy the mansion. It was not the best house on offer but the broken beauty of the property fitted my state of mind well. It would be beautiful once more after some work, I thought, like this country would too.

I leaned my bicycle against the gate and lifted the braided basket from the carrier. In it was everything I needed to bring to the mansion first: the end of a bread, shaker of salt, a bottle of expensive cognac and Mimi, my dear collector’s doll. My parents had given her to me for my fourth birthday. Her beautiful blond and curly hair was long, her dress Victorian style and beaded with golden stones, and the long, black lashes shadowed the crystal white eyes. Her skin was porcelain and felt cold to the touch. I had always hoped to find other such dolls as well and become a collector but they were extremely rare.

Inside the mansion I swept and washed the thick layer of dust covering the floors. I lit a fire in the stone fireplace but the chimney was not working well so the smoke filled the room. I made a bed from a mattress on the floor in one of the rooms upstairs. I opened the shutters on the window and the orange glow of the setting sun flowed inside. The oak trees outside painted moving shadows on the walls. This is the first night in my new home, I thought and opened the mahogany cover of my diary. In it I wrote: I and Mimi, we are finally home. The war is over and the land, teared by the bombs, is starting to grow crops again. Soon people will have money to buy food and nice clothes. The summer is at its best, I need to enjoy it before autumn comes and the mansion needs to stay warm.

I woke up in the middle of the night as it had gotten really cold. I noticed, I had kicked the blanket away. I stared out from the window in to the moon that shined pale blue outside. It lit the room and I was able to see the remaining dust balls swirl on the windowsill. The mansion was silent, the only thing I could hear was a raven cawing somewhere. I pulled the blanket up to my ears and brushed my hands against my arms to warm up. Suddenly, I heard something else. A quiet hum from the horizon. It bounced on the walls around like a wild beast circling me. I froze and breathed silently. The sound, it was too familiar. I had heard it too many times before: an enemy bomber. But the war was over, so it could not be. I hugged Mimi and looked into her glass eyes, filled by moonlight, so deep into them that I could dive into childhood memories. I could remember the summer night’s grass brushing my bare feet, I could feel the warmth of the furnace on Christmas, I could smell the fresh baked plain coffee bread my grandma used to make, and I could hear my brother’s laugh in my head. My brother who left to the front six months ago and never returned. I tried to concentrate on those good memories so that I could not hear the sounds of the bombers approaching.

Then, I was awakened by the yellow morning light filling the room. Was it all a dream? It was as if the night turned in to morning in a blink of an eye. Instead of hearing a bomber closing in I heard a fieldfare sing. Actually, it sounded more like an old man laughing. I looked out of the window and saw the morning dew glistening on the trees and a thin veil of fog squirming on the ground. I got up to make some coffee but realized that I had no beans. I fetched water from the well, broke a piece from the hardened bread and fried it on a pan. I washed it all down with a glass of cognac.

I spent the day in the garden, cutting the burned vines, pulling countless weeds from the ground, and washing the mold from the stone walls. I was irritated when I realized just how much work it would take to return the mansion to its former glory. It would take months and I would surely need some help. I had a headache for I had forgotten to drink enough in the hot weather. My thumb was hurting from all the pulling and my knees felt sore from sitting on the ground for such a long time. I decided that that was enough, got up and started making my way inside. Something made me stop and I looked at the driveway painted by the setting sun. Suddenly, I felt dizzy and I could see how the air turned black and gray from the dust that fell from the sky. The plants and flowers died in front of my eyes and there was fire on the streets. The neighboring houses had turned into piles of stone and there were body parts sticking out under them. The mansion had moved and the scene seemed out of place. I was so petrified I could not move. In the middle of the smoke and ashes I saw a man. It was my brother. I yelled his name but then I heard the bombers. I closed my eyes and covered my head in my arms as it was hurting. Then, after a few seconds, the pain went away and when I opened my eyes I could see everything had returned to normal: the warmth of the sun touched my skin gently, the birds in the trees were singing, all the flowers boomed. Was it all a dream? Or had I gone completely insane? I ran inside and into the kitchen, where I sat at the table and trembled in terror. I did not know what to do.

In the night I could not sleep. I was walking through the mansion, making a list of things I would need to renovate. The giant, broken chandeliers and the old family portraits of which I did not know who the people in them were, all that historic beauty could not be belittled even by degeneration of the past decades. I was still in awe. I could not digest that it all was now mine. I sat in front of the old fireplace and placed Mimi on my lap, hugging her. To be honest, I was a little afraid of being alone. My mom had died at childbirth when my brother was born. I was two at the time. My father had passed away due to a pneumonia few years ago. My brother never returned from the war, I did not know whether he was dead or alive. And there was no one else left of our kin that I knew. I had never married, perhaps because I was too independent, too stubborn, and now, at 30-years-old it was too late. I felt lonely. And I was a woman so I would not be able to pass on our family name anyway. Would the last of Every die with me?

