Friday, October 31, 2014


Hello All:
This is a very, special week at the Literary World of Tom Raimbault. This week we observe the annual triduum of Halloween. If you've been following the blog long enough, then you know that each year we celebrate throughout the days prior with horror stories that have been specially written for Halloween. Please stay with us throughout the week and celebrate. Here at the Literary World of Tom Raimbault, Halloween is the greatest holiday of the year!
Today is All Hollows’ Eve—more commonly referred to as Halloween. What makes this Halloween all the more special is the fact that it is Friday! Plenty of haunted houses will be packed with eager visitors who wish to be scared. Night clubs will be jam-packed with partiers who wish to boogie-down on the dance floor. Cemeteries and places of popular hauntings might have a few late night visitors for a real scare. And don’t forget a late night cruise down Archer Avenue in Illinois—Resurrection Mary Highway.
As for children, tonight is the greatest night next to Christmas Eve. For you see, they get to go out and trick-or-treat. I’m sure you all have common sense when it comes to safety; looking both ways when crossing the street, not accepting questionable candy, not going up to unlit houses, and remaining on stranger-danger alertness.
But here’s a little list I created for you; some pointers on maximizing fun and safety when trick-or-treating.
·        If you are trick-or-treating in the dark, be sure to carry torches and candles to light your way. Additionally, fire offers a dramatic effect that lets people know you mean business!
·        Parents should drive around the various neighborhoods before hand, and take note of what neighborhoods appear to be "wealthy". These residents hand out awesome candy because they have more money than most people! Be sure to trick-or-treat in these areas!
·        To maximize the best use of time and receive the most candy, don't waste time walking up and down driveways and taking the sidewalks. Simply cut through the lawn and jump over landscaping if necessary.
·        For maximum effect, weapon accessories should look as real as possible. If people are offended by these things, then they really shouldn't be out on Halloween night. Remember, the aim of dressing up for Halloween is to ward off evil spirits.
·        Don't bother going to houses that are not lit. Either they are not home, or they are obviously very lame and wish not to celebrate Halloween. They are probably Jehovah's witnesses or radical Christians who deem this wonderful holiday as evil. And you don't want them ruining your fun.
·        Plenty of sugar and caffeine is the answer to maximizing stamina while trick-or-treating. Pack soda and juices with high amounts of corn syrup. Eat plenty of candy to keep the energy up. Remember, the aim is to stay out as late as you can while trick-or-treating.
·        Kids should eat a good meal before trick-or-treating. Treat them to McDonald's, White Castles or Taco Bell for dinner. White Castles is an excellent idea because it causes plenty of flatulence which kids enjoy breathing with a costume on.
·        If you have older kids, they don't want you around. You see, they might want to pull pranks at different houses, or play silly Halloween games that encourage them to misbehave. This is not easy to do with Mom and Dad around. Make sure they have a cell phone so they can call you from the police station if needed.
·        Kids should not accept questionable candy, or treats that appear to be homemade. You see, there are sickos in this world who poison candy, lace it with drugs, or stick pins and razorblades in it to injure children. Be sure to educate your children on this.
·        While we are on the topic of sickos, be sure to inform your children that creepy pedophiles and sexual predators will be driving around Halloween night to look for children to kidnap. This is not intended to be funny. This is the sad and sickening truth, and children need to know this.
·        Finally, look both ways before crossing the streets.
Today’s featured writing is a short story about ghostly orbs.

Happy Halloween! Have a great weekend! Be safe and have fun!
Poor, little, four-year-old Brittany; she was having another bothersome encounter with the mean, old man who regularly tormented her and her older brother. The wicked, old man didn't have to do much to terrify her; only stare at Brittany with his fearsome face and eyes of hatred that—perhaps—exhibited a bit of delight that he was frightening her.
Brittany trembled and cried at the sight of the old man, who stood at the entrance of the family room.
"What? What is it?" asked my sister, Lina, who just so happens to be Brittany's mother.
Brittany only ran in the opposite direction of the old man, towards the sofa, where she buried her face in the pillow to hide from him.
My sister sat down on the sofa next to her crying daughter and rubbed her back to comfort her. "Brittany, Honey, what's bothering you?"
It was then that Brittany answered, "It's the old man. He's back, again. He won't leave me alone."
"What old man?" asked my sister.
Brittany pointed in the direction towards the entrance of the family room. "That man over there." Then she hid her face back in the pillow. But she wouldn't dare look at the old man while pointing her finger; for he would only return a face that would guarantee punishment some time later.
"Honey, I don't see a man standing over there. Are you just seeing spookies, again? Spookies are all in your head. They're not real."
"I see him!" declared Brittany's older brother, Nicholas; a nine-year-old boy who should certainly be past the age of imagining things. But unlike his younger sister, Nicholas is a bit bolder and actually approached the old man who returned a face of warning. "He's right there!" Nicholas shouted while pointing. "You bad man! Get out here!"
"Nicholas, stop it!" shouted my sister.
"You don't see him?" asked Nicholas.
"No!" she snapped. "And I wish you would stop encouraging your sister."
That's when Nicholas sat down on the sofa, next to his mother and little sister. It was time for the boy to have a talk with Mother. "Okay, do you remember when I was little and I was out in the swimming pool on my raft, and I fell under the water?"
"Yes..." answered Mother.
"Do you remember you had to jump in the pool and rescue me because for some reason I couldn't get up?"
"Yes, of course." affirmed Mother. "That was very scary."
"Well the reason I couldn't get up was because the old man walked around the pool and reached over to my raft. The he tipped the raft over and I fell under the water. And that's not all he did. He actually held me under the water and wouldn't let me up. He wanted to drown me."
Mother sighed and was growing increasingly frightened of these strange accounts of the old man. "Are you sure?" she asked. "Nicholas, are you lying?"
"No! I tried to tell you and Dad when it happened. But no one would listen to me. You just told me that no one was holding me under the water."
This was the account my sister gave me on the telephone one Thursday evening. She phoned me shortly after the incident of the old man tormenting my little niece which was followed by my nephew's report of being held under water by him some years ago. My brother-in-law works the night shift which means that my sister was alone with two children who swore there to be a mean, old man in the entryway of the family room. I suppose the moment might have been somewhat spooky, and she needed someone to talk to.
"Hmmm... That's very strange.” I answered as she concluded her report. “Do you suppose there might be a ghost in the house?"
"Oh, don't say that!" my sister begged me. "Mark doesn't come home from work for a few more hours which means I'll be alone until then."
"Well I'm just suggesting that a ghost is something to consider. And if you have one, you need to do what is necessary to get rid of it." Then I came up with a solution. "Do you have a camera nearby?"
"A camera?" she asked. "I have one on my phone. Why?"
"Well, sometimes paranormal investigators have success with photographing rooms where there is supposedly ghostly activity. When looking at the picture, mysterious things can be seen that might suggest the presence of a ghost. Why don't you try doing that, now?"
"Okay, hold on..." She was using the very phone that she spoke to me on to take her photo. There was the sound of my sister clicking open the camera app, and then taking the photo. "There... let's see..." I could hear my sister say. Then she resumed talking into the phone. "I'm looking at the picture, but can't see anything.
"Well maybe the ghost is gone." I suggested. "Ask the kids if they can still see the old man."
I could hear my sister calling out to my nephew and niece. "Nicholas? Brittany? Is the old man still there?”
"No!" they answered. "It looks like he went away for now." explained Nicholas.
"Well, at least you don't have to worry about the ghost while you're home alone." I said to my sister. "Tell you what; the next time the kids complain about seeing the old man, hurry up and take a picture in the area where they see it."
