Scared to Death by Tulah Dixie

Cecily had never believed any of the silly superstitions that passed through her small town year after year. Not that Old. Mrs.Cliffton was a witch, not that if you drove over the Snell Creek bridge after midnight that your dog would die, and especially not that the woods behind the Patterson house were haunted. These stories had been passed around for as long as she could remember, and Cecily found them all ridiculous.

Halloween afternoon Cecily and her boyfriend Jeremy sat in her living room, deciding what they would do that night. “I want to get scared,” Cecily said. “I've never been absolutely scared to death.”

“I think I can scare you,” Jeremy said with a smile.

After all the trick-or-treaters were tucked safely in bed, Cecily and Jeremy sneaked out of their houses and met at the Patterson house. No one had lived there for at least fifty years; the bricks were crumbling to dust.

“Are you ready to be sacred to death?” Jeremy asked, taking Cecily's hand as they started walking into the forest. Cecily laughed, skipping ahead of him, disappearing for a moment in to the darkness. “Boo!” She cried, jumping out from behind a tree. Jeremy laughed, and they once again they walked.

“What's the scardest you've ever been?” Cecily asked. Jeremy looked thoughtful for a moment. “I've never been scared, Cecily.”

“Oh, yes you have. Everyone gets scared, just a little at least.”Jeremy just shrugged and smiled at her.

After a few minutes walk they came to a clearing. The moon was almost full, and the light cast eerie shadows. Cecily walked to the middle of the clearing and spun around, her arms outstretched. It was a beautiful night, cool but not cold. Suddenly a bat swooped out of a tree, fluttering around Cecily's head, screeching. She waved her arms about, and finally it flew back into the trees.

“Is that the best you can do?” she asked, laughing. Jeremy just smiled.

After walking another few minutes, the couple came to a small stream. Cecily crouched down next to it and dipped her fingers in it. It was freezing, and she pulled her hand out and stuffed it in her pocket.

“It's sure peaceful here,” Cecily said. “It seems so silly that people think these woods are haunted.”

“They're not haunted,” Jeremy agreed.

All of a sudden a black cat jumped across the stream, landing on Cecily and clawing at her hair and face. Cecily brushed it off of herself, and it scurried away into the forest.

“You're getting better,” Cecily said, her laughter a bit shaky. She pulled a tissue out of her pocket and dabbed at the blood trickling from a scratch on her cheek. “But I'm still not that scared.”

Jeremy smiled at her and took her hand. “Let's keep going.”

They walked for five minutes, then ten, then twenty. Cecily was starting to get tired. “Should we turn back? We've been walking a long time.”

“Let's just go a little bit further,” Jeremy said. They walked in silence, their hands clasped. The further they walked, the faster Cecily's heart beat. She was getting nervous, and she didn't know why. Jeremy was always quiet, and the dark had never scared her before.

“We're almost there,” Jeremy said suddenly. Cecily stopped. Almost where? Jeremy pulled her so she started walking again. Her heart hammered in her ears.

Then Cecily stopped. In front of her was a tree. Hanging from a branch was a rope, and hanging from the rope was a man, strangled and bloody. Cecily's hand flew to her mouth to stifle a scream.

“Are you scared yet?” Jeremy whispered in her ear. She whipped around, and her breath stopped. He stood with a rope in one hand and an ax in the other. Just before her world ended, Cecily heard Jeremy ask,

“Did I scare you to death?”

The Dance By Iris Rosewater

The Dance
10/31/08
College life had been harder than Michelle expected it to be. She had moved into the dorms full of hope and excitement. But, change was too new to her. All her life had been spent in the same house with her parents in a small town, sheltered and easy. Everything had been utterly predictable until now. The university was unforgiving. Classes were difficult. People were strange. After one full year, she had yet to make a real friend. When her aunt and uncle asked her to house-sit for them over summer break, it seemed to Michelle the perfect vacation.

