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"...no pulse, and he's not breathing," Mom said into the phone, "My husband is doing CPR, but it's not working."
then
"No, we don't know anything about him. He just broke into our house."
I could hear sirens getting closer as Mom spoke to the emergency dispatcher. Thinking of what happened right before my parents came into the room, I was pretty sure that performing CPR was a futile effort, but how could I explain that to them?
What was I going to say, "Don't bother Dad. Ghosts took his soul into another dimension through the mirror. You can't bring him back." Another ambulance would be called, for sure. I'd get a new jacket, with really long sleeves and lots of pretty buckles.
I let my Dad continue to work on the old man.
Mom hung up the phone as the sirens wailed to a stop outside. She ran downstairs, and then heavy boots came running up. Soon, my room was filled with people in scrubs, and two police officers. The female cop and my mother ushered me out of the room as the squad worked on the old man's body.
In the kitchen, Mom made me tea, and I told the officer everything I could about the situation. It seemed weird even without the ghosts. The old man had said I'd cheated, but I had no idea what he meant. I told the officer about the first break-in, and the police report... about being chased in the alley, about seeing him outside the kitchen window, and finding the foot prints in the garden later. I described waking with the cross over my face.
The officer took my statement, wrote it all down, and had me sign. She was sympathetic, but didn't show any other outward emotion. I felt like a nut, putting it all together. Of course we'd been in danger. I felt the need to emphasize that these things had all happened several days apart from each other.
It was starting to get light out when the emergency crew and the police left, so we all just stayed up. I went upstairs to clean up the glass, using the vacuum to get the little pieces. When I finished vacuuming, I began picking up pieces of the mirror, thinking it was a good thing the room was still clean. I could just imagine trying to pick shards of glass out of everything I owned.
I made a silent promise to myself to try to keep it tidy from now on.
I lifted the frame from the side of the desk, carefully trying not to jar loose any of the shards that were still attached. A large piece of paper slipped out of the mess, and fluttered to the floor.
It was a newspaper clipping, dated July 23, 1927. On it was a photo of me, all dressed up as if for church on Easter. Next to that was a mug shot of Bradley from my baseball dreams! He looked sullen and scared, and still angry. Each photo was captioned underneath. For my likeness, the caption said, "Sarah Elizabeth Harshman, age 13." For Bradly's photo, the caption was "Bradley Day Reedy, age 14." Below the captions, the headline declared, "Boy Beats Girl to Death Over Game." I read on with a growing sense of deja vu as the news story described the incident in the dreams from the point of view of the other players, and the dead girl's sister, telling the story of how Bradley had grown more and more resentful and aggressive during the game, and had thrown a childish tantrum afterward. He'd followed Sarah home, and beaten her to death in front of her sister.
"I don't get it. We was just playing a game" said Tommy Conner, friend of the deceased. "There wasn't no fight or nothing, not when we was all there."
and
"He was so angry when he got to our house," said Grace Harshman, Sister. "His eyes were just crazy. I don't think he was in his right mind any more."
The story went on to say that Reedy was being incarcerated in an institution for the criminally insane, indefinitely. Were he to be found "cured," the remainder of his life was to be spent at Bloomingham Asylum.
Included in the list of Sarah's local survivors was her sister, Grace, her mother, Elizabeth, and her uncle and aunt Carl and Della Harshman, and their children Linda and Stuart.
Stuart Harshman was the name of my Grandfather.
Once again, the hair on my arms stood up. I wrapped my arms around myself, sat down on the one clean spot I could find, and stared at the clipping for a long time.
Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 Epilogue
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Mirror Image, Chapter 12
Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 Epilogue
cross, hovering closely, so that I couldn't see who was holding it.
From the stranger in my room came a low, terrified whine. "Demon child! You can't be. You can't be!"
I flailed against my attacker, kicking and shoving. Remembering the broach in my hand, I pulled the little knife out and stabbed blindly until I came into contact with something. The cross fell on my nose, then slid to the side. Standing beside my bed, clutching his wounded hand, was my creepy stalker.
"You!" His face was twisted into exactly the same expression as that of Bradley from the dream I'd just been having. The same expression.. and the same features. The only difference was his age.
I kicked at him, and he jumped back. I opened my mouth to scream for my father, but before I could make a sound, everything changed. There was a howling sound from over by the closet, and light burst out of the mirror. Standing in front of it were Grace and Mama, faces twisted in righteous anger. Mama reached for the old man. He backed into my dresser. I watched as Grace's face changed again, her eyes vanishing, her mouth widening to match the injuries I suffered at Bradley's hands.
"No!" The old man skittered sideways, trying to escape. "You can't be here. You died. You died!"
He looked at me. "You DIED. I KILLED you. You CAN'T be. You can't be. Make them stop!"
As he chattered, Mama grabbed his legs. He screamed and kicked at her, but even though her grip was solid, his kick went right through her. Grace moved around behind him, grabbing his shoulders. The two spirits faced each other, then lifted the kicking, screaming man off of the ground.
He struggled, twisting and turning, thrashing and shrieking wildly, as the spirits moved toward the mirror. "NO! You're not REAL!"
For one moment, his terror-filled eyes met mine, and he howled at me. "Noooo! It's all your fault! You cheated! YOU CHEATED, YOU BITCH!"
Mama's hair began to move as if disturbed by an unseen wind. Grace's form began to change, looking like it was being sucked into a vacuum, back toward the light emanating from the mirror. The old man continued to hurl obscenities and abuse, still struggling to get out of their grip. Suddenly, all three bodies twisted and warped, as if none of them were solid. Grace disappeared into the mirror. The old man slammed up against the frame, eyes wide as Mama went right through him. As her boots disappeared through his thighs, the old man made a strangled, whimpering sound. His hand rose to his chest. His eyes glazed over, and he fell to his knees, knocking the mirror off of the door. It slid down, and I could see the images two spirits on the other side, with the image of the old man still held between them. He seemed to be fighting, trying to get back out of the mirror.
The old man in the room collapsed, and the mirror toppled over, hitting my desk, shattering the glass. I heard a long, thin scream, and then there was nothing.
Footsteps pounded in the hallway, and my door slammed open. Dad came running in. His eyes darted around the room, and lit on the old man's body. As Mom flicked on the lights, Dad bounded across the room and grabbed one bony shoulder, rolling him over to reveal a completely expressionless face. The old man's body was there, but the old man was gone.
Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 Epilogue
cross, hovering closely, so that I couldn't see who was holding it.
From the stranger in my room came a low, terrified whine. "Demon child! You can't be. You can't be!"
I flailed against my attacker, kicking and shoving. Remembering the broach in my hand, I pulled the little knife out and stabbed blindly until I came into contact with something. The cross fell on my nose, then slid to the side. Standing beside my bed, clutching his wounded hand, was my creepy stalker.
"You!" His face was twisted into exactly the same expression as that of Bradley from the dream I'd just been having. The same expression.. and the same features. The only difference was his age.
I kicked at him, and he jumped back. I opened my mouth to scream for my father, but before I could make a sound, everything changed. There was a howling sound from over by the closet, and light burst out of the mirror. Standing in front of it were Grace and Mama, faces twisted in righteous anger. Mama reached for the old man. He backed into my dresser. I watched as Grace's face changed again, her eyes vanishing, her mouth widening to match the injuries I suffered at Bradley's hands.
"No!" The old man skittered sideways, trying to escape. "You can't be here. You died. You died!"
He looked at me. "You DIED. I KILLED you. You CAN'T be. You can't be. Make them stop!"
As he chattered, Mama grabbed his legs. He screamed and kicked at her, but even though her grip was solid, his kick went right through her. Grace moved around behind him, grabbing his shoulders. The two spirits faced each other, then lifted the kicking, screaming man off of the ground.
He struggled, twisting and turning, thrashing and shrieking wildly, as the spirits moved toward the mirror. "NO! You're not REAL!"
For one moment, his terror-filled eyes met mine, and he howled at me. "Noooo! It's all your fault! You cheated! YOU CHEATED, YOU BITCH!"
Mama's hair began to move as if disturbed by an unseen wind. Grace's form began to change, looking like it was being sucked into a vacuum, back toward the light emanating from the mirror. The old man continued to hurl obscenities and abuse, still struggling to get out of their grip. Suddenly, all three bodies twisted and warped, as if none of them were solid. Grace disappeared into the mirror. The old man slammed up against the frame, eyes wide as Mama went right through him. As her boots disappeared through his thighs, the old man made a strangled, whimpering sound. His hand rose to his chest. His eyes glazed over, and he fell to his knees, knocking the mirror off of the door. It slid down, and I could see the images two spirits on the other side, with the image of the old man still held between them. He seemed to be fighting, trying to get back out of the mirror.
The old man in the room collapsed, and the mirror toppled over, hitting my desk, shattering the glass. I heard a long, thin scream, and then there was nothing.
Footsteps pounded in the hallway, and my door slammed open. Dad came running in. His eyes darted around the room, and lit on the old man's body. As Mom flicked on the lights, Dad bounded across the room and grabbed one bony shoulder, rolling him over to reveal a completely expressionless face. The old man's body was there, but the old man was gone.
Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 Epilogue
Mirror Image, Chapter 11
Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 Epilogue
Click.
It was dark, and I was laying down on my back. Where did the guys go? Momentarily disoriented, I looked opened my eyes and realized I was in bed, in my room. I'd been dreaming again. It was so vivid. The palm of my hand even stung a bit where the ball had hit my glove.
Click.
The sound came from my dresser. Startled, I looked that way to see Mama gently closing my jewelry box. She had the scimitar broach in her hand. Was she taking it? Maybe it had come with the mirror, and I hadn't noticed. Was it hers?
Still caught in the fog of sleep and dreams, I couldn't even ask. I just watched, as she glided across the room and placed the broach on the nightstand beside my bed. I looked at her face. On it was a kind, but worried expression. She looked at me, then at the broach, then the dresser. Turning back to me, she wagged her finger, as if to scold. Then, she faded from my sight.
What? What the heck was that all about? I picked up the broach and examined it. It looked the same as before, jeweled scabbard, tiny chain, and real, sharp little blade. I glanced at the mirror. For just a second, I could see Mama's face there. She nodded at me, then disappeared.
Okay. I didn't understand any of that, but okay. I guessed that she wanted me to keep the broach near me. Folding my hand around the cold metal, I snuggled back into my pillow. No way was I going back to sleep tonight, though. I may be tired, but I was too... weirded out...
As I brought my glove down from in front of my face, I saw the team coming toward me. Hands patted my shoulders and flipped my braids. Jostled about by the bigger boys, I had to struggle a bit to keep my balance. Tommy gave me a huge grin. He was vindicated; I'd proved the benefits of his choice to let a girl play on his team, not that most of the guys doubted me.
Through the sound of the celebration, I could hear Bradley's teammates telling him off, teasing him about being caught out by a girl. He glared at me, threw down the bat, rolled up his sleeves, and pointed his finger. "Stupid bitch! You ain't no girl! You can't make a..." and suddenly he was surrounded by my buddies.
Tommy said, "Ain't no call for that, buddy. It's just a game." He picked up the bat, and handed it to Bradley. "This is yours, ain't it? It's a nice bat. Thanks for letting us use it."
Bradley looked around. Realization dawned on his face. He was separated from me by a wall of other boys. He was outsized, and outnumbered by my friends. He took his bat, turned on his heel, walked to the edge of the field, and spat on the ground. "It ain't real baseball if a girl's playin' it, nohow."
As he wandered off, Grace came out onto the field to remind me that I had to get home before Mama did. I didn't want to get caught.
"Thanks, guys! That was a great game! Can't wait 'till next time!"
Tommy knew I was grateful for more than the game. "Ah, don't mention it," he muttered, and pretended to punch me in the arm.
I grinned. "Gotta go!"
I ran back to the house, and began working double time in the garden. I needed to have enough weeds pulled to justify the amount of dirt on my clothes. Grace went back into the house. For about ten minutes, I worked in silence, with only the sun on my shoulders to keep me company. Then, I heard the door open, and shuffling in the grass. I looked to see Grace approaching .
"Mama's on her way up the street."
"Thanks," I said, not too worried. "Do I look like I've been weeding the whole time?"
Grace started to nod, then looked behind me. "What do you want?"
I turned to see Bradley walking toward me, dragging the end of his bat through the grass. Something was very wrong about him. He didn't just look angry any more. He looked kind of... lost.
"What are you doing at my house, Bradley?" I positioned myself between the boy and my sister. "Grace, go get Dad."
I didn't hear Grace move.
"It's all your fault. You cheated!" Bradley glowered at me, his head lowered, stalking toward the garden with heavy steps.
"How, Bradley?" I took a step back, and turned slightly, "Move it, Grace!"
I heard her retreat a little in the grass behind me. Then, she shouted my name. I spun around to look back, and Bradley was right in front of me with that bat swinging toward my face. My chin took the full force of the downward hit. There was a nauseating crunch, and I felt my jaws give way. Pain seared through me as my cheeks tore open, and I felt my chin slam into my chest. My scream of fear and agony came out in a gurgle as blood ran down my throat. Gagging, I fell backward with the force of the impact.
I heard Grace yelling, "NO! Stop it! Leave her alone!" as the bat rose for another whack at me. Footsteps pounded on the stone walkway from the house to the garden, and my father's voice bellowed, "STOP!"
Once more the bat fell toward me. I put my arms up to defend myself.
Crack!
The sound wasn't quite as clean as hitting the ball. My broken arm fell across my chest. I groaned, trying to roll away. The bat came down again, hurling toward my face. The last thing I saw, right in front of my eyes was a huge wooden
Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 Epilogue
Click.
It was dark, and I was laying down on my back. Where did the guys go? Momentarily disoriented, I looked opened my eyes and realized I was in bed, in my room. I'd been dreaming again. It was so vivid. The palm of my hand even stung a bit where the ball had hit my glove.
Click.
The sound came from my dresser. Startled, I looked that way to see Mama gently closing my jewelry box. She had the scimitar broach in her hand. Was she taking it? Maybe it had come with the mirror, and I hadn't noticed. Was it hers?
