I desperately need opinions of this
The following is a short story I am submitting to a contest and the granbd prize is some sum of money with at least two zeros after a one. PLEASE if you ever comment in here (which you do but especially now) do it in this entry.
Windbury-
May 23rd, 1962, 6:00 PM
Disheveled masonry cascaded upwards, the basis of a building, four stories high but not very wide. It was an old building, the little siding that was in the front was chipped and hanging off in some parts, cracked in others and it even appeared shredded, as if by claws toward the bottom. The house sat on a hill, the ground was ragged on the sides and roots poked out of them, they spread outward until they were too long and would snap into the ravine far below. Large stones sat in odd places, here and there, by the long driveway and by the steps, even off toward the edge of the cliff. The driveway was bumpy and after being neglected for so many years weeds grew all over, grasping at the once flourishing flower beds.
The Alexanders stepped from their 1960 Mustang, white all over with one blue stripe down either side, leather interior with red carpeting and dice hanging from the rearview mirror. The mister, a tall, blonde man with piercing green eyes and a medium build smiled proudly at the old manor and took his wife’s delicate hand, guided her around the front of the expensive car to stand at his side. She was a beautiful woman, her thick, long brown hair piled on her head in an elegant fashion. She had a lovely shape, visible yet not too obvious hips, a narrow waist and broad shoulders, her blue, radiant eyes scanned the house with slight disappointment but she smiled at her husband anyway, nodding in approval. They were young, rich and ambitious, powerful in position yet gentle as lambs, the young woman was well envied for her husband and he was well envied for his money and nobility.
Their names were Charles and Sarah, she born to the owner of a successful business, now influential, he born into the Kennedy family, or at least close, a cousin to John Jr. He did a lot of business with both John and Caroline and her husband, and the deals were solid, foolproof and brought in more money than anticipated every time, which was why he began to anticipate higher. She was more of an arm trophy, but she did tend to bring him deals, what with her charm and appeal, she was a dish to savor and now that they had been married 3 years, he intended to start savoring.
He led her inside to the foyer, a large, dusty, crystal chandelier hung above them, the floors lovely but dusty, as were the intricate oak stairs to the left. He took her lovely purple coat and hung it on the dusted coatrack, took his own and set it next to hers. He led her to the parlor, which had been dusted and cleaned, and the servants now were moving to the foyer. After he caught the look of appreciation and adoration in her eyes he led her to the ballroom, spick and span and absolutely breathtaking, the walls were covered in mirrors surrounded by gold carvings of tapestries. The red, velvet curtains cast a pink glow about the room, as they were closed and so he went and drew them open, she laughed with excitement and spun around the floor. He caught her up in his arms and after they shared a glance he brought her up and they waltzed about for a half hour, enjoying each other’s company.
Afterwards they went to the parlor and sat, were served tea and biscuits. After mixing cream and sugar into her cup, Sarah took a sip and set it back down on it’s saucer, gazed at her husband. “Charles, how much longer will it take to clean the place up?”
“Oh, I suspect,” he said setting down his cup and wiping his mouth on a napkin. “By tomorrow afternoon.” He smiled at her, slightly curious. “Why?”
“Well,” she said. “Before I tell you, do the telephones work?”
“Yes, yes of course, come on now.” She laughed and grasped his hands in hers.
“Why don’t we invite some friends over for tomorrow evening? We certainly have room, it can be a formal affair, only our closest friends this time what do you say?” She asked, her eyes pleading and excited. He smiled softly and leaned forward, kissing her softly.
“I can never deny you anything when you look at me like that.”
She smiled at him and laughed softly. “Only when I look like that?”
He chuckled. “No darling, only when you smiled afterwards and look like that.”
She too laughed and turned her back to him, then laid down against him and sighed. “I’m so glad you found this house, Charlie. I think this is the first quality time we’ve spent with each other in ages.”
“No politics for three weeks.” He grinned and kissed her left temple. “I have you all to myself in this big, luxurious, lavish wonderful house.”
She smiled. “So, uh, what’s our room like?” She leaned her head back to look at him mischievously.
