Author: Chelsea Yates
“If I am a terrible person strike me down,” Shiloh stood drenched in the pouring rain. Lightning streaked the skies above as she twirled and laughed straining her pale hands towards the sky, “Sear this very patch of earth and me with it.” She stopped motionless, eyes bright and smiling, lips curled. There was a manic flush to her cheeks, but the darkness obscured it just like in this very moment it swallowed her heart. “Well?”
The woman on the doorstep trembled. Even though she was eclipsed by the soft glows of light she might as well have been steeped in darkness for she was coming to the conclusion that she was alone in this world with only her grief for company, “B-but my husband is this house.”
“Your husband is dead Madame,” Shiloh cocked her head to the side; “Let me prove it to you.”
“No. No. Stop,” Hunched over the woman shook her head, planting her hands over her ears to block out the possibility, “He’s not. He’s watching over me, this wood is his skin, the hearth is his heart, can’t you feel him… he’s here. I-I am not alone. He’s here. He didn’t leave me…”
“A house is a house. If your husband is truly a piece of planks and nails, he should stop me,” Then, she walked, striding to the entrance of the house and nudging the wide-eyed woman aside. “Otherwise your husband will truly be sent to the afterlife and you with him.”
Shiloh had no need for this house after all, only the land and the things within. Water dripped from her clothes onto the pristine carpet. Plop, plop, plop.
Once inside, the house seemed to pulse with life. The warm air was already beginning to dry the water from her skin, but she didn’t feel the heat. Still felt cold.
Had to be done. Had. To. Be.
If she repeated the mantra often enough maybe she could fool herself. It seemed to be working as long as she cast all emotions aside and thought of nothing, but her role. I am clay, easily molded and morphed into shape. Clay can take whatever form it wants to take. Soon this me will be gone, slip right into oblivion, and I will become someone else.
So, do not take heart. Right, in this moment, you do not exist. Someone else with your face is doing these things. Someone else. This is all a lie. A lie.
And at least for now while her mind was occupied with the task at hand, Shiloh believed it. This her came naturally.
So she kept her strides long and powerful, her gait confident. She was the sheer image of presence: weight counterbalanced as she shifted her mass to one foot, shoulders at ease, and head held high, her nose pointed down, eyebrows slightly raised, and lips twisted into a nasty sort of grin. Despite her haughty countenance Shiloh seemed almost feral as if no human being pushed its way into the house, but some foul thing spat up from the very abyss itself. Her dark, rain-soaked hair tangled down the length of her back and those piercing eyes lacked any warm textures or feeling.
A gasp escaped the nearly sunken in woman as Shiloh brandished the lantern burning bright near the far wall on an oaken desk. Fire danced in her eyes. Shadows played across the walls, stretching out to eclipse part of her face. The light was lifted up, admired as it slowly spun around in Shiloh’s hands.
“Please,” The woman gave a hoarse cry, lashes spiking with tears. Her arms quaked, wrapping in on herself.
“But don’t you want to know the truth?” Shiloh stepped closer with the lantern, bending down until she was eye-level with the trembling form, “The truth will set you free.”
Shutting her eyes tight, the woman scrambled back, knees buckling as she slipped on the placement mat, landing on her hands out in the damp. No moves were made to help her. Not by some house, the spirit of her dead husband, or the demon in front of her. The rain mixed with her tears, white garments becoming see-through, body bare and exposed, and no one would come.
Big fancy estate, polished memorabilia, formal invitations to attend galas, all the social standing in the world; yet, what was the point? Her husband died in a “carriage accident.” What a great “tragedy” since his land and titles granted him with a fortune, he was a good-natured fellow, a real charmer at events, and had a caring wife whom he left distraught after his sudden death. More like he died by divine punishment, if you believe in that sort of thing. What was left out of the story was that seconds before his death he was giving some young lord’s daughter a rather passionate farewell kiss and then tripped and broke his neck while stepping out of the carriage.
Who was Shiloh to judge though? Philandering paled in comparison to her crimes. People did what they had to, to get by whether it was in marriage or life in general after all.
Today this woman was an aristocrat, but tomorrow when her wealthy friends discovered she was chased from her home they wouldn’t offer lodgings or fight to claim it back for her. No, the fear of poverty, being something you were able to catch, was too strong. Maybe, Shiloh would be proved wrong. Someone with influence would take pity on the widow or she would catch someone’s eye for despite her mousy nature she was still a pretty, little thing.
“G-g-go a-aw-away,” Her voice warbled.
Trying to banish Shiloh as if she were the ghost only amused her further, “Let me ask you a question.” She set the lantern down next to the woman. It was no longer needed. The flame quickly sputtered out leaving a burnt wick. “Do you still believe your husband resides within this house?”
The woman looked past her, towards the silent house, and then beyond the house. She waited, eyes finally lowering to the mud beneath her gown, “No.”
“That’s right. Nothing remains for you in this house. Memories hurt, don’t they? You don’t have to live another second in an empty place like this,” Shiloh retreated into the house, bringing back a wool coverlet, placing it around the woman’s dainty shoulders. The woman didn’t register the act, her gaze remaining forlorn. “I’ll take it, cherish it, and make new memories here. You want that don’t you? For this house to remain a happy, treasured space?”
“I want that…” The woman repeated her words back to her numbly.
“Yes, that’s what you want,” Shiloh put an arm around the woman, leading her away from the house. With zero resistance as if in a trance she followed. “You don’t want to be stuck in that house forever. It’s confining. It’s holding you back. You want to be free, don’t you? From the pressure, from the past, no regrets, right?”
The coverlet started to slip, but Shiloh tugged it back up.
“What?”
Shiloh repeated herself, “You want to forget him. He abandoned you. Don’t you deserve to be free? By living you can pay him back.”
“Is it that easy?” They could no longer see the house. Forest and winding dirt paths surrounded them. Wet leaves crunched under their thin shoes.
“No. It never is, but don’t you want to try?”
“I didn’t give you my house.”
“No, I took it,” Shiloh turned disappearing back the way they came, “What you do next is entirely up to you.”