It was Saturday evening, two nights after my sister telephoned me to report the strange accounts of the mean, old man. My mother joined my sister and her husbnad for an evening out at the opera. Arrangements were made for the fifteen-year-old girl who lives next door from my sister to watch the children while the adults were out.
At some point in the evening, little Brittany was in her bedroom and sorting through some of her toys which were carefully placed in a bucket, soon to be carried out to the family room to play with. That's when the mean, old man quietly entered her room and sneaked up behind her.
Initially, Brittany was oblivious of the ugliness that stood behind her. But it didn't take long for the strange, spooky feeling to envelop Brittany which was soon accompanied by the strange sensation in her eyes that felt as-if another person could look through them. Then there was the chill in the air. Yes; the mean, old man was somewhere in the room.
Brittany looked behind her and was terribly startled to see him. His feet were just inches away from her. He cocked one foot back and gave her a swift kick to her leg while casting a mean face at her.
"Ouch!" yelled Brittany, and then quickly crawled over to the wall where she cowered. She started to cry because the kick hurt her.
Delighted; the mean, old man walked over to her and kicked her again.
"Stop!" yelled Brittany "That hurts!" She cried some more.
The mean, old man silently laughed as-if his mouth had a mute button. This muted effect made it necessary for him exaggerate behavior such as laughing. As the little girl cowered and cried against the wall, he spat at her to show even further disrespect.
"Brittany?" called out the babysitter while dashing up the stairs and towards the bedroom. "Are you okay? Why are you crying?" Now at the entryway, she could see little Brittany cowered against the wall and protecting herself from something unseen. "Brittany, are you alright?"
"It's the mean, old man." answered Brittany. "He keeps kicking me, and he won't go away."
The babysitter rushed over to the cowering child to see what was wrong. By now, Nicholas was at the entryway of the room and could see the problem.
"Yup! Uh-huh! He's in here!" affirmed Nicholas. Nicholas approached the old man and shouted, "You get out of here! And you leave my sister alone!"
That's when the mean, old man slapped the babysitter on the ass.
"Nicholas!" the babysitter shouted. "Stop that!"
"But that wasn't me!" argued Nicholas. "It was him."
"Alright... you kids are very strange." declared the babysitter while scooping up little Brittany and carrying her out of the room. Nicholas led and was the first out of the room.
Just to make sure that his presence was known; the mean, old man gave the babysitter another slap to her behind.
Now frightened and convinced of a mysterious presence in the home, she screamed and ran out into the hallway. Of course the babysitter didn't say one word about the evening’s strangeness. How could one report such an incident to parents who ask, "How did everything go?" Should she have answered, "Well... everything was fine until that imaginary man slapped my behind."? Instead, she reported that all was well. I suppose she promised herself to never babysit in that house, again.
It was late in the evening, and my mother was too tired to drive home. She opted to spend the night at my sister's place, and sleep on the family room sofa. At some point in the night, she woke up and felt an extreme chill in the air. Cold, my mother wrapped herself tighter in the blankets. And then she began to feel a peculiar sensation of fear. It was something she believed she could have pulled herself out of by standing up and going into the kitchen for a drink of water—wake up a bit before going back to sleep. But sitting up was impossible due to an alarming sensation of paralysis. She described it as-if someone held her down on the sofa.
Then my mother saw something that would certainly terrify anyone. As she described it; a brilliant, glowing orb started floating in her direction from the kitchen. It glided into the family room until reaching the sofa where it hovered over my mother. Along with feeling held down on the sofa, my poor mother had a difficult time breathing. This made it impossible to try and call out for help. The orb slowly descended—closer and closer to my petrified mother.
The entire family was awoken from the dead of night with the sound of my mother who finally let out a scream. "No! No! Please! Go away! For the love of God, please go away! Help me!" By the time everyone reached the family room, my mother was cowering in the corner by the television.
"I bet it was the old man!" suggested my nephew, Nicholas, upon my mother finally calming down and explaining what happened.
"Nicholas, stop it!" warned my sister. "Your grandmother was probably just having a bad dream."
"What old man?" asked my mother.
"Oh, the kids just have an overactive imagination..."
The following morning—Sunday—my mother had breakfast with the family and left. After she left, it was one of those lazy Sunday mornings in which everyone sits around, watches TV or—in the case of children—play with toys.
Brittany was playing with her dollhouse. But after an hour or so; my sister noticed that she would set up all of her toys in an area, play for a few seconds, then quickly pack up and move to a different area of the house.
"Brittany, what are you doing?" my sister finally asked.
"The mean, old man keeps bothering."
"Bothering you? What's he doing?"
"He keeps coming up to me and kicking me. He wants me to leave."
"He kicks you?"
"Yeah... uh-uh... see, like last night. Look what he did to me." Brittany pulled her dress up just high enough to show a nasty bruise on her thigh."
My sister gasped. "The mean, old man did this to you?"
Initially, my sister wasn't buying it. Someone kicked her little daughter, and she would definitely get to the bottom of it. "Nicholas!" she called out.
"Get in here!"
My nephew cautiously entered the room. "What?"
"Did you do this to Brittany?" my sister asked.
"Are you sure it wasn't Nicholas?" my sister further probed while speaking to Brittany.
"No, it was the mean, old man." she answered.
"There he is!" exclaimed Nicholas while pointing.
Brittany turned towards the direction of where her brother was pointing, and then quickly looked away while covering her face. She began to cry.
"You see him?" my sister asked.
"Yup!" affirmed Nicholas. "He's right there, and he's making mean faces at me and Brittany.
Just then, my brother-in-law entered the room. "What's going on in here?"
"It's the ghost." answered my sister. "The kids say he's right over there and making mean faces. And look what he supposedly did to Brittany." She lifted my niece's dress up high enough to show the bruise to her husband.
My brother-in-law sighed. "Well, let's try the camera." He pulled the phone out of his pocket, and confirmed from Nicholas that the mean, old man was standing "over there". Then he snapped the picture—actually, a few of them.
The photos were uploaded to the family notebook computer. But before any of them could be opened, the computer suddenly locked up.
"What the...? Oh, come on! Why is this happening?" shouted my brother-in-law. It's one of the most frustrating occurrences that can happen to anyone; you are eager to view some document or look up some information, and the computer suddenly freezes. There are no buttons that can be pressed; the mouse doesn't work; and even control-alt-delete is useless. The machine is suspended in time with 100% of CPU resource being used.
The family huddled over the notebook and stared at it in an equally suspended state as the computer. It was just the opportunity that the mean, old man needed—everyone was in a catatonic state. Then, as the computer started to unfreeze, the face the old man burned through the LCD screen.
Everyone jumped back and screamed out of fright. It was a clear manifestation of a nearby ghost.
Poor, little Brittany cried and buried her face in her mother.
Nicholas exclaimed, "It's the old man!"
Ten minutes passed as the family settled down and mustered enough courage to try and open the pictures on the computer. When they were finally opened, each photo clearly contained an undeniable orb that hovered some six feet above ground. My brother-in-law was able to zoom in on the orb which revealed the makings of a face... the face of a mean, old man.
My sister immediately telephoned me with the finding. But, unfortunately, I was out and the battery of my cell phone went dead. It wasn't until later in the afternoon with my phone fully charged that I received her voicemail.
I called my sister and she immediately rattled off the excitement that had been occurring in her home for the past 24 hours. But then the connection began to fade in and out.
"Can you hear me...? Hello...? I can't hear anything but static... I'm going to call you back..." my sister said before hanging up.
Moments later, my phone rang. It was my sister with a much, better connection. It enabled her to report the details, along with texting me one of the photos of the orb which contained the face of the mean, old man.
"Oh, wow!" I exclaimed upon seeing it.
"Isn't it incredible?" my sister added.
