The Playground: A Supernatural Short Story Is Now Available on Amazon

An evil that exists for centuries resides by my side. Our souls exist between earth and a spiritual plane. Imprisoned inside decaying church walls, I watch my eternally youthful daughters, laughing and playing on the playground like living, breathing children. He watches too, but for different reasons, to reap his vengeance on people in town who dare trespass on cursed grounds. It was a year ago my two daughters, and I came to this place, looking to start a new life after death befell my husband. His life taken by the sea, one sunny day on an Atlantic beach, his body never recovered. He left us saddled with debt, and no real assets, our home and material things sold to sustain us. We traveled from coastal Florida, searching for a new start, stumbling on the town of Willows Grove.

I thought we’d found a new home, but instead, we found death. With no money or job, we lived precariously from street to car, until townspeople, ignoring our plight with shameless disregard drove us away with scathing remarks. One night we took shelter from a storm in an old Episcopalian church. We knew not what reside inside a soul of unrest, trapped for centuries. One restless night, I sat in the nave, sensing his presence in the transept’s shadows. A guardian angel in this house of worship, watching over me and the girls, I believed. But I was mistaken. Again, he arrived one quiet night, whispering sad hymns as I slept.

Harder yet may be the fight. Right may often yield to might. Wickedness awhile may reign. Satan's cause may seem to gain…

He filled my mind with old-world images and spoke poetically of lost love and the tragic death of his mistress and daughter. I woke sad and empathetic for an unknown entity. Several nights later, he revealed himself, a frightful cloaked figure glowed hellish red. Quickly he soothed our fear, with mental images of his true form. An attractive muscular, brown man with doleful eyes dressed in slaves clothing, his true earthly essence. Our minds soon filled with ghastly images of murder. Without tongue, he spoke of Willows Grove’s hatred of his family’s mixed blood, their murderous actions, and his family’s banishment to a crypt beneath the church. He began to sing a hymn I’d heard the previous night.

There is a world where pleasure reigns. No mourning soul shall roam its plains and to that land of peace and glory, I want to go someday…

For centuries, he’s wandered church grounds, mourning his loved ones, and taking revenge against Willows Grove families. With our arrival, he cleaved quickly to my daughters who reminded him of his own. He promised to protect us if we stayed, but he didn’t protect us the night of the fire. When angry men from town set the church ablaze, he bolted doors, locking us inside. Then I understood his true intent was to keep us eternally. I tried to escape both him and the men outside. I fled with the girls to the tunnel beneath the church. Trapped, our bodies were overcome with smoke.

With our death, he swore a new vengeance against Willows Grove. Anyone who set foot near the church or playground would feel his wrath. I fear our souls are damned for eternity by his side. Our bodies, yet to be discovered, remain hidden beneath the church. I pray someone will release us from this hell.

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