Echoes

By David Gearing

When the voices speak, Shannon is more than happy to listen.

Shannon has always felt like an outcast. Her only true friend: a rebellious woman by the name of Rebecca, who teaches a young Rebecca to feel secure in her own skin.

But when Rebecca dies, Shannon still somehow hears her friend speaking to her from beyond the grave. The advice her friend's ghost offers endangers Shannon and those around her.

Where most people would want the haunting voices to stop, Shannon clings to every whisper.

She will do anything it takes to keep from losing her best friend, even if it means keeping her ghost around forever.

Echoes is a gripping twist on the classic gothic genre.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Akusai Publishing
• Release date: Dec 27, 2014
• ISBN: 9781507089682

David Gearing

David Gearing is a recent transplant from the harsh Arizona deserts to the green forests of the Pacific Northwest. He plots, he games, he pretends to be his own living room rockstar when no one is looking. His other books range from various genres from thrillers to gothic horror and beyond. You can find him at his webpage DavidGearingBooks.com or at his publisher's website AkusaiPublishing.com

Book preview

Part I

May 28, 2005

Dear Rebecca,

---

Except, today, I might just send this letter. I have some sad news to report.

I arrived at home directly after Ruth’s burial. You remember Ruth, don’t you, Rebecca? Remember all those times we spent in high school? It was the winter formal, I remember, when we all met. I was the only freshman who attended. Mac had asked me to the dance. I was taller than most girls, but then, he was taller than most boys. I can still remember him in his tuxedo, his navy blue bow tie and matching cummerbund. It shines so well, and brought out the light blue specks that littered his dark brown eyes. His shoes shined so well I swear I could see every light in the large gym. I remember everything as if it was yesterday.

Then I met you. I had been left at the door while Mac and his friends, Christian and Mark and Aaron, went out back to drink. I didn’t want to go. If my mom or dad found out that I was drinking, they’d kill me! I laugh about it now, but it seemed so ridiculously serious back then. I stood by the front door. A line had formed where the punch bowls—two of them, one red, one blue—were at. A bulky wooden table had taken over the corner near the front of the gym. It had a beautiful white, blue, and red cloth over the top of it. Of course, you remember that our theme was Fire and Ice, don’t you, Ruth?

Mac and I had decided to go according to the theme. His tux was to represent ice, with his blue bowtie and cummerbund. I was supposed to be fire. I dyed my brown hair a little more reddish and bought this beautiful red dress. It showed off my shoulders just so. The way it hugged my hips and waist, I almost forgot that I was fifteen pounds heavier than I should have been. I got compliments all night.

Even from you.

That’s when you approached. You were next in line when you accidentally bumped into me. I remember it all. You spilled a little bit of the red punch on the table. You were so afraid that you splashed some of it on me that you decided to start wiping up all over. The other people in line were yelling and telling you to get out of the way. Instead, you stood there, wiping up all of the mess and then you took your napkin and starting wiping away spots on my dress. It was funny and weird at the same time. I had never been so nervous.

You were so unapologetic. You didn’t even say anything when you decided to start cleaning me up. I didn’t even hear you say anything. No warning or anything! All of a sudden, there I am, watching everyone else dance with their partners and you’re pushing on my waist and legs, trying to get these tiny little red spots out of my dress. I looked over and you looked up at the same time.

Hi, I said. My name is Shannon.

Rebecca, you said. I’m sorry about that. Then, I in a whispering tone, you said, I think I’m a little tipsy, and then you put your finger up to your lips to tell me to shush. You then pointed to a skinny blond behind you and introduced her. That’s the day I met both you and Ruth.

It’s been two years since you moved away. So much has changed since you left, and I’m starting to wonder when these letters are actually going to get mailed.

As I write one, I find myself just putting it away in a drawer. Pretty soon I should just get the nerve to stop by the post office and mail them all en masse. That probably won’t happen though. I’m waiting for that perfect letter to you. I don’t want to disappoint you and bore you with my life.

