Tales of the Blood Moon

There's No Place Like It

I call my officephone so I can check my messages. One of my wealthier clients wantsto make an appointment, so I'll definitely pencil her in as soon aspossible. Now that I'm finished with work, I curl up on the couch, with a book in one hand and a steaming cup of tea in the other. Therenovations on my house are complete, my career is finally taking offand, while my roommate has been acting a little strange recently, Ifeel like everything is finally coming together for me.

I moved to Georgiafrom California to help my employer. I work for an insurance companythat wanted to set up a new call center. I thought I'd be named asthe manager, but that didn't happen. Bruce Harrington got that job. Bruce was one of those guys who thought he was something special,though he clearly was not. He got himself a concealed carry permit,probably to make himself feel like a big man, and wouldn't stoptelling everyone about it. Not only was he a complete ass, he seemedto delight in making my life miserable despite that I was the one whohad to keep fixing his mistakes, thereby allowing him to look likeless of a moron.

Despite work beingterrible, I enjoyed the company of my neighbors. Everybody aroundhere is a lot friendlier than the people where I used to live. I wassmitten with my new surroundings to the point where I decided to buya house. At the time, I was renting a one-bedroom apartment which,quite honestly, suited my budget. I was concerned about what sort ofhouse I would be able to afford and, when my realtor showed me alarge house that had clearly seen better days, I was surprised. Therealtor flatly stated the reason I'd be able to afford the house wasbecause it was thought to be haunted. I scoffed at the notion of itbeing haunted, but the amount of work it needed was no laughingmatter. I was unsure that, even if I could afford the house, I'd beable to afford the renovations. My realtor gave me a pep talk aboutother single women who had done renovations on their own. I'm notsure why I went for it, but I did.

It didn't takelong to get the electricity and plumbing going so, in order to savecash, I decided to move in while I continued fixing the place up. Idiscovered on the first night the rumors of the place being hauntedto be correct. Noises I could never explain, plunging temperatures and theoccasional aroma of perfume became so common, I stopped beingconcerned by them. In time, I came to accept I wasn't alone in thehouse, but I wasn't the least bit frightened since it wasn't like Iwas being hurt or anything.

All that changedthe morning I was showering and noticed, from the corner of my eye, adark shape appear behind my shower curtain. Startled, I turned tosee what it was. Peering down over the shower rod at me, was a paleface sporting a dour frown and long, stringy, gray hair. The faceclearly belonged to a woman, though I've never before seen a womanthat tall. She had to stand at least seven feet. Most horrifyingwere her eyes. Her eyes expressed a sort of hopefulness andeagerness, in direct contrast to the rest of her face.

Needless to say, Iwas completely terrified and reeled back, screaming and throwing upmy hands. The woman retreated rapidly. I stood in the shower for atleast a minute before being able to summon enough courage to pullback the shower curtain. The only person in my bathroom was me. Icrept carefully to the bathroom door, fearful there would be a facegreeting my own as I peered out. Much to my relief, no one stoodoutside my bathroom door. I got myself together and checked theentire house thoroughly, but found nothing out of the ordinary.

A few sleeplessnights later, I decided to burn off some nervous energy by doing afew sit-ups before bed. I had done about five when I felt the roomgo suddenly cold and heard a noise near my bedroom door. The bedroomdoor was open, but I didn't see anyone out there. I decided tocontinue and, as I was rising from the floor to complete the nextrepetition, I saw her skittering toward me. She was on her hands andfeet, but her elbows and knees were off to her side like the legs ofan insect. She had the same expression she had in the bathroom,although I didn't lie there and study her features. I boltedupright, screaming and lunging on top of my bed. As before, shequickly fled the same way she came.

I didn't tellanyone about either incident, but I did begin asking around about thehistory of the house. There were multiple versions, but the generaltheme was that the house had been built by Stuart Gallagher and hiswife, Patricia. Stuart was a short, temperamental man who felt theneed to compensate for his lack of height by being a grade A asshole,especially to his wife. Patricia, a tall woman by everyone'sdescription, took his barbs with good nature and did her best to makeher home a happy one. She was especially eager to invite neighborsto her house. The word going around was that Stuart didn't allow herto socialize with anyone unless he was home. She was to maintain aspotless house, cook his meals and generally do his bidding without acare for her needs.

Accounts vary, butfor one reason or another, Stuart left Patricia. He continued tolive in town, running around with women half his age, tellingeveryone how much of a homely bitch Patricia supposedly was andbasically being as much of a douche as humanly possible withoutactually turning into vinegar. Nobody saw Patricia for awhile and,when neighbors went to investigate, found her dead from an overdoseof sleeping pills. Stuart didn't bother to attend her funeral.

Normally, thiswould be the part where the occupant of the house would immediatelyvacate the premises, but I decided on a different approach to thesituation. I went home, sat on my sofa and politely asked Patriciaif she would like to talk. I won't deny I was frightened, but I hada plan. After a few seconds, the temperature took a nosedive and Icould hear the sound of movement from the hallway. A slender armwrapped itself around the corner of the wall before a head (thatnearly scraped the ceiling) slowly came into view. I did my best toforce a smile, though I'll admit I was seriously reconsidering mydecision to speak with her. She paused. I was worried I might havedone something wrong until she bolted around the corner, hurtlingtoward me and shrieking shrilly. At that point, I was certainI'd done something wrong. I screamed and curled into a ball. Patricia stopped just short of me, turned, and began hurrying away. Realizing she hadn't meant to hurt me, I called after her. Shestopped, but didn't turn around. I gently called her name again,apologizing to her for my behavior and explaining she'd simplystartled me. She didn't turn to face me, rather, a pair of eyesappeared through the hair in the back of her head, followed slowly bya nose and lips that gently parted the hair. To be honest, if I knewshe could do shit that strange, I'd have belted a few shots beforeundertaking that project.

To make a longstory short, we had a nice chat. I told her I understood she waseager to have someone to talk to, but charging toward me isn't reallysomething I like. I also asked her to leave me alone when I'm in theshower because...damn. I don't want living women to stare atme when I'm in the shower. She told me she understood and we becamefriends. Of course, friends help each other.

Everyone was sadto hear of Bruce's death. To this day the police don't understandwhat he could possibly have been shooting at in his backseat whiletraveling at sixty miles per hour on his way to work. I'm told hedied instantly when he crashed into the telephone pole.

In otherwork-related news, you'd be amazed how many accidental death anddismemberment policies you can sell across this great land of ourswhen a member of someone's family is mysteriously killed or mutilatedby an unknown assailant who leaves no clues.

As for my roomie,she was eager to hook up with her ex, but he died a few weeks ago. Ithought she'd be devastated, but it turned out there are a bunch ofother people she hates (for a woman who didn't get out much, she surehas a lot of axes to grind), so I do what I must in order to lurethem to my house and down into the basement. I'm sure she'll gettired of it pretty soon.

A shadow fallsacross me and I look up to find Patricia standing the doorway. Thehopefulness and eagerness that once filled her eyes has long sincebeen replaced by cold menace. I'm not sure what's changed with her,but I suppose it'll all work out. I smile at her, but she simplyglares at me and sort of slides out of view. Oh well, I'm sureshe'll be fine.

I open my book andthe business card I use for a bookmark tumbles down into my lap. Thecard belongs to an anthropology professor. He was one of the peoplewho told me about the history of the house. He keeps asking to comeby and I keep brushing him off. He called again yesterday, so I callhim and leave a message on his voice mail letting him know I'm stillnot interested. I understand that my "situation" is unusual, butthis is my home, and you know what they say about that.