Smile At My Wife
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Nadine,
You must forgive me. I do not know what came over me when you walked into the dining room earlier today and started to eat my meal in front of all these other women who have been doing nothing but harassing you since your arrival here yesterday morning.
However, when that food appeared at our table after a few minutes without even asking permission from either one of us, it took away every sense of decorum that I possess and compelled me to give you something to think about for quite some time thereafter … if ever again you decide upon coming around this way.
So let us be friends once more now by agreeing that no matter where we might meet or how well-dressed I may seem at the moment, there is always something very risqué and provocative hidden beneath my garments that makes most men feel nervous just being close to me — especially during such an intimate act as dinner among guests in any place of business such as ours.
It does little good for anyone involved including myself when someone decides against making themselves clear on exactly why they should continue enjoying their evening’s experience with you because of some impulsive urge which could result in harm and/or inconvenience.
For example; we both learned early within our friendship that simply feeding another human person does not constitute a meal occasion nor is eating something meant only to satisfy hunger requirements!
In short Nadine, you are still welcome as always with each of us — but unless you want a lot less than what I offered up to you earlier today, you can look elsewhere from now on for whatever it is you so desperately need. Goodbye, and God bless … Roy C. W.’s Last Friend and Pal. Pardon? Should we actually consider meeting one of those last two sentences next year?
Why? Just wondered. Perhaps we might meet at the same “time” once again before you eventually find yourself working the barbeque circuit out west somewhere like Tanya or Della while wearing a big floppy straw hat, polka dot dress, and dark glasses to protect your eyes from the sun and heat and of course the strange looks and gawking tongues which are likely going to get shoved down your throat daily whether you realize it or not.
Trust me! That has already become apparent on numerous occasions starting with the day when you first walked into Mimi’s looking for directions to work — whereupon people began pointing you towards a private section of the dining hall until they saw you pulling away with another man whose name you apparently share along with those long beautiful legs attached to yours. Nowadays, I’m almost certain I have never seen the three of them standing together except late nights behind closed doors at various inns, motels, small restaurants, diners or roadside stands throughout Southern Oregon and Northern California — only to then depart discreetly out of sight.
If I remember correctly, his real full name is Wayne Robinson although he likes telling everyone everywhere about his supposed African heritage named Abraham Moses Alexander Nelson or something else entirely beginning with a ‘K’.
The real joke lies with him having supposedly gone through college years back where one of them had to change schools and start afresh, forcing everyone to forget his true identity forever in order for the story of the miraculous resurrection to finally reach its conclusion with the announcement that Wayne and Lina had conceived their daughter who later was born and subsequently christened as Landon Robinson or something along those lines.
Who knows what all those initials actually stand for considering everything is considered true within their circles and really, none of this is worth stressing about anymore anyway as this letter is merely intended to serve as a brief explanation about whatever happened between us ever since I have returned home for winter vacation — leaving you to figure it out all by yourself while realizing just how crazy the world really turns when dealing with normal everyday lives lived under the strangest possible circumstances, am I right?
All in fun! Like you said a million times, what happens next remains unknown for sure with even the smallest opportunity presenting itself. So please do leave your phone number with Sharyn so she will try her best to contact me at least occasionally once we return in February.
And if nothing happens sooner between this point on, believe me when I say — just hang out and keep me in mind! You would make a fine friend and wife by my standards any old night of the week when our paths cross for eternity.
Until then. This note says what needs to be said. Just saying the truth of the matter will end all further embarrassment. But like they say in all those Christian magazines: Let Go, Give Grace, Ask For Mercy and Keep On Praying. Otherwise; Bye for now and much love, Love, Roy C.W.’s Last Friend, and Pal. Pardie Nellie F.A., Incorporated …Toldja so didn’t ya!… Buhbyeeeee!!”
I stared down at this sheet of paper lying on my lap for hours before finally tucking it inside my blouse. The entire scene played over in my head again and again on the drive home as a series of horrible sounds accompanied each motion and turn along the road.
My vision kept flashing through my head the same images of my grandmother standing helplessly with both arms dangling out from beneath the water’s surface — and finally losing the ability to breathe.
Once more, as usual, tears wouldn’t come until after I was safe inside the house alone and in bed. Sometime well into the night, I would suddenly awaken due to my inability to settle down enough to go back to sleep no doubt so overwhelmed by the details of everything playing out over and over again inside my mind once again as though someone was pouring gasoline down over my thoughts by slowly pushing the nozzle deep into my brain stem.
Much like last week or month or perhaps longer. Only then the memories were different than this time. Instead, it was instead like a low groaning coming from far above that gradually worked it way closer and louder around midnight to 12:20AM while I lay there trying hopelessly to go back to sleep with my arms crossed across my chest without success — at the risk of suffocation — attempting unsuccessfully to hide away inside the comforter that had been warming up against the cold wood frame.
