Reclamation

📅 Published on January 26, 2022

“Reclamation”

Written by Ashley Fontainne
Edited by Craig Groshek
Thumbnail Art by Craig Groshek
Narrated by N/A

Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on CreepypastaStories.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed, adapted to film, television or audio mediums, republished in a print or electronic book, reposted on any other website, blog, or online platform, or otherwise monetized without the express written consent of its author(s).

🎧 Available Audio Adaptations: None Available

ESTIMATED READING TIME — 16 minutes

Rating: 10.00/10. From 1 vote.
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Chapter One

Dried, dead leaves crunched underneath the rhythmic footfalls of the trio. Mrs. Kendal took in a haggard breath, clearly struggling to keep a steady pace. Mandy watched the elderly mark, noting she had a death grip on her son, Trevor, as they wound their way through the maze of headstones.

“Are we close? My hips and knees hurt.” Mrs. Kendal’s frail voice was tinged with hints of worry, pain, and fear.

“Up one more row and on the left, Mom. Almost there. A few more minutes and this’ll be over, just like Ms. Harrison promised. Dad’s spirit will be reunited with his body, and he’ll pass on to the next plane of existence.”

There was a slight hint of sarcasm in the rich twerp’s tone. That irritated Mandy, known to the Kendals as Jasmine Harrison, E.R.E. Trevor still doubted her abilities, which caused major concern. Hopefully he would change his opinion of her upon reaching the destination and viewing the real show.

Glancing up to the forest canopy, she admired the silvery tendrils of moonlight streaming through the leafless trees as though an otherworldly guide. From the moon’s placement in the sky, she knew it was close to one a.m. Perfection. They were right on schedule. Parker had outdone himself. She couldn’t see one piece of equipment in the bare limbs of the trees.

Thinking about her twin and business partner sparked a wave of anger. She’d told him not to spend too much time at the cemetery and to focus on making the hovering apparition beyond believable at the Kendal residence. He’d failed, requiring Mandy to use her own resourcefulness to pull off the reclamation. What appeared in front of them all was way below Parker’s skill level, like cheap special effects in a low-budget horror movie.

Based on Trevor’s attitude, intuition told her that after this job, they’d have to slink away again to another state. Just to be safe. They’d spent her entire life bouncing from one place to the next. Constant movement was normal; staying in one place, repeating the same day over and over, terrified her because it was foreign.

She didn’t mind changing appearances, her name, getting new business cards and burner phones, finding a place to live that asked no questions and took cash, although that was becoming increasingly difficult. She relished researching a new town and all the wealthy residents—and most importantly, their health.

Her parents would be proud of her accomplishments, except for the botched job like the one in Seattle sixteen months prior.

Stop worrying. The old geezer’s wife died last month. Parker attended the funeral—incognito of course—and we are free and clear. No remaining family members alive to come snooping around or ask probing questions about the money. Focus on the task at hand, fool!

Perhaps Parker’s punishment should be a lesser percentage of tonight’s fee.

No. It’s time to part ways for good. Parker’s sloppy, and I’m sick of fixing his mistakes. If I take all of tonight’s haul, I’ll have reached my goal—a cool million. Sorry, bro, but you’re on your own. I promised our parents at the funeral I’d take care of you, and I did, for seven years. I’m kicking you out of the nest. Fly or fall; flap or splat. I’m bound for the beach while I still have the boobs and ass to snag a rich, old, and lonely man.

Decision made, she clamped her fingers around the jewel-encrusted box, careful not to touch the hidden button until the appropriate time. The red, blue, and topaz fake stones were high enough quality that the forgery passed muster numerous times with other clients accustomed to fine jewelry. The heavy chain around her neck tethering her to Parker, vanished. She felt light—airy.

Freedom, baby. Yeah!

She never left anything to chance, especially since their prey were well off and sometimes, like tonight, Parker wasn’t on his game. He needed to lay off the ganga. THC ruined his memory and dulled once sharp senses.

They couldn’t afford mistakes or unhappy customers. Disgruntled folks never shared positive reviews. Suspicious people talked to the police.

The siblings grifted across the United States, Canada, and a few times to Mexico, just like their parents—though they were much better at their craft. Advanced technology made it a breeze. However, Mandy feared they’d stretched their luck to the limit.

