Haunted
By Kourin Lucrece
Disclaimer: I do not own the story "Secret Window, Secret Garden". That can honestly be claimed only by the great Stephen King. The song "Haunted" belongs to Evanescence. I heard it the other day and it's been stuck in my head...
Author's Note: This fic is purely based on the short story in Four Past Midnight. I am sorry for anyone that disappoints, but that's how it goes. I'm posting it here because it seemed like the thing to do at the time. You have been warned; Mort dies in the story. Amy and Ted do not. Please review!
-
Long lost words whisper slowly to me
Still can't find what keeps me here
And all this time I've been so hollow inside
(I know you're still there)
Amy sighed and looked out the window at the rain pounding relentlessly on the glass. Even four months later, Ted's apartment was still foreign to her. When she woke up she still expected to be in her
(Mort's)
bed, homey and personal. She always experienced this moment of surprise when she found herself in a rather impersonal, bachelor's bedroom. There were no homey touches that she had collected, none of the antiques and heirlooms that had been the comforting décor of the beautiful old Victorian.
Lying there, listening to Ted snoring softly beside her, Amy often felt tears threaten as she remembered all that had occurred. She knew it was unhealthy, but still Amy just could let it
(him)
go. She'd been so empty since Mort's death. She had cheated on him, divorced him, pretty effectively cut him out of her life in that respect, but she still loved him. If only she had realized it sooner...
That day up at the cabin had been the most frightening of her life. Walking into the trashed rooms, Amy had been at a loss for what to think. The odd feeling of foreboding that had plagued her for weeks reached a peak, and Amy feared what may have happened to her ex-husband.
When she had found him, though, that was when Amy knew real fear. That cold hatred in his eyes... It hadn't been Mort in there and Amy had known it the minute she saw him, but nothing could have kept her from trying understand who stood in front of her in Mort's head with such menace.
(shootershootershooter)
When he attacked her... No, Amy wouldn't think of that and she rubbed defiantly at her eyes. She forced her gaze back to the rain and tried not to think any further of it. But her mind disagreed.
When Mort had been shot, there had been that moment of recognition as he fell. She still heard that pained, shocked whisper "Babe?" repeating itself over and over in her head. The hole in his chest had let go a single drop of blood, but Mort had fallen anyway and he wouldn't be getting back up.
(he's dead, il est mort)
She had known. She didn't want him to be gone.
Watching me,
Wanting me,
I can feel you haunt me down
Amy didn't quite accept that Mort was never coming back. It wasn't right; it couldn't be. Even when they were in the midst of their divorce, he wasn't gone. Mort was there at meetings, or just a phone call away. He could never deny that he loved her, even after what she had done.
(cheater)
Amy had felt guilty. She might not have shown it, but she had felt horribly guilty. It was worse now, though. She remembered feeling so low because Mort was always writing. He would be sitting at that typewriter, in the same room, but he was always so far away. It had seemed almost as though one of them had ceased to exist. But which one? And had they every existed at all?
Ted was real. Ted was very real, and that was why she had gone to him. He was ideal in every way. Young, handsome, intelligent and he cared for her. In her growing attraction to this new man, Amy had forgotten how much love still existed in her marriage.
Not long after she had begun seeing
(sleeping with)
Ted, Amy remembered one night she had been folding a set of sheets fresh out of the dryer. They had been warm and soft, and she had been unable to resist pulling the sweet smelling cotton up to her face.
As she pulled her hands down, she had seen Mort leaning against the door frame. His arms were folded across his chest, and he had just been watching her with a look of wondering adoration.
Unnerved, and guilty, Amy had snapped, "What? What are you staring at?"
Mort had obviously been surprised, but his smile returned and he said softly. "The most beautiful woman who ever lived."
She had blushed, but it had been one of the many sweet endearments he had said so casually over the course of her marriage. Somehow, Amy had always seemed to forget them when she saw Ted. Then, all she remembered was the tapping of the type-writer. She wanted to be real, for once. No more enchanted princess with her secret and magic garden. No more of the fae prince with the far-away eyes. She hadn't been content with their secret world in the old Victorian, where doors opened to passageways and windows showed secret worlds that only Mort could create. The little haven that had soothed many anxieties and breakdowns was becoming stifling in its coziness. Amy had wanted to find reality. Yet she had never mentioned it to her husband.
It was funny really. She still got those odd feelings. More often now, though, as though someone was watching her. The feelings were never bad, but when she turned around there was no one there.
