“And though you may not believe me, Lara, I still love you. Always did. Always will. Despite what you did to me. We both know I didn’t deserve it, but what is done is done. I keep thinking about things I wanted to tell you, things I wanted to do with you, do to you. You didn’t understand that I wanted only the best for you. I tried to make you understand. It wasn’t like I wanted to beat you for sheer joy of it. It was all to help you. To help you understand my intentions, I meant well. But don’t worry, dead or not, I am coming for you. Soon there – “
She hung up. Panting, she stared at the cell phone in her hand. It rang again, but no number showed on the screen. She canceled the call. There was no need for her to pick up. It was her husband, dead for two weeks, buried in Old Orchard Cemetery. His voice sounded like from far, but it was him, no mistaking the baritone that haunted her for twenty years. It was the voice she heard before he opened the door when he came back from work. Based on how low his tone was, she knew how much trouble she was in. When it was loud and clear, it meant a good evening spent together eating dinner, watching TV, maybe a slap or two. Those were the days she felt it was bearable. On those days, he reminded her of the Tom she married. How she enjoyed it when they sat thigh by thigh on the couch, laughing at the 80’s soap operas. Moments of happiness she wished would never end. The only downside to it was that those were rare occasions, with decreasing frequency. More often than not, the voice that preceded Tom’s antre was so low she couldn’t make out the words. Hearing the low hum of his fury made her shiver. Her giving him deer eyes infuriated him even more. However, she tried, and she couldn’t shake off the dread of what was coming. Those nights were full of screaming, her banging into different parts of furniture, her blood smearing on the floor, and his unrelented lessons about how unworthy she was, and that he could find a hundred times better woman, but no, he was stuck with her, and she should be grateful for that. No agreement, nods, or pleading helped. It always ended once he dipped himself into a bath, washing her blood off his knuckles.
The last time, though. She surprised him. He left to work in the morning on that day, already being sour about a meeting with his boss, who was going to speak his mind about his lack of results. She briefly considered running away, but she knew he would find her wherever she went. So, she waited. And prayed that a miracle would change his mood. When he finally came, he was silent. It was the first time he had come silent. Things were going to be bad. Really bad. She braced herself for a broken bone or two, a probable concussion, and a visit to the hospital, where she would lie about being clumsy and falling off whatever would come to her mind first. And that only in case she would be able to speak. Perhaps she wouldn’t. That would have been a relief not to have to lie and see the doctor’s eyes measuring her for a battered wife she was. When he got in, he put his work bag on a table. She was standing by a counter, finishing off dinner despite it being clear that none of them would eat it that night. The first punch with a closed fist shoved her into the cupboard. She managed to salvage her head, but her shoulder took the impact when it connected with the corner of the cupboard. She felt something crack. White pain exploded before her eyes. He grabbed her hair and slammed her head on the counter. Then he noticed boiling water and dragged her to the pot. He slipped, and his falling weight took the fistful of her hair with him to the floor. His eyes darkened as a sudden storm on the open sea. He stood, his face so close that their noses touched. He grabbed her hair again. She closed her eyes. He punched her again, and she fell on the counter, her forehead hitting the granite surface hard. She reached her hand forward and grabbed something. When he took her by her throbbing shoulder to face her, only one of his blue eyes stared at her in terror. The other one had a knife stuck in it, the handle of the knife still in her hand. As he staggered to the ground, she wailed.
She knew he meant it. He was dead and still coming for her. Calling the police wasn’t an option. They wouldn’t believe her; the best they would consider her a hysterical woman who killed her husband. What would she tell them anyway? That a man she killed two weeks ago had called her from his coffin? The relief she felt when she called 112 that night was gone, as if it wasn’t there in the first place. The policemen who were dispatched on the evening she killed her husband quickly read the situation. She was still bleeding, and her arm lay limply next to her body. They took her into the hospital. The detective, a white older woman, who interviewed her, said she would most likely not be prosecuted following twenty years of abuse. It was self-defense. Everyone, the judge, jury would understand it.
She wished she were in prison, a real prison instead of the prison she was in now. A cage that he built around her. Could she be making it up? No, that wasn’t possible. She heard him. Loud and clear. That was no prank, no bad joke; it was Tom. She didn’t get rid of him even after his death. Someone knocked on the door. Her airways tightened, and she made herself small in the chair. He must have seen she was still up; the curtains were not drawn yet, and she put the lights on. The windows of the living room were now a shopping display for the whole street. She could run upstairs, lock herself in, and despite her conviction that the police wouldn’t help, she could still call them. She didn’t have to tell them it was a ghost or a zombie, just that someone had threatened her. But he could see her if she got up and ran up. He was always faster than her. Another knocked on the door. This time it was louder, as if full of impatience. Paralyzed, she shivered. She will have to open the door and face him.
“Mrs. Kunel, are you there?” A female voice called her name. Hearing it, she thought to herself it was familiar. She stood up, and her wobbly legs carried her to the door. She opened it and almost closed it again. A woman that she had never seen stood there. She wore a long black satin gown; she would have sworn it looked like a nightrobe. Her black hair was in a tall ponytail. She wore black lipstick and had no eyebrows. The girl, no, the woman, she must have been above thirty, stared at her with her green eyes as if to wait for an invitation in.
