Shades: Eight Tales of Terror Read online

  “Uh oh.” Jessica frowned. “That should have set off warning bells.”

  “I’m sure it would have, given more time. Especially if she had been seen doing it more than once, but most people didn’t even hear about it till…afterwards. And then it was too late.”

  Marge took a deep breath and got up from the table. Taking her cup, she moved over to the sink and started rinsing it out. Jessica watched her with concern, noticing the tightness of her jaw as the woman scrubbed the little piece of china with unnecessary vigor.

  “Anyway,” the older woman continued, “the wedding was a big success, and they held the party afterwards at the Empire’s ballroom like it had been planned in the first place…only a little more modest and just using one ballroom. Come to find out, so many guests showed up they opened the second ballroom after all, and Harvey Deiter of the Empire did it on his own dime as a gift to the newlyweds. It was a great party, and everybody had a good time. And then…”

  Marge continued scrubbing the little cup, her eyes focused on something from years ago.

  “…and then it all ended. Robert and Emma left to go on their honeymoon, everybody else went home, and…and the next morning we all heard the news.” She set the cup down and closed her eyes with her hands braced on the sink.

  Jessica reminded herself this wasn’t just some awful town legend, but something that happened to people this woman loved. She regretted ever finding the dress, but knew that now the subject had come up, Marge needed to finish the story.

  “What happened, Margie?”

  “Priscilla did.” A tear formed at the corner of Mrs. Donalds’s eye. “Robert and Emma had wanted to keep it simple, and they decided to have their honeymoon at a little bed and breakfast called The Timber Pine. It was a quaint little place that used to sit out beside Lake Hallisboro. They stopped at Emma’s parent’s house, changed clothes and headed for the lake. Priscilla must have followed them. She snuck into the Wallace’s house and stabbed Betty Wallace to death with a butcher knife. Afterwards, she stole Emma’s wedding dress…and then she went on to Lake Hallisboro.”

  “How did she know where to go?”

  “Who knows?” Marge wondered aloud. “It wasn’t a secret. Priscilla’s mom probably heard it in town. All we know is she got up there sometime after midnight, and waited until she knew for sure that Robert and Emma were asleep. Then she somehow let herself in and crept up the stairs…still armed with the same knife she killed poor Betty with.”

  “Okay, Margie. I get the picture. You don’t have to tell the rest.”

  “Yes.” The older woman turned to face Jessica and leaned back against the sink. “Yes, I do. It was worse than you think. Emma woke up to the sound of Priscilla stabbing Robert. She opened her eyes to the sight of that psychotic bitch standing over him, wearing her wedding dress, and covered in his blood. He must have already been dead or dying, because Emma never heard anything from him. And there she lay, naked and unarmed with a blood drenched psychopath in the room.”

  “What did she do?”

  “The only thing she could.” Margie shook her head sadly. “She fought. She fought Priscilla with her bare hands when that murderous tramp came over Roberts’s body after her. I don’t know if I would have had the guts to try it, and I know a lot of women who would have just screamed and hid under the sheets while they got stabbed to death, but Emma fought her.”

  “Good for her!”

  “Yeah,” Margie whispered, “good for her. She tried—and it got her killed—but not before she managed to send that evil witch to hell.”

  “Emma killed her?”

  “Yep…Oh, I doubt it’s what she intended. I imagine she was just fighting for her life, or just fighting, but I’m pretty sure she didn’t plan what happened. She had already been stabbed several times and was bleeding out when she managed to push Priscilla off of her. That’s when the crazy bitch rolled off the bed and fell against the gas stove used to heat the place back then.”

  “Oh my God…”

  “Exactly. Unlike Priscilla, Emma didn’t want a custom tailored dress. She wanted to wear the one her mother got married in thirty years earlier. It was a pretty thing, but old and a little dry. Somehow a piece of it got through the bars and grate of the little stove…and Priscilla went up like a torch.”