Suddenly, I got a feeling that someone was staring at me. The hair on my back rose and could imagine someone standing behind me in the room. Slowly, I turned my head and moved on the floor. The old wooden boards creaked. My eyes met the big windows facing the garden and I could see a figure standing in the shadow of the lilac tree. I sighed startled and pondered whether I was dreaming again. Would the war return to hunt me once more? No, this was different. The figure was an old woman with a scarf wrapped around her head. I felt a little curious.

I got up and walk to the window. Outside the woman was staring me. I waved at her and to my surprise, she waved back. I was now sure it was not a dream. I ran through dark rooms and hallways to the door and outside. My feet were bare and the wet grass felt cold under them. I ran to the lilac and the woman was still there, standing under the tree.

“Excuse me? Do you live nearby? I moved here just few days ago, my name is Elisabeth, nice to meet you”, I introduced myself and reached out my hand. I was thinking how weird it was, standing in the garden in the middle of the night talking to a complete stranger.

“You came with the doll?” She asked. In her eyes she had a glazed look and I realized, she was talking about Mimi. Suddenly, I felt unsure.

“Hmm… Yes, I had a doll with me when I moved”, I answered. The woman’s eyes moved and she now looked straight at me. Her eyes were smoky white and looked like she might be blind. She stepped out of the shadow of the tree and I could see that her face was not old at all but covered in holes as if the skin had partially melted away. I got scared.

“You should not be here, the bloody mansion should be burned to the ground”, her voice rose.

“I don’t understand… Sorry, I think it’s best if I go back inside...” I whispered. Right then the woman charged forward and grabbed on to my arm with both hands:

“The poor girl, look at me!”

I was terrified and yanked myself free. I mumbled a quiet ‘sorry’ and ran back inside. I was shaking. I ran all the way to the room upstairs, threw myself on the mattress and cried on to the sleeve of my shirt.

The next morning I felt silly that I had been so easily scared. I continued my work in the garden and enjoyed the sunny weather, even though, I had already burned my shoulders and they now glowed red like a boiled lobster. Fortunately, I was wearing a brimmed hat that covered my face. The cotton garden gloves were full of blades of grass and thorns from the rose bush. I combed my hair on my neck as it was sticking on to the skin from sweat. Then, like a lighting strike out of a clear blue sky, a white light blinded me. I tried to blink but I could not see anything. After a while, the light was gone and the world turned dim and gray. It was followed by a loud rumble and I felt unable to breathe. It was as if my heart was being ripped right out of my chest. I tried to yell but I felt like my face was melting from the excruciating heat. My hands and feet felt numb. It was as if I was being shred to pieces. And then, in an instant, it was over. I was sitting on the grass, in the summer day’s warmth, holding dead roses in my hand and in the lilac tree the robins were singing.

When the evening came, a glistening dew covered the leaves and the tree trunks. I was sitting at the kitchen table, tired. I was just falling asleep when I heard my brother’s voice. It was loud and clear and I recognized a line from an old prayer. I jumped, now awake and hit my head on the glass of water laying on the table knocking it over. Right at that moment I heard my brother scream. I got up and looked for him but there was no one there with me. I felt terrified. I felt chilly. I walked to the window that was open and as I was closing it I noticed the woman outside. She was walking in the garden, her head pressed down. I felt goosebumps but for some reason I yelled to the woman, invited her in.

We were sitting around the kitchen table, staring at each other. After a long while, she removed the scarf covering her head and gently folded it on the table. I stared in horror at her bald head, the broken, bloody skin, and her eyes that had no lashes and looked blind and murky white. I was thinking that she might be suffering from a disease of some kind.

“Tell me about your brother”, the woman asked suddenly. I was puzzled.

“My brother? He was lost during war, I don’t know where he is.”

“Wrong. He returned from the battle two years ago”, the woman said in a soft voice. I did not understand. I tried to say something but the words got stuck in my throat.

“Elisabeth. Look at me. Really look. Don’t you recognize me?” She asked and I looked. I did not recognize her. I shook my head.

“You see. I moved in to this mansion over two years ago, when the war was nearing its end. It happened on that street, I was standing there...” The woman explained and pointed to the cobble stone street outside.

“That’s when the bomb was dropped. It hit me hard, there was not much left of me, as you can see”, the woman said and spread her arms around her face.

“This bloody mansion, it survived somehow. With my last strength I dragged myself onto the property as I knew that I had to die here in order to stay in the mansion as a spirit.” I could not understand a single word so I let out a nervous laugh but she kept going:

“The mansion went to my brother when he came back from the war. But he should’ve never stayed and he should’ve never kept the doll. Mimi.” I could not breathe.

