Nonna

My Nonna Elana was an incredible woman. She was not the type to sit in her chair knitting. She was a lively and adventurous woman. Even in her late 60’s and early 70’s she was climbing mountains and even spelunking. She was extremely kind hearted especially to us grandkids. She always brought the most amazing presents every time she visited from Italy. And no restaurant could ever dream of matching her homemade spaghetti.

Visits from Nonna were a treasured experience however in my early teens she stopped coming. She said that the trips were getting too difficult at her age. She was 75 so we didn’t question it but we did miss her terribly. When I was 17 my father got a new job that had a massive signing bonus. My mother decided that we should go on a trip to Italy to visit Nonna. We were all excited at the idea but Nonna was adamant that we didn’t come. She said simply that she did not want us to be there.

That act caused a huge rift between her and my mother. Their almost daily calls became weekly and then every other month for a check in. That was almost 12 years ago and I had nearly forgotten her until last week when my mother had called me to tell me that Nonna had passed.

I went over to my parents condo and my whole family had gathered to mourn. I asked what had happened to her? My mother said it was likely just age combined with possible dementia. She had been receiving letters from concerned neighbors about Nonna’s behavior. She had apparently become a recluse barely leaving the house. She had boarded up her windows and her prized rose garden had been replaced by Hawthorne bushes.

I felt bad for not even trying to call her in all these years. I said I wish there was something I could do. My parents and siblings exchanged glances between each other. I knew that look well and it usually meant that I was about to be screwed. Apparently Nonna wanted to be buried here so she could be close to family. Unfortunately the funeral home was dealing with a back log due to a building collapse earlier this week. They simply had no room to store her coffin.

I knew where this was going. My parents lived in a small condo and I was the only one of my siblings that didn’t have a spouse or kids. The coffin would have to stay with me. My mother said it would just be for 4 days and she had already been embalmed so there would be no odor. I thought that it was the least I could do for Nonna so I agreed.

A couple of days later some men came to drop her off. The casket was a beautiful polished cherrywood. It took 6 men to lift it off the truck and carry it to the basement. They let it down with a mighty bang. I gave them a scolding look. One of them looked at me and apologized. “I’m sorry man, that thing was ridiculously heavy. I have lifted countless caskets in my time and I have never seen anything like that.” Great, this was going to be fun when I was a pall bearer.

I thanked the men for their hard work and then just stood alone with the casket. I tried to see how heavy it was and the men weren’t kidding. The thing weighed a ton despite my Nonna being so petite. The casket bore a wreath of Hawthorne on top of it, possibly from her own garden. I rubbed the casket gently. “It’s just you and me now Nonna. I’m sorry we haven’t talked in so long. I hope you are in a better place. Welcome to my home, I hope you like it here.” I said and left her in peace.

That night I had trouble sleeping. When I did manage to drift I had horrible nightmares of a dark cave in the mountains. My Nonna was there in her usual dress however there was a black shadow over her face. I called to her and she turned and all I could see was a pair of golden amber eyes from the shadows. I awoke panting and it took me a minute to calm down. Maybe having a dead body in the house was getting to me. I swear I could hear a strange thumping from the basement. I figured it was merely house noises and tried to go back to sleep.

The next day I couldn’t stop thinking about my dream. Why couldn’t I see her face? Then I realized I hadn’t seen her in over a decade. I didn’t even have a picture of her. I think the nightmare was trying to tell me that I feel guilty about forgetting her. I had a hard time even remembering what she looked like.

Then a morbid thought crossed my mind. There was a way I could see her face. I looked towards the basement door and a chill went through me. Would it be so wrong to take a peek? It was to be a closed casket funeral so it may be very well my last chance to see her. I decided to do it, if nothing more than to see her one last time.

I crept down the stairs silently and I felt silly doing so. I was a grown man not a child. Death was a natural thing after all. Still the fear persisted regardless of logic. I took off the Hawthorne wreath and placed it on the floor. I slowly opened the lid. My mind raced to a million horrible sights but in the end they were unwarranted.

The body was in perfect condition. Whoever handled her corpse did an amazing job. She looked flawless, as young or hell even younger than when I last saw her. The eye lids were closed and she looked peaceful. I smiled down at her and closed the lid confident that the nightmare wouldn’t come back. I was mistaken about that. I wish I could say that was the worst mistake I made in that basement but I can’t.

