The Woman in the Wine

I am Joshua L. Greene. And I am responsible for the fire that destroyed Briarwood Winery on October 19th. My reasoning for doing so will be explained in this confession.

On the night of October 19th, I stayed at work late to help clean up after the tasting event. We had brought extra glasses up from storage in the cellar, and I was helping clean them so they could be returned to the dusty boxes they called home. My coworker, Sam, was rushing the dishes, leaving remnants of lipstick on the rims.

“Slow down, man! Isn’t this paid overtime for you?” I told him.

He paused briefly, turning his gaze to me. “You do know why it’s paid overtime, right?”

I shook my head. I’d only worked there a few weeks. Honestly, I was only staying because I felt bad for him—washing all those wine glasses alone.

“It’s because it’s almost midnight. And that’s when she comes out,” he said, his voice hushed like he was afraid someone might hear.

He must’ve grown tired of my ignorance, because he let out a long sigh.

“You really know nothing about this place…” He stacked the glasses in a box and leaned close to my ear. “They say, long ago, there was a winery just like this one. It was famous for its red wine—people would come from far and wide just to get a sip. One fateful night, a young woman in a white dress wandered down to the wine cellar. Little did she know, she was followed by a man… and she would soon meet her end at his hands. He sealed her in an aging barrel, full of their famous red wine. They didn’t find her body until they had already served that wine to customers, making them sick. Now, she haunts the cellar, killing any man who enters after midnight.”

I chuckled. “You really believe that?”

“Well, no… but I’m not gonna chance it. So I’d rather get this stuff down into the cellar before midnight. Just in case.”

As the words left his mouth, the antique clock struck twelve.

“And there goes my plan…” Sam huffed. “Oh well. I’ll just put them back tomorrow before we open.”

He got up to leave, but I stopped him.

“Hey, won’t Mr. Hummings get mad? I mean, he did tell you to put them away.”

“I’m not dying today, Josh. If you’re so worried about what the boss’ll think, you do it.”

God, I wish I never listened to him.

I watched him leave, picking up the box of wine glasses. Balancing them in one hand, I turned the doorknob. The door squeaked as it swung open, and the old wooden stairs shifted and creaked beneath my feet.

As I moved toward the storage spot, I couldn’t help but notice the places the lights didn’t reach—the dark, menacing corners, the shadowed support beams above me…

I placed the box with the rest of them. As I did, the light flickered. My eyes locked onto it, fear creeping in.

“God, I’m letting that story get to me…” I sighed. “I’ll tell Mr. Hummings to get a new bulb.”

I walked through the wooden beams, past some barrels.

That’s when I heard it.

The sloshing of liquid in a container.

My body seized up as fear crawled into my veins. Fighting every instinct, I slowly turned around—my eyes locking onto the barrel behind me. Its lid had opened… just a crack.

Just a crack was all I needed to meet the gaze of two small white specks in the dark.

It felt like I’d been dunked into a pool of ice water. My frozen form trembled as the lid clattered onto the stone floor.

Her body rose. Her eyes never left mine.

Her long, wet auburn hair swung as she stepped out. Her soaked dress slumped out of the barrel, hitting the stone with a wet slap.

The woman’s mouth curled into a wide, toothy smile… too wide. Her teeth were long and jagged. Her head slumped to the side as she let out a quiet, haunting laugh.

Something inside me switched. I made a desperate dash for the stairs. The smacking of her bare feet against the floor echoed behind me—fast. She caught up before I even hit the second step. Her cold, damp hand wrapped around my ankle and yanked it out from under me. My head slammed into the steps with a sickening thud. I yelped, terror creeping in.

She dragged me back into the cellar by my feet. Then she bit into my shoulder, digging her claws into my forearms with overwhelming strength. I summoned every ounce of energy I had and rolled out of her grip. I scrambled to my feet, tripping up the stairs as she recovered. I slammed the door shut behind me, hoping it’d hold her back. As she screamed and clawed from the other side, I knew: I had to end this. If she wanted revenge, I’d give it to her.

I ran to the storeroom where we kept large jugs of alcohol. I twisted the cap off one and yanked the sleeve off my shirt, stuffing it inside the jug’s neck. Then I rushed to Mr. Hummings’ office and rifled through the drawers, finally finding his fancy lighter.

With everything in hand, I returned to the cellar door.

I gently turned the knob and slammed my shoulder into it, knocking her backward down the stairs. As she regained her balance, I spoke.

“I don’t know who killed you! But I know it wasn’t me. I hope… when I do this, you can rest in peace.”

I lit the cloth and threw the jug into the cellar. Glass shattered. Flames roared. She retreated into the shadows with a growl. I slammed the door shut. But it wasn’t enough.

I grabbed more jugs, spilling alcohol throughout the building. Then I stood in the front doorway, dropped the lit lighter into a growing pool of liquor—and jumped back as the place went up in a violent blaze.

Now I’m here. Watching it burn, writing this confession by firelight. I hope someone out there understands. I had to do it. What choice did I have?

I didn’t want anyone else to die the way I almost did. And I didn’t want her soul to suffer anymore.

Is that really so bad?

Never underestimate the Woman in the Wine.