“Yes. Spirits are an interesting thing. There’s not just one inside a person but there’s several. You attached yourself to Mimi and chose to forgot, to deny what happened to us when we were one. That’s why you could keep your beautiful face but mine is gone. I am the picture of how we were when we died.” My head was spinning, I felt like I could throw up.

“You can sometimes see your brother, hear your brother, because he’s living in this mansion. Look closer. Look real close.” And I looked. The rooms around me changed into beautiful colors, filled with new furniture, brightened up by new paint, and right then I saw my brother sitting at the table where the woman had been sitting a second ago. My brother looked old, sorrowful and in his arms he was holding Mimi. I looked in to the crystal cold, white, blind eyes of the doll and saw in them a reflection of my bloodstained, disfigured face torn apart by the touch of a bomb.

The Frozen Ghost

Victoria

The cold wind whispered in to my ears and the waves crashed against the rocks shattering into a thousand tiny droplets on to my face. The sea was getting restless, I thought and pulled my hat deeper on to my head so it would not fly away. I was sitting on the warm rock and the autumn sun burned my bare legs and arms but the wind came from north foreshadowing winter’s come. My fishing rod quivered attached between rocks beside me but it attracted few fish. I stared at the sea and the tiny island, with a big and beautiful old lighthouse, in the horizon. It was called Beacon Island. During my 19-years of life I had never seen any light in there, it had been abandoned for a long time, I figured. I sighed and stood up trying to pull my long dress down so it would not rise in the wind. I grabbed the metal bucket beside me and examined the two tiny perch inside it.

“You go back now”, I told them and flipped the bucket so that the minnows dropped out with the little water in it, down back into the sea. Before they reached the water the wind grabbed them and for a while it looked as if they were dancing in the air. I took my fishing rod from between the rocks and reeled the line in. Then I climbed down the slippery, black stones to the sandy shoreline and started making home with the rod in one hand and the empty bucket in the other. The autumn sun had warmed up the sand and it felt nice under my bare feet.

I did not get far before I noticed someone approaching me along the shoreline. I stopped and squinted my eyes. The blond strands of hair too short to reach my braid were pushed on to my face by the wind and I could not see well. I was able to make out the person only when she was really close to me. I saw how a dark-haired young girl jumped towards me. She was wearing a denim overalls and a burgundy shirt under it. She was waving at me and I waved back. I did not remember seeing her before and in our closed island everyone knew each other. Beside the girl strutted a huge, furry Bernese Mountain Dog with its pink tongue lolling out as it went.

The girl stopped in front of me and the dog halted beside her obediently. The animal looked at me curiously.

“Hello!” The girl blurted out a loud greeting and tilted her head to the side smiling.

“Hey”, I answered unsure.

“You aren’t afraid of dogs, are you?” She asked. Her short, dark hair was swirling wildly in the wind. I shook my head and the girl muttered a release command to the dog. Right away, the big dog jumped and ran to me happily. It circled me sniffing and wagging its tail, licking my legs. I would have crouched to pet the creature if my hands were not full.

“My name is Annie. We just moved here, or not here but there”, the girl explained and pointed the island were the lighthouse was. I looked at her puzzled.

“I am Victoria. You moved into the old lighthouse? No one’s been there in decades.”

“I know. We rented a cabin here and will live in this island as long as it takes to renovate the lighthouse. Mom and dad plan to make it our home but an attraction to visitors at the same time”, she went on exited. I did not like what I was hearing, I did not care for outsiders, they scared me.

“Tell me, Victoria. Could we become friends? I haven’t seen anybody of my age in the island but you”, Annie inquired. I nodded smiling, even though, I gathered she was at least three years younger than me. Annie returned the smile.

We became good friends with Annie quickly regardless of the age gap. Annie turned out to be five years younger than me but mature for her age. We spent a lot of time on the beach even though the weather had gotten chill and the temperature dropped on the minus during nights. Bambam, Annies’s Bernese Mountain Dog, was always with us and I liked the dog a lot. I had been an animal lover since birth and my family had always kept pets such as sheep, chicken and cats and our neighbor had three Shetland Ponies. I was raised with animals. Bambam was a well-trained, little dumb but cute, big fur ball who adored his owner. Bambam also had a deep love for ball games. Annie once showed me Bambam’s ball collection she had under her bed in a shoe box. It was filled with different sized and colored balls that Bambam had found. Every time we went for a walk he seemed to find something resembling a ball.

Four weeks went by and the cotton-like first snow fell gently in to the ground covering the brown grass burned by the sun. The renovation of the lighthouse was ready and Annie invited me to a sleepover in her new home in Beacon Island. My parents were fond of my new friend and gave me the permission right away. Of course, I was old enough to make my own decisions but I still respected them highly and asked their opinion every time before doing anything. So I, Annie and her mom and dad, we took a rowboat to Beacon Island. After the cove would freeze during winter, we would be able to walk on the ice and get to the island that way. Annie’s parents let us get off the boat and then they turned and rowed away. They had agreed to us spending the night in the lighthouse alone. I found it very exiting!

