©Jessica Duru
I sat thinking of when my next job would come. I'd just been sacked with no reason given or even a hint. It was a big blow but it seemed God wanted it to be… else it wouldn't have happened.
I dreaded the words that kept ringing like it was never going to stop—you're fired!
All I could hear.
While sipping the hot cocoa I had made for that evening, I tried to separate myself from the voice but it kept coming.
Letting out a groan I knew was that of frustration, I sipped my cocoa again and brought the mug down at the sound of the doorbell. "Who's there?" I stood up as my ears captured the sound.
"P-please—p-please. Please let me in." it was a female voice. An angelic one as at that.
I rushed to open the door, seeing a teenager, yay high, shaky and half terrified, from my observation, smiling faintly at me with hands and feet trembling; I quickly let her in, ushering her to the sofa, as she sat, getting ahold of my cocoa like she owned it, gulping it down in seconds.
Burp—
Ooh—I smiled deep down, seeing how cute she looked, though it was unmannerly belching in such way.
She asked for my name and I told her.
"Jacob—"
She smiled.
She seemed pretty shy. Well, that made me love her even more.
Love? I grinned like an idiot, uncertain about what it was. Could it be?
Her voice rolled in. "Are you alone?"
It sounded weird hearing her ask. "Yes," I gave a short reply. "Is there something you'd like?" I went further to ask.
She seemed interested staring at me. Her eyes could almost make holes on me if they were given a chance.
I couldn't help blushing—of course men do blush. Who was this girl, and what was her motive here? she looked strange.
She wasn't one of the neighbourhood kids, that I was certain about. Who was she? I couldn't help voicing out my thoughts. "Who are you?"
Her lips curved halfway. "Why so inquisitive?" she asked, first time not being shy.
"I told you mine, didn't I?"
She gave a chuckle, a blush coating her cheeks. "Can I have a glass of water, please?"
"Huh?"
She repeated, "A glass of water, Sir?"
I frowned, relaxing my face again.
Making for the refrigerator, I got out a bottle and shut it back. I walked back to where the girl was, handing her the bottle as I watched her open it and take the content in.
I was surprised at how fast she drank it all. Poor thing. She must have been really thirsty—or worse.
"Abigail—"
"Hm?"
"Abigail—"
The sound of her name got chills up my spine.
Her voice sounded cold—
Unusual—
I didn't like the feeling. It seemed as though there was something hidden. Something I needed to know—
"Jake?"
"Oh no!"
"What's no?" Abigail looked at me. "You gotta hide. You gotta…"
She disappeared as I froze.
"Jake!"
"M-Miranda…"
"What in the world took you so long?"
I gave no answer.
"Hm. I thought I heard you talking with someone?"
I brought my lips together and forced them to spread giving a not so genuine smile. "What are you doing here?"
She took off her jacket. "What am I…?"
"I mean… how are you here?" I tried not to sound nervous. The thought of Abigail being a ghost still shook me. I couldn't tell my girlfriend all about it. She'd freak out.
"You smell cheap," she sniffed in my direction. The living room really had this smell I found hard pointing.
"So, um, how did you get here in the snow?"
She replied, "Oh, Jake darling. You know I'd do anything just to see you." she giggled and moved towards me.
Deck the halls with boughs of holly
Fa la la la la, la la la la
'Tis the season to be jolly
Fa la la la la, la la la la
Don we now our gay…
"Hi ya!"
"Abigail?" I couldn't believe she was standing right next to me.
She smiled in her usual way, not feeling shy like before, as I asked her what she was doing here.
"I came to see you. Missed ya!" she rubbed my arm as she said. She looked jolly unlike before. I was loving the mood. Are you really a ghost—I made to ask—but stopped. It was crystal clear that she was one. Didn't need a seer telling me.
Or anyone!
I wanted to ask why she chose to see me that day but my mind wasn't letting me. There must be a reason, I thought. Although I was happy seeing her, I was a bit scared.
"Mm-hmm." I cleared my throat and spoke: "You're cheery today. What's the secret?"
She looked at me. "I am?"
I smiled. "You are."
She giggled and rubbed my arm again. "I just love the sweet smell of Christmas."
I watched a sinister smile appear.
"What's with that?"
She got her lips back to normal.
I didn't bother asking further as she said it was nothing. The choristers finished and the priest took over as she got up.
"Where are you going?" I whispered but she walked, unheard. "Come back," the people seated beside me were looking at me as though as I was one weirdo. "Heh!" I laughed and relaxed again. Where is she going? I watched as she moved to the priest's side. I was curious to know what was it she wanted to do. If she was really a ghost like my mind had made known, how was I able to feel her? I couldn't understand how.
Watching her fingers click, the priest dropped dead right before my eyes.