---

Love always,

---

Shannon

---

June 1, 2005

Dear Rebecca,

---

I realize now that I never quite told you how Ruth had died. I never told you this in my first letter because I didn’t think I could bear for you to hear it.

I killed Ruth.

Charlie says that it was just an accident and that I should let it be an accident. I don’t know if I ever could tell Charlie the truth. I don’t know that it was an accident, Rebecca. Oh God, I wish I could say with all honesty, from the bottom of my heart, that it was an accident.

I was asked to speak at the funeral and I had refused. The funeral was three whole days ago, seventy-two hours, and I still feel the same. I shouldn’t have spoken at Ruth’s funeral. I had no right. I had every right to say no, didn’t I, Rebecca? Charlie says I did, and that sometimes, people don’t handle the deaths of loved ones very well. He says that sometimes we mourn in our own special ways. I’m convinced that my special way is to remain silent and ask for His forgiveness. I know that Ruth needs my prayers. If you were still alive, Rebecca, I’d ask that you pray for the both of us, me and Ruth.

Ruth was always a special soul. I know you felt it, too. You were all such best friends when we met, that night at the winter formal. I remember after we had met you asked me if I wanted to go outside and talk. Seriously, Rebecca, I was so enraptured by your presence, I would have danced on my head if you had asked me to. I followed you outside and you pulled a tiny bottle out of your purse. In one big gulp, the clear liquid disappeared. You pulled out another small bottle and handed it to Ruth. She, too, let it disappear in one shot. I remember the way her eyes bulged out of her head when she took the shot. You’re supposed to swallow right away, stupid, you told her. Ruth just smiled and tossed the bottle into the dumpster nearby. Then, you handed another bottle to me.

I hope you know that I didn’t mean to offend you. I looked at the bottle and, without thinking, just chugged it. I coughed right after I swallowed. It was so bitter, so strong, that I didn’t know what to think. This tastes like rubbing alcohol, I said. All you did was laugh.

It’s vodka, Ruth said. She took out a tiny plastic bottle from her purse and gave it to me. Here, have another. We’re already a few shots ahead of you. For some stupid reason, I took the bottle and chugged it, too. I’m surprised at how smoothly it went down. I had never had an alcoholic drink before, let alone hard alcohol.

Wow, just like a pro! you said and laughed and Ruth laughed. I felt so proud of myself. That is, until I threw up all over your shoes. I wanted to impress you and her, Rebecca. I wanted so desperately to impress you both. I just couldn’t hold it, I guess.

So, said Ruth, why are you standing in there all alone?

My date decided to go get drunk, I said.

And do you remember you asked me, And he didn’t invite you, too? That jerk. I smiled and you laughed. I know my face was red. At that point, I couldn’t feel my face.

Am I drunk? I asked and you and Ruth nearly fell to the floor, you were laughing so hard.

If you have to ask, you said, then you probably are.

Do you remember next how we snuck back into the gym? We used the old fire escape that went into the dressing rooms behind the stage. The band was taking a break, thankfully, and we had enough time to slip in and sneak out from behind the curtains before it was too late. We danced together that whole night, Rebecca. Do you remember that? I know I’ll never forget it. Most people never forget their prom. I will never forget my winter formal. Is that a little strange?

Sometime that summer, we all started to hang out, and then Ruth fell off to the wayside. I always felt guilty about it. I would ask to invite Ruth and it wouldn’t work out that way. Instead, you would pretend to call (I only found out years later when Ruth told me that she missed us so much and how come we never called her) and say that she wasn’t answering the phone. It was clever, Rebecca. I remember that much. I think now that you did it because you wanted to spend time with me and only me. Heaven knows we did have fun that summer.

After you had moved away, Ruth and I started to hang out more often. She saw me once at the mall, coming out of a Macy’s and I barely recognized her. Shannon? Shannon Liefeld? she asked.

I turned around to see this tragic rag doll of a person in front of me. She had been through so much, Ruth. She had been through so much that it affected her physically. Her hair was tattered and a mess. Not the normal beautiful girl we used to hang out with. Her clothes just simply hung off her body. The poor thing lost so much weight. You’d wouldn’t believe your eyes if you saw her. It was so tragic. She was so tragic, Rebecca. She could tell that I didn’t recognize her, I think.