The lighthouse looked tall and robust in the winter sun. I had never seen it so close up. The outer surface was decayed and rough and the rock underneath was covered in slippery, black ice. The door inside opened with a creak and everywhere smelled of detergent and chloride. Interior stone walls had been painted with light and colorful tones and there were paintings on the walls that depicted old sailing ships at sea. There was new, modern furniture and it looked like any house, really. Although, I had no clue as to what lighthouses would normally look like on the inside. My grandmother and grandfather had told us not to go to Beacon Island when we were little, I did not recall why. Nevertheless, there had been so many things to do in our own island that I guess it was why we never even tried coming here to see the lighthouse back then.

Long stairs crept up the walls all the way to the top. I followed Annie as she introduced her new home to me. On the very top, there was the beacon I had never seen lit. Around us circled big windows and the scene was breathtaking. In a bright day like that you could see so far. I had never imagined anything like that. Winter sky was clear and baby blue, the sunlight was reflected by the sea and I could make out all the nearby islands. I found our house peeking in the distance, it looked very different than the picture I had in my mind. I saw sheep pacing slowly across the island, scrabbling the thin layer of snow in order to find dry branches under it. Two hungry seagulls flew over the sea searching for a meal. I admired the beauty of the landscape and felt a little sting of jealousy due to the fact that Annie had the privilege to live in a place like that.

At the nightfall we made a little nest from blankets to the couch and stayed there munching treats and playing card games. Bambam lay beside the couch under our feet begging for scratches. He had already given up what came to the treats as he knew we did not share our food. It was pitch-black outside but inside we had a dim light and a couple of orange, beeswax candles burning on the coffee table. After the serene day the wind was now rising and we could hear it whistling through the walls. The hand on the clock had already passed midnight and the temperature inside seemed to be dropping so we dug even deeper under our blankets.

We were just starting a new game when the lights suddenly flickered.

“Oh, it seems like it’s going to be a stormy night”, Annie said and kept dealing. The lights flickered again and were then cut off completely. A frightening darkness swallowed everything around us and I could see nothing but the candles on the table and Bambam’s face beside them. The dog got up and started pacing around whining.

“Phew, lucky we had the candles otherwise we wouldn’t be able to see anything”, Annie said jumping off the couch and dropping her gray blanket on the floor. I felt anxious as I did not like the dark. To be honest, I was scared of the dark.

“Come Bambam!” Annie whistled. “We have our own generator but I can only access it from the outside. Don’t worry, I try to get it working and we’ll have the light back in no time”, she assured me and grabbed her dog by the neck fur gently to guide him to the door. But Bambam disagreed. He got free and started growling at the door. It was too black for me to really see the dog well but I heard from his voice that the hair on his back rose up. I got up and stumbled towards the girl and the dog. Annie sighed theatrically at the dog and opened the door. The strong wind forced itself in and messed up my long, blond hair.

It was dark outside but the thin snow shined a little. I was terrified and froze in my place. Even though, it did not feel too cold outside, the sea was frozen! Waves had turned into clear ice in the middle of movement and the wind made the light powder snow swirl on it. The dim moon was shining through the stormy clouds in the sky.

“It’s not possible”, Annie whispered and stared at the sea as if she was bewitched. I knew, I looked the same. Right then, I saw a figure gliding through the ice towards us. It was a man wearing a giant raincoat. He stretched his arms towards us and lifted his head so we could see that under the hood there were no face at all, just black emptiness.

“Get inside, Victoria! Now!” Annie yelled and pulled my arm. My legs felt as if they had turned into liquid and I could not move. Annie managed to get me moving nevertheless, and pulled me inside closing the door behind us. She was panting in horror.

“What was that?” I was able to ask. Bambam snugged himself against my legs and whined scared. Even in the darkness, I could see that the stress had made dandruff appear on the dog’s fur.

“I don’t know. Lets climb up, I feel safer there than at the ground-level”, Annie answered and we stumbled up the stairs. We were so scared we stayed up till morning staring into the darkness outside through the windows, baffled by the frozen sea, listening to the wind howl around us. In the end, the tiredness won and we fell asleep clinging to each other. My eyes closed and I was carried into a frightening and confusing nightmare where the man without a face chased me. To me, he looked like a lighthouse keeper. I had never believed in ghosts but then again, maybe they were real after all?

After that night we did not want to spent another night in the lighthouse. I noticed that Annie had lost a lot of weight and looked more pale every day. I did not look too good myself either. The sea was not frozen and my mom and dad said it never had been. Had we just imagined everything?

