Stevie was being haunted by his mother—or, at least, he prayed it was her. Alone in the big house, who else could it be causing the weird happenings.
Despite the odd occurrences inside the three bedroom, tri level house, on the edge of the suburbs, the thought of selling the house and moving never crossed his mind as he deeply, even after her death, still loved his mother and to sell the house and move would forever break whatever tenuous bond he still enjoyed with her.
The unsettling occurrences only seemed to be increasing as the one year anniversary of her death approached. Jessie, aged forty three when she passed from an advanced stage of breast cancer, had made him a solemn promise only a mere forty eight hours before she passed she would stay with him . . . even past her death.
The peculiar events started just a few weeks after she died. The first thing he noticed was how, in the upstairs bedrooms, the doors would swing open and shut of their own accord. Even stranger was how the curtains covering her bedroom window, in particular, would move even with the window shut and the A/C off.
Then there was the matter of how small objects: his wallet, keys, comb, toothbrush, etc. would suddenly go missing, only to reappear a few minutes later in a different location with no plausible explanation. Although he was never really scared, he was twenty years old and too old to be scared he told himself, still the odd events unnerved him.
Not all of the things happening inside the house were of a scary nature though. Some, in fact, were down right sweet. Two prime examples of this occurred a just few days before the one year anniversary of her passing.
First, he came down on an early spring Sunday morning to find the kitchen table set for him with his favorite cereal out and some fresh flowers in a vase in the middle of the table.
Remembering how his mom had a habit of celebrating the coming of spring by picking fresh flowers from the backyard, caused his heart to wrench with weary depression. Although it had been almost a year, Stevie, always a momma's boy through and through, had not even come close to moving on from her.
Then, even more telling, the next morning he entered the kitchen to find a note pinned with a magnet to the fridge. The note was simple but spoke volumes. It was a crude drawing of a smiley face with four words scrawled neatly belong, in his mom's precise handwriting: I miss my baby.
Later on, as he was getting undressed for bed, he felt the unmistakable feeling of being watched. He ignored the feeling and not wanting to show any fear, he continued to get undressed down to his boxers before slipping under the covers of his bed.
Just as he was falling asleep though he could have sworn there was the light touch of a soft hand carefully tugging the sheet up and around his shoulders—was she tucking him in?
This was followed by the gentle touch of fingers momentarily dancing in his long unkempt hair. Although he was already dozing off, he was still sure he felt something. His mom, they often cuddled on cold nights on the sofa while watching TV, had been prone to running her fingers through his hair in just such a manner. Sure it was her, if not it was a nice enough fantasy to think so, he fell into a deep sleep with a smile on his face.
The next morning, the very day before the one year anniversary of her passing, things took a seriously playful and somewhat naughty twist.
He was taking a shower in the upstairs bathroom when, after turning the water off, he stepped out of the shower to find the towel he left out on the bathroom counter was missing . . . along with the clean pair of boxers.
Having nothing to cover his naked body up with, he ventured out in the hallway, meaning to grab a fresh towel from the closet at the end of the hallway. He just opened the closet door, and was reaching up for a new towel when he felt someone lightly slap his bare behind before letting out a childish giggle.
His mom used to giggle just like that, all demure and childlike, especially when she was in a playful mood. Whipping around, he just caught a flash of movement, or so he thought, before whatever he thought he saw vanished into thin air.
Sighing, he wrapped the towel around his naked body, before trudging back toward the bathroom his heart beating wildly in his chest from that soft slap on his buttocks.
The next day, sadly, passed rather uneventfully. He was sure she would have tried to make contact since she died just a few minutes before midnight marking this day on the calendar as the official one year anniversary of her death.
He went to bed that night, earlier and more depressed than usual. Around ten forty five he awoke from a quiet slumber to the sound of crashing thunder.
The forecast for the evening called for heavy thunderstorms and apparently, for once, the weatherman was deadly accurate as first his room was momentarily lit up by a bright flash of lightning, followed closely by a crack of thunder, literally shaking the old house to its very foundation.
Stevie sighed. Although not very manly, he always hated thunderstorms, especially at night. If his mother had been there with him, she would have been a source of great comfort, but as of yet there was no sign of her.
