Saugus.net

Halloween Ghost Story Contest -- 2003
Adult Winners

First Place



Our first place Adult winner is Paul Melniczek of Reinholds, PA. Mr. Melniczek's past writing credits include Restless Shades, Frightful October, A Halloween Harvest, and Dark Harvest.




Letters from Aunt Agatha

by
Paul Melniczek

The homes of Rackeford were silent, the brick and stone structures  decorated appropriately for the dark holiday.

Jill stood on her wooden porch, nodding and admiring her handiwork. A bumpkin-faced scarecrow returned her stare, the rumpled clothes stuffed with hay, a black pipe poking from its mouth, a straw hat perched on the comical head, gourds tumbled lazily against its booted feet. Indian corn hung from a nail alongside the window, which looked more like the opening to a house of horrors than anything else. Wax-mold candles in the shape of ghosts and witches grinned outwards like miniature sentinels. A plastic pumpkin light, complete with top hat and a bristling black cat as accomplice, stood in mute attention, patiently waiting for dusk and its proper element.

She walked towards the front of the porch, where a leering jack-o-lantern, its orange skin glistening from leftover frost, guarded the stone steps.

The air was brisk, laced with just a hint of mystery. Possibilities.

Halloween...

Jill approached the mailbox, with its teddy bear hands signaling new mail, a broad grin covering the tan face which was smeared with several dabs of painted honey.

Happy little bear, bring me some good news.

 She paused, her perky nose wrinkling...

Better yet, don’t bring me any bad news.

She pushed the bear’s hand away and opened the slot, revealing a stack of the usual bills, junk mail, and credit card solicitations. The autumn sun was swiftly chasing away the morning coolness, and Jill felt the warmth caress her cheek. Orange and russet-colored mums nestled in the mulch surrounding the mailbox, and Jill carefully stepped around them as she made her way back, shuffling through the envelopes.

One particular letter caught her attention -- something which could darken the bright morning.

Please, not again...

She bit her lip. The letter was addressed to her husband Mark, sent from his Aunt Agatha. Jill tromped up the steps and entered the cozy Cape Cod.

Mark’s lean form greeted her inside. “Honey, what came?”

“Among other things, another letter. Why can’t she accept things the way they are?” Jill felt her mouth go dry.

Mark rubbed his hands over the short growth of beard which covered his face, the gray eyes vacant as he stared at the letter in his wife’s palm.

“You don’t have to read them, Jill. I want you to stop worrying about it.” He reached for the envelopes, and Jill reluctantly conceded the pile.

“I’ve never done anything to the woman -- never even met her. What does she have against me?” Jill slumped down on a blue love seat, tossing back her brown hair.

“It’s got nothing to do with you, I told you that. She never let me go. I was always the center of her life, and the thought of our marriage was too much for her. Don’t take it personally...” Mark went into the kitchen, opening the letters as he disappeared around a corner.

“Every week since our wedding, your aunt has sent a letter condemning what we did, and you tell me to ignore it? I don’t think so...”

The first one had arrived shortly after they’d returned from their honeymoon, the wonderful memories of the Caribbean fresh in their minds. A nasty little piece of writing, and Jill had been hurt, not even given the chance to reply or defend herself. Agatha wrote that Mark had made the wrong choice, and should have stayed single. If his parents would still have been alive, they would have forced him to call off the wedding, she’d written.

So how could Jill remain unaffected by such contempt? She frowned, grabbing a Milky Way from a treat basket sitting on the living room table. Jill rolled it in her fingers but didn’t open the wrapper. Her mood now soured, she could only dwell on the relentless letters.

Mark had no family in the states at all, leaving Jill with no one to hear her side of the story. Mark had been raised by his aunt, who adopted him at a young age when his parents had passed away. He’d lived with the woman for most of his thirty years, moving out shortly before he’d met Jill.

Mark popped his head into the room. “Yes, I don’t want you to worry about her. She’s old, and can’t be taken too seriously anyway. I see her every week.”

“Yeah, you do,” Jill replied.

“When she’s ready, then you can meet her. Until then, just trust me.”

“Nope.”

“Please?”

Jill sighed. “We’ll see...” She opened the candy bar, but her appetite was gone. Even for chocolate.