Winter went and spring came. Everything turned to normal but I kept seeing nightmares. The lighthouse keeper’s ghost came to me in my dreams every night and at some point I started talking to him. The faceless man assured me that Annie was plotting something sinister. He told me that Annie planned to drown me. I did not understand why I was having such horrible dreams. I started avoiding Annie and we were together rarely anymore.

Grandma refused to talk about Beacon Island. When I asked her why she had forbidden me to go there when I was a child, she only said:

“That place doesn’t have a pleasant history. Let it go, it’s all in the past now.”

Grandpa was easier to persuade into talking. He told me that a long time ago there was a keeper in the lighthouse. Living there with his wife and daughter. One night the beacon was not lit and people became worried so they went to the lighthouse to check what was going on and found the wife and the daughter dead inside. The lighthouse keeper was never found and people were telling stories that he killed his wife and daughter and fled. Some said that he had gone mad in his isolated island as he had been a sort of a hermit, never socializing with anyone else but his family. I felt shivers down my spine. After hearing the story, I was sure, I would never go back to Beacon Island.

Summer came and my nightmares stopped. Mom was worried that I had fallen sick, so thin and pale I was. I tried to eat better and hoped that the sun would give me a healthy tan. I was sure, I would get brisker now when I was able to tend to the flowers and animals and go to the beach and enjoy the warmth. We became friends with Annie again, forgetting the past winter. I was not sure why our friendship had fallen out, because of my nightmares? All the sorrows brought by the harsh winter had been swept away by the summer’s sun and I enjoyed my friend. Actually, Annie was more like a sister to me. We were even closer than we had been last autumn.

After some time, Annie managed to talk me over to going to Beacon Island. And we had a great day there playing games and fishing. However, when the sun started to set in the horizon, we made our way back in a rowboat as I was still not ready to spent a night in there. The water was gently rippling against the boat and the droplets on the oars glistened in an orange hue in the setting sun as Annie rowed forward in the cove. Somewhere far away a seagull started laughing. I let my eyes close and felt the warmth. I loved summer. I was just thinking about the little fish I had gotten and that I would offer them to my two cats for supper as suddenly, I lost balance and fell in to the water forcefully. I opened my eyes but they could only see the chill sea water everywhere. I felt my lungs filling with it. I panicked and started scooping the water around me in order to find back to the surface. Then, something hard struck my head and I spun deeper. I knew, I would drown if I did not get to the surface soon.

It felt like an eternity as I spiraled around in the water. I tried to follow the sunlight coming through the surface. Finally, I managed to get my head above the water and immediately started coughing. My head was spinning and it was hard to see at first. I was afraid I would pass out. Then I calmed down and saw that our boat was floating beside me turned over. Annie held on to it and looked at me:

“I bumped into something”, she said calmly. I nearly drowned but the girl had made no effort of saving me, I thought in terror. Or was it just my imagination? She had been in danger too. Suddenly, I felt something brush my leg. I looked down and saw an empty face deep in the water. Black face, the lighthouse keeper’s face. I heard a blaming voice echoing in my mind: She did it on purpose. She tried to drown you.

I started screaming and shaking my legs in horror so that the ghost would let me go.

“What’s wrong?” Annie asked. I calmed down and looked at the water again and there was nothing in there. I shook my head. I did not want to tell the girl what I had seen.

The next night I could not sleep. Had Annie really tried to kill me? She was an outsider in our little community, after all, I had to remember that. My dad had often reminded me, that you could not trust outsiders.

Days went by and I asked my mom to tell Annie I was not feeling well and did not want to see anyone. Mom was worried. She said I looked feverish. I was having nightmares about the lighthouse keeper again. I was so afraid to fall asleep I tried to keep myself awake with excessive amounts of coffee but in the end, I always got too tired and the dream world took a victory over me. The nightmarish, faceless ghost would find me and assure me that my best friend was trying to kill me. She will try again. Beware! You need to defend yourself.

That day the weather was calm and warm, the sky clear and bright. But the air was still and felt like it was preceding a thunder storm. I sat on the rock like so often, on the beach wearing my summer hat. I looked at my bare legs that were pale. I had no tan. Maybe I had spent too much time inside that summer. My eyes met the towering lighthouse in the horizon. How was Annie doing, I wondered to myself. I sighed and closed my eyes. The sun shined through my eyelids and turned my world into a lovely yellow dream. The air smelled of sea shells. Minutes went by and I almost fell asleep. Suddenly, my skin turned cold and I felt goosebumps on my arms. I opened my eyes and the yellow was gone, the whole scene was bland and gray. After a while, my eyes grew accustomed to the brightness and I saw that the sea was frozen. I screamed and pulled the fishing rod in my hand but the line would not rise. It had stuck to the frozen waves. I dropped the fishing rod and stumbled up on the icy rock. My toes were freezing. I raised my hands to my chest and tried to warm them up. Then I heard someone yell to me:

“Hey Victoria! What are you doing there?” Annie was standing in the frozen, hard sand on the shoreline with bare feet, hands wrapped around her and wearing a green summer dress. She started making her way up the rocks and I immediately panicked. She could easily push me into the sea and I could get really hurt falling and hitting my head on the rock or the ice.

