The Lady in Red

This story was told to me by a neighbor's eldest son. He's an odd boy. Moved away a couple of summers ago and I haven't seen him since.

There's a remote park nestled up in the hills not far from where I grew up at. It's not very big. Not much larger than a football field. It's full of ancient oak trees who heavy branches blot out the sunlight. In the mornings you might catch sight of a deer, or one of the neighbors walking their dogs, but for the most part it's basically forgotten by the world. No one goes in that park after dark. Most people don't have any reason to do so. There's only a dimly lit streetlight and the rest is dark. Like dark, dark. Rattlesnakes nest under the dead leaves and coyotes pass through like phantoms. Of course, this makes it the perfect place for partying with your friends, away from parental eyes when you're a teenager. 

For most of the summer a few of my buddies and I bundled together in a car on Saturday nights, driving up the narrow, winding road, parking next to children's play-set, long since unused and unloved, lit by the one rheumy streetlight. After we turned the car lights off, we'd pass a bottle back and forth while sitting on the play-set. We'd do all the stupid things teenagers like to do; smoke pot, drink, tell off-color jokes, etc.

The park is full of secrets, too. When I was a little kid, a friend and I discovered a hillside covered in strangely carven glyphs in one of the canyons that branches off of the park. The most intriguing image was a giant snake winding its way around the bottom of the hillside. We used to pretend the original Natives had made them and that they held some kind of indecipherable message. When we asked our parents about them, they had no idea of what we were talking about. No one else seemed to know about them either. But they were there--which made them even cooler in our young eyes.

There'd been rumors about the park. I'd always thought they were the ravings of a lunatic's tweaking mind, but one night near Halloween things got weird. I know it sounds crazy but the park seemed darker then usual that night. It was almost hyper-dense. The trees were always claustrophobic and creepy, but they seemed even more so, like sentinels who'd been witness to many a dark rite. There was no breeze--the air unnaturally calm and silent. Something had me on edge. I couldn't place a finger on it, but something felt off. I tried to relay this feeling to my buddies, but you know how teenage boys are--they just laughed, calling me a chicken and making stupid monster noises. This was not the first time the park had creeped me out and made me the the butt of their jokes. 

We were drinking vodka that night. Cheap vodka with no mixer. Not my favorite. But teenagers are not known for their discernment in drinking alcohol. The only rule, the stronger the better. I'd had a couple of healthy swigs, gagging each time, before handing the bottle back to my friend. As I did so there was a large cracking sound from behind one of the nearby trees. The noise was so loud I nearly dropped the bottle. And it was much too loud to be one of the normal denizens that haunted the park at night.

"Hello...?" I called out. Half joking, half in earnest.

No answer. 

"Hello..?" One of my buddies said in a mocking tone. Then, he began laughing. 

There was still no answer. 

All was silent again. 

After a few minutes the temperature began to drop; the chill of the air on our breath. Unusual, but not out of the ordinary for a late autumnal evening. Wrapping my coat tighter around me, I suggested we head out and find another spot. Somewhere inside preferably, to continue the night's festivities. All my buddies agreed with me. No one seemed to be feeling the park. It wasn't as fun as it had been during the balmy summer nights. With the coming chill the park had lost its luster, no longer our secret hideaway from the real world. 

Silently, we piled back into the car. Turning on the headlights, we noticed a strange fog had crept in. Wispy tendrils rose from the ground coiling around the ancient oak trees. The effect was phantasmargorical; even otherworldly. We drove slowly down the winding road, all but lost in the fog. Suddenly, there was the large cracking sound again! Right in front of the car! My buddy slammed on the brakes. I braced for an impact. But the impact never came. Instead, something much worse happened. Something stepped into the beam of the car light. Something hideous. We only caught a glimpse of her. Skeletal, rotting, covered in a mangled red veil and dress. She was as diaphanous as the fog itself. Through that veil she looked straight at us. Her bony finger raised, pointing straight into my soul. Then, she shrieked. It pierced the night like nothing I'd ever heard before. The noise felt like it had split me in two. 

All of us screamed. 

Then she was gone. Once again, there was only the swirling fog around the car. 

My buddy took off and made tracks out of there. At first we laughed, deciding it was a trick of the light. We were inebriated. Under the influence. It was our vivid imaginations. But we knew none of these things were true. 

It wasn't until much later that I heard the story of the lady in red. She'd been seen a few times in the park. Always in the fall. Always late at night. And always surrounded by her trail of mist. Some said she was a rotting bride, forced to wear red for being a harlot, and then jilted on her wedding day. Her body was buried somewhere deep within the park, but no one knew exactly where anymore. And on lonesome, windswept nights in the fall she still wanders, unaware of the wraith she has become. But none of these things matter because I will never dare to step foot in that park again. I know if I did, she would be there waiting for me...