Mark joined her. “I have to run into town, find a part for the leaf-blower. Dinner tonight, right? Maybe I’ll bring home some spooky treats.” He grinned and walked up to his wife, kissing her on the forehead.

“You better shave later...”

“I will,” he said, winking at her, a mischievous look in his eye. He walked out the door.

Jill went to the kitchen, sorting through the pile of letters. Had Mark taken the latest one already? She looked in the trash can, pulling out a torn envelope. The return address was clearly visible on the back.

“All right -- there you are, dear Aunty. It’s about time we finally met.”

She grabbed her car keys off the counter, looking determined.

#

Jill sat in her red Camaro and stared at the old stone home.

After becoming lost a few times, she’d managed to track down the place and now found herself on a hill above the village of Creek Water, which bordered her own town. She opened the car door and looked around. No other homes were in sight, and a forest of oak and maple trees surrounded the lonely dwelling. Thick, unkempt hedges sprawled against the deteriorating porch. The yard was overgrown with weeds and crabgrass.

“How depressing.” She frowned as she walked onto the landing, half expecting to see the scornful face of an old woman peering through the broken window. Corn from raiding pranksters lay scattered on the loose planking. A smashed pumpkin sat rotting in one corner, flies buzzing angrily around the pulpy remains.

Jill rang the doorbell, but heard nothing. She rapped on the storm door, the sound dull and empty.

“Hello? Anyone home?”

No answer.

Jill turned around, frowning.

“I’ve come this far -- I’m not turning back.” She tested the door, but it was locked. Folding her arms, she pivoted.

Nightfall was descending, long black shadows creeping eagerly along the forsaken structure. From far off she caught the smell of burning wood, perhaps from an autumn bonfire. Crickets chirped from the high grass, and a dog barked down the road. She doubted that any trick-or-treaters would dare to come here, though.

Jill left the porch and walked around the side of the house, following a brick path which was cracked and partially covered with dirt. The place was silent and dark, no lights visible. She found the back porch to be in worst shape than the front. Warped boards stuck out from the rotted flooring, the nails rusted and bent.

“Wonderful...”

She tried the door, and found this one to be unlocked.

“Here goes nothing...” Jill opened the panel, the hinges creaking loudly, and she entered a modest kitchen filled with shelves of canned goods and dried fruit. The table was clean, and looked to be recently used.

“Hello? Agatha? Are you here? It’s Jill, I want to talk with you.”

The house appeared to be unoccupied. Mark had said that his aunt didn’t drive, and had no car. Had a friend picked her up? Jill went further into the house, staring at the antique furniture and crafts which lined the walls. Hand-woven tapestries adorned the interior paneling, and several old vases were placed in corners.

The dining room table was empty, and Jill pursed her lips at the musty smell. A small desk sat in the corner littered with documents and envelopes. Curious, she scanned through the assortment. Her mouth opened in shock.

Hand-written letters, all addressed to Mark. She ruffled through the collection, browsing the contents, all of them criticizing her marriage. There were dozens of them, and she noticed a metal waste basket next to the desk. It was filled with more letters...

Spider chills crawled along her back. Agatha’s bitterness ran deep. Real deep. Much more than just a casual dislike of Mark’s decision. The woman either was totally misinformed, or needed some help...

“Agatha?” She looked at the winding stairway. Was she sleeping upstairs? Jill climbed up, the boards groaning with each step.

The upper hall was dark and quiet. A bathroom opened straight ahead, bordered by a closet. At the end of the corridor was a closed door, most likely the bedroom. Jill walked forward, stopping at the end.

“Hello, Agatha?” She tapped softly on the panel. No answer.

She turned the knob, pushing it open, wrinkling her nose. Something smelled bad in there. Soft light spilled outwards, and she entered.

Agatha was in bed.

Jill could see the form of an elderly woman, her head turned to the side, wispy gray hair cascading down the partially covered face. On the night stand was a writing pen and a stack of envelopes. A picture of Mark sat in a gold-rimmed frame. He was much younger, and looked to be in high school yet. Next to this was an old wedding picture, with the names ‘Agatha and Ben’ signed at the top.

Strange, she thought. Mark never mentioned anything about his aunt being married...