Still caught in the fog of sleep and dreams, I couldn't even ask. I just watched, as she glided across the room and placed the broach on the nightstand beside my bed. I looked at her face. On it was a kind, but worried expression. She looked at me, then at the broach, then the dresser. Turning back to me, she wagged her finger, as if to scold. Then, she faded from my sight.
What? What the heck was that all about? I picked up the broach and examined it. It looked the same as before, jeweled scabbard, tiny chain, and real, sharp little blade. I glanced at the mirror. For just a second, I could see Mama's face there. She nodded at me, then disappeared.
Okay. I didn't understand any of that, but okay. I guessed that she wanted me to keep the broach near me. Folding my hand around the cold metal, I snuggled back into my pillow. No way was I going back to sleep tonight, though. I may be tired, but I was too... weirded out...
*******************************************************************
As I brought my glove down from in front of my face, I saw the team coming toward me. Hands patted my shoulders and flipped my braids. Jostled about by the bigger boys, I had to struggle a bit to keep my balance. Tommy gave me a huge grin. He was vindicated; I'd proved the benefits of his choice to let a girl play on his team, not that most of the guys doubted me.
Through the sound of the celebration, I could hear Bradley's teammates telling him off, teasing him about being caught out by a girl. He glared at me, threw down the bat, rolled up his sleeves, and pointed his finger. "Stupid bitch! You ain't no girl! You can't make a..." and suddenly he was surrounded by my buddies.
Tommy said, "Ain't no call for that, buddy. It's just a game." He picked up the bat, and handed it to Bradley. "This is yours, ain't it? It's a nice bat. Thanks for letting us use it."
Bradley looked around. Realization dawned on his face. He was separated from me by a wall of other boys. He was outsized, and outnumbered by my friends. He took his bat, turned on his heel, walked to the edge of the field, and spat on the ground. "It ain't real baseball if a girl's playin' it, nohow."
As he wandered off, Grace came out onto the field to remind me that I had to get home before Mama did. I didn't want to get caught.
"Thanks, guys! That was a great game! Can't wait 'till next time!"
Tommy knew I was grateful for more than the game. "Ah, don't mention it," he muttered, and pretended to punch me in the arm.
I grinned. "Gotta go!"
I ran back to the house, and began working double time in the garden. I needed to have enough weeds pulled to justify the amount of dirt on my clothes. Grace went back into the house. For about ten minutes, I worked in silence, with only the sun on my shoulders to keep me company. Then, I heard the door open, and shuffling in the grass. I looked to see Grace approaching .
"Mama's on her way up the street."
"Thanks," I said, not too worried. "Do I look like I've been weeding the whole time?"
Grace started to nod, then looked behind me. "What do you want?"
I turned to see Bradley walking toward me, dragging the end of his bat through the grass. Something was very wrong about him. He didn't just look angry any more. He looked kind of... lost.
"What are you doing at my house, Bradley?" I positioned myself between the boy and my sister. "Grace, go get Dad."
I didn't hear Grace move.
"It's all your fault. You cheated!" Bradley glowered at me, his head lowered, stalking toward the garden with heavy steps.
"How, Bradley?" I took a step back, and turned slightly, "Move it, Grace!"
I heard her retreat a little in the grass behind me. Then, she shouted my name. I spun around to look back, and Bradley was right in front of me with that bat swinging toward my face. My chin took the full force of the downward hit. There was a nauseating crunch, and I felt my jaws give way. Pain seared through me as my cheeks tore open, and I felt my chin slam into my chest. My scream of fear and agony came out in a gurgle as blood ran down my throat. Gagging, I fell backward with the force of the impact.
I heard Grace yelling, "NO! Stop it! Leave her alone!" as the bat rose for another whack at me. Footsteps pounded on the stone walkway from the house to the garden, and my father's voice bellowed, "STOP!"
Once more the bat fell toward me. I put my arms up to defend myself.
Crack!
The sound wasn't quite as clean as hitting the ball. My broken arm fell across my chest. I groaned, trying to roll away. The bat came down again, hurling toward my face. The last thing I saw, right in front of my eyes was a huge wooden
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Mirror Image, Chapter 10
Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 Epilogue
I slept until the sun was high in my window, bright rays hitting me in the face. It felt weird getting up so late in the morning. I felt sluggish from having been up in the middle of the night, then having slept too late. It felt like I could just go right back to sleep. I dragged my butt out of bed anyway.
Downstairs, everyone else was all ready up and breakfasted. Seth had slept through the whole thing. Mom and Dad looked like they hadn't slept well, but they were up before me. Fortunately, today was Dad's day off. Right now, he was getting ready to start on his "honey-do" list. Mom had her supplies out and was working on her project.
Seth had friends over. The group, all kids from the neighborhood, ranged in age from about a year younger than Seth to a year older than me. They were all in the back yard playing a game everyone in the neighborhood just called "guns." It was kind of a never-ending war game with squirt guns. There were two "teams" of guys, each team intent on shooting the other. If you were shot, you were "dead" and had to lay on the ground and count to ten. Seeing me in the kitchen, Seth's buddy Joe came into the house and demanded I join his team. I told him maybe after breakfast. I received the response, "Hurry up. We're losing."
I wasn't sure how that could be, since there was no score, and the "dead" always got back up after the ten count. How were the guys even keeping track? I nodded, and he went back outside, bellowing. "Sara's on our team when she comes out!" Someone else shouted back, "No fair!" and I heard Seth chime in, "She's my sister. It's fair. Cody's sister's on his team!"
Cody shouted back, "Yeah, but my sister can't shoot!" That was followed by Julie's offended voice, "Hey!"
I guess being a good shot counts for something, even when you're thirteen and using squirt guns.
I figured I had better get out there before they got impatient. I gulped down a couple of toaster pastries and a glass of milk. I wanted to start reading, but I didn't want to have to tear myself away from the story to go outside. Instead, I grabbed my "gun" out utility closet, loaded it in the sink, and headed outside.
I joined up with my "team," getting the lowdown on which kids were targets and which were allies by watching who Joe and Seth shot versus who they "covered." After a moment, I let the kids know I was there by blasting Julie's right butt cheek. She turned and shot back at me, and I dodged, running across the yard toward Mom's flower garden.
"Ha! Missed me, but you're injured! You have to hop on one leg!"
Julie obediently began hopping, counting to ten as she continued to shoot at the surrounding players. Joe caught her right in the chest, and she was down. Unfortunately, gloating had cost me. As I headed toward the garden, I let my guard down just enough for one of the guys to shoot me in the back. The water felt like ice on my sun-warmed skin.
"Ugh, you got me!" I spread my arms dramatically, and fell to the ground, careful to keep off of Mom's plants. We weren't allowed in the garden. That was a huge no-no.
From my vantage point on the ground, I noticed something I hadn't seen while standing up. In the dirt around Mom's marigolds and daffodils was a set of foot prints. They were bigger than Mom's feet or mine, but not as big as Dad's.
"Hey!" I shouted. "Who ran into Mom's garden?"
The shooting stopped, and the kids all turned to look at each other. Who was going to get into trouble? Joe came over to look. I pointed to the prints. We started looking at everyone's feet.
"Well, you know it wasn't me," Joe said, holding up a sneaker-clad foot. His feet were huge, bigger than my Dad's. No way were the prints his.
Craig, a classmate of mine, knelt down beside the prints. "I don't think it was any of us," he said, then pointed out, "Look, these are from shoes that don't even have any tread."
He was right. The prints were flat. There was no pattern from the bottom of the shoes. They looked like they'd been made by loafers or something. None of the kids were wearing flat-soled shoes. Some of them weren't wearing shoes at all.
I didn't have to go inside to get Mom. She'd been watching us through the window, and seen that we were gathered around the garden, looking at something. She came out, asked what was up, and examined the prints with a concerned look on her face, then went inside to get Dad. She sent the kids over to Joe's house to continue the game, but I stayed to see what was up. Dad came out and took a look. Mom said, "See how this one set is deeper than the others? See how they're right next to each other, instead of one in front of the other? It's like someone stood here for a while." She crossed her arms over her chest.
I felt goosebumps rise along my arms. I imagined someone walking into Mom's garden from the driveway, then standing there with his toes facing our house, long enough for his feet to sink a little into the dirt, before heading back the way he came, carefully stepping around Mom's lilies. Were these from the other night?
Apparently, Mom and Dad thought so, because they called the police. Plaster casts were taken from the prints. There wasn't much else that could be done. Mom was quiet the whole time. The officer took some notes, including making a note of when the prints were found, and how they were spotted. I had to sign another statement, after which Dad told me I could go play with the other kids. I didn't feel like fun in the sun after finding the prints, but I didn't want to worry anyone, so I wandered over to Joe's house with my squirt gun. I couldn't get it out of my head - the thought of someone standing in Mom's garden, watching our house, probably in the middle of the night.
I got my butt totally kicked in that game. Eventually I gave up and went back across the street to my house. I wandered upstairs to read, hoping that losing myself in a story would take my mind off of the garden.
The rest of the day was pretty uneventful, right up until time to go to bed. I was sure I'd be too spooked to fall asleep, but I guess I had played harder than I thought. I was snoring before my head hit the pillow.
"Aaaayyyyyyy, batter, batter batter! You swing my Grannie!"
My team mates were chomping at the bit. With two outs, two men on base, and only a one point lead, we were just barely hanging on. Jason was on second base. That kid could run like a deer. If Bradley hit that ball anywhere outside the infield, he'd tie up the score, and we didn't have time for extra innings.
Bradley slid his feet out a little and glared at Tommy. He was still pretty mad about my hit in the last inning, I guess. He bobbed his head up, and he shouted out, "You gonna throw that ball, or make love to it all day?"
Tommy threw a fast pitch, right across the plate. Bradley swung the bat and made a solid connection. The crack of the bat went right through my chest, and then the ball was coming right at my face. I reacted instinctively, not so much trying to catch the ball as trying to shield myself from being hit, throwing my gloved hand, palm first, up to block it. At the last split second, conscious thought kicked in. As it hit, I closed my glove around the ball, and brought my other hand up to stop it from bouncing out. The force of the movement knocked the back of the glove into my nose, but I didn't care. I'd just caught Bradley out. It was the third out for the last bat of the last inning. I heard Tommy and the guys yelling, "Yeeeerrrrrrrrr OUT!" and then the cheers began.
Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 Epilogue
I slept until the sun was high in my window, bright rays hitting me in the face. It felt weird getting up so late in the morning. I felt sluggish from having been up in the middle of the night, then having slept too late. It felt like I could just go right back to sleep. I dragged my butt out of bed anyway.
Downstairs, everyone else was all ready up and breakfasted. Seth had slept through the whole thing. Mom and Dad looked like they hadn't slept well, but they were up before me. Fortunately, today was Dad's day off. Right now, he was getting ready to start on his "honey-do" list. Mom had her supplies out and was working on her project.
Seth had friends over. The group, all kids from the neighborhood, ranged in age from about a year younger than Seth to a year older than me. They were all in the back yard playing a game everyone in the neighborhood just called "guns." It was kind of a never-ending war game with squirt guns. There were two "teams" of guys, each team intent on shooting the other. If you were shot, you were "dead" and had to lay on the ground and count to ten. Seeing me in the kitchen, Seth's buddy Joe came into the house and demanded I join his team. I told him maybe after breakfast. I received the response, "Hurry up. We're losing."
I wasn't sure how that could be, since there was no score, and the "dead" always got back up after the ten count. How were the guys even keeping track? I nodded, and he went back outside, bellowing. "Sara's on our team when she comes out!" Someone else shouted back, "No fair!" and I heard Seth chime in, "She's my sister. It's fair. Cody's sister's on his team!"
Cody shouted back, "Yeah, but my sister can't shoot!" That was followed by Julie's offended voice, "Hey!"
I guess being a good shot counts for something, even when you're thirteen and using squirt guns.
I figured I had better get out there before they got impatient. I gulped down a couple of toaster pastries and a glass of milk. I wanted to start reading, but I didn't want to have to tear myself away from the story to go outside. Instead, I grabbed my "gun" out utility closet, loaded it in the sink, and headed outside.
I joined up with my "team," getting the lowdown on which kids were targets and which were allies by watching who Joe and Seth shot versus who they "covered." After a moment, I let the kids know I was there by blasting Julie's right butt cheek. She turned and shot back at me, and I dodged, running across the yard toward Mom's flower garden.
"Ha! Missed me, but you're injured! You have to hop on one leg!"
Julie obediently began hopping, counting to ten as she continued to shoot at the surrounding players. Joe caught her right in the chest, and she was down. Unfortunately, gloating had cost me. As I headed toward the garden, I let my guard down just enough for one of the guys to shoot me in the back. The water felt like ice on my sun-warmed skin.
"Ugh, you got me!" I spread my arms dramatically, and fell to the ground, careful to keep off of Mom's plants. We weren't allowed in the garden. That was a huge no-no.
From my vantage point on the ground, I noticed something I hadn't seen while standing up. In the dirt around Mom's marigolds and daffodils was a set of foot prints. They were bigger than Mom's feet or mine, but not as big as Dad's.
"Hey!" I shouted. "Who ran into Mom's garden?"
The shooting stopped, and the kids all turned to look at each other. Who was going to get into trouble? Joe came over to look. I pointed to the prints. We started looking at everyone's feet.
"Well, you know it wasn't me," Joe said, holding up a sneaker-clad foot. His feet were huge, bigger than my Dad's. No way were the prints his.
Craig, a classmate of mine, knelt down beside the prints. "I don't think it was any of us," he said, then pointed out, "Look, these are from shoes that don't even have any tread."
He was right. The prints were flat. There was no pattern from the bottom of the shoes. They looked like they'd been made by loafers or something. None of the kids were wearing flat-soled shoes. Some of them weren't wearing shoes at all.
