Most of Me (17 page)

The mirror continued to eat away at Carl just as his body fed off the matter that the mirror produced. I watched as he looked nothing more that a shadow, and as his colour was converted to black. He melted into the mirror like candle wax.

Carl was gone.

“Children? Would you leave me for a moment?”

Sam and Isabelle threw each other a puzzled glance. “You will stay with us, won’t you?” asked Isabelle.

I lowered my myself to her height. “Hey,” I squeezed her tiny hand, and brought her closer to me, “I’m going nowhere. You’re safe now.” I looked at the mirror from the corner of my eye. There was nothing left of Carl. “He’s gone, and I’m staying. Right, Sam?” I nudged his shoulder with my knuckle.

He smirked, as he tried hard not to show joy.

The children listened and walked through the wall. Where they go, I think, is beyond my knowledge. But I was left alone just as I had requested. I climbed down the ladder and crept toward the mirror as if the ground was going to crumble away at any moment. I got to my knees and began folding the cloth over the frame. I caught a few smears of blood across the smooth surface before I folded over the last piece of cloth.

I climbed the ladder taking the relic with me, and I went over to the work bench. I opened one of the cupboards and concealed it at the back, covered it with extra blankets and closed the door. Tomorrow, perhaps, I will bury it, but there was no rush. It wouldn’t be destroyed, though, because the children would be sent to hell. I’m going nowhere and neither are the children.

***

The attic wasn’t a living space. It was cold and dirty. Boxes splitting apart by damp scattered the wooden floor. Christmas decorations accommodated one of them, tinsel spilling out like intestines. Old books came from a tear in the bottom of another. A circular window beamed through light; dust was suspended, floating in the air as if time had stopped.

The wall was scratching, moving. The surface rippled and more dust fell. Then it ceased.

“Sam?” a little voice whispered. “Is that you?”

“Yes, sister, I’m here.” He reached out for her to bring them close. They walked from the wall holding hands, studying the attic.

Sam called, “You can all come out now.” Two more children came from behind the boxes, both girls, and around the same age as Isabelle, and another younger girl materialised through the wall. Their eyes were sunken, appearing more like charcoal balls. It was only when they passed through the sunlight that their pupils unnaturally glistened.

“It’s done,” Sam told them. “Now we can attend to Daniel.”

“Why did you lie to him?” the youngest girl asked. “The old man never touched us.”

“Sometimes we need to lie,” Sam reassured her, placing a brotherly hand on her shoulder. “Once you step into the dark, there is no going back into the light. Father taught us that, remember? And that is exactly what Mr Winters did.”

Isabelle added, “He turned his back on us.”

“He was stubborn,” the left twin stated as though this was an excuse. “We had most of him, but he always had something else…”

The right twin continued, “…As did Jack; he was fuelled by hatred.”

“And what fuels Daniel?” the young girl wanted to know.

Sam thinks about the question. “Daniel is lonely.” He shrugged. “He has nothing; he has no one.”

“He has us,” Isabelle reminded him.

“But thats different; that can be to our advantage,” he assured.

“Its still something, though.”

Sam nudged her with his elbow. “He is vulnerable. And that makes him weak. I believe it will only be a matter of time. I can persuade him. Soon, he will allow the passing, and Father will be allowed into this world; he just has to
allow
it.”

“And what if he doesn’t?” the young girl queried.

“Then we kill him,” Sam said.

Isabelle let go of Sam’s hand. “Isn’t there another way? Its just that…I like him; he seems different to the others.”

From behind Sam, a dark shadow came from the wall. Its black skin moved like smoke. Tiny fingers peer from its torso, children’s eyes glaring through from ill faces. It lifted its long fingered claw over the top of Sam’s scalp. The children froze and stared at the figure.

“Hello Father,” said Isabelle. She stood next to it, unfazed by the dark visitor. “It won’t be long now. You’ll be here soon.”

The tall figure expelled a shallow breath and stroked her head the way a Father shows love to his daughter, before turning into smoke and dispersing through the wall.

Sam smiled at the other children, and with satisfaction on his face, he said, “And when Father has arrived, the rest of hell will follow him.”