Something equally bizarre was the way the room had been decorated for Halloween, as if by a child. Orange and black streamers lined the walls, while a miniature haunted village rested on top of a flat trunk. A single pumpkin lay carved on the floor, light gleaming through the slanted eyes and crooked teeth, the wick of a hidden candle guttering inside. A long knife had been left there, thrust directly between the eyes...

“Hello, Agatha? I’m Jill -- I came over to talk. Are you awake?”

She swallowed heavily, feeling very uncomfortable. Would Agatha be angered by the intrusion? Jill crept closer.

“Agatha?”

The woman remained silent, or asleep.

 Perched before the bed, Jill now leaned over her. With trembling hands, she pulled the covers away, gagging at the smell. It was coming from Agatha -- or what was left of her... The body looked decayed, pieces of white glinting dully in the gloom. Bones. She staggered backwards in horror.

“I told you not to worry.”

Jill jumped in fright as someone behind her spoke. Mark...

“See, she’s resting now. That’s all Agatha does anymore, I’m afraid.”

Jill turned to look at her husband. Mark’s eyes were unfocused, his voice toneless. She backed away, terror etched in the tight line of her jaw. She didn’t know this man...

Mark stepped forward.

“Agatha didn’t want me to get married. Wanted me only to look after her.” He shook his head sadly. “But I didn’t move out until the week before our wedding. Was that wrong?”

Jill felt tears forming. “Please, Mark. Let me just go home. Okay?” Shaking uncontrollably, the words sounded pathetic in her own ears.

Mark moved closer. “See those letters on the table? I wrote them, trying to convince her. You know, I would have eventually.”

Jill retreated, matching each of his footsteps.

“If you only would have waited.” Mark rubbed his fingers together.

Desperate, Jill tried to think of something to say. Her mind screamed at her in warning.

He’s insane! Have to get out...

“But you didn’t believe me, and here you are. You know, I think that you’re a lot like Aunt Agatha. She didn’t believe me either. She made me...” He stopped.

“Mark, I understand. Please, don’t be angry at me.” She moved towards the solitary window, which appeared locked. Panting in fear, she kept blinking her eyes, trying to think of something to say -- she had to stall for time.

“Well, now you two can get to know each other better. This is your new home, Jill.”

Mark reached down, slowly pulling out the knife from the pumpkin.

Jill screamed.

“Carved it myself. Come on, it’s not that bad, is it? I like Halloween, Agatha used to dress me up...” His voice faded, and he seemed on the verge of crying. “I really miss her. Her and Uncle Ben. They always threw a party for me on Halloween.”

“Please, just let me go. I’ll do anything you want. I’ll never talk about Agatha again...” She whimpered, fumbling at the latch.

Mark cleared the orange pulp from the blade. “No, Jill. I want you here with me.” He smiled. “I’ll have my favorite women living in the same house together. It’s what I’ve always wanted.” His eyes glittered. “Look, I even shaved for you tonight.”

The knife gleamed cold silver as it hovered over Jill’s head. She struggled with the window, but it was tightly locked. Jill stared into the depths of Mark’s orbs, hoping to find a glimmer of the man she’d married.

But Mark’s pupils were as dead as the jack-o-lantern’s...

#

Mark smiled, admiring his handiwork. Jill lay facing upwards with her eyes closed, blanketed from the neck down.

“Rest for now, dear. It’s Halloween, we’ll throw our own party later on.” He gently touched her brow.

Whistling a children’s Halloween song, he went into the bathroom and showered. Taking his time, Mark reappeared after long minutes. He sat on the bed, straightening the covers.

“What more could a man want?”

 Mark moved across the room and stared out the window. The moon was a sliver of white above the trees. It looked so peaceful outside, he thought. He nodded to himself. Perfect. Just like the days of his childhood. Getting ready for trick or treat, hoping for an early prize from their hidden stash at home. Watching scary movies. How much fun it had been. Mark sighed at the memory fragments playing though his mind.

 He then noticed something strange -- a lump against the grass in the far corner of the yard. It looked like a mound of broken dirt...

Mark spun around as footsteps approached from the hall, his eyes widening as a stooped figure stood in the doorway, moldy hands wielding a meat cleaver.

Think your Uncle Ben would miss the Halloween party, Mark? Looks like it’ll be a dandy one this year...

The End







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