family
The Haunted
I could see and hear things no one else could for as long as I can remember. My granny told me at a young age that I was sensitive just like her, at the time I couldn’t understand exactly what she was referring to but as time went on I would certainly find out. Unfortunately granny passed away and I later found myself very alone in these experiences with so many unanswered questions. I’ll never forget The first time I saw a ghost I had to be between seven or eight years old. I will never forget it because it was my great grandfather whom had just passed away. I hadn’t ever gotten to know him he was an Army veteran who suffered terrible ptsd. Grandpa mostly stayed in his room and I don’t recall seeing him well really ever. That summer I was visiting my granny and helping in the orchard when the phone rang, my granny promptly requested I answere the phone as not to wake grandpa. I did what she requested and to my surprise he had already answered the phone and when I picked up he scolded me and I remember I felt so hurt by his words. I immediately burst into tears and ran out to my granny to tell her what happened. I will never forget what I said to her. The hate filled words rolled right off my tongue;” he’s so mean! I wish he would just die” now mind you even with little to no relationship with my grandfather I did love him and didn’t mean what I said I was just a stupid young girl. We stayed for two more days and left back home. The very next evening my mother got a call I overheard enough to know something had upset her. She explains my Grandpa had died, when I heard the news I gasped I could feel my heartbreak. had I actually killed my grandfather! I cried for days, sure that my awful words had somehow caused his death, at his funeral I will never forget the way his daughter cried for him she was filled with so much pain. My grandmother was inconsolable, I remember wondering what kind of relationship they had with him, this broken man I never got to know hadn’t always been that way. He must have been a wonderful father a wonderful husband and a great loss to the family. I sat alone and cried as I begged for forgiveness and every cry of pain I heard from his grieving family invoked a guilt inside of me that seemed to consume my whole body. When I got home that night I went strait to my room and cried and cried I couldn’t stop apologizing to my grandfather and saying to myself “ why would you die?, I didn’t mean it.” I fell asleep after a while I was awakened by an odd feeling that I was being watched. Terrified to open my eyes I pulled my blanket up to my chest and grasped it tight in my hands while I worked up the nerve. To open my eyes the very first thing I noticed was odd green light almost a glow emanating from my closet and filling my room. I feel my bed compress near my feel and to my suprise I feel a hand gently lay across my calf. Startled I look to the foot of the bed and that’s when I see him. My grandfather, transparent and silent he just sat and looked at me and I looked closely back. The longer we look at each other I realize something is very different about him. His features look soft and and full of compassion a far cry from the stern and indifferent features that were compiled in my memory. This was him, he was filled with peace no longer tormented by his memories of war. I regretted that I never got to know him. He tapped my leg three times with his hand and smiled, just then the green glowing light began to recede into the closet I watched as my room filled with the familiar darkness, I looked back to the foot of the bed and as the light disappeared as quickly as It came so did my grandfather. I was filled with a sense of peace as well. I believe to this day That My grandfather came to comfort me and let me know that his death was not my fault. And without speaking a word, he did just that.
By Kaenne depuente 5 years ago in Fiction
Two Toes, One Finger
Two big toes and an index finger was all that was left of Ramona. She had been making an earl grey, like she did every morning, when she combusted. It was late afternoon by the time Charles got home and found the bloody remains of his mother splattered all over the kitchen blinds, linoleum, appliances and the various bits of crockery collected from jumble sales over the years. It was an alarming sight to come home to, to say the least. He wondered at first if an early-rising murderer had stormed the pink cottage, knifed her to death and cackled with glee as they tossed her innards around like confetti in some deranged killing frenzy. If it was murder, whoever it was had really gone to some trouble to make sure the room was painted crimson. He stood frozen in the doorway pondering the possibilities, until he saw the finger on the kettle. His eyes darted around the space, absorbing the blood caked on the ceiling, architraves and in crevices he had never noticed before, until they settled on two dismembered toes by the refrigerator. His pupils dilated and his jaw tensed. He felt his chest tighten, his fists clench, and that thicker-than-average vein in his temple start to throb. There was no knifeman on the loose. The combustion had finally happened.