Doris and Gavin were the eccentrics in the family, loaded with money and plenty of time to spare for odd hobbies and travels. Just after they bought a two-centuries-old estate in the country for the sole purpose of spending the summer, they were invited on a cruise. The house was livable – renovations had just been completed – but, Doris was concerned about leaving it untended for a whole two months. That was where Michelle came into the picture. How perfect: a mousey college student to house-sit. Michelle welcomed the chance to get away from campus and relax without anyone to bother her – especially her parents, who always drilled her with questions she could only answer with disappointment.

The house was grand, who knew how many thousands of square feet… according to Gavin, it had been “a steal”. The first couple of days were relaxing. She made herself comfortable in the master’s suite, complete with a balcony overlooking the garden where she liked to eat her breakfast. They had a nice library and a satellite dish, so she had plenty of diversions.

On the third night of her stay, she was lounging on a sofa in front of a little fire, reading, when she thought she heard a voice. She sat up and looked around, seeing nothing. A few moments later, a man’s voice whispered something unintelligible, and she jumped. Another voice, pitched slightly higher, seemed to answer. Without bothering to look this time, Michelle stole out of the room and turned on the TV, wrapping herself in the throw blanket. She tried to tell herself she was just hearing things.

In her sleep that night, she was dressed strangely… hundreds of years out of date, and she was dancing with a man dressed as a soldier, who smiled pleasantly, but who’s face suddenly went blank and white, and then began to degrade before her. He held her in the lock of his arms while she watched his skin turn gray and decompose, until he was a skeleton, still wheeling her around in dizzying circles. She woke tangled in her sheets and sweating.

During the day, it wasn’t too bad, as long as she kept on a radio or a television in each room to block anything out. The daytime was filled with movements and creaks not made by Michelle. Footsteps up the stairs, doors opening and closing. At night, however, it was hard to tune them out, no matter what she did. Their conversations had begun quiet, but their volume seemed to increase each day. And there were lots of them – whoever they were - discussing something which she could never quite make out, despite catching the odd word here and there.

One night, as she passed the library (where they seemed to convene the most) she heard her name. Frozen by the door, she listened. The smell of cigars wafted out of the empty room, and the grumble of men’s voices suddenly became clear to her. They were planning something. It seemed to entertain them. Instinct told her to run. She did. She ran down the hallway to the front door, not bothering to step into her shoes, only wishing to be in the open air, free from the feeling that she was not safe. When she turned the knob, it stuck fast. Not as if it were locked, but as if it were held firmly, so that it didn’t jar from side to side at all. She spun around, heading for the back door, through the kitchen. It did not yield. She tried the side door – an old servant’s entrance – and heard them… boots. Footsteps, heading toward her. Panicked, she jerked the windows, preparing to tear through the screens, but they would not budge. The men were close now. She tore upstairs to the last door she could think of… in the master bedroom. The men were laughing now, still invisible, clopping up the spiral staircase behind her. Her legs felt like lead beneath her, too slow, too slow, too slow… she heard feminine squeals and cries, not realizing they were her own… And when she reached that door and it opened to her, she felt deliriously happy. She got out of that house, and turned to her unseen adversaries, still running backwards. As her legs swept out from under her, and she toppled over the balcony’s edge, time slowed… A dozen or so men leaned over the rail to watch her descent – and right in the center stood her dancing partner, who smiled crookedly down at her cursed body, and blew her a kiss.

Inching Through: Part II of II

By: D. Dahlia




Alex opened her eyes to a cerulean light; power-lines and old houses stacked side by side stood solid along the cobblestone roads. Miniature cars zoomed by, and one by one the lights in the passing homes switched on. Snores and muffled music from portable CD players cooed inside the bus. Alex stood and stretched from her awkward sleeping position, fetal on two seats with the narrow plastic armrest and her cardigan as a pillow.

