Screams from the Heart

CW: Grief, implied suicide

Screams from the Heart

The scream was loud, eerie and clear as a bell. I froze in my footsteps turning towards the sound of the wail I heard from over my shoulder. My knuckles were white from gripping the top of the picket fence that surrounded the little cottage. I looked up and down the beach searching for the person who let out such a hair-raising, frightful scream.

“Ms. Barnes? Ms. Barnes? Won’t you come inside?” the real estate lady called out.

I glanced down the beach one more time before turning to greet Mrs. Shelby.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Shelby. I thought I heard a scream from somewhere,” I explained.

“You probably did. It’s a common sound. There are people and kids all the time playing in the sand. You get used to it. You really can’t be surprised. It is a beach, you know,” she said.

“I guess you are right. I must be tired. It was a long flight from Texas to California,” I said.

Mrs. Shelby quickly went into her pitch to try and sell me on this quaint two bedroom cottage.

“Who owned this house last?” I asked still thinking about the scream I had just heard.

“Oh, it was a young couple. Something happened to the husband and I am not sure what happened to the wife. I just know her parents put it up for sale.”

After a thorough tour of the home, I was sold. The real estate lady did a good job in fulfilling my wants in a home.

“I have a few other homes on my list to show you.”

“You know, Mrs. Shelby, I don’t care to see any more. I would like to make an offer. This house makes me feel comfortable and the price is right.”

“Alright, Ms. Barnes. Let’s go to my office and we will call the owners and go from there.”

“Please call me Lizzie.”

“OK, Lizzie. Such a pretty name.”

It had been a long day following the closing and finalizing the paperwork that granted me my very first home. I was exhausted mentally and physically. But the work had just begun. The movers would be here any minute and I had unloaded my truck with about 100 boxes. I could see them sitting in the yard through MY front door. I grinned at the thought of MY front door.

On my third trip from outside carrying the boxes in, I felt a sprinkle. The dark gray skies were alluding to a possible downpour that would drench me and my boxes. The rush was on to get them inside.

“Can I help you?” came a husky sounding voice from somewhere close by.

With my long wet hair hanging over my face, I peeled it away to see a nice looking man standing in the rain at my gate.

“Well, yes, I could use some help. I am getting soaked and so are my boxes. If you could just help me get these to the covered porch, I would appreciate it.”

He opened the gate and quickly wrapped his big arms around two rather large boxes and ran up the steps and placed them down. Before I could get back out there to get another one, he was back picking up two more. It took about five minutes with his help to get the boxes out of the rain.

I thanked him and said, “I would ask you in so I could thank you for your help, but I do not have any furniture or drinks or anything to offer.”

“You don’t need to do anything. Just saying “thank you” would suffice. I am glad I could help.”

I felt his eyes on me and it felt good. I couldn’t help but notice how handsome he was and how his muscles filled out the sleeves of his shirt. The large rodeo belt buckle was not hard to miss either as I took a quick look up and down.

We enjoyed a deep laugh as we spoke over each other.

It was then the moving truck came rambling down the street.

“That’s my truck coming there. I hope they have covers for my furniture or else everything is going to be wet,” I stated.

“Let me stick around and sort of hurry them along. Sometimes you have to use a cattle prod with these people, or they will take their sweet time. Afterall, they have nothing to lose,” he said. “By the way, I am Luke Summers.”

“Very nice to meet you, Luke. I am Lizzy Barnes,” I said with a smile bigger than Dallas.

He stuck around and made sure all my furniture and my wet boxes containing my treasures were quickly shoved inside. Perched on a tall box, I offered to buy lunch, but he had to take a raincheck. He told me he had a rodeo to go to in Bakersfield, and he needed to get on the road. He asked me to come along but I had just too much to do in MY new house. I told him I would have to take a rain-check too. I watched as he rushed to his truck. I sat listening to the plinking of the rain drops on my tin roof.

