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Inbox
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TITLE (EDIT)
Inbox |
DESCRIPTION
The first in a series of short horror stories. I can't say much without spoiling anything. Just check it out.
[688 words] |
TITLE KEYWORD
Horror |
AUTHOR
Nathan Weaver |
ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
Oops; somehow I erased this. Bum wrap. I'll update it later. Right now, I'm peeved.
[December 2006] |
AUTHOR'S E-MAIL ADDRESS
dansmasa3k@hotmail.com |
AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (9)
A True Story About A Very Young And Naive Nathan Weaver (Short Stories) The title says it all. A short, true story about myself from childhood. Ah, Innocence, where have you gone? [346 words] [Comedy]
Cubie (Screenplays) This is a revised version of a scene I had written for my sitcom "McDaniel's" (a sitcom about the fast food industry). I wrote this version for possible use in a student project I had agreed to help ... [346 words] [Comedy]
Family Secret (Screenplays) This is a short film in the fasion of "The Twilight Zone." [1,056 words]
Inbox 2 (Short Stories) The second in the series. The roommate. [1,081 words] [Horror]
Mcdaniel's (Screenplays) "McDaniel's" is a sitcom I've been working on for a while. It revolves around characters working in a restaurant called McDaniel's. The two main characters (thus far) are Natalie and Brandy. This i... [1,776 words] [Comedy]
Noir - Sadistic (1) (Short Stories) Noir styled first-person narrative. A man beaten, recalls how he came to where he is and describes it all in a word... Sadistic. More to come. [690 words] [Crime]
Rose's Thorn: Rise And Fall Of A Hero (Novels) UPDATED 11-06-06. ADDED CHAPTERS 8-10. This is a story that is very personal to me in a lot of ways, despite it's obvious fiction. A young girl expresses herself and tells her story, as she tries t... [6,097 words] [Fantasy]
The Legend Of The Commodore: And Hell Followed With Him (Short Stories) A young boy with a talent turns fantasy to reality and becomes legend. [1,133 words] [Fantasy]
Untitled Noir Tv Pilot (Drafting) (Screenplays) Basically, Mercedes Masterson is a private detective and this the first pilot. The character comes from a film noir trilogy I'm working on. We've filmed the first, half-way through filming the secon... [998 words] [Crime]
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Inbox
Nathan Weaver
Daniel left, leaving his roommate all alone. Thanksgiving break is great, when you're American and you have a family in the states. When you're not, you just have the campus to your self. Which, isn't too exciting. The only thing he looked forward to was no classes and no roommate. Which goes a long way, but solitary confinement is a torture device for a reason.
He sits at his computer and wakes it up. A new message awaits in his inbox.
"Cooper, why do you even E-mail people?" he started, "Every message you send is a stupid forward. You never talk."
He opens it, the subject is FW: Waiting for Her Love.
"Why do I bother?"
He reads:
"John Jones had wealth, a ranch, a loving wife and anything he could ever want. But, when the Civil War came knocking on his door, he answered the call of the South. His wife, Kathleen, would wait every day for her husband by watching out their second floor window. She'd sit in her chair, gazing up the drive, waiting for his return. The war ended, but John never came home. Some say, if you stand and look near the window you can see her spirit waiting for her love. Attached is a picture, this is real now, no trick photography. If you concentrate on the chair near the window, you will see the form of a lady, dressed in white. This is thought to be the spirit of Kathleen Jones. Your eyes will not believe what they see."
"You have to be kidding me," he mumbles.
He clicks the link to open the picture. A picture opens in his browser, it's a window looking out to a long drive. An old chair sits to the left of the window, a curtain draped behind it. He looks at the chair and focuses on it.
Nothing.
He focuses for no more than thirty seconds, then becomes bored with it.
"What a waste. I hate optical illusions."
He moves his mouse to close the browser, suddenly the image of a woman in white with blood streaming down her face appears. A sound wave goes off on his computer, it is the sound of a woman screeching in pain or horror. He jolts forward, closing the window with the click of his mouse and slips out of his chair to the floor. His mouse falls and dangles by the cord.
"Idiot," he proclaims, still spooked.
A giggle immerges from his closet. He turns his head to see. The door is cracked, through the crack he sees nothing but blackness. He slowly rises from the floor and walks to his closet. He opens the door with his left hand and looks in.
Nothing.
Dirty clothes, clean clothes, nothing and everything he was hoping to see.
"Idiot."
He closes the door, turns and picks up a glass from the desk. He stops and glares at his inbox.
"I'll never open another E-mail from you again, Cooper. Never."
He walks out the door, turns down the hall. At the edge of the hall, where the living room begins, he stops. He feels watched, perhaps followed. He doesn't want to turn around, yet he feels stupid for getting spooked.
"There's nobody behind me," he whispers. He tries to step forward, but he is frozen with fear. He looks down at the glass in his right hand, which is beside his hip. The glass is made of amber and reflects his face in the side of it. He raises the glass in front of his face. He pans it to his right, turning his head to follow it, looking in the reflection he sees nothing behind him.
He smirks.
The smirk fades.
He turns his head to the left. He looks in her eyes, a small stream of blood streams down the left side of her face. Her white dress is tattered and torn, stained with blood and there are slashes down the front. Scratches stretch all down her arms, the tip of her left index finger is missing. She wears one shoe on her right foot and sweat beads are gathered across her forehead.
She smirks.
"I've waited long for you, my love," she starts, "Alas, you have returned."