It was time for Madeline Patricia Morgan to retire. What Parker Matthew Morgan did with his life was solely up to him.

The late November air was crisp. A slight breeze ruffled tufts of auburn curls around her face, cooling her nerves down. A rank odor wafted through the air. Her nose twitched in response. Parker went overboard with the patchouli and oregano oils. The stench was almost unbearable.

“Oh my, that’s a foul smell. What is it, Trevor?”

“Just rotten, moldy leaves and maybe a skunk nearby, Mom. We probably got too close, so it sprayed.”

“That doesn’t smell like skunk to me; more like burned matches.”

On instinct, Mandy took a slow, deep breath. No, it wasn’t Parker’s usual concoction nor was it a skunk. Mrs. Kendal was on target—it smelled like sulfur.

A lot of sulfur.

Nerves on edge, Mandy waited for her back pocket to buzz three times, the agreed-upon signal Parker was in place and ready.

As they neared the location of the grave, she thought about the arrival at Mrs. Kendal’s house. A snide grin appeared. She let it remain, knowing the duo in front of her concentrated on their steps rather than the weird woman with the jade green eyes behind them.

The intense conversation from earlier filtered through her thoughts as they made their way up the small incline to the appropriate headstone…

…She’d been greeted by the nerdy, overweight offspring the second she exited the car. Trevor had cornered her in the driveway, pudgy face contorted in disgust, his expensive cashmere sweater pulled tight around a rotund midsection. The look spoke volumes about his opinion of the woman hired to help guide his father, Jared Kendall, recently deceased, to the other side.

“My mother isn’t thinking with a clear head. Dad’s been gone six weeks—she hasn’t had time to process the loss. They were married for forty-five years, together for fifty-five, so of course she’s struggling. I won’t tolerate you playing into her demented fantasies just to swindle her for money. I overheard your conversation on the phone yesterday—and the exorbitant price you quoted—in cash—as an E.R.B.”

“It’s E.R.E., Mr. Kendal. Essence Reclamation Expert.”

“I don’t give a shit if you have the entire alphabet behind your name, Miss Jasmine Harrison. Great fake name, by the way. Even brain surgeons don’t charge a hundred grand for a few hours service. I mean, come on! That’s insane. I insist you leave. Now.”

“Mr. Kendal, I’m not playing games. I’m here, at your mother’s request, not yours, to perform a thorough investigation into the EVP activities she relayed to me over the phone. If I detect anything amiss in terms of her mental state, or conclude no spiritual activity in the residence exists, I will be happy to leave—and, of course, waive my fee. Believe me, I hope for the latter because the reclamation process takes a heavy toll on my mind and body, which is why I quote high fees and ask for cash payments. The government should not profit off my pain. You see, I allow the essence of the departed to enter me so I can guide them to…”

“What a load of shit! You’ve watched Thirteen Ghosts way too many times. Let’s end this charade. The problem isn’t my Dad’s lost, restless soul as my mother thinks. The problem is she knocks back too much gin and very little tonic at night. Once she’s wasted, she hears the voice of my father all over the house. I talked to her doctor about this—it’s called alcoholic hallucinosis. She isn’t experiencing a haunting; she’s hallucinating.”

“Your mother told me she lives alone. Is that statement correct?”

“Yeah. So. What’s your point?”

“How do you know what she hears or the amount of alcohol she consumes if you aren’t around to verify?”

Trevor had glared, scrunching up his face. His cheeks turned rosy red. “I take out her garbage, buy the groceries, and balance her checkbook. I know exactly how much she drinks, and what liquor store delivers extra gin when she runs out. Ghosts aren’t real. I stayed here for two full weeks after the funeral and didn’t experience a thing except creaking boards and drafts, which is expected in a house this size and age. My father’s dead. He keeled over in the backyard from a massive coronary. Poor Mom watched the love of her life die before the paramedics arrived while he was sprawled out on the yellowing lawn. Years of a fatty diet, lack of exercise, and a fondness for bourbon literally exploded his heart. When no more blood pumps through tissue, it dies. Scientific fact. The grave is the end and where flesh decomposes.”

