Summer of the Green Flies - A Short Horror Story: PART ONE
SUMMER OF THE GREEN FLIES
A Short Horror Story: PART ONE
By
Jean Daniel
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Summer of the Green Flies
A Short Horror Story: PART ONE
Jean Daniel
Copyright 2026
All Rights Reserved.
For the ones that were lost.
PART ONE
SUMMER OF THE GREEN FLIES
June, 1958 ~
And all I lov’d, I loved alone. - Edgar Allan Poe
“You’re going to need us!” Mamie Carrington called out from the basement stairs. She was a full-figured woman with the bulk of her weight on top, making it easy for her to lose her balance on stairs and hillsides; she almost slipped, catching her indigo velvet skirt on a nail protruding from the shiplap wall. She began to cry, wiping the rare tears from her pallid face and streaking them across her white lace sleeve. Her black hair was mussed, so unlike her; usually there was never a stray hair out of place.
Her tall, thin husband Jobe stood above her, frantically trying to remove the hinges on the basement door – their grown daughter Jess had locked them down there, swearing to never let them out again after they forbade her to see her Jesus man. He was a frightening devil with blood red hair and a body like silk to the touch and Jess couldn’t see going without him. He had promised her Heaven and then some and delivered on the then some quite nicely. She wanted him, needed him, and her stern old folks would not stop her from having him, ever again.
She didn’t want to be mean. After all, they’d been good to her when she was small. They actually had fun with her then, playing and acting silly in front of the movie camera they had set up on a tripod. Life was not so bad without friends when your parents gave you all the attention you craved.
But then, they found religion, not the usual church on Sunday morning then go home for a big supper type of religion, where forgiveness and helping others less fortunate were the expectations. Their religion required its followers to be chaste and obedient and silent and to shun anyone else who did not believe in its requirements. Jobe had begun to sleep in a separate bedroom from Mamie, stating that there would never be sinning again in their house. Mamie had acquiesced in his edict though, being a passionate woman, it had been a struggle for her.
Once they became immersed in their strict religion, Jobe and Mamie didn’t want to play with Jess anymore. They made her be quiet and sit still while they prayed from that book, trying to shame her for having feelings about the pretty men she saw in magazines and on television. They kept her out of school for days on end, especially once she reached high school, where there were dozens of real flesh and blood pretty boys. Some of them were obviously attracted to her but only one of them would come close enough to touch her. Her dream boy, who said he loved her and gave her the first kiss she’d ever had. But once the rumors started about her odd parents and their twisted interpretations of the words that were printed in that book, he decided to abandon her. He told her she was ugly inside, just because she threatened her parents and anyone else who hated her. And he was afraid of her loving him; his religious creed made him ashamed of the aching, the longing, and the final deliverance of the pleasure that she gave him.
Then the other one came along, her Jesus man – she called him that because he was devout in his worship of the Lord, too, but never let his devotion get in the way of his pleasure. He was silky and warm with summer sky eyes and brilliant red hair and a desperate, clinging hunger for her. He made her feel alive and real and wanted.
But Jobe and Mamie were determined to squash their romance. They were worse than Juliet’s family trying to keep her from Romeo. They locked Jess in her room over and over, changing the locks to bigger, stronger ones every time she escaped. When that didn’t work, Jobe took to beating her, first with hickory branches, then with an old leather belt, blaspheming the name of the Lord the whole time.
She begged her Jesus man to spirit her away from there but when he found out there was a baby coming he ran off to some school in Oklahoma where they were going to teach him about that book. Always that book.
The baby gave her hell, with nausea and cramps just about every day for the eight months she carried her. Jobe and Mamie refused to bring in a doctor and hid Jess in the old caretaker’s cottage in the side yard, telling people she was sick and had been sent off to a sanitarium for a cure.
The birth was quick, thank goodness, but so painful Jess screamed like a demonic banshee until the little monster popped out. Jobe and Mamie had moved her into the basement when her time came, most likely to keep the neighbors from hearing her screams. They took the squirming pink thing and cleaned it, their eyes wearing the kind of affection they once had given Jess.
