The Lady In Red

"The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window..." Xavien paused for a moment to catch each and every one of his friends who sat around the campfire; his bronze face half cast in shadows while his lips curled into a wicked grin.

"Come on, don't stop there." Said Samantha in a small voice as she wrapped her arms around herself. "We heard about Brandon Lockhart. Didn't his wife sell her soul to the devil?"

Xavien clicked his tongue just as the flames lowered in the gentle breeze. "Quiet. I'm getting there. Brandon stared deeply into the flickering flames that turned into nothing more than rubbish at his feet. He'd done this everyday since his wife passed away in 1992 from lung cancer.

His heart nearly jumped from his chest and into his lap towards the thought of her. He couldn't bring himself to forget those phantom cries of his wife from years ago.

It was November, 15, 1992 when she begged him to poison her. Being the coward that he was, he refused. He'd been too terrified to relieve her of her pain and suffering, and the thought of raising their fraternal infants by himself hadn't made it any easier.

One of them, the baby girl, had their mothers eyes, the deepest color of green anyone could possibly imagine. The other, the boy, favored him: dark hair and blue eyes.

Hell, Brandon even remembered what happened the day after he refused to murder his wife. A red haired woman with plump lips showed up at their hospital room. Room 202 to be exact.

There was something odd about the way she moved, the way her icy blue eyes shined as if it were an endless abyss of secrets and lies. From the time he'd first seen her, he gave her the nickname hell on heels, the she devil clad in velvet and satin.

His wife had been asleep that day, and the woman closed the door behind her. At first, he thought she was a nurse because she wore a skirt and a button-up dress shirt. But when he asked for the update on his wife, she seemed to glide, nearly hover towards him as if gravity had no effect on her slender body.

"I'm here to make an offer." She had said.

An offer? He thought that woman was insane. He didn't want no bloody offer while his wife was over there hacking up a damn lung. He wanted her better, happier. He was unable to open his mouth, so he rose a brow in question.

The woman lifted her head and said, "If you give me something, I'll allow your wife to live. That's all I'm asking."

"Ya lie!" Brandon had yelled, furious. "How dare you come to me on the account of bullshit? Get. Out."

The woman had only grinned, her red stained lips pulling back to reveal her surprisingly white teeth, sharper than a fine point to a sewing needle. "Don't waste my time." She had said. "Yes or no? Then I'll take my leave."

What would anyone would've done? He was desperate. Desperate to have the happiness he tasted years ago. So without thinking, like a damn fool, He told her yes." Xavien lingered for a moment, the wind raking through the branches of the woods that surrounding them, casting petrifying shadows on the ground. "Then she said,

"I want what no human would possibly give." Her ice blue eyes locked on Brandon's. It sent tingles up his arms and a lump formed in his throat. Human, as if she weren't.

Despite the lump that had formed in his throat, he told her she could take whatever it was she wanted. That's when she had told him it was his soul. Surprisingly, she never took it. Brandon never felt any different.

She had only smiled and left that night, and the next day his wife had gotten better. Then the day after that, she died after screaming, "why'd you do it Brandon! Why'd you do this to me Brandon!"

He remembered how the nurse's thought he'd killed her. But why would he kill his own wife? He loved her dearly. But had he truly murdered her? Would it have been better for him to shoot air up into her veins as she requested?

Brandon kept thinking over the years, had that lady made her better, then snatched her away from him purposely as if it were some test?

He remembered his wife's eyes had been glistened over, hard and beady like those lifeless deer's that hung from someone's wall. They said, Why'd you do it to me Brandon? Why'd you make a deal with the devil? Don't you love our children, do you want them to live alone?

A knock came at his cabin door and tore Brandon's eyes away from the fire. He waited, but no one said a word.

"Who is it?" He called out, partially turning within his recliner chair.

No reply.

"Hello!" He called out again, tightening his hands around the armrest of his chair. Brandon despised being interrupted whenever he was deep in thought.

Another thud vibrated the wooden frame of his door, knocking a few portraits off the ivory painted wall across from him.

That's it. Brandon pulled himself to his feet and stormed towards the door, opening it with a yank. Although he had opened his mouth to give someone a piece of his mind, there was no one, only the still darkness of night greeted him. It was moonless outside in the woods, and the wind knocked a few branches from the trees. Maybe it had been a branch that slammed into the door?

Brandon took one last glimpse around, then eased the door shut. When he turned around he jumped in place.

"Daddy." His daughter said, eyes as beautiful as an evergreen tree. She came just up to his waist.

"Damn it. You scared me baby girl." He finally released the trapped air in his lungs as he closed the door behind him. "Hey, I thought I told you to go to bed?"

"I did daddy," her round green eyes stared towards the door. "But mommy told me to tell you we have to leave."

"What do you mean?" Oh God, He was going to have to have this talk with her, yet again. He couldn't count how many times they'd done this for the past year.

"We already talked about this. Mommy is in a better place, okay?" His fingertips brushed a few strands of hair behind her little ears as he fought the frown that threatened to etch its way over his lips.

