Not Yet Born… #Supernatural Fiction

 

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Image by Pixabay.com

 

 

 

Jessica’s day felt all wrong.  She seemed invisible. No one spoke to her at school. She knew she hadn’t upset anyone, so they couldn’t have sent her to Coventry. She stopped off at the corner shop on her way home to buy the pint of milk her mother wanted. Paying for the milk, she had the feeling Mr Thompson didn’t recognise her. Lindon Avenue was ten minutes away. Turning the corner, she could see the front door was open. Her mother would never leave it open, something must have happened.

Stepping inside, she wondered how long could she sit in an empty house wondering what had gone wrong. Her mother wouldn’t leave without her. They had lived here for the past nine years. Jessica’s birthday was coming up at the weekend. He mother had promised a posh lunch and a trip to the cinema.

Standing in the middle of the living room, silence scraped at the windows like cats claws, but not even a ghost would stay inside this space.

Leaving the milk on the window sill, Jess knocked next door. Mrs Amos would know what had happened, she was always at her window.

Having pushed the bell, she remembered Mrs Amos always took her time coming to the door. The door opened with the usual squeal of hinges.

‘Yes dear, can I help you?’

That strange feeling from school came over her again and she knew the answer would be wrong.

‘No one has lived in that house for the past five years, I’m sorry dear, I don’t know you or your mother.’

Going back to the empty house, Jess sat on the floor. She drank the milk, hoping to hold off the hunger rumbling around in her stomach. She couldn’t stay in an empty house with no food, no furniture, and no mother. She had to find out where her mother was and why she left without a note. But where to start?

It was dark now, and cold inside this empty room. Jess couldn’t hold back the tears. What chance did she have if Mrs Amos didn’t know her?

She fell asleep, thoughts running through her mind like an old strip of telegraph paper, holes punched in her memory. Waking to the sound of birdsong, frozen stiff, the floor was no place for sleeping.

The world outside frightened her. What if no one knew who she was? Mass amnesia was possible, but telling herself this didn’t help. She searched her coat pocket for money as she needed food. Change from the milk plus her pocket money from last week. The memory reminded her of a house full of furniture, her soft bed with warm blankets, her mother giving her the money she held.

Norman’s cafe, where she spent most Saturday afternoons helping with the dishes would be open now and she had an hour before school started. Not many people sat waiting. Rushing to the counter, she asked Norman for her usual sausage sandwich and cup of tea.

‘Take a seat, young lady and I’ll bring it over.’

What was he talking about, he always called me Jess? She took a seat by the window, and everything was as she remembered. Clark’s shoe shop across the road, the post office on the corner waiting to open.

Jess forced herself to eat the sandwich and drink the tea, knowing she needed it. Once outside again, she passed faces she knew on their way to work. No one smiled or said hello. The paperboy rushed past as if he hadn’t seen her.

She took her seat at the back of the class. The register was taken but her name was not called. Why not, she was here? Jess couldn’t let this go. Mrs Johnson was ignoring her now, despite Jessica’s hand up, waiting to be noticed. Making her way to the desk, she said, ‘Excuse me, Miss, you didn’t mark me in.’

Mrs Johnson  looked at Jess, and said, ‘I think you must be in the wrong class.’

Jess insisted that this was her class.

‘Maybe Janet should take you to the Heads office. You are clearly upset about something.’

Jess let herself be led away. She had never had much to say to Janet over the years, still, she should know this is my class.

Janet left her sitting outside the Heads office. Five minutes later the door opened and the same grim face she knew, asked ‘Why are you sitting outside my office? Shouldn’t you be in class?’

At last, someone who knows me. ‘Mrs Johnson says I am in the wrong class.’

‘Surely you and Mrs Johnson must know where you belong?’

‘I do know.’

‘Then off with you, young lady. Time is wasting.’

Jess turned to leave. The wrong still surrounded her.

‘Wait a minute, what’s your name?’

‘Jessica Wilde. Two days ago you called out my name in assembly.’

‘There is no need to be flippant, young lady. You can’t expect me to remember every name in the entire school. Off with you to class.’