***

I was never really bothered by the time that had gone, wondering, only occasionally, how long I had lived in this house. But I didn’t know for sure. Months…years? I had looked through the windows and nothing seemed to have changed. I had opened the door and it gave to me an incredible urge to run through it, into the white mist that I see, although I know that I can’t. The urge in which pushes me through that doorway is the same power that compels me to stay. I am drawn to stop here, like a magnet to metal.

I don’t sleep often, maybe twice weekly. But when I do, I dream about Carl. I see him in hell, chained and tortured, and my Mom stands watching. Her back is turned. She is dressed in white and glows angelically, although her ankles are shackled with barbed wire. I want her to be proud of me, but I don’t think she is. Her head is low and her shoulders twitch as though she is sobbing. I ask her what the matter was, but she can’t say anything. When she turns around, I see that her lips are either stitched or stapled. And when she does try to speak, I see pain in her eyes as her skin fights against the stitches or staples, stretching and bleeding. Blood flows too freely down her chin. But masked behind the pain, I sense sorrow and concern.

Every time, every dream is the same, and she is always silent, her lips tethered. I get the feeling by what her eyes revealed that someone had done this to her, as if to shut her up.
What was she trying to tell me?
She appeared disappointed, whether it was towards me or the thing that had done this to her.

And when I’m awake, I’m angry with her because she doesn’t talk. I know that she couldn’t. I am confused by her lack of affection. Her wrists are not tied, so why doesn’t she hold me, reassure me that everything is going to be fine.
He abused her, too, didn’t he?
I thought she would be happy that Carl was being punished. But I know that she isn’t. She’s cross with me, ashamed, and I’m angry back at her. And the beast inside of me wants her dead.

I hate her
.

***

I’m becoming better at leaving behind my body. I would even say that I’ve acquired a skill. It still feels strange, though. I sleep at the house, but yet I’m here. I can smell the pollution of New York and it smells sweet. I sit in a cafe, sipping coffee, watching yellow cabs; and I’m alerted by the sirens of cop cars whining by. I absorb everything, the aromas, study the people, their conversations, because this is life. Although, I can’t stop for long. I check my watch, and although I’m getting used to travelling out of my body, I stay no longer than one hour. I guess I could stop four, perhaps five, but I don’t want to take that risk. My body is vulnerable, and so is the mirror. The evil on the other side will soon realise I’m not there to protect it. But it doesn’t stop me from contemplating if I was to stay here, enjoying coffee. When the evil passes through the mirror after my absence, what would become of my body? What would become of me? It would be like suicide. But then again, would I die?

The alarm is set on my watch, and it begins to bleep. I expel a large sigh and take another look around the cafe as if it would be my last. I want to stay here; I don’t want to go back. I feel that something isn’t quite right about the house, and I keep on discovering the notion in the far reaches of my mind, that perhaps I had been wrong about Carl and I had made a terrible mistake.

I made a start, emptied the coffee cup, and headed off to the mens room.

***

Soft whispers greeted my welcome home; and the icy touch of small fingers lightly stroked the back of my hand. I opened my eyes, and shut off the alarm
bleep
on my wrist watch. I smiled at Isabelle and asked her, “Are you real?”

She giggled and whispered in my ear, “As real as you are.” She released my hand.

I didn’t feel real; I was losing myself again. The house was taking and I wasn’t sure I could stop it this time around. I looked across the bedroom. “Where’s Sam?” It was strange that he had abandoned Isabelle; I’d never seen them apart before.

She averted me, and turned her head to look at the dolls in the box. “He’s…he’s with the other children. The dolls are very beautiful.”

“The others? Oh…of course.” I had been introduced to them, but they had disappeared into the walls and I have not seen them since. I swung my legs off the bed, held Isabelle’s hands and pulled her gently towards me. “Which one’s your favourite?”

“All of them,” she laughed.

I stared into her innocent eyes and wondered what horrors they had been witness to. My thumbs touched her wrists, and although they had no pulse, something did run through them. “The thing that Carl did to you…he touched you, right?”

She agreed. “But the doll with the dark hair looks like me.”

