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The shadow on the wall. It had appeared again.
Margaret, a retired widower, was at first oblivious to the shadow’s appearance as she went about cleaning the small Victorian Cottage she resided in. But, as always, she felt the cold chill that suddenly enveloped the room…and slowly, shaking, she looked up. She let out a tiny, fearful cry, before finally regaining herself and deciding to try and ignore it.
She almost regarded it as a regular occurrence now, but it still sent shivers down her spine. The shadow of what looked like a normal person had been appearing on the same wall for the past several months. And no matter what she did nothing would stop it from coming back. People told her she was insane – even her own children had done so when she’d shown them the shadow…but they just couldn’t see it.
It was never there during the day, but it haunted her nights, and she couldn’t sleep in fear that it would move and enter her very own bedroom. But no, it never moved. On the same wall, in the same position. And no matter how much furniture her ageing body allowed her to move, and even when the room was in almost total darkness, it would only leave by it’s own accord.
Tonight was Christmas Eve, and therefore she was feeling especially lonely and especially fragile. She picked up a stray book and placed it back on the shelf, and checked the wall. The shadow was there. She did a bit of dusting and checked once again; and the shadow was still visible. Frantically, she turned on all the lights in the downstairs including every one of her lamps and every one of her wall-lights, before timidly examining the wall again. And the shadow was still there.
And finally, she cracked. Tears streamed down her ragged, timeworn face, and she began to shout at the shadow for the first time.
“What are you doing here!? Why do you torment me like this!?”
The shadow said nothing in reply.
“WHY CAN’T YOU JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!?” She cried.
“Because I don’t want to.”
She stopped still in utter shock. The voice she’d heard hadn’t come from the shadow…it seemed to reverberate all round the cottage. But the voice wasn’t threatening, it was kind…and for some reason, she was calmed by it. She wiped her eyes and took a deep breath.
“Why not?” She asked.
There was no reply.
“I want you to leave,” she said in almost a whisper.
There was nothing again for a few seconds, but then…
“Why? Don’t you want to spend one last Christmas with me?” The voice asked.
And suddenly, the shadow began to change. It literally grew from the wall, slowly changing colour and forming…forming into a man. And stood in front of her for the first time in many years, stood her dead husband.
_________________________________
Thanks for reading, Ant.
Margaret, a retired widower, was at first oblivious to the shadow’s appearance as she went about cleaning the small Victorian Cottage she resided in. But, as always, she felt the cold chill that suddenly enveloped the room…and slowly, shaking, she looked up. She let out a tiny, fearful cry, before finally regaining herself and deciding to try and ignore it.
She almost regarded it as a regular occurrence now, but it still sent shivers down her spine. The shadow of what looked like a normal person had been appearing on the same wall for the past several months. And no matter what she did nothing would stop it from coming back. People told her she was insane – even her own children had done so when she’d shown them the shadow…but they just couldn’t see it.
It was never there during the day, but it haunted her nights, and she couldn’t sleep in fear that it would move and enter her very own bedroom. But no, it never moved. On the same wall, in the same position. And no matter how much furniture her ageing body allowed her to move, and even when the room was in almost total darkness, it would only leave by it’s own accord.
Tonight was Christmas Eve, and therefore she was feeling especially lonely and especially fragile. She picked up a stray book and placed it back on the shelf, and checked the wall. The shadow was there. She did a bit of dusting and checked once again; and the shadow was still visible. Frantically, she turned on all the lights in the downstairs including every one of her lamps and every one of her wall-lights, before timidly examining the wall again. And the shadow was still there.
And finally, she cracked. Tears streamed down her ragged, timeworn face, and she began to shout at the shadow for the first time.
“What are you doing here!? Why do you torment me like this!?”
The shadow said nothing in reply.
“WHY CAN’T YOU JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!?” She cried.
“Because I don’t want to.”
She stopped still in utter shock. The voice she’d heard hadn’t come from the shadow…it seemed to reverberate all round the cottage. But the voice wasn’t threatening, it was kind…and for some reason, she was calmed by it. She wiped her eyes and took a deep breath.
“Why not?” She asked.
There was no reply.
“I want you to leave,” she said in almost a whisper.
There was nothing again for a few seconds, but then…
“Why? Don’t you want to spend one last Christmas with me?” The voice asked.
And suddenly, the shadow began to change. It literally grew from the wall, slowly changing colour and forming…forming into a man. And stood in front of her for the first time in many years, stood her dead husband.
_________________________________
Thanks for reading, Ant.
The shadow on the wall. It had appeared again.
Margaret, a retired widower, was at first oblivious to the shadow’s appearance as she went about cleaning the small Victorian Cottage she resided in. But, as always, she felt the cold chill that suddenly enveloped the room…and slowly, shaking, she looked up. She let out a tiny, fearful cry, before finally regaining herself and deciding to try and ignore it.