Little Sam shook her head and jutted her bottom lip out. Damn, her arms were shaking like a railroad track whenever a train was coming.

Brandon's forehead creased with worry. "What's wrong?"

"Mommy said it isn't safe, and I'm scared." She fidgeted with the sleeve of her Elmo shirt.

He'd have to play along. The therapist told him that kids who were without a second parent often made things up to feel safe whenever they were scared. "What's not safe?" Brandon ran an open hand across her back soothingly.

"Here. Mommy said the woman that wanted your swoll is at the door."

Swoll? Had she meant soul? Brandon's body tensed, and his heart practically leapt out his throat as he whipped around and locked every last latch on the damn door. Slowly, he turn around.

"Wh-who told you that!?" He placed both his hands on her shoulders, shaking.

"Mommy!" She said, terrified by the way he was acting.

"Come on now girl, don't be lying." He lowered his voice, using that fatherly tone that often worked towards making them speak the truth.

It dawned on him. "We're you in my journal!" Brandon raised his tone a notch. There was no way his wife said anything to her. She was dead, dead in the cold soil beneath his feet, buried years ago. Brandon didn't believe in ghosts or spirits. After all this time, why now? After all the years he told her to say something, show that she'd be watching, and she hadn't, why now?

"I'm not lying." She hiccupped back tears, her cheeks filling with hot air. Her face was redder than an orchid apple.

"You are. Now take yourself upstairs and go to bed. And stay out my journal, ya hear? Those aren't for your eyes." Brandon warned, steering her around by the shoulders and directing her towards the base of the stairs. She huffed, tears glistening in her eyes as she ascended.

A twinge of guilt buried deeply within his chest. "Baby girl?"

She stopped at the top of the stairs. "Yes daddy?"

"I'll be up there in a minute, and I'll read you a story about your mom. Alright?"

Her small heart shaped face lit up real bright. "Okay," she grinned. "And I'm sorry for reading in your journal." Sam said before she skipped off to her room.

Brandon halfheartedly smiled before he headed back towards the fireplace to sit and reminiscence on all the years that had gone by. When he said those vows about 'to death do us part', he never thought It'd be so difficult, so heart shattering whenever there was a goodbye. Never again would he see the smile that meant the world to him. Never again would he awake in the wee hours of the morning and whisper 'I love you' in her ears.

His mother had told him, when you die, you are nothing more than rotting flesh beneath the earth, being eaten by maggots. No one remembers you, she said. The only things they remember you by are what you've done and the people you've left behind. But since his wife had died, he'd done nothing but wallow in hell and slither like the snake in the garden of Eden.

To the terrors that never left him, he drifted to sleep, only waking to the sound of his son crying and tugging on the sleeve of his Jean jacket. "Daddy! Daddy!" He wailed.

What now? Brandon yawned and wiped the sleep from his eyes while he shifted against the cushion of his recliner. After sitting upright, he leaned over the armrest and looped a toned arm around his sons waist.

"Wh, what's going on! What's wrong little bud?"

"There's someone on my ceiling daddy! It keeps singing ring around the Roses."

"Son ple--" In mid-sentence, the soft tune caressed his eardrums like a wave crashing against a jagged shore. Within that moment, his body went cold, cold like when you'd stand amid a raging storm, cold like when you knew someone or something was inside your house and around your kids, telling them things they shouldn't know. Secrets that were long buried and should've stayed forgotten.

"Where's your sister?"

"Upstairs with the lady." He whispered out.

Brandon gripped his son by the shoulders and pushed him back into the recliner chair. "Stay here. Don't you go nowhere."

Deep down inside Brandon was terrified too. It took all his will power to stop his hands from shaking as he ascended the stairs. Just as he reached the narrow hallway, the worn radio in his old bedroom turned on somehow. A song his wife often played drowned out the eerie whistles and singing from his sons room. He remembered the lyrics, they went: I see her face everywhere I go. On the street and even at the picture show. Have you seen her? Tell me have you seen her? Oh, I hear her voice as the cold winds blow. Why did she have to leave and go away?

Just as he mouthed the song and reached the end of the hall, it stopped, yet the static picked up.

"Bran-doooon."

He froze, her voice, the woman in red.

"What do you want!?"

"You know what I want." A girlish giggle echoed from all around. Once it had stopped, a portion of the ceiling above formed a dark spot as if something in the attic had spilled. Droplets of it dribbled down. Each one rose from the floor, pooling together into a dark, skinny figure. It's snapped back by the waist, legs rotating backwards as it descended onto all fours against the lush carpet.

Brandon willed his legs to move, willed himself to run, and he had. He reached the stairs, skipping step after step until he tripped and stumbled down. As he rolled, he caught a glimpse of the contortioned figure crawling as if it were a monkey on the ceiling. It's jagged teeth leaked goo against his face.

Right when he went to scream, his head slammed against the hardwood floor bellow, plunging him in darkness.