Suddenly I had the peculiar feeling of a presence listening, attentively, to what my sister and I were discussing. "Is someone on the other line with you?" I asked my sister.
"No, I'm on my cell."
I tried to ignore the mysterious presence, but it remained somewhere on the telephone while continuing to stalk over the wireless medium... looking for a way in... seeking a weakness to infect with its poltergeist activity.
About a week passed, and I would occasionally sense the mysterious presence in my home. At first I tried to write it off as some residual feeling brought on by the telephone call from my sister. Her report of the events suggested there to be a considerable amount of trauma in her home. Surely it had carried over to me and possibly caused me some stress. It was the only explanation that I had.
But as time goes on, I continue to feel it. And I suppose in a means to sort through what is happening, I have turned to writing this very document. It is now a few minutes before midnight, and I've chosen this time to write as it enables me to be alone and think freely. It might be similar to what you, the reader, is doing—finding a time and place to be alone so you can read my account, undisturbed.
I can tell you, however, that it is not easy writing about all of this. I now realize that the ghost in my sister's house had traveled along the connection of that telephone call and infected my mind, only to lay dormant as a seed waiting to hatch. As I continue to type I can feel a strange feeling around my eyes, almost as-if someone or something else can see through them. And I cannot deny a peculiar, floating sensation, like I can be lifted out of my chair.
The ghost now observes in delight the words being typed. For you see; the ghost utilizes a viral effect, not only traveling along the medium of a telephone call, but traveling along the words of a story so that an unfortunate reader is infected. Perhaps you now notice a strange presence around you, or peculiar feelings signaling the dawn of paranormal activity in your home or office. Yes, the story is now about you: the reader!
But it's too late! The ghost has manifested itself in your physical place and has already spread itself. You can probably feel it standing over you, moving close to your face and seeking ways to spread its presence through the new medium, you.
Happy Halloween!

Thursday, October 30, 2014

From Lillian--1904

Hello All:
This is a very, special week at the Literary World of Tom Raimbault. This week we observe the annual triduum of Halloween. If you've been following the blog long enough, then you know that each year we celebrate throughout the days prior with horror stories that have been specially written for Halloween. Please stay with us throughout the week and celebrate. Here at the Literary World of Tom Raimbault, Halloween is the greatest holiday of the year!
Molesting the dead is a horribly sick and disturbing crime--nearly a sin. To dig the blade of a shovel into a grave-site, unearth the casket and then crack it open for no other reason than to fondle and play with the body is an act that would make many people (including myself) shudder. Earlier this week we discussed the heartless vandalism and defilement of the dead that was committed at Bachelor's Grove Cemetery in Illinois. But today we discuss the morbid fascination of such acts that, surprisingly, many people secretly fantasize of.
Necrophilia goes against just about every moral and ethical value that you have, and is wrong on so many levels. But aren't you curious? Wouldn't you like just a moment to play and feel?
Of course you would!
But you wouldn't!
Imagine the thrill of having your way with a beautiful, fresh body that could never tell a soul what you have done. Most people associate these thoughts with those who have low self-esteem, and feel it necessary to seek sex with the dead to overcome rejection. But not every case of necrophilia is so. If you dug up a coffin, cracked it open, unclothed the body and then looked upon what is shown in this image, wouldn't you like to feel the
breasts? They belonged to a beautiful woman when she was alive. But she's gone, now, and would never know that you assaulted her.
It happens at night when a ghoulish person enters the cemetery with shovel in hand. It's dark, and many hours are spent digging one's way some six feet below the ground until reaching the casket. Many of them are encased in cement which makes it necessary to smash open with a sledge hammer. Then, usually an hour or so before dawn, the assaulter finally reaches the prize; the fresh body of a beautiful woman who has laid dead for a little over a week.
Sometimes it is discovered upon opening the casket that she is laying on her side or stomach. This is explained as the simple phenomenon of "rolling over in one's grave". You see, the dead sometimes witness things in the realm of the living which deeply disturbs them. This actually causes the body of the deceased to literally roll over as if turning over in bed from a bad dream. If needed, simply roll the body over so you can undress and begin your play.
Now naked and very cold from being dead for so long, the body lays still and stiff as you fondle and play in sheer delight. You can touch and explore all those treasures that might have been forbidden when she was alive.
But beware! Sometimes the thrill and pleasure is enough to temporarily awaken your victim from the dead! She might roll over, gaze up at you and wonder what is happening. She might even figure out what you are doing and become outraged. Why, some bodies have been known to nearly stand up and try to escape during
their defilement. If you can handle the shock, then my suggestion to you is that you seize the moment and enjoy every bit of it. This is the greatest treat for a necrophile, to awaken the dead for an exclusive moment of wonderful sex.
But she just might want you to lie beside her, afterwards; close the lid and go to sleep. That's up to you, of course.
Today's featured writing might be a message from the grave that comes in the form of an antique record.

From Lillian--1904
Marybeth slept soundly on a Saturday night, about 11:30 pm, while having the most peculiar dream. It was almost nightmarish. In it; a ghostly, female corpse clothed in a ratted, dirty, white dress escorted Marybeth into the front room of a small farmhouse with antique furnishing. In this front room a young woman played a violin solo. The surroundings gave Marybeth the feeling that she had been escorted some hundred years back into time to see this young woman play. And for some reason, it was understood that the ghostly corpse who spoke no words was once that young woman who played the violin. The notes and pitch of the violin rose higher and higher as Marybeth soon realized that the soul of this young woman had been incarnated into her.
The shocking revelation caused Marybeth to sit up in bed and nearly scream.
"What? What is it?" asked Marybeth's husband, Lawrence, who had been startled out of his sleep.
"I had the weirdest dream. A ghost took me back into time and showed me who I was in my past life..."
Across the street; Lawrence and Marybeth's neighbor, Don, sat on the sofa of the front room in his old, two bedroom ranch with hardwood floors and the original decor from 1942. He just so happened to be listening to an antique phonographic record from 1904—a violin solo.
Don's home was seemingly frozen in time. At fifty-two-years-old, he never married and remained a bachelor his entire life. I suppose changing the decor of the home wasn't much of a priority as it would be for a married couple. Don simply purchased the home, cleaned up a bit and moved in.
One of the items that sat in the front room was his antique phonograph that might have even matched the time frame of the home's decor. Don collected classic music from the early 1900s—the earlier the better. He had recordings from the big bands, the roaring twenties; even recordings from before 1910! Yes, in case you were wondering, records were actually created back in those days. It wasn't unusual for him to listen to them. And it just so happened that the record he now played was one of Don's favorites. It was a mysterious violin solo from a record that had only the words, "From Lillian—1904" written in ink. The piece was nothing that Don could recognize. The sound quality was terribly warped with much hiss and noise that sometimes bled over the solo. But whoever Lillian was, her playing was exquisite. As the solo neared its end, the notes and pitch would shift higher and higher—almost to a deafening shrill—that would soon disappear in the static. It left Don the impression that at the beginning of the solo, Lillian would appear in the front room, and then vanish into thin air at its conclusion.
And how ironic that as Don listened to this moving solo; his neighbor, Marybeth had her nightmarish dream!
"So sad..." Don finally said. And then he wondered what he meant by that. He answered himself while reasoning, "I guess it's so sad that I'll never know who she is. She just vanishes into nothing."
You see; the fascination of her solo and the entire mystery behind Lillian created a longing so deep that Don was beginning to fall in love with someone he never met or even learned about. Oh, he tried to do some research by entering "Lillian violin" into the Google search engine. There was a famous violinist by the name of Lillian who was born in 1901. But the record in Don's possession said 1904. There would have been no way that the famous violinist would have been Don's Lillian. It was simply a musician that, sadly, no one ever heard of.
