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TITLE (EDIT)
Fever Dreams And Memories |
DESCRIPTION
My first ghost story.
[649 words] |
TITLE KEYWORD
Mystical |
AUTHOR
Lawrence Peters |
ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
-
[April 2018] |
AUTHOR'S E-MAIL ADDRESS
dreaminmcqueen@gmail.com |
AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (30)
10:15 (Short Stories) A short story about fate and speed and the things that bring people together. [713 words] [Action]
And... (Short Stories) For Andrew, whether you like it or not, it's yours. written in Los Angeles, where writers go to become rich, lose every drop of their talent then die horribly in the gutter like Poe... thanks for show... [129 words] [Mystical]
Angel Turns Pro (Short Stories) A Paranormal Parable. [472 words] [Humor]
Baby Secrets... (Short Stories) Something you always want but should never have. [762 words]
Bog (Short Stories) A tip of the hat to the cousin's back o the hand. [387 words] [Humor]
Brooklyn Cowboy (Short Stories) - [2,364 words]
Eyes (Short Stories) For Parker. [339 words]
For B. (Songs) A song for my sister Betty-Ann on her 38th Birthday. [202 words]
Fortress (Songs) - [116 words]
Ghosts... (Short Stories) - [572 words]
God's Hiding Place (Short Stories) - [230 words] [Spiritual]
Gorilla (Poetry) - [169 words]
If But For A Moment... (Poetry) - [126 words]
Jacks, Or Better To Open (Short Stories) - [2,139 words]
Love X 2 (Poetry) - [101 words]
Once (Short Stories) For you. Always. [317 words]
Once Again, With Feeling (Poetry) - [134 words]
Papa (Short Stories) For one of the greatest there was. [473 words] []
Promise (Short Stories) For Monica. [355 words] [Humor]
Syberg (Short Stories) Part one of a science fiction story... [956 words] [Science Fiction]
The Day I Killed Ryan Watts... (Short Stories) Just a joke inspired by a fellow poet. [157 words]
The Dragon And The Tiger-Bob Gets His W.I.S.H. (Short Stories) Humorous wildlife adventure [1,614 words] [Fable]
The Last Song Of C S H (A Reprise) (Short Stories) If you need to know... [578 words]
The Last Song Of Cold Steel Heart (Short Stories) - [3,382 words]
The Stone: Man Or Myth? (Short Stories) Continuing story of a legendary childhood friend, which will be updated as time and the man honors. [1,956 words] [Adventure]
Time Enough For You (Poetry) - [103 words]
Waiting... (Short Stories) - [249 words] [Humor]
Waiting For The Rain (Poetry) - [118 words]
'fly (Short Stories) Freedom [426 words]
'ticement 18 W. I. S. H. (When I See Her) (Poetry) - [91 words]
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Fever Dreams And Memories
Lawrence Peters
Wimbledon, London, 1983
I couldn’t sleep and when I can’t sleep, I like to walk. In London it sometimes means you walk in the rain. Mind far away, one foot in front of the other, until I wandered far from home. It was my shivering that finally got my attention. Scanning the unfamiliar streets around me made even more foreign by the dark and wet, I saw a flicker of light from a window across the street. Welcoming, because it happened to be in the house of a friend. I felt a bit foolish. I wasn't seeking conversation, but shelter, when I knocked.
"Only crazy people would be out in this." she said as saw how drenched I was. "Then there's you. Come inside, and try not to bring so much of the outside inside, ok?"
I didn't want to move any further than the foyer; the look on my face was a burst of pleasure at the dryness, the heat of the room, and the warmth of her concern.
"A cup of TV and a towel, coming up." and she went off to get them.
I stood in the high-ceilinged room, and stared around me. I'd never been here before. Funny how you can know someone, but not set foot beyond the foyer of their place. We were "let's meet at the theatre" kind of friends.
Mindful not to drip on anything too expensive, I crossed to the center of the room, and did a careful slow turn.
It was a old place, you could see that, feel it in your bones, built on even older ground. The little architectural flourishes were still all around, buried under layers of paint but still there, still evident. No one had mucked it up too much in all the years people lived died made love and grew up and out of here.
I liked it.
I felt this kind of 'bump' from behind me but it soon turned into a cold tingly thing. I felt the passage of something through me. Through me, not brushing past my shoulder or against my legs, like a cat. Through.
I shook my head, and before me stood a man.
I could smell him on me. Coal smoke and other scents clung to my wet body from his passage.
His arm was cocked against the mantle, and the look of disdain on his face caught me the most. Dress from 16-something. Looked down at me from his great height, both in stature and social standing to where my feet dripped on the carpet, to my face where he leveled those gun blue eyes at me, saying with them "Look at this poor pathetic wretch I have standing here before me. In my room. How utterly sad. What has the world come to?"
Mindful of his sardonic scorn, I pulled myself together and stood my full height before him, straightened and smoothed my clothes and person unconsciously.
From the doorway she came, plate of cookies balanced with tea and a towel over her arm.
When I looked back over to where he had stood was a curl of smoke but there was no fire. He was gone, except for what he left with me, his scent in my clothes, which like him was soon gone.
I took what she offered and more, but it was a while later before I told her what happened. My hands were shaking too much to hold the tea, so I kissed her cheek, grabbed a few cookies and put myself to bed for what became a day. I had caught a fever that night and spent the next day sweating and burning and lost in my dreams.
I can smell the smell of him now, even after all these years, but now my nose can recognize that overall scent he left me with.
It was coal smoke mixed with the ashes of the charnel house, wet wool, and death.
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"freaky! nice to see you're still here ;)" -- pixie.
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COPYRIGHT NOTICE
© 2005 Lawrence Peters |
STORYMANIA PUBLICATION DATE
August 2005 |
NUMBER OF TIMES TITLE VIEWED
2705
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