It’s me, Ruth! she said. She hugged me and I could feel her ribs as she squeezed me closer to her body. I was afraid to hug her tighter, and thought that maybe I would break her if I didn’t be too careful. It was so sick and disgusting. How have you been?

I’ve been great, I told her. Rebecca and I were hanging out all this summer, and next September I get to start a new internship with the Public Defender’s Office.

Ruth’s eyes got so big I could see my whole face in her irises. That’s wonderful.

How have you been? I asked.

Thankfully, all she said was, Oh, I’ve been hanging in there. I didn’t want to know the answer. Anything that could turn such a beautiful woman such as this into a hideous-looking frail monster was too horrible for me to know about. I was afraid to find out the answer.

That’s wonderful! I said. You look great, I told her. Now you know that I lied to her. I couldn’t help it. It looked like she crawled out of a garbage truck.

We made plans that day to go have dinner together and catch up. I found out that night about the terrible time she had been having. Her father had been laid off, coming home drunk and harassing the family. Every night Ruth would go home and find her mother crying. She would be left alone to clean the house, to take care of her little sister and make sure all of her homework was done. It is truly amazing to think that she survived all on her own. I felt so badly that night that I had asked her to dinner again the following day. We began to have dinner almost every night since then. A year later, I had helped her with her appearance and she had given me something to focus on while you were gone. I had missed you since you left, but I couldn’t show it. I had to be strong. You were my best friend, the one person who showed me how to live.

I just wish you stopped to say goodbye before you left me, Rebecca.

It was just this May that we were driving to Leonardo’s, that fancy Italian restaurant around town. Remember when we used to go there all the time? We would ask for free samples of the different wines from the different waiters. We wouldn’t ever buy any, but we both know that we would end up drunk by the time we left there. It made their horrible lasagna taste so much better. It was horrible, and no matter how many times you made me order it, I still can’t stand the taste of ricotta cheese.

Anyway, we were on our way to Leonardo’s when a car had driven too close to us. I was driving, of course. Ruth still hadn’t had her driver’s license. She was twenty-five. Like I said, Rebecca, she was always a mess. It’s good you never had to see her that way.

The idiot right next to us was driving too close to us, on Ruth’s side, and Ruth began to panic. Her hand reached for the little handle bars that are just above the windows. You used to call them Oh Crap Bars. She hung on and the idiot started to merge over.

To this day, Rebecca, I still don’t know why I did it. I don’t know why I decided to move over and push the car even further. I held my ground, Rebecca. I wish to God that I hadn’t. After we had chased each other down for nearly half a mile, I finally relented and pushed the car into a slope off the side of the road. It was such a great satisfaction to see that moron get what he deserved. The tail end of his sedan was up into the air. Smoke rose from the hood, which remained buried into the grassy slope. The rear right tire was still spinning as we passed right by.

It was then that my tire, the tire right by Ruth’s legs, blew out. I immediately pulled to the right and we, too, landed in the ditch. After I had come to after banging my head into the steering wheel, I managed to push my door open with all of my might. The handle broke off in my hand as I pushed and pushed. Finally, with a quick shove, it flung itself open and I was able crawl out. My head hurt and I felt heat rushing to my forehead from the bruise. I looked around. No sign of other drivers stopping.

I looked around and noticed that Ruth wasn’t anywhere around. I knelt down to see inside the car. I couldn’t see much at first, with the blood rushing to my forehead, I felt dizzy and disoriented. I fell down to my bottom and held my head in my hands, waiting for the nausea to go away.

Then, I heard her.

Shannon? she called out. Help me! My legs!