The following evening, Don sat in the front room and listened to his favorite record, "from Lillian—1904". Just then his chocolate lab, Dulce, gracefully entered the front room and pawed at the door.
"What? What is it girl?" Don asked. "You need to go outside?"
Dulce barked while jumping up and down.
"Okay, let's go outside." With that, Don put on his shoes, grabbed the leash and stepped outside with the dog.
It was just past 7:00pm on a Sunday evening in August. About 80 degrees and still light outside, the neighborhood kids played across the street. It would be another week before they went back to school. Now in the front lawn so that Dulce could do her business, Don glanced in the direction towards the house across the street, and could see his neighbor, Marybeth, stepping outside to her car.
"Hey there!" Don yelled while waving.
"Hi!" she waved in return. Marybeth and Lawrence lived in the neighborhood for over ten years. They actually knew the old couple who lived in Don's house before he moved in. 90 years old and the original owners of the home, they simply sold the place and moved down to Florida to enjoy the heat in their final years of life.
Don had seen Marybeth on a number of occasions and was never terribly attracted to her. She was, after all, Lawrence's wife. But on this early evening in August, after listening to the mysterious violin solo from the infatuating Lillian, Don had a most unusual thought. For the first time, he assigned a face to the mysterious Lillian. And it was the face of his neighbor, Marybeth!
There's an old prairie a few doors down from Don's house. Nearly five acres, it's remained untouched for many decades. Of course there is the walking path that has been created by people in the neighborhood who enjoy the prairie. Can you blame them? Every year the most colorful wild flowers and various prairie vegetation grows and blooms. With the face of Marybeth newly assigned to his obsessive infatuation, Don waked Dulce down the street for a little stroll through the prairie.
Precisely one week after Don assigned a face to the infatuating Lillian, Marybeth slept soundly in bed. It was just a dot past midnight—Sunday night into Monday morning as her dreams slowly moved closer and closer towards that of being nightmares. Suddenly, the ghostly, female corpse clothed in a ratted, dirty, white dress entered the back door of Marybeth's home and into her kitchen. Without speaking a word, she approached Marybeth until reaching about two feet away. She reached up towards her chest and removed a gold necklace with a laced snowflake-shaped pendant that had beautiful sapphire teardrops on each point. The ghostly corpse almost appeared reluctant, nearly in tears, to hand over the necklace with pendant. It was now Marybeth's.
Rather than accept the piece of jewelry, Marybeth awoke and sat up in bed.
She nearly forgot about the dream until the following morning while sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee in one hand and magazine in the other. Marybeth's kids were finally back in school; summer break had ended. Lawrence was gone for the day at work, and the house was finally peaceful.
Suddenly, there was a soft knock at the back door. That's when Marybeth remembered the dream.
She froze before swallowing a mouthful of coffee. "That better not..." And then she hesitantly stood up to slowly approach the back door.
When opened, there was nobody there. But there was a small box covered in gift wrapping—a present.
Marybeth cautiously stepped outside and looked around to see who might have left the gift. But there wasn't a soul in sight. Feeling it was safe; she brought the present in the house and opened it.
Marybeth trembled and began to hyperventilate when the contents of the present were finally revealed. Inside a white, padded box was the very item of jewelry that had been presented to her by the ghostly corpse; a gold necklace with a laced snowflake-shaped pendant with beautiful sapphire teardrops on each point. And lying next to it was a handwritten note that said, "You should wear this."
Marybeth would do no such thing! And she wouldn't allow what could very well have been a haunted piece of jewelry inside of her home. She quickly closed it back up in the box, and temporarily stored it in the garage on one of the utility shelves.
Two mornings later, Marybeth decided to enjoy a nice walk down the street and through the beautiful, late-summer prairie. But what was this? Parked in front of the neighborhood prairie were four squad cars, an ambulance and public safety truck. Police line tape was used to prevent anyone from entering the prairie. And standing nearby was a small crowd of curious neighbors—mostly housewives who quietly gossiped.
"What's going on?" asked Marybeth as she joined the group of curious bystanders.
"They found a body." answered Marybeth's next door neighbor, Judy.
"No, no; that's not what happened." corrected Tina who lived at the end of the block. "My son and his friends were playing in the prairie last night, and discovered two hidden graves. One of them was unearthed. Whatever was in there had been pulled out."
"You mean the body?" asked Marybeth. "Someone pulled a body out of the grave?"
"That's what my son reported to me this morning. I called the police and it looks like they are investigating."
"Who in the world would do something sick like that...?"
At first the police assumed that the prairie had been used as an illegal dumping area for disposing murder victims' bodies. The barely recognizable graves were, after all, hidden under a patch of bushes. But after some time it was realized that the graves had been there long before the subdivision was created. A historic map revealed that a small farmhouse once stood in the area, about where Lawrence and Marybeth's backyard is currently located. Chances are the two graves belonged to the people who once lived there—maybe a husband and wife.
It was Saturday afternoon; three days after police had investigated the unearthed grave. A UPS delivery truck pulled up in front of Lawrence and Marybeth's house. The driver quickly hopped out and walked up the driveway with a package.
"It looks like we have something!" excitedly announced one of the kids.
"Are you waiting for a package?" asked Marybeth's husband, Lawrence.
"Not that I remember..." Marybeth scurried over to the front door and greeted the UPS driver.
"Good afternoon!" he announced. "I just need your signature."
Marybeth signed her name and brought the package in the house. It was set on the kitchen counter as her husband and kids huddled around.
"Now what if this is a Christmas present for one of you that I ordered on Amazon?"
It was the cue for everyone to walk away which allowed Marybeth to cut into the box.
Inside was an old, faded and barely recognizable dress that looked as though someone had been buried in it some hundred years ago. There even appeared to be dried up, decomposed matter in various place.
A note fell out of the dress as Marybeth pulled it from the box. As she bent down to pick it up, her husband entered the kitchen.
"What the heck is that? An antique dress?"
Marybeth opened the note. It simply read, "You should wear this."
It just so happened that her husband now stood over Marybeth's shoulder and read the note as well. "Is there something you need to tell me? Do you have someone on the side?"
"No..." answered Marybeth. "But this is very strange. Someone must be playing a very, sick joke. What do you want to bet that this dress came off the corpse that was removed from the grave down the street?"
At a loss of words, Lawrence only shook his head in disbelief while shrugging his shoulders.
"Well, I'm going to put this out in the garage until I know what to do with it." Marybeth announced while setting the dress and note back in the box.
Later that night as Marybeth slept soundly in bed; she received another visit in her dreams from the female ghostly corpse who was now naked. She no longer wore her prized pendent around her neck, and she no longer wore the ratted, dirty, white dress.
The naked, ghostly corpse with long, white hair; rotting flesh and exposed bones escorted Marybeth into another dream. It was in a bedroom of an antique farmhouse some hundred years ago. A young couple lay in bed while making love. Without speaking, the ghostly corpse communicated that the young woman in bed was once her. And the soul of that young woman was now incarnated into Marybeth.
Then Marybeth looked at the young man who made love to her. "I know him... I've seen him somewhere... Where do I know him from...?" It took a few seconds for the face to finally register. It was Marybeth's neighbor, Don, from across the street. He was younger and looked slightly different. But still, it was him.
It was then that Marybeth woke up and sat up in bed.
"What is it?" asked Lawrence who had been startled awake from Marybeth sitting up in bed. "Another nightmare?"
"Yeah, another weird dream..."
Across the street, Don laid in bed next to a decomposed, naked, female corpse who could have very well died some hundred years ago. He secretly unearthed it from grave down the street—in the prairie. Don stroked his fingers through her long, white hair.
