The Ghost Of Annabelle 😨
Final Episode 😥
I had thought the throbbing of my heart will st©p when I saw Angela but it only got stronger. It had not been so long when she c@m£ out of Mabel’s father’s house but my mind had travelled from the east to the west, ruminating on what course of action to take. Kick starting the car and driving towards her, I saw a group of ladies coming out from the gate and calling on her and so I st©pped. I waited till the ladies returned after giving her the handbag she forgot in Mabel’s father’s sitting-room. A little after the ladies went in, I drove to her and st©pped. Knowing that my hesitation to speak could be disastrous and also knowing that my speaking too confidently could be equally disastrous, I spoke lightly.
“Can I give you a ride?”
“Give who a ride, you think I’m a who-re?” She shouted and I made no comment. I was trying to be as courteous as possible in order not to incur her wrath.
“I know I made the wrong choice but I want to make it up to you.”
“Make it up to who?” She hissed, turned her face and continued to walk.
I tried to pu-ll myself together, telling myself that I was not going to let her pas-s me by. I c@m£ down from the car and walked on to her.
“Can I have a word with you plea-se?”
“Get out of my side before I lose my temper.” She bawled and stared at me with an inscrutable expression.
“But you’re the only one for me; plea-se don’t break what’s left of my heart.” I was dimly aware that this was my real self talking. I wanted her so badly and I was willing to do whatever that was humanly possible to reach the de-epest recesses of her heart.
“Why can’t you un-derstand that you disgust me?”
Talking to her was a panic of some sorts because it was obviously clear that she didn’t want to listen to me at all. In spite of that, I didn’t want to be moved; it was vital that I kept my emotions on a ti-ght leash as I tried to reach her heart of heart. To my amazement, she stood looking at me eye-ball-to-eye-ball and I felt like a piece of rope, be-draggled and frayed but not being dismayed as I spoke on.
“There’s no woman like you in the whole wi-de world; you’re the only woman for me.” I knelt down and pleaded and staring me with her we-t eyes, she smiled and held me up.
“You’re the only man for me.” She said softly and hvgged me so pas-sionately.
“I love you so dearly, my words can’t fully tell.” I whispered into her ears.
“I love you too.” She voiced out like a breath of air as tears rolled down her cheeks. I saw in her eyes what de-ep love she had for me.
“I shall prove to the whole world that I’ve not known any woman like you.” I said earnestly as I held her hand as we gingerly walked to the car.
We talked excitedly as I was maneuvering the steering wheels of my car, driving home.
“So why were you drinking like a mad man?”
“It was just because I couldn’t accept the fact that you were out of my life.”
As we talked and laughed, the uppermost thought on my mind was to make my home with Angela. I dismissed all unpractical love theories as absurd and concluded that she was the woman of my dreams and the materialization of my creative genius. She was a splendid woman of whose love I was really proud of.
“Oh dear, what can I do to have you all my life-long?”
She blu-shed, smiled, and looked at me, seemingly searching for the right words to respond. My question seemed to be her mind’s chief consideration as the minutes pas-sed amid the chaos of human feelings, affections and pas-sions.
“Love me truly and I’ll be faithful to you for all ages.” As the words tumbled from the ti-p of her ton-gue, I drew closer and k!$$£d her. It was not a moment of indecision. I was fully sure I loved her and ha-rd ly will any woman, man or thing could put us asun-der.
When we reached my house, she said I should take her home.
“No Angela.” I said, then hesitated, I didn’t want to hurt her feelings.
“I said take me home dear.” She repeated herself. Her tone was so urgent and she looked so weak that I complied at once, saying with much compunction, “I’ll take you home dear but can we have a drink to our renewed love?”
She did not trust herself to reply but smiled. I took her smile as an affirmative response and led her into my house. We quic-kly had a drink and I never anticipated the fact that taking her home was not a de-sire come true.
She looked so frail that I thought she was ill. I held her and was leading her to the be-droom when she tried leaning away from me but she was fragile. I took her up and took her in. I had not dropped her on the be-d when her head turned, her eyes alre-ady closed. She had been stolen away by sleep and I couldn’t do anything to bring her back to consciousness. I quic-kly showered before I joined her on be-d.
When she woke up around 2.00am, she did not shout, cry out or even shrink when she saw herself enwra-pped in my arms.
“What happened? I told you to take me home.” She said with a smile.
“Well…”
“There’s no nee-d for explanations.” She started k!ss!ngme.