“Is that so?”

“Don’t take that haughty tone with me. Yeah, that’s so. Mother hears whispers of the past created by her damaged, sorrowful mind! She just can’t bring herself to let go and accept the painful truth that he’s gone. The fact she contacted you confirms she’s not dealing with reality—or a sober mind. There’s no such thing as spirits. Hauntings. A soul. Period. End of story. People like you who hunt these smoke-and-mirrors trickery are frauds—nasty leeches feeding off the pain and loneliness of the bereaved. I mean, seriously, you don’t even have any equipment, just some stupid box with Egyptian hieroglyphics. What’s the plan? Lure him with precious stones and some ancient incantations? Pathetic.”

“I do not hunt the spirits of the departed, Mr. Kendal. I assist in reclaiming detached souls and reunite them with their earthly form. I’m the equipment. Call me a genetic oddity if that sits better with you. Sometimes, when the death is violent or unexpected…”

“Save your dog-n-pony show for someone stupid enough to fall for the lies. I said leave, and I mean it!”

Trevor’s muscles had tensed as he prepared to lunge. He stopped short when Clara Kendal opened the front door. “Hurry! He’s in our bedroom. Oh, my beloved Jared’s here, and in visible form. Come and see!”

Feigning a dizzy spell, Mandy had clasped her hand around the railing, gaze focused on the front door. “Your father senses my energy aura and fed off it to make an appearance. Confused beings have been drawn to me my whole life. Trust me, it isn’t a pleasant experience. Shall we?”

Trevor had cursed under his breath, back rigid and steps purposeful as he trudged to the front door…

…“Oh, here he rests. My beloved. I miss you so much, dear, but I can’t take any more of your scary visits. We’ll all see you soon.”

Pulled out of her musings by Mrs. Kendal’s teary voice, Mandy walked past the duo, stopping in front of the enormous headstone. Clouds appeared, bathing the little glen in near darkness.

Pushing past the queasy feeling in her stomach, she forced her muscles to relax. Lowering her head, she closed her eyes after placing the box on the top of the marble. With the flick of her finger, she discreetly pushed the hidden button. A spark of red shot up nearly twenty feet in the air, illuminating the area with a crimson glow.

Woah, Parker must have made upgrades. This is new. Nice touch, bro.

A loud thump, followed by Trevor’s gasp, made chills run up her spine.

She opened her eyes.

“Mom? Mom! Oh…no.”

Before she could blink, Trevor collapsed, hand clutching the left arm, landing inches away from his mother. His head smashed against a large rock.

The sulfur stench was back with a vengeance.

In shock, Mandy crept her way over to the bodies. Terror thrummed inside her chest as she reached down, touching the jugular of each one.

No pulse.

No respirations.

Eyes fixed and dilated.

“Sonofabitch!”

In a panic, she ran back to the headstone and snatched the box. Both old fools suffered heart attacks at the same time.

This isn’t happening!

She ran but only made it a few yards when she remembered the business cards.

Returning to the corpses, she riffled through their pockets and Mrs. Kendal’s purse.

Nothing.

Spinning around in a full circle, she searched for Parker, willing him to appear from the shadows. He was supposed to be nearby, watching, ready to unleash the special effects.

Where are you? I need you!

Fuck it. Can’t waste any more precious time.

Turning, she fled through the dense woods, ignoring the sting of vines and tree limbs ripping across her face until she reached her car.

Chapter Two

Tossing the box in the passenger seat, she cranked up the car. “Highway to Hell” by AC/DC blared from the speakers. With shaky fingers, she turned off the radio. Looking in the backseat, she took a deep, calming breath. The bag with the payment from Mrs. Kendal was still there, along with her emergency bags, each filled with enough clothes, fake identities, and cash to make a clean getaway. As the engine idled, she weighed her options: flee and let Parker handle the fallout or stay long enough to clean up the mess and then bolt.

No, I must get the business cards and wipe the house of my fingerprints. Parker would just screw that up. I refuse to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder.

Decision made, she put the car in reverse. Before backing out of the parking lot, she scanned the area, making sure no one was around. Satisfied she was alone, she eased out onto the dark, two-lane road.