She grabbed her purse and made her way to the back of the bus where the toilets were. Taking out her travel toothbrush, and toothpaste and with her bottled water, Alex brushed her teeth, washed her face with the bathroom soap and made herself somewhat presentable in the faux mirror. With a wet paper towel, she washed her neck and her underarms. Inside her purse she fished out a small bottle of lavender lotion and rubbed the smell of bus and sweat out of her skin.

Also in her purse was a red dress Alex had purposely saved to change into on the day to meet her host family, the Ledezmas. It was a bright reddish orange that she would wear with her black cardigan, the cardigan she wore on an almost daily basis, as well as her black doc martins, which came up to her knee. It was her favorite outfit, and mother’s least favorite.

Back to her seat, refreshed and craving coffee, Alex applied some makeup and pulled her hair into braided pigtails. The bus soon rolled to a stop and everyone began waking up. Alex pulled out her itinerary and started scanning the crowds for her soon-to-be teacher, Don Arturo who was to have a sign with her name on it. He was to drive her to her host family’s house and then to the school for orientation and a tour but he was nowhere to be seen.

After most of the crowd had gone and Alex had all her bags, a man walked up to her and tapped her shoulder. In his hand was a sign with her name on it; he was about 30, handsome, tall and thin with broad shoulders and a very big smile. After introductions, they walked to his car, it was red, small and like every other car she had seen on the way over. He had a coconut air freshener and was listening to Mahler.

The drive to the Ledezma’s was quick, so quick that Alex couldn’t really see the city passing before her. Don Arturo, who spoke English better than she did, talked about the school, the current students and the culture in a rather rehearsed manner. Out of habit, Alex blocked out his words as she took a mental tour of the city as it passed swiftly behind the class. He must have asked her a question because suddenly he placed his hand on her forearm to get her attention.

“I’m sorry, I am just so tired of being mobile, and I could really use some coffee.” Alex’ tone was so honest that Don Arturo laughed and made a sharp right turn, making Alex grab onto the door handle as tightly as the coconut-scented tree wound around the rearview mirror.

“We have a while until orientation, we’ll stop at my favorite café and I’ll call Señora Lolis to let her know not to expect us for a little while longer.”

Alex was more than happy to stop, the drive, being hungry and nerves had stirred a woozy feeling. A break from movement and a chance to see the city up-close was something she couldn’t resist. Café Azul was inside a small plaza, much like the plazas Alex had passed through in all the small towns on her way to Zacatecas. This plaza was much nicer however, and the archways and bricks gave the city a more European finish on top of the traditional Mexican architecture.

The café was decorated with masks and photographs of masks. Alex assumed it was just a theme but finding her curious observance made Arturo jump back into his tour guide mode. “You’ll find that masks are a big part of our culture. They not only represent what human truths we always hide but what truths we have always tried to achieve. You’ll learn all about this in classes, in fact we’ll be taking a trip to the Rafael Coronel museum of masks next Friday. You’ll see it then. These are the more modern ones; the museum has masks that are older than our city. My favorites are the death masks, they are more imaginative and often more colorful than the war masks and matrimonial masks.” Arturo’s eyes fogged over as he tried to make a mental picture of a mask to describe what he was talking about. Alex studied his face and how displaced his eyes suddenly looked in their sockets, she rubbed the goose bumps out of her arms wondering how morning coffee could leave her so creeped out.

In spite of her chill factor, the coffee hit the spot, and finally awake, Alex and Arturo engaged in real adult conversation. Come to find out, they had both started reading the same book, though for different reasons, which were the poems of Jaime Sabinas. The poems were rather topical and made for good translation exorcises for Alex, however Arturo found them to be “spiritually uplifting”. At any rate, it was a thing to talk about, and the conversation carried them for three hours.