(he's gone)
It hurt worse than anything to think that she would never see his smile again. Even before they had gotten married, Mort had been her best friend. He couldn't just be gone like that! Maybe, she sometimes thought, maybe he wasn't as gone as death implied. Amy was
(crazycrazycrazy)
sure that it was Mort that watched her. A part of her insisted that it was just her mind not wanting to accept his death. Another part of her knew that he was there.
Fearing you,
Loving you,
I know I'll find you somehow
Somewhere in her mind, Amy knew that the idea of her dead husband watching her should be frightening. Memories of how he'd almost killed her were frightening, but that hadn't been him. This was comforting, because it seemed as though she hadn't really lost him after all. It had taken her so long to realize that she really still loved him.
Her mind would rage about the unfairness of what had happened. She had set the whole thing into motion with her affair. Mort had always been slightly uptight, only really relaxing around Amy herself. In the time that they had been married, she had come to know and kind, intelligent and funny man. Her own prince charming, complete with a cat named Bump in lieu of a white horse. How could she have been dissatisfied with Mort? Ted was suburban perfect, Mort was fairy tales. Amy had
(killed him)
started the whole thing. Mort had definitely been slightly unstable after the whole fiasco over the movie. The hints of plagiarism being an issue had given him a nervous breakdown, for chrissake! Amy suspected that Mort may have once stolen a story from someone, but she knew it was something far back in his past that he wanted to forget. It was understandable that after that his books had been just that much more important to him!
The feeling of his gaze on her grew again, and Amy could not help but turn swiftly to hope Mort was somehow in the room. Someday, maybe, she would turn and he would be there. Until then, she had to find him in her memories alone. Choking back a sob, Amy pressed her forehead against the window.
The feeling of Mort watching her did not fade, but changed. There was an atmosphere of distressed sympathy and comfort in the room that Amy probably imagined. She remembered how much it had always pained him to see her cry. But she was imagining, he was gone and she couldn't follow. She was a scared little girl again, wanting only to find him. Then everything would be normal and good.
(Mort, where are you?)
Haunting you, I can smell you, alive
Your heart pounding in my head
A few weeks ago, Amy had finally gone through what remained of Mort's possessions in the cabin, cleaning everything out before the house went on the market. She had ghosted through the cabin, staring at the remains of a life she had helped build and destroy.
So many things she had helped pick out, laughing and cheerful, their arms looped about one another's waists. Everything had been arranged with such loving care, yet it lay about her in shambles. It had taken most of the day for Amy to pack up what she wanted to keep from most of the house. Ted had promised that he would come clean things up after she was done, but Amy still had one more room to go through.
The door to Mort's
(our)
bedroom had remained tightly shut the whole day. It had taken so much of Amy's willpower to go into that room and face the final proof that she had lost him for good. Inside the bedroom, however, it had been even harder to admit that fact. That one room had remained mostly untouched in Shooter's rage and the sunlight shined on things as though Mort would walk in at any moment. The whole room seemed infused with the warm and comforting scent of Mort's embrace. Amy could remember falling asleep in his strong yet gentle hold and breathing in a soft, spicy scent that belonged uniquely to her husband as she fell asleep. So many years in his arms...
There had been very little she managed to take from that room. A few of the things she had retrieved from the cabin now decorated Ted's apartment, but not much. Most of Mort's books and belongings were
(hidden)
stored in a closet, carefully stacked boxes among things like Christmas decorations.
(out of sight, out of mind?)
(never)
Amy sighed as she realized the sky was getting dark from something other than the incessant storm. The sun was setting somewhere behind all those dark clouds. Ted would be home soon. They would talk, eat dinner, and sleep as though life were back on track. It wasn't yet, but maybe... just maybe tomorrow she would wake up without thinking it was Mort's heartbeat she heard, her head pillowed on Ted's chest.
Maybe, but maybe not.
Fearing me,
I won't let you haunt me down.
Deciving me, Bringing me,
Watching me!
Watching me, Haunting me,
I can fear you haunt me down.
Fearing you, Loving you,
I won't let you haunt me down.
Watching me, Wanting me,
I can feel you haunt me down.
Fearing you, Loving you,
I won't let you haunt me down
-
Well, wasn't that a happy little fic? I apologize if the style is slightly awkward; I tried to do the style Stephen King uses, but it didn't work too well. I hope you enjoyed it anyway; tell me what you thought!! Thanks!