"It won't be long..." he reassured the decomposed corpse.
In the front room, his favorite record, "from Lillian—1904", played on the phonograph. The violin solo neared the end and increased in pitch while dissolving into the record's hiss and static.
"It won't be long..." he promised the corpse, again, while kissing her on the cheek.”She'll remember, and will soon be mine."
The End!

Wednesday, October 29, 2014

The Ghost of Jack

Hello All
This is a very, special week at the Literary World of Tom Raimbault. This week we observe the triduum of Halloween. If you've been following the blog long enough, then you know that each year we celebrate throughout the days prior with horror stories that have been specially written for Halloween. Please stay with us throughout the week and celebrate.
Here at the Literary World of Tom Raimbault, Halloween is the greatest holiday of the year!
I just turned on my SpiritVoice 2.0 spirit box app to consult what I should say in today's introduction. I don't usually do this, but today's story was provided through a series of spirit box sessions. I didn't write it. The Ghost of Jack could very well have been written by some random, nearby ghost.
Spirit boxes seem to be the latest craze in the paranormal world. Think of them as high-tech Ouija boards that utilize either simple radio signals, or software that generates words and vowels. You've probably seen these devices on popular TV shows like Ghost Adventures. They enable ghost hunters to communicate in real time with nearby ghosts.
Now it isn't my objective in this introduction to go into elaborate detail on how spirit boxes work. I've written an entire technical essay on them. Check it out if you like: Read Spirit Box Technical Paper. But in my nearly two years of using mine, I've learned so many uses for it.
"So how should I introduce today's featured writing?" I asked my spirit box.
A bombardment of words and syllables rolled out from the spirit box. Then, clearly, it said, "Three... Two... One..."
"Uh-oh!" I exclaimed. You see; when discarnates count in sequence, it means they are trying to access the physical world.
Then there was silence for several seconds; nothing but radio static coming from the speaker.
"What happened?" I asked. "Did the app lock up?"
I looked at the screen, and all seemed well.
Then, suddenly, a voice announced, "Midnight... Eight-hundred... Forty-five... Decide..."
I shut the box off and contemplated. What did they mean by all of this? I'm afraid it might be a while before I fully understand--maybe never. And this is the problem with spirit boxes: They are mysterious and vastly misunderstood. It isn't uncommon to receive misinformation from them. It's advisable to use caution with any information provided by a spirit box.
Of course it's always enjoyable to have a spirit box tell you a spooky story. That's what we do in today's featured writing. We turn the stage over to the discarnate world and learn about the Ghost of Jack.
What I find interesting is the spirit box's use of present-tense, second-person narrative. Whatever nearby ghost that we've contacted, he or she wishes to put us right in the middle of the story where events happen to us.
The Ghost of Jack

 It's late at night, and you are driving a dark and desolate highway through some rural area. You have a few more hours of travel until you reach the destination. You're not tired, but do have a ravenous hunger. That's when you realize you haven't eaten anything since those two, measly pieces of toast from the hotel's breakfast buffet. So mindless; you've traveled all morning, afternoon and night without something to eat.
But don't worry; there's an old town less than a mile ahead named Jack's-town. But how strange of you to find it. You're hundreds and hundreds of miles away from Kentucky. That's why the spelling is "Jack's-Town, not Jackstown. It must be a small, unheard of town with... ah-ha... a population of...
 …Hmm... the glare from your car's headlights made it impossible to read the sign. Hopefully there's a late night diner still open where you can sit down and finally eat for the day.
The main road in town is void of cars and people—seemingly void of life. All the shops and storefronts are closed with lights turned off. Even the residential homes off the main road are completely dark.
"Is this is a ghost town?" you ask yourself.
No sooner after you ask this, a lighted sign can be seen off in the distance that glows and nearly illuminates the entire sky. It says, "Jack's Diner."
"Jack's-Town... Jack's Diner..." you say out loud while continuing to drive. "Who is this Jack?”
Not a single car can be seen in the parking lot of Jack’s Diner as you pull in. All the lights are on; but aside from an old man with a white beard standing at the cash register, there aren't any customers. Keep in mind that you are famished, and really need to eat. Who knows when you will enter the next town and find a place to eat? It's best to enter Jack's Diner and ask for a seat.
"Welcome to Jack's Diner!" the old man greets as you enter.
"Are you open?" you ask.
"We're always open." the old man reassures. "Will it be just you?"
"Yup, just me."
The old man hands you a menu. "Go ahead and take a seat at one of the stools. You want some coffee?"
"Sure, coffee will be great!" you affirm.
You pull back a stool and take a seat as the old man suggests. Then you flip open the menu to see the usual items one would expect to see at a late night diner; hamburgers, nacho plates, grilled cheese sandwiches, fried fish sandwiches, chicken tenders, and such.
A cup of coffee on a saucer is set before you. Next to it is placed a small dish of non-dairy creamer and packets of sugar.
"Do you see anything you like?" the old man asks.
"I'm starving, and I could take everything!" you declare. "But I think I'll have the fried fish sandwich with a side-order of fries."
"Okay, we'll get that going for you and bring it out."
Moments later, the old man returns to the front. It leads you to realize that there might be a second person in the back kitchen cooking the food. "I take it you're not alone?" you ask the old man.
"Alone?" he asks in reply. "Oh, the food cooks by itself." Then he winks.
The moment is a perfect opportunity to ask about the unheard of Jack's-Town. "So I've never heard of this place." you begin. "Initially I thought this was a ghost town because all the shops and businesses were closed. Even the lights in the houses are turned off."
"Jack's-Town?—not to be confused with Jackstown, Kentucky? We've been around for a long time. In the 1800s, this very restaurant used to be shack-of-a-building out in the middle of nowhere. It served as a place for miners and panhandlers to get something to eat. A man by the name of Jack owned this place. That's all we know of him. And rumor had it that he struck it rich with one of the biggest finds of gold. He supposedly buried it here and was waiting for the day when the crowds of disappointed miners left so he could finally transport his gold out of here. This was just rumor, of course.
Then one morning he was discovered in the cellar, hanging by a noose. There was a vague suicide note lying on the ground. But no one believed that Jack would commit suicide. It had to be a murder. Some speculate that bad men got hold of him late at night and tortured him until he revealed where his gold was hidden. Then they killed him.
But that's not what people remembered Jack mostly for. People said that Jack was a real jokester. He played gags and tricks on people—people who really needed a good laugh. And to this very day, the Ghost of Jack lives on and continues to play tricks on the people that live here. This is Jack’s diner, Jack’s town, and he is very, much alive. That's why the town is closed down late at night. Everyone is in fear that Jack will play some ghostly trick on them."
Suddenly, the jukebox at the corner of the diner starts to play a mysterious and unheard of song.
"Look! There he is now; up to his shenanigans!"
"Nice..." you say with a smile while trying to look amused. Surely this was staged for when visitors travel through late at night.
"Well listen to the song!" urges the old man. "Have you ever heard a song like that?"
The music is mysterious and ghostly; seems to be a modern duplication of some 1800s eerie folk music. Maybe it’s something that the Ghost of Jack liked to listen to when he was alive.
"It's definitely the Ghost of Jack!" excitedly declares the old man.
A stool about a few places over begins to spin on its own.
The old man looks at you in delight. "Maybe it's the Ghost of Jack!"
"Whatever...!" you answer with a smile. At least the diner has some late night entertainment for you.
"I'm going to check on your order and see if it's ready." The old man walks into the back kitchen which leaves you alone.—alone, that is, if the Ghost of Jack isn't with you.
