Ghost
Ghost
By: Robert K. Davies
Shrill screams of pain and horror echo throughout the dark allyway. The noise goes heard, but unattended to by many of the pedestrians walking around streets of lower San Francisco. The rain had just fallen, and those wandering about the city just appear more concerned about getting their new shoes wet, then whom is screaming bloody murder.
Lying there in a puddle of freshly fallen rain water is a woman. Bare naked, breathing and screaming, unsure what to think or believe. To her, the reality set before her is filled with pain and uncertainty. To her, she was in hell.
A shadow cast from a street light at the end of the ally stretches all the way down, ending mere inches from the woman's fingertips. Her screams not only get louder, filled with more fear and shear horror, but the emotion pours from deep inside of her. This emotion is only compairable to the emotion put fourth from a broken and down trodden man, singing the only blues he knows, his blues, on the streets of a shanty town. The emotion she was putting into her screams would make almost anyone listening to her cry.
For her, a life time or five pass before the shadow from the end of the ally begins to cover face, slowly sliding up, and hiding her body from any light that may have once graced her soft and silky skin. She was consumed in darkness, almost alone and unsure of what was nearing her. The screams continue.
Her mind is racing, thinking of what is going on, naming each and every possiblity of what is happening. Only the worse seem viable. Just moments ago, she was in a bliss, watching over those whom needed it. Now, she is praying that someone is watching over her. Begging that the figure silently closing in on her is not to harm, but to help. She feels deep down inside, that this is not the case. Within moments of feeling alive, she will die.
"Give me your hand.", a silent but raspy voice proclaims over the screams and sobs. "Take my hand, and not ask any questions."
Peering up, looking hard through the warm salty tears that make her eyes feel swelled shut, she can not make out a face or figure of the voice speaking. Hesitant, her body pulls more into a fetal position, her screams get only more horrifing, and she refuses to move.
The figure, hardly recognizable bends down to speak. As it moves light from at the end of the ally pours out over him, illuminating her bare feet. Her toes, curled up, pushing out the ball of her feet. The heels displaying a pink, clean look, so clean innocense rings out from it even more then the white of a virgin silk dress.
"Give me your hand.", the voice repeats, "I can help!".
Nothing, the body now rocking, the screams still bellowing, and the emotion still strong enough to turn the hardest man to being as soft as melted butter. It began to seem hopeless.
"If you want to continue, if you want to keep going, you must take my hand,you must take my hand and follow.", the voice continues, "I am here to lead, to take you onward, please miss, take my hand."
Softly, carefully, almost child like the screams subside to soft sobs. The woman now begins to unball her body, moving so the light peering around the figure illuminates her whole body. In the light, she looks pure and innocent.
Her hand reaches out, without saying a word, she extends it into the shadowlike hand held in front of her.
"There you go love.", rasps out from the shadow, "Stand and follow me to safety."
As the angelic woman hears the words, her body rises, using her secured hand to offset her weight. Her sobs subside, her fears belated and her worries washed away with the small bit of support from this shadow in front of her. A warming calm fills her, making her feel like everything is alright.
*****
The day began slow for Becky Carlson, a slow Saturday. She had spent most of her week counciling kids down at the local abuse shelter, and needed the day off to clear her mind.
As she looked to her window, it just appeared be a dull glow filtering through her off white curtains. She could almost feel the rain slowly falling on the front yards grass. It's OK, she thought to herself, the rain only gave her reason to stay inside and enjoy the time inside for the day.
Feeling worn and tired, she lifts her body carefully off the bed and walks to the window. Pushing aside one of the curtains, her belief on the rain was true.
"Wonderful!" Becky mumbles, "My car needed a cleaning anyway."
As her mind wanders, unwinding from the week, she could only think of the one kid that scared her the most this week. A troubled teen, about sixteen years old was taken from his parents due to abuse. He was very bitter, and during the counceling session, he appeared to only blame Becky for what happened.
"You dumb bitch!" He would hell ranting around the room. "How could you do this to me? How could you take my mom and dad from me? I should kill you!"
Death threats were not taken lightly there, but in situations like this, where children were seperated from the parents, it was common. Becky spent hours sitting with the young man, trying to get him to understand it was for the better. By the end, he still was adament on Becky's death, and he was taken away into a solitary confinement for uncontrollable teens there.
All she wanted to do was forget that day, to will it away as if it never happened. The images of the young mans face red with anger, the eyes welled up with tears and fear, his fists balled in rage. To forget, it was all she wanted.
Walking around her bedroom, she took two steps into her bathroom, and felt a sharp pain to the back of her head. Confusion did not have enough time to settle in before she passed out, sprawled across the bathroom floor.
**News Paper Clipping**
Becky Carlson dies at 31 today at the hands of a sixteen year old boy. In an apparent attempt to hide the body in a dumpster behind the Bay Cafe in San Francisco, it seems the child did not have enough strength to lift her up. Mrs. Carlson was found dead in the center of the ally by a dishwasher.
Albert Monroe was arrested at his home for first degree murder.
