I was lying in bed staring through the bedroom door down the hallway. The lights were off in my room, but my parents had left the hallway light on for me. I had been hearing voices, a woman whispering in my ear, promising that she would soon reveal herself. I begged my parents to let me sleep with them. I promised I wouldn’t take too much room; I might even sleep on the floor next to the fan. They refused.
I felt it again, a breath of warm air against my ear.
“Chris.”
I pulled the covers over my head and started praying. I couldn’t feel her breath anymore, but I could hear her soft voice.
“Chris.”
I peeked out from underneath the covers. The light from the hallway was blocked. There was a shadow standing in front of the door. Beads of sweat trickled into my eyes, but the cool air on my face felt nice. The shadow moved; the light bent around. I could see my parents’ bedroom door. I threw off the covers and darted out of bed to their door. I opened the door and leapt into their bed.
There was no response. I felt around, my hand rubbing up against the course mattress fabric. There were no sheets, nor covers, nor pillows, and worst of all, there were no parents. Light from the bathroom partially illuminated the empty room.
“Chris.” I felt a coldness embracing me from behind. In the dresser mirror I could see a pale woman with long red hair, wearing an elegant blue evening dress. She had her arms around me, looking down at the floor.
“Son.”
I heard the front door open, cackling and laughter emanating from the living room. My parents burst into the room, inebriated, undressing one another, not realizing I was in the room with them. They crashed into the bed and fell into me.
“Boy what are you doing in here?” My father seized me by the bicep and hauled me out of the room. He slung me in bed.
“I told you to stay in bed.”
“Where did you guys go? I asked.
“We went to the movies and then went to dinner.”
“I wish I could have gone.”
“It’s a school night. You have to be in bed early. Now you’re going to be tired in the morning.” He left the room and pulled the door shut. At first, I wanted to turn on the light, but then I started thinking that I wanted to hear the voice again. I wanted to know why she called me son.
I heard a breathing coming from the ceiling. I rolled over on my back and stared upward. I couldn’t make out any details but I could see a bulge of shadow extending downward and strands of red hair dangling in front of the moonlit window. I reached back over the headboard and tried to feel for the switch to turn on the light. My hands were sweaty and clumsy with fear. The shadow started to descend from the ceiling. I managed to find the switch and push it upward.
The sudden eruption of light accentuated the woman’s colors. Her blue evening dress and red hair were brilliant, as was her pale face and pink lips. The most disturbing attribute was the open gash from the corner of her mouth to the top of her cheek, exposing teeth and tongue. Her left eye was missing, a bloody abyss dripping onto my body. She floated closer to me and then her feet tilted downward. She landed softly on the floor at the end of my bed.
“Son,” she said. She smiled. It was a ghastly, lopsided smile.
She walked around the bed and touched me on my arm. It was a strange sensation; it was both cold and warm. I felt love and yet I felt hate. Laughter came from the other room. There was an instant scowl on her face, anger in her one eye. She turned away from me and glided to the door.
“Mom?” I whispered.
She turned and smiled. I had a flashing memory of being held in her arms. A memory buried deep within my soul, so deep that I doubted it’s reality. An apparition unburying the past, a collage of all things spiritual, casting doubt on my material existence. She turned back around and faded through the door.
The laughter abruptly stopped and turned into shrieks of horror. I heard the walls banging and glass shattering. There was a high-pitched scream and then a gurgling. Then there was only pleading from my father.
“Sarah, forgive me. Sarah. Please, I always loved you. I lost my mind. I would never intentionally hurt you.”
I waited and listened for a response. The fear of the apparition outweighed the concern I had for my father. I dare not leave my room. I heard more glass shattering. My father cried in pain and then there was silence.
I stayed in my room until the morning sun radiated through my window. I opened my door slowly, peeked out to the hallway. It was empty. I heard nothing but the sound of the furnace kicking on. I ambled out the door down the hall to my parent’s room. My mother was lying on the bed with her neck cut wide, blood on her neck and chest; the white satin sheets dark and wet. My father was sitting on the floor with his back against the wall. One corner of his mouth was slashed up to the top of his cheek. A shard of mirror plunged into his eye.
I cried. I was alone with no one to take of me.
“Don’t cry.” I heard a whisper. I looked around but did not see her. “It’ll be alright.” The voice came from the dresser mirror. Drawers were pulled out and clothes scattered in front of the dresser. I walked over and looked into the mirror. There standing in the myriad cracks of the reflection was the distorted reflection of the woman who had finally revealed herself. She walked towards me but as she got closer, she dissipated into a whisp of smoke. I felt a warmth pass through my body.
“I’m always here.”
As I watched her disappear, I noticed an old color faded photo neatly placed in the corner of the mirror. I picked it up and held it close to my chest. It was my dad dressed in a dark blue suit with his arms around a red-headed lady in a blue evening dress holding an infant boy, standing in front of a church. I turned the picture over. On the back scribbled in ink was written:
Sarah, Chris is a beautiful boy. God bless on this happy and holy day.