Instead of handing her the baby, they left her there alone in the freezing basement, and carried it upstairs, talking about feeding it with some old recipe Mamie’s grandmother had used for formula.
“She’s beautiful!” Mamie had exclaimed, gushing with pride as they rounded the staircase.
“Yes, she is,” Jobe had said with a harsh tone in his voice. “If we don’t take care, she will grow to be a sinner, just like Jess.”
“But can we do?” Mamie had asked, fearful of his intentions.
A strange, evil gleam came into Jobe’s eyes. “I know a way to fix her so no man will ever want to come near her. You must be strong, Mamie, and follow my lead. It will be painful for the child momentarily, but the results will be her salvation!”
“I will heed whatever you say, Jobe. You know the Lord’s wishes better than I do.”
Jess waited until they were gone then cleaned up her afterbirth and blood with old towels, and dragged her sore body up into her bedroom to sleep. She heard a tiny, miserable wailing, realized it was the baby. Her insides urged her to rise up and protect her child from whatever harm Jobe was inflicting upon it but her mind overrode the urge, and she gave in to her exhaustion.
After that, the baby, Ruby, they had named her, for the color of her hair, became Jobe and Mamie’s child. Jess was a ghost in her own home. They ignored her completely, even when she took to hoarding books from a mail order company that spoke of dark, evil things; books about magic and demon worship and exorcisms. They didn’t care what she did; she was dead to them.
Years went by; Jess dreamed of seeing her Jesus man again, thought she actually had seen him a few times in the woods while she was hunting. And she thought a lot about her favorite cousin, Beth, a sweet, blonde headed girl who had always been kind to her. She had wondered if Beth was silk to the touch. It intrigued her to think about girls that way, though she’d never had a chance to actually touch one.
Then, her Jesus man returned, slipping into the cottage at night to be with her till daylight. Or chasing her through the woods, both naked to the air, rollicking in the fresh cut pastures until their skin turned green. She had told him her baby died but he didn’t believe it.
“As long as she’s out of my sight, I’ll accept that she isn’t alive,” he had told Jess one hot summer night while they lay on the iron bed in the cottage. “I’ve got a future in this county. I love you, but I won’t let secrets get out that might keep me from what I want.”
Jobe and Mamie found out the man had returned and decided to send Jess away for good to an asylum, fearful that someone might see her in the woods, whether when she was hunting or sinning with that man, and realize that she had never left.
They were hiding Ruby the same way; teaching her to read and write and cook, etc … without letting on to anyone that she really existed. So, in a way, Ruby was a ghost, too.
Jess finally decided she had to take matters into her own hands; she was always making rituals, conjuring up demonic forces, or so she called them, to frighten her parents. Ruby, for some reason, maybe because she was a part of Jess, was never afraid of Jess’ conjuring, or it could be that she had been learning from Jess’ books, too, conjuring up her own protections and spells.
On this particular summer evening, Jess had gathered the green bottle flies from the ravine near the highway, bidding them to swell up and enter the old house. Jobe and Mamie heard the familiar buzzing then they hurried out into the hallway.
“What do we do?” Mamie cried. “She will never let us alone!”
“Where is Ruby?”
“She went down to the pond, to watch the sunset, as she usually does this time of day.”
“Good. At least she’s safe. Come, Mamie! We need a harbor from the flies, somewhere they can’t follow!”
He grabbed her hand and led her into the basement then slammed the door shut.
That was exactly what Jess had hoped they would do. She locked the door from the outside and stuffed towels around the frame. Then she waited.
“I don’t hear them anymore, Jobe. Can we leave? Ruby will be back soon, wanting dinner.”
“All right. I’ll go first.”
He tried the doorknob.
“It’s locked! What has she done now? Jess, open this door!”
No answer.
“Try again, Jobe. The air in here is strange. My throat is getting dry.”
“I’ll try to pry the door open from the side.”
