The Sad Life of Christina Price

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
Christina Price is a forty year old woman in Ohio, when she is found dead in her Mansion. When Peter Price, her eighteen year old estranged son, arrives to look at her will, he finds out the hard way that his mother hides a dark secret.

Submitted: August 28, 2019

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Submitted: August 28, 2019



Peter Price arrived at his mother's house in Ohio.

He hadn't seen Christina Price since his father, Richard Price, had died from a gun shot in the office. His suicide seemed out of the ordinary for a family man. But, over time, he became paranoid in the last couple of years. He opened the gate with his hands, and saw Fleur Robertson, the maid. She was, according to rumours, Richard's mistress. 

He focused on the gargoyle statues in the garden. Their long, pointed ears flapped in the cold air; their eyes dulled in the blackness. He shivered, as he walked up the stone steps. Christina Price wouldn't let her son inside. She wanted nothing to do with him since she changed the will last month. He grabbed the key from underneath the "WELCOME" mat. 

As Peter Price opened the front door, the southerly wind caused him to shiver.


He turned on the lights.

The hallway illuminated the bedrooms.

He pondered on why his mother loathed him.

Anger surged in his heart.

He heard the creaking of the door at the end of the hall.

When the door opened by itself, Peter Price saw a doll on the bed in the dark. He flicked the light on, and grabbed it with his left hand. It was his mother's doll that her mother, Lisa Price, gave to her daughter, back in nineteen sixty.

That was over five decades ago.


Peter heard the sound of footsteps.

"Hello. Who is it? Hello", he asked.

No one answered.

Then he saw a piece of used paper on the ground.

He picked it up.

And read it.


"To Peter. 

This is my sad life in this cursed Mansion. I don't expect you to love me. I am a cruel, demanding, woman; I am cruel because of the absence of my husband. Sadness, as it is said to many people, can linger like cancer, and drain your sanity. I, as a mother, have ignored your childhood, and education at school; I had to have money for other things, mainly alcohol, and for severe depression. You can seek other people to love in your life; you can loathe me until you see me rotting in a grave. I won't seek forgiveness for the horror that's gripped you in my web. No. You can go now, Peter, and the darkness of my life shall not figure in my future. 

Love, your Mother, Christina Price".


Peter Price grabbed the old doll in his left hand, and heard giggling in the strange room. Freezing air pushed him forward towards the window. It was open. He screamed, and his body thudded out of the window by the ghost of the daughter of Christina Price, Donna Price, the nine year old daughter whom Peter never knew existed, because she was kept in the room all day, and night, and was poisoned by her mother when she was five year's old, back in two thousand. She grabbed onto the doll in her pale right hand, and placed it on the bed, then she cast a sad look at the window, as the door closed shut.


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© Copyright 2019 Robert Helliger. All rights reserved.

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