The whole congregation was plunged into chaos. "Somebody call 911!" everyone was running helter-skelter
I could do nothing but watch, clamped to the spot.
No one could see her but me.
Turning around like one who was in a runway show, she was out of sight.
"What have I done? What was I thinking?" My mind wasn't at ease. Abigail was not just a ghost. She was a murderer!
No—
"Hi ya!"
"Who are you?" I was seated in my living room when she came. My mind kept replaying what had happened in the church. St Andrews church was shut down as a result. Though temporarily, I doubted people would ever want to go there because of the terror witnessed.
"What's your mission?"
"My, you ask too many questions," she chuckled, making to sit beside me.
"What do you want from me?"
She arched her brows and questioned, "Again with the 'wh-s'? Why are humans so inquisitive?"
"Like you weren't one?"
She cackled and crossed her legs. "You really want to know who I am?"
I swallowed at her question.
"Like I said I'm Abigail," she tilted her head to the side, looking as though she wanted to study me.
Fuming hard, I made to say—
"Shh—" came rigid, chapped finger on my lips, stopping me.
"I am Hazel," she came clean. "Hazel Dardar."
My jaw dropped open. "You're joking!"
"But I'm not,"
"You're not Hazel, are you?"
"Why, of course I am."
I was bewildered.
Hazel Dardar was a character in the book I used to read when I was nine.
THE SLAYER QUEEN—
Hashtag Hazel Dardar!
How can a fictional character be much real?
Hazel wasn't a ghost.
She was…
"HAZEL DARDAR!"
My mind was read perfectly.
"Hazel?" I called. "Hazel?!" I called again to be sure.
Spreading her arms, she said, "The one and only." She smirked.
I found it hard believing. If she was really Hazel, how—I was knocked out immediately.
×××××
"Wakey wakey,"
"Mm… where am I?" My head hurt real bad.
Hazel was staring at me. She had this creepy face, making her look like a clown—a female clown!
She was just as the author had described.
Clown face—
Ponytails—
She was malevolent, though my favourite story villain.
In the novel, Hazel had died from a terrible plague. Having been abandoned by the people she loved, she grew cold and cursed all men. Just before she died, she swore never to let them rest. And as she did, she took her final breath—
"Oh, you're really going to love this,"
"Love?" I muttered weakly. "Where am I?"
"Nowhere you should be concerned about."
"What do you want with me?"
"Oh, quit it already," she said.
"What's that smell?" I coughed hard, almost choking.
"Death's smelly feet." Her sarcastic reply sent shivers.
I knew I was going to die. Hazel meant trouble!
"Release me!" I demanded. "I demand you release me now!"
Her Royal Evilness cackled instead.
Why does she always do that?
"You're really funny, you know that?"
I smirked. "I'm glad you're finding my predicament funny."
"Do you always have to reply?"
"Why are you yet to kill me?"
Miranda's voice came in at that minute. "Jake—"
"Miranda?"
"Jake—"
"Miranda!"
Hazel continued with her silly cackles.
"Jake? Jake—" Miranda was staring at me. "Jake, what in the world…?"
"Miranda!" I hugged her tight, glad she was there.
"What on earth…?"
"I'm so happy to see you."
She pulled away. "Thought you were mad at me?"
"Oh, forget it, baby. Mm. Come here!" I hugged her again, not wanting to let go this time.
The doorbell rang, interrupting. Squeezing my face, angry it actually was, I let go of my girlfriend and made to answer it. "Be right back." I told her and left.
I couldn't believe I was dreaming all along. Must have fallen asleep on the sofa. My! One hell of a dream that was, I shook my head and opened the door.
"Brownies?"
It was her.
Hazel showing up in front of my doorstep was one jolting move—and disastrous.
Walking in like she owned the place, she surveyed the area, rolling her eyes at me, as she shifted them to cut at Miranda.
"Baby, who is she?" Miranda made towards us. "And ooh, is that brownie I smell?" Miranda rubbed her hands with excitement, fixing her eyes on the girl, as she made to slip her arm under mine but stopped.
"You didn't think you were dreaming all along?"
Miranda asked. "Hm?"
"You sure weren't thinking that, were you?" a villainous smile took control of her lips.
Hearing the chandelier dangle, looking up at the ceiling, the chandelier moved and settled above Miranda, coming loose immediately as it broke free.
"Huhahaha!" Hazel cackled with all evil gaiety, seeing blood splatter on the once clean tiles.
"Miranda!"
"I'm only beginning,"
I gaped as she clenched her fists in the air, clamping me to the spot.
Trying to wiggle free, the box she held pulled open to reveal millions of roaches, coming right at me.
"That's right, my pets. Go to daddy!"
I screamed, seeing them climb up; some finding their way to my ears, while some moving freely into my nose. "Ahhh!"