"What happens next?" Samantha asked, eyeing the others around the campfire, her eyes wide.

Xavien leaned forward, his lips tugging wider in a grin. "He jumped awake, but he hadn't been on the ground. Was it all a dream?

A knock came at the door.

Furious, Brandon stood up and swung it open. "What the fuck do you want from me!?"

The lady that lived next door stood in the doorway, eyes wide, hands trembling. "I'm. I'm sorry. I thought I heard screaming and crying. So I wanted to check on you and the kids."

Kids? He blinked. "Do you think I hurt them or something?"

"No, I--"

Brandon's eyelids narrowed. "Get the hell away from my door. Now." He snapped.

The old woman nodded her head and took off without another word. Good, Brandon thought as he closed the door. It probably was her this entire time, acting stupid. Are you and the kids okay, he repeated inside his head while he walked back towards his recliner chair and sat.

His hand reached out towards the table at his side, lifting a glass of whiskey to his lips.

Two knocks came at his cabin door, then the creaking sound of it opening drowned out all the thoughts that swarmed within his mind like a moth to a flame.

"You know why I'm here?" She asked in nothing but a low purr. His hand tightened around his whiskey glass, heart thumping against his ribcage. It was her.

"Of course love." He forced a smile to form across his lips, fingers trailing along his chest where his heart was supposed to be. It was said that's where ones soul lied.

Within a blink of an eye, she stood before him, dressed in nothing more than a red dress that clasped to her figure like a second skin. Her dark Crimson eyes lit up with excitement, red hair shimmering in the orange glow the fire offered.

"You." She whispered, mouth against his ear.

Brandon tensed. He knew what she wanted, but what more could she take? "I've given you everything. What more do you want?!"

Bending at the knees, the devilish woman moved, resting her hands against his thighs to rake black nails across his jeans. "I'm here to give it all back. But," She rose once more. "For a price."

Anger boiled his skin, and before he knew it, he smashed the glass against the table and pressed one of the shards against her throat. "I've learned my lesson. No!" He screamed so hard his veins popped up in his neck. It hadn't been a dream. "Where's. My. Kids?"

Laughter tore from her mouth. "Not even for your dear wife?" She countered, ignoring his question as her eyelids narrowed dangerously.

"My, my wife?" his voice lowered, hand dropping at his side. "You can bring her back?"

"Of course my sweet Brandon." She tangled her fingers within his dark locks, and when he clenched his teeth and said no, she threw him clear across the room.

He slid across the hardwood floor and crashed against the wall.

"I've given you everything you asked for, and yet you still won't give me your soul!" She hissed. The fine strands of her hair rose, lashing around like miniature tendrils.

"You've given me nothing but pain and misery. And. And now you want my children, don't you?"

Her body levitated like the first time he'd seen her. She spiraled upward, floating further away as the fabric of her dress whipped around her legs. "No." She giggled, peeling the wallpaper with her sharp nails. "But I will if you don't give me what I want. We never completed the deal. You never gave me your blood."

Brandon's mouth hung open while he forced himself to stand, using the wall as support. "No!"

This time, he leaped towards the cabinet by his bookshelf and tore it open. Inside lied a rifle. Brandon plucked it up and aimed towards her, sending a round of bullets into her flesh. It hadn't worked. They popped out as if it were nothing.

"Ouch. You can't kill me. So just give me what I ask for?" The lights flickered.

"Where's my kids!" He roared over the sound of thunder.

"As you wish. You'll see well enough. " The room plunged into darkness.

Brandon groped the walls with his hands, in search of the light switched, when he flicked it on, he let out a strangled cry.

"No, no, no. Please God, why?!"

Against the floor were his children, bullet holes in both their foreheads and their small bodies. They were lifeless like an animals carcass, lying there with the same eyes their mother had. Eyes that asked, why you do it daddy? Why'd you let the woman get me? No, Why'd you kill us daddy.

He dropped the gun and ran towards them, snot pooling down his nose as he scooped his baby girl up. Her head fell limply to the side. "I'm so sorry." He whispered, sniffling.

Setting her down, he then lifted his son, blood smearing across his hands and shirt. "Bud! Bud!" He cried out. "Bud?" This time his voice came hoarse, cracked, and fading.

Brandon eased him down and stood up. He picked his gun up. "Where are you, you bitch!?"

"Over here." She said from beyond the front door.

Brandon charged across the room, tore the door open, and aimed. But instead of being met with the lady in red, it was a police officer.

"Thank goodness! Help me, my kids!"

"Sir," The cops eyes went wide. "Put the gun down!"

"No. You gotta hel--"

BAM! He felt the bullet tear through his chest, severing muscle and tissue as it exited his back. He fell to the floor, panting, wheezing. The lady in red stood over him, grinning. Then finally, he took his last breath." Xavien ended the story and Samantha screamed when another one of their friends gripped her by the shoulders from behind. "And now that cabin, they said each year upon the time of his death, it lights by itself in their window."