The widow and the haunted house.

A Story by Carrie

A widow finds something worse then death

I sat in my white filthy kitchen, drinking steaming black coffee, laced with brandy. Outside, the wind blew, bare tree branches, against the side of the house. Rain drizzled. Wet leaves blanketed the earth, a solemn farewell to summer.

Tic toc tic toc an old cuckoo clock, counted off the seconds, every hour it choked out a poor excuse for a bird call. I drank more brandy, the amber liquid burning my throat. Drop by drop, I poured the foul liquid down my throat, until months worth of emtry brown bottles, littered the floor, silent testimony to a broken heart. Damp cold air settled over the kitchen, feeding mildew in the corners. I should turn on the old gas stove, instead of watching my hands turn blue. I should take a bath or eat but instead I sit and drink.

I sigh, rembering, a cheap pine coffin, lowered into a deep muddy hole, under a steel grey sky.. Wicked wet wind whipped rain into eyes, noses and under coats. A drenched priest. A group of strangers dressed in black. My husband dead of a heart attack. He left me a widow at 32.

After his death, bankrupt, I moved here. An old 2 story white farm house, that my sister owned but could not rent or sell. Rural was an understatement, it was so far out in the boonies, there was no internet. The only neighbor a Baptist church, with a dilapidated cemetery. No self respecting ghost rested in peace, under the decay of broken tombstones and overgrown rosebushes. No one would hear you scream. Heck no one could find the place.

Rain drops froze on the window. A new moon cast shades of darkness. My hands shaking, I lit a long wooden match. I opened the kitchen stove's ivory porcelain door, turned on the gas and quickly lit the pilot. Blue flame poofed, ran along metal rails. I left the stove door open.

I turned around a man sat at my table. He was dry. He was clean cut and wore a flannel shirt. He helped himself to my brandy. He inhaled the potent fumes but did not drink. He disappeared.I rubbed my eyes. It must be hypothermia or something. I shut my eyes and looked again. He was gone.

The next morning fog hung thick in the air. Raindrops froze on the windows. The kitchen smelt of damp air, stale coffee and brandy. I lit the stove. Emtry brown bottles littered the floor. I picked them up, lost count at 22. I filled a couple of garbage bags. On the table, sat 2 cups. Hun? I only drank from one. Maybe there was a stranger in the house?

I searched the house, every nook and cranny. All the doors and windows locked. I found undistrubed dust bunnies, dead spiders and dirty windows. In the parlor, l found an ancient mirror, covered in dust. The beveled glass, warm to touch? "Knock knock," I looked out the door no one there. "Knock knock" Oh crap must be imagining things. No sign of a dry man? I returned to the kitchen, 2 cups. Damn, l boiled water and washed the kitchen.

Wisps of fog danced in weak sunlight, but I could see outside. I loaded the garbage bags into my rusted out winter beater and drove to the dump.

Then I drove to Groveville,. The dirt roads were surrounded by thick forest and an occasional farm. In town there was a white brick 1970s style elementary school, a library, a post office and a cop shop. The commerical district consisted of a row of brick buildings, with shattered windows, broken faded signs and missing doors. The town streets littered with pot holes like landmines..

A dollar general was open for business. A rusted bicycle was parked in front. I brought some extremely overpriced groceries, from an ance faced school girl. Silently she rang up my order. Shoved my stuff into a bag and slumped against the wall.

I drove home, the roads turning to mud. Would the sun ever make an appearance? I arrived at home and unlocked the door. On my kitchen table set 4 glasses. What the? I sniffed, each glass held brandy. I set my bags on the floor. "Knock knock," came from inside the house. "Hello, who's there?" I searched the house, found nothing out of place?

I called a locksmith on a black rotary phone and begged for new locks. The secretary set up an appointment. Hands shaking I hung up the phone.

I turned around, a yellowish crumpled newspaper lay on the table. It smelled of woodsmoke and was dated July 4th 1974. I flipped thru it. The obituaries, circled in pink, covered 2 pages. I counted 169 deaths, in this small town? The cause eating wild death cap mushrooms, served in a casserole. Hands shaking, I lit the stove. Rain pelted the window. I grabbed the newspaper and shoved it into the stove. Mocking me, it did not burn. "Knock knock"

I sprinted to my car. Hands trembling, shoved the key into the lock, turned the key, nothing. Oh please please start, you damn car. No luck, it refused to start.

Back inside the house, I telephoned the operator. She connected me to a taxi. No luck again, no taxi service available. I slammed the phone receiver and starred at the intact newspaper laid on the table next to 4 shot glasses.. I drank all 4 shots. "Knock knock"

Enough, "ok joke's over. Leave me alone." Words slurred. Tic toc tic toc. Blue flames danced in the stove. "What do you want? Who's playing games?" I sat in a chair waiting for an answer, "knock knock" Damn, I could call the cops, but what would I say? It was to far to walk to Groveville.

Knock knock, I froze listening. Knock knock, it was coming from inside the house. Knock knock, with shaking hands I grabbed a rolling pin. Knock knock the noise came from the front parlor. I took a deep breath and prepared to beat the crap out of the intruder. I crept thru the dining room and glanced into the parlor, emtry. Knock knock, oh crap, where was it coming from? I looked out the windows, no one was there. I checked the lock on the door, locked. KNOCK KNOCK came from the mirror. KNOCK KNOCK, the mirror's glass rippled like the waves on lake. A hand white and strong, claped my wrist. It pulled me into the mirror. Like a cat playing with a rat, the hand toyed with me. The hand pulled me inch by inch, into the mirror, sucking the heat from my body. "AWWWWWWW!"

Several days later, my sister searched the pourlor. I watched her from inside the mirror. She checked the locked door and the windows. Over and over she frantically entered and exited the room. Tears fell from her eyes, she clutched her coat, shaking. I tapped the mirror, I screamed. She did not respond.

Shadows lengthed, darkness grew. Trapped in the mirror, no escape, "AWWWWWWW!"

© 2025 Carrie

Author's Note

Hope you enjoy reading this. Please leave a review, even if you don't like.

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Featured Review

Michael

Nice job, Carrie. Lots of atmospherics and mystery. Plus a good background story running through it. If I had any suggestions to make, it would be to connect some type of ironic cause and effect — related to your main character — rather than her simply falling victim by being hauled into the mirror.