“Don’t come!” I screamed to her and she looked puzzled. She stopped but only for a second and then continued climbing up. I grabbed the knife I used to gut the fish, and hid it behind my back.

Soon Annie was standing right in front of me, looking straight into my eyes. Her eyes were pale blue like ice.

“Are you alright?” She asked carefully.

“Don’t come near me!” I yelled and tried to back off but I lost my balance and almost fell. I was slipping on the black ice and panicked. I plunged forward with all I got and stroke the small, sharp knife right in to Annie’s chest. Her eyes grew large and she was staring at me in shock. Then she opened her mouth and bright red blood gushed from her lips. I snapped out of my fear and closed her into my arms.

 “No, no, no, no, I’m sorry Annie...” I kept repeating and hugged her while her body turned lifeless in my hands. I saw something in the corner of my eye. I slowly turned my head and there he was: the lighthouse keeper’s ghost in his big raincoat. Even though, he had no face, I could feel him smiling. He turned his back to me slowly and started disappearing towards the sea. The water behind him broke free as he went and the waves crushed against the rock. The heat of the sun returned agonizing and I felt sweat gathering on my forehead. Then I heard a sad whining and looked down. The big, black Bernese Mountain Dog stood there hopeless with a yellow tennis ball in his mouth. 

Safe

Regina Adams

The dark silence of the night surrounded me, threatening. Only thing breaking it was the ticking of an old oakwood grandfather clock on the wall above my bed. It was a family treasure. However, it had not chimed once in the past few decades even though it was seemingly working as it should and I kept winding it. I did not want to pay a fortune to someone so they would come and look at it, fix it maybe, so I was completely fine with it staying silent. Actually, I was already sleeping light, so I needed no more noises to keep me on my toes at night. Not even sleeping pills worked anymore. I stayed up mainly because of the fear. You see, years ago I was told that this would be the age I die at and so, I was terrified that the prediction could come true.

 “When you turn 83, that is when you will die.” That was what the gypsy woman had assured me. It had been five months now since my 83th birthday. Five months that I had lived in fear. But even though I waited for my demise, at the same time I had been readying myself for the battle. I was not going to die, that I had decided. I was in good medical condition, both physically and mentally, regardless of the fact that I was currently living in a one-room apartment of a row-house meant for elderly and on my kitchen counter there was a plastic container full of all kinds of prescription medication, vitamins, lactic acid bacteria and so on. I had no idea which one should be taken when and what pills were for what, I just took something if I ever felt bad somehow. But I never had any severe illnesses or disorders. However, I feared death anyway, it was almost a phobia to me. I was not sure why. 

So, I had stopped going out or even opening the door for anyone else but the housekeepers and food service workers who visited me regularly and even with them I had agreed on precise days and times they needed to come at. Out of those times, I opened my door to no one. I had no family alive and no friends, I had never kept many anyway. And I had heard that there were thieves going around from door to door, robbing helpless, elderly people who invited them in. The old man next-door had been robbed twice but well, he had a bad memory anyway, so he probably forgot to be more careful after the first time.

I never opened the curtains covering the view from my only window, either. The view was not worth it as I did not care to stare at the house facing this one and the muddy, plain yard between the two. Also, I felt a lot safer when I was hiding from everything and everyone. I had put rugs all over my bathroom floor, you see, many old people died when they slipped while taking a shower and I wanted to eliminate that possibility. I also used slippers everywhere in the apartment so I would not slip anywhere else either. Food came to me from the food service as I dared not to use my oven or the stove in order to cook. I might cause a fire, after all. So I just microwaved all my food, even though I was not too keen on using that either. Then, I smashed or diced all the food so there were no possibility for me to choke on it. Hard candy and such, I did not eat at all.

I used any electronics carefully. I had a television, that I sometimes watched the news on, but normally I kept that unplugged. I had also an old radio I loved to listen to, and a mobile phone in case of an emergency but that was all. All the pointy corners of tables and other furniture I had covered with cloths, so I could not hurt myself on them if I somehow were to fall. By the years, I had hunched over, losing height, so I asked the janitor to lower down my hat rack and some cabinets so that I never had to reach too high as that could be dangerous too. I was prepared in every possible way and saw no chance for the gypsy’s prediction to come true. Unless, I would have a stroke of some kind, and that was the very reason why I could not sleep at nights. I had called an ambulance so many times the medics were getting fed up with me.

“I think you are just having some digestion problems,” they said. Maybe, but you can never be too careful, I thought.

