The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!
In Honor of Shirley
by Kendra Smart
The house made noise. His Mother used to dismiss the noises, he knew it was her own way of sleeping…but the ¨house settling” had never been a tonic to his brain. The house was loud, all it took was a slight breeze to weave its way through the corridors but you would swear that the house faced the most dire of agonies that brick, mortar, wood, and steel could. A haunting, howling, scream emitted from each room, each carrying their own weight of suffering. Muffled of course, as though through a pillow or gag, but he knew it was a scream not the settling of old bones.
As a boy he had always wondered what had happened in this house for it to carry such misery. His friend Oliver said that the land held memories longer than bones. Being so young he had scoffed and not understood what that meant.
The house had been gifted through the family lineage and when his Grandmother had passed on, his Mother became the Mistress of the Manor. His Mother and Father had both been renowned dancers. It was how they met. It was how everyone knew them and it flooded every inch of the room when idle chatter was allowed to enter the area. To be fair, at least when these times were talked of, they were spoken of with light and fondness. Those who had been a witness to their dancing and their love, were often inspired by what they had seen.
He was glad his Mother had known true love, but he had known only her bittersweet mourning. The Mourning Dove of Davenport danced no more. The mask she wore rivaled that of the parties and balls, the most fragile of porcelain could never compare with the one his Mother crafted with care.
He should not have come back to this place. The memories were as ingrained as the marks from the years of wear and tear on the bones. The chips and dents from years of use and heavy use at that. The memories stayed on steadily as he made his way further.
His heart rate increased the further he went. His cheeks were marred from the exhaustion of the exertion. His body knew there was something amiss, odd, off. But his mind no longer cared. He could feel her…she was here. His eyes could no longer be trusted. Each room burst free from the dust, decay, and rubble. The rooms springing forth crisp, clear visages that came from the power of knowledge. Dressed to the nines , amongst the forgotten and long gone, his Mother would have garnered any gaze. All eyes would have been drawn to the jewel, to the pool in the desert. She was a relief, even now.
All visible paths led to the dancer warming up and preening in the mirror.
The room had been a tomb of sound but he would swear on a strain that the opening notes of strings emitted the closer he grew to her. A harmony began as his body moved of his own accord and made way to the dancer.
Mom.
How many times had his heart yearned for her to be there for him? With him.
The birthdays.
Holidays.
His Divorce.
The death of his son…
Through all the highs and the lows, it had been her face he missed. Her voice he longed for. Her comfort he sought. The unconditional love she had always given.
Who better to welcome him home?
He would never feel the stab of extreme pain from the heart attack. The warmth came from the dance, not the blood rushing. The shock that his system was entering felt to him as though a breeze of fresh air had entered the dance floor through an open door letting in the night breeze.
He was beyond the pain. It no longer entered his mind. A closed door as his bones joined the grounds. He saw only her smile and her beckoning him.
¨Welcome Home…¨
.
Fiction © Copyright Kendra Smart
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com
More from author Kendra Smart:
Just Emotions:
A Gothic Bite Magazine Anthology
A collection of poetry.
‘Just Emotions‘ is exactly as it states, a group of writers who had feelings they wanted to express in poem form. Inside, there are a range of emotions to explore. Each writer has given a bit of themselves to you, each in their own way.
We hope that you enjoy these writings and that among the poems you may find some thing you can identify with or relate to. Thank you for giving us this chance to open the catacombs and share with you.
Erin Sweet Al-Mehairi is an author, editor, journalist, and publicist with thirty years of experience in communication fields and Bachelor of Arts degrees in English, Journalism, and History.
Spreading the Writer's Word 