Mary MesenburgLeave a comment

The Sparrow – 03

I woke myself up with a violent sneeze. The dust had collected in a thin veil across my face, this decaying place taking me over, preparing me for a death feast. Pound the meat to make it tender, sprinkle with salt and pepper. I got to my feet unsteadily, craning my neck to look up, the ground had to be at least eight feet above me. 

A shallow ray of light fell across the room like a beam of truth, a holy spotlight over a switch on the wall. My fingers shook as I extended my hand, flipping it quickly I pulled my arm back to safety. The chandelier sprang to life. Eerie cobweb shadows cast across the bottom of the porch and dashed down, dancing around me like I was the prize catch of the day.

My eyes scanned the room in disbelief, there was a room under my house. I could explain this away; the house was old, perhaps it was part of the Underground Railroad. Except… it was spotless, it should be dusty and aged like a forgotten wine barrel. The only mess was the one I had made when I fell. 

The room was circular and hallways fanned out around me, yawning mouths, hungry and ready for a long promised meal. The smell of peppermint and lavender surrounded me, halitosis erupting from stone mouths; an enzyme ready to begin digestion before I was fully consumed. There was a single chair placed on each section of the wall between the hallways, watching, waiting for something. 

A faint noise pricked at my ears, was that footsteps? Click, click, click. I quickly turned the light switch off and raced to the shadows in one of the doorways, crouching down trying to make myself invisible. 

Two figures floated into the room with an air of ownership, as if it were an everyday occurrence that they strolled into this strange room. 

“I told you that wouldn’t hold, Bartholomew,” the woman’s voice was chiding and matter of fact as if she had said this many times before. Her skirts swept the floor as she turned in a circle looking up, the large bustle giving her a fat beatle-butt. 

“That was the point, Marrissa,” the words purred out of him. “A snare laid years ago,” his lips parted in what was meant to be a smile, teeth gleaming like a wolf’s in the half light. He removed his top hat as he knelt down, pinching dirt and pebbles between his fingers. He lifted it up to his long, straight nose and sniffed. “Ahhh, our newest little birdie has arrived.” His razor grin widened as his head swiveled and his eyes locked mine in place. 

“There she is,” his words rode out on an exhale of strong peppermint. A moment of deer-shocked-panic held me like glue. As he slowly stood up, panther grace and lion intent, a primal scream erupted from me and I bolted into the darkness. 

Mary MesenburgLeave a comment

The Sparrow – 02

“What the hell,” my voice came out in a whisper as I stared at the chandelier. The smell of musty dirt and something long since rotten wafted up in waves as I crawled forward; lacy fingers reaching, ready to snatch me and drag me down into the earth.

I’m not one to make a habit of believing in ghost stories. The gal who sold me this house had tried to talk me out of it. She said that the couple who lived here before had vanished. After months of searching and investigation there was no trace of them. She was of the mind that the place was haunted and a single woman shouldn’t live here alone. I remember thinking, if ghosts were able to carry away two people, why does it matter if I’m only one? 

But odd things had started happening a few months after I moved in. At first, it was small things. A door left open when I was certain I had closed it, small household items being found in places that I didn’t remember leaving them. When my work consumes me I can become forgetful, or so I told myself. I’d talked myself out of being paranoid by focusing on the most logical explanation. It was only when the animals started acting strange that the hackles stood up on the back of my neck.

Slowly, I sat back on my haunches and brought my eyes level with the strange object. It wasn’t odd in and of itself, but having it propped there under my house made it seem ominous. Leaning forward, I carefully brushed the cobwebs away to get a better look. It was the exact same chandelier that hung in my living room; old and outdated, plastic with cheap bulbs, grimy fake crystals hanging off it like forgotten consolation prizes. 

My eyes scanned the wall of the house in the dim light. Searching for something that would make this all fall into place, though I didn’t know what that could be. A light switch perhaps? Some lawn chairs set about in a circle? Maybe someone had thought this was a great summer time hang out, roasting marshmallows in the glow of lamplight rather than firelight. Tucked away out of nosey-neighbor-view. Outside, but sheltered from strangers walking by wanting to talk, even though eye contact had been pointedly avoided.

The ground sank slightly as I repositioned myself to look at the other side of the chandelier. That was odd. I gently pressed my hand to the rough pebbles in a small arc around my knees. Solid, solid, a small creak wheezed up, pressing dusty air between my fingers. The faint scent of lavender and peppermint tickled my nose. With a choking grasp curiosity was replaced by a jolt of fear, some reptilian part of my brain shooting electric alarm bells through my body.

I began to scramble backwards towards the light when there was a sudden, splintering crack and I was falling! I hit the ground with a sharp thud and stared up from the floor beneath the floor of my porch. As the edges of my vision grew fuzzy I wondered where that damn sparrow had gone.