Disposable

It looked like any other dirt road, ugly and unkempt. Tall trees surrounded it, their trunks dark as the night. Very few dared to venture down that road. Only the bold, seeking fame and praises, and the stupid, with nothing to lose. And of the ones who did, not one came back. In fact, there was not a single person alive that had gone through that place and lived to tell their tale. 

You see, the road was haunted. 

No bodies were ever found, though that may be since no one dared go to that place to look for them. As soon as the next crazy kid announced their intentions to defy the odds, people knew there was nothing left to do. Those who wanted to go rarely backed down, moved by the idea of glory. By morning, they were gone. Never to be seen again. 

Elaine’s Road they called it. Lady Elaine Richardson’s Haunted Road, to be precise. 

Commoners gave that place her name, wanting to honor the departed. Over the years, people stuck with it, though mainly due to fear. It was a weak attempt to appease the spirit that prowled the village. Regardless of how loved she was in life; in death, she was as hated as she could. Mothers cursed her name when they’re children disappeared. Kids prayed for her mercy when their parents didn't come home. People started calling the road after her as a sign of respect, hoping that would appease her spirit. 

Witches tried all sorts of spells. Priests performed exorcisms. Mediums tried to talk to her, help her gain peace. To no account. The ultimate conclusion was that Lady Elaine didn’t want to leave. Or so they thought.

Lady Richardson was, until the day she died, a people person, loved by all, hated by none. She smiled at her villagers when she walked, shaking hands and giving out food. On Christmas, she sat on a bench in the town square and gave out trinkets and toys. She was regarded as a saint. The people counted the days until her father’s death. Only then Elaine, as the only heir, would gain more political power and help out the villagers.

Her fellow aristocrats disagreed. She was a young revolutionist, a threat to the society they knew and loved. But Lady Elaine didn’t seem to notice. One thing’s for sure, she certainly didn’t care.

On a fateful night of December, Elaine received an important proposition from the Lord of Ferbridge. On one knee, he pulled out of a little box from his pocket, revealing a ring with the biggest diamond you’ve ever seen. The couple was having dinner with the Lady’s family, who watched the jewel in awe and jealousy. 

“Do you know how many families could be fed with the price of that ring?” 

As always, Elaine went against the current. Which was precisely why her father stood up from his seat and accepted the offer. He needed to stop his daughter before she dug herself into her grave dipper. She was too rebellious, too keen on parading her thoughts and ideas out in the open. She needed a husband, the whole family agreed, who would contain her chaos. Besides, she was of twenty-two years of age. If she waited any longer, no respectable man would want her.

“But, Father,” Lady Richardson protested as soon as she had the chance. After the dinner ended, the girl stormed into her parents’ bedroom, red in the face and shaking with anger. “He’s eighteen years older than me.”

“I am fifteen years younger than your father,” pointed out her mother. Elaine groaned. 

“I have only met him twice before.”

“That’s plenty.” With a wave of her hand, her mother dismissed all her objections. “You will marry this man and you will be extremely joyous about it. Now go, your father is not feeling well.”

“He is a good man. He will take good care of you, Elaine,” her father argued weakly, his illness made him more fragile by the second. “Besides, he’s richer than I could ever be. He is going to be able to take good care of you.”

“I don’t need to be taken care of! Especially by a man old enough to be my father.”

“This is not a discussion. Call the servants and tell them to pack your bags. You are leaving tomorrow on first light to Ferbridge.” 

Elaine opened her mouth to protest but quickly closed it. While her mother yelled, her father had sat down on the edge of the bed, sweat coating his brow. The sheer intensity of their argument was taking its toll on his wealth and Elaine couldn’t have that. Even if he was shipping her off to wed some man she didn't know nor liked, he was still her father. 

Every nerve on her body was begging for her to fight off this injustice, but for once, she ignored her instincts. Instead of shouting and tying herself to her bed, Lady Richardson bowed and left the room, her head down.

But, of course, her instincts were right. 

Once in her bedroom, her handmaiden picked the prettiest dresses she could find. She packed the pointiest shoes and the shiniest jewelry, until her suitcase overflowed with pearls and lace. Elaine’s opinion on the matter was, once again, completely ignored. 

That night, Elaine cried herself to sleep and woke up with her eyes red and swollen. She chuckled as she imagined her horrified mother’s face when she saw her. She dressed and ate her breakfast; the sun hadn’t even come up yet and Elaine was ready to depart from her home. She went around and hugged the house employees one by one. Then, she wandered through all the rooms, remembering good times. But, finally, the time came when she couldn’t continue stalling.

“Dear, please try not to cry anymore. Your face looks horr—” Her mother’s words were cut off by her husband. Luckily. 

“I will see you in two weeks for your wedding.” Her father hugged her, his hands trembling. “I will miss you so much, my daughter. I can only find comfort in the fact that you will be in the capable hands of a perfect gentleman.”