I went back up the stairs and seeing Nonna brought back so much nostalgia. I decided that I would try my hand at making her famous spaghetti. It would have to be for tomorrow night’s dinner as the recipe demanded at least 2 hours of simmering. I took out the ingredients and left the frozen meat in the sink to defrost overnight.

That night I had more nightmares about dark caves. I was trapped in that cave and I wasn’t alone. I could feel something in the shadows moving around me. Suddenly from the darkness came an ear piercing screech followed by the sound of glass shattering. I bolted awake, my heart pounding. The sound seemed too real to have just been a dream. “Hello, is anyone here?” I called out to the darkness. Of course nobody answered. I lived alone and the only other person here was in a casket. I laid back down and went back to bed.

In the morning I discovered that the glass smashing was not a dream. A jar of minced garlic I took out for the spaghetti had fallen to the floor. No, that wasn’t the right word. If it had fallen it would be laying by the sink but this was thrown across the room and smashed across the wall.

At first I was afraid, out right terrified but then a thought occurred to me. My Nonna was all about fresh ingredients and would never have used a jar of garlic. Perhaps she was trying to help me cook even from beyond the grave. The idea of her being a ghost should have scared me but it only succeeded to comfort me. She was still with us in some form and it made me feel loved.

That was until I checked on the meat thawing in the sink and one look told me something was wrong. The red meat had turned a dull brown. I picked it up and it felt completely wrong. The meat was bone dry as if something had sucked all the moisture out of it. I squeezed it and no blood came out. I have never seen meat do that. Maybe I would just do pizza for dinner.

That night I struggled to sleep for fear of returning to that damned cave. However the cave would have been preferable to what I witnessed. It was just after midnight and I felt my body threatening to give in to sleep. That was when I heard a loud creaking sound. It gave me a small jolt but I quickly convinced myself that it was simply a house noise and it was perfectly logical. The following sounds were not.

I heard loud thumps from the basement. I had heard small thumping the other night but these were different. The thumps were heavier and they were moving. They could only be the sound of footsteps and they were going up the stairs. I leapt out of bed and locked my door. The heavy footsteps had reached my floor and were coming down the hall.

The adult in me should have been rushing out to meet the intruder but the child in me won out. I ran back into bed and hid under the covers up to my eyes. I listened as the footsteps came down the hall. Each step produced a louder boom. I was shaking uncontrollably and I started praying for it to go away.

The steps stopped right outside my door and everything went silent. I watched in horror as the doorknob started to rattle back and forth. I thanked God that I had gotten up to lock it. That was when the scratching started. Loud scratching sounds like a long claw on wood came from the other side of the door rhythmically.

Then a single whispered word came through. “Franco.” A raspy female voice said. Everything in me froze. No one shy of the government ever called me Franco. To everyone I was simply Frank, even my parents dropped the full name decades ago. There was only one person who commonly used the name and she was in a coffin in my basement. Or at least she should be.

The whispers continued and I forced the pillow over my head. I begged for it all to stop. The next thing I knew it had been morning. With fresh sunshine streaming through the windows logic had once again found me. I must have drifted off and dreamed the whole encounter. Relief rushed through me and I was ready to face the day.

When I went to open the door I found it locked. It must not have all been a dream, perhaps I locked it while half asleep. I opened the door and I stepped on something sharp. I looked down and there were chunks of wood all over the floor. I froze once again. The only part of me that moved was my head as it turned to the door. Large claw marks had raked down it.

I spent the day pacing around the house. I tried to logic it all out but I couldn’t. Something was in my house last night but the doors and windows were tightly locked. The intruder had to have come from within. I continued to try and figure it out but all points of logic led to the same place, the basement.

Against the childlike protests in my head I moved towards the basement door. I walked down the stairs slowly. The other day I felt mild fear but it was like a child sneaking into the cookie jar. This was walking into the lair of a beast. Every step sent my heart pumping faster. Finally I reached the casket and opened the lid.