"I love the sound of tasty bloods—" I heard her say as I dropped on the stained tiles.
Hazel woke me up and I found myself tied to the dining chair—with Christmas lights.
"Christmas lights? Really?"
"Oh, baby, you know how I love the holiday tradition,"
I could only chuckle as she went on.
I was weak to think how I was able to survive the roaches invasion.
Remembering Miranda and the awful way she was squashed, a tear broke free, rolling quietly down my face as I gave a soft sigh.
She would have been spared if she was nowhere near me. This is all my fault.
"Oh, no, no, baby. It's not your fault at all."
I gasped, staring at Hazel. "How did you…?"
"Of course I can read minds!"
"But the author never made it that way,"
"Oh, there are some things you wouldn't understand," she said. "But there are some you need to know."
I watched with brows arched. Seeing her move in the opposite direction, I wondered what she was going to do.
"Do you have a knife?"
I sat dumbstruck. "A what?"
"A knife. I'm sure you heard me right." she said with teeth clenched.
"What—what do you want a knife for?"
"You'll see when I get it." She disappeared into the kitchen.
"D--n. There are some things I need to understand,"
"Found it!" she reappeared, showing me the knife she found.
"A butcher's knife?"
She signaled to me to shush.
Getting my lips sealed, uttering no word, I watched her come to me, hoping she wasn't going to use the knife on me.
Seeing her lower it, making it almost touch my face, I shuddered and yelled, holding my breath back, as she gave a mad laugh and withdrew. "You should have seen your face,"
I asked again, "What do you want from me?"
She placed a finger on her lips and thought with a hum. "Well," she got her lips void and made to say, "I just really love tasty bloods that catch the eyes."
"But I was nice to you,"
"You were being nice cause you thought you could get inside my pants."
"What?"
"Yes… Jacob. I saw the way you were looking at me." she rolled seductive eyes at me, running her fingers on the edge of the knife. "Am I really attractive?"
I scoffed. "You? Attractive?"
She aimed the knife at my chest.
"Ah!"
"I swear, Jacob, you really don't know what you're in for—" she said, making towards me, with her shoes making click-clack sound.
"A nice way to treat your fan, huh?"
"You're no fan—" she pulled the bu–her's knife out as she said.
"I was a fan,"
She smirked. "Well, what happened now?"
My mind went back to when I was nine:
"Daddy, can you buy me another series of the slayer queen?"
"Jacob, you know your dad can't buy you that…"
"But why?"
"That book's not for you to read. I wonder why you keep reading it and getting yourself so engrossed!"
"But mum…"
"Jacob, your mom's right. You should be reading healthy things and not stories to get your imaginations all tied—"
Mom and dad had stopped me halfway. I was one who loved scary tales—reading the slayer queen then was a good way to show my friends that I was ready for anything.
Hazel Dardar was top notch. Everyone in 8th grade, who was a fan of horror, knew her for what she was.
Then I was in 4th grade, but had already gotten intrigued by horror stories and looked forward to writing one myself.
Maybe it was my obsession that got me into this. Maybe—just maybe.
"So why did you stop being a fan?"
I groaned at the stinging pain brought about by the butcher's knife. "Hm?"
"You made use of past tense, meaning you're not a fan again,"
I said, "Answer my question, and I'll answer yours."
She licked her lips on hearing me. "Ah, so that's how you wanna play?"
"Answer my question," I coughed, looking down at my chest. I could see the blood perfectly; didn't need a seer telling me that I was going to die if the wound was left open for long. "Hazel, you have to treat me."
"Treat you?"
"I'll bleed to death if this wound's left untreated." I coughed again, letting blood trickle out from the side of my mouth.
Groaning again, I tried to wiggle free; a sharp pain cutting across my chest as I cursed under my breath.
"Huhahaha!"
I couldn't understand any of this.
Was Hazel real?
Was she unreal?
I needed someone to clear my mind.
"That's right, baby. This is exactly what I want you to think." Hazel's voice came invading my thoughts, as I wished to awaken from this horrible dream.
********
The clock was slowly ticking. With the blood dripping from the place where the knife had settled, I could tell there wasn't much time left. "Hazel…"
"Still here,"
"Hazel, please let me go," I was too weak, though I managed to make out words.
The ticking sound of the clock coupled with Hazel's noisy shoes made me not want to be there.
Sweating profusely and shivering at the same time, I got my eyes closed, already weary, praying my soul would be accepted.
"Jake. Jake! Jake, open your eyes—"
My eyelids slid open halfway, making me aware of my dead girlfriend.
"Jacob,"
"Miranda—"
"Jacob, you need to stay awake. You need to stay awake or else you'd die for real."
"B-but I'm already dead…"
"No, you're not, Jacob. You can beat her. There is a way."