The mysterious and eerie song stops playing on the jukebox, and there is no sound except for the buzz of the fluorescent lighting in the ceiling. There is no activity or movement anywhere. In fact, it feels as-if time has suddenly frozen.
The old man returns without your food. Apparently it isn't ready, yet. But what's this? He asks you a confusing question. "So what can I get you?"
"Excuse me?" you ask.
"Have you decided on what you want to order?"
You freeze for a moment and are slightly irritated. "Well, I ordered a fish sandwich with some fries. You went in back to check to see if it's done."
"Fish sandwich?" the old man asks. "We don't have any fish sandwiches." With lightning speed he grabs a large knife from under the counter and stabs it into his chest. "Tonight's special is my bloody, beating heart!" He actually pulls out his heart which is still beating and nearly pushes it in your face."
"What the...???" You back away. Needless to say, you are in shock.
"Would you like a side-order of brains with that?" he asks just before pulling a revolver from under the counter and pointing it at his head. Then he pulls the trigger. There's a loud explosion with flash of light. Blood and brains spray on the wall behind him.
"Oh my gosh!" you exclaim. Horrified you drop your head on the counter. Hopefully the cook comes up front to help. But what's this? Seconds later you look up and are surprised to see the old man standing above you with your plate of food.
"What the heck is going on around here?" you demand.
"Excuse me?" the old man says while setting your plate of food down. "You asked for the fish sandwich and fries, right?"
"No, that's not what I'm talking about! You were here a moment ago and stabbed a knife into your chest. Then you shot yourself in the head with a revolver."
"I did?" the old man asks. Then he cracks a delighted smile. "You saw something, didn't you? Well maybe it was the Ghost of Jack. He's always pulling pranks on people who come in here."
The End

Tuesday, October 28, 2014

The Bathtub

Hello All:
This is a very, special week at the Literary World of Tom Raimbault. This week we observe the annual triduum of Halloween. If you've been following the blog long enough, then you know that each year we celebrate throughout the days prior with horror stories that have been specially written for Halloween. Please stay with us throughout the week and celebrate. Here at the Literary World of Tom Raimbault, Halloween is the greatest holiday of the year!
I thought I would provide you with a list of indicators that your home or place of business may be haunted. Perhaps you've wondered this in recent times with a sudden rash of unexplained occurrences that points to the paranormal.
14 Signs Your Home Might be Haunted
1.      A sensation of some presence or that someone is watching you.
2.      Unexplained figures or shadows can be seen from the corner of your eye. When you look, they are gone!
3.      Mysterious cold spots felt within an area.
4.      Vapor-like, swirling vortexes seen dancing in the middle of a room or above furniture.
5.      Mysterious odors or scents such as cigar smoke, flowers or perfume.
6.      Eerie balls of light or orbs recently show up in photographs. If you zoom in on one of these balls with the use of Photoshop, you might even see the features of a face.
7.      Sudden noises such as doors closing, objects falling, or even mysterious footsteps are heard.
8.      Lights may flicker; turn off or turn on without explanation.
9.      Objects disappear for no reason, or maybe move to another place without explanation.
10.   The TV suddenly turns on or the channel may change.
11.   Your pet(s) exhibit peculiar behavior. Sometimes they stare endlessly at something that clearly is not there.
12.   You swear that another family member in your home just called your name. But when answering, he or she claims to have never called you. Sometimes you might even hear a voice calling you when no one is home.
13.   At night when you are sleeping, you might feel someone sitting at the edge of your bed. Of course this person cannot be seen.
14.   If you are really in tune with yourself; you might notice sudden, unexplained changes of mood to that of sadness, anger, or even hostility. In extreme cases, violent behavior can occur.
The above list certainly doesn't include everything that might be noticed in a haunted environment. Chances are you will only experience a handful of these.
In some instances, a victim of a haunting might even feel that he or she is being specifically targeted by the supposed ghost. This would suggest the condition of attachment.
"Attachment?" you might ask.
Surely you've heard of possession; a malevolent spirit relentlessly breaks down a victim, and then exercises the power to take over his or her body. It's an extreme display and terribly frightening to see. But have no fear. Very few people have actually witnessed possession. This might be due to the fact that the process of possession imposed on a living, Earthly creature might not be so easy for a malevolent spirit. There just aren't many people walking around who wish to be possessed by something evil.
Attachment, on the other hand, is subtle and less invasive. In many cases, it might be more resourceful to seek cooperation with a living person through attachment. What's more, not every spirit who aimlessly wanders wishes to inflict harm and possess a living person. It might only be that a spirit is attracted to, is fascinated with or has an interest in the living person.
It's the interest that the spirit has in a living individual that leads to attachment. The living person might be able to carry out a wish or desire of the ghost. Sometimes the ghost simply wants to continue living out his or her life through the living person. Consider this as the ghost trying to make friends with a living person.
So why do ghosts target and seek out the help from someone who is living?
There are many theories as to why ghosts wander aimlessly long after death. Some might not realize they are dead. Some might have been murdered and feel obligated to hang around until the truth is known. Some have committed suicide and now feel trapped between both worlds. Others are frightened and unsure as to where to go. They wait around in a depressed, resentful or frightened state and observe the living continuing to enjoy their lives. Then along comes a living person who offers a bit of hope. And how does a spirit reach out and get the attention of that person? Look at the above list, 14 Signs Your Home Might be Haunted.

Today's features writing just might aim to prove a point. It proves that bathtubs can be scary!
The Bathtub
Ever since she was a young girl; Suzie enjoyed her two weeks spent during summer break, visiting her grandparents at their private equestrian estate in South Carolina. It was quite a change of environment and lifestyle for the girl who lived in an upscale condo with her parents in Pittsburgh. That life of urban luxury was certainly confinement in comparison to the sprawling forty seven acres of land that surrounded a large lake.
The lake was overlooked by a sixteen room, three story executive home. On the opposite side of the lake was the fourteen stall barn which was complete with tack room and wash areas. Then there were the arenas and paddocks created by white, cross fencing; and a bridle trail that led the rider through the forty seven acres of beautifully, untamed wilderness which eventually led back to the barn. Yes, that equestrian estate could definitely be considered every horse-loving girl’s dream vacation.
Suzie had just completed her junior year in high school. Time was running out as a child, and these final summer breaks were precious. Perhaps she was aware of this and enjoyed every second of those two weeks at her grandparents’ estate while riding her favorite horses on the bridle trails, then grooming them in the afternoon. Then, around mid-afternoon; tired, sweaty and dirty; Suzie regularly enjoyed a nice soak in the antique tub that sat next to the bay window. It was part of recently added luxury bathroom on the ground level that just so happened to be near the garden. From the tub, Suzie had a private view of the garden…
… so she thought.
Afternoon is a peculiar time of day—something noteworthy in the change of the surrounding atmosphere that can have an effect on the psyche and impose a shift in reality. Given the right moment, these shifts can sometimes be eerie. This was the sort of mid-afternoon that fell upon Suzie as she soaked in the tub while sipping a glass of freshly-brewed iced tea and reading a book. Eventually she became aware of one of the resident workers some distance away who trimmed the bushes with a pair of hedge shears. She recognized him through the years of visiting her grandparents; sort of a mysterious worker with thick, brown hair, dark eyes, and a moustache. He must have been on the adjacent side of the building and gradually inched his way in sight of the bathroom bay window.
This was certainly an awkward moment for Suzie. There were bushes lined along the garden which led right up to the bay window. It would only be a matter of time before he saw her lying there and soaking. Should Suzie have gotten out of the tub and dried off before this happened? There was also the matter of how he made her feel in the times of visiting her grandparents. He didn't do anything, specifically, to make Suzie feel uncomfortable. It's just that he imposed some sort of connection with her. He would go out of his way to acknowledge her presence. It almost felt as-if the dark and mysterious worker liked Suzie.
