Featured Film Short: We've got a ghostly kind of love

The following account has been pieced together like Frankenstein using this fragment of information and that
gathered over the time I have lived in Fern Hill Cottage:

In the attic,
in the back corner,
in the chest,
rests,

a scrap of fabric from the hem of a skirt,
a scrap of paper, a year written,
and they,
married with a straight pin,
began it all.

Then, photographs of a ghostly woman
standing outside this very house
widen the eyes.

Followed by a page,
torn from a book.
The words “The Dead Woman’s Photograph”
create a chill up the spine that lasts for several weeks
that is aggravated nightly by trips alone
and in the dark
to the bathroom.

Then thankfully, time passes,
life happens.
The chest and its contents are forgotten.
The mind is occupied during nightly trips to the potty with to-do lists.
Everything is blissfully normal.

But one day,
that changes.

A ghostly doe appears in the woods.
It is captured on tape.
And when replayed,
a ghostly voice accompanies it.
Oh, yeah, that’s gonna do wonders for the ability to go to the potty alone in the dark at night.
It’s not scary enough to have pictures of ghosts or ghostly animals outside the house.
No, let’s ramp it up to a whole new level of scary and have a voice come from ‘no-where’ inside the house.
That’s great.

But through the fear,
you listen
and listen
and listen to the words,
trying to decipher each and every one,
to decode the message sent from ‘the other side.’

And when you finally do,
a story begins to form.

“Sometimes secrets kill relationships.  Sometimes they kill you.”

Once there was an okay looking girl who would turn into a beautiful albino doe as soon as she entered the woods.
Oooo, aaahhhh, you say?
Yeah, it’s actually not that cool,
She Died.
Husband shot her in the heart with an arrow.

You see, she made several critical mistakes:
One was never saying to her husband, “Hey, I turn into a white deer when I go into the woods, so if you see one, don’t shoot it.”

And two was going out looking for her husband during deer hunting season. 
Big mistake.
Huge.

If you can’t tell by her expression,
I can tell you,
she was just a little pissed about the fact that he killed her,
that he shot her in the heart.
Just a little bit pissed.
Okay,
she was REAL pissed.

But she loved him still,
the idiot,
moron.

And him?
Oh, he felt real bad when he realized it was her he shot and not some prized albino doe.
But that might have been because he REALLY wanted that albino deer’s head above his fireplace.
Being the dastardly fellow he was, for a moment he considered what her head would look like there,
but decided it would be in poor taste
and instead he buried her at their favorite place to watch the sunset,
figuring they could still do that together,
as long as he remembered to show up
or wasn’t too busy hunting
or playing cards
or drinking with his friends,
now that he was single again. ;)

But before you think he’s a complete jerk,
you should know that inside the chest he kept that scrap of the hem of her dress
and on his cheek rests the key.

That’s gotta mean something.....

~magick~
Meliss

Ps:  What I find to be the scariest part is this question:   Why do we share ourselves with people we can’t trust enough to know our deepest darkest secrets?