Right and Proper
by Elliot Richard Dorfman © 2008It didn't make any sense why Morris Burton, a popular, bright senior in high school, was so frighten when he was left alone in his house. His family had bought the place just after it was built only two years ago. The rooms were large, airy, and cheerfully furnished in a contemporary style. He had tried many times to discuss his phobia with his usually understanding parents, Arnold and Muriel, but they just laughed it off and advised him to stop watching so many horror flicks
Morris usually had a busy schedule for the weekends, but on this particular Saturday evening in late April, nothing at all was planned. It seemed that everybody he knew, family or friends, were preoccupied. Deanna, the pretty girl he was going steady with, was out of town visiting her grandparents. His parents, who usually like to relax at home and watch videos Saturday nights, were celebrating Arnold's boss's birthday. Even Mike, his younger brother by two years, had gone on an overnight Boy Scout hike.
It was around midnight and Morris was still not the least bit tired. Disgusted, he plopped himself on the living room couch and listlessly starred up at the ceiling. It had been a lousy, dull night. Slowly, that familiar sick feeling was again beginning to hit him in the pit of his stomach. The fear of being alone that he had held off all night, was coming on strong as ever. The doorbell rang and he sprang up, almost running to the front door. "Who could it be at this hour?" he thought.
A thick mist shrouded everything outside as he opened the door. A tall, thin man, his face half hidden by the wide brim of his hat, appeared. Dressed in some odd out-of-date black clothes, he pointed his boney right index finger at Morris.
"I suggest you leave this house while you can," the stranger said in an eerie low monotone voice. Then he turned and disappeared into the night.
Morris wanted nothing better to do than leave, but there was no place to go. He didn't have a license to drive alone yet, and there was no public transportation close by. He was stuck!
It was very quiet in the house; too quiet. He went over to the entertainment center and put on a favorite CD, but the darn thing wouldn't work. He tried turning on the TV, but with the same results. Suddenly, the lights went out. Something weird was happening.
" Why did you disturb our sleep?" he heard some voices whisper in the darkness. They kept repeating the same question, their volume got louder and louder, until he felt his ear drums would burst.
"Shut up," he screamed out.
The voices ceased and the lights came on.
He knew whatever was happening was far from over. So, his fear actually had some provocation after all! He must have subconsciously sensed something unnatural about this house from the start.
"What do you want?" he called out to the invisible phantoms lurking in his house.
At first there was no response, but then a dot of golden light suspended in mid air appeared. It spread out, forming into the images of four people, a man, woman, and two young boys. They wore outfits from some bygone era, probably the early nineteenth century. Their faces had an ashen complexion. The man, tall and rugged looking, stepped forth. He seemed to be the leader of this quartet.
"I am Amos McDonald, and this here is my wife Sarah and my two sons, Amos Junior and Jefferson Tyler. We have returned from the other side because we can no longer contain our anger that our remains were removed their final resting place so your house could be built on that land. Unscrupulously, they were dug up and then collectively thrown into some forsaken shallow pit only a quarter of a mile away from here."
"But that has nothing to do with me or my family. You can't blame us. My dad bought this house from a developer. No information was ever disclosed about a graveyard being located here," Morris replied, staunchly defending his family's reputation.
The phantom stepped forward. Sheldon could vaguely smell the stench of decay emanating from him.
"Excuses, excuses. You still are guilty of disturbing our resting place. This land rightfully belonged to me and my family. After all, we were the pioneers who cleared the land and settled here almost two centuries ago."
Sheldon shrugged. "That was way in the past. "
The specter began losing his temper. "That makes no difference. Our bodies were wrongfully removed from this land that was eternally ours. Someone must pay for this foul deed or do right by us and return our bones to where they belong."
Morris laughed. " Come on, who are you threatening? There is nothing you can do. You're only a ghost, probably made up of some harmless vapors, if even that!"
Suddenly the curtains on the large picture window burst into flame. The ghosts laughed.
"Does this answer your question, fool?" answered the spirit of Amos McDonald.
Morris ran to the front door and tried opening it, but it wouldn't budge. Smoke filled the room and began to fill his lungs. He turned to the ghosts, chocking. "Okay, okay, I take back what I said. I'll even go and bring your bones back here, but please put out the fire!"
The fire and smoke instantly disappeared. Morris went to the window. The curtains weren't even scorched.
" I'll bet that was just an illusion!"
"You won't think it's an illusion when you feel the unbearable pain from your burning body as you again gasp for air. Now, tell me once and for all, are you going to follow through and do what's righting and proper? My patience is running low!" the ghost warned.
Morris decided not to take any chances. He went into the tool shed and got a shovel and heavy duty burlap bag. " I'm ready. Take me to where your remains are buried."
The mist was gone, and there was a full moon shining down from the cloudless, dark, starry sky as Morris reluctantly followed the ghosts. Half a mile away, in the middle of a small barren field, near the outskirts of town, the ghosts stopped and pointed to a spot.
The little children began to bitterly cry and held on tightly to their mother.
"Dig," Amos instructed.
Silently, Morris did as he was told. It didn't take too long before the old, brittle bones were found.
Carefully, he put them in the bag and left, the spirits remaining close to his side.
It was about 1:00 A.M. when Arnold and Muriel returned from the party. Entering the dark house, they were startled to hear whistling and laugher coming from the cellar.
"Turn on the lights," Muriel told her husband as they began to go downstairs.
There in the far left corner, his back toward them, was Morris, throwing sticks from a large burlap bag into three deep holes he had dug into the cellar floor.
"What are you doing?" his father shouted to his son.
Morris turned, eyes wide and glassy. His mouth drooled as he chuckled insanely.
"Can't you tell? I'm doing what's right and proper."
Elliot Richard Dorfman was a teacher in the New York City School System
for more than three decades. He founded Suma Play Productions, Inc., and had
an Off-Broadway theatrical repertory company before retiring with his family
to Upstate New York. Mr. Dorfman, a former member of the NY Dramatist Guild
and Associated Music teachers League, has written for radio stations and cable
tv. His plays (dramas and musicals) have appeared on the professional stage,
schools and centers. Besides anthologies, his recent poems have appeared in
Falling Star magazine ,Orange Room Review, and Golden Visions Magazine Mr. Dorfman's
latest short stories have or will be published in: Delivered magazine (4 stories),
Twisted Dreams Magazine (2 stories), Bewildering Stories Magazine (2 stories),Golden
Visions Magazine (4 stories), Back Petals Magazine,Blood Moon Rising Magazine,
and Perpetual Magazine.