By Kourin Lucrece
Disclaimer: I do not own the story "Secret Window, Secret Garden". That can honestly be claimed only by the great Stephen King. The song "Haunted" belongs to Evanescence. I heard it the other day and it's been stuck in my head...
Author's Note: This fic is purely based on the short story in Four Past Midnight. I am sorry for anyone that disappoints, but that's how it goes. I'm posting it here because it seemed like the thing to do at the time. You have been warned; Mort dies in the story. Amy and Ted do not. Please review!
-
Long lost words whisper slowly to me
Still can't find what keeps me here
And all this time I've been so hollow inside
(I know you're still there)
Amy sighed and looked out the window at the rain pounding relentlessly on the glass. Even four months later, Ted's apartment was still foreign to her. When she woke up she still expected to be in her
(Mort's)
bed, homey and personal. She always experienced this moment of surprise when she found herself in a rather impersonal, bachelor's bedroom. There were no homey touches that she had collected, none of the antiques and heirlooms that had been the comforting décor of the beautiful old Victorian.
Lying there, listening to Ted snoring softly beside her, Amy often felt tears threaten as she remembered all that had occurred. She knew it was unhealthy, but still Amy just could let it
(him)
go. She'd been so empty since Mort's death. She had cheated on him, divorced him, pretty effectively cut him out of her life in that respect, but she still loved him. If only she had realized it sooner...
That day up at the cabin had been the most frightening of her life. Walking into the trashed rooms, Amy had been at a loss for what to think. The odd feeling of foreboding that had plagued her for weeks reached a peak, and Amy feared what may have happened to her ex-husband.
When she had found him, though, that was when Amy knew real fear. That cold hatred in his eyes... It hadn't been Mort in there and Amy had known it the minute she saw him, but nothing could have kept her from trying understand who stood in front of her in Mort's head with such menace.
(shootershootershooter)
When he attacked her... No, Amy wouldn't think of that and she rubbed defiantly at her eyes. She forced her gaze back to the rain and tried not to think any further of it. But her mind disagreed.
When Mort had been shot, there had been that moment of recognition as he fell. She still heard that pained, shocked whisper "Babe?" repeating itself over and over in her head. The hole in his chest had let go a single drop of blood, but Mort had fallen anyway and he wouldn't be getting back up.
(he's dead, il est mort)
She had known. She didn't want him to be gone.
Watching me,
Wanting me,
I can feel you haunt me down
Amy didn't quite accept that Mort was never coming back. It wasn't right; it couldn't be. Even when they were in the midst of their divorce, he wasn't gone. Mort was there at meetings, or just a phone call away. He could never deny that he loved her, even after what she had done.
(cheater)
Amy had felt guilty. She might not have shown it, but she had felt horribly guilty. It was worse now, though. She remembered feeling so low because Mort was always writing. He would be sitting at that typewriter, in the same room, but he was always so far away. It had seemed almost as though one of them had ceased to exist. But which one? And had they every existed at all?
Ted was real. Ted was very real, and that was why she had gone to him. He was ideal in every way. Young, handsome, intelligent and he cared for her. In her growing attraction to this new man, Amy had forgotten how much love still existed in her marriage.
Not long after she had begun seeing
(sleeping with)
Ted, Amy remembered one night she had been folding a set of sheets fresh out of the dryer. They had been warm and soft, and she had been unable to resist pulling the sweet smelling cotton up to her face.
As she pulled her hands down, she had seen Mort leaning against the door frame. His arms were folded across his chest, and he had just been watching her with a look of wondering adoration.
Unnerved, and guilty, Amy had snapped, "What? What are you staring at?"
Mort had obviously been surprised, but his smile returned and he said softly. "The most beautiful woman who ever lived."
She had blushed, but it had been one of the many sweet endearments he had said so casually over the course of her marriage. Somehow, Amy had always seemed to forget them when she saw Ted. Then, all she remembered was the tapping of the type-writer. She wanted to be real, for once. No more enchanted princess with her secret and magic garden. No more of the fae prince with the far-away eyes. She hadn't been content with their secret world in the old Victorian, where doors opened to passageways and windows showed secret worlds that only Mort could create. The little haven that had soothed many anxieties and breakdowns was becoming stifling in its coziness. Amy had wanted to find reality. Yet she had never mentioned it to her husband.
It was funny really. She still got those odd feelings. More often now, though, as though someone was watching her. The feelings were never bad, but when she turned around there was no one there.
