We Were Right About Magic

Nola {horror}

"This novel is absolutely beautiful, Sara," said Mrs. Sands, placing her hand over Sara's, "and it's brave, too. We obviously don't know how exactly this feels and how you both have survived it through the years—but this? This is a brave move and we're so proud of you. And you too, Simon."

Her husband, Bill, nodded at Sara and Simon, "We're sure that Nola, wherever she is, would be proud of this."

"Thanks, Bill. We appreciate your kind words," Simon gave a pained smile.

Sara nodded, wiping a tear from her eye. "We sincerely do. It's been fifteen years since Nola went missing, and we decided that maybe publishing her story in her honor would give us the closure we needed."

"We hope it does too," said Mrs. Sands.

Over tea and cake the group of friends chatted about the old days, happy days, but still an air of sorrow hung about the room. The clock ticked like a leaky faucet on a cold night.

"My word, we've lost track of the time," Bill said, "we have to go now or we won't be able to catch our train."

"Oh, dear, that's true," Mrs. Sands picked up her purse from beside her.

"Thank you so much for coming," chorused Simon and Sara together.

Immediately after the Sands couple left, the parents looked pointedly at one another and let out long breaths.

***

Ring.

Ring.

Sara set down her tea mug and walked over to the phone, wondering who could be calling this late at night.

"Hello?" she said.

There was nothing but heavy breathing on the other side of the line.

"Hello?" Sara said once more, suspecting that it was a prank call. But right before she was about to put down the receiver, a silvery smooth voice floated across the line.

"Hello, Mama. Remember the pillow game?"

Sara went cold, a slow but fierce chill spreading through her bones as her brain strained to registered who the owner of the voice was. Slightly shivering, she put the receiver face down on the kitchen countertop.

Simon walked in with a stack of books and a duster for their bookshelf, when he saw Sara staring at the phone and shivering like she'd just seen a ghost. Or better still, heard one.

"Sara?" He placed the books down on the table, "what's the matter with you?"

He walked towards her, his eyes on the phone, "who's on the line?" He asked. When she didn't answer, but remained shivering with her eyes wide as saucers, he picked it up from the countertop and held it to his ear to see what the problem was.

"Um, hello? Who's this, please?"

Heavy breaths came, and then the same buttery voice, "Daddy. It's me, Nola. You forgot me in the river."

"Fuck!" he exclaimed with a start, nearly throwing the phone down.

"What the hell?" He stared at Sara for a few seconds, then slammed the phone down. Sara crumpled to the floor in slow motion.

"What—what was that?"

"You're asking me?" he breathed out his words hoarsely. "But she—this can't be happening. It is a stupid prank by some kids who heard our story."

Sara let out a choking sound, "I felt the life leave that girl with my own hands. Could she have faked it? Even if she somehow survived, you did finish the job, right?"

"Shut up! You've always been too emotional about this," Simon slammed his fist on the table.

"This is just a prank! I smashed her skull and the body was washed away. I won't say it again."

"So, who the fuck—" Sara stood up and ran her clammy hands through her hair, "—was that?"

Me.

It was as soft as the bleat of a newborn lamb, but as menacing as the voice of the Devil himself. Perhaps if they had heard it with their ears, they would know how to react; but this was a whisper that somehow landed in their minds without the assistance of the physical realm.

Sara blinked and walked towards her husband, clutching his torso like a lifejacket, "Simon. Simon! Did you—"

"I heard it," now, he was shivering too. He stared into the blank space around them.

I am not afraid of you anymore.

Sara gave a sharp squeal as the disembodied voice slipped into their consciousness again.

Simon swung into action.

"Come on, Sara," he said, grabbing her hand, "I don't know what the hell is going on here, but we have to get out of here."

They were headed towards the front door when right in their sight, the door's deadbolt turned and locked itself firmly.

Be not afraid of those who can kill the body, but not kill the soul. So I fear you no more.

"This isn't real!" screamed Sara, clasping her hands to her ears as the insidious voice became louder and less disembodied, "leave us alone!"

"Who are you? And what do you want from us?" Simon said in a calm voice that surprisingly did not betray how extremely fearful he was at the moment.

You know who I am. You're my parents.

"Our daughter is dead!" shrieked Sara.

I want from you what you took from me, came the voice.

Life.

Simon walked slowly towards the shelf, holding Sara behind him. Then he reached for his baseball bat and held it combat style.

"Leave us alone," he echoed his wife's pleas.

Then there was a loud, guttural shriek of laughter, that seemed to draw even closer than before.

What will you do? Kill me again? I am not afraid of they who can kill the body, but not the soul. I know how to destroy the soul now.

Then from the hallway emerged huge puffs of smoke, pure white and scentless. With the smoke came the figure of a tall teenaged girl, her hair ruffled and stained with dark red blood; as was her face. She had on a tattered old night gown, and only half of her face was still covered in flesh; the rest had her broken skull exposed and dull with the years.

This time, Simon and Sara could not as much as make a sound. Their dead daughter Nola stood before them, clothed in the stale glory of death.

***

The TV, which had remained on for a couple of days, played the news with no one to watch it. The voice of the news reporter floated over the gloom of an empty house, hollow and loud.

"The bodies of a middle-aged couple have been found drowned at the bottom of the McWay Fall, and their heads appear to have been smashed. Police are still investigating the incident, as they also appear to have been victims of quite a brutal strangling. Members of the public are encouraged to come forward with any information leading—"

A pale, slim hand picked up the TV remote and pressed down the power button, extinguishing all signs of life—like blowing out a candle.