The Wraith Poses Question

https://unchartedblogdotorg.wordpress.com/2017/04/19/welcome-to-six-sentence-stories-44/  Zoe’s Cue:  QUESTION

When the rain and thunder subsided on the day she found the small brass key, Zinnia, exhausted from her inner emotional storm, fell into a hard sleep on her lumpy sofa—only to be wakened at periwinkle dawn as the tap-tapping returned, along with strains of melody from the antique music box.

Weary to her marrow, she refused to open her eyes; perhaps if she learned to ignore the insanity which made up the ambiance of her new home, it might eventually disperse…slip out a partially opened window on the freshening April breeze.

But the tap-tapping increased in tempo, volume, and the music box tune began to sound familiar—could it really be “Recuerda Me” (Remember Me)?

The beautifully haunting love song’s plea—too recent to have been crafted with the antique box—played in stark contrast to the exigent tap-tapping; and yet, pondering the context, she perceived a possible…dizzying…connection.

Rising from the couch, walking toward the kitchen, she bumped her hip painfully against the bookcase—which caused the tap-tapping and music to cease abruptly.

Stifling a curse in the blessed silence, she realized her hip action had caused a bottom drawer to come unstuck, revealing a peek of folded onionskin stationery…Zinnia cautiously reached for it, smoothed it open, and read a single bold-typed question:  WHAT DO YOU SEEK?

© R L Cadillac, 2017 ~ All rights reserved.

Image ~ Pixabay

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Point the Way, Wraith

https://unchartedblogdotorg.wordpress.com/2017/03/22/welcome-to-six-sentence-stories-42/

Zoe’s Cue is POINT

 

~~~

Gratitude for the apartment had waned somewhat in her weariness; the dark lingering odor of the previous, newly deceased tenant closed around her in an oppressively pointed way—though not like a period which signifies the end of one life, but rather a disturbing parentheses…as if to include Zinnia somehow.

As buzzards circling over carrion, it was impossible for her thoughts not to return to the stranger; a curiosity induced by the hovering emptiness of his spirit filling shabby corners where lace of pewter cobwebs clung adamantly, despite her determined cleaning.

The peculiar tap-tapping (of still unresolved source) had been replaced by briefly haunting strains of music playing in her half-sleep.

She was certain the sounds didn’t emanate from her one luxury purchase, wind chimes fashioned from various materials…too chilly yet to leave windows open at night.

When she woke again and shuffled to the fridge for a can of eye-opening carbonated caffeine, her focus pointed toward the antique music box which beckoned her to take a second, closer examination.

It was the only object of presumed value the man had left behind, and unlike everything else, was oddly unspoiled by aged grease, grime; she lifted the pristine lid expecting to hear melodious notes—but stern silence reigned.

© R L Cadillac, 2017 ~ All rights reserved.

Image ~ Pixabay

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Tap-Tap, Ye Wraith Unnamed

https://unchartedblogdotorg.wordpress.com/2017/03/15/welcome-to-six-sentence-stories-41/

Cue:  TAP

 

What the H..OTEL was that tap, tap-tapping—like something reminiscent of Poe??

One-day homeless had been sufficient to make her shake with muffled gibbering gratitude for this vacant and odorous apartment of a newly-deceased man of mystery (and no doubt, misery).

Landlord—vapid insecure woman, transparently lacking in credibility—had offered a first-month’s-rent discount for “as is” condition; meaning no cleaning had been done and maintenance requests were addressed without promise… Zinnia had been just desperate enough to enthuse:  “Sounds spectacular!”

She’d spent most of her check on industrial strength cleaners, and within 3 days the place appeared only half-shabby—much of the furnishings still looked and smelled dubious—maybe next month she could hit the thrift stores.

After popping a can of warm Coke, she wiped a smear of grease off the old TV and sat on a cushion she’d covered with her own laundered towel; exhausted, she’d doze off in a sec—but for that damn tap, tap-tapping…

It wasn’t rodents or roaches; didn’t seem to come from walls next to neighboring units; no faucet dripped, nor was it raining against windows; the chipped, indelibly stained toilet was silent…then she spied the antique music box.

© R L Cadillac, 2017 ~ All rights reserved.

Image ~ Pixabay

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