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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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Archive name: lie.txt (MF, mc, ghost, no sex)
Authors name: Ariel Witch (c) 1995
Story title : Lie, The
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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2001. Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story. You may post freely to non-commercial
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The Lie (MF, mc)
by Ariel Witch
***
A weird ghostly story written to caution those who would
do wrong. A warning that the conscious can be more
powerful than the will.
***
It was a cloudless night. The full moon lit the trees
surrounding the highway. My thoughts were not on the
road before me, but on the man I had just left. Did I
love Bob enough to marry him? Sorting out my feelings
had never been easy for me, so my concentration was not
on driving.
One moment, the road ahead was clear, the next a man was
standing about a hundred yards in front of me. He flung
his arm up in front of his face as if to shield his eyes
from my headlights. My foot moved towards the brake, but
it was too late. I felt the impact as the car hit him
and the double shudder of the wheels running over his
body. I didn't stop until I reached the safety of my
apartment.
I barely made it to the bathroom before I was violently
ill. I stripped off my clothing, praying that a hot
shower would wash the accident from my mind. It didn't,
and I spent a fitful, sleepless night.
The next day I called in sick to work, saying I had the
flu. I scanned the morning papers but there was no
mention of the accident. I chain-smoked and drank pots
of hot, black coffee.
I found the article on page three of the evening paper.
It read: "Harold Evans, 23, was struck by an
unidentified hit-and-run driver late last night on
Highway 9. Police are seeking possible witnesses who may
be able to identify the vehicle involved." Was he dead?
The article didn't say and I wasn't about to call the
police and ask.
I returned to work the following day and was trying to
catch up on unprocessed claims when someone approached
my desk. I looked up to find a good-looking young man
standing before me.
"May I help you?" I asked pleasantly, although I was
annoyed at having my concentration broken.
"I certainly hope so, Susan," the man said.
"Who are you?" I asked, wondering how he knew my name.
"I should think you'd recognize someone you'd struck
with your car."
"You're alive!" I yelped.
"No. Actually, I'm dead. Quite dead." He paused, and
glanced around the office where some of my co-workers
had stopped to stare at my outburst. Be aware that no
one else can see me, only you, since you caused my all
too early demise."
"What do you want?"
"That should be obvious, Susan. I want you to turn
yourself in. It seems that I can't properly rest in the
afterlife until someone confesses to my death."
"I can't do that!" I hissed.
"Is there a problem, Susan?" Mr. Armstrong, the office
manager, was bending over my desk. "Are you still not
feeling well?"
"I'm fine," I answered. "I felt dizzy for a moment, but
I'm all right now."
"Then I suggest you return to your work since you're
already a day behind!"
Harold stood there, smiling, apparently pleased by my
discomfort.
"Turn yourself in, Susan. Until you do, you'll never be
free of me.
I'll be everywhere. Sometimes you'll see me, sometimes
you won't, but I'll be there, nevertheless."
My mouth hung open with my reply, but before I could
manage a word, he was gone.
"Everywhere, Susan...e v e r y w h e r e," his icy
whisper chilled my soul.
That evening I stopped at the market to pick up a few
things for dinner.
"Not THAT tomato, Susan, it's not quite ripe." I froze
at the sound of that voice. I turned but there was no
one nearby.
"Sometimes you'll see me, sometimes you won't...."
Harold shared breakfast with me the next morning,
although he, of course, did not eat. I saw him again at
lunchtime in the mall across the street from my office.
That evening he appeared in my living room, remarking on
how comfortable my apartment was.
Bob had called several times since his proposal and I
had been brusque each time. The phone rang then and I
grabbed it, glaring at Harold. It was Bob and I invited
him over.
"He won't see me," Harold grinned," But YOU will. It
should be amusing to watch you try to ignore me. Or
perhaps I won't let you see me and I'll just watch the
two of you make love."
I called Bob back, saying I felt a headache coming on
and wasn't up to company.
The next few days were hell. True to his word, Harold
was with me everywhere I went, day and night. I called
in sick to work so often that I was finally fired. I was
behind in my rent and my car was repossessed. All I had
left was my sanity and I could feel my grip on it slowly
loosening.
"Harold!" I screamed. "Where are you????"
"Right here, Susan," the icy voice purred in my ear.
"You win, Harold. I can't take it anymore. I'm going to
turn myself in."
"Very good, Susan. As soon as you give your statement
to the police, I'll leave you forever."
At the police station door he said, "I'll miss you,
Susan. I've really grown quite fond of you. But now
you'll go to your just punishment and I'll go to my
eternal rest. Goodbye, Susan."
The desk sergeant took my statement and I was held
pending a trial. The jury found me guilty of
manslaughter and I was sentenced to five years in
prison.
From the first day alone in my cell, my sense of freedom
has been complete. I am beginning to relax now and no
longer jump at the slightest sound, or wait to hear his
horrid, icy whisper.
"Hello, Susan.... Susan.... I lied."