Writer’s journal 1, August 23rd
Sometimes I see her. She isn’t dressed in old fashioned clothing or anything. She’s solid, and when she walks, she bounces about just as any woman would. However every time I try to follow her she just disappears into thin air. That’s way I think my new home is haunted.
After finishing my last year of college I figured it was time for some type of true commitment. So instead of finding a good girl to get hitched to I decided to sign a yearlong lease on a low rent housing unit. For a creative writing major I thought it was a pretty good catch, but that was before I began seeing her.
She is small with a firm stern face and sparkling hazel eyes. Her hair is a curly thick curtain that hangs across her shoulder blades. She wears comfortable bohemian clothing as any good modern hippy would, but she seems much more modest. She is older than me I can tell, I would guess around her late twenties early thirties.
All in all she isn’t scary nothing about her reminds me of death; actually it’s quite the opposite, but it’s surprising to see her. She roams about the house as if she lives her too. Sometimes it’s like she sees me, and feels the same things I do. Once when I walked into the kitchen I met her. She looked into my eyes and jumped. Her hands flew to her mouth and I heard a glass shatter. When she bent over to clean up her mess she vanished. Yes the startle in her mannerisms is unmistakable, but it couldn’t be from me. Could it?
Writer’s Journal 2, September 14th
We talked. She spoke as if she was there. I was in my living room when I saw her sitting on the couch folding little socks. Our gazes locked, and before I could get catch my breath words flew off of her tongue.
“Who are you!” she demanded hopping to her feet. Instinctively I answered.
“Timothy Keithley, “I stammered, “What are you doing in my house?”
“Your house? This is my house!” She gestured around us.
“No I…” but when I looked I found she was right. This place was not my home.
The set up was the same, with the same rooms and correct placement of different furniture. That’s where the similarities ended. Framed drawings made by children were hung on the walls. Everything was decorated in this house that mirrored mine.
I turned back to her concerned eyes as the world began to fade in and out of focus. It was mixing my world with hers. She shook with panic.
“You’re Fading!” then I was back in my living room. I can’t explain it. Even though she was gone I felt her. She was real, I just know it. Is it me that haunts her?
Writers Journal 3, October 9th
A Lost Life is going well. As long as I keep having those dreams I’ll be fine. I honestly have no desire to talk about work in my journals like I’m supposed to, and I certainly don’t feel like talking about that novel. I think about her often, but I can’t help but wonder.
Writer’s journal 4, October 31th
I was in bed about to fall asleep last night and she was there when I rolled over. I swallowed that instant panic that comes when I first she her. She looked so peaceful. Her eyes were closed as if she were sleeping on her own pillow beside me in my bed. I just couldn’t help myself.
“Don’t be scared Are you sleeping?”
“I’m not, I could feel you there. And no, just waiting for something to happen.” Her eyes remained shut.
“Your name is Beauty Michel, isn’t it?” she stirred.
“How did you…”
“Don’t open your eyes. I’m a writer and I’ve been writing a novel based on the dreams I’ve been having since I started renting my new place.
“No.” I heard disbelief in her voice. She almost giggled. I felt like a magical creature.
“I know more too,” I inched closer so I could whisper all my secrets to my new friend, “I know you had your first kiss in ninth grade, and that you used to sing every day. I know you’re allergic to pine needles, that you love African violets, and that you had a pet rabbit named Tippy when you were five.”
“Tell me more. You are simply amazing.” She begged me sleepily.
“I know you met Richard your senior year of high school,” but my magic faded to realism, “before you got pregnant and dropped out of school. He married you afterwards, and you had your first child Kelly. Then seven years later you had Jamie your son.” I paused as tears began to form in my eyes, as I’m sure they were in hers.
“No.” she croaked, but I continued.
“I know Jamie is sick, but I don’t know if he will get better. I know Richard should be here, but instead he’s with a woman named Amy. It’s all breaking down and you can’t tell Kelly because she doesn’t care and you can’t tell Jamie because he’d be devastated. Oh god Beauty I know. Every night I am you. I feel that pain. I wish I could help. I know sometimes you feel an angel around your house, but he’s just a man, and he’s a world away.” I put my arm around her shaking body that was repressing sobs of horrible truth.
“Open your eyes.” I told her. She did slowly, and peered at the plain dirty wreck I called my bedroom.
“Where am I?”
“In my arms, you don’t have to worry here. I will keep you safe with me as long as I can. Ask me a question.”
“how did you know all of that?”
