Horror Stories from Horrified - Volume One (2)

?I know dear , and I am sor r y. What w ould you like me to do??
I know the w or ds I must say, but I dar e not speak. Ever y second, ever y tur ning
minute is like a lifetime in this r oom. I do not want her to go.
She must go so that I can live. But I cannot live w ithout her.
?I love you, Mum.?
?I know , dear. I love you too.?
?You have to go, Mum. You have to leave.?
The r ippling silhouette of light that sits w ith me at the kitchen table nods its head.
?Yes, dear. I?ll be on my way now. Goodbye, love. Look after your self.?
Awake. My eyes ar e open. I am sitting at the kitchen table, alone and in the dar k.
A mug w ith yellow letter s the colour of daffodils is held betw een my hands. I hear
the sound of keys in the fr ont door ; Dad must have taken the long way home in the
car. I r est my hands betw een my shaking finger s, and for the fir st time in w hat feels
like year s, I sit and w eep soft, silent tear s.
I visit the gr ave later that month w hen I find the str ength to do so. I go alone, w ith
a handful of daffodils w r apped in cr inkled cellophane. I stay for a w hile and talk. I
imagine how Mum w ould r eply; it comes easier to me now. Then I dr ive home in
the car , and the r adio is playing Avalon.
About the author
The Somnambulist Society write stories, prose and poetry based on dreams and
the twilight hours before sleep. They are based in Hackney, London, and enjoy a
decent coffee and a nice view of Abney Park cemetery.
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