He grinned and lifted her, carried her up the stairs and to their room, where they would not emerge from until the very next morning.
May 24th, 1962, 7:00 PM
The next evening had come quickly, the afternoon had swum by and the house was now completely clean, not a speck of dust not a bit of dirt, just lovely hardwood and marble floors, gold and crystal chandeliers and velvet draperies. Lovely tapestries were hung and the carpets cleaned. Sarah went into the kitchen just as the guests were arriving to collect the larger tea set that had come with the house, and she was disappointed to see the cups were not with it. She sighed, set the silver tray down and went out into the foyer, where all the guests stood talking to each other, she greeted them, Mr. And Mrs Cockwren, their old neighbors, Ms June Applegate, Sarah’s cousin, Mr. Samuel Owens, her fiancé, Mr. And Mrs. Houstan, friends and Mme Beauxfois, Charles uncle.
She smiled lovingly and took her husbands hand, raised the back of it to her lips and kissed it. “I’ll be back, I’m going to see if I can find some tea cups.”
“Oh no you don’t,” he said with a grin. “Not before a dance!” He swept her up into the ballroom, where the guests followed and immediately the small orchestra began playing. They waltzed to the song, spun and slowly moved to the lovely harmony when she tugged away.
“All right, we’ve danced.” She kissed his cheek. “The sooner I find them the longer I’ll be here.” He nodded and sent her off, when she was in the hallway she paused to thick of where there might be some old things of the previous owners and she sighed, going to the steps, the only proper place to look was the attic.
Once up the rich mahogany stairs she crept up into the dank, dusty attic, the only untouched part of the house. Her purple gown trailed after her, sweeping up some of the dust as she quietly walked around, her fingers twisted together before her, her sapphire eyes gazing all around at the old nick knacks and what-nots. She paused as she caught a large, old cedar chest to the left. She turned the corner and went to it, carelessly knelt and pushed at the lid, it creaked and opened, she was thankful it hadn’t been locked. She didn’t even remember her quest as she gently lifted the lone, leather bound book from its wood captor, she just ran her small pale fingers over it’s face, wiping away some dust. She opened it to the first page and blew on the paper, revealing the neat scrawl of a man. She read the seven words quietly to herself. “This is the journal of Joshua Windbury.” She looked down to the corner and softly read. “Book 3.”
She opened to the first page of writing and sat back on her heels, silently reading over the mans account of his last night living in the house. She did not notice the door lock, nor the figure that had watched her moving about, the figure that had gazed longingly at her and in her deep interest, she would not hear the screams below her. She just read and read and read.
June 21st, 1959
Elizabeth died last night, here in our bed, a young, pure angel torn by a devil. That devil being cancer of her young fruitless breast. Her long, brown hair was spread over the pillow, her face was gleaming with sweat and she was clutching at her chest as she wheezed for breath. Oh I do not want to stay here but I must, we laid her to rest in the back and I cannot bear to completely part with her. I can still feel that hair, curled from the pins and ways of styling in my hands, still hear her laugh, still feel her breath on my throat. Her hands, her lips her arms. They all float around me as they rot in a shallow grave. I cannot bear the pain, I so dearly want to end my life, I want to rest beside her and hold her in my arms in God’s Kingdom, but I must look over the house, this house which she loved so dearly. This house that I shall never leave.
Sarah frowned and shook her head, running her fingers over the neatly written, mournful words. “I wonder what ever made him change his mind.” She whispered, then deciding to find out, turned the page. To her complete shock it was dated that morning and the words caused her to drop the book and gape at it. Her hands shook as she read it over and over and over.
Sarah, come down the stairs now, come see your guests.
Frightened and curious she stood, forgetting the tea cups completely. She shook her dress a bit, releasing some of the dust from it’s silk hold and then made her way to the door. She froze as she gazed at it’s rich gleam, when had she closed it? She slowly reached out and grasped the knob, twisted it and felt panic rise in her heart. When had she locked it! “Oh Lord,” she whimpered, her arm shaking as she tried again, desperately wanting the knob to turn. “Please,” she whispered. “Oh please open, let me out!”
