Short Ghost Stories: The Man with the Axe in his Back

‘What’s your name, love? Can you tell me what happened to you?’ She said softly, her eyes tracing the ring of red around his throat. He didn’t reply, but she was patient. A flurry of activity was happening before the open doors of the elevator, but when time passed and he still showed no response, she changed her tone, sculpting it into one of wholesome enquiry rather than morbid curiosity.

‘Can you tell me whether it’s from something I ought to be careful of?’ she asked, her eyes still betraying uncanny interest. ‘I live alone, and as a single woman, you can’t be too careful...’

The silence was soon broken, as a new, unsuspecting stream of shoppers piled into the elevator. Turning to face the doors of the elevator, they all called out the floors they wanted to get off on, ignoring the man and the middle-aged woman. The man slowly turned back to the elevator corner, marking him as the only faceless person in a sea of faces. He was seemingly oblivious to the question posed by that one inquisitive woman.

Then unexpectedly, he spoke.

‘My name is Morgan Jones.’ He rasped. Despite keeping his voice low, the sound of it sent a ripple of unease through the elevator. People turned slightly, giving him a quick, cautious glance from the corner of their eyes.

‘I got that scar around my neck from an elevator, actually.’

Since he was speaking directly into a wall, his voice had a muffled yet booming quality that caused it to bounce around the enclosure. The middle-aged woman listened intently, unconsciously leaning forward as she absorbed his every word.

‘It was from this very elevator, in fact. The one we’re in right now.’

*****

‘Pris, Pris!! Quickly, into the elevator!’

Morgan jogged towards the closing door of the elevator, arms heavily laiden with scores of Christmas shopping bags. Behind him ran his four year-old daughter, her face lit like an angel, her long brown curls bouncing as she hurried after him. Her new red coat with the trim of white rabbit’s fur flew behind her like a swallow’s tail, and she giggled as she ran.

The two threaded their way through the crowded mall––it was Christmas Eve, and throngs of shoppers battled to do their last-minute sprees. A nice gentleman in the crowded elevator was kind enough––or at least charmed enough by the little girl––to hold the elevator door open for these two. It was a tight squeeze, but Morgan and Pris were able to pack themselves in before the doors started to close.

Pris’ expression then changed, when she looked down and saw the empty space in her arms. She cried out in distress.

‘Oh no, Daddy! I dropped Mervin over there! Look!’

Morgan looked up, spotting the raggedy white fur of the stuffed rabbit toy lying a few feet outside the elevator. Mervin the Rabbit was his daughter’s knight and protector, the most popular guest at her dinner parties, and the star of many a bedtime story. Luckily none of the other shoppers walking outside have crushed Mervin with the heels of their shoes yet, but there was no way Pris and Mervin could be separated.

‘Don’t worry, Pris. Daddy will save Mervin for you.’

Morgan threw himself out of the elevator, the shopping bags on his arms swinging askew. He was a football player in his younger days, and he was still fast, snatching Mervin up with impressive speed before attempting to hurtle back into the elevator. The elevator doors were on the verge of closing, but he wasn’t worried––he was counting on that nice shopper who had held the doors open for him and Pris earlier, to extend the same courtesy to him again.

But that didn’t happen.

The last image he had of Pris was of her anxious face, disappearing behind the closing metallic doors of the elevator. No hand had shot out to stave the doors, and Pris’ visage had quickly vanished from view, swallowed up by the sliding doors that had closed like an ominous black curtain.

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