Manelle Oliphant Illustration - Illustrator and Writer

Here is my latest Tales Fantastic Story. My brother volunteered to read the story and I think he did a great job. You can listen to it on the video or read it below. If you’d rather read it later on your kindle or ipad you can download this story free from smashwords.

Ghost Connection

A short story by Manelle Oliphant

I’ve been haunted by two things since I was born, my red hair, and a ghost. This is the story of how my sister Emily’s Halloween obsession helped me become uh… un-haunted.

Let’s start with the ghost. She’d been around from my earliest memories. She was white and glowy. She wore a flowing dress, had long hair, and looked a little old fashioned. She followed me around in a kind of smoke. Her presence brought a feeling of desperation. Like she wanted to be my friend and had to struggle every moment to make it happen.

As a kid, I talked about her all the time. I didn’t realize seeing a ghost wasn’t normal. I told everyone how she looked and things she did. My family called her my “imaginary ghost friend”. The only reason I stopped talking about her was because of my red hair.

I’m the only redhead in my whole family. No one, not even a cousin has a hint of it. When I was eight, my older brother Jake told me I didn’t fit in because I was adopted. Maybe I shouldn’t have believed him, but I did.

I asked my mom about it. She was doing laundry at the time and looked at me with her arms full of dirty sheets, “Of course your not adopted, Clayton. My mom had red hair just like yours.” That relieved me quite a bit, but when I asked more questions, Mom looked sad then shoved the sheets into the washer double quick. “She died around the time you were born. Please don’t ask me anymore about her”.

I was ok with that. I’d heard what I wanted. Triumphantly I told my brother about our dead grandma with red hair.

He laughed at me. “Have you ever seen a picture of her?”

“No.”

Jake smirked “Then how do you know it’s true? I think Mom made the whole thing up to make you feel better. You really were adopted. I remember when they brought you home so I would know.”

At this point, tears threatened at the corners of my eyes. “You were only three. How could you even remember?”

He smirked at me. “Oh, I remember. Trust me. You’re adopted.” Then he ruffled my hair like I was a cat. “Don’t worry little brother, I’m sure they won’t give you up. ‘Course if you keep going on about that imaginary ghost they’ll have to take you to an asylum. Probably the same one where your real mom lived when she had you.”

I kicked Jake’s shin. “It’s not true.”

He just smirked at me, “That’s why she had to give you up you know- because she thought she saw ghosts. Just like you.“

I tried to punch Jake in the arm, but he blocked it. So, I ran to my room and cried. My ghost appeared and tried to comfort me. The gesture didn’t help. Her desperate feelings always overpowered everything else. I felt so angry because the fact that I could see her made me feel crazy. I decided right then I wouldn’t talk about her ever again. I wouldn’t look at her. I would ignore her until she went away.

After that, Jake didn’t tease me as much, and my parents no longer looked at me with worried expressions. My ghost got more annoying than ever, though. The more I ignored her the angrier she got. Instead of gliding she dashed about from place to place. Sometimes she disappeared only to reappear right in front of my face. She made lights flicker, rooms colder, and did everything a ghost could do to get my attention. I ignored this constant ghosty tantrum like a pro. That’s how things stood with us for years. Then came my sister’s wedding.

Weddings are supposed to be fun, but they aren’t. Like I said, my sister Emily was obsessed with Halloween. She loved ghosts, wearing black, and found some guy to marry her who loved that stuff too. Since I actually saw a ghost all the time, I didn’t get what the big deal was but Emily was knee deep in it. As a consequence, she wanted her wedding to be on Halloween in a graveyard. Weird.

Emily couldn’t get permission to have the party in the actual cemetery, but she reserved the park next to it. So, while she “got ready” for her big day, me, Jake, Mom and Dad, and anyone else we could get, set up tables, hung old looking photos in the trees, and put up lights. Then we cleaned ourselves up just to sit through a wedding. By the time we got to the reception, which was supposed to be the fun part, I just wanted to fall asleep.

I found a bench away from everyone where I could be by myself. I slumped down, breathed in the crisp air and shut my eyes.

