You Thought You Were Having a Bad Day

It is so cold....can't 't be real because it is the middle of summer and there is no breeze to set the sheer curtains covering the big six paned window to dancing. Brent pulled the crisp linen sheet up and under his chin and squinted toward the window. He could see that the window was wedged up about three inches to let in the fresh air. But the air was still.

He thought real hard about sounds and strained to listen to those of the night out and beyond his window. The sounds of the swamp always made him feel safe. Actually everything about the swamp did. It was his playground after all.

Brent scooted, up and over his pillow until his back was against the grand mahagony headboard. In a whisper he broke the silence of his room. "Not right. No sounds out there." Where are the croakers, or the crickets? Brent gulped because he heard nothing. Not even the the gator girls. Didn't papa say that the alligator girls would be singing for a fellow of their own? They should be everywhere out there and making a real fuss by now. He squinted his eyes closed but still no sounds came to him. Slowly he opened his eyes again. Unease growing quickly in his little heart.

His eyes widened when he noticed that he could see the air puffing around him with each breath. And he pulled the sheet up to his nose. Shadows played across the walls and cluttered about the baseboards of his large room. Everything was larger and darker, thier forms strangely long and thin. Slowly scanning about the floor he heard it! His head whipped toward his bedroom door. Sounds. Finally.. Not steps, but a slow shuffling of, of what? Clothing... Skirts! Mama! Mama was home.

Brent threw off the sheet and lept from his bed. His heart light and longing. Mama had been away and wasn't supposed to get back for another week. But it was good to have her home. He reached the door as fast as his six year old legs could carry him and grabbing the door knob he pulled the door open on an exuberant, "I've been missing you everyday...."

Brent snapped his mouth closed and watched. A faint bluish glow filled the hallway, surrounding a beautiful young woman. He pushed the door almost to closing and kept watch through the cracked opening. She was wearing a dress like none he'd ever seen, all big and poofy. And her hair was long, pulled back loosely in a knot with wispys around her face and neck. She didn't seem to notice Brent, which was fine by him. And he stood there trembling while she made her way down the hallway toward the stairwell.

He watched transfixed until he could only see the top of her head as she descended the stairs. Brent found his feet and followed as quietly as he could. His back pressed into the wall, he inched his way forward. Once he reached the top step he peered down and saw that she'd made the landing. The banister was smooth and silky beneath his fingers and nervous knots twisted in his belly. Fear reinged supreme but for some reason he felt he must keep going. He was afraid she'd go away.

Once at the bottom he couldn't figure out where she'd gone. He dared not breath and then he heard. The music room! Quickly he dashed across the landing and pressed himself up against the doorframe. The notes of the grand piano weeping through the room, out into the great hall filled him with sadness. Such a sad tune. And he wondered what the name of it was.

He chanced a look back upward toward the top of the stairs. Surely papa or one of the servants heard? He half listened for sounds of doors opening. But he didn't hear any yet. They'd come down for sure now. He didn't want them to. He wanted to see her. So, gulping a great swallow of courage he leaned around the door and looked in.

She sat, her back to him on the piano bench. Still covered in the blue glow of light, she now had green flecks dancing about her head to the time of the music. Slow, eerily sad and so lonely. Brent thought she must be about as lonely as he was. He gingerly stepped into the room and made his way toward her.

Half way across the room he lifted his arm reaching out....the music played on. Almost near enough to touch.....He watched mesmerized as she seemed to draw a great sigh. Her shoulders rose and fell with the power of it, and her head nodded forward as she continued to play.

Just as he made his last step ~ right behind her now, her hands stilled. Held motionless above the ivory keys. The music stopped abruptly. No sound but the frantic beating of his heart thrumming in his ears. He reached for her shoulder with one chubby finger. But his finger did not stop there. It continued through her until he hit the edge of the piano bench and toppled toward the legs of the piano. Dumbfounded he looked up at her.

Still facing the piano, she began to fade. Panic!
"Wait! Don't go!"
She heard him. She turned, looked straight down at him. And leaned down. Tears staining her cheeks, her lips parted, she screamed. Shrieking shards of pain pierced his eardrums until Brent clamped his hands over his ears and drowned out the horror, the pain, and agony with a scream of his own.
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"Good god man! What's wrong with you!?" Brent leaped into the sitting position while his lower half remained tangled in blankets. His left arm flailed out toppling the lamp on his endtable to the floor. He righted himself still struggling to free his legs, causing his tormetor to jump back a few steps and bring one arm up in defence. "Whoa! Buddy! Chill. What's with you anyway?"