  “Oh…my…God…”

  “And even then she didn’t stop. She still chased Emma to the door, and actually managed to stab her again before the flames probably blinded her. Then she went staggering and screaming out of the room, blazing like a bonfire. Somehow she made it down the stairs before she collapsed against the curtains in the downstairs living room. Of course, that just made the fire worse. Fortunately, the Whitfields, the old couple who ran The Timber Pine, had been roused by all the noise and they managed to get the blaze out before the whole house burnt down. Even then, they lost half the living room. And it was too late for poor Emma. She managed to tell Carol Whitfield what happened while they waited for the fire department, but died before help could arrive.”

  “That’s horrible, Marge!” Jessica commiserated while rubbing her eye again. “I’m so sorry I pulled the ratty old thing out of that box, and brought all this back up for you.”

  Marge favored a fond smile on the younger woman and shook her head.

  “It’s okay, dear. It was a long time ago. If anything, I should be apologizing to you for acting like a dainty old woman with a case of the vapors and getting you worried. Here I’ve been jawing about a bunch of grisly history, and your poor eyes are killing you.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “Honey, you should see your eyes.” Marge reached across the table and gathered Jessica’s cup and saucer. “It’s not okay. You go upstairs and get that nap I’ve been keeping you from, and I’ll go take care of my shopping.”

  Jessica rose gratefully and headed for the stairway at the front of the house. She paused at the kitchen door.

  “You sure you don’t want company? I don’t mind.”

  “I’m sure.” The older woman set the china in the sink. “I would rather you rest your eyes and be feeling good this evening. Ricky and his father won’t be home till late, so you can keep me company then. Now off to bed with you!”

  “Aw, Mom!”

  “Off with you!” Marge laughed. “And if you’re good, I’ll bring home those rolled tacos you love so much from the store for supper. Now…bedtime!”

  ***

  Jessica didn’t know how long she had been staring at the ceiling before realizing she was awake.

  A faded golden light, the result of the setting sun shining on the closed window shades, suffused the room. It told her she must have slept for a couple of hours, but left her wondering what woke her up. Her head still felt tight from the pressure of her eyes, but not as bad as earlier. Still, she usually slept until this kind of thing passed.

  Why not this time?

  The air hung still, and a hush seemed to lie over the dim room. She didn’t hear any noise that would have disturbed her sleep. If anything, it seemed like all the sound and energy had been sucked out of the atmosphere. Even the light of the sunset possessed more of a sepia tone than the usual rich shade of gold.

  The light, combined with the presence of the antique furniture Marge used to decorate the room, gave the illusion of her being in an old photograph.

  Jessica got the strangest feeling she had wakened to catch the world in a pause between breaths. She lay there in the blanket-like silence, listening for any sound to break the spell. No noise came from downstairs, leading her to decide Marge either hadn’t gotten home from the store, or had curled up with a book.

  She shivered as she listened, and wondered if maybe the cold woke her up. And where had this cold come from? It was December, but this was south Texas and it certainly hadn’t been cold when she lay down a couple of hours ago.

  Rubbing her arms against the chill, Jessica wondered if Marge might have turned down the thermostat before leaving the
house. The thought seemed reasonable, and having solved that mystery she prepared to deal with the problem by the simple expediency of getting under the blankets. Another hour or two of sleep would be just what the doctor ordered.

  She prepared to roll over and reach for the corner of the blanket—then froze at the sound of a footstep out in the hall.

  It wasn’t loud, just the softest of taps, but clearly audible in the oppressive silence of the dead air. Jessica squinted down between her feet at the closed bedroom door in the far wall, holding her breath. Another halting step sounded, this time accompanied by the rustle of stiff fabric. What the hell? The hair on the back of her neck started to rise as instinct led her to two quick conclusions. Somebody stood out in the hall…on the other side of the door…

  And it wasn’t Marge.

  “Calm down, Jessie,” she breathed to herself. “You don’t know it isn’t Marge.”

