Jillian Chantal

This week, the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt run. I’m taking a break from the story I’ve been sharing as I started a new story for National Novel Writing Month. This is the beginning of book three of a series I’ve been working on that are all unpublished as of now. The protagonist has the gift of seeing and speaking to spirits. I used a form of the word run.

check on the other tales here.

A deep quiet floated on the air under the dense fog hanging down in the predawn darkness. Lula Mae Haverstock didn’t usually venture out at this time of the morning. Working twelve hours shifts from three p.m. to three a.m. usually saw her cuddled up in bed once she arrived home and settled in from her work day. But today was different. She’d been awakened by a spirit at her bedside letting her know there was someone in danger who needed her assistance. This wasn’t unusual—well the spirt part wasn’t—after all, she was able to communicate with the dead. What was unusual was she didn’t normally have the spirits invade her home. 

This time, it was a gentleman named George Barkley. He was sort of a neighbor. If you could call someone who drowned himself in 1854 a neighbor. 

Startled awake by him, Lu immediately pulled on her jeans and sneakers. She didn’t waste time taking off her nightgown. She pulled a puffer jacket over it and grabbed her phone.  Once she was ready, she made her way out the back door and toward the bay. The same bay where George committed suicide after some financial setbacks. 

He led the way across Bayfront Parkway, moving much swifter than she could since she still had mortal feet and had to watch for whatever traffic might be out this time of day. 

As soon as she was over the seawall, she saw the person floating in the water. 

“Geez. It’s got to be thirty degrees out here. I have no choice do I, George?”

“Sorry, Miss Haverstock. I do not think so. I know how this goes. Best to hurry.”

She threw off the jacket. It would need to stay dry. 

Running toward the water, she dove in, hoping for the best. The icy water nearly took her breath away but she swam out to the body face down in the little bit of waves formed by the wind whipping over the water. 

The water was cold enough that there was a slight chance the woman could still be resuscitated. Cold helped the body’s organs from completely shutting down.  No way to know how long the woman had been out here, but she was pretty sure George moved swiftly since he spent a lot of his time here in the water as well as the house he built looking over the bay. He was buried at St. Michael’s cemetery but liked to hang around the house and the scene of his death. He sure loved his home. 

Lu dragged the body toward the shore. When she was able to get the woman clear of the water and flip her over, she realized it was actually a young man. All the long brown hair floating around him like seaweed had resulted in her missing that fact. 

This week, the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt scary. Happy Halloween!!

Check out the other tales here

I moved toward Jacques’ voice wondering what had him sounding so freaked out.

When I turned the corner, I saw him kneeling down with his hand on the floor.

Since it was still so dark, I couldn’t really tell what he was doing. “What’s happening? Where’s Monte?” I asked.

Jacques looked up at me, his face white enough for me to see in the dim light. He appeared to be shell-shocked. Or at least how I pictured someone who suffered from that as looking.

“He’s not here. Gone.”

“Gone where?”

Jacques shrugged. “No clue but there appears to be a puddle of blood here.  Come see.”

This was scary. “What do you mean blood? Are you touching it?” Horror seized me by the throat. I couldn’t swallow. “What is happening?” I took a step back. Not sure I wanted to go forward at all.

“I touched it to see what it was. It’s thick like blood or like melted chocolate. It’s hard to tell exactly what it is in the dark, but is smells metallic and not like cocoa.” Jacques held his hand out. “Come over here and check it out.”

“Shouldn’t we be calling the police? If Monte is hurt and missing, we need assistance in finding him and getting him some help.” A thought seized hold of my brain. “I saw a huge shadow outside a few minutes ago. I wonder if that was someone determined to hurt us. It’s pretty deserted in this area. What if some criminal was hiding out here and we disturbed their lair?”

“I don’t think that’s the situation. My friend who arranged for us to be here has a crew working in the house all week. He’d know if there was anyone hanging around. He wouldn’t send us into danger.” Jacques stood, his knees creaking in the silence between us. Eerily, the rain had stopped and a hush spread over the house.