It was late that evening when I heard the screaming lady again. I grabbed the robe I was holding tight to my chest as the scream was terrifying. I thought I could hear her crying out for someone named Clint. It lasted about two minutes and finally faded away. By that time, I had every light on in the house. I quickly went to my safe and with a few twirls of the combination it was open. With my hands wrapped around my Glock, I slowly walked each room. I had watched enough cop shows to know to slide my back against the wall and make a quick turn at the doorway. As I moved down the wall, I heard a car alarm go off that made me jerk and jump. I turned too quickly and rammed the gun in my out-stretched arm through the wall. I was scared out of my wits and pulled the trigger. I screamed and dropped the gun. I hoped someone had heard the shot and called the cops. Nobody came.

Upon inspection of the double locks, I noticed light at the top of the front door and the slightly awkward hanging of it. The fear from the scream stopped me from any further investigation. It would have to wait till tomorrow. With the gun safely put away, I found myself thinking about Luke. Maybe he will show up tomorrow.

By the end of the week, the workers had repaired the wall. Upon further inspection of the front door, the carpenter said it would have to be replaced. It seemed like something had torn it off the hinges at one time. I asked Mark if he would give the house a closer look to make sure I was safe. Since the hole in the wall had been patched, he ran his hands over all the walls. He found four other holes that had been poorly patched.

Upon explaining the damage he shook his head and said, “It seems someone was rather angry at one time. Did you run a history on this house before you bought it?”

“No. I just know the last owners were a young couple.”

“That could explain a lot of things,” he laughed.

Once settled down in my house, a routine fell into place. Every morning I took a stroll down the beach with a cup of coffee and my dog, Saint. I knew about German shepherds and wanted the protection they provided. Besides being a good companion, I knew he would alert me of an intruder. Following my walk, I ate breakfast then went to work in my painting studio. I had a show in a few weeks so I had to get busy. Plus I needed to get my mind off Luke.

Involved in mixing cerulean blue with a dab of black to paint a dark, stormy sky, I did not hear the knock. But I did notice that Saint sat up and his ears perked up. I followed him to the front door. I pulled the curtain aside from the window and saw Luke on the porch. My heart skipped a beat.

I welcomed him with a smile. He offered a crooked grin and glanced down at the cast on his arm.

“What happened?”

“I didn’t hold on good enough,” he laughed and slowly entered. “I took a beating in Bakersfield. After a couple of weeks in the hospital, I was released with a broken wing. I am still kind ‘a healing,” he said.

Just a few minutes later, the shrill scream, low and then crescendoing, bounced off the walls throughout the house with the loudest scream I had heard to date. Rolling my eyes and looking up to the ceiling, I didn’t offer an explanation. Luke was quiet but I could see his eyes darting here and there as I did when I first heard the wail.

“Does that happen often?”

“Yeah, but she hasn’t been that loud before. She screams for Clint,” I explained in a quiet voice of empathy. “She is hurting.”

“It seems so. Focusing on me he said, “Are you busy?”

“Well, I was going to gather up my paints and easel and go to the beach. I would hate to waste a bright sunny day like we have today. Do you want to join me?”

“Sure. So you are a painter?”

“Yeah. I do it professionally. And I am behind on my work because of the purchase of this house and the repairs.”

“Repairs?” he asked.

“Yeah. It seems the couple who had the house before me didn’t get along too well. I had to have a hole in the wall repaired and had to address some weaker areas. And then the door had to be replaced,” I said.

Luke was quiet.

With my paints and easel in my hands, I reached for two folded chairs. Luke opened the door and stuck his arm through the slats of the chairs with his good arm smiling at me the whole time.

As usual, there was nobody on the beach. I laid a big blanket down on the powder-type sand. Luke sat the chairs down on the blanket. I could tell he wanted to help me with the easel as he reached out with his good arm.

“It’s o.k. I can handle this. I’ve done it plenty of times. Have you seen a prettier beach than this? The gold color of the sand is perfect against the gorgeous blue waves,” I said. “I always loved listening to the gentle whoosh sound they make. It is rhythmic and very calming. The beach on the gulf in Texas is nice, but not this nice,” I added.

Luke sat quietly while I painted. I finally asked him if he was through with riding bulls.

He glanced up at me and asked, “Why would you ask me that? No, I am not through riding bulls. I will be going to Wyoming in about two weeks.”