Brent looked around the room. Not home. Well home, but not the one still tugging at his sleep fogged brain. His gaze stopped menacingly upon his best friend and roommate. He closed one eye in order to see better and arched the other brow.
"What's up with me? What the hell are you doing shouting at someone while they're sleeping? Do you have a death wish or something?" He angled a look over to his wide open door and back again. "Ever heard of knocking?"

Chaz, short for Chazandro~some parents are downright cruel to their kids~brought his arm down and strode over to the computer chair and sat down glaring. "Look I only screamed at you because you were screaming first," Chaz shrugged palms up and then folded his arms across his chest and buried his hands in his armpits. "Well you were."

Brent rubbed his eyes hard and then dragged his hand through his hair. "I don't scream. I yell. Bad dream, nothing more. Probably all the stress I've been under." Chaz pinched his mouth and bit the inside of his lips, the way he always did when he thought someone was full of shit.

"You did, and I'd say that it was a nightmare of the creepy crawly kind as loud you were." He dropped his hands and stood up edging toward the door. "But hey. Call 'em as you see 'em and so will I" He paused reaching for the door as he stepped out and readied to close it he grinned. "Buddy, get yourself a girl because your stress is keeping us ALL awake at night with the creepy crawlies! BOO!" Chaz ducked out taking the door with him just as the pillow Brent had been using sailed into it.

"Ass hole!"

"Jerk wad! Get some real sleep of the quiet kind! Some of us have work to do you know!"

Brent slid his legs over the edge of his bed as he heard a door slam slut, followed by the unmistakable giggling of the female variety. "Work my ass!" He stood up and went into the bathroom.

The reflection in the mirror told him he'd definately not been sleeping well if the dark circles and pale skin were any indicator. Then again he wasn't a doctor. Maybe a quick shower and back to bed. He leaned out the door and saw that his alarm clock beamed 4:35 a.m. in that agonizing neon purply glow. Okay a long shower and then some breakfast. Oh, gawd it was going to be a hellish day.

As the hot water sluiced down his back he wondered why after so long it'd come back. The vision. It had been what? Twenty-two years ago. Why now? Brent shook his head as he lifted his face toward the spray of water. And I don't scream. I never scream. I yell like bloody hell.
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It was nine thirty when Brent woke up. "AW Hell!" He'd taken his shower, gone in search of food and having found none, he returned to his bed to lay down for a minute. That minute became many more. Probably enough to get himself a reprimand but then again he did feel a little better. Then again what should he worry for?

He'd been sales specialist for more than six years bringing in the most new accounts per year. Not to mention that he managed to keep those same accounts. His commissions made most yearly salaries look like minimum wage and he had a bank account to prove it.

He shoved the drawer closed and headed to his closet. Inside he felt through several pairs of slacks and tossed out a dark blck pair onto the bed. Next the white button down with the asian collar and dress coat to match. Simple, asthetic and casual without being slouchy. He smiled.

Dressed, he snatched up the $450 pair of Gianni sunglasses and turned to look for his keys. Pivoting, there they are. On the computer desk. He reached for them only to notice the blinking email. 'What the hell, I have a minute or two or three. Fashionably late I always say,' as he pressed enter and scanned......
What he saw next made him snatch the computer chair and sit down.

Dear Mr. Cranston,

It is with deep condolensces that I am to inform you that, one Mr. Feebish has recently passed away. As you know, Mr. Feebish was the sole caretaker of your estate. After many years of faithful service he has gone on to a better place and with this thought it is imperative that you return and reclaim your rights to The Cranston Manor House.

A cold washed over Brent as the rest of the letter blurred. Go back? Why in gods name would he want to do that? Because it's your birthright, you idiot. He ran both hands through his hair, placed them on his knees and tried to breath. It had been twenty-two years ago that he had actually lived there.

After his vision and what the doctors concluded an unnatural mental breakdown for a child his age, he'd been sent to the best hospitals that money could buy. And when they were done with him, the best boarding schools. One right after another. No one believed him. Why should they? No one wanted to. It didn't matter that he'd told them he had seen a ghost. Ghosts weren't real. And it didn't matter that his mother had died supposedly that night, on her way home either.
Brent stood up and gulped~he had NOT seen his mother that night. He knew he had not. But he HAD seen someone and she'd seen him too. Her heart just as broken as his had become.