Peripheral Vision: A Supernatural Thriller(34)

“Aunt Elizabeth?” Sarah waited and listened for some sort of answer. There was none. But then the image of the name she’d seen scrawled across the side of the old box flashed in her head. “Lizzy?” She whispered. The music started up again. But this time it was coming from the upstairs hallway.

Sarah followed the rhythm and crept up the stairs, one by one, and then arrived at the closed door of her late aunt’s bedroom. The music was coming from inside the room-there was no doubt about it. She turned the doorknob and slowly opened the door as the music grew louder. She flipped on the light switch and immediately saw where the music was coming from. In the corner of Elizabeth’s bedroom sat an old-fashioned record player. Sarah couldn’t remember seeing it from her earlier venture into the room, but that didn’t surprise her. Sometimes things hide in plain sight. Some things sometimes hide in the corners of our rooms. As Sarah approached the record player, the music again stopped. She opened the top of the player, moved the tone arm, and picked up the vinyl record, examining it. She flipped it over. The yellow record label told her it was Faz Williams album,1922, but that was about it. Sarah looked up at the ceiling and closed her eyes.

“Okay Lizzy. I’m listening.” But there was no answer. Sarah waited for another moment and then put the record back on the turntable, and quickly left the room closing the door behind her.

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Sarah stood in front of the upstairs bathroom mirror looking hard into her own eyes. It was the only mirror she had found in the entire house. Her face was painted with dirt and dried blood from the scratches on her cheeks and forehead. She’d been so caught up since returning from discovering the tunnel, that she’d forgotten all about her earlier fall. She finally blinked and looked away from her reflection to the vintage bathtub along the south wall. It was a free-standing, iron clawfoot bathtub, and it was actually quite beautiful. Her thought was quickly interrupted by the chilling sound resonating from the mirror. It sounded like fingers rubbing wet glass. Sarah turned quickly back to the mirror, but it was not her face she was looking into, but that of a young girl. She screamed and jumped backwards, tripping over the bunched-up bathroom rug and falling hard on her backside. From her vulnerable seat on the tile floor she tempted fate again and looked back up into the mirror.

This time, however, the little girl was gone, and instead she was once again staring up at her own image. Sarah rubbed her eyes and shook her head trying to desperately regain her bearings.

Sarah pulled herself up off the bathroom floor and turned the metal knob above the bathtub. She put her hand under the spout, letting the warm water run over her fingers. It was time to get her thoughts in order, but first she needed to clean herself up. She was a mess. Her whole body seemed to be covered with scratches and black dirt. She walked out to the hall closet to find a towel, and then remembered her favorite warm, fuzzy bathrobe she had packed. That’s exactly what I need. She walked to the guest room to retrieve it. By the time she walked back into the bathroom, steam was already rising up from the tub and slowly beginning to fill the room. A thin fog covered the mirror. She was thankful for that. Sarah unbuttoned her torn shirt and slowly examined her body. There was a nice deep scratch above her left breast, and another across her left rib cage, but all in all, the trees hadn’t injured her too badly. She slipped out of the rest of her clothes and dropped them in a pile next to the bunched-up rug. She slid a foot into the warm bath water...it felt perfect. She then let her whole body follow down into the tub. The warm water covered her like a blanket, making her feel safe again. She sat there looking down into the water, taking deep breaths and trying to relax. Finally she let her eyes close. For a moment, she was sure that the music was faintly playing again down the hall. She opened her eyes and listened, straining her ears for something, but all she heard was silence. And then exhaustion from the day took a firm hold of Sarah, and she slipped into a deep nap.

She opened her eyes and she was in the tunnel again. Up ahead in the distance, through the darkness, a shadowy figure slowly moved towards her. It seemed to be dragging something behind it. Sarah blinked and realized that it was dragging a lifeless body by the arm. She turned and ran back down the tunnel towards the lantern, the little door, and the house. But she seemed to be only running in place. It was as if the tunnel was getting longer and the odd little door moved further away from her. She couldn't close the distance even as her legs moved faster.

And then the vision flipped. She was in the cellar again, walking, she saw the back of the woman with long, black hair. Sarah froze. The woman stood over a long wooden horse trough. The shadowy figure was standing beside her. But it was the horse trough that had Sarah’s attention. For inside of it was the still body of a young woman, her left arm draped limply over the side. Blood was dripping from her wrist, trickling down her fingers and into a glass jar. It was a canning jar and it was almost filled to the top. The woman with the long, black hair bent down and lifted the lifeless woman’s hand up and held it over a wine glass. She squeezed the wrist and the dark, red blood filled the glass. She then handed the glass to the shadowed figure. She filled a second glass and as she brought it to her lips, that’s when Sarah saw the woman’s profile. It was strikingly familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it. Sarah took a step forward and that’s when the light in the room changed and she could now see the face of the lifeless body in the horse trough. She recognized the face and the red hair immediately. It was the girl from the newspaper. The missing school teacher.