When I opened them again, my ghost floated in front of me. Her dress billowed out in all directions. The air grew colder, and wisps of ghostly light reached toward me. She stared at me with empty black eyes and wailed. Her feelings of anger, hurt and desperation overwhelmed me. I think Halloween, or the graveyard, or both made her more powerful.

The thing of it is, even though I felt her presence stronger than ever, I was exhausted. I’d seen her throw so many ghosty fits this just felt like one more tactic to get attention. It didn’t work. I stood and walked back toward the party. She wailed louder and whirled around me so fast I felt a breeze. I pretended not to notice. I figured once people surrounded me again she would leave. But it didn’t work out that way. When I stepped into the lights of the party, the band stopped, and everyone looked at me. Then they all freaked because they could see her too!

I’m not sure what happened next. I got caught up in the chaos until I hid under a table with my cousin Ryan. He’d stolen some of the cake. People and a ghost screamed all around us, but I just sat there under the table and ate cake, no point of it going to waste.

Once things had quieted down I crawled out from under the table. Most of the guests had fled. My sister looked delighted by their unexpected wedding guest. Mom sat very still on one of the few upright chairs, and Dad directed anyone still there to start cleaning up.

I walked over to Mom. “Are you ok?”

She looked at me. She’d been crying. “Clayton, I saw a ghost.”

“Yeah, my ‘imaginary ghost friend.’”

“Oh…well, I know who she is.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, my mom. She died a week before you were born. Cancer. I’d hoped she’d at least meet you before she died. You are her first and only grandchild with hair as red as hers.”

She put her arm around my shoulders. “All these years I’ve tried not to think about how she missed out on meeting you and seeing all you kids grow up.”

I patted her on the back. “Well, she hasn’t actually missed out on all that much. My first memory of her is at my second birthday party.”

Mom smiled. “Really?”

“Yes. I’ve always wondered who she was.”

Mom squeezed my shoulders again. “Let’s get this mess cleaned up, and then I’ll tell you about her.”

When we got home, Mom pulled out some old photo albums. Dad and Jake joined us as Mom told us about Grandma. She showed us the wedding photos first.

I pointed at the first picture. “That’s the same dress.”

My mom smiled. “Yes, we buried her in her wedding dress.”

Seeing my ghost in full color was weird. She had the same dress like I said, the same face, and the reddest of red hair.

I smiled. “See Jake, not adopted.”

Jake just laughed.

Relief washed through me. I’d told myself many times Jake had been kidding about me being adopted, but I think I didn’t really believe it until I saw that photo.

We looked at pictures for a few hours while my mom told stories about growing up. By the time we went to bed I felt like I really knew my ghost, and Mom looked happier than she had in a long time.

I only saw the ghost once more after that, she appeared in my bedroom a day or so later.

I smiled at her. “I’m sorry for ignoring you.”

She nodded. The feelings of desperation were gone. I felt connected to her now, even though she was old and dead. I saw her mouth form the words “See you later.” Then she faded away. I don’t know if she meant she’d come back sometime, or if I just have to wait until I’m dead to see her again. I’m good either way, as long as I don’t die for a good long time.

The End

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Learn how you can support the creation of more like it at www.patreon.com/manelleoliphant

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Manelle Oliphant Illustration - Illustrator and Writer

Goody Alice

A Short Story

By Manelle Oliphant

Goody Alice’s hate began on a sunny day and grew from there. Over the years she’d stoked it with all the anger and resentment she had until it burned like a bonfire, warning others to avoid her at all costs.

She lived in a ramshackle cottage at the edge of town where no one came to visit for fear they’d be turned into a rat, or worse. She spent her time hating herself, her sister Mary Anne, and Yisis. Yisis was a lizard, her familiar, who helped her with her spells. She made revenge spells, and rat spells, but sometimes she got creative and baked a cake. Then she ate it all, and hated herself more.

The day on which this story takes place is also a sunny day. Alice hated sunny days so it made it very easy to take her bonfire of hate and channel it into a new spell. This was her best one yet, and she looked forward to her long-hoped-for revenge on Mary Anne.

She added a few sheep’s eyes and swung the cauldron into the fire. “That should do it. Now we just need to let it boil.”

Yisis scurried up her arm and onto her shoulder. “Very good, very good.”