“I’ve seen it. I think it’s this place we liv in. It’s like an opening between dimensions we live in so anything is possible. Or that’s what I’ve concluded. Ask me something more personal.” She wipped her tears away and smiled.
“Uh, how old are you?”
“God,” she rolled over to look at me, “I could be your mother.” I just squeezed her tighter.
“You couldn’t have been a mother at nine.” We laughed together. As if on cue she begun to frost over and dissolve.
“What’s your favorite color?” but she was gone before I could answer. I responded to myself in the dark of my lonely room.
Writer’s Journal 5, December 1st
It’s been a while since I’ve seen Beauty. We chatted for a few weeks and then I had a terrible dream. If her son really has died I don’t know what to do. I haven’t written any more that’s just too awful for her story. I can’t put that in there, or I’ll at least wait until I’m certain it’s true. I hope im wrong. I want to see her again. I’ll do anything. It’s been at least a month.
Writer’s Journal 6, December 6th
“Timothy!” She ran to me and I caught her. She wept without solace. “Jamie has died from a high fever. Why does god do these things? Why?”
“I don’t know. “ it was all I could say. We cried together on the kitchen floor.
Writer’s Journal 7, January 17
I’m debating renewing my contract for another six months. I can’t leave her. Not after Jamie and she would be all on her own. Truth is I think I’m falling in love with her. I even kissed her the other night. I’m not ignorant; I know that we could never be together. It’s not like you can slip through the rift permanently or anything. Yet every time I’m with her I can’t help myself; I want her to stay. I really am confused.
Writer’s Journal 8, February 14
She was in her bedroom last night. Somehow I could tell I would be in her world a while. It felt as if the rift had shut me out. I reached out to her.
“Where is Richard? Isn’t he supposed to be home tonight?”
“I kicked him out. He can stay with her tonight,” she smiled, “I’m glad you’re here. I missed you.” She hugged me close I am so attracted to her. Just her touch sets me on fire.
“I missed you too.” I breathed in the scent of her shampoo as I buried my face in her hair. She set her serious hazel eyes upon me.
“Will you stay?” I was surprised and I pushed myself again ever so slightly to better my thought process.
“I can’t, I can’t control it. Beauty, we can’t. We aren’t going to work. I just wish…” she place her delicate finger upon my lips to hush me.
“I know that we are made to fail, so what? I don’t mind. I will think of a way later. But are you going to stay or not?”
“Beauty.” I ran my hands along her body. She was perfect in her age, completely gorgeous.
“Are you going to stay the night?”
“Then kiss me.” And I did. It was morning when I woke up in my own bed. No dreams, just memories of her and a night worth remembering. I could still fell her all over me.
Writer’s Journal 9, March 2nd
I’m worried. It’s been weeks since I’ve been with Beauty. I haven’t even dreamt about her. There was a series of dreams I had where she was reading through the internet and looking at books, but the last dream I had was impossible. She placed a pistol to her head. She wouldn’t god don’t let it be true. Watching it happen almost killed me too.
Writer’s Journal 10, May 21st
I did not renew my contract. Instead I’ve moved. My lease went up and I stopped writing for a long time. I scrapped my old novel in hopes I could forget about the terrible things she went through and how it ended so abruptly. Recently in my new city while out shopping I had a very odd experience however.
When I accidentally bumped into a woman at the store I was rather embarrassed. I apologized just as I normally would have and tried to move on quickly to relieve the shame. The woman, who was about my age, looked at my wide eyed before nervously speaking.
“Timothy?” I turned. I had heard that voice before. Her flat black hair fell around her face.
“I’m sorry, do I know you ma’am?” she blushed and looked away as if trying to stifle a laugh.
“No, I’m new here. It took me a while to figure out how to get here and even longer to figure out where exactly in here I needed to be. I think I’ll really like it better here than where I was though. It’s very nice; even though I’m just staying at a hotel right now I love it. Oh sorry I’ve said a lot. Ask me something.”
“What’s your name?” I stepped closer.
“My name is beauty.” She responded. My heart leapt out of my chest. I hugged her as if I had met her before, and she did the same for me. It was the oddest thing. I’m letting her stay with me now. She apparently appeared out of nowhere, but I know all of the history about her.
She told me a story about someone who was reborn and now I can write again. I think I’ll start a new story soon. She will being staying every night.
© Copyright 2016 NatelinJean. All rights reserved.
Short Story / Literary Fiction
Short Story / Flash Fiction
Short Story / Literary Fiction
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