By: Robert K. Davies
Shrill screams of pain and horror echo throughout the dark allyway. The noise goes heard, but unattended to by many of the pedestrians walking around streets of lower San Francisco. The rain had just fallen, and those wandering about the city just appear more concerned about getting their new shoes wet, then whom is screaming bloody murder.
Lying there in a puddle of freshly fallen rain water is a woman. Bare naked, breathing and screaming, unsure what to think or believe. To her, the reality set before her is filled with pain and uncertainty. To her, she was in hell.
A shadow cast from a street light at the end of the ally stretches all the way down, ending mere inches from the woman's fingertips. Her screams not only get louder, filled with more fear and shear horror, but the emotion pours from deep inside of her. This emotion is only compairable to the emotion put fourth from a broken and down trodden man, singing the only blues he knows, his blues, on the streets of a shanty town. The emotion she was putting into her screams would make almost anyone listening to her cry.
For her, a life time or five pass before the shadow from the end of the ally begins to cover face, slowly sliding up, and hiding her body from any light that may have once graced her soft and silky skin. She was consumed in darkness, almost alone and unsure of what was nearing her. The screams continue.
Her mind is racing, thinking of what is going on, naming each and every possiblity of what is happening. Only the worse seem viable. Just moments ago, she was in a bliss, watching over those whom needed it. Now, she is praying that someone is watching over her. Begging that the figure silently closing in on her is not to harm, but to help. She feels deep down inside, that this is not the case. Within moments of feeling alive, she will die.
"Give me your hand.", a silent but raspy voice proclaims over the screams and sobs. "Take my hand, and not ask any questions."
Peering up, looking hard through the warm salty tears that make her eyes feel swelled shut, she can not make out a face or figure of the voice speaking. Hesitant, her body pulls more into a fetal position, her screams get only more horrifing, and she refuses to move.
The figure, hardly recognizable bends down to speak. As it moves light from at the end of the ally pours out over him, illuminating her bare feet. Her toes, curled up, pushing out the ball of her feet. The heels displaying a pink, clean look, so clean innocense rings out from it even more then the white of a virgin silk dress.
"Give me your hand.", the voice repeats, "I can help!".
Nothing, the body now rocking, the screams still bellowing, and the emotion still strong enough to turn the hardest man to being as soft as melted butter. It began to seem hopeless.
"If you want to continue, if you want to keep going, you must take my hand,you must take my hand and follow.", the voice continues, "I am here to lead, to take you onward, please miss, take my hand."
Softly, carefully, almost child like the screams subside to soft sobs. The woman now begins to unball her body, moving so the light peering around the figure illuminates her whole body. In the light, she looks pure and innocent.
Her hand reaches out, without saying a word, she extends it into the shadowlike hand held in front of her.
"There you go love.", rasps out from the shadow, "Stand and follow me to safety."
As the angelic woman hears the words, her body rises, using her secured hand to offset her weight. Her sobs subside, her fears belated and her worries washed away with the small bit of support from this shadow in front of her. A warming calm fills her, making her feel like everything is alright.
*****
The day began slow for Becky Carlson, a slow Saturday. She had spent most of her week counciling kids down at the local abuse shelter, and needed the day off to clear her mind.
As she looked to her window, it just appeared be a dull glow filtering through her off white curtains. She could almost feel the rain slowly falling on the front yards grass. It's OK, she thought to herself, the rain only gave her reason to stay inside and enjoy the time inside for the day.
Feeling worn and tired, she lifts her body carefully off the bed and walks to the window. Pushing aside one of the curtains, her belief on the rain was true.
"Wonderful!" Becky mumbles, "My car needed a cleaning anyway."
As her mind wanders, unwinding from the week, she could only think of the one kid that scared her the most this week. A troubled teen, about sixteen years old was taken from his parents due to abuse. He was very bitter, and during the counceling session, he appeared to only blame Becky for what happened.
"You dumb bitch!" He would hell ranting around the room. "How could you do this to me? How could you take my mom and dad from me? I should kill you!"
Death threats were not taken lightly there, but in situations like this, where children were seperated from the parents, it was common. Becky spent hours sitting with the young man, trying to get him to understand it was for the better. By the end, he still was adament on Becky's death, and he was taken away into a solitary confinement for uncontrollable teens there.
All she wanted to do was forget that day, to will it away as if it never happened. The images of the young mans face red with anger, the eyes welled up with tears and fear, his fists balled in rage. To forget, it was all she wanted.
Walking around her bedroom, she took two steps into her bathroom, and felt a sharp pain to the back of her head. Confusion did not have enough time to settle in before she passed out, sprawled across the bathroom floor.
**News Paper Clipping**
Becky Carlson dies at 31 today at the hands of a sixteen year old boy. In an apparent attempt to hide the body in a dumpster behind the Bay Cafe in San Francisco, it seems the child did not have enough strength to lift her up. Mrs. Carlson was found dead in the center of the ally by a dishwasher.
Albert Monroe was arrested at his home for first degree murder.