By now, Jess was getting sick of being called ‘young lady’ by those who deemed to speak to her. She couldn’t go back to class, she would only be sent out again. With the key still in her pocket, she went home to find the key didn’t fit. There were curtains on the window now and sounds coming from inside. Mrs Amos said that no one had lived here for five years. Had the whole world gone mad?

Jess decided to knock and a small boy about four years old opened the door, his mother right behind him.

‘Can I help you?’

At least she didn’t say ‘young lady’. Things must be looking up.

Jess stood for a moment, not knowing what to say. From the doorway she could see carpets she didn’t recognise, furniture that didn’t belong in there. Again the woman asked if she could help her.

‘I don’t think you can. You see, I am supposed to be living here with my mother. For the past nine years, this has been my home.’

‘You must be confused. I was told it had been empty for five years. I moved in this morning with my husband. I fell in love with the house. It was the magnolia in the front garden that sold it for me.

Jess remembered when she planted it with her mother, the memory causing her body to shake with sobs.

‘Are you sure you have the right place?’

All Jess could do was nod her head. A small whisper escaped her lips. ‘God help me…’

‘Would you like to come in for a moment, I could make a cup of tea. See if we can get to the bottom of this. My name is Jill and this is Thomas. We are trying to find a nursery for him. Jess didn’t feel like telling her that her school had a nursery. Maybe anyone living in this house would be invisible once they stepped outside the door.

Jess drank the tea, grateful for the warmth. She couldn’t bring herself to say much. Standing too quickly, she almost knocked the cup from the saucer. ‘I have to go now. I need to find my mother.’

She made her way to the park and sat on a bench, trying to remember her life. She began when she was three, her birthday, her friends, and her father who died when she was eight. Mrs Amos always came for a slice of cake, such happy memories. Starting big school, making new friends, it was all there inside her head. She knew she couldn’t sit there forever, she would have to go to the police station, they would know how to find her mother.

She was wrong. Her name didn’t show up on any listing. She heard the sergeant say that she didn’t exist. Yet she was standing there.

They told Jess they would keep looking, and they called Child Welfare to find her somewhere to stay.

Jess could feel herself shaking as this new information swept over her. They couldn’t find a record of her or her mother.  Jess pinched herself and it hurt, the pain telling her she was real enough.

Temporary foster care was found, a Mr and Mrs Foster. Jess couldn’t say she liked it there. She was just taking up space she would rather not be in. Her days were pleasant enough. She was sent to a new school where this time they knew who she was. A new uniform and books were supplied, making her feel even more out of place. She had almost forgotten how to talk. She couldn’t be bothered, for this wasn’t her life.

One afternoon, sitting in the library, she came across a book titled ‘Wrong time’ about people who believed they were born into the wrong time. So many people believing they are living the wrong life. Jess wondered if this was happening to her. Was she wrong? What if she shouldn’t be here yet? What if her mother was somewhere waiting in the life she remembered?

Jess wasn’t doing well at school. She drew into herself. The Martins didn’t know what to do to help her. Every day after tea, Jess would lock herself in what had become her room, a room full of things she didn’t want.

The curtains, the bedding, all wrong. The new shoes hurt her feet. Her mother would have known how to soften them.

Reading more of the book made her feel so much worse. She almost convinced herself that she had been born too soon. She felt out of place. She believed her memories were real, no matter how many times they told her that her mother must have run away. They must think she was really stupid, or her mother some kind of genius, able to vanish their names from existence.

This new life was too dark for Jess, and she couldn’t stay there. The water of the canal closed over her body, the last three minutes of her brain knew she would return to Lindon Avenue and the mother she loved…

AAAAA

Nine Gates… #Poetry

 

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Image by Pixabay.com

 

 

The door is open, do not enter

should you be foolish enough to step within

remember these three things

don’t lose the keys as you cannot turn back.

Love all things

Most of all, remember your name

It will carry you through the nine gates of hell.

The first is a three-mile swim

to the island, find the key to gate two

where time slows.

You must keep the same pace as before

think not of what is within, nor touch his skin.

Gate 3 is not so tough

pay no heed to what you hear.

Gate 4 is a bit sticky

Push hard, you will fall right in.

