Short Story 1
There's no such thing as ghosts.
By Jamilla
I was always a skeptic of the whole ghost thing but ever since that weekend I spent at my aunt's house, I am a believer.
When my eyes first spied the estate through its antique and intricately designed gates, I was held spellbound. It was a magical sight; it took my breath away. The well manicures lawn had patches of roses and some other exotic flowers that swayed on the whims of the gentle breeze that caught their fragrance and spread it around this southern palace.
Along both sides of the driveway were perhaps the oldest trees I have ever seen in my life, their foliage dark green, intersecting near the middle of the driveway to form quite a scenic canopy.
The graveled driveway lead to a fountain containing a little angel with arms out spread in worship to some unseen god. My gaze traveled up to the house taking in its white contours, the welcoming stairs, and the wide, colonial front porch.
Sitting on the porch, head held high, as graceful as a queen, dressed in a bevy of colours− red, purple, yellow, green and blue, with a wrap on her head similar to those on a fortuneteller's was a formidable woman of Irish and African descent with startling green eyes and from what I could see, bright red hair which somehow failed to clash with her dress and her rustic brown skin.
This must be aunt Cordeila; I thought and resigned myself to spending my summer at this place however stunningly beautiful.
I strolled up the front stairs, my hands tracing the pretty pattern of birds in flight on the rails as I ascended.
"Hello, Ms. St. Briac! How do you do?" I said meekly following the procedure mom had drilled into my head.
"Oh child! Why so formal?" she replied, her voice heavy with that southern drawl, "Call me Cordeila, dear, and I'll call you Cassie."
"Okay Aunt Cordeila!" I gushed.
"So, how was the trip? Oh you must be so exhausted! Let me get some cookies and show you to your bedroom!"
She fled down the hallways of the huge house not even giving me a chance to reply.
Aunt Cordeila is quite a woman! I like her, I thought to my self.
She came back pushing a table laden with pastries and delectables and tea on wheels. We spent the next hours chatting and exchanging our life experiences. As darkness fell around us and the mosquitoes came out, she showed me to my room. It was quite pretty: pink wall paper, a queen sized bed and a matching vanity case. Laying my head down on the soft feather pillows, I fell asleep immediately.
I awoke up at the crow of dawn. Looking through my window, I saw the fields of corn and a scruffy brown dog jogging across the vast lawns. I rushed to change into jeans and a blue blouse, and out the door I went.
As I approached, the dog bounded joyfully to me, licked my hand and waded into cornfields. I tried to call him back but he did not comply.
"Well if you can't beat them, join them!" I giggled.
I soon regretted my ill planned trip into the cornfield. It was muddy and dark as the cornstalks seemingly reached for the sky, and after a few turns through the high stalks I was lost.
Never was I so scared, every step brought me deeper into the mire, its coldness seeped into my pores and I shivered. Dark bellowing clouds chased away the sun and a fog crept in.
Suddenly a roughly clad figure in overalls and a red plait shirt materialized in my path. I screamed and abruptly felt a hand cover my mouth.
The person twisted me around. I was facing a madman. The face was aged, worn and imprinted with a scowl. His red eyes gleamed in the suddenly dark day. I sprinted away and escaped the cornfield.
Running up to the house, I became aware of a thick fog surrounding it. The house seemed isolated. I took off my mud encrusted boots and rolled up my jeans. Whilst searching the mansion for my aunt, I continuously sensed a presence behind my back, but I shrugged it off.
The feeling got stronger. Then, out of nowhere, a hand clutched my shoulder. I turned and faced a disembodied white cloud.
A scream caught in my throat.
"Don't be afraid," whispered the thing, vanishing before my very eyes.
I scurried screeching from room to room searching for Aunt Cordeila. Finally, in a room, bathed in shadows, I found her. She was dressed in her usual garb and was staring, transfixed by something in a crystal ball.
A crystal ball? I thought.
I hastened to her, no longer dazed by the scene but petrified.
The words of my sordid tale tumbled out and at the end, she laughed raucously.
'That man, my dear, was old Smithy and the body was the scarecrow's." she chided softly.
"Really?" I said in amazement, not quite believing, "But it looked so real. So what was the floaty white thing I saw?"
"Well I don't know, my child," she murmured with a twinkle in her eyes, "I've never encountered such a thing before! It couldn't possibly be a ghost 'because there's no such thing as ghosts!"
"But you − the crystal ball− the white thing?" I stammered.
"Now dear, don't you worry about all that" she said patting my hand and grinning all too innocently.