Reaching for the cell to call Parker, it rang. She jumped, nearly losing control of the vehicle. “Where the hell are you? We’ve got trouble. Major trouble.”

“My car died. I called you like fifty times. Why didn’t you answer? Wait for me? We’re a team, and rule number one is we never operate solo. What kind of trouble are you in? Did Trevor peg you for a fake?”

A cold chill skittered up her spine. For a split second, her vision blurred. The sulfur stench must have adhered to her clothes because the odor was back. “Clara and Trevor are dead.”

“Holy hell! What happened?”

Slowing down to take a curve, words tumbled out. “I’m not a doctor but my guess is they went just like the old man: massive coronaries. They both just fell out right as we reached Jared’s grave. I’m on my way back to their house to get the cards and remove all traces I was there. You need to get the bodies and dispose of them.”

“Chill, sis. You’re rambling and obviously not thinking straight. I just said my car’s dead which means I can’t go anywhere until you come get me. You need to hurry up. I’m freezing. Where are you? Oh, wait, I see headlights.”

Her phone beeped once then shut down.

“Damn battery!”

While rounding the curve, a weird electrical current made the hairs on her arms stand erect. A strange buzzing sound from the passenger seat made her glance down.

The box vibrated as though invisible hands shook it like a magic 8-ball.

“What in the world?”

The interior of the car filled with vibrant, red light. Temporarily blinded, her foot instinctively hit the brakes. Tires squalled. The back end fishtailed.

The box tumbled to the floor and went out.

Looking back to the road, she screamed, veering left and then overcorrecting as red, blinking taillights appeared in front of the hood.

Bam!

Her head slammed into the steering wheel. Stars danced behind her eyes. Oddly, she felt no pain. Blood streamed down her face. Wiping it away, she peered out the shattered windshield, noting the thick streaks of red.

And Parker’s Lexus only feet away.

No. No. No!

Exiting the car, heart racing, mind spinning, she staggered toward the trunk.

Parker’s twisted body lay in a crumpled heap, blood tinged with foamy saliva oozing from swollen lips.

“Parker!”

Dropping to the cold pavement, she knelt beside him. He coughed once, spewing out a huge dollop of something thick, congealed, and sticky onto her arm.

His lips trembled. “I’m not cold anymore.”

Tears streamed down her face, dripping onto her twin’s forehead. She could tell by the angle his neck was broken. For the first time in her life, she froze, unable to figure out what to do next.

“We’ll all see you soon.”

She gaped at him. His lips moved but the words were not in his voice. Now’s not the time to let hysteria control me. That wasn’t Clara! She’s dead. So’s Trevor. And soon, my brother. Get up, find his cell, and call for help. No, wait. I can’t call the police. Oh, shit. What should I do?

A huge gust of wind hit her, nearly knocked her backward. The sulfur stench returned.

Parker coughed again this time not as strong. His lips curled into a sinister smirk. “You already know what you want to do, sis. Time to part ways for good because I’m sloppy, and you’re sick of fixing my mistakes. Take all of tonight’s haul. Congrats, you’ve reached your goal—a cool million. Don’t be sorry for leaving me here to die alone. I know you planned on kicking me out of the nest. What was the expression? Oh yeah, fly or fall; flap or splat. Ha, you took the musings literally and splatted me. Sibling rivalry at its finest. Go, head to the beach while those boobs and ass still look good. You got an old, rich man to snag.”

Shaking, Mandy scooted backward, overcome with terror. “How…there’s no…what the fuck is going on!”

“We’ll all see you soon!”

The words repeated over and over, each time in different voices until they finally hit a crescendo, merging all together.

“We’ll all see you soon!”

Sobbing, Mandy scrambled to her feet, fell twice, and finally made it to the car.

She didn’t think about anything except getting far away from the area.

“Head injury. That’s it, I have a head injury. I hit a deer. Or a cow. Or simply smashed into a deserted car on the road. I did not just kill my brother. I did not!”

Slamming the car into drive, she floored it. Tears and snot rushed down her face, mixing with the blood. The glow of city lights loomed in the distance. After wiping her face, she took a deep breath, letting her foot ease off the gas pedal. Her vision doubled. Her arms and legs felt heavy. Controlling them became a chore.

