The Fallen Queen (Winner of the Write Way Award 2013) #Wattys2015 #MyWattysChoice #Featured

Chapter 11: Afterlife

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Since Steve never showed up again, my mother was stressed about being alone. Luckily, my dad soon returned from his fishing trip and she could sleep again with him at her side. She washed her blankets, sheets, and pillowcases, erasing any scent her nights with Steve might have left.

Nothing was left but memories and fears.

My mother was now convinced the house was haunted. She told my dad the house needed to be purified by a priest.

A priest came to the house and mumbled incantations while sprinkling holy water on everything in sight. Even in the oven. I wondered what the chances were that a spirit would hide in there. How often does a spirit haunt an oven? What a boring life that spirit must have. If I were a spirit, my self-esteem would seriously be affected if I was assigned to haunt nothing but a tiny, little oven.

The blessing reassured my mother but made me quite sad to lose my only friend.

My Mother said that everything would be back to normal now. At least, that's what she thought.

When my father went on another fishing trip the following weekend, she met Norman at the bar. He did not seem to be really interested in my mother. He quickly started ignoring most of her calls. My mother thought it was because he wanted her to leave her husband and kids before getting more involved, so she started wondering if she should do that and see if it worked. Would she be able to come back though, if it did not work out?

So many questions. Should she leave her husband for Norman? Would she be happier with Norman? Should she take her children with her? Would Norman accept her children? Was he the right choice? Would he be a better husband? Was she in love with Norman or was she just looking for a way out of her marriage? Did she really want to leave her husband? Why did she feel like she always needed a man to take care of her? Who could she ask all those questions? Who could she trust?

My mother had just taken a bath and was looking through her closet for clothes when she heard a door closing downstairs. She was suddenly afraid it was Ana again. She froze when she heard someone climbing up and the stairs, scratching them as if it had long nails. Whatever it was, it was fast. It was like a wild dog.

In a panic, my mother closed and locked the door. If it was a ghost, how would she attack it? What could she do? She could not smack her head with the lamp. She could not fight against something that appeared and vanished out of thin air.

The scratching ceased when it approached the door.

"Angie?" said a female voice.

"That thing knows my name!" thought my mom, frightened.

"Angie, it's me," said the voice again with a strong French accent.

"Mom?"

"Yes, Angie. Open the door."

"You...you're dead. You died of cancer three years ago."

"Yes, I did."

The voice did not speak again for a moment. My mother did not believe this voice was my grandmother. It was certainly a trick. The ghost was impersonating her voice. It was talented. It was able to copy to perfection the French-Canadian accent my grandmother had while alive.

As she reflected on what was happening, a hand appeared through the door, followed by an entire body.

"Angie!" said an elderly woman. "Don't be afraid. It's me."