Pick not the flowers nor smell their sweetness.

Gate 5 will tell you lies about the ones you love

Gate six, time will tick louder in here

Do not let it make you rush.

Gate 7 will turn your mind around

do not lose direction.

Gate eight, no matter how you thirst

do not drink from the well of forgetfulness.

Gate nine stands the gatekeeper

He will ask you for the eight keys.

Do not worry that he is blind, he sees you

He will hand you the ninth key

here you must speak your name.

Let not all else be lost in flame

Remember the path behind you

for you will walk its length again…

AAAAA

Returning Time… #Poetry

 

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Image by jenanita01.com

 

Returning Time

The dead do not lie still.

Their long shadows

search those secret places, pulling your mind apart.

They hide behind damp patches on the wall

waiting for you to scrape through the layers of time.

Old newspapers beneath carpets

Lost photographs at the back of the drawer

A box full of records you can no longer play

Love letters you find.

That distant whisper lets you know

they have come back…

AAAAA

Moon Dust… #Poetry

 

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Image by Pixabay.com

 

 

Moon Dust

Angry voices fill the air

Lonely souls

a broken chair.

House standing in despair

One voice calling

what if you could

walk on the moon?

Would you bury

the two souls lying there?

Left behind on mission lost

time and space shall not erase

the memory of lessons learned.

Send a ship, bring them home

The moon is no place to be left alone…

AAAAA

Dark Sound… #Poetry

 

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Image by Pixabay.com

 

 

Dark Sound

Thunder, like a death knell

crashes through my head.

Something evil waits

the horizon black as hell.

Lightning whips through the clouds

like the tail of an angry beast.

Destruction, beauty rolled into one evil hand.

The rain comes in bucket loads

as if someone were bailing out a sinking ship.

It’s a scene from a Ridley Scott movie.

I’ll turn the corner, find the four horsemen of the Apocalypse

riding down on me, with the fifth rider hanging back

waiting to take my life…

AAAAA

Shadow… #Poetry

 

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Image by Pixabay.com

 

 

 

Shadow

What lies behind your shadow?

The light that shimmers

something living, moving, walking with you.

A halo traced around the dark outer edge

Is it trapped, trying to reconnect itself?

A part of you that should not have been disconnected

Is it the real Peter Pan, the side of us that never grows up?

Is it happy living behind your shadow

Like dancing on the dark side of the moon.

AAAAA.png

My Father…

 

 

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Image by Pixabay.com

 

 

 

My Father

What would I say to my father

should he pop up like a ghost from the past?

I want to know where you were when I needed you.

I wait for his answer, to pounce,

to shoot him down in flames.

“It was the war, sweetheart.”

That deserved a slap. My hand itched

but I didn’t move to land it.

“Have you ever heard of writing a letter?

Sending a photo that I could identify myself with?”

“Time,” he told me, “Life, gets in the way…”

With an ocean between us, it must

have been easy to forget the things done

when age hampers the mind.

His voice, absent throughout my life

Still nothing much to say, now he is in front of me

It would have been nice, growing up

to know which part of my face belonged to you.

My mother did say I had your bottom lip

which isn’t much to go on.

What part of my mind, is from your DNA?

I am left to wonder. There is no answer.

Maybe you truly are a ghost

with no trace left behind…

AAAAA

 

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Our Entry for Myths of the Mirror.com Fiction Prompt ~Strange Dimensions… #Poetry

March Speculative Fiction Prompt

 

 

Strange Dimensions

Why am I here?

This strange world that tastes metallic

where the sun is hidden behind a dark orb

leaving this world in blue shadow.

The air howled between the buildings

searching. I try walking away

a stronger feeling holds me in place.

I need to stay, follow the wind

find what it is searching for.

As I turn to enter this blue dimension

the metallic taste becomes stronger.

There is blood in the air.

Inside the new citadel

the air feels like a heavy coat.

Hands claw at me, trying to remove it

it is stuck fast.

My movements slow to a crawl

no sign of life, no sound

but the wind screaming louder

until I thought my ears would bleed

adding to the metallic taste.

Have I stepped into a world of the dead?

where nothing remains

but the taste of their blood…

AAAAA