The Transparent Bride

Because my last post got a lot of attention since yesterday, I a story for ya. It's perfect for this time of year. Hope you like it.
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The Transparent Bride

By Ryan J. Torres

  Will was alone in the hotel when he heard footsteps above him.
               Usually, it was easy to mistake footsteps in an empty house for old boards settling under the heat from the furnace. But this was different. This was distinct. It was high heels on hard wood.
               The innkeeper left his paperwork, got out his chair, and made his way from his office and to the foot of the staircase. As he glanced up into the darkness of the second floor, he called out to the noise to see if anyone, the owner, the housekeeper, a groundskeeper, anybody, had made their way into the hotel and up the steps without Will noticing.
There was no response.
               Step by step, Will made his way up. His eyes were transfixed on the light switch at the top of the staircase. And as he reached the top, he flicked the switch, and the main hallway of the second floor sprang to life.

               The door to room 2, the one that was right above his office, was halfway down the hall and on the left.
               There was an eerie silence that tormented Will as he made his way toward the room. Even with the lights on, he hated the dreary hallways of the Colonial inn. The thin plastered walls with a solid moss-green coat and white trim mixing with the burgundy carpeting made him feel as though he was walking through a lung infection. But, loss of appetite aside, it was--after all--a steady paycheck.
               Will dug his skeleton key out of his pocket and unlocked room 2. The door felt cold as he placed the palm of his left hand upon it and slowly pushed it open. His breath was stifled.
               As the door was whining itself open all the way to the stopper, Will grazed the wallpaper for the light switch. But, for a moment, he hesitated flicking the switch. Harsh winter moonlight was pouring in through the two windows in the room and spilling onto the hardwood floor. Behind that light, there was an Italian leather fainting sofa. And, on that sofa, Will thought he saw the silhouette of a woman splayed across it. The outline of a head, neck, and shoulders were recognizable on the pillow of the chaise.

Will turned on the light.

No one was there.

                  With senses peaked, he turned off the light and closed the door. Then, while walking back down the hall, he caught his reflection in the small mirror that was hanging from the wall. As he grew nearer to his reflection and, ultimately, the staircase, his saw something else in the mirror, a silhouette of a woman, over his right shoulder.

            Will spun around and examined the dimly lit hallway, but found nothing. He waited. And when the hairs on the back of his neck rested once more, he turned again.

            This time, she was standing right in front of him. Her eyes were wide, black, and accusing, and she wore a long, strapless wedding dress. Her dark hair wafted around her head as if she were underwater.

            Will stepped back, away from the apparition, but found no footing between the top step and the landing. He then fell backwards and rolled, all the way to the bottom of the stairs.

            As Will laid there broken and choking for breath at the foot of the steps, the transparent bride, who was descending the stairs after him, interrupted his last mortal moments. Her arms were outstretched. Her eyes were wide and damned. And her touch was a January eulogy as she claimed her new groom. 

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Happy Halloween.

~Torres

True Ghost Stories

Some believe. Some don't. Some see. Some don't.
 I see... but it's always difficult to believe.

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I only use the term "ghost" when I'm writing a story because it appeals to the horror element (in relation to the readers). Any other time (when things actual happen to me) I use the term, "energy," "figure," or the phrase "what seemed to be" because they are less bias than other terms. 

Now comes the fun part.

_________

My mother is the one who sees the bulk of the terrifying things that those with fingers still grasping their mortal coil cannot comprehend (how's that for a Lovecraftian opening?), but--when I came "of age"--I began to experience my own chilling episodes. 

When I was a kid, we lived in the suburbs of Lebanon, Pennsylvania. The house in which my parents and I resided had a history. It had once been a funeral home for many years. And, throughout the span of the years that we lived there, my mother and I saw many things that my father never believed. My mother's stories, in relation to that house, are better than my own.

She told me, after we moved out of the house (for fear of scaring me even more) that she would be visited by several people that she could clearly see. If she was in her room folding laundry, she would often see "what appeared to be" a few men, who were dressed in suits that dated them back to the 1940's, passing through the room and disappearing through the wall. There were also times when she would see a girl of about six, who would run up and down the hall on the second floor and into one of the rooms. The girl wore a red dress with matching ribbons that were looped around each pigtail.

She saw all of this, and never told me a damn thing until we moved out of the house.

When we moved to the farm where my parents currently reside, I started to see things that, I too, was hesitant to share.When the farm on Lincoln Avenue was built, and the three of us settled in, something stirred. It wanted me to know.

It happened at 3:30 a.m., on a February morning. I awoke from sleep to the sound of boots coming up the spiral staircase, and down the hall towards my bedroom. They were heavy steps. Like a burly frame had sprouted from the tops of those boots and was making its way towards me. At first I thought it was my father. He rents apartments, and one of his buildings stands in a rougher part of the city. So, it wasn't uncommon for him to be woken up in the middle of the night because of some kind of disturbance. A few times he even took me with him for backup. However, this was altogether different. As soon as the boot steps were just outside my door, I began to experience what I call "the big chill." The chill starts at the tailbone and works all the way up the spine until your neck hairs are standing on end. It happens every time I am about to experience something.

I sat there and waited. And the waiting was otherworldly. It was as if I could feel the panic leaping out of my chest with every breath. I could feel the chill moving up and down my spine. I thought I heard breathing coming from someone else as I tried to stifle my own. I was damn sure that whatever was on the other side of that door was not my father.

When I was finally able to turn my head to look at the neon green glow of the alarm clock. It was 4:30 a.m.

After the realization of the time officially sank in, I decided to act. I stood up, fighting the fear and the cold, and crossed the room to the doorknob. It too was cold. I took a deep breath, hit the light switch, and pulled the door open.

The light that shone past me and into the hallway revealed nothing. Just silence and my shadow.

That was the last time I heard the boots in the house, but it wouldn't be the last time that I experienced that chill, or fear. There have been many times since. Most recently, there was an incident that took place in the school where I currently work. Let's just say that I went in there to drop off some donations on a Saturday night, alone, and something didn't want me there at all.

But that story will be for another time.

Boo...

~Torres