The smell of cigarettes and lilac perfume haunted me at nights. Something had convinced me years ago that the prediction was not to be taken lightly. Perhaps, it had been the alcohol or the dim lighting in the caravan and all the golden linen around me. I had felt dizzy, I remembered, scared. Last week I asked the janitor to put another lock on my door, just in case. All the silverware I had hidden under my mattress and I used only dispensable cutlery as I could not accidentally cut myself with those. In addition to all that, I kept a mug full of water on a counter all times so I remembered to drink enough. The summer had been dry and hot, after all. The mug was at least 50-years-old and had painted lilies on it.

Five months later

I was dreaming that a cold wind was brushing against my face and the evening sun was setting. Suddenly, I woke up and realized, I was standing in the middle of the room. It was dark, the curtains were closed and it was winter, so I could not tell if it was day or night. I had an unexplainable feeling that I had dreamed of the old grandfather clock. In my dream it had been chiming. I blinked my eyes and waited for them to adjust to the darkness. I did not have my glasses on.

Then I saw something. Right in front of me, there was a tall man dressed in black. He stood there with his fingers crossed. His face was unmoving. I was frightened. He had broken in, I thought.

“Hello Regina, I'm here for you.”

“What do you mean? Go away or I will call the police!”

“Regina… Look behind you”, the man said inside my head. He did not open his mouth. I turned and faced my bed. To my horror, there was someone lying in it. It was me. The oakwood grandfather clock on the wall above my bed had fallen on me. It had crushed my head and face, I was bleeding.

“It's not possible...” I whispered.

“Regina, we all have our time, it is predestined. Your time is up. Come with me”, the man said and offered his hand to me. I shook my head.

“I was so careful. I thought of everything, there was nothing that could happen in the safety of my own home. The clock… I never thought of that, though.”

“When you refused to give up, I had to be more creative. I am sorry, Regina, but we need to leave now. It's gonna be three days before the food service comes, your body will have to wait before it is found.”

I stared at my face that had caved into my broken skull and was covered in blood and pieces of wood. I was scared. I felt pain and terror like never before. There was no white light. I did not know where I was going. Slowly, the room around me disappeared. In my dream, the grandfather clock chimed but had it been a dream or reality? 

Who were you?

Brigit

I sat on the floor and stared at the dead body lying lifelessly there. The face was familiar yet not. This is what I looked like when I was alive? I could see wrinkles and deep lines on the skin I did not remember and the glare in the eyes was empty. I had never thought myself as particularly beautiful but I never thought I was this ugly either. This was the first time seeing myself with an outsider’s eye. I snorted and lifted my head. The clock on the wall was ticking loudly. Two hours it was now. I had died two hours ago and no one else was aware yet. Outside the sky was beautifully clear and the air was vibrating hot. There were great tits and bullfinches singing as they flew in and out of the bird feeder gathering seeds. The small window in the corner of the kitchen had been left open and the smell of my corpse invited flies and fleas inside. I had not eaten anything that day but death had taken away the hunger. And the thirst too. I had grabbed the glass full of white wine with me as I went down and the wine had dried out all over the cabinet door and the floor. There was a big piece broken from the glass but it was otherwise intact, to my surprise.

Long five hours had passed before I heard someone coming through the front door. I stood up and waited until a familiar figure emerged into the kitchen. As soon as Nana saw me she screamed and dropped her purse, she always carried her working clothes in, on the floor. Nana was still working as a nurse in a nearby hospital even though she had already reached the retirement age four years ago. She was wearing her work shoes, you know, the big and bulky health shoes that looked like little, black boats. Her old knees made a crack as she went down to tend my corpse. She acted as a professional but it was too late, obviously. She called 911 and I was listening to her sobbing. I rested my hand gently on her shoulder but she could not feel it. She did not know I was still there.

Finally the police and the ambulance arrived and I was eavesdropping on their conversation. Someone made a claim that it had probably been some kind of a seizure. I wanted to scream that he was wrong but they could not hear me anyway. I would just have to wait until the autopsy results came in as at that point it would became apparent I had been poisoned. Someone had poisoned me, but who? I really wanted to know. It would have been possible to anyone to poison my wine especially when everyone knew I was the only one in the house who drank Pinot Grigio. The perpetrator could be anyone close to me. That felt so painful I could not leave before I knew who it had been.

That meant, unfortunately, that I was stuck in the house. It was not too long that every suspect had gathered in that house. Those were the people I had loved the most: Nana, my sister and my brother, my best friend, my psychologist and even the old man living next-door who I used to help with chores and gardening. I was standing at the living-room doorway overseeing them. Which one of you is my Judas? Who could have murdered me? Instead of sorrow I felt anger and disappointment. I think it was due to my new form as I could feel a difference in my soul. It felt empty in a way it never had before.

