Oh Susanna! Don't You Cry for Me
By Tori Wells
I was breathing bricks. I stared at the body crumpled in the crawlspace of the closet in complete horror. Time seemed to have frozen momentarily for me. But for the deceased person before me, time has forever frozen and all they will ever see out of those blank unseeing eyes is the darkness of the crawlspace. I couldn't breath, my mouth had completely dried up, and my heart hammered in my chest, so loud I thought it would wake the dead. I wish I'd never opened the photo album.
It all started with a picture. My friend Alice and I had been going through one of the old dilapidated photo albums in my attic. All the photos were sepia in tone, aged. They held pictures of stern looking men and women who seemed they didn't know the meaning of fun.
Underneath each picture, labeled in the perfect script of my deceased Grandma Helen, were names such as Aunt Mary-Ellen, and Cousin Billie-Joe. Alice and I took turns laughing at these titles because they all sounded as if they came from the Deep South or even the mid-west. I even learned I have a Great Grandma Susanna. When Alice read this name aloud I broke into song singing, "Oh Susanna, don't you cry for me!" Both of us fell about in a fit of giggles.
The photos of Great Grandma Susanna followed her throughout her childhood. In the sepia pictures of her, she always appeared with a stern man. This man towered over her. I thought that if you pulled him out of the picture he'd be about six feet tall. Alice for some unknown reason drooled over the pictures of this man. He was slim with dark hair, beginning to thin out, dark eyes, though I'm pretty sure all eyes looked dark in black and white, and a hard look on his face. His mouth was set almost in a permanent frown. I found this creepy, Alice adored it.
"Diana I don't know how you can resist him, he's so…yummy!" I frowned at Alice.
"Dude, he's like fifty something." I retorted. Alice smiled and turned the page.
"He reminds me of Mr. Devons, god he was hot!" Alice squealed. I raised an eyebrow.
"Mr. Devons was like a dinosaur." But Alice's eyes had already gone back to the photo album. I rolled my eyes. "Explains why you passed math even though you suck at it." I muttered. Alice smacked me without lifting her eyes from the page.
"Diana! He's gone! So is Susanna, I can't find them anywhere." Alice began to flip frantically through the book, dying for a look at her middle aged hunk. I snatched the book up from her, so she wouldn't destroy it in her terror.
I flipped back to the last picture of Susanna and the man, whom we could never locate a name too, and examined it. Susanna was about mine and Alice's age, about sixteen. She sat in a chair, in a simple plain white dress that dragged down to her feet. Susanna's curls flowed down and framed her angular face perfectly. Her high cheekbones and bone structure promised great beauty with freckles. The man stood behind her with his left hand upon her right shoulder in a protective way. Susanna was not smiling or looking at the camera, instead she was frowning off to the side while the man was scowling directly at the camera.
I turned the page and stared at nothing. I frowned. There were pictures here a moment ago. I saw them and their dull tones.
"Uh, Alice, did you take the pictures out of this?" I asked as I flipped through blank page after blank page. Silence answered me. I looked up and around the dim attic. "Alice?" I questioned. I thought she was hiding behind one of the many trunks crowding the small space. Still silence.
My heartbeat began to quicken, and slowly I set down the now blank album. I crawled over to the opening which lead down into my bedroom closet I thought that Alice had maybe gone downstairs for a drink or to bug my mother as to whom her mystery hunk was. I laughed aloud at how paranoid I was going over my friend missing. I mean, all be damned this is my own house!
I clambered down the ladder hastily to find myself in my own closet amidst what should be my racks of clothes. It was empty. I laughed again, this time shakily. I said aloud, "Very funny, Alice. Where are my clothes?" I looked around and notice the closet door which lead to my room wide open, and something else caught my eye as well. My breathing completely froze. A large trail of blood snaked its way from a pool of blood on my own hardwood floor into the closet and even past where I stood now.
I wanted my body to run, but instead against my own will I turned to find out where the blood lead. In the very recess of my closet a small compartment was visible, that normally was covered up by a large piece of plywood that I always thought was haphazardly placed, now I realized it had been prepensely place in that exact location.