She flicked his chin with her warty finger, and sat down to wait. She imagined Mary Anne drinking the bubbling brew with delight. If all went as planned Mary Anne’s loving nature would turn upside-down. Then she’d know how it felt to hate and be hated. Alice giggled. This spell would work, unlike her many other attempts.

They heard a small click outside. Yisis crawled up her hat and squinted out the window. “Person approaches!”

Alice growled. Visitors were unwelcome and they knew it. Who would have the gall to come to her house uninvited. She slid off her stool and shuffled to the door. By the door’s frame hung a small leather purse. She grabbed it and held it ready to throw. It was her on-hand spell for turning unwanted guests into rats, frogs, or spiders, and like all of her spells, hate fueled it.

She flung the door wide and glared at the man on her stoop. His body trembled from head to foot. His fist hovered in the air, ready to knock. “A-alice M-marie Cartwright?” His voice rose to an ever higher pitch as he spoke her name.

Alice held her spell at the ready. “Who wants to know?” She would have poofed him right then except she hadn’t been called anything but Goody Alice for over 40 years.

The man held out a sealed letter. The paper flapped about in his shaking hand. “A-a letter has been l-left to you in the will of Mrs. Mary Anne B-brandon.”

Alice’s eyes narrowed. “Mary Anne is dead?”

At her harsh voice the man quavered backward. She could tell he wanted to run but he stood his ground holding out the letter. “I’m j-just the clerk ma’am. I do what I’m t-told.”

Alice glared at him, then at the letter he held out. She recognized her sister’s round handwriting giving the direction to her cottage on the edge of town.

So, Mary Anne was dead. She considered the shaking man for a few seconds more. Turning him into a rat seemed a waste of a spell. She snatched the letter from his hand and slammed the door.

He’d gotten off easy. Ten years before, Goody Alice took great pride in knowing nobody left her yard in human form. Had she become more lenient, or maybe the thrill of watching a face agonize as it turned into some kind of vermin had abated? She wasn’t sure.

Goody Alice stared at the letter in her hands. Her sister’s soft handwriting hadn’t changed over the years. Alice’s handwriting was spiky and hurried. As a girl she often got scolded for it.

She thought about the last time she’d spoken to Mary Anne.

The sisters sat on their father’s sunny porch reading. Alice listened to Mary Anne’s clear voice, while she fidgeted with her sleeve and wished they were finished.

A man’s voice broke through Mary Anne’s. “You read very well Miss Mary Anne.”

The young women looked up to see the handsome Jeremiah Brandon. Alice’s stomach flopped. She always felt awkward and hopeful around him. Alice and Mary Anne had stayed up many nights talking about Mr. Brandon’s kindness and good looks. Alice hoped the awkwardness would pass as she got to know him better.

Mary Anne, as always, seemed very composed. “What brings you out our way Mr. Brandon?”

Jeremiah smiled at Mary Anne. “I wonder if I could have a private word with you Miss Cartwright.”

Mary Anne smiled back. “Shall we walk a bit?”

They walked together through the gate and down the street. When they came back they were to be married.

Alice’s heart felt like it melted into the ground. She hadn’t realized during their late night talks that Mary Anne meant to steal Brandon for herself. It was the last day she ever talked to her sister.

In her gloomy cottage Alice sat down on her stool, and broke the letter’s seal.

Alice’s insides deflated. Mary Anne had died, and not by her hand. Alice wanted her to suffer in life as she had suffered. She wanted her to feel bad for taking Jeremiah for herself. Sure, she’d gotten sick, but it was none of Alice’s doing. She had still been kind and happy her whole life.

She looked at the spell pot boiling over the fire. Little good it would do now. She screamed and kicked the pot. Green liquid sloshed out and fizzed in the fire. A noxious smoke poured into the room. Yisis scurried away to avoid breathing it in.

Alice screamed again. She stomped to the window and threw it open. The smoke floated from the room and wilted the tree branches outside the window. With another grunt she slammed the window shut and stomped back to her stool.

When she had calmed a little Yisis scurried onto her hat. “She did say she envied you.”

Alice jerked her head up to see him. “What?”

Yisis held tight to her hat so he wouldn’t fall off. “She said she envied you.”

