Blue Ghoul: A Short Story

Outside the kitchen door, blooming wildflowers circle a mini pond where several birds drink from the lap of a stone Buddha. In the rear of the yard, secluded by a lush willow tree, is the guest house. He opens the door and we walk inside. Where, right off, the sight of lavender flowers in a vase on the night table and their scent please me. As does the bright and spacious room with a skylight right above the wood framed bed.

It’s the grassy greens, near the winding pebbly road I remember first. The long stalks of spinifex still line the edges, though now neatly trimmed all around. The uneven crunch-crunch-crunch of the gravel as I drive my sunny Porsche across town. Even in winter, bindies pepper the half soccer field, other foliage: a bush dotted with withered yellow berries and emerging saplings surround the patchy lawn like spectators. Smack bang in the middle, winter clawing its way in, stands a grandiose resilient oak, basking under the mild heat of the country sun, glorified as it houses two tombs. Its boughs stretch towards me invitingly and I smile…

Chapter 1 A young woman appears out of nowhere and quickly catches up to another who's dashing along a moonlit lane. "Are we late?" She asks as she falls into step besides the older woman. "No not yet, but we need to hurry, we don't have much time." "Follow me," the older woman replies, and her dark cloak billows about casting shadows on the high stone walls that border the lane. They walked side by side in silence for a long ways and then through a set of huge iron gates swung opened before them and onto a narrow driveway. A manor house grew out of the darkness at the end of the straight drive, lights glinting in the windows. Gravel crackled beneath their feet as speeding toward the front door, which swung inward at their approach, though

“There were orchards, heavy leafed in their prime, and vineyards with the long green crawlers carpeting the ground between the rows. There were melon patches and grain fields. White houses stood in the greenery, roses growing over them. And the sun was gold and warm.

“Whats this about?” She sounded exhausted. “I need to get to bed. I have an early morning tomorrow.” She said between gulps of water.

She walked down the darkened corridor, her heels clicking against the smooth marble. Shadows danced across the tall walls, the orange flames from the iron metal torches formed various shapes across

The rugged sea of the lawn illuminated the brisk zephyrs dancing. I saw each individual blade of grass flickering in the summer breezes. It was simple to watch specific pieces of grass because each one boasted a unique tint of green, a quintillion shades of green. The sky was as marvelous as ever. Colors that I could never begin to imagine were spattered, splashed, and speckled on the sky as if God himself held the palate in front of the empyrean canvas. It appeared as if the luminous sunset was a minuscule example of what heaven looked like. A mellifluous range of sounds could be heard. Cicadas buzzed, birds sang, and dogs barked.

Strutting through the familiar, gate worn by time, I spread my arms, taking in the saccharine aroma of the fresh grass. The remaining glimmers of the sun glisten on every blade that peeks through the moist soil, composing a sea of sparkling beauty, only comparable to a poem. The meadow is breathtaking this evening, as the sun sets behind the trees in the distance, leaving a glow of pinks, peaches, ambers, and crimsons behind as if a bowl of fruit had exploded in the sky.

A purple dusk splashing over tangerine groves and long melon fields; the sun the color of pressed grapes, slashed with burgandy red, the fields the color of love and Spanish mysteries. When the sun set, no candle replaced it. Only the lustrous spark in glossy eyes to spare. Under the willow trees, the leaves lay deep and so crisp that a lizard made a great skittering if he ran among them. Elegantly, the innumerable flashing fragments lay shining in midst of the church. Ahead, the path vivaciously glistening like white quartz, yet raindrops on the weary concrete was all it was.

The car suddenly stopped and jolted me from my sleep. Disoriented, I looked around and tried to make sense of where I was and what I was doing. Over to my left, I saw my sister doing the same. Tall, blue, connected houses surrounded us and we were parked in the middle of a pristine parking lot. Green, luscious lawns sat in front of those blue houses. A gigantic tree surrounded by beautiful multicolored flowers sat to the left of a dumpster and a wooden sign with white script on it. “The Pointe at Stoneview,” I read to myself.

The front door opens to the blinding sun and the sweet smell of freshly cut grass surrounds me as I'm dragged out the door by the black shadow, my dog Louie a black maltipoo, with a grin on his face. Taunted by multicolored birds flying through the bright blue sky swoop down a strike of black fur can be seen chasing after them with me stumbling behind barely holding on to the leash. On the bright green grass fields outlined by either palm trees soaring into the sky or a few various styles of houses. With a magnificent view of the valley with airplanes flying overhead as well as the view of bowl like mountains.On the journey across these grassy fields you can spot a pond filled with a wide variety of fish, turtles as well as ducks. In fact during the spring time if your luck when you go down and seat on the bench overlooking the pond you may see cute little ducklings swimming around their mother. Although you could also see the shark known in the neighborhood which is 3 feet long carp which swimming around at dusk. With the occasional sound of a golf ball whizzing

There were fields filled with bountiful flowers and yellows as bright as the sun at midday. A murder of black birds lay on the horizon of the small field, sitting on a rickety fence as if it was their only home. The middle of the field was a lush green that seemed to radiate and sunlight and brightness throughout.

A red brick house on top of a small hill is where my memories reside. A slightly curved gravel road led to the front of the house. Eight or nine rose brown apple trees randomly covered the plush green lawn. Down the small hill, muddy brown water trickled down a ditch with cattails surrounding it. One enormous willow tree sat in the background, to the right of the house, to complete the picture. It almost seemed like a picture from a postcard. But when

The grass was soft and green, reserved for those who wanted to lie down or sit. A sweet aroma of flowers overflowed near by like s shinning light, but was hidden by the untrimmed bushes and wildly growing trees. Up above me was the beautiful, high noon blue sky spotted with fluffy, white clouds and airplanes flying by. I emerged into the parking lot and stopped happily as a squirrel under a tree. Hesitating to proceed anywhere further I took a few

The sunset was not spectacular that day. The vivid ruby and tangerine streaks that so often caressed the blue brow of the sky were sleeping, hidden behind the heavy mists. There are some days when the sunlight seems to dance, to weave and frolic with tongues of fire between the blades of grass. Not on that day. That evening, the yellow light was sickly. It diffused softly through the gray curtains with a shrouded light that just failed to illuminate. High up in the treetops, the leaves swayed, but on the ground, the grass was silent, limp and unmoving. The sun set and the earth waited.