Claire was five when her father published his first novel, and a year older when he burnt himself alive. Though his book wasn’t a bestseller, it did enough to greet him with raised eyebrows and ostracized looks when Louis Green meandered through the street.
Louis didn’t write gory literature, neither did he pen controversial satires. His interest was rather vested in portraying witchcraft and horror in his fiction. While these same things made Stephen King a household name and Ira Levin a classic among authors, it tainted the image of Louis in the conservative society he called home, or was it just a mixture of mortar and bricks held by prejudice? He would never know.
Claire hadn’t been subjected to the abomination that her father had witnessed. On the contrary, she was quite popular among her peers. She was smart, confident, and a blonde! All of which combined and spearheaded by golden strands of hair boosted her popularity.
It was the fourth Sunday of the month, and the sophomores at St. Mary’s had marked the day as “Scrabble Sunday” on their calendars. They had gathered at Maxie’s house at noon and been over the scrabble board for a couple of hours now.
Maxie placed the letters to form the word “GHOST”. He sipped his lemonade and said, “I have been thinking…”
The group glanced at him.
“Why do ghosts target people individually or in a group of two? Doesn’t it have the balls to attack a group?” His friends continued to look at him. Maxie continued, “I mean the thing has supernatural powers, doesn’t it?”
Ethan was the first to respond. “I don’t know. Those are movie cliches. We don’t even know if ghosts exist or not. We are more familiar with the cliches than with a ghost”
“It has to be dark,” Arnold added.
“It has to be an isolated place,” Mia said.
“If the one being haunted is strong and fearless then he gets influenced and sides with the ghost,” Ethan continued.
“The weakest is targeted first,” Maxie said, looking at everyone but no one in particular.
“No one believes you at first,” Francis ticked off.
“Which isn’t a cliche but quite practical,” Maxie added. “Had you said that you found a silhouette of a dead person floating around in my locked room then I wouldn’t have believed you either”
“So we literally know all the cliches which mean we can always shield ourselves from the presence of a ghost-”
“-if it exists..” Ethan yawned as he interrupted Francis.
“Yeah, if it exists… by not doing any of the above. Hey! Why do we have to assume the ghost to be an “it”? Why not a He? A Her?” Francis asked.
“Claire? Would you not like to add anything?” Maxie said without paying heed to Francis’ query.
“I don’t believe in ghosts, so I find it ridiculous to get myself involved in such pointless discussions.” Clair delicately placed the scrabble tiles together.
Maxie was taken aback by Claire’s neutrality.
“That’s because you haven’t seen one. Wouldn’t you be afraid had one of those like in the movies appeared right in front of you out of nowhere?” Mia asked looking at Claire.
Claire sighed and waved her hand at Mia in disapproval.
“We haven’t encountered a ghost because we have never been in those cliched situations. Maybe avoiding those situations work like a Christian cross enough to exorcise any ghost.” Arnold said.
“You wouldn’t expect a ghost to linger out of your cupboard right now, or would you Maxie?” Francis winked trying to spice up the conversation.
“You could,” Claire suddenly spoke, “We do keep our ghosts in the closet, don’t we?” The group of silent spectators watched her with eager eyes. Not because she had finally decided to participate in the conversation but because what Claire said had jerked tension among the group, repelling them away from the closet.
“Even if ghosts exist, this would be the last place they could get us. It’s 2 in the noon, you live in a very busy neighborhood, your parents are downstairs and above all we are together. That pretty much makes a strong exorcism against any bloody ghost” Ethan looked at Maxie for approval.
“But what if it’s the other way round? What if it isn’t the circumstances that invite the ghost but instead the ghost which leads to those circumstances?” Arnold spoke with a profound air around his words.
“I think I have had enough talks of ghosts, I’ll let you guys be at it.” Claire dusted her jeans lightly as she stood to go. “Sit down, Claire. I promise no more ghastly talks, Please!” Maxie cried out. Claire looked at him intently and then sat back.
One doesn’t really know what silence sounds like until one is enveloped by a quiet audience after being in a long discussion. The kids could hear the clock ticking above their heads as they aligned the last tiles of the game.
