June 17, 2020
Review, Edit and Update:
Little to fix in this episode -
a comma here, a period there.
What’s interesting? - a ghostly entry into Dez’s life.
The Girl on the Swing
Dez only caught a glimpse of her. She was driving up to her sister’s home for the afternoon. Emmie was away, so seeing someone in the house troubled her. It could have been one of the staff. Maybe it was Brigitte. The figure at the window seemed too slender to be Martha and Cook apparently never was in the upstairs. But, she thought, maybe it’s my imagination? There were no cars parked at the front, so Dez drove around back. Hmm...no cars here either. She made sure her cell phone was in the big bag she carried. Digging around in the bottom, she fished it out and turned it on. Parking the car as quietly as possible on the gravel, she turned it off. Let it sit for a minute. Opened her door quietly and slowly. Once she was out of the car, she closed the door just as quietly, the only sound the click of the catch. I’ll have to close it more tightly once I know who's in the house. The back door was closed and locked. The rubber soles of Dez’ shoes as she walked around the veranda, let her check the windows. None seem to have been disturbed. It must have been my imagination. Back at the kitchen door, Dez slipped her key in the lock. It made a tiny grating noise that made Dez wince. She really should be calling someone, but she just wasn’t sure of what or who she had seen. Not wanting to be thought a foolish woman, she decided she could handle anyone….if there was anyone inside. Slowly, carefully, noiselessly, she crossed the length of the kitchen and started up the stairs. Her breathing sounded too loud so she held her breath. When her lungs were about to burst, she took little shallow breaths. Dez still didn’t hear any movement from upstairs. The house, upstairs and down, felt empty and at the same time there seemed to be a fragment of a presence. No one had ever told Dez of any ghosts that may inhabit the old house, but the quavering of her heart, suggested that there was something or someone with her. Why now? Why not when Emmie and I were isolated here? Were there any strange noises we both ignored. Emmie would know of ghosts or strange goings on. She would have told me. Wouldn’t she?
“Is there anyone here?” Dez voice was loud and sounded almost booming, making her jump. “Is there anyone here? If you’re a ghost or a spirit or something, do something so I can stop being scared! I saw you at the window when I drove up. At least I thought I saw you.”
Dez was at the dining room window. The very window that she thought she saw someone. The white gauzy drapes were pulled against the afternoon sun. Sunlight filtered through them softening everything in the room. Dez breathed a sigh of relief. “It was just my imagination. How did I get so spooked?” Nevertheless, she did look in each corner of the dining room and the adjoining living room to be certain that she was alone. Back in the dining room, she pulled back the curtain. It was always a lovely vista with the expanse of lawn, the gravelled driveway lined with Tuscany pines, the town of Hartley nestled in the distance. The sun was low, the shadows of the trees long. On the lawn, close to the mansion, was an ancient redwood that Dez admired each time she came to Emmie’s mansion. The red bark, lit up by the sun, made it more stunning than usual. Dez froze. There was the same figure, but a young girl. A blonde, ringleted girl swinging slowly back and forth. “But there is no swing on that tree! I know it.” Dez had often thought the old trees branches would be great for swings. The tree itself a wonderful climbing tree. But I’m not ten years old anymore. “There is no swing. No girl. Only a tree. I must be losing it. If this place is haunted, why hasn’t anyone told me!”
If the old house could have laughed, it would have. But all it could do was watch and listen in amusement as Dez tried to make sense of what she had seen. No one had ever told her the story of the house and the girl on the swing. It was an innocent enough story. No murder or mayhem. One day, that story would be told, of that the old house was certain.
~~~~~
Dez heard Matt’s truck before she saw it. Tearing her eyes away from the girl on the swing, she looked up. “I’ve got to tell Matt about this. Or should I? He’ll think I’m crazy and I don’t want to chase him away.” When she looked back at the tree, it was just a tree. No girl, no swing. “I’m forty years old and seeing things. But I know what I saw.” Dez turned and retraced her steps down to the kitchen just as Matt was knocking on the door.
“Dez! Are you ok? I hate to say this, but you look like you’ve seen a ghost. That’s a pretty trite phrase, but that is how you look.”
“Not ‘a’ ghost but two ghosts, Matt. Or maybe it was just one that was in two places when I was outside it was upstairs and when I went upstairs it - or she - was on a swing on the big tree at the front. Damn. I’m shaking. It was so scary!”
“Are you going to be ok? Do you still want me to go to the orchard with you. We’ve still got some clearing away to do before you can get your beehives in.”
“Definitely, Matt. I’m just glad you’re here. Getting the beehive spaces ready would be good for me. I need some physical work to settle this shaking.”
Matt put his arms around Dez. “You are shaking! And yes I know we’re supposed to be distanced but I’m worried about you. Let’s go see that tree first where you saw the girl on the swing, just to prove you’re not going crazy. Then we’ll deal with the orchard.”
~~~~
Looking up into the tree, they could see nothing. Dez suddenly stepped backwards, gasped and put her hand to her mouth. “Matt. Look. Up there.”
Matt did as he was told. “What Dez?”
“Those scars on that branch. Scars that only a thick rope could have made. Two of them. There was a swing here.”
“The muses are ghosts, and sometimes they come uninvited.”
~ Stephen King, Bag of Bones
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