My Sweet Rosalee

My Sweet Rosalee(Mark Cusco Ailes) My Sweet Rosalee

The lightning streaks brilliantly across the sky, as I lie here snuggled in my bed. Lying here with thoughts of my dearly departed Rosalee etched in my head. With tears of sorrow moistening my pillow, I stumble into a midnight dream. Here I stand gazing into a sea of scented yellow flowers that stretch for miles and miles. By my side a honey bee dances on a single yellow petal, pollinating, then off into the hot, humid day. My face is moistened by the trickles of sweat cascading down my face like lost teardrops. There before my very eyes, strolling through the flowers is my sweet Rosalee. Laughing and dancing with her white nightgown swirling around her, she turns and smiles at me. How can this be? I watched her die in my arms. As if she senses what I am thinking, her smile is replaced by the look of death, the flowers surrounding her slowly wilting away into blackness. I awake from my torturous dream and stare at the picture of Rosalee in the silver frame resting silently on the night stand. I feel a presence in the room surrounding me from every direction. I hear faint footsteps outside my bedroom door and the sound of hampered breathing. A voice calls out to me from outside the door. A voice that was both chilling and haunting. Was it the ghost of my sweet Rosalee standing outside the bedroom door? I hear her say in a chilling voice, “Why have you left me out here in the cold?” With trembling hands, I bring my brown comforter over my head and try to silence the voice. I keep telling myself that it is a bad dream, remnants of a lonely dinner that has not digested right. Again I hear the voice and a soft tapping at my bedroom door. Could it be my sweet Rosalee? From behind the door, will she haunt me forever more? The wind echoes outside the bedroom window and lightning flashes, casting eerie shadows on the walls, as I peer from under the comforter. Once again there is a soft tapping at my bedroom door. Thunder booms overhead and more lightning fills the room, casting more shadows on the wall. I feel my heart begin to beat erratically, causing a slight pain within my chest. It must be my dinner. Why did I have to eat so late? Again there is more tapping at my door. If it is my sweet Rosalle, will she haunt me forever more? Once again I check the photo of Rosalee in the silver frame. This time the photo is not of my sweet Rosalee, but replaced by a ghostly image with a long white, flowing nightgown. The ghostly image seems to be reaching out to me with a skeletal hand. The face no longer of my sweet Rosalee, but of a specter gazing at me with emotionless eyes. Eyes that are as black as coal, accusing eyes that are blaming me for her death. Once again there is a tapping at my door, this time much louder then the ones before. Through the flashing lightning, I can see a eerie glow from underneath my bedroom door. It is my sweet Rosalee outside my bedroom door. Will she haunt me forever more? Slowly, I get out of my bed, reach for my tan house shoes and slip them on. I let my feet meet the white plush carpeting and stare at my bedroom door. I watched my sweet Rosalee being buried. She was buried only five hours ago. I still hear hampered breathing, then once again comes the tapping at my bedroom door. I feel the urge to run to the door, but fear keeps me frozen in place. It couldn’t be my sweet Rosalee standing outside the door. It must be someone else who will haunt me forever more. I feel my stomach start to ache, a strong feeling of nausea taking hold. Again with the tapping, I can’t take it anymore. Why does she keep knocking at my door? If it is my sweet Rosalee, will she haunt me forever more? From behind me I hear the picture in the silver frame topple over, breaking the glass. With shaking hands I lift the silver frame to have a look. The specter is gone, now replaced by a dark cemetery filled with tombstones. I stare at the tombstones, trying to read the names carved onto them. The names seem meaningless to me until one name stands out. Here lies my sweet Rosalee. Somehow her spirit must have gotten out. Another flash of lightning fills the room, shedding light into the dark cemetery. A ghostly figure in a long, tattered black robe, roams among the tombstones. With a skeletal hand, the ghostly figure points silently at the tombstone of my sweet Rosalie, then points at me. What was he trying to tell me? Was he saying that my sweet Rosalee will haunt me forever more? I suddenly feel as though someone had walked over my grave, then stopped to laugh as I lay there ten feet under. I drop the silver frame to the carpeted floor as I feel a skeletal hand wrap around my dry throat. The hand pushes tighter around my throat until I feel as though I am going to pass out. The skeletal hand is suddenly gone as I bend over to try to catch my breath. Again comes more tapping at my bedroom door. I feel myself reaching for the door, but it feels so far away. Why does she keep tapping on my door? Please my sweet Rosalee, please don’t haunt me forever more. I feel my sweet Rosalee’s spirit enter through the closed door. Her face full of saddness as she glides like a spirit across the room. With her chilling voice she calls out to me. “Why didn’t you open the door? Didn’t you hear me tapping, tapping at your door?” Lightning once again fills the room replacing her ghostly image. My sweet Rosalee had vanished and once again was tapping outside the door. It was my sweet Rosalee that was tapping at the door. It is my sweet Rosalee that will haunt me forever more. The tapping is more than I can take; I now know what must be done. I slowly reach into the drawer of my night stand and pull out my gun. Is this what my sweet Rosalee wants? Does she want us to become one? I stand in front of my bedroom door, gun in my hand, waiting for the tapping to begin once again. With her haunting voice I hear here say from the other side, “Yes, do it. Come join me outside your bedroom door. If you don’t, I’ll haunt you forever more.” I know she is right. I can not escape my fate. I bring the barrel of the gun to my head, then stop. I remember the last time I saw my sweet Rosalee alive. It was the day I held her head under the water until she died. It was the day she told me she was going to leave me for another guy. And now here she stands tapping at my door. If I stay alive, she will haunt me forever more. The last thing I remember is the tapping at the door. Buried ten feet under, my sweet Rosalee haunts me never more.

The End