Peripheral Vision: A Supernatural Thriller(18)
Sarah snuck a peek back over her shoulder and noticed that the men were still staring. The tall one smiled at her. Sarah looked away and quickly walked to the front of the truck and got in. She locked the doors and let out a deep exhale. They’re not really staring at you, she told herself, but she immediately squashed that lie as she backed out of her parking spot and pulled forward. The two men were definitely watching. They were both smiling. The tall one spat his chewing tobacco on the ground. Sarah hit the accelerator and whipped out of the parking lot.
The entire drive to her Aunt’s house, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched. Don’t be paranoid, Sarah, they’re not following you, they’re just some local creeps. Finally, Sarah pulled up the gravel driveway in front of the white house and came to a stop. The drive back from town hadn’t taken too long-only about 20 minutes, and she’d only made one wrong turn. Not bad, considering it was her first solo drive out.
No Handyman Nick to help out. She climbed out of the truck to inspect the grocery situation. Just as she had imagined, the grocery bags had tipped over during the bumpy journey along the rutted river road. She re-bagged the groceries and went inside the house. The old house once again seemed to grind and grate, welcoming her back. Sarah headed straight to the kitchen and dropped the bags on the counter. She began to quickly unpack and put away the food and then her eyes came across the bottle of wine on the counter. Now that’s a good idea, she thought and immediately poured herself a glass. She took her first sip. Her tastebuds sang just like she knew they would. Fruity and a little acidic.
“Not bad, Auntie” she said, and raised her glass to the sky. The thought of her aunt suddenly made her more curious about the box she found upstairs. Time to check it out. She started to walk out of the kitchen, but thought better of it, and topped off her wine glass first. As she walked through the house, the floorboards moaned beneath her feet. She made her way upstairs, fully expecting that every step she took would be followed by a chorus of groans and sighs. The stairs did not disappoint.
The doorknob to Elizabeth’s bedroom slowly turned and then Sarah was there, standing in the open doorway. The house was darker now. Nightfall approached. Sarah sipped from her large glass of wine and walked over to where she had left the box marked ‘Lizzy’s things’. She picked it up again, and quickly exited the bedroom, but not before stopping to close the door behind her.
Even though her body should’ve been feeling warm from the wine, Sarah still had a lingering chill that slid from the base of her spine to the bones in her toes. She’s got ice in her veins a voice inside Sarah’s head whispered, but it wasn’t her own. But who’s was it? Sarah’s mind raced.
“Elizabeth? …Mom?” She whispered aloud her questions, not really wanting a reply, but still expecting an answer. There was no answer.
Sarah sat down on the rocking chair in front of the fireplace, sipping her wine as she looked through the contents of the box. The flames danced as they warmed her. She looked at the old birthday cards, occasionally opening them to read the messages. She held the old cloth doll in her hand for a moment and looked at its face. Then touching its features with her fingers, she whispered “Hello, dolly.” She couldn’t remember this dolly, but something told her that she had loved a dolly like this one very much as a child.
Finally, she slowly and anxiously, opened the scrapbook. Inside the worn bindings were old newspaper clippings. Sarah looked closer and realized that they were all about the missing girls from Nick’s story. She started to flip through the pages faster and faster. Why would my aunt keep these clippings in her scrap book? She thought grimly. The question made her feel dirty. She didn’t like it. But she’d only dwelled on the thought for just a moment, when her fast flipping hands discovered a photograph wedged between the last two pages of the scrapbook. It was a picture of a dark-haired little girl with rosy cheeks, sitting on a red tricycle. The girl had her back to the photographer, but was looking over her shoulder into the camera and smiling. One eye was visible and sparkled from behind her long, brown bangs. All at once, it hit her and Sarah realized who the little girl in the photo was. It was her as a child, but she’d never seen the photo before. She flipped it over and saw the writing on the back.
“Lizzy, here’s little Sarah and her new trike. Isn’t she getting so big? Love to you, sissy Michelle. June ‘82”
Mom... Sarah thought and read it again while polishing off her glass of wine. She picked up the bottle that rested strategically on the floor beside the chair and refilled her glass once more trying to wash the pain away. Her eyes watered as she looked at the photo. She sifted through the box again, this time with more urgency, hopeful that she would discover more from her mother. Her flicker of hope faded quickly, and when she knew for sure that she had gone through every last thing, she put the box down.
Defeated, confused and more than a little tipsy, Sarah walked aimlessly around the house again, looking here and there and nowhere, all at the same time. She carried the photo with her-she liked it-and continued to drink from her wine glass until she found herself at the basement door. After a moment of hesitation, she opened the door and looked down. She crossed her arms around her chest as a cold rush of air slipped past her through the open doorway. The stairway was pitch black. Sarah flipped on a switch and a lone hanging light bulb lit up, feebly illuminating the dim basement beyond. There was much more to explore it seemed. She took a step forward and then stopped, feeling uneasy.