Crossed Out

by Kim Baccellia

  No, please go away.

  A large rectangular antique mirror filled the wall. Golden cupids hung on both sides. It reminded me of a mirror that used to hang in my grandma’s house.

  Well, let’s get this over with. I flicked the light off, took a deep breath.

  I put the flashlight under my chin, turned it on, and faced the mirror.

  Nothing.

  Sure, the combination of darkness and artificial light played games with my features. I looked ghoulish. Even my blond hair looked auburn. But nothing unusual happened.

  What had I expected? That the real Bloody Mary would appear and gouge out my eyes? Yeah, right.

  I turned to leave. But then a strange sensation came over me. The same feeling I’d had before someone from the other side came for a visit. My whole body tingled. The backs of my legs itched something fierce. I could sense someone staring at me.

  Oh, no, it’s happening again!

  The temperature dropped in the bathroom. A cold draft chilled the room, circled my feet, then whipped up around my hips, faster and faster, until I was engulfed.

  I watched in horror as my features melted away. My round chin narrowed to a pointy V, while my hair lengthened and my eyes grew smaller and closer together. No longer did I see myself in the mirror. The ghost’s features filled the space in the mirror where I should have been.

  Perspiration dripped down my face. Please no – not now.

  The stranger stared back at me. Her eyes widened.

  “Oh, my God,” she whispered. “You can see me.”

  I lost my balance and fell on the tiled floor.

  Oh, my gosh, Bloody Mary does exist!

  The flashlight slipped from my hand. The C batteries rolled across the floor.

  “Hey, Steph?” Hillary yelled through the door. “Did Mary get you?”

  Though it was dark, I could still see the woman above me in the mirror.

  She cocked her head. At first I thought she’d heard Hillary. But she was gesturing about something else. A line of light appeared on the upper left side of the mirror, etching out a long rectangular shape. It looked like some kind of portal or door. Then a low, guttural sound caused the mirror to vibrate.

  The woman turned, took a hesitant step toward the pulsating door in the mirror. In and out, in and out; the door seemed to breathe, to have a life of its own. I swear I could hear it gasping.

  “Don’t open it!” I screamed.

  “What’s going on in there? Jeez, she’s weird,” Megan said.

  The woman’s hand continued to reach for the handle of the strange looking door. The noise grew louder and louder. Couldn’t she hear it?

  The woman leaned over just inches away. Suddenly the door in the mirror reached up and brushed against one of her manicured hands. She jumped back.

  Then the door in the mirror burst open. Gray wisps whooshed out and surrounded the woman. She tried to push them away but was overpowered.

  “Help meeee!”

  The mirror shattered into a million pieces. I jumped out of the way, and flung the bathroom door open, but not without stepping on some of the glass.

  Hillary fell on the carpet. “Hey, what’s your problem? Omigod, bitch! You broke my mirror.”

  “Steph, what’s going on?” Cura asked. But I didn’t stop to answer.

  I ran into the bedroom, knocking over a bowl of popcorn and a can of Diet Coke.

  The others shouted, but I didn’t stop. I took two and three steps at a time down the stairs, and felt my left ankle twist to the right. I tried to grab onto the staircase railing, but missed. Instead I fell down to the bottom.

  “What’s going on?” Mrs. Swanson ran into the hallway, concern etched on her face. The other moms jumped up, my own mother’s frantic voice in the background.

  Mom was going to be so pissed.

  I didn’t wait to find out. The palms of my hands slammed into the front door. The sound couldn’t muffle the catcalls of the girls upstairs.

  “I told you she’s a freak!”

  But I didn’t care. I had to get out of there! I bolted from the house only to see my own home dark and foreboding. I couldn’t help but wonder if the ghost was already waiting for me in a mirror at home.

  Chapter 2

  Mom slammed the door shut and glared at me. I could feel her anger from across the room.

  “What were you thinking running out of Mrs. Swanson’s house like that?”