He found a crowbar near the steps but it was no help. Then he found a hammer hanging by the door and tried to pound the hinges loose.
“I can’t loosen the hinges, Mamie,” Jobe said, shaking. He noticed the air was getting hazier then hurried down the steps. “Mamie, she’s turned on the propane heater and broken off the dials! I can’t turn it off. She’s covered the window, too. She’s going to choke us to death with the fumes! We are trapped, Lord help us!”
“Well, call to her, Jobe, appeal to her. She must let us out!”
He came running back up the steps and banged on the door.
“Jess, this has gone far enough! Think of Ruby! She’s only eight years old. She can’t fend for herself. And you won’t take care of her. Unlock this door. Now!”
Silence was her answer - Jess was no longer there. She was in the woods, hunting down her Jesus man like a panther after a snake. She’d have him again before dawn. And tomorrow – and her parents – be damned.
FOUR YEARS LATER (April, 1962) ~
It was Jess’ turn in the basement. Karma had come upon her like a whirlwind, unsuspected and grim. The demons she depended on to keep her safe from the outside world were turning against her. She was no longer capable of calming them.
She clawed at the door with long red-painted nails, pulled up her black taffeta dress and kicked at the door with pointed, heeled boots. The neighbors said she dressed like a witch; they avoided her like a disease. Even her Jesus man had abandoned her again, fearing her demonic practices might come to light and ruin his ambitions.
All she had left was that malevolent little spirit that she had banished to the cottage, and she despised her for ever being born. Thanks to her, Jess had never had a chance to be free. She merely traded her parents’ bore of a prison for another, more frightening one.
Now the fucking little monster had her right where she wanted her, in an ironic position, she had said, one that would give revenge to “poor” Mamie and Jobe. Ha! Poor, her ass; they had tortured Jess for most of her life for being different, for not living up to their high expectations of femininity and grace. They would not try to understand that she was bound to the corporeal realms of existence and could not abide by other, lesser people’s stupid rules and religious piety.
“Ruby!” she shouted angrily. But no one answered.
Then there was a buzzing in the basement, it was hot like a furnace, though it was an April night with a cool breeze rustling the budding trees outside the tiny window.
The buzzing became louder; the demons were gathering, coming for her.
“Ruby, let me out!”
The basement door swung open. Warily, Jess stepped out into the kitchen. The buzzing followed her.
She turned back to see a swarm of green flies filling the cavity of the basement stairway.
“No!” she screamed and headed for the open back door.
It was pitch black out, near midnight; the flies followed her still, barreling down over her head like a shroud. She fled across the side yard, looking for Ruby, but she was not there.
Jess heard a car on the highway, sought it out but by the time she reached the road it was gone. The flies were at her back. She screamed again, the terror of being overtaken fueling her onward.
She ran down the middle of the road, hoping to find another car. The Sunset Drive-in was having a multiple showing of Roger Corman films; they’d be letting out soon. There’d be lots of traffic as the patrons headed back towards town. Someone would stop to help her. Not everyone there knew of her and her peculiar habits, though her parents had been certain they did. She thought of them now, wondered if they were waiting for her on the Other Side, laughing at her, ready to enjoy scolding and humiliating her again.
“I don’t want to die!” she whispered. She heard a strange kind of wailing, rising above the din of the flies. She turned; saw Ruby standing in a clearing, green eyes glaring; her auburn hair billowing in the wind.
The flies changed direction, made a murmuration of sorts over Ruby’s head. Jess was puzzled at why they had stopped. Then she caught the blast of headlights speeding towards her. It was a semi truck, the driver lost in the sounds of an Opry House radio show, did not see her.
She tried to avoid the truck but too late. It smacked her up into the air. Her body, limp as a rag doll, flew into the ravine. Her spine had cracked from the impact. She was dead.
The flies dispersed; Ruby stared a moment at Jess’ lifeless form. It was over that quickly. It never occurred to her that Jess could really die. Revenge was not sweet; it was ugly and bloody and cold. Her tears fell in spite of her intentions; she heaved a sorrowful breath. “I am sorry,” she whispered.
