Short-short #2

Courtesy of Gel. I hope you enjoy this one. I’m getting a big kick out of the prompts. They’re good for my imagination.

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She knew she had locked the door and even put the chain on, yet how could it be that she had just heard it open and close.

“It’s probably just the ghosts,” she said to herself, raising the spatula she had been using to flip sliced potatoes. She crept down the hall, spatula held out before her. “Yoohooooo, ghosties!” It occurred to her that if it were an actual intruder, she was giving him plenty of warning, but it was probably just the ghosts. They had been appearing more and more lately. She had never believed in ghosts before the fire in her building had claimed two lives. Since then, they seemed to have moved in for reasons she couldn’t explain.

They were a young couple and they didn’t seem to mean her any harm. They just moved things around, opened doors and sometimes turned the TV and stereo on and off. One of these days, she would go to the church and get some holy water to sprinkle around her apartment. Maybe that would ease their passage to wherever they were supposed to go.

There was no one in the hall, but she could see that the chain on the door was undone. A sudden sound came from the room to her right. Still clutching her spatula, she peeked through the door to the living room. She jumped at the sight, her heart suddenly in her throat. The room was FULL of ghosts. Eight or ten at least. This was too much. She had to get help. An exorcist. Anyone.

She hurried back to the kitchen, thinking to use the phone there to call Father Larry. Smoke rose from the frying pan where the forgotten potatoes were turning black in their inch of oil. “Oh shoot! I forgot!” She reached past the pan to the knob on the back of the stove. Her arm bumped the handle. The pan spun, tipped and spilled oil onto the burner. Fire snatched at her sleeve. She screamed and jumped back, knocking the burning pan onto the floor. Flaming oil spread quickly. The little rug flared and blocked her exit.  She screamed again.

“Jilly.” Mark’s voice came from the doorway. It was calm, quiet, soothing. “Jilly.”

She coughed and looked past the flames. “Mark! Save me!”

“It’s all right, Jilly. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

The heat was horrific. She cried out in terror. “Help me!”

He smiled and came toward her, his hands out. “Come to me. It’s all right.”

The fire roared around him without touching him at all. She felt her shoes beginning to melt. “Please help.” She coughed again. Mark came forward and put his arms around her.

“It’s over, honey. Don’t you remember? It’s time to go.”

She blinked, eyes smarting from the smoke. “What?” She looked around. The fire and smoke were gone. The kitchen sparkled in the afternoon sun. Laughter and music drifted from the living room. “I don’t understand.” She stared up into his grey eyes. He kissed her forehead.

“It’s time to leave,” he said. He stepped back but kept hold of her hand. “This isn’t our place any more. Not since the fire. Come on now. Terry’s waiting. And your mum.”

“Terry? Mum? But they’re–” Her voice trailed off. “Oh. Oh!” She walked with him into the hall. “It was real, wasn’t it? The fire, I mean. Not now. But before. Right?”

“Right as rain.”

“And you did try to save me, didn’t you?”

He nodded. They passed the living room. She glanced in at the crowd. One young woman looked up, a startled expression on her face, then Mark and Jilly were past the doorway. She heard the voice, “Did you see that? Who was that?”

Another voice answered, “Oh, that’s just our ghost. I’ve been meaning to sprinkle holy water around, but she seems harmless.”

Jilly clung to Mark’s hand. They walked through the locked door and left the past behind.