* * *
“Is he dead?”
“What do you think?”
“His shoe got caught in the rail. It’s still there.”
The people who had been on the platform were now huddled in the waiting-room, listening to the reports from those who had rushed to the scene.
“Who was he?”
“I think I recognised him…he used to live around here”.
“And what about the other person there?”
Everyone stared at the blonde-haired woman, who was sitting quietly in the corner, nervously fingering the red scarf around her neck.
“What other person?”
“That black figure, wearing a hood, and a long coat…”
“Was he carrying a scythe, love?” asked one man, sniggering unpleasantly.
“No, no, I must have been mistaken,” said the woman hurriedly. “I need some fresh air.”
She attempted to stand up, but gave a choking cry as she was held back, half-strangled by her long, red scarf.
“Sorry, love,” said the man sitting next to her, looking embarrassed, and quickly moving his foot from the end of the scarf.
She moved to the door, looking round behind her, as if she were being followed. Her anguished face was as pale as a death-mask.
Despite a few sniggers at her strange behaviour, the vast majority were indifferent to her obvious discomfort and troubled look. As she glanced round, there were two or three others who looked nervously at her. They knew, once the Grim Reaper had finished with her, it would soon be their turn.
The End
© 2013 Alan Hardy
Melinda
By Gunjan Vyas
She walked around her house a few times before unlocking the front door. The iron lock was big and rusty, just like the door’s hinges which creaked as she pushed it inch by inch. It was an effort considering how old the place was and how much it wept for renovation. As she stepped inside, the familiar odour of the musty, closed house welcomed her. The spider webs that decorated her walls had spread out even further in patterns that were thicker and more intricate than before. A fly was caught in one of them and was trying its best to escape from the sticky hell but all the insect's efforts were in vain.
The windows were covered with dust. She didn’t even think about trying to open them; they were closed too tightly. As she walked through her living room towards the staircase, the floor creaked under her booted feet. Like everything else inside her house, it was very old and, at some point in her life, she planned to have her whole house refurnished. Now, however, the thought seemed more forbidding to her than the web must have been to the fly. The ceiling just above the staircase was dripping and covered with fungus. Its familiar damp smell filled her nostrils and she inhaled a deep breath; this was home.
As she started to climb the stairs, candles appeared as if from thin air and lit up her way. Their light shone upon the tall, old vases that held dried and decayed flowers, casting uncanny shadows. She smiled as she remembered the day she had received them as a token of true love. How bright and fresh they were when she had held them in her hands, smelling them every two minutes and blushing as she snuggled into the warmth of his embrace. Those were the good old days that a part of her wanted to return to but the other part of her sneered at the mere thought of it.
With each step, new candles lit up and the ones she had left behind died without even a flicker. Step by step, until she was in front of her bedroom. Without a single movement from her side, the door opened for her to step in and so she did. As soon as she was inside, the door creaked shut behind her with a soft thud. Her room smelled different from the rest of the house, it smelled like burning leaves. The air inside her room was devoid of all moisture and her skin felt dry just by being there. However, just like every day, she got used to the contrasting odour and continued with her routine.
Her eyes fell on the canapé at the other end of her room but she resisted the urge to go near it; the time wasn’t right and she had learned to remain patient over all these years. She looked out the window and wondered how life would have been if she wasn't there. Unlike other windows in her house, the ones in her room were clean with a transparent pane for her to see the outside world. Just like others, however, it was tightly shut. It was a bright day and the sight of kids playing in a nearby park made her feel a little warm inside. There was life outside and there was happiness. Maybe she was no longer a part of it but the fact that it existed was heart-warming enough.
She had heard stories about herself, the strange woman that walked to the church every morning only to sit on the bench outside and staying there for hours before returning to her broken, haunted mansion. Some said she was a haunted spirit and some said she was mad. Some said she was just a normal person with a peculiar routine, while others said she was evil. She heard everything that was being said about her and, apparently, no one liked her. Kids called her a witch and adults didn’t want to know her.
She had got used to it by now, her appearance was revolting and she knew that. Skin as pale as a corpse and a face lined with age. She was always dressed in the same long, black gown, which was torn in various places. Her long black hair, which mysteriously never lost its youth even when her entire body had given itself to the process of aging, was always down and flowing. Perhaps this was one of the reasons why they were so scared of her. She didn’t care about anyone enough to harm them and she found their fear amusing.
Her eyes moved to the wall clock which was stuck at 12:05. So much time had passed since he had left her, saying that he would return once the clock's hands started to move again but the time was not yet right. She’d been waiting for so long that just staring at it and begging it to move had become more of a habit.
She shook her head in dismay when once more the day had shown her nothing different. She let out a long breath and placed herself on the bed that sat in the centre of the room. The hard pillows felt like rocks under her head and she moaned softly with every breath. Just the usual day, the same monotonous waiting again.
The day started to die and the pleasant sounds of playing children started to turn into silence. Everything was quiet and the occasional hoots of some nearby owls only added thickness to the quietude. She closed her eyes and let sleep take over her, just how she usually did, but today it didn’t come to her. Her eyes flickered open and, involuntarily, her neck turned towards the wall clock which was now ticking away. The time had changed; it was 1:00. She sat up excitedly, her heart was beating faster than ever.
She ran towards the window. She pushed on the glass and, to her suprise, it opened. The night breeze swept inside and, along with it, the scent of memories from a beautiful past. A sudden wind blew against her face and she turned towards the canapé, where they had made love for the first time, and there he was. A translucent body with the familiar face of her true love; tears filled her eyes and she knelt in front of him.
“I didn’t think this was going to happen,” she said. “I didn’t know you were going to come back for me. It’s been so long…I don’t even remember how old I am.” He just smiled and lifted her to her feet, as if she were still as small and delicate as when they first met.
“We can be together now,” he said, “but you need to take your own life if you want to join me.”
“I have waited for all these years for just this moment. My life has been worse than death anyway and, if death unites us, so be it.” She hurried towards the window and, in a mad frenzy, lepted out into the night air. Today was the first day of her new life.