Then she disappeared as the stunned driver exited his rig and began to sob at what he’d done.
July, 1962 ~
The room was dark, with just a few slivers of sun daring to poke through the tattered window shade. The furniture was old and beaten-up, veiled by layers of stubborn gray dust. A few fingerprints marred the veils here and there, though the house looked like no one had come near it in decades.
A pair of tiny, pale, feminine hands worked and worked, delicately connecting a pile of chicken bones together with a coarse sort of string.
Patiently they pulled the bones together until they formed a figure of a human.
A ball of faded linen stuffed with straw became a head. It was adorned with feathers in shades of brown and red – that was the hair.
Pen strokes drew wispy black lashes to define the eyes then a faded green marker colored in the irises. The last scrapings of wax from a pink lipstick cartridge made a smudgy but satisfactory mouth.
Finally, the deft, small fingers fashioned a dress from an old, yellowed handkerchief and a clothespin and the doll was finished.
It was placed quietly on a high, black lacquered shelf, next to several other dolls of similar design.
A sigh melted on the air.
Then the hands set to work again.
~
A chunky station wagon followed the curves on a typical country road, sunlight flitting across its hood and windows as it tunneled through the shadows of the tall, hulking trees. It was a 1949 beige Mercury Woody; its paint was a bit faded and some of the wood veneer was in need of restoration but it had been a stalwart companion for years for the family of four that occupied it.
Jace Poole, the father, was lean and dark-headed with an uncomplicated face; he steered the wheel easily, catching glimpses of the scenery as he drove by.
“Spooky down here, ain’t it?” he whispered to his wife.
Beth Poole, a tender-eyed blonde dressed in gingham Capri pants and a pink tank top, her flip flops resting by her narrow feet, sat in the passenger seat, examining a map.
“Yeah, it is. I used to conjure up all sorts of demons crawling around in those woods when my folks would take us for a country drive.”
“Wouldn’t take much conjuring,” Jace laughed. “I’ve already seen some scowling demons in the shadows, or what looked to me like scowling demons.”
“It was probably wild turkeys or buzzards or deer or a groundhog. These woods were always full of critters.”
Ten year old Claire Poole, her mother’s mirror image in miniature, was in the back seat, doing some scowling of her own.
“I don’t think I’m going to like it here! It’s like Nowheresville, man!”
Beth turned to look at her. “What kind of talk is that?”
“She sounds like a beatnik to me,” Jace decided.
Beth nodded. “Oh, of course she does; she’s been reading those weird poetry books Miss Brindle the school librarian gave her as a going away gift. But, Claire, honey, don’t you love the isolation of the countryside? It’s a big change from noisy old Nashville, huh?”
“Too big, if you ask me! Just what kind of schools and stores does this place have, anyway?”
“Nice ones. You know I checked it all out. Sit back and relax. We’ll be there soon.”
Their twelve year old son Johnny was opposite Claire, his eyes closed as he listened to rockabilly music on a transistor radio.
“You might as well not worry about it, Claire,” he sighed. “It isn’t like we can go back to where we came from.”
Jace and Beth passed somber glances.
Johnny was a no-nonsense kind of kid; hit the nail straight on the head every time. No, the Pooles couldn’t go back to Nashville. They were evicted from their apartment after missing rent for six months. It couldn’t be helped. Jace lost his job when he broke his hip falling off of a ladder at the lumber yard. Worker’s comp rejected his claim since the owner of the lumber yard lied and said Jace had been drinking on the company’s time. And Beth was let go when the furniture store she’d been working in closed up for good. Their paltry unemployment checks went towards food and the back rent they owed plus paying all of Jace’s medical bills since neither one of them had insurance.
Things were really getting rough – then, out of the blue they received a letter saying they’d inherited a huge old farmhouse in Miles County and the land that went with it: acres and acres of pasture plus woods and a pond or two.