THE END
Daniel sits at his computer. He’s grown bored. It’s the long wait. The long wait just before the feast. The cooking. Well, at least that’s what it is for the guys. Most college guys would be watching the game, but not Daniel. He hates football.
“No, not a forward. I thought you were above that, my foreign friend.”
Daniel opens the E-mail message.
It reads, "John Jones had wealth, a ranch, a loving wife and anything he could ever want. But, when the Civil War came knocking on his door, he answered the call of the South. His wife, Kathleen, would wait every day for her husband by watching out their second floor window. She'd sit in her chair, gazing up the drive, waiting for his return. The war ended, but John never came home. She began to worry as the days passed by. She thought she knew her John, she thought his love was untouched. She believed in John. She loved John. He had said he was okay with it. He had said he loved her. It was all planned, it was understood. What went wrong? Where was John Jones? Some say, if you stand and look near the window you can see her spirit waiting for her love. Attached is a picture, this is real now, no trick photography. If you concentrate on the chair near the window, you will see the form of a lady, dressed in white. This is thought to be the spirit of Kathleen Jones. Your eyes will not believe what they see."
Enter Meg.
“Nerd. I can’t believe you’re my brother.”
“Has mom finished burning the turkey yet?” Daniel asks.
“The smoke has officially made its way to the living room,” she starts, “So, yes.”
“I can’t wait,” Daniel replies sarcastically.
“Why didn’t your boyfriend come?” she asks.
“It’s called a roommate, Meg.”
“You guys do everything together and you don’t watch football with dad and Jake. What am I suppose to think?”
“I hate your boyfriend more than football and I’m not gay. So, is it good enough to eat or what?”
“It’ll never be that, but sure,” Meg finishes and shuts the door behind her.
Daniel looks at his E-mail and whispers, “Lucky.” With that he disconnects from the Internet and leaves the room.
Two hours and a thousand awkward moments later, Daniel reenters the room and sits at the computer. It’s his old bedroom, which has been turned into a study. The study consists of a computer desk, computer, two chairs, three bookshelves, and a lousy connection. Last, but not least, a very uncomfortable futon serves as his bed on visits and in between semesters.
On the other hand, Meg’s room is perfectly intact. His parents always did like her better. But, he had grown accustomed to the idea and had given up at complaining about it. On visits he usually spends most of his time on the computer talking to his friends, expressing how he would rather be back at school.
Alright, I’ll look at your picture, he thinks to himself. He has reopened the forward, the taste of pumpkin pie still lingering in his mouth.
Even though I know it’s gonna scare me to death.
He clicks the link, the picture opens.
Daniel does not focus his attention on the chair, he knows what to expect.
Wait for it… wait for it.
Nothing.
He waits some more.
After a couple of minutes, he realizes that whatever it was that was suppose to happen must have failed to operate.
Ooh… ya got me.
Daniel closes the picture, and then shuts the computer off. He grabs his duffel bag and walks out to the bathroom. In the bathroom, he pulls a toothbrush and some toothpaste from his bag. He begins brushing his teeth, he leans over and spits a mouthful into the sink, he lifts his head up, Kathleen is in the mirror, she reaches towards him with her arms. He jumps back a step, his left foot gets caught in the duffel bag and he falls to the floor.
From the floor he sees only the roof in the reflection of the mirror. He slowly rises and stands to his feet, the whole time watching the mirror. She is gone. He turns and looks around the bathroom, nothing or no one.
He continues to brush his teeth a little more and then spits in the sink. As he looks into the sink, he sees toothpaste, spit and blood. Blood continues to keep dripping into the sink. He slowly raises his head and looks in the mirror; he is bleeding from inside the mouth.
Daniel begins shoveling water into his mouth with his hand, rinsing it around with his tongue and spitting it out. After the third repetition of this, he begins to choke and cough. The coughing is so hard he grabs onto the sink with both his hands, this gives him a little bit of strength to stand as he coughs. He looks at the mirror blood now runs from his lips to his chin. He coughs again and something that was lodged from his throat hits the mirror and falls into the sink, it rolls around and stops as it hits the plug. He looks into the sink.
A ring.
He picks it up from the sink and begins to analyze it. On the inside of the ring is an engraving.
My darling John – Love, Kathleen – 1859.
Daniel remembers the names and it scares him that he has no explanation. He throws the ring in the toilet and flushes it. The ring rushes out into the pipes with the water. He slams the toilet lid down and sits on it and ponders the thought.
Still no explanation.
Upset, he grabs his duffel bag and changes his clothes as quickly as he can. Like most of us, when we can’t explain something, we rush to bed and shut those eyes and know that our mind is just messing with us. “Tomorrow morning I will be fine,” is what we tell ourselves.
I’ll be fine tomorrow, Daniel tells himself as he leaves the bathroom and returns to the study. In the study, he gets on the futon and attempts to go to sleep as quick possible.
With his eyes closed, Kathleen’s image continues to haunt him.
Knock it off.
As he tries to forget the image, he feels a cold hand caress his hand. He almost opens his eyes, but stops.
It was just a breeze.
His hand still feels the cold presence.
It’ll go away.
It remains.
There’s nothing there.
“Welcome home,” a soft voice speaks with a southern accent.
He opens his eyes.
THE END
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COPYRIGHT NOTICE
© 2006 Nathan Weaver |
STORYMANIA PUBLICATION DATE
November 2006 |
NUMBER OF TIMES TITLE VIEWED
1922
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