Jezri's Nightmare Books

Saturday, April 7, 2012

G is for...GHOST!


In my tour of the Alphabet with the A to B Blog Challenge, I have reached the letter G



                              G is for G…g…g…GHOST!



Revenge Is a Dish Best Served Dead
By Lisa McCourt Hollar

Eyes like daggers, Miranda poured as much anger into her as she could and threw it all at the man she was following. A display of oranges broke, spilling across the open air market and into his path. The man stumbled, his arms flailing as he tried to maintain his balance by dancing a jig around the escaped fruit. He almost succeeded, but then a basket of muffins fell over and the man went down, landing hard on his back, and smacking his head against the pavement.
“Score!” Miranda stood over him, her lips pulled back in a snarl.
“Are you okay mister?” A woman came running over to help the man up, stepping into Miranda’s space and forcing her to dissipate. Gasping from the pain, Miranda shook it off and rematerialized behind him, directing her rage at his back.
“I’m fine,” he said, looking nervously behind him. The hairs on his neck were prickling and he had a feeling of dread that he couldn’t shake.
“Are you sure? Oh…you’re bleeding. I think you should get that stitched.”
Carl reached up and touched his head. Feeling something warm and sticky, he pulled his fingers away and stared at them, confused. Miranda grinned. Reaching out, she pushed her fingers into the wound, twisting and grinding against the damaged flesh. Sucking in his breath, Carl winced in pain and pulled away from her touch.
“I’m calling an ambulance,” the woman said.
“No, don’t…I’ll be okay. It’s just a small cut.”
“Are you sure? It looks bad.”
“I SAID I AM FINE!”
Surprised by his anger, the woman stepped out of his way and let him go. Miranda followed, whispering in his ear when he stopped at the corner to lean against a car. He was looking around to see if anyone was watching.
“Thief,” Miranda hissed, when he popped the door open.
Carl leaned in, reaching for the wires under the dash. The car roared to life, but then the wires sparked, burning the tips of his fingers.  Miranda laughed, enjoying this new game. Climbing into the driver’s seat, he put the car in gear and pulled out into traffic.
“Where are you going,” Miranda asked. “You can’t get away from me.” Then grinning, she pushed her foot down on top of his, forcing him to go faster. “I won’t let you.”
Terrified, Carl tried to put on the brakes, but he couldn’t lift his foot from the accelerator. A busy intersection was coming up and the light was red. Just before he would have run it, Miranda lifted the pressure and he slammed on the breaks.
“I want you dead,” Miranda hissed…but not at the expense of the innocent that would be hurt in an accident.
When the light turned red, Carl turned the corner, passing a police car. Miranda had a new idea and dove under the hood. The car came to a stop.
“Damn!” Carl turned the key, trying to get the stolen car to start, but it just made a grinding sound. Then there was a tap on the window. Miranda pushed the power button and sent the glass rolling down.
“Sir, can I help you?”
Carl looked at the cop standing outside the window, the color draining from his face.
“Are you okay? You’re bleeding.”
“I…I’m fine officer. I just had a little accident and was on my way to the hospital.”
Puzzled, the cop looked down the road, where the University Hospital sat, only a block away. “You’re going in the wrong direction then.”
Carl looked behind him, then back at the officer. “I guess I’m a bit turned around. Must be hurting worse than I thought.”
“What’s your name, sir? You look familiar.”
“I don’t think you would know me. I’m from out of town…another State,”
“But your plate is local. Can I see your license and registration?”
“RUN,” Miranda hissed, breathing ice into his ears.
Carl opened the car door, slamming it into the officer’s side and knocking him to the ground. Running down the street, he heard the man ordering him to stop.
“RUN,” Miranda laughed, sending the lid from a trashcan flying towards his head. Carl dodged it, looking in horror at the spot where Miranda was standing. For a moment he thought he saw someone.
“That’s right Carl…it’s me.” Miranda picked the trash can up, allowing it to hover in the air before throwing it at his feet.
Carl turned and ran the moment the can went sailing through the air. He’d never believed in ghosts before, but the image of his ex- girlfriend standing in the street was embedded in his head. He’d only seen her for a moment, but then the trash container had begun to float in mid- air. Behind him he heard the metal can hit the ground.
“Run Carl,” Miranda laughed, chasing after him. “RUN!”
In front of him, a heavy tree branch broke and fell, barely missing him. Looking over his shoulder, Carl saw Miranda coming at him, her eyes flashing with anger.”
“I’m sorry,” he screamed. “I didn’t mean it!”
“But I do!”
A bike from a nearby yard sat up and went wheeling towards Carl, while the wind picked up and the branches from the trees began to sway, violently. A dog came to the edge of the road and growled at Carl and then another dog and another.
“Miranda, please stop!”
“Isn’t that what I said, when you had your hands around my neck?”
The bike that was rolling towards Carl rose into the air. Screaming, Carl turned and ran into the path of the police car.
***
Carl couldn’t move. His head was strapped to a board and his arms were tied down.
“Don’t try and move,” a voice said. “You have a neck injury.”
Carl looked up into the face of the paramedic, and then over his shoulder at the woman standing there, her face twisted and filled with hate.
“Yeah, don’t move Carl…we wouldn’t want you to get hurt. And don’t worry if it turns out you’re paralyzed. I’ll be here with you, forever...or until you die.”

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