Jace started making plans – they could fix up the house and live in it. Then they could rent the pasture to some nearby cattle ranchers, to pay for stocking the ponds with catfish. Once the fish were big enough they’d sell them to restaurants and stores and maybe even let people come out and fish for the catfish themselves. Then they could buy some cattle of their own and raise them for beef or milk cows. He was really excited about the prospect of owning a farm; he’d been raised on one and never felt right anywhere else he’d lived. Beth wasn’t so excited about all that (though she didn’t tell Jace her true feelings) but she figured at least they’d have a safe place to live where the kids could run free and be out in Nature.
The farm had belonged to Beth’s distant cousin Jess Carrington, a strange woman who was said to sleep all day and carry out peculiar rituals at night. Her parents had mysteriously moved to Alaska four years before, or so Jess had told their lawyer, Myron Cedar, though there was no physical proof of the move. Jess had been left alone to handle the farm until her accidental death in April; she’d been hit by a truck while running down the road in front of her house in the middle of the night. Why she was out there no one could say. She wasn’t well-liked in the community, according to the lawyer, so she had no friends to check up on her to see if she was okay.
Mr. Cedar had called Beth two weeks before to inform her that Jess’s will had left her the farm; Beth didn’t understand why she was the recipient. She and Jess were not close at all; in fact, she hadn’t seen her in more than fifteen years, though she had been sending Christmas cards to the farmhouse every year as a matter of habit. Jess had written her a bizarre letter twelve years ago, telling Beth she was afraid because “that redheaded Jesus with a body like silk” kept slipping into her bedroom window and she didn’t want her parents to shoot him with their rifle. She begged Beth to come see her and help her convince the Carringtons that Jess needed to let the redheaded Jesus carry her away from that house and into his “Heaven Land” forever. Beth had just given birth to Johnny after a really tough pregnancy, almost bleeding to death at one point, so she couldn’t abide any nonsense from mentally agitated relations, which is what it seemed to be. She had called down there a few weeks later to check on Jess and her aunt Mamie Carrington confirmed her assumptions, saying Jess had been committed to an asylum for a long rest.
“At the risk of sounding like a cliché, are we there yet?” Johnny grumbled in a British accent.
“My, we certainly have high-toned children,” Beth giggled. “Just where did you learn to speak like that, Johnny?”
“Oh, he watches too much of that Alfred Hitchcock Presents show,” Claire revealed. “Will we have good reception on the TV down here?”
“I’m not sure,” Beth stated, “but you’ll be so busy with school and the farm chores you probably won’t have time for TV, anyway.” She winked at Jace; he laughed.
The kids weren’t laughing. They were tired of this situation. None of their friends had to deal with misery like theirs; though most of them had shown themselves to not really be their friends at all. “Nobody likes you when you’re down,” Jace had wisely said. Wasn’t that the truth?
They finally arrived at the farm entrance; a hand-painted sign warned off intruders, saying they’d be shot. It was rumored Jess Carrington was an expert with a Henry rifle, hunted her own game, cleaned it herself and stocked the freezer every year with it. Beth’s Uncle Hewlitt had mentioned at her mama’s funeral that he’d seen Jess shoot a stag that Spring, which was just four years before – Hewlitt said Jess brought the stag down with one shot, then she heaved it up on a small wagon and pulled it home with a Palomino pony.
The gravel drive was practically non-existent, grass having long since taken it over, but some kind soul had mowed it recently so it was easy traveling from the rusty gate to the huge, ominous gray house that loomed up before them under the setting sun.
“Wow!” Johnny yelled. “That’s a horror film opening if ever I saw one!”
“I don’t like it!” Claire whimpered.
“Now, look kids, this is what Fate has dealt us, and we have no choice but to take it,” Beth stated firmly, though the sight of the place had shaken her a bit as well. “I’m sad that Jess died but I’m thankful she left this place to us right when we needed it.”
“Yeah,” Jace agreed. “And it ain’t so bad. A coat of paint can really brighten up a house. That’s all it needs, right, Beth?”
