two children lived in the big old house
crumbling in or by Ox Ford
an abandoned-store, ene-house "town"
we played in field and wood
caught snakes & frogs
Sylvie and I
her brother John
thought I saw him at the airport
just last month
GPSed Ox Ford and drove out there
burnt-store ruin yeah
but no big house
only a grown-over graveyard
two cracked and mossy stones
John, one said
the other, only 1896
did I catch frogs with a ghost?
kiss another?
dream it all?
no answers
go with ghosts made flesh
why the hell not?
Showing posts with label ghost story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ghost story. Show all posts
Monday, June 2, 2014
Saturday, November 5, 2011
flash fiction
First published in The Memory of Persistence, 2007
Love Triangle
"Hey, Mary," he shouted, but she walked on by. John shouted again, but to no avail. She went out to the garden, picked some green beans and a few early ears of corn, and walked back in the house. She came out again and hung up the laundry to dry, seemingly ignoring his now incoherent screams with unbelievable determination.
"Mary!" he shouted again, when he calmed down. "That's my shirt! You're supposed to dry MY stuff in the machine. I don't care about the cost." He might as well have been a worm for all the heed she paid him.
John realized that he was in trouble. Here he was, stuck in his own back yard up to his chin like a dang fence post, completely unable to move anything but his head, and his wife acted like he wasn't even there.
He started to wonder how he'd gotten in this predicament. He and Lucille had been working late, and he'd given her a ride home. Suddenly Lucille had screamed. Well, maybe he had let his eyes drift away from the road for a couple of seconds, but…. He frowned. Did he remember ANYTHING after that scream and his irritated thought? He broke out in a sweat.
He was straining to pull himself up out of the ground, and not making any progress, when he was distracted by an altercation in the house. A moment later the screen door flew open, and Lucille came running out, pursued by Mary, armed with a cleaver. Mary tripped going down the steps, hit the ground, and did not move. John just goggled at her. When he thought to look for Lucille, she was gone.
The police came, they looked around, and they removed Mary's body. All this time John screamed himself hoarse, but no one took any more notice of him than Mary had when she hung the laundry (still on the line, he noticed).
Then he must have been unconscious for a while, because he came around to the sound of Mary's voice. He opened his eyes. She was embedded up to her neck over by the hydrangea.
"You bastard!" she shouted, "screwing that slut Lucille. I'll kill her when I get out of here."
"I didn't screw her," John retorted, "we were just working late. Then I was taking her home, and I wound up here.…" his voice trailed off.
The end
Love Triangle
"Hey, Mary," he shouted, but she walked on by. John shouted again, but to no avail. She went out to the garden, picked some green beans and a few early ears of corn, and walked back in the house. She came out again and hung up the laundry to dry, seemingly ignoring his now incoherent screams with unbelievable determination.
"Mary!" he shouted again, when he calmed down. "That's my shirt! You're supposed to dry MY stuff in the machine. I don't care about the cost." He might as well have been a worm for all the heed she paid him.
John realized that he was in trouble. Here he was, stuck in his own back yard up to his chin like a dang fence post, completely unable to move anything but his head, and his wife acted like he wasn't even there.
He started to wonder how he'd gotten in this predicament. He and Lucille had been working late, and he'd given her a ride home. Suddenly Lucille had screamed. Well, maybe he had let his eyes drift away from the road for a couple of seconds, but…. He frowned. Did he remember ANYTHING after that scream and his irritated thought? He broke out in a sweat.
He was straining to pull himself up out of the ground, and not making any progress, when he was distracted by an altercation in the house. A moment later the screen door flew open, and Lucille came running out, pursued by Mary, armed with a cleaver. Mary tripped going down the steps, hit the ground, and did not move. John just goggled at her. When he thought to look for Lucille, she was gone.
The police came, they looked around, and they removed Mary's body. All this time John screamed himself hoarse, but no one took any more notice of him than Mary had when she hung the laundry (still on the line, he noticed).
Then he must have been unconscious for a while, because he came around to the sound of Mary's voice. He opened his eyes. She was embedded up to her neck over by the hydrangea.
"You bastard!" she shouted, "screwing that slut Lucille. I'll kill her when I get out of here."
"I didn't screw her," John retorted, "we were just working late. Then I was taking her home, and I wound up here.…" his voice trailed off.
The end
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