In the weeks and months that followed, Angela and I did our engagement and marriage ceremonies. We traveled outside the city for our honeymoon and during those memorable moments, I learned to love and pamper my wife in ways hitherto unexplored. Though both socially and educationally of the same strata, I admired my wife’s feminine maturity and gave her the respect she deserved. I found to my surprise that my better half was not only a movie lover but a well-re-ad woman, and could discuss most subjects with fluency. She was my best friend, lover and confidante. She was a great lover such as I had always imagined and fantasized about…a woman who could carry you with her to the loftiest heights of ecstasy; a woman who could make a man forget everything and everyone in the world, knowing only that she was in his arms. She was confident that whatever the future had in sto-re for us two, she would have a perfect honeymoon, and that the memory of which would become a clas-sical story. My fears of an unhappy marriage dispersed; my distrust swept away. I loved her with such an intensity of pas-sion that nothing could come in between us.
The night before the end of our honeymoon, I took our suitcases out of the wardrobe where we had stacked them and begun to arrange them in preparation for our journey the next day. My wife entreated for quiet and rest and I left her alone, arranging our clothes, books and flowers into the suitcases. She l@yon the be-d with wi-de, fixed gaze at me as I neatly arranged our things for our travel the following day. She was the woman who could kindle my spirit and inspire the best in me. Heretofore, I had girlfriends here and there as a matter of habit but in my vivid, glowing and renewed self-consciousness, I decided to discontinue my flir-tations and let my wife be my one and all. I made the choice to shrink away from my flir-tatious way because it could only shatter my mind and batter my family. One of the chief dreams of my ambition was to be my spouse’s faithful hubby.
When I finished arranging our things and joined her on be-d, I was drawing her to myself when her face changed into that of Annabelle. I bellowed and she bec@m£ suddenly afraid. She asked me what was it and as I narrated my story to her and how I brutally cut short Annabelle’s life, she looked at me and if not the sincerity she saw emitting from my eyes, she would have simply carried her suitcase and dep@rt from my life. But she loved me so dearly and pas-sionately and instead of condemning me, she asked me for the details and proffered solution to the problem. As she spoke with love and tenderness, listening to me as I listened to her, I felt what unquantifiable love she had for me. In this world where love seemed but on sale, finding someone who truly loved me was a treasure beyond measure.
“So why did you hide the truth of her death from even her family?” Her lower l!plovingly quivered as she spoke. Perhaps that was why her carefully chos£n words admirably flowed into each other, culminating in a beautiful accent.
“I hid the truth simply because I was afraid of the consequences. Annabelle was highly loved by her family and killing her could end in the death of the murderer.”
Angela nodded her head and held my hand ti-ghtly.
“I love you and this hunting and haunting will soon be a story of the past.” She encouraged me, gave me hope and k!$$£d me for the night.
The following day when we reached home, Angela told me I had to go to Annabelle’s parents and tell them the truth about their daughter; they had believed that their daughter was killed but never saw her corpse. She accompanied me to Annabelle’s family house in the suburb of the city and when we reached, we were warmly welcomed.
“Papa, someb©dy is parking his car in front of our house.” Oyifioda, Annabelle’s younger brother told his father who was pushing his glas-ses up the bridge of his nose as he got up to look us.
“Who is it?” Annabelle’s father asked.
“O-oh, it’s Mr. Andrew, Annabelle’s fiancée.”
“That handsome young man… has he remembered the way to our house?”
“Yes Papa but I think he has married another woman.”
“That’s not a problem, go in and call your mother.” The old man said, staring at my wife and I as we greeted him, wi-dening his narrow eyes as he answered us, leading us to the sitting-room. When Annabelle’s mother joined us, she recognized me and greeted I and my p@rtner so convivially.
“So what brou-ght you to our house my son?” Annabelle’s father asked.
“It’s Annabelle.”
“Have you seen her?” Annabelle’s mother stood joyfully. Oyifioda was standing and listening to us silently. The film of sweat drizzling from my face gave way to a dripping we-tness on my forehead, my n£¢k and che-st and I almost stammered as I made my confession.
“I didn’t know you were so wicked.” Annabelle’s mother said when I finished narrating my story. Annabelle’s father made no comment; he seemed to be focused on every word that tumbled from the ti-p of my ton-gue. He turned and looked at me and then c@m£ a gentle smile on his face. Oyifioda glanced at me, then turned back and went in.
“My son, now that you’ve told me the truth about my daughter, may her spirit torment you no more.” As he was blessing me and my wife, Annabelle’s mother and brother joined us and expressed their forgiveness.
My wife and I were happy and talked vivaciously on our way back home. The ghost of Annabelle hunted and haunted me no more and my wife wrote her first novel based on my story.
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The End 😍