I didn't have to go inside to get Mom. She'd been watching us through the window, and seen that we were gathered around the garden, looking at something. She came out, asked what was up, and examined the prints with a concerned look on her face, then went inside to get Dad. She sent the kids over to Joe's house to continue the game, but I stayed to see what was up. Dad came out and took a look. Mom said, "See how this one set is deeper than the others? See how they're right next to each other, instead of one in front of the other? It's like someone stood here for a while." She crossed her arms over her chest.
I felt goosebumps rise along my arms. I imagined someone walking into Mom's garden from the driveway, then standing there with his toes facing our house, long enough for his feet to sink a little into the dirt, before heading back the way he came, carefully stepping around Mom's lilies. Were these from the other night?
Apparently, Mom and Dad thought so, because they called the police. Plaster casts were taken from the prints. There wasn't much else that could be done. Mom was quiet the whole time. The officer took some notes, including making a note of when the prints were found, and how they were spotted. I had to sign another statement, after which Dad told me I could go play with the other kids. I didn't feel like fun in the sun after finding the prints, but I didn't want to worry anyone, so I wandered over to Joe's house with my squirt gun. I couldn't get it out of my head - the thought of someone standing in Mom's garden, watching our house, probably in the middle of the night.
I got my butt totally kicked in that game. Eventually I gave up and went back across the street to my house. I wandered upstairs to read, hoping that losing myself in a story would take my mind off of the garden.
The rest of the day was pretty uneventful, right up until time to go to bed. I was sure I'd be too spooked to fall asleep, but I guess I had played harder than I thought. I was snoring before my head hit the pillow.
**********************************************************
"Aaaayyyyyyy, batter, batter batter! You swing my Grannie!"
My team mates were chomping at the bit. With two outs, two men on base, and only a one point lead, we were just barely hanging on. Jason was on second base. That kid could run like a deer. If Bradley hit that ball anywhere outside the infield, he'd tie up the score, and we didn't have time for extra innings.
Bradley slid his feet out a little and glared at Tommy. He was still pretty mad about my hit in the last inning, I guess. He bobbed his head up, and he shouted out, "You gonna throw that ball, or make love to it all day?"
Tommy threw a fast pitch, right across the plate. Bradley swung the bat and made a solid connection. The crack of the bat went right through my chest, and then the ball was coming right at my face. I reacted instinctively, not so much trying to catch the ball as trying to shield myself from being hit, throwing my gloved hand, palm first, up to block it. At the last split second, conscious thought kicked in. As it hit, I closed my glove around the ball, and brought my other hand up to stop it from bouncing out. The force of the movement knocked the back of the glove into my nose, but I didn't care. I'd just caught Bradley out. It was the third out for the last bat of the last inning. I heard Tommy and the guys yelling, "Yeeeerrrrrrrrr OUT!" and then the cheers began.
Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 Epilogue
Mirror Image, Chapter 9
Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 Epilogue
Why was it that whenever we had burritos for supper, I always woke up hungry in the middle of the night? I stayed for a moment, agonizing over the dilemma between the desire to not leave the warmth and comfort of my bed, and the growling in my stomach. It didn't take long for my stomach to win out.
I quietly tiptoed out of my room, and down the stairs, then ambled down the hallway into the kitchen for a piece of the apple pie Mom had baked earlier today. The kitchen still smelled of sweet apples and cinnamon. I didn't even bother turning on the light. It was the middle of the night, anyway. I'd eat, then go back to bed.
I warmed the slice in the microwave, then added a scoop of ice cream. Sitting at the table, I muched away contentedly until the sound of the air conditioner kicking on startled me. My gaze shot to the window. There was a face! I jumped, nearly losing my seat, then realized it was my own reflection. Jeez, I was getting jumpy.
Then, something on the other side of the reflection moved.
Now, I was more than startled. Goosebumps ran up my arms. I could see a human shape in the back yard. As I watched, the shape moved rapidly toward the house, then ducked down and disappeared beneath the windowsill. There was a rattling outside the window.
I jumped up and ran into the living room. Grabbing the phone, I dialed the number for the police. I moved back to the kitchen doorway and turned on the light. As the dispatcher answered the phone, There was a crash outside, and then I heard and saw someone running away. I spoke into the receiver, explaining what I'd seen and heard, and that whoever it was had taken off. The dispatcher told me to wait for a police officer to arrive at the house to investigate. In the meantime, I should wake my parents.
Also, I would have to file another report.
It was gonna be a long night.
Sleep eluded me for what seemed like an eternity. I kept looking at my clock, expecting the time to be much later, only to see that mere moments had passed. Every time I dozed, some noise, or even just a bad feeling, would jolt me awake. I was worried. The police had come and gone. They'd found nothing but an overturned plant by the window. There were no fingerprints, no footprints, nothing to lead them to whoever had been out there. Dad was sleeping in his easy chair downstairs again. I knew he was big and strong, but what if that man sneaked up on him in his sleep? He'd gotten in when we were asleep before. Couldn't he do it again? Would Dad hear him?
Exhaustion finally won, and I fell into an anxiety-ridden sleep filled with vague, disjointed, dark dreams. Flashes of nightmare haunted me; the creepy guy's face in my closet, Grace with her too-wide grin, the sound of a bunch of kids chanting "aye, batter, batter," and the crack of an ash bat hitting a worn-out old baseball.
Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 Epilogue
Why was it that whenever we had burritos for supper, I always woke up hungry in the middle of the night? I stayed for a moment, agonizing over the dilemma between the desire to not leave the warmth and comfort of my bed, and the growling in my stomach. It didn't take long for my stomach to win out.
I quietly tiptoed out of my room, and down the stairs, then ambled down the hallway into the kitchen for a piece of the apple pie Mom had baked earlier today. The kitchen still smelled of sweet apples and cinnamon. I didn't even bother turning on the light. It was the middle of the night, anyway. I'd eat, then go back to bed.
I warmed the slice in the microwave, then added a scoop of ice cream. Sitting at the table, I muched away contentedly until the sound of the air conditioner kicking on startled me. My gaze shot to the window. There was a face! I jumped, nearly losing my seat, then realized it was my own reflection. Jeez, I was getting jumpy.
Then, something on the other side of the reflection moved.
Now, I was more than startled. Goosebumps ran up my arms. I could see a human shape in the back yard. As I watched, the shape moved rapidly toward the house, then ducked down and disappeared beneath the windowsill. There was a rattling outside the window.
I jumped up and ran into the living room. Grabbing the phone, I dialed the number for the police. I moved back to the kitchen doorway and turned on the light. As the dispatcher answered the phone, There was a crash outside, and then I heard and saw someone running away. I spoke into the receiver, explaining what I'd seen and heard, and that whoever it was had taken off. The dispatcher told me to wait for a police officer to arrive at the house to investigate. In the meantime, I should wake my parents.
Also, I would have to file another report.
It was gonna be a long night.
*********************************************************
Sleep eluded me for what seemed like an eternity. I kept looking at my clock, expecting the time to be much later, only to see that mere moments had passed. Every time I dozed, some noise, or even just a bad feeling, would jolt me awake. I was worried. The police had come and gone. They'd found nothing but an overturned plant by the window. There were no fingerprints, no footprints, nothing to lead them to whoever had been out there. Dad was sleeping in his easy chair downstairs again. I knew he was big and strong, but what if that man sneaked up on him in his sleep? He'd gotten in when we were asleep before. Couldn't he do it again? Would Dad hear him?
Exhaustion finally won, and I fell into an anxiety-ridden sleep filled with vague, disjointed, dark dreams. Flashes of nightmare haunted me; the creepy guy's face in my closet, Grace with her too-wide grin, the sound of a bunch of kids chanting "aye, batter, batter," and the crack of an ash bat hitting a worn-out old baseball.
Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 Epilogue
Mirror Image, Chapter 8
Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 Epilogue
The crisp, resonating crack of the bat against the ball returned my attention to the game. Sitting on the bench beside Tommy, waiting his turn behind Jimmy, was terribly frustrating. Jimmy was a good guy, and all, but he was a slow runner. His legs were just short. I guess you could say he was built kind of funny, all body, with short arms and legs. He leaned forward when he ran, more than anyone else I'd seen, as if he could go faster just by wanting to.
On the other hand, that boy could hit. He could send that ball wherever he wanted to send it. This time, it went for a hole in the middle of the outfield, bouncing between the left fielder and the center fielder, neither of whom I knew, before being scooped up in a glove and thrown to Marty, the shortstop. Marty looked for a play, but there was none. Christopher had rounded second and was almost on top of third. Jimmy barely made it to first. Marty threw the ball back to Bradley, and Tommy was up. The guys on the other team began to taunt him.
"Rooooooomeo... oh, Rooooooooomeoooo"
and
"He ain't gonna hit it. He's too nervous."
and
"Better hit a good one, loverboy. Your girlfriend is watching."
and finally,
"Tommy and Sarah, sitting in a tree! K-I-S-S-I-N-G!"
Tommy appeared not to notice.
There was the windup, and then the pitch. It looked like Bradley was trying a fast ball, but it didn't hold a candle to Tommy's. It was moving pretty good, but Tommy got a solid hit, a line drive that sped right by George, the third baseman, and then past Marty's heroic dive, before finally hitting the ground a foot in front of the left fielder's glove. The ball rolled under the glove, between the fielder's feet, and back into the field. Christopher ran for home. Jimmy rounded second and struggled for third as the left fielder grabbed the ball and threw it at Marty. Marty, still scrambling up from his dive, missed. Bradley ran for the ball, scooped it up, and tried to tag Jimmy, but he missed as Jimmy dropped in to a slide right into the old tire serving as third base. Christopher crossed home unchallenged. We had a run. We were still two behind, but we were catching up. With two guys on base, we could turn this game around.
It was my turn at bat. As he spun around to return to the mound, I could see that Bradley was angry. He'd missed Jimmy by inches, just enough for everyone to see, so that no argument could be made for an out. He looked at me.
"You ain't getting a hit off of me."
I ignored the statement, spread my feet to shoulder width, dug my toes in, and smacked the piece of carpeting that was home plate. I jerked my chin up at him. Go ahead and try me, buddy.
Bradley called a time out, motioning Joe, the catcher, to come to the mound. The two huddled for a moment over the ball, and I immediately knew what would follow. A glimpse I got when the two moved apart for a second confirmed my suspicion. A spitball was about to be headed my way.
Probably a fast pitch, too.
All right. I could do that.
Joe smirked at me on his way back to the plate. I gave him a beaming grin, and was rewarded with a look of total confusion.
Bradley fixed me with a glare. He turned his eyes to Joe, nodded and wound up, then launched the ball directly at me. Not over the plate. Not fast. Right at my shoulder.
I stepped back and took my hardest swing.
CRACK!
Not looking to see where the ball went, I tossed the bat to the side and ran for first. Hit me with the ball, willya? Walk, me, willya? I was so mad I could spit.
Then, I heard the guys cheering.
"Run, Sarah! Go!"
I looked up to see Tommy rounding second and heading for third. Jimmy was halfway to home. Where was the ball?
Running for the washtub bottom that was second base, I scanned the field. The guys were watching the outfield. The outfielders were watching the fence, where the center fielder was climbing to the other side.
I didn't just hit the ball. I hit it over the fence.
Hey, I hit it over the fence!
Some else's yell, "Will ya run all ready?" finally spurred me into action. I sprinted around the bases behind Tommy, sliding into home just as the ball reached Bradley at the mound. I got up, dusted off, and was ushered over to the bench and cheered by the guys. We were ahead by one run now. I turned to see Bradley glaring at me from the mound, as I was patted on the back and congratulated by my teammates. Something about that glare made me really uncomfortable, but I shrugged it off. I was the hero right now, and I was gonna enjoy it.
Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 Epilogue
The crisp, resonating crack of the bat against the ball returned my attention to the game. Sitting on the bench beside Tommy, waiting his turn behind Jimmy, was terribly frustrating. Jimmy was a good guy, and all, but he was a slow runner. His legs were just short. I guess you could say he was built kind of funny, all body, with short arms and legs. He leaned forward when he ran, more than anyone else I'd seen, as if he could go faster just by wanting to.
On the other hand, that boy could hit. He could send that ball wherever he wanted to send it. This time, it went for a hole in the middle of the outfield, bouncing between the left fielder and the center fielder, neither of whom I knew, before being scooped up in a glove and thrown to Marty, the shortstop. Marty looked for a play, but there was none. Christopher had rounded second and was almost on top of third. Jimmy barely made it to first. Marty threw the ball back to Bradley, and Tommy was up. The guys on the other team began to taunt him.
"Rooooooomeo... oh, Rooooooooomeoooo"
and
"He ain't gonna hit it. He's too nervous."
and
"Better hit a good one, loverboy. Your girlfriend is watching."
and finally,
"Tommy and Sarah, sitting in a tree! K-I-S-S-I-N-G!"
Tommy appeared not to notice.
There was the windup, and then the pitch. It looked like Bradley was trying a fast ball, but it didn't hold a candle to Tommy's. It was moving pretty good, but Tommy got a solid hit, a line drive that sped right by George, the third baseman, and then past Marty's heroic dive, before finally hitting the ground a foot in front of the left fielder's glove. The ball rolled under the glove, between the fielder's feet, and back into the field. Christopher ran for home. Jimmy rounded second and struggled for third as the left fielder grabbed the ball and threw it at Marty. Marty, still scrambling up from his dive, missed. Bradley ran for the ball, scooped it up, and tried to tag Jimmy, but he missed as Jimmy dropped in to a slide right into the old tire serving as third base. Christopher crossed home unchallenged. We had a run. We were still two behind, but we were catching up. With two guys on base, we could turn this game around.
It was my turn at bat. As he spun around to return to the mound, I could see that Bradley was angry. He'd missed Jimmy by inches, just enough for everyone to see, so that no argument could be made for an out. He looked at me.
"You ain't getting a hit off of me."
I ignored the statement, spread my feet to shoulder width, dug my toes in, and smacked the piece of carpeting that was home plate. I jerked my chin up at him. Go ahead and try me, buddy.
Bradley called a time out, motioning Joe, the catcher, to come to the mound. The two huddled for a moment over the ball, and I immediately knew what would follow. A glimpse I got when the two moved apart for a second confirmed my suspicion. A spitball was about to be headed my way.
