Ten
AURELIA
Istand still in the middle of the bedroom, staring at the door in front of me. The same door I tried two minutes ago, the one that wouldn’t open, while I stood there trying to understand how I ended up in a situation like this. The longer I look at it, the more I notice. Scratches beneath the paint. Marks around the keyhole where the rust has been scraped away, exposing raw metal underneath.
I take another step and reach for the handle again. The moment I pull it, the door opens. It’s colder today, and the chirping of birds sounds louder than it did yesterday morning, yet the day feels the same.
Instead of going downstairs and making a cup of coffee, I turn around and head back to bed. As I sit, I pick up L.R.’s diary and begin to read.
How is it possible that the girl from my dream showed me the same story L.R. wrote in the diary?
I lean against the nightstand, but my hand shoves it out of place, throwing me forward. My head slams into the edge of the bed.
I hiss, my brows drawing together as I press a hand to my forehead. My fingertips come away warm, and when I pull them back in front of my eyes, I see a few drops of blood.
“Fuck.”
My fingers hover near the cut at my hairline as I push myself to my feet and step toward the mirror. It isn’t deep, but it’s deep enough to leave a scar.
I turn back to the bed and reach for the nightstand, pulling open the drawer. My hand finds a bandage. When I crouch, something catches my eye.
Two tiny dolls made of chestnuts.
They sit tucked in the corner, no bigger than my thumb, with scraps of cloth for dresses and chestnuts for heads. I lift one into my hand and notice the hair taped to its head. One is red, and the other is blonde.
I pull one strand of my own hair forward and hold it next to the doll’s. It matches.
“Is this…” My voice barely holds. “My hair?”
I place the dolls back. My hands move too fast, like I need distance from them. I rush toward the door, my pulse climbing into my throat.
Just as I reach for the handle, something moves in the hallway.
“Lily,” I shout, “this isn’t funny!”
I slam the door and hurry downstairs. As I go, I notice it’s dark, as if it’s the middle of the night. When I look at the clock, it reads 3:18 a.m.
No.
That’s not possible.
It was morning. I know it was.
I turn around and hear a girl whisper, “Hide and seek.”
I ignore her. I take another step forward and notice a woman standing at the front door. She wears a white dress, the same nightgown I wore two nights ago. Her hair is blonde, almost white, clinging to her face and trailing down her sides in wet strands.
I freeze, my back pressing into the wall.
She tilts her head, and she just… moves. Gliding through the house like she already knows the way. She reaches the counter, taking the white rose The Caller left for me, then disappears down the hallway.
I rise onto my tiptoes and force myself to move. One step, after another until I’m running.
The front door is wide open, and I run right through it. It’s cold outside. I should go back. But I can’t. The church is the only place that is close enough to hide.
Mud swallows my bare feet as I run, leaving traces behind. My lungs burn, but I push harder, faster.
I can hear the door creak behind me.