Within the crawlspace I could see the beautiful white dress of my Great Grandma Susanna, stained red. She sat in the crawlspace, bloody and unmoving looking just as she had in the last picture, minus the obvious dead look. Her bright orange curls were crusted with blood at the tips where they dipped into the mangled mess that was her chest. Lying with her in the small space was a bloody hatchet.
Murdered. That's why the pictures stopped. Susanna had been murdered. I tried to turn and run but I stood, rooted to the spot, scared, yet not shaking. A large hand clamped down on my shoulder. Bloody and calloused. My eyes widened in horror as I let out a whimper. It was the hand of the man in the picture.
I screamed.
"Diana! Diana! Why are you screaming?" Alice's voice reached my ears. I stopped screaming and looked around. I was standing in my closet, staring at the plywood in the recess of my closet. I picked the hammer I used to nail in my small shelves and ran back to the plywood. I ignored Alice's complains of my behavior and wedged the claw sided part of the hammer between the wall and the edge of the plywood. I yanked hard and nothing happened. I whimpered to myself and yanked again, this time it popped loose at the top. Dropping the hammer, I latched my fingers around the non nailed parts of the plywood and pulled hard.
The plywood pulled completely free of the wall and I flung it to the side. A musty old smell reached my nose. Like the smell of the old photo albums upstairs. I pulled up the crawlspace door and was graced with a scream from Alice. Within lay the bones of my Great Grandma Susanna, still clothed in her bloodstained white dress. The hatchet lie next to her, exactly in the same position I saw it before. Tears welled up in my eyes and my heart ached at the sight.
My mother came rushing up with Alice behind her just as I trudged my way out of my own closet. My radio sung to me, and only I seemed to hear it, "Oh Susanna don't you cry for me."
I looked up in the doorway, to see the same man again from the pictures. He was holding a hatchet, and smirking at me. "Susanna can't cry anymore. But she did cry real well. Let's see how you do." And he raised the hatchet and let it begin a deadly arch towards my own bright orange curls.
Just like Great Grandma Susanna.
©Tori, The Little Black Sheep
By Tori Wells
I was breathing bricks. I stared at the body crumpled in the crawlspace of the closet in complete horror. Time seemed to have frozen momentarily for me. But for the deceased person before me, time has forever frozen and all they will ever see out of those blank unseeing eyes is the darkness of the crawlspace. I couldn't breath, my mouth had completely dried up, and my heart hammered in my chest, so loud I thought it would wake the dead. I wish I'd never opened the photo album.
It all started with a picture. My friend Alice and I had been going through one of the old dilapidated photo albums in my attic. All the photos were sepia in tone, aged. They held pictures of stern looking men and women who seemed they didn't know the meaning of fun.
Underneath each picture, labeled in the perfect script of my deceased Grandma Helen, were names such as Aunt Mary-Ellen, and Cousin Billie-Joe. Alice and I took turns laughing at these titles because they all sounded as if they came from the Deep South or even the mid-west. I even learned I have a Great Grandma Susanna. When Alice read this name aloud I broke into song singing, "Oh Susanna, don't you cry for me!" Both of us fell about in a fit of giggles.
The photos of Great Grandma Susanna followed her throughout her childhood. In the sepia pictures of her, she always appeared with a stern man. This man towered over her. I thought that if you pulled him out of the picture he'd be about six feet tall. Alice for some unknown reason drooled over the pictures of this man. He was slim with dark hair, beginning to thin out, dark eyes, though I'm pretty sure all eyes looked dark in black and white, and a hard look on his face. His mouth was set almost in a permanent frown. I found this creepy, Alice adored it.
"Diana I don't know how you can resist him, he's so…yummy!" I frowned at Alice.
"Dude, he's like fifty something." I retorted. Alice smiled and turned the page.
"He reminds me of Mr. Devons, god he was hot!" Alice squealed. I raised an eyebrow.
"Mr. Devons was like a dinosaur." But Alice's eyes had already gone back to the photo album. I rolled my eyes. "Explains why you passed math even though you suck at it." I muttered. Alice smacked me without lifting her eyes from the page.
"Diana! He's gone! So is Susanna, I can't find them anywhere." Alice began to flip frantically through the book, dying for a look at her middle aged hunk. I snatched the book up from her, so she wouldn't destroy it in her terror.