  Nevertheless, she slowly eased herself onto the floor in her sock feet. With silent care, she pulled a knitted shawl off a nearby chair, wrapped it around her bare shoulders, and crept toward the bedroom entrance. The temperature fell further as she tiptoed in the direction of the door, and Jessica hugged herself against the icy air.

  She paused as something took another two steps in the hallway beyond. This time the rustle of skirts was undeniable to Jessica’s experienced ear. Somebody tottered on the other side of that door, and they were doing it in a full dress.

  There’s only one of those in this house, she swallowed silently, and it’s hanging over the mirror in the attic.

  Or at least it had been when she went to bed.

  Suddenly, she wanted Ricky with her worse than ever before in her entire life. He would already be laughing at her, and making her feel like the world’s biggest ninny, but that would be glorious compared to this. Fortifying herself with a quiet, shuddering breath, she resumed her approach toward the hall.

  Jessica finally reached the entranceway, and with exquisite care leaned her hands and ear against the tall door. Her palms burned from the icy wood, and her breathing now made visible puffs in the frigid air.

  She sensed the presence on the other side shift its weight, as if it stood there deciding what move to make next. It took all the willpower at her command not to brace herself against the door in an effort to hold it shut, knowing full well the added pressure would cause it to creak and alert the intruder to her presence.

  Jessica stilled her breath, straining every sense to the utmost to try and make out anything happening in the hallway. The sounds had been so soft that part of her wondered if they were simply the product of a waking imagination. Closing her eyes, the young woman pressed her ear tighter against the frigid door. Hearing wasn’t easy, because the oppressive “dead” atmosphere of the room made even the background ringing of her ears loud and distracting.

  Then it came again.

  There could be no mistaking the rustle of skirts, as whoever stood out in the hall moved. This time it was followed by the muted staccato of footsteps. Jessica exhaled gently, relieved at the retreating sound. They moved at a slow, uneven pace…but they were definitely moving away from the door. Her head still firmly pressed against the wood, she heard the footsteps shuffle their way to the end of the hall.

  That put them at the top of the stairs, about twelve feet away.

  Jessica bit her lip…waiting.

  For a moment, no further sound reached her ears. Then the soft tap of a heel on the top step, and the slithering of satin, announced the beginning of a descent down the stairs. They were slow and uneven, and they halted at times, but they were definitely moving down and away. The brush of satin against the poles of the banister carried back up the stairs and down the hall to her door. They paused as they reached the first landing, where the stairs took a ninety degree turn to the right. Then the footsteps continued.

  Swallowing hard, Jessica let one hand slide down the surface of the door to the knob. As the steps and rustle faded it became hard to gauge their location, forcing her to estimate their distance on an even rougher guess of their rate of movement. She closed her eyes and did a silent count in her head, giving whatever moved outside more than enough time to reach the bottom of the stairs.

  Finally, she could hear nothing.

  With the intruder now downstairs, the time had come for her to move. She needed to get out of this house.

  Now.

  Jessica opened her eyes and stared at the doorknob. It felt chilly in her hand and her knuckles were white from the tension born-grip with which she held it. Slowly, ever so slowly, she turned it…causing it to pull back the bolt with only the faintest of clicks. She exhaled, gently stepping back and pulling the door with her…

  Only to be almost overcome by the wave of frosty air and dust that billowed in.

  She nearly shrieked in surprise and only managed to choke it off at the last second. The temperature in the room plunged, and the knitted shawl offered scant protection against the biting cold. Jessica grabbed her nose in a hurry. She briefly shut her eyes against the influx, terrified of alerting the house to her presence by an ill-timed sneezing fit. At least the dust seemed to settle swiftly in the dead air, coating the surfaces and furniture of the room.

  Not daring to breathe, Jessica peeked over the one hand she held out in a defensive posture toward the door, still clasping the other over her nose and mouth.