“Sure. The fading sun is making it seem scarier than it is, anyway. Come on, let’s get inside. It’s awfully hot out here.”
“So, does it have an air conditioner?” Claire asked.
Johnny nodded. “It does. Look over there, in the window.”
They all noticed a square air conditioner sticking out of a front window, then another in a side window and a couple more upstairs.
“At least we won’t melt!” Beth said with relief in her voice. “Mr. Cedar, the lawyer, promised he’d have the electricity turned on for us so it would be inhabitable by the time we got here. He said there was just enough left in Jess’ bank account to take care of his fee and to restart the electricity. I wish I could have helped Jess more but my folks would never let me have anything to do with her socially; they swore she was a Satan worshipper.”
“Your folks thought everybody that didn’t go to church was a Satan worshipper,” Jace laughed.
They all stepped out of the Woody and made their way towards the house.
“I wonder why she didn’t keep this place up.” Jace ran his hand along the porch steps rail; almost got a splinter. “I bet it was real fancy back when her great grandparents built it, sometime after the Civil War, right?”
“Right!” Beth acknowledged. “Great Uncle Lawrence Carrington was a Carpet Bagger, you know. I think that’s where the community began its hatred of Jess’ family; they were suspicious of Jobe and Mamie, her parents, because they had some weird religious ideas. But they never blamed my family for any of that business, since we were the poor relations.”
“Mom, did you ever visit this house before?”
“No, Claire, Mamaw and PawPaw wouldn’t let me come near it. Jess was about my age. She asked me to a slumber party once, when we were in high school. But of course, I couldn’t go. I found out later I was the only one she had asked to come. It was sad, really.”
“Was she pretty?”
“Oh, yes. She had long, chestnut colored hair and the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen. And she was tall, with long, thin legs. I always envied her. I thought she should’ve been a model or an actress but she didn’t have any notions about that herself. When I’d talk to her at school she would say all she wanted was to find a good looking man to love. She was a hedonist, for sure. I won’t say what that is. Y’all ain’t old enough to know. But her parents were so disappointed in her. They thought she should be their servant and take care of all of their needs, and be a silent, obedient, pious daughter. They believed she was obligated to them because they brought her into the world. She told me those things on the few occasions we had a chance to really talk. Jess was stubborn, and then there were the mental troubles, too. It shocked everybody here when Uncle Jobe and Aunt Mamie left for Alaska without her. Nobody even knew they were going until after they’d left. Or that’s what my childhood friend Dana Newell told me. Remember, Jace, when we ran into her at the auto show two years ago and she told us about it?”
“Yeah, I remember Dana. She had a damned good looking hourglass figure and a sexy black ponytail.”
“Of course you’d remember her that way.” She shoved him slightly.
“You could’ve been friends with Jess once you grew up, couldn’t you, Mom?” Johnny wondered.
“No, by then we’d moved to Nashville so PawPaw could take that job at the phone company. Then I met your Dad and we got married. Being in this area sure does bring up some memories of my folks, though. I miss them both so much.”
“So do I,” Johnny admitted.
“I do, too,” Claire sighed. “I don’t like death.”
“Who does, idiot?” Johnny frowned.
They started up the porch steps. Claire suddenly screamed and covered her face with one hand and pointed at something with the other.
“What is it?” Jace ran around to see where she was pointing. On the ground by the steps there was the outline of what once must have been a kitten, but it was completely covered in maggots.
“God Damn!” he whispered.
“Daddy, move it away!” Claire cried. Beth consoled her with a hug.
Jace glanced about; noticed a shed nearby. “I’ll check in there. Maybe I can find a shovel to bury the wretched thing.”
“Be careful, Jace, okay?”
“Sure, Beth. Y’all go on in where it’s cool.”
“No, I think we’ll wait on the porch.”
“Fine. I’ll be back soon.”