Unsure of how to handle the situation, Suzie continued to lay there in the tub and drink her iced tea while trying to concentrate on her book. Occasionally, Suzie glanced out the window and noticed that the worker continued to inch closer. He clipped away at the bushes, raked up the droppings and then scooped them into the large wheelbarrow. He was seemingly oblivious of the girl's presence through the window while doing his work. Perhaps he did notice her, just pretended not to see. This, after all, would be the smart thing to do. Surely the dark and mysterious resident worker who depended on Grandma and Grandpa wouldn't jeopardize his job by laying prolonged eyes on their nude granddaughter.
Suzie continued to read her book and momentarily forgot about the worker outside. Then, while turning the page, she glanced out the window and was startled to see his face just a few feet from the glass and looking in. She briefly jolted out of surprise.
His eyes and expression revealed such devious thoughts. "My, you've gotten to be quite a young lady. I'd love to have the honor to be your first, and show you what it's like." Then he smiled and waved like he usually did whenever seeing Suzie on the grounds.
Suzie cautiously waved and smiled in return.
But rather than continue his trimming the bushes, the dark and mysterious worker remained at the window and closely watched the girl. It was an unexpected treat for him to see such young, untouched and innocent beauty soakingnakedin the tub. He was going to savor every bit of it.
Now frightened, and unsure of what to do, Suzie struggled to gather the courage and strength to call out to her grandmother. But the worker must have sensed her discomfort, and quickly walked away to go back to his work.
The following morning, Suzie sat in the kitchen with her grandmother and finished breakfast. Grandpa had left earlier that morning to play golf with some old colleagues. As Suzie finished her last strip of bacon, she recalled the incident from yesterday of the man who watched her outside the bathroom window.
Grandma finished off her glass of orange juice and then spoke. "Oh... before I forget, Suzie; Ellen says that you left one of the gates unlocked yesterday afternoon. And you know that could have resulted in an unfortunate incident, right?" Ellen was the supervisor of the estate's groundskeepers. She also managed the barn and tack area.
"Oops!" exclaimed Suzie. "I'm sorry about that. It will never happen again."
"Very good!" acknowledged Grandma. "I know you're a young lady and that mistakes do happen. Just try to be careful, okayenough said."
"Yes Grandma..." Should Suzie have mentioned anything about the worker who watched her through the bathroom window? Maybe it was just an awkward encounter, and something that would never happen again. As the moments passed, Suzie decided to forget about it and avoid causing any trouble with the workers.
But apparently the dark and mysterious worker didn't feel the same about forgetting the incident. Some time later, as Suzie was alone in the barn, she had another uncomfortable encounter with him. As she tied up one of the horses and proceeded to fasten the saddle and bridle straps, Suzie caught glimpse of the dark and mysterious worker out of the corner of her eye. Startled and somewhat frightened, she turned around to look at him with her pretty, dark Spanish eyes and high cheekbones that both added to presenting an expression of fright.
He stood at the doorway of the stable's back entrance and returned his gaze. She must have looked so sweet at that moment; like a young, deer that was spooked and seconds from fleeing. But instead of running, she returned her attention to the horse; fixing the straps and applying bug spray on its legs. It was the middle of summer, and bugs were relentless with their biting.
As Suzie finished preparing her horse, she could feel the dark and mysterious worker intently watching her from behind. He surely savored every moment of her long, pretty, brown hair. And too bad Suzie wore her shorts that morning. They certainly drew attention to her blossoming ass and smooth, tanned, shapely thighs. He watched her so intently, in fact, that he was as good as pressed up behind her. He probably even made love to her in his mind while enjoying the art of breaking her in like a young horse that didn't want to be ridden.
With the horse fully ready and released, Suzie quickly glanced back in the direction of the dark and mysterious worker. But he was now on the upper level of the stable and stacking some bales of hay. Somehow he had gotten up there without making a sound.
Suzie rode off on the horse and made her way to the bridle trail. She was safe, now, and far out of the view of the dark and mysterious worker who enjoyed watching her. But after some time, she could sense him at various hidden locations, and continuing to watch her. The horse cantered along the trail; and surely he enjoyed the sight of Suzie's breasts bobbing up and down while beads of sweat brought on by the summer sun ran down her pretty face.
Later that afternoon, Suzie did her usual ritual of soaking in the antique tub by the bay window that yielded a private view of the garden. Although there was an uncomfortable encounter with him that morning in the stable, she assumed that yesterday's episode through the bathroom window was a rare and never-again encounter. This is why she left the curtains open. But after some ten minutes of soaking in the tub and reading her book, she caught sight of him near the edge of the garden with a wheelbarrow filled with bags of soil. Apparently he would be inching his way near the direction of the window while adding soil to various places in the garden.
Quickly, Suzie stood up to draw the curtains closed for privacy. But while reaching for a bag, the dark and mysterious worker caught a glimpse of the girl's young, wet, naked breasts that nearly glowed like precious jewels through the window.
With the curtains finally closed, there was no reason to worry. As Suzie believed, that would be the end of these unwelcomed invasions to her privacy. From now on she would have to enjoy her afternoon baths with the curtains closed. And at least this would communicate to the worker that she did not enjoy being watched. Satisfied, Suzie went back to reading her book, and nearly finished an entire chapter. But then her concentration was broken with the unpleasant thought that perhaps the dark and mysterious stranger was outside by the window, struggling to see her through some crack in the curtains.
Anyone is his right mind wouldn't further pursue the invasion of a girl's privacy, especially when living and working on his employer's property. This is what Suzie continued to remind herself. "He's not out there!" Suzie finally said to herself while turning another page. She stood up and peeled the curtains over just a crack to put her mind at ease. But there he was with face pressed against the glass and apparently trying to catch a glimpse of the naked girl. He saw Suzie's eye peering at him, and immediately formed a disappointednearly angryexpression that communicated, "How dare you hide yourself from me?"
Suzie sighed and quickly pulled the curtain over to ensure there were no cracks to reveal her naked body. Then she stepped out of the tub to dry off. Her bath time was ruined thanks to the worker who was determined to see her.
In the dead of night as Suzie peacefully slept in one of the guest rooms of her grandparents' home, she was awoken by a noise outside the window.
 Her room was on the third floor and overlooked the large lake with horse barn on the opposite side. There were no trees near the window. What in the world could the noise have been?
It happened again, "TAP!"
Suzie wouldn't be able to sleep if that happened all night. Was it an owl or a bat that perched itself on the outside sill?
Frustrated, Suzie switched on her dim bedside lamp and got out of bed. She cautiously approached the window as-if not to startle whatever animal was out there.
Now Suzie could see what the noise was. The dark and mysterious worker was outside on the ground and throwing pebbles at her window. Being that she was finally in view, he made bedroom eyes that nearly touched her pretty, dark Spanish eyes all the way up to the third level window. It was followed by a gesture in which he motioned his arms towards the barn. He was urging Suzie to come downstairs and meet him in the stable where he could finally make love to her. 
Frightened, Suzie slammed her window shut and closed the curtains. It was a disturbing incident to say the least. What in the world was wrong with him? Did he really think that the young girl was really interested in him? And the way he behaved outside, it was as-if Suzie was supposed to know the routineknow that she was supposed to sneak out and meet him in the barn.
Hopefully the slamming window would have finally given him the hint. But just in case he wasn't going to give up so easily, Suzie pulled the pillow over head after slipping back into bed. After about ten minutes, she managed to fall back to sleep.