They began walking to the Ledezmas from the Plaza, exerting physical energy was refreshing and Alex was pleased to find some sun after 17 hours in a bus and a foggy morning. For a second, the familiar was no-where to be found but in the sun and air, but a pair of black oxfords cradling two boney feet walked up to her. It was the same lady from the bus. Carrying the same mason jar, the older lady took Alex’ face in her hands and kissed both of her cheeks, and for no reason at all, hot tears streamed down her face.

Unable to translate this recent experience, and with no explanation from the older leaving as quickly as she appeared, Alex and Arturo walked in silence, utterly stupefied.

“I sat next to her on the bus the whole way here.” Alex interrupted the silence so suddenly that Arturo barely caught her words. “She will be hard to forget.”

They reached the Ladezma home. On crutches, Senora Lolis opened the door. To Alex’ surprise she was as fair skinned as herself, having blond curly hair that was barely graying at her temples and light green eyes. Her skin was almost a Grecian olive tone and her freckles complemented her high cheekbones.

After introductions and a cup of hot chocolate, Arturo left Lolis and Alex to their dinner and to become acquainted. They settled in her kitchen, which was over-decorated with cows and sunflowers, which she explained slowly in very simple Spanish were gifts from all over the world that her guests had sent over a period of nine year. Alex would never forget the conversations she would have in that room, especially the nightcaps which usually involved Mezcal and Marlboro Reds. Those nights Lolis would talk about her husband, who remained nameless since "one isn’t to mention the dead after they have passed", he was called “mi amor” most times, and other times just “él” which squeezed out of Lolis’ mouth in an almost angry whisper.

After setting up her room and surviving a cold shower, Alex left the house eager to explore this new city, to find her way on her own to the school. Her walk was a maze of staircases, and bridges that lead pedestrians above heavily trafficked streets and through ancient aqueducts. The sky dipped and curved over the tops of gothic style roofs and heat hovered like a cloud. You wouldn’t know it was nearing fall, even here, where even youthful men and women’s eyes lacked luster, and sat heavy in their sockets.

Regardless of how romantic this new city was to Alex, the stars weren’t as bright as they were back home, and the men and women made any idea of romance seem entirely impossible and foreign. Alex took it all to be a great façade, a city with intricacies from here to there, and bougainvillea threading it all together; an odd position to be in on her first day. To be in an entirely new place and existence, watching fall stroll in and take over with great thunderstorms, somehow unable to be a foreigner, and unable to recognize those that were.

Home (Random poem by Iris)

Home 10/28/08

I think I understand
why my Father ended up
in New Mexico again

after the broken childhood,
the battered memories…

military stints
in Germany, Oklahoma,
Virginia, Korea…

I think I can finally
relate
to the decision he made
to live out the rest of his days
in the sun

Having been raised
in the heat and the wind,
nowhere else seems home enough
unless the sun burns my skin
my favorite color red
and pierces through
my closed eyelids

Having seen that sun
make its grand exit
bleeding vivid color into the dust
on the horizon
thousands of times
in glory that whispers
the existence of a God

and watched the stars hang
innumerable
in the cloudless night
so cold
the heat is almost
forgotten

How can anywhere else
compare to that

when I decide
what earth to leave
my bones?

This Week's Story

This week we thought it would be fun to write spooky stories, in honor of Halloween! No IFI's, just write something scary. If possible, let's get our stories posted by Friday. Happy Haunting!!!!!!!!

Becky by Rachel Fishburn

My memories of you

fill my whole life remembered.

The chubby baby

rocking in my lap.

Strapped onto the maid's back,

when not acting as baby doll for me.

Running through the park,

stopping for a moment at each apparatus.

Sleep-eyed eating eggs,

while I rushed off to school.

Copying my every move,

unaware of my awkwardness.

Running in two casts,

crutches left forgotten against the wall.

Tending your bedroom zoo,

while family crumbled around you.

Watching the stars

with your scared, scared sister.

Moving far away,

your teenage years fuzzy from distance.

Suddenly woman,

marrying and giving birth.

Best friend,

across the miles and miles and miles.....