He headed towards the shed. Beth viewed their surroundings; noticed a small, rundown cottage on the far end of the property, off to the left. She’d never seen it on the quick drives her parents made that happened to pass the farm; you’d think they were afraid if they slowed down something would snatch them out of their car!
A battalion of green bottle flies swarmed the cottage, searching for sustenance or shelter. Beth thought for a moment the window shade had moved, but chalked it up to nerves.
“Mom, why does the kitten look like that?” Claire sobbed.
“You know flies lay eggs on things once they’re dead. It’s just a fact of Nature.”
“I don’t like Nature.”
“Can’t help that, Baby. It is what it is.”
“Yeah, Claire.” Johnny patted her on the back. “It is what it is. Creepy. I told you this place looked like the opening to a horror movie!”
“Hush, Johnny, you’re not being helpful.”
“You want me to go help Dad?”
“No, just be good, now, okay?”
“Okay.”
Jace came round the corner with a shovel and an old rag. He scooped the remnants of the kitten into the rag and dug a small hole near the shed. Beth and the kids came down to stand by him after the kitten was wrapped up. Once Jace was done with the burying, Claire grabbed a handful of Black-eyed Susans from a patch behind the shed and laid them on the grave.
“There, Kitty. Rest in Peace, now.”
“You’re goofy, Claire.”
“No, she isn’t, Johnny. That was very sweet, Baby.”
Claire made a face at Johnny; he shrugged.
“Can we go inside before we turn to mush out here?” Jace asked. “It seems ten times hotter than Nashville.”
“All right, but it is July, you know,” Beth said. As they entered, she turned a wary eye towards the little cottage, thought she saw the shade move again. But she decided not to mention it to Jace within earshot of the kids. They were spooked enough already.
The foyer was grand though with a faded glory. The stairs swept gracefully up to the second floor landing, where the ruddy light of a burgeoning sunset streamed in through an arched window, creating a wash of crimson over the whole scene.
“It’s spooky in here. I don’t like it!”
“Baby, you’re starting to sound like a broken record. Give it a rest, please? We’re all tired and hot and miserable. It’ll look better to you after a good night’s sleep, I promise.”
“Well, okay, Mom. I’ll try.”
~
After a dinner of Vienna Sausages, crackers and mustard (some of the snacks they had left from their trip), the Pooles decided to sleep downstairs on the living room floor their first night in the house. They were too weary to go searching for bedrooms or linens so, once it was dark, they settled down and climbed into their sleeping bags near the window air conditioner and drifted off to sleep.
~
The door of the cottage opened around two A.M. and a slim, small, shadowy figure, dressed in a vintage black dress, crept to the site of the kitten’s fresh grave. Tiny hands lifted the Black-eyed Susans and threw them into the brush. Then she knelt down beside the grave and softly sobbed. She remembered how the yard was once full of kittens of all colors and sizes; how they leapt and played and tumbled. But then the flies came and killed some of them and chased the rest away. She hated the flies, only wanted to escape from them, to be free of everything that reminded her of the ones who were lost – the kittens, the cows, the Palomino pony, Mamie, Jobe, even Jess – they were all lost to her forever.
She rose up, stared at the darkened windows of the big house with fierce emerald eyes. A hot wind stirred about her, whipping her long, auburn hair up into a mass of tangles. She squealed then covered her mouth, afraid the strangers might’ve heard her. But the sputters of the old air conditioners were so loud they probably could’ve drowned out a thunderstorm.
She crept back to the cottage; locked the door behind her and sobbed some more.
~
Johnny and Claire had eaten breakfast early, grabbing a couple of candy bars from Beth’s purse. The ancient kitchen hadn’t lent itself to lingering; no food in the moldy smelling fridge or tired old metal cabinets. And the windows were covered in grime. Apparently Cousin Jess was not much of a housekeeper but then the house had sat empty for a few months.
Beth and Jace slept a bit longer; his hip was healed but was usually stiff and painful first thing in the morning. Plus driving so far had aggravated it.
“Can we run out and explore the place?” Johnny asked them.