Suddenly the door flung open and she stumbled out, looking around and feeling her breathing quicken as she saw no one had opened the door. Music was coming from downstairs and she remembered the party. Slowly she descended the stairs and made her way to the ballroom, and though she didn’t know why, her heart thudded dully as she reached out to open the glass and wood doors. She flung them open, listened to the way they slammed against the walls, felt a cold rush of air hit her, air that smelled funny and froze, her heart beating wildly now and her breath coming more quickly than ever. No one was in the room.
She stepped in slowly, the orchestra was gone, a piano played in the corner, a piano that sat, it’s ebony and ivory keys rolling around in a lovely, haunting melody. A piano that had no one sitting at it. Shaking she took one more step in and froze as something warm and wet hit her back and slid downwards, liquid. Shaking she stepped forward once more and turned, looked up and cried out as she saw June and Samuel, strung up from the ceiling, both throats slashed and gaping, blood dripped down into a puddle on the floor that she had not noticed. Pip, plip, plop. It dripped rhythmically.
Trying not to scream she backed up into something and spun around the see Mme Beauxfois, standing behind her. “Oh aunt Marie.” She said shaking. “Is everyone else all right?” She reached out, touching her arm and sending the old woman to wobble slightly, causing her decapitated head to fall off of her shoulders, sending Sarah into a shrill scream. She looked to the piano, playing a more vigorous tune to see the Cockwrens, sitting at it with no arms and deep gashes in their foreheads. She spun to the opposite corner and saw the Houstans, sitting on the floor, a deck of cards nearby and a set in their hands, above their bleeding severed legs. Terrified and crying forcefully because of it one thought came to her mind and she uttered it painfully. “Charles!”
The lights went out for no more than two seconds and when they came back on all of the bodies and were gone as was the blood. Shivering she turned around and saw her husband sitting in the corner. His eyes were open and he was smiling at her, no trace of blood on his body. “Charles what have you done?” She moved to him and shook his arms. “Answer me! Why in the South of France did you kill these peop- oh!” He bent forward limply and revealed the long knife, protruding from his back. She began to weep violently when she heard footsteps and she froze, the lights went off again, and she heard her husband’s voice.
“Three years now I have mourned the death of my wife in this house, alone and not cared for, unpitied and ignored.”
“What are you talking about Charles? I am your wife!” She snapped. “This is a very sick joke!”
“Oh but you’re wrong, Sarah . . .” He breathed her name and the lights flicked on, she stared at him as he stood in the doorway. “I have roamed this house and these grounds, gone to her grave, cried in our room, and then a man came here, Charles Alexander, he wanted to buy my home from me, and all of the land. Including my wife’s grave.”
“Charles stop . . .” She cried, burying her face in her hands, still compelled to listen.
“I told him I was not interested, but he was determined to buy this house for himself and his young wife, Sarah Alexander. When again I turned him down, he made up a fake deal, and some papers and the house was transferred to his name, illegally and wrongfully. He and his wife moved in a month later. I planned to kill them both that night but I was struck by his wife’s beauty, and how she looked almost exactly like my wife Elizabeth, and this woman was sweet, she read my journal and felt pity for me, she cared that I was hurt. So I killed her husband and killed their family and friends.”
Horrified and grief stricken she listened to his cold, unfeeling words and stood on wobbly legs, went as quickly to the door as she could, only escape rung in her mind, she had to get away from this man that could make Charles voice come from him and who could assume his form, dizzy and tired she froze at the door, her hand pressed tightly against the frame.
“Sarah . . .” He called, his voice different now. She looked back to see a man, around Charles age, maybe just a bit older, he was handsome, thick brown hair and deep brown eyes, high cheekbones but a sad, lonely expression. The words in the journal ran in her head and compelled her to move to him, her right arm outstretched. Once close enough she took his hand and grasped it tightly, he took her left hand with his also and they just stood, staring at each other, tears in both’s eyes.
“Come,” he said softly. “It is late, you should rest.”
“But,” she said softly, afraid again. “Where did the others go?”
“Why you silly,” he said, kissing her cheek. “I didn’t kill them here! I tossed them off the cliff!”
Finis