“I don’t think I am expecting you. How can I help you?” She stood in the doorway as if to prevent the stranger from coming to her house.
“How can I help you?” The woman asked her, her voice sounding velvety. “That is actual what I came to ask you.”
“I don’t think I need your help.”
“I think you do.” The woman came closer, making her feel uncomfortable. She glanced around the street and didn’t see anyone who could hear her scream if that came to that part.
“My name is Roxanna, Roxie for friends. You may call me Roxie. I felt a strong attraction to your place, and when I came here, I knew that my gift was once again right. It is all over the place.”
“Please leave my property.” She was scared. As if it wasn’t enough that her husband called her, she had to deal with this kind of witch, or whatever subculture she belonged to. She didn’t want to entertain any discussion with this person. She gave her creeps. She didn’t like people who didn’t look normal, and this woman was far from it.
“Mrs. Kunel. You need my help.”
“No, I don’t. I am kindly asking you to leave. Otherwise, I will be forced to call the law.” She backed up inside, not wanting to expose her back to the woman. As she started to close the door, the woman Roxanna reached to hold it, her fingers wrapping the edge of the door as long white sticks with chipped black polish, and said:
“He is after you, your husband, isn’t he?”
Lara froze but didn’t release the push on the door. The fingers tapped on the wood, and a green eye peeked at her. “What stage are you in? Has he shown himself? Or just contacted you? The energy is very tense over your house.”
“Who are you?”
“I have already introduced myself. It would have been nice for you to do the same, but I figured we are past that stage. Besides, I already know your name Lara.”
Lara tensed. This woman was crazy. She knocked on her door right after the call. There is no way she could know her; she didn’t meet these kinds of people. Had she met her on the street, she would have avoided her. Most likely, there was a minimal chance they would meet on the same street; she didn’t go to that kind of street where homeless and in other ways challenged people gathered. How did she find her? What did she want from her? Remembering what Roxanna wore, she concluded that her clothes were cheap material. This was a setup. She had someone to call her, to freak her out to the core, and then, in the most vulnerable moment, this woman would knock on her door to get money out of her. They always wanted money. There were so many scammers nowadays. Relieved, she pushed the door closed, Roxanna barely snatching her fingers off, before the heavy door got a chance to mangle her knuckles.
“Mr. Kunel, I can help you. I dealt with many situations like this. I know it may seem unbelievable and farfetched but know that it is real. He is real. He can hurt you. I am begging you. Open the door.” The velvety voice was full of desperation. Indeed, the woman was crazy, probably with her companion, not hiding too far. She scanned the house with her mental vision, checking every window, every door. They were all latched and locked. Since Tom passed away, she made sure that the house was impenetrable. She was a widow, short with a tiny build, a prime target for anyone who would realize she lived alone. Luckily, they bought the house in a good neighborhood where people still cared about each other, distrustful of strangers. And now there was one stranger at her door, demanding to be let in.
“Go away, Miss Roxanna. I do not appreciate your visit, nor am I interested in the services you may offer. Please be so kind and leave. Do not force me to call the police on you.”
“Mrs. Kunel, you do not understand. You heard him. He will come to kill you. He will come to finish what he started.” The woman was pleading with her, trying to reinforce fear in her.
“I am calling the police now.” She walked off to the living room, grabbed her phone, dialed 112, but let her finger rest on her Call button as she listened for further disturbance behind the door. She waited for a long two minutes; no further pleading, nor knocking came. As she deleted the numbers from her phone and locked it, something slipped under the door. She carefully neared it as if it was going to bite her. A white sheet of paper, torn out of a notebook, lay at her feet. She picked it up.
Please call me. I am not joking. It is happening. Don’t let him finish what he started. Own your own life.
Roxxie
Peering through the peephole, a sigh of relief escaped her. Roxxie with double x was gone. She was safe. She crumpled the sheet of paper and put it in her pocket. She raised her gaze and realized that she still hadn’t pulled the curtains. She reached out for the one by the entrance door. A face reflected on the window. She startled, but then she realized it must be a reflection of her own face. She moved to pull the curtain. The face remained where it was. Then it smiled. A chipped front tooth reflected in the window. She screamed and pulled the curtain. Then she turned the lights off, so no one could see inside. Walking as slowly as her panic allowed her, she walked to the middle of the living room. Her hand reached into her pocket, she took the piece of paper out, unfolded it, and only then unlocked her phone. She typed the number in and waited for the velvety voice to respond. Then she blurted out:
“He chipped his tooth last summer when he got drunk and fell on the patio.”
She inspected Roxxie as she sat by the table, a steamy mug with painted cornflower in her hands. Lara expected her to ask for rum in her tea, but she took it plain, no sugar, no milk, no alcohol. In fact, she couldn’t smell any alcohol on her; her irises seemed to be of normal size. When she called her, she was only three houses away, and banged on her door soon after the call, panting as she ran back to her. When she let her in, she checked the outside, but there was no man. Yet, she was sure the reflection she had seen on the window glass was Tom with his chipped tooth, full lips, and dark hair. She couldn’t see his eyes, though.
“Was he real?” She asked Roxxie. The woman turned the mug in her hands, thoughtfully contemplating what she should share with Lara.