"A way?"
"Yes. A way—"
I was wide awake again.
Feeling the sharp pain cut across again, I groaned slightly, biting my bottom lip, as I looked up at Hazel and asked for water to be brought.
"Huh? Water?"
"Water." I muttered weakly, groaning really hard.
"You're not finding a way to escape, are you?"
I scoffed at her dumb question. "How can I possibly escape when I'm tied and held a prisoner?"
She scoffed right back and made to grant my request.
Seeing her out of view, I hurried and struggled to get myself freed.
Not being able to, I sighed, relaxing again, seeing her come.
"Here," she offered like a saint. "Drink slowly." she brought the cup closer to my mouth as I looked at her, then made to drink.
Slam—the glass cup came on my face. "You didn't think I'd be nice, did you?"
I groaned, unable to feel the side of my face the glass had smashed into bits.
The stinging pain was much more worse. Worse than the pain my chest emitted.
Not knowing what else to do; whether to sigh or cry, I asked if I could go pee, as Hazel replied with a smirk.
"You know, you're really one smart man,"
"Hazel, why won't you just kill me?" I asked, not being able to hold it anymore.
Being in Hazel's den was like stepping on hundreds of hot coals. The cleaver which she had used on me was glistening with blood. Making towards me again, with it lifted half up, she chuckled maniacally, licking her lips as she drew nearer. "You really want to know why I haven't killed you yet?"
"Enough!" I yelled, clenching my fists in fury. "Why don't you cut the act and tell me what you really want with me?"
Her eyes went to the bloody edge of the butcher knife, then it lingered on me. "I'd like to tell you a story,"
"I do not want to hear…"
"Really?"
I gave no response but kept mute.
Seeing I hadn't given an answer, she walked back to where she had come from and flicked her fingers in the air as a majestic chair appeared.
"Great. More tricks."
"Thought you were weak from the injury caused?"
I mumbled a reply and looked away.
"Good." she had heard me loud and clear.
Saying I was still inflicted, I thought she was going to respond but instead got just that.
"Ready for my story?" she got herself relaxed on the chair. Giving me no chance to reply, she began—
"Long ago,"
I interrupted with a groan.
"Can you please be quiet?" she arched her brows and made to continue.
Hearing the buzzing sound of a bee—bees—I looked around to see hundreds of bees forming a large circle atop me; an image like that of a screen coming into view.
"Mama. Papa…"
"Do not touch me, you cursed child! I will not let you infect me!"
"But mama…"
"My own parents abandoned me—" she heaved a sigh as she narrated. "I thought they were going to come back…"
I made to say—"…you're just a character—" but kept shut. Gulping, almost getting the lump in my throat fully down, I listened as she told her story, which I'm sure she knew I already knew.
"Well, I'm sorry," my lips managed to move. Not knowing what else to say, I looked down at my chest again, feeling slightly irritated by the sight of my blood. Looking back at Hazel again, I found out she had been staring at me, with her lips moving, though not giving any word.
I was lost. For a moment, I couldn't understand what was going on, plus my head was spinning—or was it everywhere?
Seeing the whole place spin and get my eyes all turned, I was back on the sofa; free and uninjured, with Miranda by my side.
"You're a good man, Jacob," a voice got me looking backwards. "You deserve another chance."
A bright light blinded me as I had a hard time seeing our visitor well.
The living room was quiet again. With things all set and back to the way they used to be, I couldn't help but my smile, turning to my girlfriend.
"Jake, what happened?"
It was something hard to explain—all I could say was; "We had a horrible nightmare, that's what." I wished she'd believe and not go questioning, cause even I found it hard to tell.
****
The next day was a Saturday. Miranda and I had chocolate pudding for dessert. While we were at it, a knock came on the door and guess who came inside?
"Hazel?"
"Merry Christmas, Jacob." She walked inside, not causing any trouble.
"Hazel, how are you here?"
"I can come and go at my freewill," she giggled and flashed Miranda a smile. "You're sure looking dashing!"
I looked at her from head to toe. "I thought you weren't coming back?"
Miranda broke in. "I'm sorry, do I know her?"
It seemed Miranda had lost a memory of her.
"You can't remember?"
"Oh, let's not walk down memory lane," Hazel shook her head as she signaled to me to drop the remainder. Acting like one's who's never been at the mansion, she asked nicely, for a glass of water.
"I'm sure liking this Hazel," I didn't know when I said out loud.
Hazel had gotten herself comfortable on one of the sofas; Miranda making to sit.
Seeing the two chatter like nothing had happened, I couldn't help but smile, feeling pleased all that had gone on was nothing but a forgotten dream.
It was December 25th afterall. A twisted December in all Decembers.
Oh, how I'd tell my story one day, though I'd never get the people to understand.