(he's gone)
It hurt worse than anything to think that she would never see his smile again. Even before they had gotten married, Mort had been her best friend. He couldn't just be gone like that! Maybe, she sometimes thought, maybe he wasn't as gone as death implied. Amy was
(crazycrazycrazy)
sure that it was Mort that watched her. A part of her insisted that it was just her mind not wanting to accept his death. Another part of her knew that he was there.
Fearing you,
Loving you,
I know I'll find you somehow
Somewhere in her mind, Amy knew that the idea of her dead husband watching her should be frightening. Memories of how he'd almost killed her were frightening, but that hadn't been him. This was comforting, because it seemed as though she hadn't really lost him after all. It had taken her so long to realize that she really still loved him.
Her mind would rage about the unfairness of what had happened. She had set the whole thing into motion with her affair. Mort had always been slightly uptight, only really relaxing around Amy herself. In the time that they had been married, she had come to know and kind, intelligent and funny man. Her own prince charming, complete with a cat named Bump in lieu of a white horse. How could she have been dissatisfied with Mort? Ted was suburban perfect, Mort was fairy tales. Amy had
(killed him)
started the whole thing. Mort had definitely been slightly unstable after the whole fiasco over the movie. The hints of plagiarism being an issue had given him a nervous breakdown, for chrissake! Amy suspected that Mort may have once stolen a story from someone, but she knew it was something far back in his past that he wanted to forget. It was understandable that after that his books had been just that much more important to him!
The feeling of his gaze on her grew again, and Amy could not help but turn swiftly to hope Mort was somehow in the room. Someday, maybe, she would turn and he would be there. Until then, she had to find him in her memories alone. Choking back a sob, Amy pressed her forehead against the window.
The feeling of Mort watching her did not fade, but changed. There was an atmosphere of distressed sympathy and comfort in the room that Amy probably imagined. She remembered how much it had always pained him to see her cry. But she was imagining, he was gone and she couldn't follow. She was a scared little girl again, wanting only to find him. Then everything would be normal and good.
(Mort, where are you?)
Haunting you, I can smell you, alive
Your heart pounding in my head
A few weeks ago, Amy had finally gone through what remained of Mort's possessions in the cabin, cleaning everything out before the house went on the market. She had ghosted through the cabin, staring at the remains of a life she had helped build and destroy.
So many things she had helped pick out, laughing and cheerful, their arms looped about one another's waists. Everything had been arranged with such loving care, yet it lay about her in shambles. It had taken most of the day for Amy to pack up what she wanted to keep from most of the house. Ted had promised that he would come clean things up after she was done, but Amy still had one more room to go through.
The door to Mort's
(our)
bedroom had remained tightly shut the whole day. It had taken so much of Amy's willpower to go into that room and face the final proof that she had lost him for good. Inside the bedroom, however, it had been even harder to admit that fact. That one room had remained mostly untouched in Shooter's rage and the sunlight shined on things as though Mort would walk in at any moment. The whole room seemed infused with the warm and comforting scent of Mort's embrace. Amy could remember falling asleep in his strong yet gentle hold and breathing in a soft, spicy scent that belonged uniquely to her husband as she fell asleep. So many years in his arms...
There had been very little she managed to take from that room. A few of the things she had retrieved from the cabin now decorated Ted's apartment, but not much. Most of Mort's books and belongings were
(hidden)
stored in a closet, carefully stacked boxes among things like Christmas decorations.
(out of sight, out of mind?)
(never)
Amy sighed as she realized the sky was getting dark from something other than the incessant storm. The sun was setting somewhere behind all those dark clouds. Ted would be home soon. They would talk, eat dinner, and sleep as though life were back on track. It wasn't yet, but maybe... just maybe tomorrow she would wake up without thinking it was Mort's heartbeat she heard, her head pillowed on Ted's chest.
Maybe, but maybe not.
Fearing me,
I won't let you haunt me down.
Deciving me, Bringing me,
Watching me!
Watching me, Haunting me,
I can fear you haunt me down.
Fearing you, Loving you,
I won't let you haunt me down.
Watching me, Wanting me,
I can feel you haunt me down.
Fearing you, Loving you,
I won't let you haunt me down
-
Well, wasn't that a happy little fic? I apologize if the style is slightly awkward; I tried to do the style Stephen King uses, but it didn't work too well. I hope you enjoyed it anyway; tell me what you thought!! Thanks!