“Yes and no. He is still as dead as Elvis, but also, he has not crossed to the other side. He has unfinished business that tethers him to the Earth.”
“Unfinished business? I assume I am the unfinished business.” Lara gulped; her throat was suddenly dry.
“Precisely. He is full of anger for something that happened either shortly before or during the time he passed away.” Roxxie put the mug on the table and stretched her fingers as if she had done some strenuous activity. “Do you have any idea what that could be?”
“Well, I killed him.” Lara shrugged. For the first time since this woman entered into her life without invitation, she seemed to be surprised.
“I guess that could be it.”
“To be fair, it was either him or me. I didn’t even know how it happened. I just…snapped. It’s been too many years of fear, and then I just didn’t want him to kill me. And the knife was in my hand and…”
“Enough, enough, I don’t need to know the details. I think we have pretty much established what holds him here.”
“How can I…how do you say it? Release him to the other side? Will I be safe afterward? Can he really hurt me?”
“Let me start with the last question. Yes, he can. And he will, if you let him. The process is always the same. The person – I am saying person, because it can be anyone, dies. They are bound to the person they abused during their lifetime, and they come back to finish it. For some reason, my gift attracts only these cases to me. The cycle is over when the survivor…doesn’t survive.”
“What can you do for me? How does it work? Do you say some incantations, spells, or do you use salt?” Lara felt increasing panic in her chest. She wanted a solution now. She couldn’t live in fear anymore, not after tasting the freedom for two weeks and realizing how much she still wanted to do in life.
“It doesn’t work like that.” Roxxie chuckled, as if Lara did something foolish and cute at the same time. She hugged the mug again, sipped of it, steam caressing her pale face. Lara wondered how she would look with eyebrows. “So, as I said process is the same. I am trying to put this gently, but since there is no way to do so, I will be just very blunt and direct. You have to exhume him and perform a ritual that will release his soul from this Earth, and he can rest in peace. It needs to be done under certain conditions, otherwise it doesn’t work.”
“Exhume him? What do you mean? Wouldn’t a photograph be enough? Or shall I call the funeral home to dig him up?”
“No, you can’t speak to anyone about this. You have to do it at midnight. And you have to do it alone; that is the only way it counts. You have to use your bare hands. Maybe shovel too.”
“What if I had cremated him?”
“Then, I guess, this discussion would be redundant. I have never tried it with ashes, only with flesh and bones in one case. But that one didn’t end up…nicely.”
“How many cases did you work on? How many successful cases?”
“Depends on the perspective. I can say fifty percent of cases were successful.”
Lara sighed with exasperation. The panic, which started to subside after she heard the solution, however weird it sounded, seeped back and hugged her tight, squeezing her lungs.
“Basically, you had two cases, one lived, and the other one didn’t. Am I right?”
“Ergh. Sounds about right. Despite that, I am your best shot.”
It was shortly after midnight. She watched Roxxie sleeping on her couch. She asked the woman to stay with her; she was too scared to spend the night alone. Tomorrow, they will go and get the necessary items for the ritual to untether her husband from this world. Before they went to sleep, they checked all windows and doors again, pulled the curtains so no one could see inside. Then they lit the whole house up. When she retired to her bed, she thought she wouldn’t fall asleep, only to find herself waking up from a dreamless blackout that fell upon her shortly after she lay her head on the pillow. She woke up with a startle. Even though her bedroom was upstairs, she could hear someone walking right under her window. Shuffling steps that went from the left side to the right and back and forth. She recognized the shuffle; the gait was his. She pulled her blanket closer, almost covering her eyes. The shuffle stopped right under the window; she knew he couldn’t see inside, the curtains were pulled tight, and the first story was too high for anyone to peek in. As far as she remembered, he couldn’t fly. She listened, waiting for the steps to resume. Then someone knocked on the window. She screamed into her mouth, not wanting to show she was there, that she knew about him. And that she was still scared of him. Fear rose in her throat, almost pushing a scream out. She bit her tongue and lay as still as she could, her body trembling and cold. She waited for a while, and when she couldn’t take the waiting anymore, she slipped out of her bed, her blanked wrapped around her shoulders, and descended the stairs to wake Roxxie up. By the time she managed to walk down, she calmed down a bit, trembling disappeared, leaving her only cold. She stood by Roxxie’s head. The strange woman slept, snored gently, still wearing her black lipstick and clothes. She looked peaceful, completely undisturbed by the events. Roxxie gasped out of her sleep, issued one extra loud snore, and turned to face the couch cushions. This was her hope. With her butt sticking out of a blanket. Lara felt like crying. She was tired and scared. She desperately wanted someone to help her, someone competent. What if Roxxie didn’t have any idea how to do it and just practiced trial and error method? There wasn’t any space for this practice; she had known Tom for more than twenty years, since she had been married, and for more than an additional eight years they had spent together prior to their marriage. Observing Roxxie closely, she realized that she must be younger than she initially thought. Her face, washed in dim nightlamp light, bore no signs of wrinkles under heavy makeup; her cheeks were plump, skin showed no sagging. She must have been twenty to twenty-two tops. She couldn’t make herself believe that this young lady could help her. Inexperience and lack of confidence seeped out of her. How was she going to help her face Tom, lifetime wife beater and bully, if probably the worst thing that happened to her must have been badmouthing by her classmates. Lara sighed, went to the kitchen, took a glass from the cabinet, and opened the tap. Something knocked on the window above the sink. That was the only window that didn’t have a curtain. Full lips pressed on the glass and kissed it. She screamed, and the glass cracked in her hand. She didn’t feel any pain. The lips smiled, revealing a chipped tooth. Then he banged on the window, making it shudder, but it didn’t break. She screamed again, fled to the living room where Roxxie sat on the couch, rubbing her eyes full or surprise of the sudden turmoil.