“Sure,” Jace said, “but watch your step. We don’t know if there are old wells or snakes or whatever laying deep in the grass.”
They spun out the back door. Then Beth remembered the moving window shade.
“Oh, Jace, maybe they shouldn’t go out there. Yesterday I could swear I saw a shade move twice in the window of the little cottage.”
“Aw, it was probably just caught in a draft. If somebody was hanging around they’d have made themselves known by now.”
“I’m not so sure of that.”
“Well, I am. Scoot over here and give me some quick kisses before the kids come back.”
She slid in close; put her slender arms about his shoulders.
“I thought your hip was hurting.”
“It is, but you make it hurt less just by touching me. You’re a magician, you know.”
“Am I?”
“Well, maybe, but I’m not sure. See if you can prove me right.”
She giggled, moved in closer for a kiss.
~
The kids hopped over the long grass and wound their way around the yard. There was an overgrown garden on the left; with no one to tend them, apparently, since Jess died, the vegetables had fallen off their vines and rotted in the heat, though a few hardy tomatoes had survived. There was a little red chicken house to the right, full of chickens with fresh eggs and a few baby chicks.
“Aw, they’re so cute!” Claire sighed. “I wonder who feeds them.”
“Some neighbor, maybe?”
“But, Johnny, Mom said nobody liked cousin Jess. Why would they feed her chickens?”
“You can hate a person and still care enough about their chickens to feed them,” he shrugged.
“Oh, I suppose so,” she sighed again, glancing towards the back of the yard. “Look, there are lots of trees! Let’s go climb some!”
She didn’t wait for him but sped off on her own.
“This place just gets spookier by the minute!” Johnny announced as he and Claire came upon a broken-down cemetery in the shadowy woods. “Look at the dates on these stones! Some of them go back almost as far as the Civil War! And before you can say you don’t like war, I’ll say I don’t like war either. How’s that?”
“Well, I can say I don’t like YOU, how’s that for you?” she huffed.
“Fine. I ain’t never liked you, anyway. You’re too much of a whiner.”
“I am not! I just express my feelings honestly. My teacher, Miss Hargrove, said so.”
“She was being diplomatic, dummy. Look, that headstone says it’s Jess Carrington’s grave. Kind of plain and sad, ain’t it?”
“Yeah, it’s creepy, too. I don’t like … well, maybe we shouldn’t be here, Johnny.”
“Oh, now you’re scared, huh?”
“No, I am not scared!”
He laughed and walked off, began to balance himself on the edge of a broken tomb that was shaped like a rectangular stone box. He almost fell but flung out his arms to balance himself and made it to the other end.
“That’s sacre … sacri … oh, what is that long word when you’re messing up something sacred?”
“Sacrilegious?”
“Yeah! You shouldn’t be walking on somebody’s grave.”
“Claire, as old as this world is, and as many people have died in it, there ain’t NO place to walk on that isn’t SOMEBODY’S GRAVE.”
“Oh, hell, you’re a pain. I’m going off by myself.”
“I wouldn’t, if I were you.”
“Well, you AIN’T ME!”
She stomped away and soon found herself in a thick part of the woods, though it was closer to the house it was so dark the green seemed black, except for one spot in the middle where fallen trees had created a clearing. The sun stabbed through the darkness, revealing a huge lump on the ground. Claire heard an awful buzz; stepped carefully towards the lump. She gasped then shrieked in horror as the lump became recognizable – it was a cow, seemingly uninjured but definitely dead, its open mouth filled to the brim with buzzing, squirming green flies.
“What’s wrong with you now?” Johnny shouted as he ran towards her. “I told you not to go off alone … what the fuck …”
He froze, unaccustomed to real life frights, his world being full of TV terrors and movie heroes. This was too real, the smell, the sight, the actual taste of death in the air.
“Come on, Claire! Don’t just stand there!”
He grabbed her arm, pulled her back towards the house. She thought she caught a glimpse of a small, human shadow in the trees as they reached the back door, but assumed it was her imagination working overtime.
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