  I looked away, refusing to acknowledge my mother’s concern. Instead, I leafed through my latest seventeen magazine. I tried to act like it didn’t matter, though inside, my stomach felt like mush. My heart was still racing.

  Mom had just returned from the failed auxiliary meeting. To say she wasn’t happy that I’d ruined her social hour was an understatement. I’d pissed her off royally. It would have been nice if she’d been concerned about what caused me to run out of Hillary’s house. But no.

  “Well?” Mom didn’t wait for an answer. She stormed across the room and ripped the magazine out of my hands. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

  “It was lame.” I avoided eye contact. “It wasn’t as if we were really doing anything, anyway.”

  That got Mom’s attention. She turned back around, her eyes bugging out. “What were you doing then?”

  Figures, she’d blame the whole thing on me. But could I really blame her? I mean, I didn’t exactly leave on good terms.

  “Uh … nothing much.” I sank deeper into the La-Z-Boy. The memory of fleeing the Swanson’s home stuck to me like a bad nightmare.

  “Well, it couldn’t have been nothing the way you ran out of there.” Mom shook her head. “Thank goodness I scheduled a meeting for you with a counselor tomorrow. Maybe he can talk some sense into you because I sure as heck can’t.”

  Meeting with a counselor? Wasn’t it bad enough that I’d seen a psychologist? Now a counselor?

  “What? Mom, why do I have to go? I already went to see Dr.—”

  “I can’t deal with your behavior. The crosses in the garage are bad enough. But now you’re destroying property. I think you need to see someone. Apparently the last specialist didn’t help.”

  I cringed at the mention of seeing yet another doctor. She must really be concerned if she’d called a counselor considering how much it had embarrassed her the first time.

  OMG. I’ll probably have to take drugs again. I couldn’t do that. I had to have my wits together to help Allison. I couldn’t go. I just couldn’t.

  “Mom—”

  “I don’t want to hear it.” Mom’s eyes blazed. “While you’re at it, I think you should go back to Mrs. Swanson and apologize for your rude behavior.”

  As if I’d do that in a bazillion years!

  “Mooom! Come on. I’m sorry, okay? What more do you want out of me?”

  “Well, for one, start showing some manners. Harrumph!”

  My perfect mother actually harrumphed.

  “I taught you better than that.”

  Yeah, right. I knew the drill by heart – never question the authorities, or tell them you see dead people.

  “Right.” I nodded my head, tuning her out.

  “First off, you are paying for that mirror you broke.” Mom stomped away, then swung back around. “What were you thinking? I can’t believe you did that.”

  “Mom, it wasn’t like that. It was an accident. I’ll pay for it, okay?”

  “Well.” My mother glared at me, waiting for me to argue. When I didn’t she folded her arms. “You are going to the counselor tomorrow.”

  “But—”

  “No buts.” Mom smoothed the front of her designer pants. “End of discussion.”

  She turned from me. “I never had this problem with your brother,” she muttered as she walked away.

  Of course not. Perfect Ricky. He could do no wrong. Well, not in Mom’s eyes. I knew about his secret stash of Playboys that he kept under a loose part of the carpet in his closet. He tossed those nasty magazin
es before leaving to do his stint with the Peace Corps, in Peru.

  No, Mom didn’t know about that. She’d birth puppies if she knew Ricky wasn’t the innocent she believed him to be.

  The urge to spill the truth about what had really happened – first, Allison’s reappearance in the garage and then some dead woman appearing in the mirror at Hillary’s place – overcame me.

  But all it took was the memory of the visit to the shrink to erase that thought.

  I got up and went up to my room. The experiences of the last couple of hours still hung over me like one of those cartoonish black clouds drenching me in spirits instead of rain.

  But even worse was Mom’s little revelation. I knew she’d be pissed – but come off it. Make me see another counselor?

  I couldn’t believe she’d actually made an appointment, but I knew I’d better go if I wanted her to forget this whole nightmare.

  I’d deal with the cross of the other spirit later.