“He is here!” Lara screamed, falling onto her knees in front of Roxxie. She grabbed her arms and shook her, digging her fingernails into her skin. “He is here. He is here. He is here.”
“Who?” Roxxie asked, still looking half asleep. Then, as if she finally came out of a trance, she called: “Oh, no! Is he inside?”
“No. He is outside the kitchen. By the window. Do something!”
Roxxie slumped her shoulders, seeming to be relieved. “Ok, that is good. If he is still outside, that means he cannot get in. We are safe for now.”
“What do you mean?” Lara spoke with a trembling voice. Roxxie took her hands off her shoulders as if she were someone with an infectious skin disease.
“You’re bleeding.” Roxxie pulled her sleeve, examining the damage caused by Lara’s inconsiderate bleeding. “I mean, that unless you open the door for him, he cannot get in. Or unless there is a gap or something where he can get inside. He can’t get into buildings or objects without having a space created. In simple terms, he cannot open the door.”
“So as long as I am inside and everything is locked, I am safe?” Lara asked with doubt, making it hard for the brain connections to work to believe this statement. “How is that possible? He lived here.”
“He doesn’t have the power to do so. He can do small stuff, such as knocking, tapping, making some sounds, and so on. But he can’t do things that require actual power to do something.”
“How is he going to kill me then? He can’t shove me down the stairs or under a car. He cannot stick a knife in me.”
“Well, he will not kill you per se. With his own hands. He will get you into a situation that will result in your death. That he can do without any sweat. Not that he can sweat anymore. Ha-ha-HA.” Lara didn’t like Roxxie’s laugh. It sounded forced, with no laughter touching her eyes, but she decided not to judge. She obviously had lost a lot of information about ghosts. Lara didn’t know much about them. She knew about poltergeists from movies; she had also seen Ghostbusters, but she didn’t believe they existed. They were only tales. And now she was forced to believe in supernatural phenomena. How Tom would laugh her out. She looked at Roxxie, who was brushing off her sleeve to get the blood off.
“I am sorry to destroy your gown. If you want, you can borrow some of my clothes, though I do not wear black often.” She said with a soft voice.
“I am fine, thank you. I will try to clean it up once we get you some bandages. The bleeding has stopped, but you should get it disinfected.” Roxxie smiled. She led her to the bathroom, where Roxxie took her first left hand and then right, pouring enough disinfectant to perform a surgery. Though she pretended to be okay, Lara hissed through gritted teeth. That made Roxxie smile, and this time her smile reached her eyes. Lara smiled back, but inside she was shivering. Roxxie was probably someone who enjoyed S&M games. She looked like she was that type. She decided to tolerate it. At the end, Roxxie came to help her.
When she woke up the next morning, she found herself on the couch, covered by a blanket. The chair opposite the couch was empty. Only a crumpled sheet reminded of Roxxie’s night spent on the chair, watching over her. She went to draw a glass of water. Even though the sun was up, she hesitated to meet the view outside, fearing that Tom would be standing there, driving her crazy, making her punch her fist through the glass and cut her wrists with shards of it.
“Roxxie. Where are you?” The house was eerily quiet. Perhaps Roxxie was taking a shower upstairs and couldn’t hear her calling. She went up. The stairs felt unusually cold despite the summer being in full swing.
“Roxxie?” She knocked on the bathroom door. It wasn’t closed, and when she pushed it open, she realized it was empty. She searched through the whole house. Roxxie was gone. Rubbing her temples, she felt pain rising in her head, knocking on her left eye from inside. She had about twenty to thirty minutes before she would start seeing an aura, migraine kicking in, and she would be waiting for vomiting to free her from the clutches of headache. As she strutted down to get a pill in a vain attempt to push the excruciating migraine she suffered from an early age, she came to a realization. Roxxie was never here. Tom never called. Induced stress caused her to imagine things. She gulped the water as quickly as she could and headed outside, shielding her eyes from the piercing sun. Her head throbbed, the onset of migraine taking big leaps forward to an afternoon spent in the dark and hugging the porcelain bowl.