“Need…a…doctor.”

The radio came back on, blaring “Highway to Hell” full blast.

The sulfur stench assaulted her nose. Her eyes watered.

Waves of burning electricity shot through her torso, rendering her body immobile. Multi-colored lights swarmed the interior. She took a ragged breath and then everything faded into dark, cold oblivion.

Chapter Three

A strange, loud noise brought her up from the deep, dark well she’d been trapped inside. It took all the mental strength she could muster to force her eyes open.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

A hazy image appeared to the left. It took her several seconds to focus and obtain a clear picture.

No. Freaking. Way.

Opening the door, she stumbled out, nearly falling at his feet. Trevor’s face contorted in disgust, his expensive cashmere sweater pulled tight around a rotund midsection. Before she could say a word, he lit into her.

“My mother isn’t thinking with a clear head. Dad’s been gone six weeks—she hasn’t had time to process the loss. They were married for forty-five years, together for fifty-five, so of course she’s struggling. I won’t tolerate you playing into her demented fantasies just to swindle her for money. I overheard your conversation on the phone yesterday—and the exorbitant price you quoted—in cash—as an E.R.B.”

As though speaking from inside a barrel, she heard herself respond, “It’s E.R.E., Mr. Kendal. Essence Reclamation Expert.”

“I don’t give a shit if you have the entire alphabet behind your name, Miss Jasmine Harrison. Great fake name, by the way. Even brain surgeons don’t charge a hundred grand for a few hours service. I mean, come on! That’s insane. I insist you leave. Now.”

Mandy desperately wanted to leave, to say something, anything, other than what came out. “Mr. Kendal, I’m not playing games. I’m here, at your mother’s request, not yours, to perform a thorough investigation into the EVP activities she relayed to me over the phone. If I detect anything amiss in terms of her mental state, or conclude no spiritual activity in the residence exists, I will be happy to leave—and, of course, waive my fee. Believe me, I hope for the latter because the reclamation process takes a heavy toll on my mind and body, which is why I quote high fees and ask for cash payments. The government should not profit off my pain. You see, I allow the essence of the departed to enter me so I can guide them to…”

“What a load of shit! You’ve watched Thirteen Ghosts way too many times. Let’s end this charade…”

A weird buzzing sound filled her mind, drowning out the rest of Trevor’s angry words. Trapped inside a vortex of swirling confusion, it took all Mandy had to stay upright.

“…There’s no such thing as spirits. Hauntings. A soul. Period. End of story. People like you who hunt these smoke-and-mirrors trickery are frauds—nasty leeches feeding off the pain and loneliness of the bereaved. I mean, seriously, you don’t even have any equipment, just some stupid box with Egyptian hieroglyphics. What’s the plan? Lure him with precious stones and some ancient incantations? Pathetic.”

Wake up, Mandy. Wake up! You aren’t really here. It’s a dream—no, a nightmare—caused by the gash on your skull. Don’t say it. Don’t!

“I do not hunt the spirits of the departed, Mr. Kendal. I assist in reclaiming detached souls and reunite them with their earthly form. I’m the equipment. Call me a genetic oddity if that sits better with you. Sometimes, when the death is violent or unexpected…”

“Save your dog-n-pony show for someone stupid enough to fall for the lies. I said leave, and I mean it!”

Trevor lunged, stopping short as his mother’s voice rang out. “Hurry! He’s in our bedroom. Oh, my beloved Jared’s here, and in visible form. Come and see! We’ll all see you soon, dear. We’ll all see you soon!”

Overcome with a wave of nausea and dizziness, Mandy grabbed the railing before passing out. With shaky fingers, she touched the spot on her forehead where she hit the steering wheel.

Nothing.

No wound.

No blood.

No pain.

Whimpering inside her mind, her lips betrayed her mental instructions as she said, “Your father senses my energy aura and fed off it to make an appearance. Confused beings have been drawn to me my whole life. Trust me, it isn’t a pleasant experience. Shall we?”

“Lying bitch. Yeah, let’s go. We’ll all see you soon!”

Mandy collapsed onto the ground, grateful for the sweet release of unconsciousness.

