Derek tapped his fingers on the table beside his chair, his gaze on the fire he had built earlier in the night.
It had been weeks since an easy slumber had granted him a visit. His bloodshot eyes moved to the clock on the fireplace mantel, the soft tick, tick, tick of the second hand beating angrily on his eardrums, taunting him as time passed with every throbbing tick.
We should’ve stayed in the city, he thought,his fingers beating faster on the table.
It had not been the beautiful countryside or the vast land that had drawn him there and drove him to convince his wife, Karen, it was the perfect place for them to reside. No, there was just something about the area that compelled him to move there—that gave him the need to have the house.
“I don’tknow, Derek.” Karen had said.
“You can’t be afraid of that tall tale the realtor told us!” Derek had scoffed. “‘Cursed by Indians, it was!’” he mocked the realtor. “‘Those who stay always go missing. Dragged to their doom by the last owner’s spirit so the land can claim another soul as its slave, I tell you!’ C’mon. This place is what we’ve always dreamed of! The price is a steal, thanks to that little fable! What’s not to like?”
With a resigned sigh, she had agreed. Only now, a month later, did he realize the arrogance of his decision.
The clock began to chime, announcing the hour of three in the morning.
Deeereeeek, the alluring feminine whisper called to him.
“No!” he groaned, placing his hands over his ears.
Come to me, Derek, the woman’s voice breached through his skull. Come, and for us time shall stand still.
“Leave me alone!”
If that is really what you wish, Derek, then come. Come to me and I shall never again disturb your peace.
“I’ll show you peace!” he snarled.
Standing, he went to the front door and grabbed the baseball bat that seemed to always be misplaced in the umbrella stand. Wrenching the door open, he paused to look at the yard, the grass drenched in the silver rays of the full moon.
Catching sight of movement in the deep shadow of one of the trees in the yard, heclutched the bat tighter, glaring at the black-cloaked figure hidden within the shadow’s depths.
He let his feet carry him outside, swinging the bat as the figure stepped into the moonlight. The figure’s dark, wispy cloak transformed to liquid silver as the fabric absorbed the rays of the moon, turning the specter nearly invisible.
“This ends now!” he shouted, jumping off the porch and into the celestial light.
Stop and drop the bat, Derek.
Incapable of controlling himself, Derek halted and dropped the bat.
Take my hand.
Locked in battle with his wavering will, Derek held his breath, his body ridged from terror. Losing the battle to the powers of the supernatural woman, he reached out and took the figure’s outstretched, semi transparent hand. At her icy touch, his breath caught in his throat. He felt the chill emanating from her seep into his very core. Derek’s vision began to fade until, at long last, darkness encompassed him.
Derek stood on the lawn in the shadow of a tree, his black cloak turning to silver as he stepped into the silvery-gray light of the moon. Raising a hand to examine the translucent appendage, he scoffed at its weak appearance.
Sweeping his eyes across the lawn and the many specters lurking within both shadow and light, he turned and cast his gaze to the two-story house, waiting for three inthe morning to come and release his powers. It had been nearly a month since Karen found his lifeless body on the front yard.
Now, it was her turn. The land yearned for her as it had for him, and Derek would stop at nothing to claim her for both it and himself.
Soon, Darling, he thought under the nearlyfull moon, watching as light flickered behind one of the windows. We’ll be together, and for us time shall stand still.
©2012 Rebekah Galas