The Haunting of Priscilla Bell
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Priscilla wasn’t quite ready to wake up when her alarm went off at its usual time.
“Ugh, 5:30 a.m. already,” she muttered, raising her head to look at her phone on the nightstand.
The night before had been harrowing. The roads were slick from rain, and she had taken a less-traveled route home from work. Unfortunately, she wasn’t the only one with that idea. Soon, traffic slowed to a crawl, tempers flared, and chaos erupted.
Through rolled-down windows, people shouted profanities. Horns blared all around her. Then came the worst of it. Someone fired a gun into the air. Bullets ricocheted off trees and metal, their sharp cracks echoing through the night.
Priscilla’s hands shook on the steering wheel. When the sound of sirens finally filled the distance and traffic began to move, she exhaled in shaky relief. All she wanted was a glass of wine, a hot shower, and sleep. Morning had come far too soon.
After getting dressed for work, Priscilla checked the weather forecast. Her nerves couldn’t handle another episode like the night before. She tried calling her boyfriend, Kurt, to tell him about it, but there was no answer. “I’ll tell him over dinner,” she decided, slipping her phone into her purse.
The streets were unusually quiet for a holiday week. Priscilla appreciated the calm after days of heavy traffic and endless rain. Puddles shimmered under the gray light as she swerved gently to avoid them. When she reached the boutique where she worked, a sign hanging on the glass door stopped her cold.
CLOSED.
“What? Closed?” she said aloud, frowning. “I hope there wasn’t any water damage.”
With her plans for the morning ruined, Priscilla crossed the street to a nearby drive-thru to grab breakfast. She pulled up to the speaker. “Hello? Can I place an order, please?” Silence. Then a crackle.
Moments later, a middle-aged woman appeared at the window. Her skin was papery and pale, her hands covered in dry wrinkles. “Hello, dear. What can I get you?”
Priscilla blinked. “Oh, um, the number one with a medium orange juice, please.”
“Of course, dear,” the woman replied softly.
After paying and thanking her, Priscilla started to drive away when the woman called out, “Thank you, Priscilla. Have a safe journey home.”
Priscilla froze. “Excuse me? How do you know my name?”
The woman only smiled and nodded.
“What the hell?” Priscilla whispered. “I need to get home. Now.”
Back at her apartment, she ate her breakfast, took two aspirin, and collapsed into bed. Sleep came quickly, but it wasn’t peaceful.
“Priscilla… Priscilla…”
She saw herself in a soft yellow dress, her brown curls resting neatly on her shoulders. A woman’s voice whispered her name again and again.
“Priscilla, please come home,” the voice urged, growing more urgent with each word. “Priscilla, come home now!”
A tug at her arm jolted her awake. She gasped for air and sat up. Morning light streamed through the curtains. She had slept the entire night.
Still drowsy, she reached for her phone. No calls. No messages. No Kurt. She dialed her workplace to explain why she had missed her shift, but the call went to voicemail. As she hung up, she noticed her answering machine blinking.
Maybe Kurt left a message.
She pressed play.
“Hi, Kurt. This is Amber from Street Corner Flowers. I tried your primary number but couldn’t reach you. You listed this as your secondary contact. I just wanted to confirm where you’d like the flowers sent for Priscilla Bell. Please call back at your earliest convenience. Thank you.”
Priscilla’s eyes filled with happy tears. “He’s sending me flowers,” she said softly, smiling. “I guess I can forgive him for disappearing.”
A sharp pain suddenly pierced her head. “Ugh, where is this coming from?” She closed her eyes, waiting for it to pass. When she opened them again, a strange face stared back at her.
Priscilla gasped and stumbled backward. Cold air brushed her neck, and a faint breath followed. The pressure in her throat made it impossible to scream.
“Priscilla,” the voice said. “Come home.”
Her mind spun. Was she hallucinating? Stress? Trauma from the shooting? She couldn’t explain it. Desperate for normalcy, she grabbed her car keys and decided to visit Kurt.
When she arrived, she noticed a car in his driveway that she didn’t recognize. “A friend, maybe,” she muttered. “That explains why he hasn’t called.”
Using her spare key, she let herself in. “Kurt? Hello? Been trying to reach you since yesterday!”
No answer. Then Priscilla heard voices from the bedroom. Kurt’s voice and another woman’s.
“I never wanted it to end this way,” Kurt said softly. “I loved Priscilla with all my heart. We used to have so much fun together. Sure, we argued, but sometimes she just…” He trailed off.
“I know, baby,” the woman replied. “It’s not your fault. You ordered her flowers, right?”
Priscilla’s chest tightened. She backed away, tears stinging her eyes, and left before they could hear her.
“I can’t believe it,” she whispered, shaking. “Cheating on me, then sending flowers? What kind of fool does that?”
At the next red light, she wiped her face and glanced out the window. A tall man in an old gray suit stood on the corner, watching her. He gave her a polite nod. She managed a faint smile before the light turned green.
Back home, her headache returned worse than ever. She swallowed painkillers and reached for her wine, but it burned her throat. She tried again and gagged. Even water refused to go down. Exhausted, she lay down and drifted off once more.
This time, she dreamed of Kurt calling her name. She wore the same yellow dress, her hair shining under a soft light.
The next morning, a loud clanking noise jolted her awake. Her temples throbbed. Deciding she needed time off, she drove toward work to request leave. Halfway there, she heard rustling behind her. She brushed it off as papers fluttering in her back seat.
Then her phone vibrated with a text.
Take the next left.
Her stomach tightened. “What?” she whispered.
The rustling came again, louder. Priscilla turned her head and froze.
The man in the gray suit sat quietly in her backseat.
“Take the next left,” he said in a trembling voice.
Heart racing, she obeyed.
The car slowed in front of a large cemetery. “Why are we here?” she whispered. When she turned to ask again, the man was gone.
Compelled by something she couldn’t name, Priscilla stepped out and walked toward the graves. A small crowd gathered near a fresh plot. As she drew closer, she recognized their faces. Kurt stood among them, his mother by his side.
“I can’t believe she’s gone,” Kurt said, voice breaking. “All because some idiot fired from his car. She was at the wrong place at the wrong time. Why did she roll down her window?”
Priscilla’s breath caught. “Oh no,” she whispered. “I’m dead.”
Cold hands gripped her shoulders. A soft voice murmured behind her, “It’s time to come home.”
She cried out, “Kurt! Please, help me! I don’t want to be dead! I’m not ready!”
Her voice echoed through the mist, unanswered.
The air grew heavy with silence. The cemetery around Priscilla her blurred into fog, swallowing the living and the dead alike.
As the mist closed in, Priscilla took one last look at the world she had known. Tears streaked her face as she whispered, “I’m not ready to go.”
But the only reply was the hush of the wind and the final toll of distant church bells.
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