It might have been about two hours later, close to predawn, when Suzie was startled awake. Maybe she was only dreaming, but there was an eerie sensation of a pair of hands that fondled both of her breasts. Immediately Suzie sat while covering her chest. But there was no one nearby. Surely she was only dreaming.
It was breakfast that morning as Suzie sat with her grandparents at the kitchen table. Grandpa cracked open a hardboiled egg while Grandma dug her specialized grapefruit spoon into a freshly cut grapefruit.
“So…” began Grandpa. “…when does our granddaughter go back home?”
“Why, are you in a hurry to get rid of her?” asked Grandma.
“No, I was just planning some things to do while she is here. Maybe we can go somewhere for a few days.”
“I don’t go home until next weekend.” chimed in Suzie.
“Oh, well I’ve always liked Hilton Head Island.” suggested Grandma. “Suzie, you would really like it, there.”
“That sounds like a great idea!” agreed Grandpa. “Why don’t we head out there Monday and stay for a few days. Ellen can take care of the horses while we’re gone. That’s why I have her here.”
“Suzie would you like to do that?” asked Grandma.
“Sure!” she answered.
For the remainder of breakfast, Grandma and Grandpa spoke amongst themselves about upcoming doctor appointments, meetings with accountants, and finances. It wasn’t until towards the end of breakfast that Suzie decided to speak up about the annoying groundskeeper who had thrown pebbles at her window, last night.
“What is it sweetie?”
“There’s this… worker on the grounds—I guess he lives here—and he’s kind of bothering me.”
“Who? What’s he doing?” asked Grandpa.
“Well, he’s got dark hair and a mustache. Whenever I’m taking a bath in the afternoon, he tries to see me through the curtains. He stares at me whenever I’m in the barn with the horses. And last night, he woke me up by throwing pebbles at my window. I went over to see what the noise was, and there he was, motioning me to come down to see him.”
Grandpa grew all the more outraged upon hearing Suzie’s report. “What’s this??? I’ll definitely get to the bottom of this! Tell you what; while Grandpa cleans up after breakfast, I’m going to have Ellen come over and we can talk to her. I’ll find out who this worker is and have him fired.”
Suzie sat down in the family room and nervously listened while Grandpa made the telephone call. Should she have remained silent about the incidents? Maybe she was overreacting to a man who was simply interested in her. After all, Suzie was no longer a little girl. For all practical purposes, she was a young woman. Of course a man would be interested in her. And what if she had to face him; point her finger and accuse him as the one?
“Ellen, could you stop over for a few minutes?” Grandpa spoke into the phone. “ I need to talk to you about something… Yeah… okay, we’ll see you in few.”
Just over ten minutes later, there was a knock at the door.
“Come on in, Ellen.” shouted Grandpa.
A country woman in her fifties who looked to have spent much of her life on the farm entered and greeted everyone. “Good morning!”
“Good morning!” answered Grandma.
“Have a seat.” invited Grandpa.
“Oh, I couldn’t do that. My jeans are dirty. Plus I was with the horses.”
“Ellen, I’m going to cut to the chase. My granddaughter, Suzie, just gave me a disturbing report about one of your workers. I guess he’s been trying to watch her through the curtains while she’s taking a bath. It sounds like he’s trying to have his way with her. He’s bothering her in the barn—stares at her."     Then he looked over to Suzie. “And what’s this he was throwing pebbles at your window, last night?”
Suzie nodded. “Mmm-hmm.”
“Well speak up!” demanded Grandma. “Honey, you need to tell her what’s been going on so she can take care of it for you.”
“Well… he’s a darker man with thick, dark hair and a mustache.” continued Suzie. “He’s been here for years—usually does the landscaping and stuff. And yeah, he was throwing pebbles at my window last night and wanted me to come down to see him.”
Ellen returned a very, queer look to Suzie. “I don’t have anyone like that working on our grounds. It’s been only Dawn, her cousin Ryan, and I who have been working here for a number of months.”
“Well could it have been him?—Ryan?” asked Grandpa to Ellen.
“No, Grandpa!” said Suzie. “It wasn’t Ryan! The guy I see is a younger man in his thirties who is darker with black hair and a mustache. Ryan’s older and bald.”
Then Grandpa asked Ellen, “How about the Mexicans? Have you been contracting any Mexican laborers to help out?”
“We haven’t had anyone besides the three of us for at least several months.” answered Ellen.
Throughout the moments, Suzie began to conclude that Ellen secretly knew who the darker worker with mustache was. There was just something that she wasn't sharing for one reason or another.
Ellen looked over to Suzie, "Could you do me a favor?"
"I'm going to give you my cell number. I'm sure you have one, too, right?"
"Well, the next time you see him, I want you to text me. I will come over as quickly as I can." Then she resumed speaking to Grandma and Grandpa. "Maybe we have some wandering worker from one of the other estates. I just don't know what to say at this point."
Grandpa urged Suzie not to go out to the barn until the mystery of the strange worker had been solved. But it was soon realized that if she stayed confined to the house, he might never appear again. Aside from that, why should Suzie be punished for the remainder of her stay?
At about quarter-to-eleven, Suzie was in the barn with a horse tied up and preparing it to ride. It was then that Ellen carefully approached with a small photograph in her hand and a somewhat worried expression on her face.
"Suzie, I want to talk to you about something; and I hope this doesn't startle you. Is this the man who has been bothering you?" She held up an antique, framed photo of the mysterious, dark worker with black hair and mustache.
"Yes! That's him!"
Ellen stepped back and lowered the photo with a bewildered expression on her face. "Okay... the man in this photo is the legendary Jesus [Hispanic name pronounced xe'sus] who once worked at this estate over a hundred years ago. He had an affair with the owner's teenage daughter. When her father found out about it, he was outragedto say the least. Times were different, then, and people had their own form of justice. He was hung right here on the grounds of the estate and buried. And there's something else I need to tell you..."
Just then, Grandma walked into the barn. "Is everything okay?"
"Yes, everything is fine. I was just checking on Suzie and making sure she had my number." Ellen quickly walked out as-if she had something urgent to do.
It was mid-afternoon as Suzie lay in the bathtub. Since learning the information from Ellen about Jesus, a feeling of eeriness continued to envelop her throughout the day. If what Ellen said was true, then the mysterious worker would have been a ghost who was apparently attracted to her. Maybe she even reminded Jesus of the girl that he had an affair with over a hundred years ago.
As the eeriness continued to descend upon Suzie, she could almost feel an invisible weight bearing down upon her shoulders. She imagined them to be the dark, muscular arm of Jesus wrapped around her. And in her imagination; he was soon laying in the tub, naked, beside her with his other hand wandering towards Suzie's submerged crotch.
Suzie tried to move to break the strange sensation and dream-like state that she was in, but it was almost as-if she were held down. Why couldn't she move? Then something touched her from under the water. It felt like a stranger's hand that fondled her crotch and played in such a way to stimulate and arouse her.
Suzie just had to move, but she couldn't! Someone or something had the power to hold her down in the tub while continuing to play and arouse her. It was the sensation of an invisible handthe same hand that awoke her in the predawn hoursnow fondling her breast that caused Suzie to cry out. "NO! Help!" For some reason, she finally had the strength to move and jump out of the water.
There was a knock on the bathroom door. "Suzie? Are you okay in there?" It was the voice of Grandma.
Trembling with heart racing; Suzie answered, "Yeah, I'm okay. Sorry, I think I fell asleep."
"Okay, well be careful in there!" urged Grandma.
Suzie grabbed her cell phone and texted Ellen. "I think he was here with me in the bathroom! Something was touching me in the bath tub!"
As Suzie dried off and slipped into her bathrobe, a text in reply came from Ellen. "That's what I was going to tell you this morning. Jesus was buried right underneath where the bathtub is at, now."
The End!