Sweat stained and covered in grass clippings, Frank came into the kitchen and headed straight to the refrigerator for a beer. Wife Janet looked up from her computer.
“That bad?” she asked.
“It’s like mowing a national park,” said Frank, taking a long drink. “I love our new old house, but man it’s a lot of work. Where’s Kendra?”
“Upstairs playing in her room. She’s already got a new imaginary friend.”
Frank sat at the table. “As soon as school starts she’ll make some real friends. Talked to the guy next door…Al, I think. Nice guy, but a little weird, too. Said our house has bad karma. According to him, the people who lived here before us had a daughter who died in a fall from a second-story window. So I’m putting away the mower in the shed, and there in the cement to one side are handprints, a little girl’s name, Lisa, and a date…2009.
“You think that’s the child that died?” Janet asked with a concerned expression.
“Not sure, but it freaked me out.”
Kendra clopped down the stairs and stopped midway. “Mom, we’re thirsty. Can we have some lemonade?”
“I’ll be right up.”
Several weeks passed, and Janet was in the basement looking for a box among the many that were still unpacked. While moving around a tight corner, her shoulder knocked a cobweb covered “For Sale” sign off the wall and it fell to floor with a clatter. She picked it up and was about the put it back when she noticed a cubbyhole in the wall. Just inside the recess was a dust-covered shoebox that she pulled out and inspected.
Back upstairs, Janet sat at the kitchen table with the open box in front of her. Inside was a jumbled pile of photographs, some old and yellow. Pulling them out one by one, they were all of the same subject, the small patch of cement by the shed. The hairs on the back of Janet’s neck stood up when she saw that the name and date in each picture was different. “Amber, 1977.” “Kelly, 1963.” “Susan, 1951.” There was even a photo of the latest imprint, “Lisa, 2009.”
Frank came in and stopped at the table. “What’s all this?”
A confused Janet looked up. “I…I’m not sure. Look.”
Shuffling through the photos, Frank suddenly stopped. “What the hell…?”
Kendra yelled down the stairs. “Mom, Lisa’s not being nice.”
“Okay, honey,” replied Janet, her attention focused on the photos. “What’s the matter?” she asked her husband.
Frank handed her a photo. Imprinted in the cement were two small hands under the words, “Kendra, 2017.”
The scream ripped through the old house like a siren, and Janet and Frank bolted toward the stairs. Halfway up there was a heart-splitting crack followed by the rain of shattered glass on the patio below.
Submitted January 25, 2017 at 12:31AM by minnboy http://ift.tt/2jW5WvE shortscarystories
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