Probably a fast pitch, too.
All right. I could do that.
Joe smirked at me on his way back to the plate. I gave him a beaming grin, and was rewarded with a look of total confusion.
Bradley fixed me with a glare. He turned his eyes to Joe, nodded and wound up, then launched the ball directly at me. Not over the plate. Not fast. Right at my shoulder.
I stepped back and took my hardest swing.
CRACK!
Not looking to see where the ball went, I tossed the bat to the side and ran for first. Hit me with the ball, willya? Walk, me, willya? I was so mad I could spit.
Then, I heard the guys cheering.
"Run, Sarah! Go!"
I looked up to see Tommy rounding second and heading for third. Jimmy was halfway to home. Where was the ball?
Running for the washtub bottom that was second base, I scanned the field. The guys were watching the outfield. The outfielders were watching the fence, where the center fielder was climbing to the other side.
I didn't just hit the ball. I hit it over the fence.
Hey, I hit it over the fence!
Some else's yell, "Will ya run all ready?" finally spurred me into action. I sprinted around the bases behind Tommy, sliding into home just as the ball reached Bradley at the mound. I got up, dusted off, and was ushered over to the bench and cheered by the guys. We were ahead by one run now. I turned to see Bradley glaring at me from the mound, as I was patted on the back and congratulated by my teammates. Something about that glare made me really uncomfortable, but I shrugged it off. I was the hero right now, and I was gonna enjoy it.
Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 Epilogue
Mirror Image, Chapter 7
Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 Epilogue
Once again, things went back to normal for days. I thought about the phone call and wondered what it was that had brought my ghosts downstairs. Maybe they didn't like modern devices, or maybe Mama was was being overprotective. When I was younger, I was not allowed to answer the phone if Mom had to go away for few moments. Though I was older now, it probably still wasn't the best idea. I didn't get a lot of phone calls, and neither did Seth. Chances were, it would have been for Mom or Dad, neither of whom had been available, and I'd have had to tell the caller that.
I suppose if we lived in a bigger city, that would still have been a house rule; do not answer the phone if there is not an adult in the house. Anyone can pretend to be a telemarketer just to find out if there are no adults at home, then show up and rob the place. It wasn't something we ever thought about. That kind of crime just didn't happen in our little berg.
I tried sitting in my room and reading, to see if contact would occur again, but there was nothing. Aside from finishing my book, the days following the incident were uneventful, and so were the nights. My dreams were forgettable, at best. As I placed the finished book up on a shelf, I realized that I was once again in the position of having nothing new to read, but was nowhere near our next trip to the mall, which was thirty miles away in the only real city our area could boast. There was the library downtown, but I'd pretty much exhausted the selection of books I was permitted to check out at my age. The librarian didn't understand advanced readers, and was sure I was just showing off when I tried to leave the teen section. Even after Mom went in and verbally gave her permission, the librarian was hesitant to let me choose the books I wanted, and by the next trip, she'd forgotten that I was allowed to pick from the main fiction stacks, and sent me back into the teen section. I went home with no books that day.
It wasnt' that I didn't like revisiting favorite stories. I loved my books, and the library books as well. It was just that I craved new stories as much as a gourmet craves new foods. Yes, we have our favorites. I'd read The Hobbit four times. My paperback copy of White Fang was so well-read that I'd rubbed the teaser off of the back cover. The Secret Garden didn't even have a back cover any more. I'd had to replace it with card stock, and to protect that, I'd made a book cover like the ones we used at school for our classroom textbooks, which I taped together over the remaining cover. Still, there was nothing like the smell of a new book, the feel of the thick, unworn pages between my fingers, and the anticipation of getting caught up in the fantasy therein. Much as I loved my favorites, I wanted... no, I needed a new book for my mind to munch.
Annoyance crept into my peripheral thoughts, until I remembered the little bookstore downtown. The selection there was not huge, but I wouldn't have anyone looking over my shoulder telling me what I could or could not buy, and the store was within walking distance. Checking my ready cash, I found a ten. I could get a paperback for that. The store kept up with the weekly bestseller list. There would at least be one new novel there that would interest me.
I pocketed the ten, and headed downstairs. "Mom, can I walk downtown to the bookstore?"
"Why not just go to the library?" We'd had the discussion before, but for some reason, she always posed that question. I knew she would rather not let me leave at all, and was hedging because the library was closer than the bookstore. I didn't want to go to the library without her, though, because of the librarian's silly rules. Mom looked too busy to go. Was I going to be stuck re-reading anyway? Thinking fast, I decided to try a new tactic. Instead of arguing, I asked for help.
"Sure. Will you drive me?" Mom's face was thoughtful. I could see that she was remembering the need to be present for my checkout. She had an art project for an ad she was working on spread all over the table, and looked reluctant to leave it. I knew she had a deadline to meet, and wouldn't want to quit in the middle of this. Besides, we both knew that walking to the bookstore, twice the distance to the library, would give me some much needed fresh air and exercise. Mom didn't want to discourage my reading, but she didn't like that I spent so much time indoors. I could see the wheels turning, the desire to be reasonable and the wish for me to get more outside time competing with the motherly worry for my safety. With several long, lazy summer days between us and the incident, my side of her internal argument won.
"Not today, honey. I've just got too many things to catch up on. I'll take a rain check on that. How about this, though. You can save me a trip." She handed me some folded up bills and a piece of paper. "On the way home, stop at Scranton's and pick these up for me, ok?"
I looked at the short list. There was nothing on it I couldn't carry. "No prob. I'll be home shortly, then."
With that, I was out the door, smiling at the new knowledge I'd gained in the area of bargaining. The act of requesting something you'd like but don't need, and which the other party may not be in a position to give, can be a tool to make the option you really want more attractive. Being able to trade a small favor for the option you want also helps. Cool.
The bookstore was in a little corner building on the cheap end of the main street of town. The storefront was unassuming, with little but a hand-painted sign to advertise the shop's wares. Inside, the store was long and narrow, with shelves along the walls, and a wide walkway between them. There was almost, but not quite, enough room to add another display in the center of the aisle. Near the door was the checkout, with an L-shaped front counter enclosing the area to separate it off from the rest of the store. There was a little swinging door that just barely touched up against the moveable divider between this and the beauty shop next door. Sounds of blowdryers and chattering women leaked through from the other side, audible during quieter segments of the music that came from the small boombox the store owner had sitting in the window beside the checkout.
Light from the front windows faded toward the back of the store, leaving a few bare but still somewhat dim fluorescent lights in the high ceiling to illuminate the area. I scanned the stock of novels, looking to see if there was anything in the discount section. I wanted to eliminate that possibility before heading toward the more expensive new releases and bestsellers. If I found an interesting discounted paperback, I could afford to by a copy of my favorite comic, House of Horror, in addition to the book. That would be cool.
At the same time, I didn't have the luxury of reading the teaser on the back of every book, because I wanted to get Mom's groceries home without too much delay. It looked like the kind of items around which she would plan supper.
Just when I was about to walk away from the shelf, a cover caught my eye. The novel wasn't a mystery, the genre I'd been in the mood for lately. It looked like this one was a horror novel. On the front was a picture of a young woman who appeared to have been primping in front of a bathroom mirror, when taken by surprise by a change in her reflection. The double image in the mirror showed a frighting, dark-eyed face superimposed over the girl's face. Reading the back, I became more interested in the story as the teaser described the discovery of a haunting at the young woman's new apartment, a mysterious and creepy stranger, an interesting neighbor, and a potential mystery. The price was a third of what I would spend on a new release. Those could wait. I was getting this!
On my way out, I wandered over to the short section of comics and magazines. There, I picked up the latest House and a copy of Puzzles and Teasers. A quick mental calculation told me I would still have enough to get one of the gourmet dark chocolates at the counter, and a regular candy bar, too. Since the store had my brother's favorite, I picked up both and lay them on top of my purchases. Mrs. Dennings, the store owner, smiled as she rang everything up, asking me if I found everything I wanted. I said yes, smiled back, and handed over my ten. I was in great spirits, thrilled at my luck and my shopping savvy, and looking forward to the look on Seth's face when I handed him a candy bar out of the bag.
Going to the grocery meant going one street over before heading home. It was no less a direct route than the trip downtown, just a different turning point. It took me through the neighborhood where I had bought the mirror. As I walked past, I saw that the owner was having yet another garage sale. I thought about checking it out, but remembered that I'd spent the amount I'd brought with me, and anyway, I didn't see the table full of books in there. I walked on by, crossing the driveway that turned into an alley going past the garage.
Just as I reached the other side of that, I thought I saw a face peeking out at me from behind a curtain in one of the houses. I stopped, stepped back, and turned to look. No one was there. At least, I couldn't see anyone. It really kind of felt like I was being watched.
I looked back at the garage sale. There were a few people there, rummaging through things on tables and in boxes, but no one was looking my way. I glanced again at that house, but the curtains remained still. Shrugging it off, I crossed the street and headed into the grocery. It was probably just my imagination, my nerves being a little over-sensitized by recent events. If someone around here had been looking out the window at me, I would have seen him or her smile and wave when I looked. It was just how people in my neighborhood were.
I found everything on Mom's list except the re-fried beans. Mom's favorite brand wasn't on the shelf, and if I brought home the wrong one, she'd send me back. I had to ask a stock boy to check and see if he had any in the back. He was gone for several minutes before returning with what I needed. By the time I checked out and headed home, I had the feeling I'd taken too much time. I sped up the pace, walking rapidly toward my house. I only had a few blocks to go, but I was getting hungry and since supper couldn't be started until I got home, I hurried as fast as I could go carrying three bags of stuff. I decided to cut through the alley on the next block.
It was because of my hurry that at first, I didn't notice guy in the long coat. I was almost past him when his movement caught my eye, just in time for me to see him dart around behind a parked car. That was more than a little weird. I thought I recognized his face, but wasn't sure, because I only saw him for a second. It could have been a neighbor, but he looked like the man who had been in my room. I picked my pace up even further. Any faster, and I'd be running. I couldn't help it. I was becoming really spooked.
About halfway through the alley, I started to hear footsteps in the gravel behind me. I looked, and realized that the man was following me. He was far enough away that I couldn't quite pin down his features, but once again I had the sense that this was that guy. I broke into a run. So did he.
Oh, crap, he was chasing me! My heart pounded, and my palms began to sweat. Who the hell was that guy, and why was he after me? I bolted toward the street, terrified. I could hear him panting behind me, but the sound of his footsteps was getting further away. Whoever he was, he was too old and out of shape to keep up with the junior high school hundred yard dash champ for the whole league, especially after a burst of fear-induced adrenaline. I burst into the street, not looking until I heard tires squeal. Mrs. Forrester, my next door neighbor, threw open her door and jumped out of her car.
"Land sakes, Sarah! What the hell are you doing, trying to get yourself killed?" Then, she noticed the look on my face and asked if I was ok. I turned and pointed down the alley.
"Look out Mrs. Forrester! He's coming to..." but there was no one coming. The strange man had disappeared, probably cutting through yards to get away before he was spotted by an adult. I looked at her. "There was an old guy, like old old. He broke into our house a couple of weeks ago, and they haven't caught him yet, and I just saw him. He chased me down the alley. I don't know where he went. How can an old guy be that fast?" Then, I was out of breath, and shaking. I sat down on the curb.
From down the block, I heard my Dad's voice. "Ohmigod... Sarah, are you ok? Did you get hit?" He came running toward us, looking at me. Before I could say anything, Mrs. Foster explained what happened, telling him that I was running away from a stranger chasing me down the alley, and that she had stopped in time. No harm was done, but I was really shaken up. I thought that was a pretty good assessment. My hands felt oddly weak. I wasn't even sure I could carry the groceries home.
Dad asked me some questions. Once he found out that the man who chased me was the man who had broken into our house, he helped me up and took the bags. We thanked Mrs. Forrester and went inside to call the police. We would have to file another report.
As we approached the house, I looked up. It may have been a trick of the light, but I was certain that I saw Grace looking out the window at me, with a worried expression, twisting one of her braids nervously between her fingers.
When I got up to my room, however, she was gone, and there was no sign that she had been there.
As I walked in, I noticed the color pink on my dresser. Looking closer, I found that it was a white cardboard box, wrapped in a pink ribbon. I picked it up and opened it.
Inside was a broach, in the shape of a scimitar. The piece was really detailed. It had a scabbard decorated with colorful little gemstone chips, embedded within pretty pattern pressed into the metal. The blade was removable, and sharp, with a pommel wrapped in what felt like real leather. The end of it was embedded with a little sparkling gem. From the cross-guard, a tiny, delicate gold chain hung down, and looped back up to connect to the scabbard. The whole thing was just under three inches long. It was beautiful. I gazed at it for a few moments, then took it downstairs to thank Mom and ask where she got it.
Mom looked at the broach. "I didn't put that in your room. It's pretty, but it isn't from me."
I approached Dad. "Did you put this in my room?"
Dad shook his head. "Are you sure you didn't pick it up at one of your garage sales and forget about it?"
I didn't think I had, but I didn't want to worry them any more than necessary. Besides, it was a good possibility. It wouldn't be the first time I'd picked up some knack-knack at a junk sale and forgotten about it until later. I took the broach back up to my room, and put it into my jewelry box. It fit nicely into an unused section, looking like it had always belonged there. Odd.
Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 Epilogue
Once again, things went back to normal for days. I thought about the phone call and wondered what it was that had brought my ghosts downstairs. Maybe they didn't like modern devices, or maybe Mama was was being overprotective. When I was younger, I was not allowed to answer the phone if Mom had to go away for few moments. Though I was older now, it probably still wasn't the best idea. I didn't get a lot of phone calls, and neither did Seth. Chances were, it would have been for Mom or Dad, neither of whom had been available, and I'd have had to tell the caller that.
I suppose if we lived in a bigger city, that would still have been a house rule; do not answer the phone if there is not an adult in the house. Anyone can pretend to be a telemarketer just to find out if there are no adults at home, then show up and rob the place. It wasn't something we ever thought about. That kind of crime just didn't happen in our little berg.