  The hallway door stood open and empty.

  She didn’t trust this for one second, but no other avenue of escape existed. It was either the door, or crawl back into bed and pull the covers over her head…and she remembered Marge’s comment about the latter move in her recent story.

  “I can d-do this.” Her shaky reassurance didn’t help as much as she hoped. “It’s just down the hall…then down the stairs…and then run like hell for the front door.” Three slow trembling steps brought her to the opening, and she peered into the shadowed hallway.

  Her eyes widened in disbelief.

  Dust covered everything. Cobwebs hung in great shrouds from the ceiling and fixtures, transforming the hall into a gloomy tunnel that reeked of disrepair and abandonment. Marge kept a tight ship when it came to her house, but the hallway looked like something from some long deserted derelict.

  Whatever hopes Jessica harbored about the presence being Marge, or some unknown intruder, drained away. This was no burglar, or other natural menace. Something had come through here, leaving a wide trail of dust, cobwebs, and frigid air in its path.

  And that “something” smelled like burnt meat.

  The stench hung in the icy air, turning Jessica’s stomach and forcing her to fight back the urge to retch. Everything depended on silence, so she kept her nose and mouth covered as she began to creep down the passage toward the stairs. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, magnified by the hollow quiet of the air, as she strained to hear even the slightest of noises that might come from the stairwell ahead.

  With slow, silent care, Jessica reached the top of the stairs.

  The murk deepened on this end of the hall, and the noxious smell grew stronger. The cold seemed to flow up the stairway from below, yet no movement in the air disturbed the great curtains of cobwebs now draping the banister. Due to the right turn the stairs took half way down, she couldn’t see the landing at the bottom.

  The idea of starting down the steps, without knowing what might wait on the lower landing, distressed her. The only way to see below would be to get down on her hands and knees and peek under the first floor ceiling from the second step. It would be awkward, but the alternative would be to start her descent blind and possibly alert whatever waited below.

  Jessica bit her lip in concentration as she lowered herself into a crouch.

  One at a time, she placed her palms on the floor, then moved her weight onto them in gradual amounts. The last thing she wanted to do now was cause a floorboard to creak. With infinite care, she went down to one knee, then the other. She paused in each step of the proce
ss, making sure to gently bring each knee into contact with the floor before letting them support her.

  At last she achieved the position, and allowed herself to take a few quiet breaths…

  …and that’s when the cell phone in her pocket went off.

  ***

  Marge tilted her head so she could pin the phone between her ear and shoulder as she held up the two different jars of salsa. She remembered that Jessica’s allergies went berserk over one of them, but couldn’t recall which one.

  When Ricky told her of his new fiancée’s allergies, her initial reaction had been negative. She pictured a dainty little prima-donna who whined at every challenge life threw her way, but Jessica turned out to not fit that description at all. Cheerful and gregarious, her future daughter-in-law generally avoided the things that affected her without making it a burden on others, and willingly endured them when circumstances called for it. Jessica’s refusal to let allergies rule her life had Marge scolding her to respect them more, when she was initially prepared to roll her eyes at the mention of them.

  Now she fretted over getting the right salsa, knowing full well Jessica wouldn’t complain if she got it wrong.

  “C’mon, girl. Pick up,” she muttered as she squinted at the labels. Her reading glasses were at home and the glare from the store’s bright fluorescents didn’t help. “I’ll let you get back to sleep as soon as…”

  “Marge!”

  For a second, the older woman had a hard time recognizing the harsh whisper on the phone as belonging to her son’s fiancée.

  “Jessie? Is that…”

  “Marge?” her voice sounded like she was whispering and trying not to cry at the same time. “Where are you?”

  “I’m at the corner store.” She put down one of the jars and repositioned the phone, “Right down the street. Are you alright? What’s wrong, honey?”

  “S-She’s here!”

  The statement carried an edge of hysteria that sent a thin trickle of ice down Marge’s spine.