Leaves crunched as they walked. Mandy heard the noise and the chatter between Clara and Trevor Kendal yet couldn’t feel the ground underneath her feet. Despite trying to run away, she walked past them, finally stopping at the headstone.

And then, she relieved it all over again.

The sick feeling in her gut.

The explosion of red from the box.

The loud thump, followed by Trevor gasping and then screaming, “Mom? Mom! Oh…no.”

Trevor collapsing to the ground by his mother.

The overwhelming stench of sulfur.

No pulses.

No respirations.

Two sets of fixed, dilated eyes.

Running through the dense woods, mentally torturing herself with nasty, uncontrollable thoughts about Parker. Part of her mind pleaded with the cosmos that this was all a hallucination and not reality.

Vines and tree limbs ripped across her face, yet she felt no pain, only unrelenting, sheer terror.

She was back in the car now, willing her hands to remain still yet she picked up the cell phone anyway. She heard herself speak with her brother, the conversation verbatim from before.

Trapped inside her mind, which clearly wasn’t controlling her limbs and quite possibly was damaged beyond repair from the accident.

Where you killed Parker

No! I did not! This is all trauma from the injury.

The curve loomed ahead.

Her brother’s haunting words, “Chill, sis. You’re rambling and obviously not thinking straight. I just said my car’s dead which means I can’t go anywhere until you come get me. You need to hurry up. I’m freezing. Where are you? Oh, wait, I see headlights.”

Click. Phone lost power.

Wails of sorrow burst from her mouth as she rounded the curve. The electrical current filled the car.

The box vibrating, but this time, no light filled the car.

Ha! It is just a dream. A break in the repetition!

The squall of tires.

Her screams of utter panic while veering left and then overcorrecting.

Taillights of Parker’s Lexus.

Bam!

Her head slamming into the steering wheel.

Stars.

No pain.

No. No. No!

Staggering toward the trunk.

Parker’s mangled body; back and neck broken, mouth spewing out a piece of himself onto her arm.

“I’m not cold anymore. Told you, sis, that we’ll all see you soon.”

Abject fear rendered her speechless. Stuck in a loop of overwhelming sorrow and fear, she felt truly alone for the first time in her life.

The huge gust of wind grazed over her face, yet she barely noticed.

Parker’s voice took on a high, unfamiliar pitch. It was like shards of glass carving out chunks of her soul. Desperate to muffle the sound, her fingers clamped over each ear.

“…Don’t be sorry for leaving me here to die alone. I know you planned on kicking me out of the nest. What was the expression? Oh yeah, fly or fall; flap or splat. Ha, you took the musings literally and splatted me. Sibling rivalry at its finest. Go, head to the beach while those boobs and ass still look good. You got an old, rich man to snag.”

“How…there’s no…what the fuck is going on!”

“We’ll all see you soon! We’ll all see you soon! We’ll all see you soon!”

Once on her feet as heaving sobs burst from her chest, she ran. “Head injury. That’s it, I have a head injury. I hit a deer. Or a cow. Or simply smashed into a deserted car on the road. I did not just kill my brother. I did not!”

Gunning the engine as tears and snot rushed down her face, she fled. There was no way this was real. She had to be in a hospital bed somewhere, huge bandage around her head. Maybe given medication that was screwing with her mind.

The radio came back on, blaring “Highway to Hell” full blast.

Fists pounding against the wheel, she flung her head back while closing her eyes, letting out a guttural scream. “Wake up! Wake the fuck up! This isn’t real. It’s only a dream!”

Suddenly, the car stopped. Relief washed over her like a cleansing, summer rain.

Opening her eyes, expecting to see the face of a concerned doctor or nurse, she could do nothing but stare into the angry, hateful face of Trevor Kendal as he pounded on the window.

Her wails of pain could not drown out the gut-wrenching repetition of the last night of her life.

Over.

And over.

And over.

Rating: 10.00/10. From 1 vote.
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🎧 Available Audio Adaptations: None Available


Written by Ashley Fontainne
Edited by Craig Groshek
Thumbnail Art by Craig Groshek
Narrated by N/A

🔔 More stories from author: Ashley Fontainne


Publisher's Notes: N/A

Author's Notes: N/A

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