“Yes, I suppose it does. Tell me, did he touch Sam?”

“So, I guess thats my favourite.”

“You can have them all if you tell me.”

She watched me for a moment as though I would soon change my mind. “Yes…the other children, too,” She went over to collect the dark haired doll, brought it to the bedside and caressed its hair. “But we told you all this.”

“I know you did,” I gasped. “Listen, it doesn’t matter. I’m still drowsy from the sleep, that’s all.”

“Oh…Ok.” There was a hair brush on the drawers. She picked it up. She placed all of her attention into grooming the doll; nothing else mattered.

I stood and straightened my clothes. Before leaving for downstairs, I turned to her and said, “Will you do one last thing for me?”

“Of course. What is it you asked?”

“Can we keep this between the two of us? No one else need to know, right?”

“What, a secret?” Isabelle sounded astonished. She watched the wall, nervously, as if she expected someone to walk through. But know one did. She composed herself, head held high, and confirmed with a sharp nod, “Between the two of us,” and animated zipping up her lips and throwing away the key.

“Thank you, Isabelle. I trust you. Oh…one last thing.”

“Something else, Daniel?” She lowered the brush as if all she wanted was to be left alone to groom her new toy.

“The children that were buried in the garden; you don’t happen to know where they were buried, do you?”

She looked very perplexed, and she hesitated before telling me. “Under the apple tree.” She promptly resumed combing the dolls hair, and I could tell that she wondered whether she had made a mistake in revealing the burial place.

I closed the door and waited a few seconds. When I heard a bang from within the room, I opened the door. I wanted to check to see if she had gone. The doll lay on the bed and the brush had been dropped on the floor boards. “Of course you have, little girl,” I muttered. “Run along; tell your brother.”

***

I remained quiet for the rest of the day; I read and cooked myself a good meal. I didn’t want to attract the children’s attention. When the time came to eat, I refrained from calling them. Although, there was enough food; I laid out their plates and positioned cutlery. I knew they wouldn’t eat, but I didn’t want to raise suspicion. There was a radio at the side of the kitchen sink, but I suspected the mirror was blocking the frequency. The same went for the television set. But I did have it switched on regardless; the white noise was comforting and broke up the silence.

The shadow was always around me, though, lingering like a rotten cabbage smell that wouldn’t go away. I couldn’t see it, but I knew it was there. It shifted around me, distorting the air like shimmering heat. Sometimes, it was even tempted to pass through my body. It invaded my body for short pulses of time, as if it was trying to steal it. But when it was there, my mind bled out unclear images of impurity. I sampled warm blood in my mouth, and felt my teeth sinking into raw forbidden meat. Then it would leave and I would be empty. For the first few seconds after its absence, after it had aborted my mind, the hunger remained and I had an overwhelming desire to feast on blood-dripping meat.

I thought about enquiring to Sam what the entity was, but I feared I may not like the answer given. I didn’t think he would give me the truth so easily, either.

The evening meal was ready and I eventually invited the children to join me. I didn’t expect them to show and I wasn’t disappointed. But still, I waited at the table for a while before tucking in to a beef dinner. I cleaned up afterward and went to the sitting room for some white noise and a read of one of many books from the bookshelf collecting dust. I started the log fire. I stayed up all night, because night was my new daytime. The fire cracked and spat. When I didn’t read, I stared at the licking flames.

I drifted asleep for a short time, but was awaken by a scurrying through the walls like grit falling behind the plaster. “Isabelle?”I said with a start. The sound ran all around the room, through the floor, the ceiling, and then there was a bang from upstairs. I ran out of the room and peered up into the dark hallway. “Sam, is that you? You playing?” There was no answer, but I could hear mischievous giggles of the children. A door slammed, floor boards creaked, and then silence. I checked the kitchen, made myself a coffee and returned to the sitting room. The heat from the fire was appreciated compared to the rest of the house. There was no warmth from the radiators; there was no hot water, either. The boiler in the basement wasn’t working. I don’t think it had been for some time. I set my watch alarm for six in the morning, and inevitably, after finishing the hot beverage, I drifted again into sleep.