Nana was sitting on the cream-colored couch, her face buried into her hands, she was sobbing. The next-door neighbor sat on her right side and gently brushed her back. Beth, my sister, sat on Nana’s left side, staring emotionless with a wineglass on her hand. We had both loved our alcohol but as I drank white she preferred red. My brother Paul was standing in the middle of the room and pacing nervously around from time to time. He had always been emotionally reserved. I knew he would feel uncomfortable as he did not know how to cry or comfort others. My psychologist, Mr. Allen, or to me just Thomas, sat alone in the corner on a dark-green armchair observing others. That was his job, after all. Helen, who was my best friend, was the dearest to me. We had been friends since childhood. We had both been over thirty and unmarried before I died. That had made us even closer, we were like an old couple the two of us, I wanted to think. Helen was sitting on the floor with her legs crossed. She reminded me a lot of myself. Her hair was blond like mine but longer and had a warmer tone in it. She had tied it up on a loose bun and her make up was running down her face as she cried. Helen was smaller than me, and prettier. I did not feel jealousy about that though as I admired her so. I felt suddenly so cold when I thought of her as a suspect. I would not believe that. I was sure, that it had not been Helen.

At first, I could not believe anyone of them had murdered me but as I started to ponder on it I realized that everyone of them, surprisingly, had a motive. Nana had blamed me for grandpa’s death. That was kind of true since I had gotten myself in so much debt they needed to take care of me. They had took me in and used all their savings to pay out my debt, but it was not enough. My grandpa had to return to work from his retirement to earn more money. And soon it got too much for him and he had suffered a heart attack. I knew Nana had blamed me even though she was still nice to me. At times I could sense the hostility in her voice. Beth had the very same reason to hate me and she was brutally open about it. She had told me I was a burden to anyone who loved me. I had not taken that too seriously though, as she was an alcoholic and had recently gone through a divorce. Beth was angry with everyone in her life.

Paul, on the other hand, had stayed out of everything going on in our family. After our parents had died he became a hermit. But I knew he had a reason to hate me as well. When we were kids I had bullied my brother so much that that was probably the reason he was such a socially awkward loner right now. I had not done that on purpose, we were children and children bully each other, but I had been too mean, I guess, and he had been such a sensitive child. I had apologized of course but I knew it was because of me that he feared people even as an adult.

My psychologist, Thomas, what about him then. I was convinced that he was some sort of a sociopath himself. He was constantly trying to scare me and provoke me on purpose to get a reaction out of me. He seemed to enjoy my pain. Even though, I did open up to him, I did not trust him. Some instinct told me not to. Thomas thought it was just my imagination. He said it was convenient to me to not wholly trust him as that way I would not have to be totally honest with myself.

Lastly, there was old Otto, our lovely neighbor. No one could think anything bad about the man if they had not seen him get angry. He was conservative beyond belief, extremely racist and potty-mouthed when challenged into a political debate. If someone had a differing opinion he got real scary. Person with such strong believes was impossible to live with without getting into a fight with him now and then. I had fought with him sometimes. They say though, that a barking dog does not bite, but I was not sure about that.

One of you? Who was it? Show yourself.

Helen

I murdered my best friend. I had felt as if the space was getting too tiny for the two of us. One of us had to go or neither of us would get forward. We had both known our relationship was not a healthy one and was preventing us both living our life normally. Brigit had been positive that we should stay together but she did not convince me. Mr. Allen had told Brigit that she would need to cut contact with me because I was bad influence to her. What kind of a psychologist would say that, I did not know, but I thought he was right about going our separate ways. I had everything better in my life than she did, though. I was more beautiful than Brigit, and more successful and I had once gotten engaged but Brigit had ruined it for me. That was when I started to get bitter.

I solved the problem by poisoning her. Now I was sitting on a living-room floor and watched everyone around me. They did not know I was finally free.

Brigit

The days went by and I roamed the house restlessly. I knew that if I stayed too long I would not be able to move forward. I would get angrier and more bitter as the days passed by, until I would forget who I had been when I was alive. The human in me would wear off and I would became a creature of nightmares. I could feel it was already happening. But I could not leave before I knew who had murdered me.

At last, the police came back. Thomas came with them. What is happening? They told Nana to sit down and then started to talk. I was standing right next to them but they did not notice.

“We could confirm that Brigit had poisoned her wine herself earlier that day. I'm so sorry Mrs. Hayden”, one of the police explained. I could not understand. Big tears were running down Nana’s face.

“Excuse me, I have to say, that I don't believe it was Brigit per se but rather that it was Helen”, Thomas said. Nana looked at him straight in his eyes and answered:

“I think so too.”

I still did not get it. How could my best friend had done something like that.

“I think”, Thomas started saying, “Brigit never knew Helen was not real. She could never admit that she had invented Helen herself.”

That is when I saw Helen standing beside me. She told me:

 “Do you get it now? We were two souls trapped in one body. I always knew but you didn't want to see. But now we are free. No I can be with you and you don't have to go away when I come out.”