Death in the Shadows

ColleenMichael gently backed Lindsay away from the door before closing it. He held her tightly until the tears subsided. It took a while. Eventually, when she was calm, Michael pulled away and gently lifted her head so he could look into her eyes. Lindsay wouldn’t look at him.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry,” she said.

“It’s alright, I guess I came just at the right time. You needed someone.”

Lindsay took a deep breath and let Michael go.

“I’m not sure if there will ever be a right time again.”

Michael led her to the sofa and sat down next to her taking both of her hands in his.

“Living through something like this isn’t easy. Believe me, I know.”

“I lost all of my friends,” she whispered, “that’s bad, but there are other things happening. It’s getting worse, much worse. I think the dead are coming back for me!”

She sobbed again, her whole body shaking. “Maybe it’s a good thing. Why should I be the only one left alive?”

Michael put his arm around her “Come on now, you are alive, and you should be grateful.”

“Michael I think I’m losing my mind. I keep dreaming about my best friend Mel, and when I wake up the dream lingers, I see her. Her awful burned face haunts me. I saw her in the interview room at the police station.”

“It’s stress and nerves. You feel guilty because you survived. It’ll pass.”

“No, I don’t think it will.”

“Lindsay, it will, I’m sure. Let me tell you something about my brother, he….”

“I don’t want to hear about your goddamn brother right now. I’m scared and I haven’t finished,” she spat the words out and Michael jumped, alarmed at her ferocity.

Lindsay picked up the pad from the floor and dropped it on his lap.

“Barbara, the young police woman, told me to write down my fears and emotions because I refused to see a shrink. Go on, read them.”

“Okay, this seems reasonable, I’ve heard of people doing this before, it usually helps.”

“Michael read the last line.”


“You’re asking for help.”

“I didn’t write that.”

“Who did?”

“I had another visitor, a young woman with an Irish accent.”

“What, just now, before I came? Who was she?” Michael asked.

“I don’t know, I never saw her face, only heard her voice.”


The room grew colder again and the shadows deepened.

The whispering began, it surrounded them “Michael, Michael, Michael. I see you……Michael where is he, where’s your brother. Where’s John, where’s my Johnny boy?”

Michael froze.


Try my novel Dead of July. Available as an ebook or paperback on Amazon.

Dead of July by Sandra Thompson



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s