Sin to the Darkness

by S London

  “Sorry.” Christi said, half-sincerely, though his reaction to her rejection secretly amused her. Deeply.

  “Karen would kill to be me right now.” Christi said, quickly and quietly. Patrick stared past her, looking heartbroken.

  “Huh? Karen?” he mumbled, collecting himself.

  “Never mind. Do you want to see or not?”

  “Sure.”

  “Keep your mind out of the gutter then. Please.”

  “Sorry.” Patrick replied sincerely and stuffed his hands into the pocket of his NYU hoodie.

  “Okay then.”

  Christi turned, taking several steps, stopping at the entry of the main hallway.

  “There’s another upstairs.” She blurted out.

  “There’s another upstairs?”

  Christi nodded and pointed. “That door. There’s stairs. You walk up and there’s a huge open space. As wide as half this house.”

  “Half?”

  “Yeah.” She noted the puzzlement in his tone.

  “So there’s what, a wall up? You don’t see any rail to indicate a balcony to a loft or anything above the second level so there must be a wall up. Right?”

  Christi hesitated, taking a deep breath. “I haven’t been up there yet. I didn’t want to go up there alone.” She admitted, telling him how she thought maybe that’s where the woman had disappeared to several days ago. He agreed.

  “Oh. Well, I’m here now. Let’s check it out. On three?”

  Together they counted to three and opened the door. Christi noticed Patrick had held his breath after counting. When the door opened he breathed a sigh of relief at the sight.

  “Babe, these are shelves, not stairs.” He chuckled.

  Christi shot Patrick an irritated glance and rolled her eyes.

  “No, really. It’s fascinating.”

  “If you think that’s fascinating…”

  Christi retorted. “Check this out.” She said, placing her palms on the edge of the second shelf and applied pressure to it.

  Nothing happened.

  “Help me.”

  Together they pushed on the edge of the shelf. This time the entire shelving unit moved slightly.

  “Whoa…” Patrick mumbled, half whispering, eyes wide, speechless. “Wow.”

  “Yeah, wow is right.” She pressed the shelf again. The unit rolled backwards, the closet becoming big enough to walk into. A quick jolt and then it stopped and locked into place several feet from the door.

  “So where’s the stairs?” he asked, looking around the space. Two solid walls led to the shelves.

  “Behind the wall.”

  “Behind the wall?”

  Christi nodded.

  “Do we have to knock the wall down?”

  “Nope.” Christi smiled, feeling like a little girl about to show her siblings where the Christmas presents were hidden.

  JULY, 2007

  Everyone knows a window can become steamed- from the inside. But on this particular night, the steam was on the outside. Christi Stephens learned this when she went to the door to wipe it away. She

  had wanted to see what was making the pecking noise outside on the porch. She slid her hand across the glass, but to no avail. The steam clouded the window, making it impossible to see through it. The moonlight illuminated what little yard there was; the patch of grass around the path that led to the beach. Christi saw this as she backed away from the door, flabbergasted.

  “That’s odd.” Christi said aloud but to herself. She wrapped her arms around herself, a sudden chill in the air; moments before feeling someone embrace her from behind.

  “What’s odd?” that same someone asked in a low boyish tone.

  Christi jumped slightly, unnoticeably, and then relaxed into the embrace of her new temporary roommate. “The door,” she answered, nodding her head in the direction in which she was gazing.

  “It’s a door. What about it?”

  “Can’t see out of it at all…”

  She felt the laughter rumbling in the chest of the man embracing her, holding her closely, before hearing it aloud a second later. The man shook with laughter; he was hysterical.

  ‘What was so funny?’ she wondered. She moved out of his arms and turned to face him. Her hands placed on her hips, she spat. “What?!”

  “That always happens. That’s the cold trying to get in.” He answered, still in deep hysterics.

  Christi could swear she heard several snorts among the laughter this man continued to wheeze out.

  “No.” Christi stated. “No… feel the door…”

  “Uh… that’s okay. I’m not into feeling doors…” More laughter.

