In the Tall Grasses

By Kassandra Alvarado

Let the Past Lie. When Susannah Lewis travels out of state to settle her estranged mother's estate, she never expected a face in an old photo would lead to a mystery spanning generations. Now tormented by ghostly visitations and dreams of the past, she discovers the weight of memory and sin must be paid for in blood.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kassandra Alvarado
• Release date: Dec 1, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370157877

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In the Tall Grasses

By

Kassandra Alvarado

Published by Kassandra Alvarado at Smashwords

Copyright 2017

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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Cover Art designed by Author

Are you sure?

Her hand closed mechanically around the set of keys. Charlie was looking at her concerned. He thought she might break down and cry. That was a normal reaction any person might have on the occasion of a death. Susannah didn't know what to feel. A mixed bag of sadness, guilt and a damning feeling of relief.

Yes, I'm sure.

No, she wasn’t sure about anything. But, she nodded again, looking past him, around him at the small cluster of mourners. There was Aunt Cecilia with her streaked blonde hair to mask her greying mane; she was perpetually after old family pictures to the point of stealing them from albums. Aunt Margaret had been her shadow for as many years as they had been alive, you rarely saw one without the other. Susannah turned her gaze to the third of the pair, now the eldest and most frail of the three, Aunt Victoria called affectionately Vic by her known relatives.

I'll go over there tonight, Susannah said to his worried look. I'll start packing up mom's things so the house can be put up for sale faster.

That’s not what I'm concerned about and you know it. No one is expecting you to be alright, Sue. The reception had been held in the mortuary adjacent to the cemetery. Susannah listlessly heard the distant patter of the rain against roof tiles, her spirits sank lower.

I'm not…I'm fine…it's just that the sooner I can get mom's affairs settled, the faster I can go home. She declined a glass of wine from a passing stevedore hired for the occasion.

Sue--

I'll call you, she gestured two-fingered to her ear. If I need help. Charlie shook his head, that’s a promise I'm holding you to.

…

The house was on a quiet cul-de-sac, mirror image of its neighbors. She had parked the car in the driveway, staring for a few minutes up at the house that belonged to her, was hers and everything inside it. Then, she shook the apathy from her shoulders and went inside. She spent most of the evening going through her mother's mail. There had been unopened Christmas cards, letters from distant relatives written on quaint Holiday paper to bills from doctor offices. She sat down at the old oval table thinking of all the times she had done homework in the dining room listening to her mother chatter about her day from the kitchen.

Her eyes felt moist.

She had resolved not to break down and cry in front of her relatives. They would’ve said she was hypocritical at best. Now away from prying eyes, the urge to cry returned, she pushed back her chair, rising stiffly. She was alone in the house. Susannah repeated the words silently. Alone. It had a comforting feeling to it. A creature of solitude, she washed her dinner plate and glass, leaving them to drain on a spread striped towel. From the built-in wine cooler beside the large stainless behemoth of a fridge, she pulled a bottle of merlot, the vintage was fine. She plucked a wineglass from the rack, uncorking the bottle with practiced ease.

The first swallow went down unpleasantly, a bitter taste in her mouth a reminder of all the Christmases she hadn't answered the phone calls or birthday cards. Susannah wandered away from the dining table into the long hallway ending at the foot of the stairs. Her mother had never been much of an interior decorator, evident in the eclectic collection of celadon colored vase, modern striped artwork of mankind's suffering. The carpet at the bottom of the polished mellow wood stairs was plush and thick, cushioning a fall if the worst happened.

The house was tall and narrow, but it would fetch a good price. Susannah mounted the steps slowly, her eyes lingering on the row of framed photographs on the wall rising upward through the years with each step. There were images of cats lying in the sun, an outing to a park where Susannah wore pink trainers and a white sundress. Rising higher, the photographs took on a grainy tint as they went further back.

Her grandparents posed in stiff formality from a studio portrait. Their children were above in a hodge podge of Christmases, presents and tinsel trees. She smiled faintly,