How I wish we were neighbors,

sharing hot chocolate and eggs.

So thankful for your voice,

making new memories

no matter how far away.

The Quilt By Iris Rosewater

Steenie rubbed her eyes and neck, inhaling deeply. The sewing machine hummed with energy, even as she faded. She glanced at the clock. 1 a.m. What was the point in going to bed anyway? Every night, she lay awake for hours, tired but sleepless, twisting herself in the sheets. She could not find a comfortable place in that bed. Always, she woke up contorted around his empty space, as if he were still in her spoon. Always, the cold blankets on his side of the bed were a surprise for a split second, and she could pretend in her half-sleep that he had gotten up early and was sitting in the kitchen with a newspaper and two glasses of orange juice. Always, the trance broke and she remembered all over again.

Yes, she would stay awake tonight until the blanket was finished.

When Julie, their only daughter, announced that she and her husband were going to have a baby, Bobby went to the hardware store that very day and got to work. The poor kids were lucky to have any say in the nursery’s paint color. They could choose between 3 swatches of blue Bobby brought to them. ‘What if it’s a girl?’ they asked. To which he replied, ‘Oh, it’s a boy, all right’ and winked. He pinstriped the bottom half of the walls with white and painted the top solid blue. Then, he ripped up the room’s ugly green carpet, revealing oak floors, and carefully sanded and refinished the boards until they gleamed in the sunlight. He left the frilly things, like curtains and bedding, to Steenie and Julie – who waited until AFTER the ultrasound to pick any theme for the room. Bobby was right. It was a boy.

The pregnancy seemed both to drag and fly by for everyone. Steenie and Bobby had trouble restraining themselves from buying too many toys and layette clothes for the baby. Embarrassed that they were already spoilers, they hid a stockpile of gifts in their hall closet and tried to leave them nonchalantly at Julie’s house when they visited. She always caught them and half-smiled as they glossed over their own generosity. The truth was they were as excited as they were when Steenie was carrying their own baby. At night, they talked about it in bed while she ran her fingers lightly over Bobby’s bare back. They reminisced about their early years as parents… how little they knew about what they were doing. How scared they were at first… how amazed they were at how much they loved that little girl the moment they laid eyes on her.

Weeks before the birth, Steenie came home to find Bobby unconscious in the hallway with the phone in his hand. That picture was burned into her memory – but the events that took place afterward were a blur. She could barely remember doing CPR, or the paramedics arriving, but she knew it happened. She heard people talk about it. And there must have been a ride in the ambulance, because she ended up at the hospital, but that was gone from her recollection, too. Just Bobby’s face was left for her, in the end… white as the pillow behind it. His hazel eyes never opened for her again.

When Julie made her go through his clothes, she ended up sitting in their closet, leaned against an old set of crutches, pressing his shirts against her face and breathing his lingering scent in the lining. She cried. He never even got to meet his grandson. In that moment, she knew what to do with her pain. She would make it useful.

Steenie went through all of Bobby’s clothes and spent the rest of the afternoon and evening sorting through colors and textures. By nightfall, she had pieced a quilt. Each square was made by a different one of his shirts, filled with a design of ties – some laughably outdated, but all familiar. Every day she worked, as Julie’s belly grew bigger and bigger, tenderly stitching with arthritic fingers the connection between Bobby and his grandbaby.

On the eve of little Bobby’s birth, at 4 a.m., Steenie cut the last string. With puffy eyes, magnified by thick glasses, she inspected her work. Pride filled her, because she knew it was her best yet. Too gratified to sleep now, she lay next to the blanket across her bed and looked at it for a long time, playing out every memory she had of Bobby in each shirt, running her hands over the fabric like it was warm skin. She made herself some hot chocolate and sat on the balcony, letting the heat of the mug soothe her aching fingers. The stars glistened in the heavens above her… points of light scattered across the darkness.

She wondered if Bobby was watching her from one of them.