  “Just do it.”

  “Oo-ooh. Peer pressure! No thanks, Nike!” Another round of hysterical laughter.

  Christi rolled her eyes, annoyed and irritated by the immaturity of the very cute young man standing in her kitchen doorway. The light shined on the pendant he wore around his neck. She had yet to find out what it was but had every intention on someday asking. But not at this moment. Right now, she was aggravated, on the verge of screaming. She had always hated frat boys, and was angry at herself for

  allowing this one to become so much a part of her life.

  Deep down she felt she needed him, and the more she tried to keep her distance, the more she felt drawn to him. His shaggy brown hair always shading his brown eyes, and his square jaw with the stubble he purposefully didn’t bother to shave. He said it gave him ‘character’ and Christi had to agree, being a sucker for a man with some stubble. His high cheekbones and thick but not too

  thick eyebrows, his long eyelashes, and his dimple. Oh, his dimple. She loved to see him

  smile and laugh, just so she could admire that dimple.

  But not like this. These crackhead jokes, she referred to them as, that he would always tell, his constant sarcasm, was becoming too much. At first, it was cute but the more she heard it, the more annoyed she became. He seemed to have no serious bone in his body. Typical frat boy.

  ‘Why am I with you?’ She would look at him and think to herself. She half-expected him to answer, fearing he could read her every thought. He’d look back at her and bite his bottom lip. And she’d remember the deciding factor upon which she based her decision about letting him move in and for

  allowing him so much of herself. The several encounters they’d shared… the bedroom, the hallway, the bathroom… the beach…

  ‘That’s not a reason…’ she would tell herself.

  ‘It’s an excuse.’ Her inner voice would finish.

  “Please, Patrick.” She said finally. “Just feel the door.”

  “Why?” Patrick asked, snobbishly.

  “Because I said so. And so you’ll stop laughing like a fucking hyena.”

  “A fu-…” he began, another sarcastic reply at the tip of his tongue, but Christi interrupted him with a loud groan.

  “Ugh! Never mind. Be a jackass.” She looked directly into his eyes and spat. She trudged past him, her cheeks flushed with anger.

  “Okay, I will.” Patrick called after her and began braying.

  AUGUST, 1986

  ‘Something is wrong…’ Thaddeus thought to himself, lightly tapping his thumbs on the wooden floorboard, holding himself steady with his fingertips. He glanced around the room, searching for an

  answer, or a presence, but there was neither. His eyes fell upon his beloved, a young woman who had once been so full of life and now was so much the opposite, so lifeless.

  “Oh, Angel,” he cried out, scooping her into his arms for one last embrace. “Angel, I love you. I hope you’re free.” His eyes filled with tears but he tried to blink them away as he remembered her last words.

  “Don’t cry,” she had said. “Don’t cry when I’m gone, when this is all over. Don’t cry.” He could hear her words echoing throughout the room. Forcing a smile, he wiped his tears from his cheeks with the palm of his hand and stroked them into the soft, silky hair of his lady.
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  Thaddeus’ feet were underneath him, numb, probably too numb to allow him to stand steadily, if at all.

  Thaddeus bent down and kissed the lips of his beloved. Cold. Not ice cold, but not the warm moist lips he was used to kissing.

  “Stay here and I’ll be back as soon as I can be.” He spoke to her. Gently he placed the body on the floor, careful to keep her in the circle, and leaned to his left, to the first candle. He blew on it, on the flame, but it didn’t diminish.

  SEPTEMBER, 2007

  “Hello Miss Stephens.” Dr. Branham said into the receiver of the old fashioned phone in the hotel lobby. “I was wondering… I know it may be out of place for me to ask, but I was wondering how

  serious this new relationship of yours…” A pause. “Was…” Another pause. “Is…” Several moments of silence. “Good? Oh, that’s great. Well, see you later. Good luck.” A pause. “Great. Bye.” Dr. Branham hung up and let a loud groan escape his dry mouth.