She went out. The grass and flowers under the kitchen windows were undisturbed. No one was there last night. She was going crazy. The last two weeks were too much. She needed to speak to someone. Thanks to Tom, she didn’t have too many friends. The only option left to her was a doctor. Psychologist. She couldn’t let this go too far. Years of abuse, the violent death of her husband, and being deprived of human relationships, any kind of comfort, started to take its toll after she was freed. After she freed herself. She covered her eyes and stood there with the sun right above her head. Tomorrow, when she is better and has recovered from migraine, she will call her GP and ask for any recommendations. Perhaps, if the headache allowed, she would browse the internet at Tom’s, on her computer, and try to find a specialist herself. Someone who would be available to take her soon, ideally tomorrow. This needs to stop. She wasted enough of her life to continue in the same manner after his death. Let his death be good for something. It already was. She was free. But she wasn’t happy. And that is what she wanted. To be happy. To recall that feeling of joy, she certainly must have known sometime in the past. Something moved in the periphery of her vision. In front of the house. She squinted in that direction, protecting her eyes from the sun, but there was nothing. That confirmed her decision. She must heal from all the traumas.
As she headed back to the house, she waved at her neighbor, who had just come out of his house opposite hers. He and his wife used to come for dinner every month for ten years. He didn’t wave back. Pretending he couldn’t see her, he jumped into his car and drove away. He was Tom’s friend. Her wife was hers. When she got to know about Tom and how he abused Lara, she was without any doubt on her side. Helped her with funeral arrangements, filing for the claims from his life insurance company, and even brought her some food until her arm was good enough. In the end, it wasn’t broken, just a dislocated joint, but it hurt like hell, and it had to be righted in the hospital. From time to time, she felt a pang of pain there as another reminder of that night, and she still couldn’t fully stretch her hand above her head. In the grand scheme of things, this was a small price for her life. She touched the arm, as if to acknowledge its sacrifice, and went inside through the door she had left open. Noises came out of the kitchen. She heard the cupboard squeak as someone opened it. She froze in the hallway, her hand on the door handle. Quick steps echoed as they moved. Then a head peeked from the kitchen.
“Ah, there you are. I was wondering where you went. The door was open, so I just went in. Hope you don’t mind.” Roxxie said, her bloody smile perfectly matching the red high boots she wore.
“Where have you been?”
“I went home to shower and change. I feel more comfortable in my own clothes. Plus, the blood crusted on my sleeve. Kind of yuck. Sorry, I should have let you know, but it didn’t come to my mind to leave a message.”
“So, this is all real.” She muttered under her breath. On top of the headache, she started to feel dizzy. She didn’t need a psychologist. It was all real. Roxxie, Tom, ghosts. She followed Roxxie into the kitchen. Roxxie was making breakfast. Flipping a pancake on the pan, with her other hand, she took the plates out of the cupboard and lined them up next to mugs that were waiting for coffee to brew. Roxxie operated in her kitchen as if it were hers. Lara slid into a chair and watched Roxxie, who moved with lightness despite her outfit of black leather pants and tight corset tied over a black satin blouse. Her hair was in two braids, a complete mismatch to her gothic appearance. There was something on the table. A book, bound in black leather. She reached out and flipped it open. The pages were yellow; it looked like the book was very old. There were no pictures, only text occasionally disrupted by a drawing of symbols she didn’t recognize.
“One of the reasons I needed to get back to my apartment,” Roxxie said. Lara looked at her with a puzzled expression. Roxxie pointed at the book. “It is a book of our ancestors. They used the spells of it to tame the spirits, keep the ghosts and evil forces away. We are going to need it.”
Lara nodded. She read some of the texts while Roxxie continued to prepare breakfast. The text was centered on the expulsion of evil forces, commanding them to return to where they came from. She frowned. They all sounded like they were written by a teenager in their dark phase. Some sentences even contain grammar mistakes. But what did she know about supernatural evil forces? She knew only evil humans. She shrugged. A plate with a pancake smelling of vanilla landed in front of her. Roxxie served syrup, chocolate chips, and some yogurt. A steamy mug with black coffee appeared in front of her.
“Oh, I forgot.” Roxxie opened the fridge, took the milk out, and added just the right amount into her mug. Lara raised her eyebrow.
“I am good at reading people.” Roxxie smiled. “Part of my gift. Sometimes it can be very useful.” She chuckled. Sun shone through the window, and Roxxie’s eyes looked even greener than before. Almost the same as Tom’s. She shivered. It would take her time to forget searching for similarities. But she was ready to forget. She just needed time.
“How will we do it? When?”
“Since he can’t get in, we’ve got a bit of time to properly plan and get the props we need. Still, we shouldn’t feel too comfortable and give him too much time. You never know. Today, we should gather all the props. You seem to need to get rest, so why don’t you do it when we are back? Then tomorrow will be the Day D. We will sneak into the cemetery and dig him up. After we perform the rites, he will sleep forever after he passes to the other world. All in all, in two days and two nights, you will be free.”
The plan, laid out clearly, made her feel better. The throbbing in her head turned into a pulse. That she could manage without having to spend the day in bed or the bathroom. She happily munched on the pancake. It was sweet, and she felt as hungry as ever before. Freedom, real freedom, was near.
“Ok, sounds good, I guess. What do we need to get?” Roxxie shared the details with her, and they savored their breakfast, talking over the plan until it was early afternoon and time to go and get the props.
The shop smelled strange. Heavy scents competed to get to her nose. She sneezed. She had never been to this kind of shop. It was in not so nice part of the city. The windows were obscured by heavy curtains. Roxxie fit in perfectly with the decorations of skulls, upside-down crucifixes, strange herbs that were all over the place, crystals, and the music that played from players on the wall. Heavy, vibrating tunes reverberated in the air. Roxxie handed over dried leaves to her.
