There is an old wives’ tale in our town, a small place with no more than 400 people, which will remain unnamed for my safety and the safety of those I love. The tale has been slightly changed many times over the years, but the general gist has always been the same; that there were two schools in our town in the year 1895. By 1912, only one remained. It wasn’t demolished, nor closed, but disappeared one morning, along with everyone inside it. A few weeks later it appeared again, upside down in the middle of a field, looking as though it had aged a hundred years. A few brave townsfolk went inside, including my great-grandfather, or, at least, that’s the way I was told. Nobody came out, and the school disappeared again after a few hours, never reappearing again. Everyone who was inside, all one hundred and fifty students and around forty faculty, were never heard or seen again.
A good story, most of us thought, but we were told by many that what really happened was the school burnt down. A tragedy, but nothing as supernatural as a teleporting school. Lives were lost, and as time passed, memories of those events became distorted, and became the tale we know today. I liked to believe that there was some sort of supernatural phenomenon that took place, but it was a wives’ tale, and that was that. A legend, like the boogieman, or bigfoot, nothing more.
Yesterday, my family received a letter stapled to a large box, about four feet tall and just as wide. It was delivered by a friend that worked at a construction company in town, and noticed that the box had our last name on it when clearing out an old house that was to be demolished next week. My parents had no idea why there would be a box with our name on it, especially one this old, so they excitedly pulled the box into our garage and began to sift through it.
Most of it was old clothes and a few small cases of jewelry that my mother was excited about, and a few pieces of war memorabilia scattered throughout. They quickly realized that all of these objects must have belonged to our grandfather, given their age. At the very bottom, was a long case that bore a gold lock on the side, with a similarly ornate gold key tied to it by a small red ribbon. The key fit snugly into the lock, but the case was stuck for a few tries before finally opening.
It was a long, golden kaleidoscope, engraved with markings so small and intricate it was almost impossible to see every bit of detail. For a few moments my family said nothing, eyes fixed on the glittering object.
“What a find!” My dad said, delicately removing the object from the box. “Didn’t know your father was such a collector.”
“Me neither, honestly.” My mother replied, watching as my father put the lens to his eye.
He looked through it for a few seconds, then yanked it away from his face in surprise.
“Dammit! Son of a bitch got me.” My dad exclaimed, thrusting it into my mother’s hands. “Must be some shard or notch in the eyepiece. How does it look?”
My mom and I leaned forward, examining his eye. There was a small knick on his eyelid, and blood was dripping steadily down his face.
“Face cuts bleed a bunch, but it doesn’t look bad.” I said, as my mom gave me the kaleidoscope, ushering my father back into the house.
“Put it away! We’ll get it looked at by an expert, but no more until we get it fixed.” She called out from the doorway.
“Sure!” I called back, eying the kaleidoscope. I pressed my thumb against the eyepiece to feel for anything sharp, but it was smooth to the touch. It didn’t seem dangerous, and there was something incredibly alluring about the way it glittered in the light; but I wasn’t about to take any chances, so I stowed it back into its case and went inside.
That night I woke up to the sound of my father sobbing in the bathroom, my mother softly comforting him as he wept. Making my way quietly towards them, I saw his reflection in the bathroom mirror; the cut on his eye was purple and brown, like a bruise, and it was swollen to at least three times its size.
“It’s OK, honey.” My mom said, gesturing for me to go back to my room. “We just need to go to the hospital for a bit, it looks like the cut got a little infected.”
“Alright. Feel better, Dad.”
“Thanks, kid. Don’t worry about me.” He said, but the pain in his voice was unmistakable.
I listened as they pulled out of the driveway, then went downstairs to the kitchen to grab a snack. The green glow of the digital clock blinked at me as I ate. It was 1 AM, and I already knew school was going to be a struggle tomorrow. A few minutes passed as I chewed mindlessly; until I began to hear a small noise coming from downstairs. I slowly made my way down the steps as the noise got louder.
It sounded like a small animal caught in the garage, which has happened a few times before; once, during a storm, a squirrel tried to run into our house for shelter. My father got to it first, and kicked it right back into the storm. I prepared myself to see some sort of rodent, but the noise abruptly stopped as I opened the door. I found myself standing there, staring at the large box of things my grandfather left behind, illuminated by the lightbulb on a string we have tenuously hanging from the ceiling.
All of a sudden I had an urge to open the box, so I did. It was almost as if I was watching myself from above, gently sifting through the objects and clothes until in my hand was that oblong case containing the kaleidoscope. It was humming, vibrating the case ever so slightly as my fingers fumbled with the latch. I knew what had happened to my father, but I couldn’t help it; as if ushered by an invisible force, the kaleidoscope was in my hands. The metal was warm to the touch, now expanding and condensing rhythmically almost as if it was breathing.
I think I may have tried to put it away, lock it up back in the case and walk back to my bedroom. I think I may have tried to do that, but the slow rhythm of the kaleidoscope lulled me into slowly pressing the eyepiece to my face, just as my father had done.
At first, it was all black. Nervously, I lifted my other hand and spun the end. Colors began to swirl; red, purple, and blue danced in front of my eye, until the colors began to come together, forming shapes. After a few moments I realized I was looking at a doctor, in some sort of hospital room. My body tensed as the kaleidoscope began vibrating again, and the images began to focus even more, until I recognized the person I was looking at.
It was my mother, sitting beside the doctor as he spoke. I couldn’t hear anything, but I knew from the looks on their faces that it was serious. They were leading her out of the room as the doctor held up a mirror, and staring back at me was my father’s swollen face, his eye considerably blacker, leaking a green and yellow pus slowly down his cheek.
Somehow, I was looking through my father’s eyes, or, eye, by the looks of the swelling. It was like I was playing a first person video game, but I had no control over the character. I could only watch as the doctor spoke, soundless, my father’s face in the mirror getting more frustrated as the conversation continued. After a few moments the kaleidoscope began to hum again, and the colors returned, splintering my vision.
That’s enough of this for tonight. I thought. I must be hallucinating. It’s 2 in the morning. I just need some sleep.
I gently removed the kaleidoscope from my eye, but as I did, I realized my vision was splintered into fractals, slowly turning, like I never took the instrument off of my eye. Stumbling forward, I managed to find my way up the garage stairs, to the bathroom, tripping several times on my way up. It was like trying to drive with my windshield shattered.
Stumbling into the bathroom, I looked in the mirror- from what I could see, my eye was blood red, so deep you could barely tell what color my eye actually was. Suddenly my world began to swirl, and the shattered pieces started to melt together into one pulsing mass of black, purple and red. It was like watching a bruised, bloody heart, beating its last, sad breath. All at once, a cacophony of sounds slammed into my ears- people screaming, moaning, and the shattering of glass.
I managed to take one more step before stumbling to the floor, passing out on the cold floor of my bathroom. I woke up a few hours later and looked in the mirror. No red in my eye; in fact, it looked a bit brighter than usual. I’m typing this just before going to school, and my Dad is still at the hospital. I just hope everyone ends up being ok.
I’ll go see him after school, if he’s not already back by then.