“Oliver.” I manage, before I am engulfed by the mistress of darkness, as she casts me into her pitch-black void of loneliness—her chasm of endless shadows. Now when all feels lost, a light appears, its intensity increasing like that of an approaching train within a tunnel—moving swiftly along the railroad tracks.
Everything is so much more vivid this time. The water appears cool in color, as I wave my hand, parting the liquid with my fingers—a lucid dream, maybe? I feel I am in control. I try first to take charge of my eyes, looking around, surveying the environment. Things I don’t normally remember take precedence, as I realize that the car is already fully submerged—not an air pocket in sight. I look over where Evelyn should have been, my chest burning as the tears I am holding back scream at the sight of the empty driver's seat. Seeing that I am alone, I begin wondering if she was going to save me.
Suddenly, as though my lungs were a bale of dry hay, a scorching sensation emerges. I pull at the belt that traps me here, and panic when the realization sets in that I am not going to make it out of this. My chest metaphorically catches fire from the lack of oxygen. My mind goes frantic, knowing that the actual process of drowning isgoing to be much worse. I try to redirect my brain and wrangle together my thoughts, when I am distracted by a school of hair curlers as they float and bob around me. Then, that is when it happens, flashes of core memories sprint a marathon before me—character-building moments that everyone involved would be affected by.
Is this my life flashing before my eyes?
All I can do is watch—I know in my mind I am crying, only my tears refuse to make themselves known, as they mix with the rest of the liquid that surrounds me. They are brief moments, enough to strike right where it hurts the most. Scenes that hit the hardest. Moments that, later in life, I thought we would look back on and laugh at. If I don’t make it out, the tears that would have been joy will forever be tears of heartbreak and disgrace. Silly memories that would have given us belly-giggles will be the very ones she will be crying over if I don’t make it out of this car.
I can see it now, memories like when I broke Evelyn’s favorite perfume in a fight after I found out that she kissed my first boyfriend, will bring her shame. Every time that scent touches her nose, she is going to break down, and tears will flood her face. She will wish that I were there to break her perfume again—because at least I would be there.
Or maybe the time after graduation when mom took us out for sushi. I couldn’t believe we were able to convince her to join us in a game of ‘poison’ (where each person picks a piece of sushi to put wasabi under while the others look away. Then, you take turns eating the sushi till one of you gets the ‘poison'). If they ever go out for sushi again, people will witness a vulnerable moment as they both sit there... silent while tears soak their faces. An empty seat… harboring nothing but a memory of a time we all shared, haunting their happiness unbeknownst to the invisible bystanders—never again will they feel whole.
I must fight!
Just as I sit here. Trapped. Watching this panorama of my life play out before me, I hear a loud thud echo like sonar. Then, the water starts to shuffle, as I watch tiny bubbles dance past me, completely unaffected by my presence. My vision blurs for a moment as my body is hauled from the wreckage. It was then that I realized I couldn’t feel anything, not physically at least, but my vision was fully enhanced along with my emotions. With that cognizance, I look at my rescuer, but before I can lay my eyes on him, I am awoken by a scream resonating throughout the manor halls.
Falling out of bed, I fumble to my door—enervated by my nightmare. Slowly drawing it open, I wince at every squeak from the old hinges, as I step out into the hallway. It was, at this moment, that the squeaking hinges were traded for creaking floors—damned old houses.
Finally making it to the banister, I hear the main doors slam shut. I gasp, startled by the thunderous resonance they produced, while my attention is now directed to the orientation of the noise, I turn to catch a glimpse of the culprit that caused it, something shimmers in my periphery—a mist floating up the stairs.
It stops at the entrance to the west wing. I stare, witnessing the anomaly morph and configure, as something is forming. Or is it someone? A ghostly man appears in its center, looking around, and like smoke with a mind of its own, the diaphanous mist swirls through the air. Colors shimmer as they reflect off the light penetrating through the streaks thattendril outward from the form.
I lean forward, trying to make out any of his features, when my heart stops, from the floor sounding beneath my feet, forcing me to shut my eyes. A moment stretched on to an eternity, and I ampetrified. Mortified. Stupefied... then left mystified, by this unknown force.