“Sage. We will burn it over his grave.” Lara took it. Roxxie went to speak to the shopkeeper. She couldn’t hear what she said to him, but he disappeared into the back. She felt stupid standing in the middle of the shop, holding the sage, looking completely out of this world. The shopkeeper came back and handed over two bottles full of clear liquid to Roxxie. Then she moved to Lara.
“Got the holy water. We have to find chalk.”
“We can get it anywhere. I am getting dizzy here. The smell is too much.” Lara whined, her fight with migraine may not have been won yet.”
Roxxie frowned. “Do you want to live?” She asked Lara bluntly. Lara blushed. Of course, she wanted to live. Roxxie seemed to read her thoughts. “So, stop behaving like a small child. You can bear a bit of inconvenience, can’t you?” Lara nodded.
“There it is!” Roxxie called. As she was moving away to get the chalk, she heard her murmur: “No wonder that he-“ The rest she couldn’t hear.
When they arrived back home, it was shortly after six pm. There was still light outside, and the temperature dropped with a promise of a nice warm evening. She unlocked the door. Draft washed over her face.
“There must be a window opened somewhere,” Lara said and hurried to the living room to check it.
“We closed them all.” She heard Roxxie behind her. When they entered the living room, they found the source of the draft. The side sliding door that they couldn’t see from the street was broken into. A brick wrapped in the paper lay in the shattered glass. The glass crunched under Roxxie’s boots. She lifted the rock, unwrapped the paper. She read it. Then she stretched her hand to Lara, handing the paper over. Roxxie’s lips were tight, her eyes dull with worry.
Get out of here, you killer bitch.
Lara bit her lip. Someone didn’t agree with her deed. She didn’t wonder; she wasn’t proud of it either. She looked out of the window. The neighbor’s car was parked in the driveway. She must confront him. But first, she will speak to his wife.
“Leave this to me. I will speak to his wife – “
“We have to do it tonight.”
“No, I know, or at least I think I know who it was.”
“That doesn’t matter anymore. We have a bigger issue on hand. I doubt you can get the door fixed today. The gate. They opened the gate to you.”
Lara was exhausted. She sat in the kitchen, and the light was still out there when she looked out of the window. Roxxie made tea, sprinkled it with rum for courage. They both sipped it, Lara on the chair, Roxxie leaning on the wall by the table. When the sun finally set, the dark settled in, and they would leave the house for the cemetery. Lara shrugged at the thought of what was ahead of her. How would he look like in two weeks in the soil? Would he still resemble himself? Or would the maggots have carved new features in his face? That would be a relief; that would mean he is really dead. But what if he looked like himself without change? She shivered and gulped the tea at once. She tried to avoid this. Desperately called several handymen, offered double their tax, but no one was willing to come today to fix the broken window. Even now, after his death, she was forced to take things at the pace of others, not at her own and on her own conditions. She made herself think positively; it would be done tonight, and her freedom would be returned to her in less than a couple of hours. She caught Roxxie’s gaze studying her. Roxxie smiled and asked if she wanted one more tea. She thanked her, but said no. She wanted her head clear.
“The shovel,” Lara spoke. “It is in the shed. Let’s go and get it.” Roxxie nodded, and they went outside. Lara didn’t want to be alone for a second. The dusk invaded the sky, and she begged it to have mercy on her. Considered even praying, but that was no good when Tom beat the shit out of her. Scolding herself, she made a resolve that after this, no more swearing. It wouldn’t belong in her dictionary after this night. They retrieved the shovel and loaded it into the car. It didn’t need to come into the house. There was no use for it there. The handle was a bit wobbly, but it would have to hold. She didn’t know how to fix it. They came back and sat in the kitchen, Roxxie browsing through her book until her face lit up with happiness at finding what she needed.
“Lara, here this one. Read it at least a couple of times so you are familiar with it. You will be nervous when we are there. We have to open the coffin for it to be effective. You need to face him.” Lara took the book from Roxxie and obediently read the rhymey text about commanding the spirit of the deceased to cross over. There were only six lines. First, she wanted to memorize them, but the longer she read them, the longer the words slipped through. Not able to hold them in her brain, she sniffed and looked at Roxxie.
“I hope I can manage this. The words… they just don’t stick.”
“Oh, don’t worry, you don’t need to know them by heart. You can read them. And I will be there to guide you. There is nothing to be afraid of. Just think about your freedom.” Roxxie smiled, her red lipstick almost gone. Lara wondered if Roxxie was going to reapply it before they went. She didn’t. Once the clock hit nine pm, Roxxie stood and said with her velvety voice:
“It’s time, Lara. Let’s go and set you free.” She nodded, digging inside of her for some joy she should feel, but there was none. All she was able to uncover was just fear. The same fear she felt when she heard the baritone voice that accompanied his arrival home.
“Can’t he hurt us on the way or before we…you know…do it?” She asked on the way to the car that waited for them in the driveway.