She lay exactly as she had before. Her skin had grayed slightly but she looked the same. Her arms were crossed across her stomach and she lay there grinning. Relief found me, she was fine and still here. I closed the lid quickly as despite my mother’s promises she was starting to smell mildly of rot. I went back upstairs satisfied. However, one thing was bugging me. She had looked peaceful the other day but was she grinning?

The day seemed to be on fast forward. I watched the sun sink lower and lower at an alarming rate. I felt a chill go through me as I watched it sink beneath the clouds. I tried to distract myself. I tried to watchTV and doom scroll but nothing kept the fear at bay. Finally I gave in and locked myself in my bedroom. I grabbed a set of prayer beads, a gift from Nonna for my 16th birthday, and clutched them close.

Then I heard a very familiar creaking from the basement, followed by those heavy footsteps. Something was different this time though, it was barely after 8 o’clock. Not only that but the steps were rushed and desperate. Before I knew it they were up the stairs and rushing at my door. Something hit the door so hard I thought it would splinter.

There was rapid scratching and I saw chunks of wood falling away. Whatever was out there it was getting in this time. Then without warning it stopped. I thought the thing had gone away but then I heard it sniffing the air. It inhaled deeply and then uttered a screech similar to that in my dreams. The footsteps ran down the hall and then I heard the unmistakable sound of my guest room window breaking. It was loose.

Something about that snapped me into action. I don’t know what this thing was but I felt it was my responsibility. I had to act and act now. I rushed out of the house on the hunt. It was dark outside and this creature could be anywhere. Every shadow was a potential threat, every movement sent my heart rate spiraling.

Then I heard a man scream and I rushed to the sound. What I saw I was not prepared for. There was my neighbor Mr. Robertson. He was being held by some sort of creature from behind. The fiend was bent over his neck and was drinking his blood. The horrible sound of the thing gulping almost made me gag. I let out a whimper and the beast looked up at me. Mr. Robertson’s body fell and there she was, Nonna.

However it wasn’t the Nonna that I had known. The glamor was gone and her new self stood before me. Her skin was dark grey and rotting away in several places. She bore long clawed fingers and her face was covered in ridges. Her eyes were what frightened me the most. The flesh of the eye was jet black and with a set of golden amber iris at the center. They were the same eyes from my dreams, the eyes of a beast. She smiled revealing a sharpened pair of canine fangs dripping in blood.

“Mio caro.” She whispered in a raspy voice that was not her own. She wasted no time and leapt through the air at me. She slammed into me and I felt like I had been hit by a jungle cat. Her sheer weight was enough to hold me to the ground. I could smell the reek of rot radiating off of her. She leaned down with blood dripping from her mouth.

“Don’t worry my boy. One bite and we can be a family again forever.” She said with a grin. It was then that I understood everything. The dreams were snippets of her memories. She had ventured into the darkness of the world and awoken something ancient. She had become the living dead, nosferatu.

She began lowering her head towards my neck and I felt fear take hold. I had no weapons, only the prayer beads I had been holding when I left. Realization hit me and I thrust my fist with the beads forward. At contact with the beads her skin began to burn and smoke. She leapt off of me and scurried up the wall of an apartment building like a spider.

She looked at me with burning anger and levied her finger at me. “Until we meet again Franco.” She said and then disappeared into the night. I sat there dumbstruck for a moment until I remembered Mr. Robertson. He was already gone. The man lived alone and had no family. I told the paramedics his wish was to be cremated. It was better to be safe than sorry.

I fell asleep holding the beads. In the morning I crept down to the basement. If the legends were accurate I would have to stake her heart to be rid of her. I knew that I should but in the end I just couldn’t. If I opened that coffin and saw those eyes again I would lose my mind. Besides, I knew what my mistake was. I reached down and grabbed the wreath of Hawthorne. I placed it upon the coffin as I should have that first day. She would be in the ground before sunset so she would be sealed away soon enough.

I ducked out of the funeral saying that I was sick. I felt bad about dodging my pall bearer duties but my family understood. My mother texted me saying that she was now at rest in the Earth and relief washed through me.

My brother called me later asking if I was okay. I told him I was and that I was sorry that I didn’t help carry Nonna. Then he said as the sun sank behind the trees, “No problem man, the casket was light as a feather.”

Credit: Tenac