I tried sitting in my room and reading, to see if contact would occur again, but there was nothing. Aside from finishing my book, the days following the incident were uneventful, and so were the nights. My dreams were forgettable, at best. As I placed the finished book up on a shelf, I realized that I was once again in the position of having nothing new to read, but was nowhere near our next trip to the mall, which was thirty miles away in the only real city our area could boast. There was the library downtown, but I'd pretty much exhausted the selection of books I was permitted to check out at my age. The librarian didn't understand advanced readers, and was sure I was just showing off when I tried to leave the teen section. Even after Mom went in and verbally gave her permission, the librarian was hesitant to let me choose the books I wanted, and by the next trip, she'd forgotten that I was allowed to pick from the main fiction stacks, and sent me back into the teen section. I went home with no books that day.
It wasnt' that I didn't like revisiting favorite stories. I loved my books, and the library books as well. It was just that I craved new stories as much as a gourmet craves new foods. Yes, we have our favorites. I'd read The Hobbit four times. My paperback copy of White Fang was so well-read that I'd rubbed the teaser off of the back cover. The Secret Garden didn't even have a back cover any more. I'd had to replace it with card stock, and to protect that, I'd made a book cover like the ones we used at school for our classroom textbooks, which I taped together over the remaining cover. Still, there was nothing like the smell of a new book, the feel of the thick, unworn pages between my fingers, and the anticipation of getting caught up in the fantasy therein. Much as I loved my favorites, I wanted... no, I needed a new book for my mind to munch.
Annoyance crept into my peripheral thoughts, until I remembered the little bookstore downtown. The selection there was not huge, but I wouldn't have anyone looking over my shoulder telling me what I could or could not buy, and the store was within walking distance. Checking my ready cash, I found a ten. I could get a paperback for that. The store kept up with the weekly bestseller list. There would at least be one new novel there that would interest me.
I pocketed the ten, and headed downstairs. "Mom, can I walk downtown to the bookstore?"
"Why not just go to the library?" We'd had the discussion before, but for some reason, she always posed that question. I knew she would rather not let me leave at all, and was hedging because the library was closer than the bookstore. I didn't want to go to the library without her, though, because of the librarian's silly rules. Mom looked too busy to go. Was I going to be stuck re-reading anyway? Thinking fast, I decided to try a new tactic. Instead of arguing, I asked for help.
"Sure. Will you drive me?" Mom's face was thoughtful. I could see that she was remembering the need to be present for my checkout. She had an art project for an ad she was working on spread all over the table, and looked reluctant to leave it. I knew she had a deadline to meet, and wouldn't want to quit in the middle of this. Besides, we both knew that walking to the bookstore, twice the distance to the library, would give me some much needed fresh air and exercise. Mom didn't want to discourage my reading, but she didn't like that I spent so much time indoors. I could see the wheels turning, the desire to be reasonable and the wish for me to get more outside time competing with the motherly worry for my safety. With several long, lazy summer days between us and the incident, my side of her internal argument won.
"Not today, honey. I've just got too many things to catch up on. I'll take a rain check on that. How about this, though. You can save me a trip." She handed me some folded up bills and a piece of paper. "On the way home, stop at Scranton's and pick these up for me, ok?"
I looked at the short list. There was nothing on it I couldn't carry. "No prob. I'll be home shortly, then."
With that, I was out the door, smiling at the new knowledge I'd gained in the area of bargaining. The act of requesting something you'd like but don't need, and which the other party may not be in a position to give, can be a tool to make the option you really want more attractive. Being able to trade a small favor for the option you want also helps. Cool.
The bookstore was in a little corner building on the cheap end of the main street of town. The storefront was unassuming, with little but a hand-painted sign to advertise the shop's wares. Inside, the store was long and narrow, with shelves along the walls, and a wide walkway between them. There was almost, but not quite, enough room to add another display in the center of the aisle. Near the door was the checkout, with an L-shaped front counter enclosing the area to separate it off from the rest of the store. There was a little swinging door that just barely touched up against the moveable divider between this and the beauty shop next door. Sounds of blowdryers and chattering women leaked through from the other side, audible during quieter segments of the music that came from the small boombox the store owner had sitting in the window beside the checkout.
Light from the front windows faded toward the back of the store, leaving a few bare but still somewhat dim fluorescent lights in the high ceiling to illuminate the area. I scanned the stock of novels, looking to see if there was anything in the discount section. I wanted to eliminate that possibility before heading toward the more expensive new releases and bestsellers. If I found an interesting discounted paperback, I could afford to by a copy of my favorite comic, House of Horror, in addition to the book. That would be cool.
At the same time, I didn't have the luxury of reading the teaser on the back of every book, because I wanted to get Mom's groceries home without too much delay. It looked like the kind of items around which she would plan supper.
Just when I was about to walk away from the shelf, a cover caught my eye. The novel wasn't a mystery, the genre I'd been in the mood for lately. It looked like this one was a horror novel. On the front was a picture of a young woman who appeared to have been primping in front of a bathroom mirror, when taken by surprise by a change in her reflection. The double image in the mirror showed a frighting, dark-eyed face superimposed over the girl's face. Reading the back, I became more interested in the story as the teaser described the discovery of a haunting at the young woman's new apartment, a mysterious and creepy stranger, an interesting neighbor, and a potential mystery. The price was a third of what I would spend on a new release. Those could wait. I was getting this!
On my way out, I wandered over to the short section of comics and magazines. There, I picked up the latest House and a copy of Puzzles and Teasers. A quick mental calculation told me I would still have enough to get one of the gourmet dark chocolates at the counter, and a regular candy bar, too. Since the store had my brother's favorite, I picked up both and lay them on top of my purchases. Mrs. Dennings, the store owner, smiled as she rang everything up, asking me if I found everything I wanted. I said yes, smiled back, and handed over my ten. I was in great spirits, thrilled at my luck and my shopping savvy, and looking forward to the look on Seth's face when I handed him a candy bar out of the bag.
Going to the grocery meant going one street over before heading home. It was no less a direct route than the trip downtown, just a different turning point. It took me through the neighborhood where I had bought the mirror. As I walked past, I saw that the owner was having yet another garage sale. I thought about checking it out, but remembered that I'd spent the amount I'd brought with me, and anyway, I didn't see the table full of books in there. I walked on by, crossing the driveway that turned into an alley going past the garage.
Just as I reached the other side of that, I thought I saw a face peeking out at me from behind a curtain in one of the houses. I stopped, stepped back, and turned to look. No one was there. At least, I couldn't see anyone. It really kind of felt like I was being watched.
I looked back at the garage sale. There were a few people there, rummaging through things on tables and in boxes, but no one was looking my way. I glanced again at that house, but the curtains remained still. Shrugging it off, I crossed the street and headed into the grocery. It was probably just my imagination, my nerves being a little over-sensitized by recent events. If someone around here had been looking out the window at me, I would have seen him or her smile and wave when I looked. It was just how people in my neighborhood were.
I found everything on Mom's list except the re-fried beans. Mom's favorite brand wasn't on the shelf, and if I brought home the wrong one, she'd send me back. I had to ask a stock boy to check and see if he had any in the back. He was gone for several minutes before returning with what I needed. By the time I checked out and headed home, I had the feeling I'd taken too much time. I sped up the pace, walking rapidly toward my house. I only had a few blocks to go, but I was getting hungry and since supper couldn't be started until I got home, I hurried as fast as I could go carrying three bags of stuff. I decided to cut through the alley on the next block.
It was because of my hurry that at first, I didn't notice guy in the long coat. I was almost past him when his movement caught my eye, just in time for me to see him dart around behind a parked car. That was more than a little weird. I thought I recognized his face, but wasn't sure, because I only saw him for a second. It could have been a neighbor, but he looked like the man who had been in my room. I picked my pace up even further. Any faster, and I'd be running. I couldn't help it. I was becoming really spooked.
About halfway through the alley, I started to hear footsteps in the gravel behind me. I looked, and realized that the man was following me. He was far enough away that I couldn't quite pin down his features, but once again I had the sense that this was that guy. I broke into a run. So did he.
Oh, crap, he was chasing me! My heart pounded, and my palms began to sweat. Who the hell was that guy, and why was he after me? I bolted toward the street, terrified. I could hear him panting behind me, but the sound of his footsteps was getting further away. Whoever he was, he was too old and out of shape to keep up with the junior high school hundred yard dash champ for the whole league, especially after a burst of fear-induced adrenaline. I burst into the street, not looking until I heard tires squeal. Mrs. Forrester, my next door neighbor, threw open her door and jumped out of her car.
"Land sakes, Sarah! What the hell are you doing, trying to get yourself killed?" Then, she noticed the look on my face and asked if I was ok. I turned and pointed down the alley.
"Look out Mrs. Forrester! He's coming to..." but there was no one coming. The strange man had disappeared, probably cutting through yards to get away before he was spotted by an adult. I looked at her. "There was an old guy, like old old. He broke into our house a couple of weeks ago, and they haven't caught him yet, and I just saw him. He chased me down the alley. I don't know where he went. How can an old guy be that fast?" Then, I was out of breath, and shaking. I sat down on the curb.
From down the block, I heard my Dad's voice. "Ohmigod... Sarah, are you ok? Did you get hit?" He came running toward us, looking at me. Before I could say anything, Mrs. Foster explained what happened, telling him that I was running away from a stranger chasing me down the alley, and that she had stopped in time. No harm was done, but I was really shaken up. I thought that was a pretty good assessment. My hands felt oddly weak. I wasn't even sure I could carry the groceries home.
Dad asked me some questions. Once he found out that the man who chased me was the man who had broken into our house, he helped me up and took the bags. We thanked Mrs. Forrester and went inside to call the police. We would have to file another report.
As we approached the house, I looked up. It may have been a trick of the light, but I was certain that I saw Grace looking out the window at me, with a worried expression, twisting one of her braids nervously between her fingers.
When I got up to my room, however, she was gone, and there was no sign that she had been there.
As I walked in, I noticed the color pink on my dresser. Looking closer, I found that it was a white cardboard box, wrapped in a pink ribbon. I picked it up and opened it.
Inside was a broach, in the shape of a scimitar. The piece was really detailed. It had a scabbard decorated with colorful little gemstone chips, embedded within pretty pattern pressed into the metal. The blade was removable, and sharp, with a pommel wrapped in what felt like real leather. The end of it was embedded with a little sparkling gem. From the cross-guard, a tiny, delicate gold chain hung down, and looped back up to connect to the scabbard. The whole thing was just under three inches long. It was beautiful. I gazed at it for a few moments, then took it downstairs to thank Mom and ask where she got it.
Mom looked at the broach. "I didn't put that in your room. It's pretty, but it isn't from me."
I approached Dad. "Did you put this in my room?"
Dad shook his head. "Are you sure you didn't pick it up at one of your garage sales and forget about it?"
I didn't think I had, but I didn't want to worry them any more than necessary. Besides, it was a good possibility. It wouldn't be the first time I'd picked up some knack-knack at a junk sale and forgotten about it until later. I took the broach back up to my room, and put it into my jewelry box. It fit nicely into an unused section, looking like it had always belonged there. Odd.
Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 Epilogue
Mirror Image, Chapter 6
Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 Epilogue
One afternoon, about a week after the safety discussion, Mom decided she needed to run to the pharmacy. Dad was still at work. I was reading in the family room. Seth was playing outside. Mom asked if I wanted to go, but I was at a really captivating part of the novel. Outside, I heard her speak to Seth. I heard his voice, "Can I get..." but couldn't understand the rest. He probably was asking if he could get a snack or a toy. That pharmacy had dollar toys that were kind of cool, and cheap snacks, too. I heard Mom answer yes, then there was the sound of them getting into the car and driving away. For a few moments, I was semi-aware of the sound of the clock ticking, and then I was back in the world of the novel, totally zoned out. Few things would break through the reading trance.
After I don't know how long, one of those things did. Mom and Seth weren't back. Dad was still out. The story had reached a more calm point, in which the characters were in their home, in a discussion which was related to an interesting subplot of the story. I was still pretty into it, but hey, I was a teen. I'd have been blind and deaf to a tornado picking up the house while I was reading, but you can bet I heard the phone ringing.
At first, I'd forgotten I was alone in the house. After the third ring, I realized my error and jumped up to go answer it. It was in the living room. I turned the corner to head in there, only to come face to face with my ghosts from upstairs, standing on the other side of the doorway to the living room with their arms crossed.
Mama looked very stern, as though she were about to discipline someone. Eyes wide, jaw set, head tilted to the side, everything about her said, "Young lady, you are in big trouble."
Just like up in my room that night, Grace had no eyes. I hadn't imagined it! The entire upper half of her face was smooth skin. Her mouth, impossibly wide, was set in the same grim, determined expression as her mother's. It almost made her look like her face had been split with a knife. She didn't even have a nose. There were bald patches in her hair. As my step took me up to the threshhold of the doorway between the rooms, she uncrossed her arms and reached for me.
Startled, I jumped back with a loud scream, and nearly dropped my book. They looked almost solid. I could barely see through them. "NO!" I shouted involuntarily, then, "no-no-no-no-no..." until I shut myself up. As I backed away, their faces began to change. Once I was in the kitchen, they were back to looking pretty normal, Grace with her blue eyes and pretty smile, her blond hair braided and tied, no bald spots, nothing freaky about her except for the fact that she was a ghost. There was no sign of her previous, momentarily horrifying appearance. I could almost have gone back to believing she had never looked like that.
And Mama... Mama looked immensely relieved as the phone stopped ringing. She actually took the posture and made the motion of relaxing with a sigh. She looked at me and wagged a finger, as if to say that I knew better. What the heck?
As scared as I was, I was more confused and curious. This was broad daylight, and I was seeing ghosts in my living room who seemed to have appeared there to scare me away from the phone. I said to the girl, "Is your name Grace?"
Her pretty blue eyes widened for a moment. She nodded happily. I asked "Are you here because of the mirror?" Mama shook her head.
