By Debra S. Kleinberger

 

A split second flash of light illuminated the night, reflecting a bony hand in the mirror, then it was gone. The house shook with the reverberating thunder that caught the rafters like a ball against ten pins. Shakily I reached for the light switch and gave it a flick, only to have the bulb blink hesitantly for a few faltering moments, then die. What I saw, in that brief period of time, left my heart sitting like a lump in my throat and the cold clammy grip of fear tightening around my unusually white skin like a glove made to order.

 

I always dreaded all Hallows Eve, when the children dressed in frightful costumes and the sound of hideous music wafted through my windows as if it were a welcome breeze. Perhaps that is why I had jumped at the opportunity to buy this quaint old house at the end of a long secluded dead end lane. Only now, on the night I feared the most, did I wonder what had possessed me of that spur of the moment whim and I cursed into the darkness as I groped my way downstairs in search of a candle.

 

My heart beat like an over-wound clock, racing furiously against my ribs until I thought that I could not breathe. I stopped and leaned against a doorframe, nervously eyeing the black void behind me. “Fool.” I told myself, trying to ease the frantic pace of my pulse. A shiver ran the course of my spine as an icy cold draft of air passed over me and I found myself once again cursing the old house, whose charm had captured me during the height of the warm summer season, now that winter was setting in.  

 

A mournful wail echoed in the room and filled me with terror once more spurring me into sliding my feet across the wooden planks beneath them, yet with each shifting footfall the worn boards creaked rebelliously, giving away my position as easily as if I had carried a torch. A sharp pain shot up my shin, as I ran my leg into the corner of a low table and I winced, gritting my teeth tightly to keep from crying out. Another flash of lightening revealed the culprit and the accompanying crescendo of thunder made my head spin so, that I had to reach out a hand to steady myself.

 

The candle was on the table in the corner, only a short distance from where I now stood and I swayed nervously as I shuffled toward it. The cold wax of the candle only furthered the chill that I already found working its way into my bones and I shook uncontrollably as I reached for the matches. The cardboard bent as I ran the crimson red head of the match across the gritty surface that edged the cover. A tiny spark ignited and my hope soared only to be dashed away when my jittery hands extinguished the flame before I reached the candles wick. I tried again, the same. 

 

Exasperation clutched at me along with my fear and I found a nice tidy mound of spent matches lying on the table, once I finally succeeded with my task. The candles glow did little to lessen my anxiety for the mournful wail could still be heard and the vision captured by the mirror upstairs, still left me a wreck. I no more wanted to enter that room again, then I wanted to visit the morgue, but my sensibilities told me I must and so I retraced my steps back up to my bedroom. 

 

The icy chill met me in the doorway again and I looked about for the place the draft was spewing in, the candle flickering madly in front of me. I could find no reason for the cold and gave up searching until the light of day could comfort me. The treads on the stairs moaned hideously and I wanted to race up them to shorten the duration of time that I had to listen to the ominous sound, but my leaden feet continued on their slow ascent despite my inner prodding. 

 

Upstairs I viewed my usually welcoming doorway with disdain and I took a deep breath to quell my reflexive shaking. When at last I felt I had succeeded to some degree I finally inched forward and placed my hand on the newly painted, white door before me. Another deep breath gave me the courage to push gently on the clammy wood and swing the planks inward toward my room. The flickering golden beam of the candle cast eerie shadows in the corners and I waved the slender pillar back and forth in each direction to ease my fear. There was, as I had suspected, nothing there.

 

I laughed then at my stupidity and set the candle down upon my nightstand. I plopped on top of my comforter and shook my head, my own gaiety dispelling the darkness from the night. I reached down and casually pushed my slippers from my feet, then stood on top of them as I turned back my covers. The bed was cold and I shivered as my legs slipped between the sheets, the cool, silk, surface ebbing away the throb in my injured shin, for which I was most grateful. I glanced about the room once more then settled down into my thick, downy pillows and exhaled deeply.  Of all the foolishness, this episode was by far the most ludicrous and I shook my head at my own folly. 

 

Sleepily I turned over on my side, leaving the candle lit just for the heck of it and slowly closed my eyes. Whether I actually fell asleep or not, I do not know, for in my mind I had only had my eyes shut for a mere moment, but the clock on my nightstand said otherwise and so I must presume that I actually dosed. I rolled over then to blow out the candle and awakened the nightmare I had previously seen. The whole town should have heard me scream, yet my breath was frozen in the air like a curtain of snow leaving none left for the gut wrenching shriek that had escaped my lips.   Why, I think that I surely would have died had it not been for the fact that I fainted. 

 

I can talk about it now, the house has been sold and I have endured months of therapy, but it was as real as you, or I and I will never forget it. What’s that you say? Why, the ghost, my dear, with the frightfully bony hand that clutched at my sleeve and the gaunt face of death that accompanied it.