Annabelle Lee by Edouard Manet (1889)
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When my father died, few townspeople knew of his curious double life, nor suspected what an astonishing inheritance he would leave me. Blessed with a sixth sense for hidden bargains, he leased a building that stood vacant for half-a-century, a charnel house where the bones of women accused of witchcraft were kept.
Though his shopkeeper’s sign was the standard three sphere symbol for pawnbrokers, that was strictly his public persona. Only I knew that it was those secret cement tunnels under the woebegone clapboard structure that amassed his fortune.
My fortune.
With my inheritance and inbred instincts for turning trash to gold, I acquired an ugly empty house on a dead end road. Though the fancier name is “cul-de-sac,” dead end suited it better. Lonely, dilapidated, and rumored to be haunted, it was snapped up at a discount. An architect and his stage designer wife transformed it into my Bed and Breakfast: Kingdom by the Sea. Technically, it overlooks a meandering river. Nor was it “a kingdom.” But haters gonna hate.
***
During that formidable snowfall in 1990, when the fancy roof of my Widow’s Walk began to cave in, it was obvious that a jack-of-all-trades had to be retained for ongoing maintenance.
It was shortly after Christmas that he, dishonorably discharged, introduced himself to me. He claimed he’d shield me from the “Tyranny of Ordinary.”
I replied, “Can you clean drains, fix pipes with a mortician’s care?”
“Winged seraphs,” he sighed, adding, “Sounds dreamy.”
Handsome though he was, he wasn’t in touch with reality, describing my inn as a sepulcher. Since this is Unpleasantville, the morbid term eluded tourists. Still. It rankled me.
Eventually, his nihilism had reached the nth degree, always contemplating mortality. A swell mechanic, sure, but his morose mindset was only fit for poetry.
Five years later, Hurricane Ophelia uprooted my cypress trees, chilling and killing my monthly income by the sea, chilling and killing my prized B and B. By then, my property appeared on the newly drawn flood maps because the river was sidling up my lawn after the winter thaw.
While sweeping up the branches, leaves, and non-compostable debris, we disagreed. Storm winds rushed me into the sounding sea.
How strange. He’s been going around town calling me “his bride.” He tells them he “sees my bright eyes,” and he mourns by my sepulcher built near the sea.
Though my days of bartering with plumbers, raccoon trappers, and exterminators are over, my ghost has to cope with tourists reading my extravagant epitaph in iambic pentameter aloud.
Famous now, he’s published by FSG.*
** FSG = Farrar, Straus, and Giroux
Native New Yorker LindaAnn LoSchiavo, a Pushcart Prize, Rhysling Award, Best of the Net, and Dwarf Stars nominee, is a member of SFPA, The British Fantasy Society, and The Dramatists Guild. Elgin Award winner "A Route Obscure and Lonely," "Concupiscent Consumption," "Women Who Were Warned," and "Messengers of the Macabre" by Nat. 1, L.L.C. [October 2022] are her latest poetry titles. She has been leading a poetry critique group for two years.
Her Texas Guinan film won "Best Feature Documentary" at N.Y. Women's Film Fest (Dec. 2021).
Up next: a tombstone-heavy collection in hardcover by Beacon Books.
― ― links ― ―
https://linktr.ee/LindaAnn.LoSchiavo
Twitter: @Mae_Westside
Hallowe'en Book web site: https://messengersofthemacabre.com/
LindaAnn Literary on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCHm1NZIlTZybLTFA44wwdfg
― ― AMAZON links to books published in 2022 ― ―
"Women Who Were Warned" [U.K.: Cerasus, June 2022] on AMZ.
https://www.amazon.com/Women-Were-Warned-LindaAnn-LoSchiavo/dp/B0B28D58G8/ref=sr_1_1
― ― AMAZON links to books published in 2022 ― ―
Preview: https://messengersofthemacabre.com/
Available for pre-orders: "Messengers of the Macabre: Halloween Poems"
by SFPA poets LindaAnn LoSchiavo & David Davies [USA: Nat 1 LLC, October 22, 2022]
https://www.amazon.com/Messengers-Macabre-Halloween-LindaAnn-LoSchiavo-ebook/dp/B0B3NK7QG6/ref=sr_1_1