“I just thought that last rodeo in Bakersfield would be enough to make you think twice about riding again. Can I say that I don’t want you to go to Wyoming?”

“Yeah. You can say whatever you want. But I will go to Wyoming.” He watched the paint brush I was holding drop from my hand into the sand. He reached down and picked it up and hesitated a moment. He then said, “I will go get us something to eat. We can eat out here if you like.”

“I would like that.”

I watched him trudge up the incline to his truck. His limp was obvious. I could tell he needed more time to heal before even thinking about another rodeo.

Suddenly, I had no desire to paint. I sat and watched the beautiful white capped waves rise and fall into the turquoise water that sparkled under the bright sun. The gentle waves seemed to be whispering secrets to the beach as they encroached my feet, tickling them. The frothy, foamy waves would get close to me then retreat back as if it was playing a game.

The breeze picked up and my beach hat bounced on my head. I placed my hand on top of it, but I wasn’t quick enough. I jumped up and chased after it. It looked like a white bird floating in the air going up and then down. I was a step away from it, when the breeze picked it up again and tossed it further away from me.Just before I decided to give up on the stupid hat, the wind suddenly stopped. I leaned down to pick it up when I noticed the indentions in the sand. I counted ten that were placed in front of each other as if stepping. I realized they were not just impressions. They were footsteps. Ten small footprints on the edge of the water. I looked around to see if someone was on the beach with me. There was nobody in sight.

With my hat in my hand, I walked back to my easel and quickly began gathering my things. My heart was pounding as I searched for the person who left the footprints in the sand.

“AHHHH! AHHHH!!” came the scream again. “CLINNNNNNNNNNNNNNT!”

I couldn’t help myself. I began crying and shaking all over. Suddenly Luke was by my side. I dropped the blanket and wrapped my arms around him. He did the same and was patting my back.

“What happened?” he asked with great concern in his voice.

“There were footprints in the sand,” I stuttered out. "There’s nobody on the beach but me! And then the scream came again. It frightened me this time. She must be a ghost,” I explained in a shaky voice. “Something terrible has happened and it happened right here!” I cried.

He brought the chairs away from the edge of the water and had me sit down. He took my hands in his and was looking into my eyes when the waves seemed to be eager and advanced swiftly. I looked down at them and was shaking again.

“We need to go, Luke. We need to go!”

“No we don’t. You are fine. I can explain this,” he softly told me.

Wiping tears from my eyes with my towel, I looked into his face.

“Something did happen here, Lizzie. My brother, Clint, and his wife, Marcy, lived in your house. Their dreams were to live on the beach in California. But the rodeos called him. He was going to Wyoming, and she begged him not to go. He promised her it would be his last. And it was his last. It was that rodeo where he drew the bull that nobody had ever stayed on the full 8 seconds. He was the baddest bull of them all. They say when Marcy got the call, she went crazy. My parents found her diary and she had written what her last words to Clint were. She was very angry with him and told him she didn’t care if he returned from the rodeo. The repairs you found in your little house were made by her. Those footprints in the sand are hers. She walks on the beach at night screaming for Clint. I had never heard it before until that day I helped you move in.I don’t know if the real estate lady told you the house had been on the market since his death three years ago.Everyone around here knows it is haunted by her,” he explained.

“No. Mrs. Shelby did not tell me.”

I sat blinking my eyes and staring at Luke. I told him I was sorry. We gathered my materials and walked to my cottage. Luke told me all about Clint and Marcy as we ate our lunch. However, I did not have much of an appetite.

“You aren’t going to Wyoming, are you?” I asked.

“Yes. I am going to Wyoming.”

“What about that bull?”

“That bull was put out to pasture a few years ago,” he said.

“You will come back here then?”

“I will come back here. You don’t need to worry about me. If you want, I will call you when I leave Wyoming.”

“I would like that.”

She stood on the sandy beach watching quick, eager waves dart towards the sand. She did not get too close and did not dare look for footprints.

She turned slightly at the sound of the creaking “For Sale” sign that was swingling in the breeze in front of her little cottage.