"Why did you come here, then? What drew you to my house? Did I know you some time before?"
As if in answer, the two ghosts rapidly faded out and dissapeared. One moment, they were almost solid, then I could really see through them... and then they were gone.
It could have just been my imagination, but it looked to me as if, at the last moment, they both looked really, really sad. Why, I wondered. What had brought them here? Why was I dreaming about them, and why did they sometimes look so scary? Why had they vanished when I started asking them questions?
I went to the phone to check the caller ID and see if I could call back the person I'd missed. Whoever it was would have to call back. The number was "restricted." That was kind of odd. Everyone from whom we normally received phone calls came up on the caller ID. We'd even entered the names of most of our friends and family, so if it had been one of them, that would have come up. I'd never seen it come up with "restricted" before. Maybe it was a wrong number, or maybe it was a telemarketer from somewhere caller ID couldn't trace yet.
So why did looking at that word give me chills? Why did I have goosebumps until Mom and Seth got home? I wasn't spooked any more by the ghosts, but something about having received an anonymous call really gave me the creeps.
When Mom and Seth finally did get home, I dragged him inside to play video games with me until supper. Mom thought it was just fabulous that we were getting along and playing together. Seth was totally suspicious again, giving me sideways looks and quietly asking what was wrong. Instead of answering him, I yelled out to Mom in the kitchen that I'd missed a phone call while I was in the bathroom, but couldn't call them back because the number came up "restricted."
"Restricted?" Mom looked surprised "We don't know anyone with an unlisted number. Must not have been for us anyway." After a pause, she finished, "I guess if it's important, they'll call back."
Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 Epilogue
One afternoon, about a week after the safety discussion, Mom decided she needed to run to the pharmacy. Dad was still at work. I was reading in the family room. Seth was playing outside. Mom asked if I wanted to go, but I was at a really captivating part of the novel. Outside, I heard her speak to Seth. I heard his voice, "Can I get..." but couldn't understand the rest. He probably was asking if he could get a snack or a toy. That pharmacy had dollar toys that were kind of cool, and cheap snacks, too. I heard Mom answer yes, then there was the sound of them getting into the car and driving away. For a few moments, I was semi-aware of the sound of the clock ticking, and then I was back in the world of the novel, totally zoned out. Few things would break through the reading trance.
After I don't know how long, one of those things did. Mom and Seth weren't back. Dad was still out. The story had reached a more calm point, in which the characters were in their home, in a discussion which was related to an interesting subplot of the story. I was still pretty into it, but hey, I was a teen. I'd have been blind and deaf to a tornado picking up the house while I was reading, but you can bet I heard the phone ringing.
At first, I'd forgotten I was alone in the house. After the third ring, I realized my error and jumped up to go answer it. It was in the living room. I turned the corner to head in there, only to come face to face with my ghosts from upstairs, standing on the other side of the doorway to the living room with their arms crossed.
Mama looked very stern, as though she were about to discipline someone. Eyes wide, jaw set, head tilted to the side, everything about her said, "Young lady, you are in big trouble."
Just like up in my room that night, Grace had no eyes. I hadn't imagined it! The entire upper half of her face was smooth skin. Her mouth, impossibly wide, was set in the same grim, determined expression as her mother's. It almost made her look like her face had been split with a knife. She didn't even have a nose. There were bald patches in her hair. As my step took me up to the threshhold of the doorway between the rooms, she uncrossed her arms and reached for me.
Startled, I jumped back with a loud scream, and nearly dropped my book. They looked almost solid. I could barely see through them. "NO!" I shouted involuntarily, then, "no-no-no-no-no..." until I shut myself up. As I backed away, their faces began to change. Once I was in the kitchen, they were back to looking pretty normal, Grace with her blue eyes and pretty smile, her blond hair braided and tied, no bald spots, nothing freaky about her except for the fact that she was a ghost. There was no sign of her previous, momentarily horrifying appearance. I could almost have gone back to believing she had never looked like that.
And Mama... Mama looked immensely relieved as the phone stopped ringing. She actually took the posture and made the motion of relaxing with a sigh. She looked at me and wagged a finger, as if to say that I knew better. What the heck?
As scared as I was, I was more confused and curious. This was broad daylight, and I was seeing ghosts in my living room who seemed to have appeared there to scare me away from the phone. I said to the girl, "Is your name Grace?"
Her pretty blue eyes widened for a moment. She nodded happily. I asked "Are you here because of the mirror?" Mama shook her head.
"Why did you come here, then? What drew you to my house? Did I know you some time before?"
As if in answer, the two ghosts rapidly faded out and dissapeared. One moment, they were almost solid, then I could really see through them... and then they were gone.
It could have just been my imagination, but it looked to me as if, at the last moment, they both looked really, really sad. Why, I wondered. What had brought them here? Why was I dreaming about them, and why did they sometimes look so scary? Why had they vanished when I started asking them questions?
I went to the phone to check the caller ID and see if I could call back the person I'd missed. Whoever it was would have to call back. The number was "restricted." That was kind of odd. Everyone from whom we normally received phone calls came up on the caller ID. We'd even entered the names of most of our friends and family, so if it had been one of them, that would have come up. I'd never seen it come up with "restricted" before. Maybe it was a wrong number, or maybe it was a telemarketer from somewhere caller ID couldn't trace yet.
So why did looking at that word give me chills? Why did I have goosebumps until Mom and Seth got home? I wasn't spooked any more by the ghosts, but something about having received an anonymous call really gave me the creeps.
When Mom and Seth finally did get home, I dragged him inside to play video games with me until supper. Mom thought it was just fabulous that we were getting along and playing together. Seth was totally suspicious again, giving me sideways looks and quietly asking what was wrong. Instead of answering him, I yelled out to Mom in the kitchen that I'd missed a phone call while I was in the bathroom, but couldn't call them back because the number came up "restricted."
"Restricted?" Mom looked surprised "We don't know anyone with an unlisted number. Must not have been for us anyway." After a pause, she finished, "I guess if it's important, they'll call back."
Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 Epilogue
Mirror Image, Chapter 5
Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 Epilogue
The sun warmed my shoulders as I leaned against the fence, watching the boys from the neighborhood playing baseball at the park. I wanted nothing more badly than to join in, but I knew if I did, I'd be in trouble. Even though Grace was the one with asthma, Mama kept us both under tight watch. One grass stain on my dress, and she'd know I was "overdoing it" again. I'd be lectured on the danger of "taxing" myself, and sent to my room.
Appealing to my father was no help. He was so old fashioned... told me not to be a tomboy, and that I'd never "catch" a husband playing baseball.
A sigh escaped me as I realized that even if I could get away with a grass stain, the guys wouldn't want to play with me anyway. Who wants a girl in a dress on his team? Sure, I could hit, and I could catch, and I could even run pretty well in this getup, but slide into home? Forget it.
And that's why Mama put me in dresses all the time. She knew if I wore pants, I'd play like a boy.
Tommy saw me watching, called time-out, and ran to the fence. "You wanna play, Sarah? Get changed. Our side don't have no shortstop."
I looked back toward the house, wondering if I could get away with it. My gardening clothes might be a safe bet. Mama wouldn't notice another grass stain on those jeans. They were covered with them. I could get a few innings in while she was work, then go start weeding the garden. Of course the jeans would get dirty weeding the garden. She'd be none the wiser.
Even as the thought occurred to me, I saw Grace coming across the yard, carrying something in her arms. After a moment, I recognized the outfit. Once again, my sister and I had shared a thought. I told Tommy, "I'll be right back." I ran to Grace and gave her a huge hug. She handed me the clothes. I dragged the pants on under the skirt, then dragged the shirt on over the top. Under the shirt, I unzipped the dress. I pulled the sleeves off, then put my arms through just the sleeves of the shirt, and pulled the dress down and stepped out of it.
Grace said, "I'll be back. I wanna watch you play!" Then she took the dress and headed back to the house, her pretty blond braids trailing out behind her in the breeze. I turned toward the field, took a running leap, and hurdled the fence like an expert. Jason tossed me a glove, and I ran to my spot with a huge grin.
I didn't recognize the boy at the plate. Something about him seemed kind of off. I couldn't put a finger on it, except that somehow, he just didn't belong there. He was dressed like everyone else, talked like everyone else, and had just as much dirt on him as everyone else. Something about him just rubbed me the wrong way. He didn't make it better when he piped up with, "Awe, you gonna let a girl play? I don't wanna play with no girl. She's gonna slow down the whole game!"
I shouted back, "What'sa matter, kid? Afraid of getting tagged by a girrrrrrrrl? I betcha can't hit it this far, anyway!" As Tommy approached the mound and wound up, I continued the taunt, punching the palm of my glove with my other hand as I spoke. "Ay, batter, batter! What'cha lookin' at me for, I ain't gonna throw the ball! Better keep your eye on it. It's comin' in fast!"
Suddenly, the sunlight was blinding, and I was on my back. The ground underneath me was soft, and there was something on my chest.
No, it wasn't the ground. It was my mattress, in my bed, in my room. My blanket was pulled up to my chin. Disoriented by the change, I just lay there, pondering the vividness of the dream. It had totally felt like I was awake. In fact, I was feeling really bad about abandoning the guys, even though I knew they were just "characters" from the dream. I wondered what triggered it, but as I lay there, another image came to me, the memory of prowler from last night. Grace, from the dream... Grace was the girl in the mirror. "Mama" was the lady.
I'd dreamed about being part of their family.
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Mom made some phone calls during breakfast. Later, a locksmith drove up in a truck that looked like it used to be an armored car. He tinkered with the three outside doors of the house, took the handles off, and added deadbolts. Then, he changed the locks on the garage. We were given a different key for each lock. Mom wasn't taking any chances.
After he was gone, we went to get keys made at the hardware store. With the locks changed, and each of us given a key, Mom settled a bit, feeling that it was now much harder for someone to get into the house unwelcome.
Days went by after that without incident. The fear began to fade. It began to become easy to think of the break-in as an isolated incident, not something to fear might happen again.
It wasn't the same for Mom. Though she wasn't exactly jumpy or anything, she wouldn't leave us home alone for five minutes any more. It was like she was afraid that if she wasn't carefully watching us for even just a minute, that guy would show up and snatch us away forever.
I saw my hard-won teenage freedom going straight down the tubes. I was old enough to walk to the grocery by myself. I was old enough to go to the downtown theater with a group of friends after dark. I was old enough to babysit for three or four hours, even kids only a few years younger than me. I could stay home by myself for half an hour in the middle of a summer day.
When I brought it up, Mom hedged, but Dad was a little more open-minded. As we talked about it, he began throwing in safety-related "what if" questions.
"Would you open the door to a stranger?"
"No."
"What if he said he was there to deliver something?"
"Leave it on the porch."
"What if he needed a signature?"
"Mom or Dad will pick it up at the depot."
"What if he said he was a plain-clothes police officer?"
"Really? A minute ago, you said you were a delivery guy."
I play-acted picking up the phone and speed-dialing the police.
Mom laughed. Dad had meant to change the scenario, not the guy's story, but the effect was the same. "Ok, I get it. You're savvy. You understand that I'm worried anyway, right?"
I did, but having to go on every little errand Mom ran during the day was driving me nuts.
"Mom, I can handle it. I'm thirteen now. It'll be ok. Besides, I don't think he's coming back. He looked like some kind of a homeless guy to me. He's probably halfway out of the state by now. Dad scared the crap out of him. Did you see his face?"
Dad agreed. "He was terrified. You'd have thought I was the boogie-man instead of just an angry Dad. And he wasn't familiar... I don't think I've ever seen him around town before."
The discussion ended with the conclusion that for short trips, it would be ok if I stayed home alone, or if Seth and I stayed in the house, as long as it was daylight. If Mom was going on a longer errand, though, we had to go with her, not so much for our safety, but for Mom's sanity. There was no way she could leave us alone for the hour or two it took her to do the monthly "big" grocery trip.
It wasn't the freedom I'd hoped for, but it was an acceptable compromise. I figured that by the time summer was over, Mom would change her mind.
Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 Epilogue
The sun warmed my shoulders as I leaned against the fence, watching the boys from the neighborhood playing baseball at the park. I wanted nothing more badly than to join in, but I knew if I did, I'd be in trouble. Even though Grace was the one with asthma, Mama kept us both under tight watch. One grass stain on my dress, and she'd know I was "overdoing it" again. I'd be lectured on the danger of "taxing" myself, and sent to my room.
Appealing to my father was no help. He was so old fashioned... told me not to be a tomboy, and that I'd never "catch" a husband playing baseball.
A sigh escaped me as I realized that even if I could get away with a grass stain, the guys wouldn't want to play with me anyway. Who wants a girl in a dress on his team? Sure, I could hit, and I could catch, and I could even run pretty well in this getup, but slide into home? Forget it.
And that's why Mama put me in dresses all the time. She knew if I wore pants, I'd play like a boy.
Tommy saw me watching, called time-out, and ran to the fence. "You wanna play, Sarah? Get changed. Our side don't have no shortstop."
I looked back toward the house, wondering if I could get away with it. My gardening clothes might be a safe bet. Mama wouldn't notice another grass stain on those jeans. They were covered with them. I could get a few innings in while she was work, then go start weeding the garden. Of course the jeans would get dirty weeding the garden. She'd be none the wiser.
Even as the thought occurred to me, I saw Grace coming across the yard, carrying something in her arms. After a moment, I recognized the outfit. Once again, my sister and I had shared a thought. I told Tommy, "I'll be right back." I ran to Grace and gave her a huge hug. She handed me the clothes. I dragged the pants on under the skirt, then dragged the shirt on over the top. Under the shirt, I unzipped the dress. I pulled the sleeves off, then put my arms through just the sleeves of the shirt, and pulled the dress down and stepped out of it.
Grace said, "I'll be back. I wanna watch you play!" Then she took the dress and headed back to the house, her pretty blond braids trailing out behind her in the breeze. I turned toward the field, took a running leap, and hurdled the fence like an expert. Jason tossed me a glove, and I ran to my spot with a huge grin.