Slowly, my heart starts to quicken again with the fear of whatever that was, and the possibility that it is now positioned in front of me. My hair stands on end, as I drop my head down now facing my feet, then I whisper to myself, “It’s all in my head.”
Alas, my body freezes, and my eyes skyrocket open. I can feel its gaze on me, the air now frigid begins to spiral around me. I finally got the courage to look up, but the apparition is now standing at the other side of the grand staircase, and curiosity shoves its way forward to the driver's seat of my brain, I follow it— Niven’s voice echoes in the hollows of my mind,
“Stay out of the west wing.”
What is so special about the west wing?
I stalk after it, making it to the mouth of the hall. My body is shaky as I stare down the corridor of the west wing—no signs of the entity that led me here. The floor is warping, as the wallpaper is peeling and cracking, like a raisin in the sun. The ominous atmosphere, accompanied by the lack of light, was giving slasher vibes. To a point, I felt that if I made it halfway through, a psycho killer with a knife was going to come after me.
An unearthly feeling sat stale in the air, and the suspense of taking my first step loomed over me. Finally, I scrounged up enough nerve to walk forward, and just as I did, the walls are set alight with a flash of lightning, followed by an obnoxious roll of thunder.
Creeping my way down, making sure to watch where I stepped, I can see what Niven meant by ‘condemned.’ There is only one door that isn't either locked or boarded over, and cobwebs hang thick in the corners, while spiders sway—catching things and eating their insides. I push the oakwood back, entering a bedroom significantly smaller than the one I occupy. There are two doors to the right as you walk in. One is open, revealing a bathroom, while the other is closed. To the left sits a couch and massive amounts of medical equipment.
The dressers are lined with old photos and vintage-style candlesticks. The windows are covered in thick velvety curtains, green in color. I listen, and when I feel it’s okay to proceed further, I make my way to the dressers—taking one of the cold, metal frames in my hands. I glance at the faces peering back at me through sepia-colored eyes. A woman is perched on a railing between two men—her arms draped over the one with a striking resemblance to my father. Assuming that this man was my great-grandfather, I observe the surroundings. They all look to be in 1920s England.
His full beard and deep cowled eyes are predominant beneath a wide-brimmed hat. My eyes then shift to the other man, and there is a familiarity in his hooded eyes. His face is clean-shaven, as an amicable half-smile creases his face. Then it hit me, and I nearly sent the frame plummeting to the floor, as a gasp escapes my mouth.
“Oliver?” It's got to be an ancestor of his. The resemblance is uncanny. It's impossible to be him, the scars are missing as is the cloth that kept them shrouded. The thought of the gashes carved into his face angers me all over again, bringing back the glimpse I got before I blacked out from heat exhaustion. I found myself with more questions—the list growing the longer I linger here.
Standing there… photo in hand… questions forming clouds so thick a butter knife wouldn't cut through. Another blood-curdling scream rings out, frightening me, causing me to jump and pulling me from my thoughts. It’s the same scream I heard earlier, only this time it emanated from behind me—from the only door that remains shut. I swivel facing the door that potentially conceals this poor soul, pleading for help. More questions entangle themselves in my head.
Who is this poor soul?
Should I help?
Placing the frame back on the dresser, as I migrate towards the sounds—low moaning, the faintest scratching, and a rhythmic pounding every so often. My entire body is screaming ‘this is a bad idea.’ I reach for the handle when my wrist is grabbed, and I’m spun on my heels. Oliver is looking down at me, his face hidden once more. His deep blue eyes bore into me like tiny daggers, each hitting a pressure point. Jerking my wrist to his chest, he draws me closer, no words—he didn’t need them, though, the pain in his eyes and brooding vibe was enough. Not to mention, his body language was loud and clear.
He guides me out of the room, giving a slight glance at the dresser.
Is he making sure nothing has changed?
I never break my gaze—not even once. As we pass through the threshold of my room, he stops. “What were you thinking?” His deep voice breaks the silence.
