The Haunting of Abbie Rose

This story is by A. J. Aisling and was part of our 2025 Fall Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.

Running is not sufficient to escape what is chasing her and her family. She glances over her shoulder and sees her three children being swarmed by the—what should she call them? Imaginary menaces? Ghosts? Demons? But that isn’t really what they are at all. There is no word to describe these invisible threats. All that matters is that her children need her and she has no idea how to save them.

She grabs the hand of her youngest, Crimson, and tries to maneuver through the maze of rooms in the sprawling gothic mansion. No matter how many times she comes back to this place, the layout never cements in her mind. It is a never-ending labyrinth of passageways and rooms that makes no sense whatsoever.

“I’m tired, Momma.”

“I know baby, but we have to keep moving.” She sees beings attaching themselves to Crimson, leeching off her life force. The sight is both terrifying and infuriating.

There is nothing I can do to save my family.

As she runs, Abbie Rose looks back and sees her son, Vermillion, gaining some distance between the things chasing him. He has always been a great athlete.

But she doesn’t see her daughter Scarlett anymore. Her eldest ran away first and the beings were chasing after her, but Abbie Rose is forced to focus on the youngest who cannot possibly escape on her own.

There isn’t time to think. Nor to investigate. All she can do is hope that Scarlett and Vermillion can handle themselves at eleven and nine while she rescues four-year-old Crimson.

What hope is there for any of them? She doesn’t even know what is happening.

The invisible creatures are getting closer to her and they are getting more and more opaque as they consume Crimson’s life force.

Is that a clue?

“Mommy, I’m tired,” Crimson whines. Dear God, why is this happening? There is no solution and no hope. She is losing this battle. Where can she go?

Her eyes fly open in panic. It takes a moment to realize this was a nightmare. The same terrorizing visions plague her day and night. Same children. Same emotions. The question is, what is it about this place? Why is her subconscious mind playing that loop? Her life is a kaleidoscope of visions and nightmares that would be fantastic stories if she could just write them down.

Life without the ability to move or speak is maddening. Abbie Rose is adjusting as best she can, but she is a horror writer who is unable to write. Her life is in the merciless hands of a sadist caregiver and the medication he forces her to take causes her to sleep at all hours. The only highlight is that she is living in her favorite place in the world–the Misty Valley Inn, a Victorian mansion that was once a bed and breakfast and is now her home.

Once a day, her caretaker takes her for an outdoor walk. The Inn is surrounded by forests that are beginning to reflect the season of death and decay. Brilliant reds and fiery oranges provide a break in the monotony of green and brown. Something about the visible confirmation of the cycle of life and inevitability of death gives her peace.

“We will go on two walks today, Ms. Rose. This is the anniversary.” He gives her a knowing glare that makes no sense to her.

Abbie Rose cannot respond. Even if he made sense, there is no way to answer him. Frustration leads to fury which leads to exhaustion, and as soon as their “walk” is over, she falls asleep in her wheelchair.

The nightmare returns with very little variation, only this time she is given a book and told that she must pay the price for her gift. She must sacrifice or die. Part of her doesn’t want to do it. But another part of her knows she will do anything to make her life and her career better.

Why is she haunted by these dreams? Abbie Rose is determined to solve the mystery. But how will she do that when she can’t even wipe her own ass?

And why is she a mother in the dreams? Abbie Rose has never even considered having a family. She spends all of her time researching ways to murder people and get away with it for her novels. In the past twelve years, she has worked with a forensics team learning various ways to dispose of dead bodies. The local shooting range gives her a shout every time they receive a new weapon so she can practice what it is like to take out a victim. It makes her writing cleaner and believable, and it also proves she would make a terrible mother!

But it hurts her to think she may never hold little Crimson in her arms again. There is a physical ache in her chest at the thought of never seeing Vermillion run in track and field. And tears begin to freefall as she pictures Scarlett walking down the aisle on her wedding day. They are real and she misses them like crazy.

She can never have children. Not now. After all this time it is clear she will never fully gain mobility, no matter how many drugs she tries or specialists she sees.

Why then, is she being tortured this way? Is there a clue? Something that her brain is trying to tell her?

“Why don’t we go for another walk, Ms Rose?’ Her caregiver asks without waiting for a response. The glint in his eyes and the complete lack of empathy in his treatment of her is so cold. Perhaps he should serve as inspiration for her next bad guy.

They wind a bend on the path. The woods surrounding the manor are deep and dark, even with the multitude of colors on the leaves. The air grows still and Abbie Rose is overwhelmed by foreboding. “Do you remember this path, Ms. Rose? You used to love to come out this way, down through the woods and next to the river. It was a family tradition. Once a generation, the deed must be done to cleanse the blood, isn’t that how you put it? Strange custom to keep here in the States, so many generations after your ancestor. What was her name? Oh, yes, Elizabeth.”

Abbie Rose has no idea what the man is carrying on about. Her chest feels tight and her vision is narrowing as little spots swim near her pupils.

“No nodding off, Ms. Rose. Not now. Today is the anniversary. You can’t avoid this walk.”

He makes no sense!

On they go, until they are next to a river that seems far too angry on such a calm day. A smell of decay that seems wrong in this setting greets her senses next. She needs answers and will never find them out here. He spins her chair around, so that she is no longer facing the rushing waters, but instead a small memorial. An enormous weeping willow droops over top of them, shielding the setting sun from view, its long branches swooping out as if to devour her.

“Know where you are now, Ms. Rose? Why it must seem familiar to you. You chose this spot yourself. Although I heard your ancestor, Ms. Bathory only killed the girls, so I’m not sure what motivated you. No sir, it don’t make no sense that you killed the boy, too. And them bein’ your own children! Well, it takes a special sort of monster to do that, now don’t it?”

This is all nonsense. Abbie Rose did not, could not have children. Her body is broken. She looks down at her chair for confirmation, but to her terror sees that she is in a white coat tied all around her so that she can’t move her arms. Leather straps provide additional restraints. Over her mouth is a strange sort of muzzle. This isn’t right at all. She broke her spine in the accident!

She never had children!

But then it all comes rushing back. Chasing them through the Inn. One by one, grabbing them, slitting their throats and draining the life from them. The voices told her she must bathe in the blood of her children if she wanted to be immortalized. Why did they say that? Why did she listen? Slipping in their blood as she carried it in buckets from the river. Covering her naked body in the blood on the roof of the Inn by the moonlight and then hitting a soft spot and falling…

With the sea of red mist clearing, she realizes the nightmare is real. The bodies remain buried, the truth released. Somehow it makes her feel free. Abbie Rose smiles knowing it was a pure sacrifice she offered and it is worth it. She will escape her bonds and walk again, write again, and if necessary, kill again.