Phantom Voice

“You guys can go ahead without me. I think I’m going to stay around here,” said Miles Crandle.

“Are you sure? We’re planning on having a lot of fun, Miles. We’re going to the zoo and then heading downtown to go window shopping,” said Julie Graylin.

“Yeah. Like I want to shop with a bunch of women,” he said with a grin.

Julie playfully slapped him on his shoulder. “Well, I guess I’ll see you later. Take care of yourself and promise me you won’t go looking through old photos again.”

“You know I can’t promise that, Julie. Sometimes they make me feel better.”

“But she’s gone, Miles. And every time you look at those photos, I can see the pain in your face,” she said with a worried look on her face.

“I know she’s gone. But I will do my best not to look. Ok?”

“Ok.” Julie lightly kissed Miles on the cheek and walked out the front door. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Sure. Coffee in the afternoon at Gerald’s again?”

“Yeah. I’ll see you there.”

Miles closed the door behind Julie as she waved and walked away. He stood in the entry to his three-bedroom house as a tiny tear trickled down his cheek. He remained there for a few minutes, lost deep in thought. After a while, he wiped the tear from his face, and headed to his bedroom, the one that used to be their bedroom. He sat on the blue-flowered bed and reached under it searching for a familiar touch. The album slid easily out from under the bed and he placed it on his lap. Miles Crandle gently touched the white leather cover of the album. His fingers traced over the words “Our Wedding Day” that were embossed in a golden hue. (more…)

“Mr. Luclin,” said the little boy. He sat among the other children watching the old man closely.

“Yes, Scotty?”

“Will you tell us a story?”

“Of course, of course,” said Christian Luclin. “But I don’t know if I can remember any right now,” he said as he rubbed his bearded chin.

A sigh could be heard across the gathering of children. Christian Luclin was the best storyteller on the block. Children would gather around him at about this time every day looking for a fantastical story of wizards, witches, dragons, and more. The parents thought the old man to be eccentric. He had moved into this apartment complex only ten years before, and most of his friends were children. The blue sparkle in his eyes was reassuring to them, however. So they let their children listen to the stories. It kept them occupied while the parents prepared dinner. He was supposedly a rich man, which made them wonder why he chose this place to live. It was one of the more rundown apartment buildings in the city.

Christian Luclin started to laugh and the children smiled, knowing he was only teasing them.

“Christian Luclin, not having a story to tell? Bah,” he said as he looked around the room to make sure all of the children were paying attention. Other than Bobby, who was secretly picking his nose, the children were all staring at him, waiting patiently.

“It began long ago, as most of my stories do, when Saphrym, a boy who was soon to become a man, was fighting the trees and the squirrels with his wooden sword…” (more…)

On the white sheets lie shades of peach and crimson.
Her brown eyes see tears rolling through the room.
A framed portrait presents a denied future.
Aching, the pale lids close and absorb peace.

The progeny, cheeks wet, quit to another room.
One remains, trembling and daring to defy,
Fingernails dig into the flesh of numb hands.
His mind’s voice screams to the heavens:

My child will never know her grandmother!
She won’t be held by her anymore,
Kissed by her anymore,
Spoiled by her anymore.
She’ll never be able to sit in her lap,
Say ‘I love you’,
And feel the love returned ten-fold!
You!
You denied them both!
And you denied me!

A sob escapes from his lips as legs buckle.
His eyes close in mourning.
Arms drape across shaking knees.
A beaten soul slouches in defeat.

A light flows over the soft grave.
His wet eyes search out the origin.
From within the now pale husk
The tips of feathers reach upwards.

Pearly wings spread from the carcass,
Followed by radiant robes of white.
The heavens draw the angel to them.
Her smile roots its love in the heart of a son.

He suddenly becomes aware of a spectator.
His eyes turn toward the clueless crowd.
Wrapped in the comfort of a mother’s arms,
His tiny cherub watches with smiling eyes.

The rain beating on the hood of the car and the cold November air were calling me closer to sleep. I needed to get off the highway and to a hotel pretty fast. I frantically searched for an exit sign. About twenty minutes later, I spotted that familiar green glow. There was a city called Friarville only 2 miles away. I was a few days early getting to my next job, so one night wouldn’t hurt me.

Driving through Friarville took about two minutes. It was one of those places you see in scary movies, with one street filled with houses and a larger building at the end of the street, on a hill. Not a single light was on in any of the houses, and I was certain that if I drove up to the big house, a man carrying an axe would chop me in two. In my line of work, you always had to expect the worst, but this place actually scared me. I had to get some sleep though, so I drove up the hill, to the only building with lights shining through the rain.

The larger building was the house and business of the local undertaker. According to the shining placard hanging next to his house, his name was Joseph Friar.

This is just my luck. The undertaker of this backwoods town is the richest and the one it’s named after. I bet his family even had that exit sign put out on the highway.

I took the keys out of the ignition, turned off the lights, and prayed for God to help me live through the night as I climbed out of the car and raced to the front porch of Mr. Friar’s domain. The door knocker was a miniature coffin.

I decided to knock with my fist, not wanting much to do with death on a night like this. (more…)