I listened a few more minutes. I don’t know if she did end up seeing me. Still, she called over for help. Shannon! Shannon! she screamed. First it was something like a whisper, then it turned into a panicky shout into the grassy slope. I peered up, finally working to my knees and looked into the car. Where there was once a windshield were now clear, jagged edges lining the bent and broken frame of my car. The interior of my dash had looked like it was covered in a thin film of water, the shards were that fine and smooth. I followed the path of the shards of my windshield to see that they went all over Ruth’s lap. Her favorite blue jeans were now dotted purple with blood. More and more dots sprinkled themselves into her pants as it dripped off a single shard that had been pressed into her chest. Her pink blouse, which had an absolutely gorgeous pattern of stitching that looked like roses blooming from the side of the shirt, was now split open down the front, exposing her neckline and the top part of her chest. There I saw it, the shard of glass that stood out, only a half an inch or so, from her skin.

Ruth’s chest heaved up and down slower and slower. Her eyes were wide and her pupils were starting to dilate. She turned her head, her lipstick and make-up that I had done for her just a half-hour before was still immaculate. Her cherry-red lips split apart like a folded ribbon as she spoke to me. Help me, she whispered. I stood there, watched and stared. The blood, it was everywhere down her shirt. At least seven or eight more droplets fell to her pants before I could take a step back. Help me, she whispered again. She tried to lean over but couldn’t. Her seatbelt held her firmly in place. Even if she managed to move, her legs would have held her in place. The front of the car was smashed in, just enough, to keep her feet locked in place. The coroner would later report that her legs were crushed from the knees down. I didn’t know it back then. All I saw was the half-inch of glass that stood out from Ruth’s chest.

I’m so sorry, Rebecca. I really am. I fell backwards and sat there, listening to Ruth call out, little by little. I listened as she whispered my name, for someone to help her out of the car. I listened to her voice get raspy and dark. I listened as she tried to tell me that she didn’t want to die and she was sorry for everything she did. She called out to God and told him that she was a good Christian. I listened as she called out to her parents and told them that she wished that she was a better daughter.

And I cried. I cried because of my headache, mostly.

And Ruth cried, too. She cried because she was closer to death. I listened as her breaths began to escape her body and before I knew it, they had stopped.

Just then, a large black truck had pulled up on the side of the road. Are you okay? the man screamed at me.

I nodded and tried to stand up.

I’m so sorry, Rebecca. Please believe me.

---

Love always,

---

Shannon

---

June 2, 2005

Dear Rebecca,

---

What are you?

Yesterday I had a conversation with you after I had finished the letters. I had been using these letters more as a diary entry. I had (and still have) every intention of sending them to you. I just keep forgetting to get the postage ready. I’ve been really busy with my internship and trying to find a better job to hold me over and give me extra spending money between student loan payments.

Our conversation kinda scared me, though. I remember thinking, at first, that there was someone in the house.

Over here, is what you said to me. It caught my attention because I live alone. My neighbors aren’t that noisy. It’s just very unusual for me to hear anything from the outside, particularly when it seems to be in the form of a whisper.

Over where? I asked.

Under the table, you said. Of course I looked under the table. I thought it was strange at first that I didn’t recognize your voice. That is weird, isn’t it? I mean, it’s been a few years since I’ve even seen or heard from you. Not since the…accident with Geoff. You disappeared and moved away. No one really knew what was going on with you.

As I looked under the table, though, no one was there. This is creeping me out, I said. You laughed.

Over here.

Where? My heart was throbbing through my chest, so much so I could swear that my ribs were about to burst from the inside.

Over here, you told me. It sounded like you were now in the closet.

Stop playing with me! I said. You can’t exist. You don’t exist.

Yes. Yes, I am, you affirmed. I had a feeling that you were lying to me, that maybe you were just a figment of my imagination.

That’s when I turned to the closet. The doors swung open in an easy whoosh, coming open so quickly and easily that they ricocheted off the sides and bounced back, nearly hitting my hands. Where are you? I cried out. I wasn’t sure if I even saw anything.

Certainly no one was there from what I could see.

Down here.

That’s when I looked down and saw your picture. It was a picture of us, a little engraved silver frame all around it. Friends Are Forever wrapped around it, all serpent like and yet bubbly and friendly. It was the picture of you, me, and Ruth during our winter formal. You and I were both red-faced, laughing with mouths wide as a freshly-caught bass. Ruth was busy looking off to the side of the camera. She