Haunted Past Reason
Prologue
Authors Note: It's been a while since I have posted any updates to my works or any new work in a long time. There are many reasons for this, the primary reason being work. It takes a lot of energy to write stories, the same amount as pushing a row of 10 shopping carts up a parking lot. I hope to get back into the game more actively. For fans of 30 Days and the Club Room Trilogy, don't fret, those will be updated as soon as possible. Until then, enjoy this little tidbit of Hetalia fiction. Pleasant dreams- Steve
The lake house stood off the edge of a gravel driveway that extended into the woods, and out onto a county road. Alfred Jones pulled his Lexus in front of the log and brick structure just as the movers slid open the door to their truck and began excising the furniture that had made its way from his home in Upstate New York. The move was necessary. His Manhattan head shrinker, that looked like Woody Allen and sounded like Piers Morgan had told him that he needed to escape from whatever hell that had existed in his stately home.
Alison had left him; he was assured of that fact. Alison was his wife of 5 years, 5 years that were like a rollercoaster at Coney Island, only once it went downhill, it kept going. He certainly wasn't expecting her to miscarry after five months their first child; the doctors had assured them it would be a healthy pregnancy. Then again he didn't expect to find her brains splattered against the wall of their bedroom either. He blamed himself for both, and they served as primary reasons why he hadn't put out any new work in the three years since. Meanwhile his agent was trying to assuage his publisher that he was working on something, leaving him frantic messages and trying to shoo away gossip hounds who said he was a recluse on the brink of suicide.
Stepping out of the car he pulled off his sunglasses and looked at his surroundings. He had a great view of Lake Erie, unspoiled by urban sprawl and enough privacy that someone who would want to snap a picture of him unshaven and in a bathrobe would have a hard time finding him. The utilities were set up in advance, making sure he had Wi-Fi to operate his laptop and any sort of device needed such a connection, the power was turned on, gas and water were ditto as well. As the men hefted the desks, bookshelves and other household brick-a-brack he took in the house. It almost seemed like a log cabin on steroids, complete with a sliding glass door that lead to a raised deck and as many rooms as a large mansion in The Hamptons. Walking up the steps he opened the door making sure to stay out of the movers' way. His hard soled loafers made a clicking sound on the polished hardwood.
"This is epic!" He said.
"Hey Mr. Epic," A mover said, "Ya gonna sign these papers, me and my boys got shit ta do." The man said. Alfred grabbed the clipboard and signed his name. The man tore a copy off for him and gave him a salute. Alfred sat down in a leather recliner and looked around him. Boxes filled the large foyer, the scent of the woods was in the air, and peace was in his heart. He stood up and clapped his hands together. It was time to unpack.
James stared at him from around a corner. He knew the young man couldn't see him, no one could really. The new occupant of the house looked like a fine specimen. Blond hair, a little tousled and messy, piercing blue eyes hidden behind round spectacles, and a nice muscular frame. It had been a long time since someone had lived in this house, longer than James had been around as a human. He could barely remember how he had ended up in this state. It was 1945 when he left this realm, but he did not go to heaven. He had expected to, his upbringing had told him that he would. Yet here he was, wandering about this house for a purpose unknown. Yet something drew him to this man, something that burned into his soul like a hot iron. He had a need to possess this man, not like an item but to take his body over and meld his consciousness into with the young man unpacking books. He had no clue why. The reason had left him a long time ago as did his past life. Suddenly he heard a wet slapping sound. James felt the dread overcome him, one of the girl things had found him again.
"I won't let you do it; I won't let you have him." The girl said, a piece of flesh sliding off her arm and slapping on the floor. She was wearing a blue dress, her hair pinned up with small smears of blood in the blond locks. James had wondered where she had come from. There were many of these girl things, some white, some African, a few Asian and Hispanic, all of them in some kind of evening gown, all rotting. James closed his eyes and shook his head, hoping to erase her from his vision.
"You need to pay James; you need to pay for what you did to us." The girl said. James closed his eyes tighter and shook his head more violently. Images flashed before his mind. Candle lit cellars, robed figures, a book bound in black leather with a strange star ensconced in a circle, all flashing at rapid fire pace.
"GO AWAY!" James shouted. He opened his eyes, and noticed the girl was gone. Meanwhile the young man had walked over to a window that had blown open in the fray. He closed it, none the wiser and completely oblivious. Just like the others.
Kiku Honda stood at the counter of the bookstore checking out the Sherriff, who had come in to buy a new book. Sherriff Lamar Grey always stopped into Books-N-Things to peruse the Sci-Fi section in hopes of finding a doozy to read while he was on breaks or relaxing at home. Today he had found copies of Arthur C. Clarkes 2001, 2010, and 2061 the first three books in his Odyssey series. Grey was probably one of the few locals, aside from Morris Anderson, who ran the local movie house, who had seen 2001: A Space Odyssey and enjoyed it as a work of art rather than some odd sci-fi flick. Lamar was definitely not the image many people had in mind for a Sherriff of a rural Ohio county on the edge of Lake Erie. Poised, educated, definitely at home in a library as he was in the local diner or the watering hole where the "Good Ole Boys" would show up en masse to get drunk, listen to Hank Williams Jr. or Brooks and Dunn out of the ole Wurlitzer and talk about " that Muslim in the White House" . He went to church on Sunday, helped out on volunteer projects, donated to local organizations like the local United Way, and Relay for Life. He was an all American guy with a worldly brain, a man of two worlds. As Kiku began to ring up the Sherriff he engaged in small talk. They talked about the Indians and if they were going to make it to the World Series, Ohio State hopefully being able to ride 2012's unbeaten season into a 2014 BCS title, and the recent Oscar nominations. As Kiku handed the Sherriff his change, the Sherriff began discussing the town's denizens.
"Ya know, I think hell is gonna freeze over tonight, Kiku old buddy." He said.
"Why is that?" the diminutive bookstore owner asked, puzzled.
"Ya know where the old Grant Farm is offa County Road 209 is?" The Sherriff said.
"The one near the lake? Yes I know. What about it?" Kiku asked.
"Some rich fucker from New York bought that damn lake house. Ya know the one those hippies from San Francisco bought and tried to make a winery before they ended up in the state hospital?" Grey said. Kiku knew exactly what he was talking about.
"I hope he has good insurance and a decent shrink." Kiku said. Both men laughed. The Sherriff walked out the door, chimes ringing in his wake. Kiku stared out into the unseasonably warm January day. He knew it would be a matter of time till whoever had bought that house would go mad. That land was bad, real bad. He just hoped that he wouldn't get dragged into whomever lived there's madness, he really didn't want to have to explain the blood on his shirt to the dry cleaners again.
TBC