  OCTOBER, 1990

  “Adam, don’t. Let’s stay down here.”

  “Why? What are you afraid of?”

  “Nothing!” Christi spat. “I just have a bad feeling. I’m… I guess I’m afraid of what is going to happen…” she paused, and looked him square in the eye. Then, having successfully raised the tension in the air, the fear blooming in the growing pupil of her brother’s eyes, she blurted out, “when the

  boogeyman gets you!” She began laughing hysterically, the thought of scaring her brother being the most amusing thing in the world.

  He let out a deep breath, discreetly, or so he thought. “Very funny sis, but haven’t you heard the news?”

  Christi stopped laughing, a few tiny giggles slipping out every couple of seconds, and looked at her brother. A smug look he now wore on his otherwise handsome face. It was no secret. The Stephens children had inherited all the looks from their father, the late Mr. Albert Stephens, and all their brains from their mother, the late Miss Sophia Lane.

  “Huh?” She said stupidly. “What news?”

  A few more giggles slipped out. Adam pushed his lips out in a pucker, as if trying to be a fish, and cocked his head to the side.

  “Stop doing that.” Christi said, giggling, though somewhat annoyed. He did that a lot, and looked utterly ridiculous every time. “You look like a fish about to go belly up.” Another longer, louder giggle escaped this time.

  Adam didn’t stop. Instead, he sucked in his cheeks and smacked his lips together, the exact same way a fish does.

  Christi rolled her eyes. “I mean it. Stop it.” She said attempting to be firm, but not laughing was always hard to do around her brother. He was like her personal comedian, and no matter what her mood

  was, or what was going on in their life, he always knew how to make her laugh.

  “You only love me for my funnies.” He had said to her once.

  “Yes, ma’am, I do reckon you are correct.” She had answered in a fake British

  accent.

  OCTOBER, 2000

  The young girl clung tightly to her brown teddy with the missing nose and sobbed quietly. Her eyes were wide and red, her cheeks flushed and stained with tears. She was clearly hysterical on this particular night.

  Her mother had come rushing in nearly an hour ago to try to comfort the young girl. She sat on the edge of the bottom bunk and held her daughter in her arms, rocking her gently. After nearly forty minutes of sobbing and trembling, the girl seemed to calm down.

  “Baby, it’s okay. It was just a dream.” The older woman with the dark hair pulled back in a loose bun said softly.

  “Nooo!” she shrieked and began sobbing again. Her eyes were closed tightly now and she refused to loosen her grip on her mother’s arm or her bear. The mother, realizing it was going to be an unnecessary battle to put the blonde haired five year old back to bed, decided to take her to her

  room.

  “We’re going to the big bed, okay?” The girl nodded slightly, still sobbing.

  About an hour later, she had quit sobbing and was much calmer. “Mama?” The girl whispered.

  “I’m here. Everything is okay.” She assured.

  “Where am I…?” she asked, rubbing her eyes and blinking away the burning sensation the sobbing had caused in them.

  “You’re in Mommy’s room, in the big bed. You’re safe now. Go to sleep.”

  “Promise, Mama?”

  “Yes, I promise. Go to sleep baby. I’m right here.”

  The girl yawned, pulled her bear close to her and snuggled closely to her mother’s

  side. “Good night, Mommy. Good night, Pete.”

  “Good night, baby.” Her mother answered. Then said, “good night, Abby,” in a squeaky voice, pretending to be the voice of her daughter’s bear.

  The little girl smiled and closed her eyes. In seconds she was asleep and the room was silent. The mother, too, had dozed, her arm around her daughter, the covers pulled around them snugly.

  Down the hall, in the girl’s room, the closet door slid open. A woman in a long white dress stepped out, letting out a deep breath, a sigh of a job not well done.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you.” She whispered, looking toward the bed. It took her several moments to realize the bed was empty.

  “Abby?” she whispered and looked around the room.