I didn't recognize the boy at the plate. Something about him seemed kind of off. I couldn't put a finger on it, except that somehow, he just didn't belong there. He was dressed like everyone else, talked like everyone else, and had just as much dirt on him as everyone else. Something about him just rubbed me the wrong way. He didn't make it better when he piped up with, "Awe, you gonna let a girl play? I don't wanna play with no girl. She's gonna slow down the whole game!"
I shouted back, "What'sa matter, kid? Afraid of getting tagged by a girrrrrrrrl? I betcha can't hit it this far, anyway!" As Tommy approached the mound and wound up, I continued the taunt, punching the palm of my glove with my other hand as I spoke. "Ay, batter, batter! What'cha lookin' at me for, I ain't gonna throw the ball! Better keep your eye on it. It's comin' in fast!"
Suddenly, the sunlight was blinding, and I was on my back. The ground underneath me was soft, and there was something on my chest.
No, it wasn't the ground. It was my mattress, in my bed, in my room. My blanket was pulled up to my chin. Disoriented by the change, I just lay there, pondering the vividness of the dream. It had totally felt like I was awake. In fact, I was feeling really bad about abandoning the guys, even though I knew they were just "characters" from the dream. I wondered what triggered it, but as I lay there, another image came to me, the memory of prowler from last night. Grace, from the dream... Grace was the girl in the mirror. "Mama" was the lady.
I'd dreamed about being part of their family.
****************************************************************************************************************
Mom made some phone calls during breakfast. Later, a locksmith drove up in a truck that looked like it used to be an armored car. He tinkered with the three outside doors of the house, took the handles off, and added deadbolts. Then, he changed the locks on the garage. We were given a different key for each lock. Mom wasn't taking any chances.
After he was gone, we went to get keys made at the hardware store. With the locks changed, and each of us given a key, Mom settled a bit, feeling that it was now much harder for someone to get into the house unwelcome.
Days went by after that without incident. The fear began to fade. It began to become easy to think of the break-in as an isolated incident, not something to fear might happen again.
It wasn't the same for Mom. Though she wasn't exactly jumpy or anything, she wouldn't leave us home alone for five minutes any more. It was like she was afraid that if she wasn't carefully watching us for even just a minute, that guy would show up and snatch us away forever.
I saw my hard-won teenage freedom going straight down the tubes. I was old enough to walk to the grocery by myself. I was old enough to go to the downtown theater with a group of friends after dark. I was old enough to babysit for three or four hours, even kids only a few years younger than me. I could stay home by myself for half an hour in the middle of a summer day.
When I brought it up, Mom hedged, but Dad was a little more open-minded. As we talked about it, he began throwing in safety-related "what if" questions.
"Would you open the door to a stranger?"
"No."
"What if he said he was there to deliver something?"
"Leave it on the porch."
"What if he needed a signature?"
"Mom or Dad will pick it up at the depot."
"What if he said he was a plain-clothes police officer?"
"Really? A minute ago, you said you were a delivery guy."
I play-acted picking up the phone and speed-dialing the police.
Mom laughed. Dad had meant to change the scenario, not the guy's story, but the effect was the same. "Ok, I get it. You're savvy. You understand that I'm worried anyway, right?"
I did, but having to go on every little errand Mom ran during the day was driving me nuts.
"Mom, I can handle it. I'm thirteen now. It'll be ok. Besides, I don't think he's coming back. He looked like some kind of a homeless guy to me. He's probably halfway out of the state by now. Dad scared the crap out of him. Did you see his face?"
Dad agreed. "He was terrified. You'd have thought I was the boogie-man instead of just an angry Dad. And he wasn't familiar... I don't think I've ever seen him around town before."
The discussion ended with the conclusion that for short trips, it would be ok if I stayed home alone, or if Seth and I stayed in the house, as long as it was daylight. If Mom was going on a longer errand, though, we had to go with her, not so much for our safety, but for Mom's sanity. There was no way she could leave us alone for the hour or two it took her to do the monthly "big" grocery trip.
It wasn't the freedom I'd hoped for, but it was an acceptable compromise. I figured that by the time summer was over, Mom would change her mind.
Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 Epilogue
Mirror Image, Chapter 4
Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 Epilogue
Breakfast was awkward for me. Mom told Dad I'd cleaned my room. She had apparently been agonizing over it more than I thought. Dad was less excited about it, but nodded his approval.
Seth kicked me under the table and gave me a frown that said, what the heck do you think you're doing? Now I'm gonna have to clean mine!
When Dad asked what got me to finally clean up, and Mom told him it was because I couldn't find my tennies, I cringed inwardly, but Dad only smiled, and said, "See, it pays off, doesn't it? Bet you found other stuff you'd lost, too." I had to agree, or chip the facade.
Seth gave me a suspicious look. He knew something was up. Little brothers are like that. Fortunately, he didn't want to draw attention to himself, for fear of being ordered to clean his room because I'd cleaned mine.
The whole rest of the day was uneventful. And the next, and the next after that. In fact, it was more than a week before there was another incident. Aside from having two long and one short pink ribbons, and a clean room I was extremely hesitant to not keep that way, I really had no sign that there had ever been a disturbance.
The room still creeped me out, though. No matter how quiet and alone I was, I always felt like someone was watching me when I was in there. I started getting rid of the pictures on the walls. First, the pin-ups went. Then, the photos of my school friends, which I placed in a scrapbook so that no one would ask why I took them down. Finally, I did the same with the family pictures. The feeling of being watched remained, but at least there were no eyes on the walls to creep me out.
I also got out my old nightlight. I put it near the door, with the excuse that I needed to be able to see if I had to get up and go to the bathroom. Seth started to tease me, but Mom said, "It's a girl thing. You don't want to know." It shut him up, so I wasn't going to correct the notion.
I was starting to think the whole thing was over. You know, when you're still basically a kid, a week is a long time.
I'd even thought about getting rid of the nightlight. It was kind of a distraction. Still, in the middle of the night, even though nothing had been happening to me, darkness was still scary. I kept it on.
One evening, nearly two weeks after the cleaning, I had a bout of insomnia. It happened to me sometimes. I'd get something on my mind, and I just wouldn't be able to sleep. Beside me on the nightstand, the latest book I was reading became extraordinarily tempting. I was almost finished with it. In the quiet of the night, if I wanted to, I could read the end. Might as well, if I was going to be awake anyway.
I rolled over, turned the lamp on low, grabbed the book, and sank right into it. Within seconds, I was lost in another world, completely cut off from my surroundings. I heard nothing. I felt nothing. I saw nothing but the story in my mind. I wasn't even aware of looking at the letters on the page. The story carried me through an agonizing struggle, to a brilliant victory, followed by a wholly satisfying epilogue. As I finished the final morsel of fictional detail on the last page, my eyes began to droop. I was finally getting sleepy.
Closing the book, I rolled over to lay it on the nightstand and turn out the light. Instead, I dropped it on the floor with a howl of surprise, and shrank back against the wall, yanking the covers up to my face. Standing in the middle of my room, facing toward my closet, was the oddly dressed woman from the garage sale, and beside her was a girl who looked about my age. Her blond hair was tied in two braids, each decorated with a pretty, wide, pink bow. When I screamed, they both turned away from the closet and looked at me.
They didn't do anything. They just stared. The woman looked worried. The girl smiled. Tears spilled down my cheeks. The woman didn't look any different than she had at the garage sale, but the girl had no eyes. Nothing at all was there, not even an open cavity where eyes should have been. The skin over that part of her face was smooth. It was sunken in just a little, but not much. The lack of eyes made her smile look horribly wrong. It was way too wide.
My body began to tremble. There was no way for me to escape. They were between me and the door. I heard someone whispering, and then realized it was me.
"Not real, not real, not real, not real..." I shut myself up with a deep, but hitching breath. The specters continued to stare at me, and I at them. It was only a second or two, but it seemed like an eternity. I began to notice that what looked like smooth skin on the girl's face was really just shadow. She had eyes. They were just like mine, only blue. Her smile was not so wide as it had looked before, either... just an ordinary child's smile. The lady set her jaw and turned away from me, facing the closet again, with her hands on her hips. I realized I could see through both the lady, and the girl.
As the instant of discovery passed, I heard a pounding noise outside my room, then voices.
"Sarah, what's going on? Are you ok?" My door burst open. My eyes jumped to it, then back to the middle of the room. The two specters had disappeared.
My parents came running in, and light flooded the room. The terror broke over me, and I had a hysterical fit, sobbing uncontrollably and pointing at the closet door, hanging ajar, with the fading image of two spirits reflected in the mirror.
Dad, looking confused, strode over to the closet and reached for the door. My heart lept into my throat. He hadn't seen what I had seen. He didn't know what was in there. I wanted to tell him not to touch the mirror, but before I could, he grabbed the door handle and threw it open.
There, crouched beneath my skirts and blouses, was a scruffy, ragged, very frightened looking old man. Mom screamed, and the man bolted out of the room. Dad grabbed one of my clunky boots, and threw it at him, hitting him in the back of the head, hard. The man kept running. Dad chased him down the stairs, and out the door. I heard Dad's voice as he yelled down the street, "Don't you ever come near here again!"
Mom practically flew across the room, wrapped me in her arms, and tried to comfort me. "It's ok, baby. He's gone. You're safe. We're all safe."
I could feel her shaking, even as hard as my own limbs were jerking. My mind reeled with horror. It wasn't just the ghosts I had to fear. There had been a strange man in my closet. How long had he been in there? How long had he been in the house?
I pushed away from Mom. "Where's Seth?"
Here eyes widened. We both jumped out of the bed and ran down the hall to his room, threw the door open, and stormed in. Seth was sound asleep, laying sideways and spread eagle on the bed, something I was totally used to seeing him do. Mom looked in his closet, under his bed, and behind his curtains. There was no one there. Seth was fine. Everything was fine. The man had just been in my room.
Jesus, had he watched me change for bed? Watched me reading? What had he been planning to do when I went to sleep? My stomach lurched, and I ran to the bathroom to throw up, Mom right on my heels.
Hours later, the police had come and gone, the house settled back down, Dad "sleeping" in the living room with his shotgun. I was once again in my room. Mom had tucked me in like a little kid, given me a long, long hug, and asked if I needed her to stay the night with me. Part of me, the scared little girl part, really, really wanted to say yes. There were ghosts in my mirror. There had been a prowler in my closet, a scary looking man who might have seen me naked. I was weirded out beyond reason. But I also had this feeling.
How long had that man been in my room? Why was he hiding in my closet? That look on his face... he had been nearly panic-stricken. Had he seen the woman? Had he seen the girl?
Weirdest of all, it didn't feel like they were there to haunt me that night. They were watching that door, because that man was in there. I had a strong feeling they didn't like him. I think that he wasn't just startled by my Dad. He'd seen them, and they'd scared him... yet they had hidden from my parents in the mirror.
Why?
I was still thinking about that when I drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 Epilogue
Breakfast was awkward for me. Mom told Dad I'd cleaned my room. She had apparently been agonizing over it more than I thought. Dad was less excited about it, but nodded his approval.
Seth kicked me under the table and gave me a frown that said, what the heck do you think you're doing? Now I'm gonna have to clean mine!
When Dad asked what got me to finally clean up, and Mom told him it was because I couldn't find my tennies, I cringed inwardly, but Dad only smiled, and said, "See, it pays off, doesn't it? Bet you found other stuff you'd lost, too." I had to agree, or chip the facade.
Seth gave me a suspicious look. He knew something was up. Little brothers are like that. Fortunately, he didn't want to draw attention to himself, for fear of being ordered to clean his room because I'd cleaned mine.
The whole rest of the day was uneventful. And the next, and the next after that. In fact, it was more than a week before there was another incident. Aside from having two long and one short pink ribbons, and a clean room I was extremely hesitant to not keep that way, I really had no sign that there had ever been a disturbance.
The room still creeped me out, though. No matter how quiet and alone I was, I always felt like someone was watching me when I was in there. I started getting rid of the pictures on the walls. First, the pin-ups went. Then, the photos of my school friends, which I placed in a scrapbook so that no one would ask why I took them down. Finally, I did the same with the family pictures. The feeling of being watched remained, but at least there were no eyes on the walls to creep me out.
I also got out my old nightlight. I put it near the door, with the excuse that I needed to be able to see if I had to get up and go to the bathroom. Seth started to tease me, but Mom said, "It's a girl thing. You don't want to know." It shut him up, so I wasn't going to correct the notion.
I was starting to think the whole thing was over. You know, when you're still basically a kid, a week is a long time.
I'd even thought about getting rid of the nightlight. It was kind of a distraction. Still, in the middle of the night, even though nothing had been happening to me, darkness was still scary. I kept it on.
One evening, nearly two weeks after the cleaning, I had a bout of insomnia. It happened to me sometimes. I'd get something on my mind, and I just wouldn't be able to sleep. Beside me on the nightstand, the latest book I was reading became extraordinarily tempting. I was almost finished with it. In the quiet of the night, if I wanted to, I could read the end. Might as well, if I was going to be awake anyway.
I rolled over, turned the lamp on low, grabbed the book, and sank right into it. Within seconds, I was lost in another world, completely cut off from my surroundings. I heard nothing. I felt nothing. I saw nothing but the story in my mind. I wasn't even aware of looking at the letters on the page. The story carried me through an agonizing struggle, to a brilliant victory, followed by a wholly satisfying epilogue. As I finished the final morsel of fictional detail on the last page, my eyes began to droop. I was finally getting sleepy.
Closing the book, I rolled over to lay it on the nightstand and turn out the light. Instead, I dropped it on the floor with a howl of surprise, and shrank back against the wall, yanking the covers up to my face. Standing in the middle of my room, facing toward my closet, was the oddly dressed woman from the garage sale, and beside her was a girl who looked about my age. Her blond hair was tied in two braids, each decorated with a pretty, wide, pink bow. When I screamed, they both turned away from the closet and looked at me.
