Free The Stories That Haunt Us by Bill Jessome

in that cold room all that time!
    The familiar surroundings brought a smile to Nettie’s face as she stepped inside the house. Everything was as it should be. A little dusting was all that was needed. The home was passed down to her from her grandparents and those who visited it for the first time marvelled at how beautiful and large the rooms were.
    As she made her way to the kitchen, the familiar surroundings helped her bear the pain she was feeling and she was looking forward to some peace and quiet and a good cup of tea. Seated at the kitchen table, Nettie was trying to keep her mind on what her husband told her. But try as she might, she just couldn’t remember. And where were he and the children? Did he say something about getting an estimate of what it was going to cost to repair the damage to the car? Yes of course. They’re at the garage! Every time she thought of that horrible accident, she whispered a silent prayer. To Nettie it was nothing short of a miracle that no one was killed. Sighing deeply, as fatigue overcame her, she got up slowly and limped into the living room, where she fell onto the sofa. Before she knew it, she was fast asleep.
    She wasn’t asleep very long when she was awakened suddenly by the sound of heavy breathing. She nearly fainted dead away when she opened her eyes. Sitting on the other end of the sofa staring at her were the cold, expressionless eyes of a panther, as black as night. This can’t be real, she thought. I’m having a nightmare. Fully awake now, she tried not to move or breathe. She heard the sounds of hurried footsteps and voices coming down the stairs. The French doors were suddenly opened and the living room filled with the oddest mixture of people she had ever seen. There were midgets somersaulting across the floor while others were climbing on one and another’s shoulders. There were musicians over by the piano tuning their instruments and an enormously fat woman with pink hair of all things was repeatedly hitting a “C” note on the piano while exercising her voice. Over by the fireplace a little old man was teaching a half dozen miniature poodles how to jump through a hoop, backwards. A cold chill went through Nettie’s body when she realized that everything in the room—from the furniture to the pictures on the wall—was different. How could that be? Nettie wondered. And none of them paid the slightest attention to her. Only the panther seemed transfixed by her presence. She needed to find out who these people were and what were they doing in her home.
    She got up slowly so as not to disturb the panther. In a stern voice Nettie spoke, “Excuse me. Who are you people and what are you doing in my home?” She looked around waiting for an answer or some kind of response, but no one paid her the slightest mind. It was as if she wasn’t there.
    Nettie walked slowly in the direction of a young woman who was seated on the arm of a chair talking to a handsome Clark Gable lookalike. When she was close enough to touch the young woman, she stopped. Nettie slowly reached out with her index finger and touched the young woman’s bare arm. It was warm! The young woman jumped and jerked her arm away. When she turned her head she had a startled look on her face. Nettie felt she was looking directly through her. The young woman kept rubbing her arm where Nettie had touched her. She then said something to the young man and left the room. Nettie now knew these people were not ghosts because the girl’s arm was warm. Everyone knows ghosts are cold to the touch.
    Something urged her to look toward the bay window. Her husband and her children were peering in. Nettie wondered why they weren’t coming inside. She crossed over to the window and beckoned them to come in but they didn’t move. The children, Nettie noticed, were crying. Nettie knocked on the window again, this time harder, and indicated she wanted them inside