I flipped back to the last picture of Susanna and the man, whom we could never locate a name too, and examined it. Susanna was about mine and Alice's age, about sixteen. She sat in a chair, in a simple plain white dress that dragged down to her feet. Susanna's curls flowed down and framed her angular face perfectly. Her high cheekbones and bone structure promised great beauty with freckles. The man stood behind her with his left hand upon her right shoulder in a protective way. Susanna was not smiling or looking at the camera, instead she was frowning off to the side while the man was scowling directly at the camera.
I turned the page and stared at nothing. I frowned. There were pictures here a moment ago. I saw them and their dull tones.
"Uh, Alice, did you take the pictures out of this?" I asked as I flipped through blank page after blank page. Silence answered me. I looked up and around the dim attic. "Alice?" I questioned. I thought she was hiding behind one of the many trunks crowding the small space. Still silence.
My heartbeat began to quicken, and slowly I set down the now blank album. I crawled over to the opening which lead down into my bedroom closet I thought that Alice had maybe gone downstairs for a drink or to bug my mother as to whom her mystery hunk was. I laughed aloud at how paranoid I was going over my friend missing. I mean, all be damned this is my own house!
I clambered down the ladder hastily to find myself in my own closet amidst what should be my racks of clothes. It was empty. I laughed again, this time shakily. I said aloud, "Very funny, Alice. Where are my clothes?" I looked around and notice the closet door which lead to my room wide open, and something else caught my eye as well. My breathing completely froze. A large trail of blood snaked its way from a pool of blood on my own hardwood floor into the closet and even past where I stood now.
I wanted my body to run, but instead against my own will I turned to find out where the blood lead. In the very recess of my closet a small compartment was visible, that normally was covered up by a large piece of plywood that I always thought was haphazardly placed, now I realized it had been prepensely place in that exact location.
Within the crawlspace I could see the beautiful white dress of my Great Grandma Susanna, stained red. She sat in the crawlspace, bloody and unmoving looking just as she had in the last picture, minus the obvious dead look. Her bright orange curls were crusted with blood at the tips where they dipped into the mangled mess that was her chest. Lying with her in the small space was a bloody hatchet.
Murdered. That's why the pictures stopped. Susanna had been murdered. I tried to turn and run but I stood, rooted to the spot, scared, yet not shaking. A large hand clamped down on my shoulder. Bloody and calloused. My eyes widened in horror as I let out a whimper. It was the hand of the man in the picture.
I screamed.
"Diana! Diana! Why are you screaming?" Alice's voice reached my ears. I stopped screaming and looked around. I was standing in my closet, staring at the plywood in the recess of my closet. I picked the hammer I used to nail in my small shelves and ran back to the plywood. I ignored Alice's complains of my behavior and wedged the claw sided part of the hammer between the wall and the edge of the plywood. I yanked hard and nothing happened. I whimpered to myself and yanked again, this time it popped loose at the top. Dropping the hammer, I latched my fingers around the non nailed parts of the plywood and pulled hard.
The plywood pulled completely free of the wall and I flung it to the side. A musty old smell reached my nose. Like the smell of the old photo albums upstairs. I pulled up the crawlspace door and was graced with a scream from Alice. Within lay the bones of my Great Grandma Susanna, still clothed in her bloodstained white dress. The hatchet lie next to her, exactly in the same position I saw it before. Tears welled up in my eyes and my heart ached at the sight.
My mother came rushing up with Alice behind her just as I trudged my way out of my own closet. My radio sung to me, and only I seemed to hear it, "Oh Susanna don't you cry for me."
I looked up in the doorway, to see the same man again from the pictures. He was holding a hatchet, and smirking at me. "Susanna can't cry anymore. But she did cry real well. Let's see how you do." And he raised the hatchet and let it begin a deadly arch towards my own bright orange curls.
Just like Great Grandma Susanna.
©Tori, The Little Black Sheep
Look for me by moonlight
Watch for me by moonlight
I'll come to thee by moonlight
Though hell should bar the way
‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡
1/4/07-Best day of my life
Watch for me by moonlight
I'll come to thee by moonlight
Though hell should bar the way
‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡
1/4/07-Best day of my life