“No. He may come to your house now. Maybe he will make a mess of it since now he can get in, and he would, because he wouldn’t find you there as he expects it. The good news is that he wouldn’t know where you were. Being at the cemetery would be the last place he would search for you. But some of your friends or neighbors may get a bit haunted today, to be honest. That is what they do when they do not find the one they are looking for.”
“Can he harm them?” She asked when she closed her door. She started the car, put her seat belt on, and looked at Roxxie.
“I don’t think so. I have not heard about a case like that until now. He can scare them, but not to death, if that is what you mean by harming someone.”
Lara sighed, shifted the gear into drive, and turned left. The Old Orchard Cemetery was fifteen minutes’ drive from their house. Her house. When they got out of the car, bringing the shovel and props, she looked around to see if anyone was there. The parking lot was empty, but the houses were not that far. Someone could have walked there. She didn’t see anyone. When they approached the gate, it was locked. The opening hours were only until nine pm.
“How are we going to get in?” Lara asked, feeling dumb as she held the shovel.
“Here, take this.” Roxxie pushed the bag with props into her hands. She walked to the left and then from the dark she came back pulling a garbing can behind her. “We will have to jump over.” She pointed at the fence. The fence wasn’t that high; with the help of the garbage can, they could just be over in no time. Roxxie went first.
“Oh, shit.”
“What happened?” Lara asked, anxiously clutching the bag and shovel, hoping there were no cameras with someone watching them.
“Just slipped on the grass. Be careful. It’s wet here. The grass is uncut. Hope I don’t catch a tick. Come over.” As Lara climbed the can, she looked down into the dark behind the fence. Only Roxxie’s pale face was visible.
“Hand me the shovel and bag.” Lara sent both flying down.
“Oh, God, do you want me to stay here permanently. Shit. The shovel hit me on my head.”
“Sorry, sorry. I guess I am just too excited.”
“Ok. Come. Jump finally. We are losing time. He has to be opened for midnight.”
Lara jumped. When they were on the other side, she realized that the lamps were completely off. She couldn’t see a thing, and the moon was just a small crescent providing no illumination.
“We didn’t bring any flashlights,” Lara commented. A sharp light shone into her face. She squinted.
“I have my phone with me,” Roxxie said with particularly pronounced pride in her voice. Together they walked the path to Tom’s grave. It wasn’t too far from the gate, but far enough from anyone passing by not to hear what was going to happen there tonight. The grave was still fresh; the soil didn’t have time to settle down. She was happy that it had not been covered yet. The granite top was in the making; the company she had ordered from had a delay. The flowers and wreaths were dry.
“Ok, start.” Roxxie was suddenly impatient.
“Can’t you help me?”
“I would love to. But this is on you. You have to do it yourself, without any help, otherwise it doesn’t count. I will shine the light at the place for you to see better, though.”
Lara removed the flowers, tossing them on the side. She would have to give them back, but they were already half-decayed, so no one would wonder and find them in disarray. When she was done, she took the shovel and plunged it into the soil. It wasn’t hard, but it wasn’t easy to work with it either. Soon, she started to sweat. When she was knees deep, she took a break and panted as she leaned on the shovel. The light shone into her eyes. She couldn’t see Roxxie’s face, but she heard her eat something. It sounded like she munched on nuts or something hard. She wiped her forehead, not understanding how Roxxie could eat. They didn’t have dinner, but Lara didn’t feel any hunger. Her stomach was tight. It would be tight until she was done. That made her start to dig again. When she was up to her waist, she almost gave it up. She couldn’t anymore. Her hands were blistered, raw, and numb. She forgot to take gloves. This was purgatory for the murder; she was sure of it.
“Go on. You are doing great, Lara. You have around an hour and twenty minutes left. The sooner you are there, the better.” Lara nodded in the direction of the light and went on. She immersed herself in digging, thinking about her freedom. It was within her reach. She finally started to feel joy.
“You know what, Roxxie?” She called up, and the light followed her. She could no longer see above the ground, being deep in it. Soon she would hear the shovel bang on the wood of his coffin. She didn’t feel scared at that thought.
Something ruffled the flowers above. It was Roxxie as she moved in with her light to the hole in the ground to hear her better.
“What is it? I couldn’t hear you.”
“I have just had some realization. And I wanted to share it with you.”
“What is it, Lara?”
“It’s going to sound weird.”
“Weirder than what we are doing now?” Roxxie asked jokingly.
“No, but it is part of it. You know. After he was gone, I felt like I was missing something. A closure. And now, standing in his grave, digging him up, I finally feel it coming. The years I suffered are gone. There will be no one hurting me. I will be my own person. And Roxxie, I will be forever thankful to you. For how you showed up and rescued me. I hoped we could stay – “
A dull thump echoed in the night.
“You made it, Lara. You are there.” Roxxie sounded as exciting as she was. “And you know what, I am happy I was able to be in these final moments of your life’s chapter.”
Lara nodded, fervently moving the shovel up and down to uncover the full slate of the wooden top of the coffin. She was almost there. Every movement was bringing her closer to her freedom. This was a new start. She would bury him again, this time for the final time, and she would move on. Perhaps she could really move on.
“Ok, I am done. How do I open it? We didn’t bring anything to open it.”
