The Haunted Traveler Vol. 2 Issue 1

an inrush of other troublesome conceptions suddenly plagued
her, screwing up her mild and pretty features in an earnest
frown, and the pain intensified. It knifed through her cerebrum,
actually blurring her vision. Was this a migraine?
Impossible, she never...
Knife...
She massaged her aching temples, morosely pondering
her husband’s situation. His intentions were grand, his
passion for the field tremendous. Neil’s Indian studies had
led him to this deserted region—an unknown and little documented
tribe of north-central Arizona had caught his fancy,
and she had to admit that the sparse clues indicated some
exciting possibilities—and forthwith they had set off, family
and dog, to dwell here for the summer while he perused old
records and explored the expansive, unpeopled landscape for
more evidence. His work was important, and she realized it
could make him a big name in the scholarly halls of history
and anthropology. Oh yes, he stood on the verge of a major
find, and he surely needed all the help required. The interminable
proofreading, the corrections, the advice she had to
offer as an English major; that did not appear so much to ask.
In keeping with her abilities Diana found comfort and pleasure
in furthering her husband’s career...
The pain jolted her. There swam into her mind’s eye
a hideous image, a dreadful dark face which slavered and
taunted her in a language not her own, yet which managed to
make itself understood. The hard, black lips exploded forth
in a torrent of guttural hatred, deluging her throbbing brain,
bringing together all the disjointed ruminations of the past
half hour. The knife... the knife... Then the face winked out,
even the memory borne into sealed catacombs of the mind.
Her husband’s career? Oh my, his career, his work, so
necessary, above all else. His career, his work. What happened
to her life, her hopes, dreams, expectations? All that
lost, the infinite possibilities, the gateways to her own glory
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