They didn't do anything. They just stared. The woman looked worried. The girl smiled. Tears spilled down my cheeks. The woman didn't look any different than she had at the garage sale, but the girl had no eyes. Nothing at all was there, not even an open cavity where eyes should have been. The skin over that part of her face was smooth. It was sunken in just a little, but not much. The lack of eyes made her smile look horribly wrong. It was way too wide.
My body began to tremble. There was no way for me to escape. They were between me and the door. I heard someone whispering, and then realized it was me.
"Not real, not real, not real, not real..." I shut myself up with a deep, but hitching breath. The specters continued to stare at me, and I at them. It was only a second or two, but it seemed like an eternity. I began to notice that what looked like smooth skin on the girl's face was really just shadow. She had eyes. They were just like mine, only blue. Her smile was not so wide as it had looked before, either... just an ordinary child's smile. The lady set her jaw and turned away from me, facing the closet again, with her hands on her hips. I realized I could see through both the lady, and the girl.
As the instant of discovery passed, I heard a pounding noise outside my room, then voices.
"Sarah, what's going on? Are you ok?" My door burst open. My eyes jumped to it, then back to the middle of the room. The two specters had disappeared.
My parents came running in, and light flooded the room. The terror broke over me, and I had a hysterical fit, sobbing uncontrollably and pointing at the closet door, hanging ajar, with the fading image of two spirits reflected in the mirror.
Dad, looking confused, strode over to the closet and reached for the door. My heart lept into my throat. He hadn't seen what I had seen. He didn't know what was in there. I wanted to tell him not to touch the mirror, but before I could, he grabbed the door handle and threw it open.
There, crouched beneath my skirts and blouses, was a scruffy, ragged, very frightened looking old man. Mom screamed, and the man bolted out of the room. Dad grabbed one of my clunky boots, and threw it at him, hitting him in the back of the head, hard. The man kept running. Dad chased him down the stairs, and out the door. I heard Dad's voice as he yelled down the street, "Don't you ever come near here again!"
Mom practically flew across the room, wrapped me in her arms, and tried to comfort me. "It's ok, baby. He's gone. You're safe. We're all safe."
I could feel her shaking, even as hard as my own limbs were jerking. My mind reeled with horror. It wasn't just the ghosts I had to fear. There had been a strange man in my closet. How long had he been in there? How long had he been in the house?
I pushed away from Mom. "Where's Seth?"
Here eyes widened. We both jumped out of the bed and ran down the hall to his room, threw the door open, and stormed in. Seth was sound asleep, laying sideways and spread eagle on the bed, something I was totally used to seeing him do. Mom looked in his closet, under his bed, and behind his curtains. There was no one there. Seth was fine. Everything was fine. The man had just been in my room.
Jesus, had he watched me change for bed? Watched me reading? What had he been planning to do when I went to sleep? My stomach lurched, and I ran to the bathroom to throw up, Mom right on my heels.
Hours later, the police had come and gone, the house settled back down, Dad "sleeping" in the living room with his shotgun. I was once again in my room. Mom had tucked me in like a little kid, given me a long, long hug, and asked if I needed her to stay the night with me. Part of me, the scared little girl part, really, really wanted to say yes. There were ghosts in my mirror. There had been a prowler in my closet, a scary looking man who might have seen me naked. I was weirded out beyond reason. But I also had this feeling.
How long had that man been in my room? Why was he hiding in my closet? That look on his face... he had been nearly panic-stricken. Had he seen the woman? Had he seen the girl?
Weirdest of all, it didn't feel like they were there to haunt me that night. They were watching that door, because that man was in there. I had a strong feeling they didn't like him. I think that he wasn't just startled by my Dad. He'd seen them, and they'd scared him... yet they had hidden from my parents in the mirror.
Why?
I was still thinking about that when I drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 Epilogue
Mirror Image, Chapter 3
Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 Epilogue
I woke in the dark, in a confused, drowsy fog. I could feel Mom's cool fingers grazing my forehead, as if to feel for a fever. I must have been making noises in my sleep. I didn't feel sick, hot, or cold, though. Just really, really tired.
"Mom, I'm ok. Lemme sleep."
Mom smoothed my hair back, and left a gentle goodnight kiss on my cheek.
"Ok, sweetie. Go back to sleep. It was probably just your allergies acting up because of the mess. The doctor will be here in the morning, just in case."
What? The doctor? Now I was awake. I was not sick. I did not have a lot of allergies any more. Why would a doctor come here? I don't think they even make house calls any more. And why did Mom sound so...
That wasn't Mom's voice. That wasn't Mom's voice! My eyes flew open. Having been asleep, I could see pretty well in the moonlight. No one was in my room. The door was closed. The things on my desk were arranged in tidy stacks. My shoes were lined up underneath. Next to my computer was my
was my
That was not my book.
I could barely make out the shiny lettering across the cover of the huge tome. "Holy Bible."
Holy crap!
That was not my book on the desk. That was not my Mom caressing my face. WHO HAD BEEN TOUCHING ME?
Ice shot down my back, and my stomach lurched. My skin tightened so rapidly that it hurt. Even the hair on my scalp stood up. My stomach hurt like I'd been sucker-punched. The tears flowed. I was no longer worried about acting grown-up. I was scared out of my gourd.
Too terrified to move, I pulled the blankets over me, covering everything but my eyes, and watched the mirror, waiting for something to come out of it. I kept thinking that I should bolt for the door. I had the impulse to bolt for the door, but my muscles would not obey. I now realize what it means to be frozen with fear. No matter how badly I wanted out of that room, I could not move!
I felt like I was going to puke. My breath came in short, shallow, hitching gasps. I felt light-headed.
The voice returned. "Settle down, dear. You'll give yourself an asthma attack."
That finished it. For a wide-eyed moment, I couldn't breathe at all. A wave of dizziness hit me, and darkness closed in on my vision like an old television being shut off in front of my face.
I woke later, as bright sunlight filled my room. I could hear birds chirping outside, and traffic driving by. Still in the same position with my covers entirely over my head and neck, I was feeling overheated. I was afraid to open my eyes, but I couldn't help it. I looked.
There was no scary, strange woman. There was no book. There was nothing. Only one thing prevented me from rationalizing the experience, convincing myself that it had been only a bad dream.
My room was totally clean.
My clothes were hanging in the open closet, or placed in the hamper. My papers and projects were neatly arranged on my desk and shelves. My beanbag was moved over to the wall. My shoes were still on the floor under the desk. My trash can was full of receipts and plastic packaging that had been sitting on the desk for months. My dresser drawers were closed. Nothing was hanging out of them. The same was true of my jewelry box. Even the things on my nightstand were moved so that everything was neatly squared away, with my alarm clock sitting beside the little lamp and facing me, my collecitble card game deck stacked beside it, and the unopened packages stacked next to that. Beside those were the pink ribbons I'd found in my hair yesterday... which I'd left downstairs in the family room, where I had pretended to be asleep on the couch.
In the bright morning sunlight, it seemed irrational to believe this. Maybe my room wasn't so messy after all, my mind said. Maybe I brought the ribbons up with me.
I knew better. My room hadn't been this clean since early childhood. I wanted to hide under the covers, but I couldn't. I had to pee, really really bad.
Stupid hot chocolate. It hadn't helped, anyway.
I braced myself, then shot out of the covers and bolted out of the room, shutting the door behind me as I fled to the bathroom.
No one in my house noticed that I dressed in the bathroom instead of in my room, but Mom noticed the neatness the first time she came in. She was thrilled to pieces, clapped her hands, and gave me a huge hug. I didn't know what to say. I mean, what could I say, "No, Mom, it wasn't me. My room is haunted by an obsessive-compulsive boogieman?" She'd think I was smarting off, or joking. At best, if she took me seriously, she'd think I was crazy.
Was I?
I mean, really. Was I nuts? What kind of stupid haunt does nothing but take your temperature in the night and clean your room?
Oh, yeah... the temperature.
"Mom, did you come into my room last night and check my temperature?"
"No," she answered, with a slightly surprised and worried look. "Were you not feeling well last night?"
I shrugged it off, not wanting to make a big deal that would lead to more questions. "Nah, I must have been dreaming then. Probably about some time when I was sick or something. It just felt kind of real, is all."
That seemed to satisfy her. She said, "Well, your room looks terrific. I'm really proud that you decided to tidy up. What prompted it?"
Searching for some reasonable explanation why the messiest kid on the block would have a cleaning fit, my brain flew through possibilities that wouldn't work. I couldn't say I got tired of the mess, because then I'd have to keep up the neatness, and it just wasn't in me to do that. If I said I saw a spider, Mom would spray the house, and that would smell. I couldn't say I was bored. I don't get bored. I guess it goes with being a bibliophile. I have an endless supply of stories to remember. I can't get board.
I know...
"I couldn't find my sneakers, and I didn't want to wear my boots with these jeans."
Mom rolled her eyes. The explanation was sufficiently messy, girly, and childish to throw off the Mom sense. She bought it. I would not be committed to any institutions today.
Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 Epilogue
I woke in the dark, in a confused, drowsy fog. I could feel Mom's cool fingers grazing my forehead, as if to feel for a fever. I must have been making noises in my sleep. I didn't feel sick, hot, or cold, though. Just really, really tired.
"Mom, I'm ok. Lemme sleep."
Mom smoothed my hair back, and left a gentle goodnight kiss on my cheek.
"Ok, sweetie. Go back to sleep. It was probably just your allergies acting up because of the mess. The doctor will be here in the morning, just in case."
What? The doctor? Now I was awake. I was not sick. I did not have a lot of allergies any more. Why would a doctor come here? I don't think they even make house calls any more. And why did Mom sound so...
That wasn't Mom's voice. That wasn't Mom's voice! My eyes flew open. Having been asleep, I could see pretty well in the moonlight. No one was in my room. The door was closed. The things on my desk were arranged in tidy stacks. My shoes were lined up underneath. Next to my computer was my
was my
That was not my book.
I could barely make out the shiny lettering across the cover of the huge tome. "Holy Bible."
Holy crap!
That was not my book on the desk. That was not my Mom caressing my face. WHO HAD BEEN TOUCHING ME?
Ice shot down my back, and my stomach lurched. My skin tightened so rapidly that it hurt. Even the hair on my scalp stood up. My stomach hurt like I'd been sucker-punched. The tears flowed. I was no longer worried about acting grown-up. I was scared out of my gourd.
Too terrified to move, I pulled the blankets over me, covering everything but my eyes, and watched the mirror, waiting for something to come out of it. I kept thinking that I should bolt for the door. I had the impulse to bolt for the door, but my muscles would not obey. I now realize what it means to be frozen with fear. No matter how badly I wanted out of that room, I could not move!
I felt like I was going to puke. My breath came in short, shallow, hitching gasps. I felt light-headed.
The voice returned. "Settle down, dear. You'll give yourself an asthma attack."
That finished it. For a wide-eyed moment, I couldn't breathe at all. A wave of dizziness hit me, and darkness closed in on my vision like an old television being shut off in front of my face.
I woke later, as bright sunlight filled my room. I could hear birds chirping outside, and traffic driving by. Still in the same position with my covers entirely over my head and neck, I was feeling overheated. I was afraid to open my eyes, but I couldn't help it. I looked.
There was no scary, strange woman. There was no book. There was nothing. Only one thing prevented me from rationalizing the experience, convincing myself that it had been only a bad dream.
My room was totally clean.
My clothes were hanging in the open closet, or placed in the hamper. My papers and projects were neatly arranged on my desk and shelves. My beanbag was moved over to the wall. My shoes were still on the floor under the desk. My trash can was full of receipts and plastic packaging that had been sitting on the desk for months. My dresser drawers were closed. Nothing was hanging out of them. The same was true of my jewelry box. Even the things on my nightstand were moved so that everything was neatly squared away, with my alarm clock sitting beside the little lamp and facing me, my collecitble card game deck stacked beside it, and the unopened packages stacked next to that. Beside those were the pink ribbons I'd found in my hair yesterday... which I'd left downstairs in the family room, where I had pretended to be asleep on the couch.
In the bright morning sunlight, it seemed irrational to believe this. Maybe my room wasn't so messy after all, my mind said. Maybe I brought the ribbons up with me.
I knew better. My room hadn't been this clean since early childhood. I wanted to hide under the covers, but I couldn't. I had to pee, really really bad.
Stupid hot chocolate. It hadn't helped, anyway.
I braced myself, then shot out of the covers and bolted out of the room, shutting the door behind me as I fled to the bathroom.
****************************************************************
No one in my house noticed that I dressed in the bathroom instead of in my room, but Mom noticed the neatness the first time she came in. She was thrilled to pieces, clapped her hands, and gave me a huge hug. I didn't know what to say. I mean, what could I say, "No, Mom, it wasn't me. My room is haunted by an obsessive-compulsive boogieman?" She'd think I was smarting off, or joking. At best, if she took me seriously, she'd think I was crazy.
Was I?
I mean, really. Was I nuts? What kind of stupid haunt does nothing but take your temperature in the night and clean your room?
Oh, yeah... the temperature.
"Mom, did you come into my room last night and check my temperature?"
"No," she answered, with a slightly surprised and worried look. "Were you not feeling well last night?"
I shrugged it off, not wanting to make a big deal that would lead to more questions. "Nah, I must have been dreaming then. Probably about some time when I was sick or something. It just felt kind of real, is all."
That seemed to satisfy her. She said, "Well, your room looks terrific. I'm really proud that you decided to tidy up. What prompted it?"
Searching for some reasonable explanation why the messiest kid on the block would have a cleaning fit, my brain flew through possibilities that wouldn't work. I couldn't say I got tired of the mess, because then I'd have to keep up the neatness, and it just wasn't in me to do that. If I said I saw a spider, Mom would spray the house, and that would smell. I couldn't say I was bored. I don't get bored. I guess it goes with being a bibliophile. I have an endless supply of stories to remember. I can't get board.
I know...
"I couldn't find my sneakers, and I didn't want to wear my boots with these jeans."
Mom rolled her eyes. The explanation was sufficiently messy, girly, and childish to throw off the Mom sense. She bought it. I would not be committed to any institutions today.
Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 Epilogue
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