Climbing out of bed, he decided to head downstairs to get a glass of warm milk. Warm milk and some intense cuddling were both wonderful cures his mother in the not so distant past, used on him to help calm his nerves during storms.
Reaching over, he yanked on the chord of his bedside lamp. Nothing.
"Damn the power is out," he muttered softly to himself as he reached for the night stand drawer.
Pulling one of the large taper candles out from the drawer, he kept a few there for just such occasions as the old house tended to lose power easily, especially after his mother passed.
After putting on a tee shirt and gym shorts, he lit the candle. With a heavy sigh, God he missed her, he trudged out in to the hallway and on down the stairs. For the moment his mind was focused on simply getting his glass of milk from the kitchen, drinking it down, and then returning to the relative safety of his bed.
The cuddling part of his mom's cure was obviously missing which caused him to be more than a little depressed as he carefully navigated down the dark stairs holding the single candle aloft.
It seems that his mom, nothing short of an angel in life, had developed a bit of a devilishly streak in the afterlife as halfway down the stairs, someone or something, it had to be her he prayed, quickly brushed past him on the stairs while playfully blowing out the candle.
The stairs was plunged into utter darkness. Stevie froze. "Mom . . . is that you?"
When his only reply was a lonely silence, he started to turn, planning on heading back up the stairs, and back to his room to relight the candle.
Maybe it wasn't her, he thought gloomily to himself. Maybe I left a window open before going to bed and it was simply a draft blowing past me on the stairs.
God knows it was certainly windy enough with the storm and all whipping around outside for this to be a plausible explanation.
But after taking only one step back up the stairs it happened. There was a quick flash of lightning and in that flash he saw her. Or thought he saw her. Or hoped he saw her and it was simply not an over active imagination playing cruel tricks on him.
The incredibly brilliant flash of lightning revealed a figure, she appeared to be clad in a tan nightgown, standing at the top of the stairs with a beguiling smile on her pretty face.
Jessie's soft, motherly smile, it might have been her best feature on her slightly plain but still attractive face. Her short, fashionable hair, a light brown, was unmistakable even in the quick flash of lightening. The figure, as best as Stevie could tell, looked about the same height and size of his mother, five six, maybe hundred and thirty pounds, but it was that caring, motherly smile, speaking of enduring love, tender and kindness to him which was most evidence Stevie had the figure he spied was indeed his mom.
He knew that smile anywhere. How could he not considering it had ruled his life for as long as he could remember.
If that is not my mother, it's the twin sister she doesn't have, Stevie thought in the meager second and half this hauntingly beautiful figure presented itself to him. Yes, indeed his mother seemed to glow in unearthly beauty as she stood there at the top of the stairs, smiling down at him. If it wasn't his eyes somehow deceiving him the fact was she appeared five, or maybe even ten years younger to him and abundantly attractive.
After the stairs nosedived back into utter darkness, Stevie stood frozen for a few long seconds, trying in vain to detect any movement at the top of the stairs. Finding none, he started to ascend the stairs once again. "It's probably just my eyes playing tricks on me and some wishful thinking she was there," he muttered to himself.
He managed to reach his room without further incident, and after lighting the candle once again, headed back down the stairs.
In a perfect case of déjà vu once again he felt something breezing past him, this time just as he was reaching the top of the stairs, causing the candle to first flicker before winking out.
"Christ, not again," he muttered as he heard the door to his mother's room open and then shut.
He considered chasing his playful tormentor into her room, but without the benefit of light decided against such a bold course of action. Instead, once more he scampered back down the hallway to his room.
After relighting the candle, his lesson learned, he took the book of matches with him before heading out into the hallway.
This time, unlike the previous two times, his playful tormentor, made no attempt at stealth. Instead, just as he was descending the stairs and was near the bottom, he heard the loud pitter patter of footsteps rapidly bouncing down the stairs behind him.
Before he could even turn around, he both felt and heard a loud puffing noise just before his candle flickered and then went out. This was directly followed by something a bit more ominous when his tormentor gave him a hard pinch directly on his butt.