Alice grunted again but picked up the letter from where she’d dropped it in her rage. She read it again. Mary Anne had envied her? Their parents often praised Mary Anne for her quiet patience. Alice always felt loud and awkward. Even so, Mary Anne had envied her.

She thought back through the years of failed spells and landed again on that sunny day when her hate began. Her heartbreak had been the spark, which fueled years of schemes for revenge. She found now, in the wake of Mary Anne’s death, the bonfire of hate she’d built up over the years had died down. Her torso felt hollow. What would she fill herself with now?

Yisis judged his mistress’ mood and decided it was safe to speak again. “She also said she loves you.”

Alice thought for a minute. She reached up and stroked Yisis under his chin. “Thank you.”

He didn’t move for a split second, then he leaned in to her finger and rubbed his face against it. She looked at him and saw a smile. He’d never smiled before. Of course, she’d never said anything nice to him before.

She looked at the remains of her boiling spell and grimaced. Making that spell, all those spells, had been a waste of time. “Yisis, lets clean this up. Today is now a cake-baking day. Maybe, I’ll even share with you.”

The End

If you enjoyed this story learn how you can support the creation of more like it at www.patreon.com/manelleoliphant

The post Goody Alice appeared first on Manelle Oliphant Illustration.

Manelle Oliphant Illustration - Illustrator and Writer

Midnight Ghost

A Short Story

By Manelle Oliphant

Text and illustrations © 2014 by Manelle Oliphant

waited in the dark hallway. I bounced slightly from the excitement of seeing her again. Every night for months I’d watched her glide down the hallway, but tonight was All Saints’ Eve when the gate between the dead and the living would be open. Maybe this time we would be able to talk, and I could tell her that…that I loved her.

I moved closer to the wall to be out of her way. She always walked the same path. Twice she’s drifted through me when I wasn’t quick enough to stand aside. It felt horrible, a ghost on your inside, cold and damp.

The distant grandfather clock chimed midnight. I held my breath.

She appeared at the end of the hallway and drifted toward me. She wore a flowing dress old-fashioned dress and glowed white with a purple tinge. She grew closer and I smelled lavender. I smiled. She always smelled like lavender. Her colorless eyes looked sad but kind. They must have been green eyes when she still lived. I had never seen a more beautiful woman.

She drifted by me so close that if I put out my hand I could touch her. I imagined her warm and alive, soft hair and laughing lips. I sighed.

The slight wind from my breath blew across the hallway. Her form flickered and everything changed.

Her sad eyes turned to dark holes and she turned to me. Her face twisted in anger. “Why do you always watch me?”

I shrank back toward the wall. A cold despair wrapped around my heart. All my fond feelings disappeared.

She rushed closer. The lavender smell disappeared, replaced by the smell of rotten fruit. Her dark, now soulless, eyes were only a few inches from my face.

“Why?” she shouted at me again. Her chin melted downward as she spoke, and her mouth grew into a gaping hole. Her voice, still feminine but louder, boomed around the hallway and vibrated in my chest.

My mouth opened but words wouldn’t form.

“Ahhhhh!” she gave a frustrated scream. Her spirit form grew in size and her soft purple glow turned to red.

I tried to speak. “I….I…” She moved closer still. I thought she would swallow me whole but as she came forward the last chime on the clock sounded and she disappeared.

I stood in dark silence. I took a shallow breath and reached in my pocket for my candle. My hands shook. I used three matches before the candle lit. I was alone except for the grim family portraits hanging in a line across the hall. I felt sure their eyes watched me. A notion, that before, I always thought rather silly.

I walked toward the stairs. I wanted to run but couldn’t risk extinguishing my light. At the end of the hallway moonlight shown through a tall window and illuminated the main entrance at the bottom of the stairs. Now I ran. My candle went out. I let it go. Behind me I heard crashes and wails. A few times cold air brushed my skin. At the bottom of the stairs I yanked open the door and rushed outside.

I ran down the drive and only looked back at the house once. Lights shown through every window and the ghosts made a ruckus the likes of which I had never heard before or since. When I arrived earlier I felt excited, but the ghost’s unexpected, violent anger changed all my feelings. I knew I would never be back. Stupid idea, falling in love with a ghost.

The End

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