“DONE!” Maxie yawned loudly. The group stretched their arms and hopped on their toes so that their blood circulated normally after being huddled up for such a long time over the board.
“I’ll go and ask mom if the food is ready,” Maxie said.
“I’ll come with you” Arnold added.
“Take one more, two often get targeted,” Ethan winked averting off Claire. She understood his jibe though. The guys left without responding.
“This is a friendly neighborhood, isn’t it?” Francis said looking outside the window. A mellowed sunlight filtered into the room through the rustling leaves of the mango tree in Maxie’s backyard. It was almost magical how the tree was lengths away and yet it had its impression all over the room.
Mia joined Francis, viewing the countryside. She looked away as the sun peeped at her through the silhouette.
“I wonder where they have gone,” Ethan muttered. “What if-“
“Shut up!” Claire interrupted Ethan.
Before Ethan could respond, the boys returned. “The food is ready, let’s go downstairs!”
Everyone retracted downwards when Mia stopped suddenly. “Guys, go ahead. I’ll be back in a minute.” “What’s the matter?” Maxie asked. “Uh, Nothing I need to use the bathroom,” Mia said and turned back galloping upstairs.
“I’ll go with her” Claire followed.
“There they go,” Ethan sighed. “Seemed like Clair was almost excited to join her.”
The boys arrived at the dining room and surrounded the table. “Mom! Bring in the chicken already!” Maxie cried out. When there was no response from the kitchen, Maxie rose up. “Maybe, she couldn’t hear me. You know these countryside houses!” Maxie giggled. “I’ll go and call them, dad is helping her out too.” He ran towards the kitchen.
“Somebody should have gone with him,” Ethan friskily whispered.
“Come on! Are you still at this?” Francis asked in an exasperated voice.
As the grandfather clock struck 6, the boys heard a symphony of loud screams from upstairs as well as from the kitchen. The boys huddled up together. “I’ll go and check on the Wilsons, you guys go upstairs,” Arnold ran off without waiting for a response.
Francis and Ethan climbed upstairs, skipping a step at a time.
The boys looked around but couldn’t find anyone. “Claire! Mia! Are you alright?” Ethan trumpeted cupping his palms around his mouth. An eerie scene embraced them as the boys stepped towards the room. The room was burning with an orange shade. The setting sun projecting its strength miles away from the horizon. The only place which was cast by a shadow was the restroom door.
Ethan knocked at the door slowly. “Claire? Mia? We heard a scream. Are you girls alright?”
The door opened slowly. But there was no long creak, a gale of wind didn’t rush through the open door, the room beyond the door was as brightly lit as a day. At the center of the room, stood the trouble. She had blood trickling down her legs. Her blood-soaked hands clutched her heart. The walls and mirrors of the restroom were filled with graffiti. The room smelt of gore, of horror, of death…
Ethan and Francis stared at her with their mouth wide open. They wondered if these rituals were the reason behind the screams downstairs as well. Sweat trickled through their brow, adrenaline raced against their spine and before they could check other senses they were engulfed by the shadow, crashing against the floor.
She looked at them with pity in her eyes.
Three bodies surrounded her, like a sacrifice to an ancient Gothic culture. Four more would burn below as the night fell in the town.
She hopped gently over the corpses like they were some rotting pebbles. She didn’t look back as she trudged towards the door. She caressed her hair to check for blood, “Not that I would notice it. Mine isn’t blonde,” Mia smiled as she left the house. “Claire! sister dear, I didn’t mean you to be a part of this. But you had seen a lot. I take your elimination as a casualty in my occult.” she sighed “Moreover, you were always a step away from being my real sister,” she sneered at her own pun.
For the first time, Mia turned back to look at the Wilsons’ manor. Crackling fire danced on her pupils as it spread through the Wilson Manor. Her mother would have been proud, her father equally ashamed…
PS: I had always wanted to write something on witchcraft and gothic rituals after reading Ira Levin’s Rosemary’s Baby and watching movies like The Witch, Hereditary, and Midsommar. So I acknowledge those amazing stories that inspired me to write this one.
If you liked the article, I would request you to check out my other supernatural horror story, Bits of Paper.
The Fiction Creation 