“I don’t like this. We need to call someone to come help us find Monte.” I didn’t want to get near that puddle of blood. It was freaking me out. There was a lot of it and I was sure Monte had to be hurt really badly to have lost so much. This was not what I wanted to have happen this evening. I thought this would be a fun and eventful learning experience about the old plantation. I wasn’t anticipating one of my friends getting injured or disappearing.

“We have to go outside and look for him.” I turned toward the door. “At least it’s stopped raining.”

“I think you’re right about calling the police.” Jacques hesitated. “And probably an ambulance. This doesn’t look good. Nope. Not good at all.”

This week, the authors are writing to a picture prompt. I chose the one with the moon. I am still working on my spooky story.

Check out the other tales here.

I hung back to wait for the crash and made my way more cautiously, being sure to look out for that step that almost got me earlier when the unseen hands rescued me.

To my surprise, Jacques made it safely to the bottom floor. I was pretty much right behind him by then and, at the moment my left foot hit the bottom step, another huge clap of thunder rattled the windows.

While Jacques headed toward the door to the room where we left Monte, I waked over to the window to peek out at the rain to see how hard it was still coming down. It seemed to have eased off for now but I wanted to check anyway. I also wasn’t; sure I wanted to be in the room while Jacques berated Monte for what he thought might be some sort of gag. I hate drama between my friends. It reminds me of growing up in a house full of people who don’t like, much less love each other. Best to avoid that kind of confrontation.

I leaned close to peer out at the inky black sky. Would that it looked like it had last night with the moon close to full and shining down, giving off beautiful light in the sky. Tonight, it was as if there was no moon at all. Some clouds scudded by, but they still looked as full of rain as they did when we first heard the storm.

I was about to turn away when I saw something dark and massive run past the window, toward the side of the house where we hadn’t been yet.  At the same moment, Jacques yelled, in a strangled screech I’d never heard come from him before, “Get in here, Annika. Now.”

The writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt Curly this week. I am still plugging away on my spooky story.

Check out the other tales here

The ever sturdy and calm Jacques wouldn’t let me run. He reached for my wrist and held on to it. “Hang on. We have to see what the heck is happening. This is weird. We both know there was nothing there before and now there is. I’m beginning to wonder if someone isn’t playing some kind of joke on us. Did you tell anyone else we were coming out here?”

“Nope. No one. I presume the only people who know are the guy you arranged it with and us three.”

Jacques frowned. “You don’t think Monte was pretending to be afraid and is setting us up for some gag, do you?”

“I don’t know. He seemed legit scared to me. I didn’t think for one second he was faking it.”

“Me either but remember, he was in theater in undergrad. Neither one of us ever saw him in action. He could be that good, right?”

“No clue.” I pointed toward the axe. “It’s still there. Let’s go touch it.” I hesitated a second. “Together.”

He nodded, and not letting go of my wrist, led me toward the axe.

We approached slowly and silently. Like we were Elmer Fudd creeping up on Bugs Bunny.

When we were almost there, to the point Jacques could have reached out and touched it, a wisp of curly smoke rose from the floor and obscured the sight of it for a brief moment.

I waved my hand over the area to dissipate the haze but it hung there for a long time undisturbed.

“What the hell?” Jacques asked.

Before I could say I had no idea, the air cleared.

I looked down. The axe was gone. The floor empty again.

“All right. That’s it.’ Jacques smacked his palms together. “I’m done playing around. This was supposed to be a serious investigation of the reports about this plantation and its terrible history and I’m now convinced Monte is up to something. He had to get some tricks from one of those charlatans in the French Quarter and set this up. I’m going down there and I’m going to knock him in the head so hard he’s going to land in Lake Pontchartrain.”

I’d never seen Jacques this angry in all the years I’d known him. It was almost scarier to see than the craziness going on in this house. Almost but not quite. I wasn’t convinced this was a hoax. It seemed pretty real to me. Of course it could be the atmosphere, darkness, and storm contributing to that, but I was pretty sure we’d find Monte still cowered in the corner where we left him.