  A moment later something was leading her to the bedroom door, to the hallway. She didn’t know what it was but she followed it anyways, curious. It led her to a door down the hall. She stopped in front of

  it, confused and curious. A tingle ran through her body. She wasn’t sure what had led her there or why but she could smell the scent of youth.

  “Abby?” No response. “Abby?” She said again, in a louder whisper. There was still no response.

  Inside the room, the young girl stirred beneath the covers. “Mm…” she mumbled.

  Outside the door, another tingle ran through the woman’s body. “This isn’t right to be doing this…” she thought to herself, but the force around her was hard to resist. It was as if something took over her, made her make her next move, and was determined to make her follow through.

  “It’s the rules…” The force grumbled behind her. The sound of thunder, static, and a grumpy old grandfatherly voice… noise… was how she described the sound of the force when she had first heard it. It was definitely one of those sounds that would send a chill through your veins, trembles down your spine, and make the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

  “No! I do not want to go…. I do not want to go with you…” the little girl in the bed mumbled, still asleep. “No. I do not want to go. I do not want to go. I do not want to go.” She pleaded, repeating the line over and over, almost too quickly to be possible.

  The mother jumped awake at the sound of her daughter’s cries. She awoke in time to see her tossing and turning, her arm held out, holding Pete in her hand. The bear seemed to be floating by the edge of the bed, held by Abby by only his right arm. Too startled and speechless, the mother sat, staring, dumbfounded.

  “What in the world…” she thought to herself.

  “You’re dreaming. It’s nothing to worry about.” Someone, or something, said. The bear’s head turned to face her; it seemed to be looking into her eyes with its own.

  “Did you just talk?” She asked stupidly. ‘Of course it talked. What else could have said that…’ she said to herself.

  “No, I did.” The woman in white answered, then paused and added, “look in the mirror.”

  The dark haired woman in the striped pajamas turned her gaze to the other side of the room, to the mirror above the dresser. In the mirror was a plain as day reflection of a woman in a white gown. She gasped, wide-eyed. The woman in white stood by the bed, one hand wrapped around the arm of the bear. She turned her gaze back to the other side of the room, but she didn’t see the woman. She blinked several times, not sure what to think or say. She turned and looked into the mirror again. There the

 
; woman was still standing in the same spot, in the same position, looking through the mirror back at her.

  “Who are you?”

  “I do not have a name.” The woman in white said hesitantly.

  “No name?”

  “I am not a living person, and I guess that makes me not worthy of a name…” she looked down, solemnly. “I am only a figure of your imagination. That’s why you cannot see me, except through the mirror of course. Mirrors see everything and show everything.”

  “That they do.” The mother agreed. Miraculously, even to herself, she was calm. “This is only a dream? Everything is so real…”

  “Dream, yes. Real, no, not everything… I’m not real. You’re real. So real and beautiful, you are. So lifeless, I am.”

  “Well… in all my thirty three years, I have never had a dream like this. And thank you for thinking I’m beautiful. You are, too, even if I can only see you through the mirror. Sometimes, I wish I were invisible… I wish I could hide my flaws from the world.” She let out a tiny giggle, sheepishly.

  “Such a silly thing to say because you have no flaws, really. You really have no flaws, ma’am. You simply have what everyone else in the world has. And most of all, the most important of all, is you have life. And really, that’s what matters. Focus on keeping yourself alive, not your beauty. Because life is what gives you beauty; there’s no beauty without life and there’s no life without beauty.”

  The mother smiled. Such wise words… she hoped secretly to remember them.

  “I’ll write that down for you ma’am.” The woman in white said, as if able to read thoughts.

  “That would be lovely of you. Thank you very much.” She said, blushing.

  The woman in white nodded her welcome. A sudden tremble rumbled through her body. She shivered, knowing it was the force reminding her that friends were not necessary and being friendly was a waste, and demanding her to finish her task.

  “I really must get going. You should get some rest. Move on to a new dream, something happy.” Her blonde hair styled in large elegant curls laid across her shoulders. “I’ll let myself out…”