By Charlotte K5 years ago in Fiction
The Unwanted Gift
The Unwanted Gift Chelsea is a beautiful young junior high school student who loves meeting new people. Everyone who meets her loves her; Never having met a stranger, her parents worry that harm would come to her one day. Chelsea likes to hang out with her two best friends, Karen and Mia, whom she has known since they were babies.
By Ronna Curtis5 years ago in Fiction
Rachel was not going to be like her mother.
Rachel was not going to be like her mother. Pacing frenetically across her messy bedroom, Rachel grabbed a seemingly random assortment of things, and stuffed them into a faded black backpack with duct tape on the strap. She skirted around the sturdy oak-framed bed, with blue dingy sheets and a faded quilt. Clothes were strewn about the room. On the floor. On the dresser. On her old Chemistry textbook. Hanging out of the hastily half-opened drawers. She shook a bottle of Bath & Body Works peony body spray with barely any liquid left. Not enough to bring with, but she couldn’t bring herself to throw it out either. She darted past the posters from magazines tacked to the walls, her attempt to decorate the room without spending any money. Past the old boom box with a case full of burned CDs. The soundtracks she’d often used to drown out the explosive fights that punctuated the deafening silence.
By Zianna Weston5 years ago in Fiction
My Mother’s Cake
America was hard. It was kind and crazy and lovely and mean and full of possibilities and people whose eyes you met and quickly looked away from because you didn't want to see how far down that feeling went. It was everything and full of nothing. You were already torn in half and America did not help with that.
By Maria Shimizu Christensen5 years ago in Fiction
Christmas Vacation
When the lake froze over, everyone in the cabin was really happy. Well, almost everyone. One person that didn't like it was, Alexa. Alexa was never a fan of the lake in general. She absolutely loathed it in the Winter. As most of her family seemed to hang out there more during Christmas Vacation. And staying away from it wasn't an option. Since, her parents said it was 'family time' and she couldn't back out of 'family time'.
By Raphael Fontenelle5 years ago in Fiction
The Green Porch Light
My mother has a habit of half-assing everything in the most endearing way possible. From cleaning the counter in figure-8s — totally missing the dirtiest sections — to undercooking pancakes and making gooey centers my favorite way to eat them. She puts things away not where they go, but wherever is most convenient or where she thinks they belong.
By Abby Draper5 years ago in Fiction
The Most Delicious Chocolate Cake Recipe Ever
She was five when we baked our first cake. Little blonde pigtails bouncing and big blue eyes dancing while we pulled out the ingredients. I had printed out the recipe so she could help me find everything. "What's next, Mama!"
By J.B. Miller5 years ago in Fiction
Lorraine's Lesson
The door swings open, and through it barges my Mother's friend Lorraine, a larger woman, greying hair, demanding. She sits at the table and begins talking with my mother. For some reason, even when she was kind, it came across as if she were plotting some spiteful revenge for some unseen slight, which was always a moving target.
By Jeff Johnson5 years ago in Fiction
Grandma's Hands
Susan bent in front of the oven and peered through the glass. The chocolate cake was rising nicely. Knowing when to take it out was part of the trick to the perfect cake. She thought of all the summers she had spent at her grandmother’s in her little house in St. Louis, the scent of chocolate wafting through her memories. They had baked this recipe over and over, and the entire family would acclaim their perfectly symmetrical triangles of pure chocolate bliss every time it was served. It was a birthday special request, but there were a lot of birthdays in the family. By the time her grandmother sold her house and moved into an apartment, Susan could bake the recipe with her eyes closed. She knew the exact moment to take the cake from the oven, the exact degree of coolness before she slathered it with a generous amount of cocoa frosting.
By Shelly Slade5 years ago in Fiction