Suddenly, my worst nightmares became reality when yet another loud roar followed the same noise. With an eerie chill creeping through my whole body and jolting straight up from the depths of my core to rush to my brainstem causing it to send the alert signal. Turned my entire room into total darkness until everything came to a sudden halt as a horrifying realization flashed directly overhead.
Making it painfully clear why the heavy storm shutters and multiple hurricane-style windows must exist alongside the outdoor lights permanently wired outside most of my doors. Then immediately thereafter, all thoughts ceased completely as a deafening rumble of thunder hit somewhere out beyond my bedroom window filling in every space between with blinding flashes of light momentarily shining directly down upon the blackness in search of me.
The power remained off when morning arrived turning on the battery-operated alarm clock just to find that the entire event was recorded and still happening. Apparently, there were recordings from both before and during my dream/nightmare.
Afterward, a quick check of online sites told me exactly what I feared having probably been connected all along via infrared to keep track of the movement on the premises whether or not the door to the house was opened or closed as long as I’m present.
As luck would have it, however, we did manage to get the power restored around 8AM but I wasn’t eager to learn anything more about the house after watching a documentary on a PBS station once heard that electricity and telephone poles were found embedded under piles of mud after the great Mississippi River levee break — following some unnamed disaster similar to what possibly could’ve led the building to collapse with several people inside.
Still feeling quite strange upon arrival home later that evening I stopped to see to a few things first like bringing in the freshwater supply after dropping off the rest for storage back inside my SUV — taking care to drink the stuff almost down to empty before stumbling off toward the refrigerator and opening the freezer door only to find only three thin slices of blueberry frozen-treat pie still left.
Opening the cupboards felt weird as well which eventually reminded me of a particular television show broadcast late on Thursday nights where food companies try to sell off older inventory as leftover stock while clearing out storehouses full of nearly spoiled canned foods.
Found two cans of pinto beans and a single jar of salsa Rojo along with many other miscellaneous items which included a sealed half-gallon bag of dehydrated vegetable mix, a box of noodles, a block of cheddar cheese (wrapped tightly in plastic), a large package of popcorn, a dozen eggs still refrigerated, several blocks of dryer lint for insulation and some combination of odds’ n ends I ended up leaving them all there since none of these supplies appeared damaged by moisture as far as I could tell anyway.
Ultimately, deciding against grabbing something to eat upstairs I decided to make dinner instead in the first-floor eating area thinking they might be safer compared to down in the basement having walked downstairs again already.
Over time, however, the sensation grew less unpleasant and certainly nowhere near as bad as that of yesterday. So now, there isn’t any question regarding whether this place is haunted but whether this was always the case or whether it happened within a period of twenty-four hours beginning from when I moved in here six weeks ago.
To date, though, no sign whatsoever has turned up of the previous occupant who appears to have vanished overnight leaving nothing behind except her two dogs whom I suspect may belong to whoever rented out their former apartment.
All of the contents are gone even right down to those things she’d specifically stored inside one very long rectangular closet next to the stairs. It didn’t seem like the type of thing that’d end up being emptied unless absolutely necessary to allow access by someone else, plus there don’t appear to be any records concerning such an incident on file anywhere either.
On another note, there’s plenty of evidence pointing to paranormal activities so perhaps we can say I actually lived there with the woman if you will considering how the dog in the backyard kept acting the part of a guard hound while looking over his shoulder as he lay sleeping under the shade of the eave but didn’t give me much grief otherwise — although they were little guys and easily intimidated.
Just guessing, but he must have been pretty upset as well given how big an animal must feel like going on about his business early every morning just the way he used to do for weeks leading up to this transition. Both animals acted like they belonged here as did whatever was hiding inside that secret room hidden behind the panel in the foyer wall.
Also, since we apparently had access to the phone service, I would imagine she must have at least known if not trusted that person who owned this place as evidenced by a brief conversation I overheard talking about buying it and making numerous visits along with doing some sort of work related to repairing the leaky bathroom showerhead.
Being curious as well as terrified about what happened the night before last and potentially during the move earlier today I soon discovered that our voices could be heard emanating through various walls in different rooms simultaneously but thankfully never above the range audible without a microphone.
Though it should also be noted that since moving into this place my best friend from college disappeared right around the time I signed the lease too as far as anyone knows but aside from a message left saying “Call Me!” no messages ever came — likely a smart thing to do seeing as how she lives across town and that she wouldn’t be calling because in the middle of writing a love poem she suffered a fatal heart attack — which led me to believe my neighbor once held a morbid fascination for death that hadn’t let go despite how different things became shortly after relocating here.
The same couldn’t be said for herself, however, who remained completely sane until the moment we spoke about each other’s whereabouts leading up to the time she died and I was lucky enough to walk away with a simple warning involving avoiding such topics unless one wished to become rather depressed… though hers came with a twist as if somehow knowing about me prior to the move out here somehow caused her to send out an implied SOS about what could happen unexpectedly…
The End