Epilogue

 

Leah was grateful, relieved to be back in the plush comfort of her own bed. Recently, the days seemed unending, and tonight she was sure to sleep soundlessly, or so she thought.

She couldn’t actually recall falling asleep, as the day’s events seemed to merge with the past, as she lay immobile. But in the dream state, it all played out for her again...

She’d been in Cedar Manor; it was just as she remembered, as though time had never passed. She was chasing the runaway spool of yarn that unwound down the hallway, running after it as it moved on its own to some predestined location. Then, she saw Agnes in the rocker; they smiled at each other.

She jumped, ran, and played, reliving the playful joy of childhood. Suddenly the lights flickered on and off, and she heard the sound of her father’s voice calling out to her...

“Leah, where are you?”

Her mother’s voice came next...

“Leah! Stay away from that mirror!”

In the dream, she could see and hear the ticking of the grandfather clock...

Tick, tock, tick, tock,

The swaying of its second hand back and forth was interrupted by flashing visions: the basement, then the clock, the face of the dead woman murdered by Agnes’ son, the clock, her mother’s feet swaying beneath her skirt as her body hung from the swaying noose tied to the balcony, the clock, silence except for the ticking. Then, she heard the breathing again, and the rapid, grating, respiration grew louder, causing the frightened little girl to run as she heard it nearing.

She ran down the hallway, faster and faster, closer and closer toward the mirror. She wasn’t allowed to go near it, but something was drawing her there. She was amazed at how quickly she covered more ground than usual. The breath heaved faster and harder as the little girl now faced the mirror and looked inside. There wasn’t anything there...

Then it leapt out at her. The ghastly, Hellish reflection had been hiding off to the side, somewhere inside the mirror. Its misshapen face was deformed, decayed from what looked like death and decomposition. The hair was a long rotten mane, lifeless like straw. The breathing was coming from it, and it was staring at her with a cold, dead, discolored eye, as though it meant to find her. The breath became faster. It knew her; it had found her, and it was waiting for her, its breath heaving loudly.

She shot up from the bed, shedding sleep, her heart beating wildly in her chest, and the sound of the breathing now belonged to her. The sweat poured down her face, and she felt it soak her nightshirt. She switched on the light as quickly as possible.

Reality didn’t seem to bring the same relief that it normally did; the nightmare was vivid, fresh, the details etching into her mind. She couldn’t live this way anymore, and realized in the bright waking light of her bedroom what must be done. It was time to confront it. One way or another, it was time to go back into that house...