Yesterday's Specter
An original flash fiction horror story
She was not supposed to be here.
Kirk's throat tightened and his back stiffened as he pressed up against the couch cushions. Gabrielle flashed an impish grin. Her expression sent chills down his spine. She glided toward him. Her raven-black hair and white night dress fluttered as though troubled by an unseen breeze.
He cast his eyes at the window behind her. Window sealed. Drapes closed. His eyes trailed over to the door. Shut and locked.
How did Gabrielle break inside his den?
“I'm losing my mind.” His voice barely rose above a whisper. “You're not really here.”
“Your mind fled long ago,” she scoffed. “I am no mere dream nor a vivid hallucination. I stand here before you as real and tangible as everything else inside this room.”
Kirk's heart raced faster than before, galloping with the speed of a frightened horse behind his ribs. He drew the rough blanket closer with one hand and clutched the TV remote with the other.
“Please leave me alone. I've done nothing to deserve this torment.”
“You are deserving. You know what you did was wrong and is still wrong.”
Each one of Kirk's breaths escaped from his lips in panicked short bursts. He surveyed the den, searching for a weapon beyond the worn leather couch and now darkened TV screen sufficient to work against Gabrielle.
Kirk assured himself he destroyed her permanently when he sealed her corpse inside the barrel and turned the slain monster over to the proper authorities. Aubrey's sky-blue eyes, brimming with tears, flashed through his mind. Sorrow mixed with the fear already gripping Kirk. He took comfort from the thought he avenged his wife and set her soul at peace. Gabrielle's reappearance told him otherwise.
“Fear comes from knowing you will die,” Gabrielle said, stretching her arms wide. “Horror arises from realizing you won't die soon enough.”
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