“Shit, I didn’t think about it.” The light moved, and Lara was in the dark. She looked up and saw the light moving around the grave, steps shuffling and echoing through the dark night. She was standing on the lid of the coffin, separated by a few inches from her husband. She didn’t feel any worry or fear.
“Did you find something?” She called up. The light returned.
“Nothing. But I have just googled something. Can you bend the metal shovel head and use it as a crowbar?”
“I can try, but I am tired and not sure if I have enough strength. Plus, there is not much leeway the wood can give me.” She stomped on the shovel as hard as she could. It didn’t bend. She tried again. The shovel didn’t give in.
“Roxxie, can you take the shovel and try it out there? I think if you try to do it on a harder surface, it will work.”
“Sure, give it to me.” Roxxie’s hand reached out. She took the shovel and disappeared with the light. Lara waited. She heard noised that Roxxie made, trying to bend the shovel.
“Lara! I will head to the gate and try to put it through the grates in it. I don’t have enough strength to do it here either.”
“Ok, but leave the light here!” She called, but Roxxie was already too far to hear her. She waited in the darkness. The longer she stood, the colder she got. She was all sweaty and could taste salt on her lips. Being idle for a while cooled her down. More time passed by. She couldn’t hear any noises. Roxxie was too far. She shivered from the cold. She moved to the side and leaned on the soil wall she created. Her feet thumped on the wooden lid. She felt small reverberations from the wood. What if he was going to wake up when Roxxie was away? All the stationery and the book were up there. She was defenseless and had no clue about time. What if it were midnight and he came back to his home after an unsuccessful search for her?
“Roxxie?” She called. No response. “Roxxie?” She tried again. Still no response. What if something happened to Roxxie? She was stuck in the hole; she would not be able to climb up without help. What if he got Roxxie? The fear she hadn’t felt before rose in her chest. What if Roxxie was lying somewhere, dead, and he was slowly crawling to his resting place? She had to come up with a plan.
“Here.” She heard from above. A bright light, much brighter than Roxxie’s phone, shone. Her eyes, accustomed to the dark, hurt at the sight of light. She heard a chuckle. Roxxie wasn’t alone. That here she heard belonged to Roxxie, but there was someone else. She squinted into the light, trying to see who that was. Her heart was jumping up and down. Did someone catch Roxxie, and now they were going to be expelled from the cemetery? She was standing in her husband’s grave, which she had just dug up. Suddenly, she felt embarrassed. They will be charged for tempering human remains. Whoever it was, she hoped that they would get them out of there before Tom came back. The figure holding the light slowly moved the light to their face. She could see a white shirt, the same as the one Tom wore on his last journey on this Earth. It moved up, illuminating the chin with stubble and full lips that parted away, showing a chipped tooth. The light moved up, her heart in her throat. She would meet Tom’s eyes in about a second. She would die on the spot. He got her in the end. She looked down. She didn’t want to see his eyes.
“Look up, Lara,” Roxxie said, her voice harsh.
“Roxxie?” She was confused. Roxxie was with Tom. The whole time, she led her to this moment. She didn’t come to help her. She came to help him. To get her. She felt foolish, naïve for believing her. She wanted to have this over. Her freedom was lost. Her life was lost. It would take just one look, and she would stop her heart. She inhaled deeply and looked up. The man wasn’t Tom. He was someone she had never seen before.
“Did she really think he could get up from the dead?” The man asked Roxxie, still pointing the flashlight at his face.
“Is she standing in the grave? Seems to me that way. It wasn’t that difficult.”
“Happy to have helped, baby.” The man grinned sideways at Roxxie. Lara couldn’t see her. The light made her a black shadow.
“Why, Roxxie?”
“You killed my dad.”
“I didn’t know your dad. How could I have killed him?”
“You cunt, don’t lie. You lived with him for twenty years. You took him from my mom and me. He said you didn’t want me in his life. We met secretly. Thanks to you, I never knew how it was to grow up with a father. Because you were too selfish to let him love his daughter. Do you know how he cried every time he had to leave after a short twenty minutes together? Saying that he couldn’t spend more time with me, because you would go rabid. You could never find out that he was seeing me.”
“Roxxie, he lied to you. I didn’t know you existed. He never told me he had a daughter. If I knew, I would have never objected to him seeing you. We couldn’t have kids. I would never take away his chance to raise his daughter.”
“Oh, you did. That is exactly what he told me. You couldn’t have kids, and you were not able to accept that it was your fault, so you made him suffer the same way as you did. You selfish bitch.”
“Roxxie, I swear I didn’t have any clue he had a daughter. He beat me; I was the one who suffered. In a way, not having kids with him was a blessing because he would – “
Something hit her. The shovel. It connected with her head. She felt dizzy, everything was spinning, and her knees went weak. Something warm trickled on her neck. The white flare of the pain exploded in her head when the shovel hit her again. This time her legs gave in, and she fell on the lid of the coffin. She didn’t feel any pain. She was cold. Freezing. She wanted to say to Roxxie that it wasn’t like her dad told her, but she wasn’t able to say a word. She opened and closed her mouth. Her fingers were freezing. Then something fell on her head. She smelled soil. Another batch of soil covered her eyes. She wanted to raise her hand to wipe it off, but it didn’t obey her. The next batch covered part of her nose. She closed her eyes.