She almost regarded it as a regular occurrence now, but it still sent shivers down her spine. The shadow of what looked like a normal person had been appearing on the same wall for the past several months. And no matter what she did nothing would stop it from coming back. People told her she was insane – even her own children had done so when she’d shown them the shadow…but they just couldn’t see it.
It was never there during the day, but it haunted her nights, and she couldn’t sleep in fear that it would move and enter her very own bedroom. But no, it never moved. On the same wall, in the same position. And no matter how much furniture her ageing body allowed her to move, and even when the room was in almost total darkness, it would only leave by it’s own accord.
Tonight was Christmas Eve, and therefore she was feeling especially lonely and especially fragile. She picked up a stray book and placed it back on the shelf, and checked the wall. The shadow was there. She did a bit of dusting and checked once again; and the shadow was still visible. Frantically, she turned on all the lights in the downstairs including every one of her lamps and every one of her wall-lights, before timidly examining the wall again. And the shadow was still there.
And finally, she cracked. Tears streamed down her ragged, timeworn face, and she began to shout at the shadow for the first time.
“What are you doing here!? Why do you torment me like this!?”
The shadow said nothing in reply.
“WHY CAN’T YOU JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!?” She cried.
“Because I don’t want to.”
She stopped still in utter shock. The voice she’d heard hadn’t come from the shadow…it seemed to reverberate all round the cottage. But the voice wasn’t threatening, it was kind…and for some reason, she was calmed by it. She wiped her eyes and took a deep breath.
“Why not?” She asked.
There was no reply.
“I want you to leave,” she said in almost a whisper.
There was nothing again for a few seconds, but then…
“Why? Don’t you want to spend one last Christmas with me?” The voice asked.
And suddenly, the shadow began to change. It literally grew from the wall, slowly changing colour and forming…forming into a man. And stood in front of her for the first time in many years, stood her dead husband.
_________________________________
Thanks for reading, Ant.
Margaret, a retired widower, was at first oblivious to the shadow’s appearance as she went about cleaning the small Victorian Cottage she resided in. But, as always, she felt the cold chill that suddenly enveloped the room…and slowly, shaking, she looked up. She let out a tiny, fearful cry, before finally regaining herself and deciding to try and ignore it.
She almost regarded it as a regular occurrence now, but it still sent shivers down her spine. The shadow of what looked like a normal person had been appearing on the same wall for the past several months. And no matter what she did nothing would stop it from coming back. People told her she was insane – even her own children had done so when she’d shown them the shadow…but they just couldn’t see it.
It was never there during the day, but it haunted her nights, and she couldn’t sleep in fear that it would move and enter her very own bedroom. But no, it never moved. On the same wall, in the same position. And no matter how much furniture her ageing body allowed her to move, and even when the room was in almost total darkness, it would only leave by it’s own accord.
Tonight was Christmas Eve, and therefore she was feeling especially lonely and especially fragile. She picked up a stray book and placed it back on the shelf, and checked the wall. The shadow was there. She did a bit of dusting and checked once again; and the shadow was still visible. Frantically, she turned on all the lights in the downstairs including every one of her lamps and every one of her wall-lights, before timidly examining the wall again. And the shadow was still there.
And finally, she cracked. Tears streamed down her ragged, timeworn face, and she began to shout at the shadow for the first time.
“What are you doing here!? Why do you torment me like this!?”
The shadow said nothing in reply.
“WHY CAN’T YOU JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!?” She cried.
“Because I don’t want to.”
She stopped still in utter shock. The voice she’d heard hadn’t come from the shadow…it seemed to reverberate all round the cottage. But the voice wasn’t threatening, it was kind…and for some reason, she was calmed by it. She wiped her eyes and took a deep breath.
“Why not?” She asked.
There was no reply.
“I want you to leave,” she said in almost a whisper.
There was nothing again for a few seconds, but then…
“Why? Don’t you want to spend one last Christmas with me?” The voice asked.
And suddenly, the shadow began to change. It literally grew from the wall, slowly changing colour and forming…forming into a man. And stood in front of her for the first time in many years, stood her dead husband.
_________________________________
Thanks for reading, Ant.
Good Story! I was surprised with the ending!
Cool, thanks mate. {:) I'm entering it into the Yellow Advertiser Christmas Ghost Story Competition.
Cheers.
Cheers.
Good luck!
:-)
:-)
POP for Garlic Bread. :D
that kinda thing gives me the creeps...it well good and short and sweet NICE 1 :)
You've gotten good!
I'd even say much better than I was when I was your age!
Infact I've not really written since then, back when Grix did that little short story compo, remember?
Those were the days... :-)
I'd even say much better than I was when I was your age!
Infact I've not really written since then, back when Grix did that little short story compo, remember?
Those were the days... :-)
Incase that "your age" comment sounded a little patronising, you could say it was when I was at my best! :-)
A levels, they really do do you in... :-(
A levels, they really do do you in... :-(
A dark story with a happy ending. Good one.