  Oh, no, I totally forgot about the cross in the garage. But even worse, what do I do for dead people who get swallowed up in some kind of portal?

  I shuddered remembering the ghost from Hillary’s. mirror But another more horrific picture came to me. An uglier image that didn’t deal with ghosts.

  What I feared was everyone’s reaction come Monday. By now, the whole incident had undoubtedly been text messaged to everyone. Memories of how the school reacted to Hillary’s betrayal hit me like a hammer. Just remembering the words, ‘She sees dead people’, scribbled on my locker in bright red made me want to hurl.

  Why doesn’t someone just kill me now and get this over with?

  Chapter 3

  I almost expected to see Allison again. Her warning of danger haunted me, making it impossible to get any sleep.

  But then again … it could be the embarrassment I felt for running out of Hillary’s house during that stupid Bloody Mary thing, embarrassing my perfect mother who was getting back at me by forcing me to this lame session with a new counselor. I’d hated the last one, Mr. Carter, who – besides Hillary – had been the reason I refused to tell anyone about my ability to see the dead.

  Mom drove me down to the counselor’s office.

  “You’ll like this new counselor,” she said. “According to Debbie, he has a way with the young people.”

  Debbie was one of Mom’s sorority friends. Boy, she must think I’m a certified nut case if she confided in Debbie.

  “I thought you didn’t like to talk about my ‘little’ issue? Why did you tell her?”

  “No matter what you think, I care about you. Don’t be giving me that look.” She pointed her finger at me. “It can’t hurt to at least talk to someone.”

  Yeah, right. I turned my iPod classic up louder, drowning out my mother’s words.

  Her disgusted look ended the conversation.

  Mom drove past a huge complex that housed a Borders bookstore, a Starbucks, and numerous other shops. She signaled and drove across the street where an old office building stood, but all I saw were the shops. Oh, just great. See a counselor then go shop.

  “We’re here. We can meet at Starbucks in an hour or so.”

  “Don’t you have to sign me in or do one of your caring motherly things?”

  Mom sighed. “He already knows about you coming.”

  “He? Jeez, Mom aren’t you afraid he might molest me or something?”

  “Okay, that’s it.” Mom opened her car door. “You complain about me not trusting you. Here’s an opportunity to show me I can. Anyway, I already had a meeting with him. And your father looked him up. He’s legit. Come on, let’s go.”

  I turned my iPod off, avoiding her.

  We both got out of the car. My mother kept glancing around.

  I resisted the urge to laugh. So much for the shrink being legit. She might tell herself it’s okay, but Heaven forbid if anyone saw her taking her daughter to one.

  So far so good. No one I recognized. Mom probably planned it that way.

  OMG.

  A familiar face appeared. I stopped. My mother gave me a dirty look. That is, until she glanced across the way.

  I could tell she was thinking the same thing.

  What’s Dylan doing here?

  Dylan had a big Sport Chalet bag in his hand. Probably getting yet another bodysuit for his surfing meets. I didn’t know how he could stand surfing in the cold water.

  I didn’t have time to talk. At least the counselor’s office was inside the huge brown building across the way. There was no way Dylan could know where I was going. Still I couldn’t be too careful.

  No such luck. Dylan glanced up and smiled, just as I closed in on him.

  My mother looked very uncomfortable. She looked away, fumbling with her car keys.

  “Hey, Mrs. Stewart. Stephanie.”

  Dylan was one of those guys you could always count on. He had the most amazing smile I’d ever seen. He so could have been boyfriend material, except for one major fact – he knew me too well.

  There were times I could’ve sworn he wanted more than friendship. Dylan might be cute, but I couldn’t get one thing out of my head. It would be like kissing an older brother.

  Eww. I don’t think so.

  Also I swear I could sense him checking me out like some humongous radar. I could feel him searching and prodding for something. But what? The hairs on my arms would rise up under his intense stare.

  “Hi, Dylan,” My mother said, glancing down at her watch. “Stephanie, you know the number. I’ll meet you later, okay?” She then turned back to Dylan. “Nice seeing you, Dylan. Say hi to your mother for me.”

