The vile ilk who had murdered her was easily found but, that’s not where ghost Mary’s tale begins.

The Long Drive Home

Paul White was bewildered. For the first time in his young life, he was clueless as to his future. Pale-skinned and almost lifeless, he drove into the storm that was hammering New York City not knowing where his automobile filled with the bundled remains of his future wife Mary and her packed trunk would take them.

Now a hearse, the vehicle crept on.

He and Mary were expected to arrive at any moment to a surprise engagement party awaiting them at the plush White Estate. The small joyful group consisting of family and select friends were gathered.

His parent’s beloved son and the darling of his friends was to be married before the weekend was over to Mary McBride of England.

Mary was dead.

Paul’s muddled mind raced on, there’s nothing without you. Where shall I go? What’s to be done? Help me darling. Tell me what you want. I can’t go home. Not now. Never like this.

We have a house. It was supposed to be another surprise for you after the party. Dear, I found the perfect tract of land on a hill that looks down on New York City. Your new house is close to being finished. It’s in New Jersey just a few miles across the river. You’re going to adore it. The moment that I returned from London I went about finding the perfect spot and having it built for you. You can pick out everything for your new home.

At this last sentence in thought while bursting into tears, another hand temporarily took charge. They would continue on despite the angry skies, staccato lightning, and deafening thunder towards Mary’s new plot. She would be buried there by Paul. The ghost had determined this.

At this time, retribution was not within the immediate plans of the apparition. Unbeknown, she would soon morph into a punisher filled with hatred, rage, and death. A reckoning was to come once Mary’s body was laid to rest.

Paul wept.

Time meant nothing to the ghost. Apparently, she, who was quickly becoming an ‘it’, was eternal. It had plans. During the drive to their property, Paul was as the swaddled-dead that occupied his rear seat.

The arrival home had no positive effect on the ghost or Paul. Zombie-like, he parked the vehicle alongside the spot chosen by the ghost for Mary’s grave. He retrieved a pick and shovel left on site by workmen from inside the vacant house.

The cold earth was saturated with rain. He felt and thought of nothing while laboring within his mental pit of grief. The digging of her hole went quickly, as the skies and Paul’s eyes poured profusely.

At least, Heaven was sympathetic. Finally, a soothing thought from Paul burst forth, God’s crying, too.

He retrieved her stiffened corpse and began lowering it gently. feet first into the wet abyss. Her covered head with one final kiss given would slide in last. Like a madman, he fed the hole its sustenance.

Mary was gone.

The morbid deed was done.

It took some doing but, he was determined to see the drenched structure burn to the ground. Soaked through and through, standing beside his vehicle near Mary’s trunk, he watched, stoically, at first, as their house engulfed in flames fell. This alone brought him joy. It wouldn’t last.

He was there for hours. The time seemed like minutes to him. Once finished, Paul White climbed back into his vehicle with Mary’s filled trunk in the rear and drove away.

The ghost of Miss Mary McBride stayed behind hovering over the unmarked grave just above the ground while golf-sized hail traveled through its green vaporous form.

There was ample time for it to accomplish what needed to be done. The epiphany of what was to occur came to it as Paul’s vehicle faded from view. Justice would be dealt in torrential waves of terror, blood for blood.

Suddenly, with clarity that comes through purpose, the young, newly emboldened ghost dove beneath the surface resting prostate atop its previous host.

Ron Shaw

Copyright 2015

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