Last Train to Clarksville

This story is part of Jezzaz's 750 Word Project challenge. It was decidedly more difficult than I'd imagined to write a story using only 750 words.

I was inspired to write this by the upcoming gothic horror story collective that will be released on March 17th. Authors participating include Goldenangel, Clive Barker, Eidetic, Bill Shakespeare, JoeDreamer, Dean Koontz, Lovecraft68, Aesop, GirlintheMoon, Ann Rice and Chloe Tzang. I may be lying about half of them.

I'm sure that they will all do a much better job than I've done here.

*

They were barely whispers as they made their way to her through the solid oak door. She couldn't make out the words, but there was no note of caution or hesitation. The murmurs had the tenor of a normal conversation in a building in which she was supposed to be alone.

Well, her and the corpses downstairs.

SueAnn Lisanti spent most of her time as her mother's caregiver. The family's estate provided her with a stipend to live with, and care for the woman who was suffering through the ravages of Alzheimer's. Her siblings were happy to have family there taking care of her and alleviating their own feelings of guilt. They knew that their mother was loved, and their guilt for not giving her the attention they'd like to was transferred over to their sister, who accepted the burden that they didn't.

After her divorce, SueAnn struggled to find meaning in her life and moved back to her home town. Money wasn't an issue. She received some alimony and still owned a percentage of their boutique accounting firm. Their split was as amicable as possible for these sorts of things, and her ex ran the business while she received a steady check ensuring a financially comfortable life.

It was a mix of finding an excuse to get out of the house, having an opportunity to utilize skills she'd developed for decades and helping old friends of the family that had her working four hours a day, twice a week at the Clarksville Funeral Home. She came in at 10:00 PM every Tuesday and Thursday, an hour after any viewings would have ended, and worked on their books.

The business was enough to provide her childhood friends enough to live a lower-middle class lifestyle but not much more. Located in a declining neighborhood, the building was always in need of repair, and the clientele rarely chose the more expensive, high-end packages for their dearly departed.

At first, SueAnn had ascribed the barely audible whispering to the inconsistent baseboard heating that started noisily and would slowly sputter to a stop. The voices grew more distinct, however, and separated themselves from the sporadic hissing, gurgling, and popping.

Slowly, quietly and with shaking hands, she locked the thick door. Dialing 911, SueAnn explained her concern in a hushed voice.

"I'm at the Clarksville Funeral Home on 21st and Elm. I'm alone and... no, I mean I should be alone. I think someone broke in. Can you send someone by?"

She listened to the reply from the operator.

"SueAnn Lisanti, I do the bookkeeping. There were multiple voices. They sounded irritated. The office door is thick, and I locked it, but please, send someone right away."

Specific words surrounded by unintelligible counterparts were now discernible as they made their way through the door."Griflebshemp bumblfor bitch. Trndletump haughty yeet. Too good bslbah cold."

"Ms. Lisanti?" The voice on the phone startled her. "The officers are outside the building. Please stay where you are. Officer Renaldo is a tall man with red hair. Officer McIlhenny is a female. They're both in uniform. Are you carrying any weapons?"

The officers searched the building thoroughly. "There's no sign of anyone breaking in and nothing obvious has been stolen or, I don't know, moved around or is in disarray. There is a radio in the basement. Is it possible that there was a power surge or something that started it and that's what you heard?"

SueAnn was back on Thursday. Nervous, she locked the door to the office immediately and kept both the funeral home phone and her cell on the desk, close at hand.

The voices started soon after she arrived. Stronger this time, she could almost make out sentences.

"Bfftletwip think she is? Gffletor talk to us? We're schtahngle keetle dead so znotlebahk."

SueAnn grabbed her phone and purse and ran from the building. Heart pounding, hands shaking, she got in her car and almost hit a tree as she swerved into the street from the parking lot. Looking over her shoulder as she sped along, a feeling of dread gripped her.

She felt the small thuds as her car ran over the tracks, but didn't realize that she was at the crossing and didn't notice the flashing red lights. The piercing whistle pulled her from her frightened reverie and she looked up to see the bright white light of the train.

The voices were so much more distinct now that she lay in the basement.

As always, I'd like to thank the people that are kind enough to beta-read my writing. I appreciate their efforts as well as that of GirlintheMoon, Steve Brooks and Graham Earley.

Thanks also go out to members of the Left Foot, Right Foot Society for their continued support.