  Without another word, she walked away. Not once did she glance back. I watched as she made her way across the street to the shopping mall.

  “Hey,” Dylan said, watching the retreating back of my mother, “was it something I said?”

  “Nah, she’s always that way.”

  “Where you going?”

  “Oh, nowhere. Just need to pick something up.” I avoided glancing at the paper in my hand.

  “Over there?” Dylan pointed at the dreaded building. My heart missed a beat. You’d think the words Psychiatrist for Crazies flashed in neon lights for everyone to see.

  “Yeah, what of it?”

  Dylan raised his eyebrows. “Just asking. You don’t need to bite my head off.”

  I leaned over to playfully punch his arm. He pulled away and scowled. Jeez, he’s even cuter mad.

  “Oh, sorry. I’d love to chat but I really got to go.”

  Dylan followed me past the water fountain to the glass door. I put my hand on the door, then turned to face him. I couldn’t believe he didn’t take the hint and leave. But then again, why should I be surprised? It seemed like Dylan always showed up at the weirdest moments.

  He stood there, staring at me. I could sense him trying to pull out the truth. For a brief moment, I succumbed to those huge hazel eyes. It would be perfect to finally have someone with whom to share my secret. Why not Dylan?

  Let me list the reasons why I couldn’t trust my secret to him. First, he’s a guy. And second, he is a friend – a friend who at the moment annoyed the hell out of me.

  Suddenly I was angry. I cursed under my breath. Where did he come off trying to read my mind or whatever?

  I shook my head. “Well, I got to go.”

  I nudged the door open with my shoulder.

  “Wait!” Dylan put his hand on my shoulder. “Want to talk afterwards?”

  My heart raced. I couldn’t hide anything from him.

  “No. Later, okay?”

  His face crumpled.

  I stepped away. “See ya later.”

  I let the door drift shut. Even with the door closed, I could sense him. Boy, I really needed to get a life. One that didn’t involve friends with intense radar or dead chicks bugging me.

  Well, so much for the idea of bolting out of this visit.

  I didn’t really want to see this counselor, but I was af
raid I might run into Dylan again if I left too soon.

  What was it about him anyway? He seemed to always pop up when I least expected it. My gosh, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was stalking me.

  I glanced down at the number on the paper: 282. All the rooms looked the same. The hallway stretched on for like forever. Then the number 282 showed up.

  Light Bringers Family Support Services

  A funky emblem that looked like a lightning bolt burst out of the plaque. Jeez, were these people real? Maybe they took their own Prozac or whatever other meds they prescribed.

  I opened the door and walked in.

  The office looked similar to the last one I’d been to. In the middle of the room was a glass table covered with old magazines. Lime-colored, cushioned chairs were pushed against the equally hideous colored walls. The oversized generic paintings did nothing to perk up the office. Over to the side was the reception desk with a clipboard.

  It looked like an office that a shrink would have, but different.

  There was something funny about this place. I could just sense it. For one thing, there was no secretary sitting behind the counter.

  Jeez, I’d been around Dylan too long. Why not add paranoia to my list of crazy behavior.

  Mom did say he knew I was coming. I shrugged my shoulders and walked over to the counter. I signed my name on the list and went back to one of the chairs.

  Picking up one of the ancient People magazines, I thumbed through, snickering at the photos of last year’s fashions.

  A cough caught my attention.

  “Stephanie, is it? Hello, I’m Anthony Warner. Call me Dr. Anthony.” He stuck his hand out. “I’m glad to finally meet you.”

  Great. Was this going to be like a Dr. Phil session? Why did these counselors think that if you called them by their first names, you’d feel more comfortable and want to spill your guts?

  I reached out and was surprised by his grip. Strong and firm not damp and wimpy like the last counselor. So far he had one point in his favor.

  I pushed that thought aside and glanced back at the new counselor. Not bad looking for a shrink – tall, not too old and he still had his brown hair.