Friday, April 20, 2012
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Mirror Image, Epilogue
Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 Epilogue
"...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
"...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
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
Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 Epilogue
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
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