Elaine bit her tongue. She didn't want to start another fight, not now. “I will miss you too.”

Lady Richardson hugged her parents one last time before walking away. Outside awaited her handmaiden Lillian and the coachman. She gazed at her home once more before entering the carriage, a single tear rolling down her face.

“Farewell,” she murmured as she wiped her cheek.

And so, her journey began, leaving any hope she had for the future lying behind her.

Five hours had gone by on that miserable carriage when it started drizzling. Elaine watched the tiny drops fall with fascination. Lillian, on the other hand, bit her lip and moved uncomfortably on her sit. 

“Is it safe to go on with this weather?”

“This is nothing,” the coachman reassured her. “A little rain can’t bother a capable man like myself.”

But what once was a few drops turned to a big storm within hours. Before the travelers could even realize it, the wind was blowing at full speed, the rain soaking through the inside of the carriage. Thunders roared and lightning followed. 

“Should we go back?” asked Elaine, starting to feel uneasy. Suddenly, the rain didn’t seem as appealing.

“Do not worry, milady. We are halfway there. We cannot stop now,” answered the driver before whipping the horses, urging them to fasten up the pace. 

“Are you sure?”

“Your Lord Father commanded me to take you to Ferbridge. I cannot disobey.” He sounded annoyed. “Plus, I’ve been driving carriages for years now. I’m sure you realize I know my limits.”

He clearly didn’t like being told off by a stupid, aristocratic girl. Elaine gathered as much. Insisting would have done no good. So, she placed her hand in Lillian’s and squeezed, trying her best to keep calm. 

The storm was still roaring when the carriage came to a stop. The passengers, wet and frozen, jolted as the coachman hopped off his sit. The girls quickly followed. 

“The left wheel is gone,” he exclaimed. Upon a closer look, Elaine realized it was punctured by an arrow. “Somebody did this on purpose, milady. This cannot be good.”

“But how? We have no—” Elaine was cut short by a piercing scream. Lillian’s. She pointed frantically to the trees on the side of the road, without being able to mutter a single word. 

The coachman’s hand went to his belt where his whip rested, but he didn’t get to take it out. In a second, half a dozen men dressed in dark clothes and hoods covering their features, surrounded them. Two of the men went for Lady Richardson while the rest of them attacked her companions. She tried fighting them—biting, kicking, and screaming as loud as she could—but it was a lost cause. After a couple of seconds, one had her arms pinned behind her back while the second one held a knife against her throat. 

“I apologize, my Lady,” the latter said. Elaine didn’t fail to notice that he didn’t say ‘milady’ as the common people did; he was high-born. “But you have been stirring way too many problems.”

With one simple flick of his wrist, he swiftly cut her throat with the dagger. Her eyes widened as she choked, blood spilling out of her wound. In a matter of seconds, she was gone, her limp body falling to the mud with a thud. 

The killer turned their attention to the two companions.

“Our work here is done. Kill those two and let’s go.”

Lillian sobbed, tears running down her face. The coachman fell to his knees.

“Please, we won’t tell anybody what we saw tonight. Let us go,” he begged. “I have a wife and four beautiful children. Don’t do this.”

The man with the knife didn’t seem moved. “I don’t really care. You know too much, now you have to go.”

“But we weren’t your target.”

“No. But, sadly, you’re just as disposable.”

“I am not disposa—" He didn’t even get to finish his sentence.

The man made a gesture with hand and other hooded figures around them moved towards their victims. Lillian screamed and the coachman fought but none got out alive. They were outnumbered and unarmed. It was anything but a fair fight. 

The three bodies were found a week later, covered in dried mud and blood. After an incredibly shallow investigation, the murder of Lady Elaine Richardson and her two servants was ruled as burglar’s work. Nobody but a handful of aristocrats knew that it had been so much more. They all kept it a secret and swore to God that they would never tell. 

It was over. They had won. 

Except it seemed the dead didn’t want to stay quiet. 

A month after the tragic deaths, a carriage that transported a Duchess disappeared. Two weeks later, another Lord was murdered. For a whole year, every noble person that passed through that road vanished into thin air, never to be seen again. 

“It’s all because of Lady Elaine’s death. Her spirit still haunts us. What a tragedy what happened to that poor girl.” The rumors spread like wildfire. 

After a while, the high born decided to stop crossing Elaine’s road altogether. They deemed it an unnecessary risk to the lives of the worthy. The people relaxed, confident the nightmare would end there. But the spirit wasn’t content. 

The peasants started getting attacked too. Not a single person was spared. More deaths, more retribution for the atrocities committed. 

Fifty years had gone by, but the murders haven’t stopped. People keep trying, thinking they are the ones destined to release the ghost and make the road safe again. If you listen closely, you can hear a whip rippling through the air before the next victim is claimed. And faintly, the words of the spirit remain. 

“I am not disposable.”