by E K Bennett
Right around that time, Miranda started dating Brian, I think. It’s funny how time has passed, in a month and a half, I’ll be an aunt. I’ll be an aunt.
“So you’re gonna be an aunt pretty soon, Lyd,” Dad says, spooning some ravioli onto his plate.
“And you’ll be a grandpa, old man,” I take a bite of bread and laugh. If this were my mom, she’d frown. She gets upset easily, she’d probably pout that she’s old now, but dad just smiles and passes the ravioli.
“It feels like just last week Miranda called with the news,” Dad muses.
That’s the thing about Miranda. She doesn’t visit Dad or anything, I think she’s mad at him for the divorce, whosever fault it was. She’s always kissed Mom’s ass, ever since we were little. She probably took sides with her.
“It’ll be nice having another little girl running around, it’s been so long since you were in diapers.” I groan. I hate talking about my “diaper days”. I was single-handedly the most boring baby ever.
“Okay, okay!” I laughs. “So how’s school?”
“It’s fine, I mean it’s school. It’s never really going to range far from ‘it sucks’ and ‘it’s fine’. How was work?”
“Never really ranges far from ‘fine’ and ‘sucked’,” he smiles. “Do you have a lot of homework?”
“Always do,” I retort. Because it’s true. “But that’s a problem for future Lydia to handle on Sunday Night.”
I finish up my pasta and clear the table, then Dad gets started on the dishes. I head to my room, securing my ear buds in my ears and pressing play on my iPod.
My second bedroom is much different, and much nicer, than my bedroom at home. For one, it’s way cleaner, as I’m only here every other weekend and don’t have to deal with cleaning it. My room at home is small with gross, stained carpet and green walls. This one is on the second floor and has way more space, with dark wooden floorboards and deep blue walls with pretty white trim all around. There’s a big window that looks out on the woodsy back yard and an easel in the corner. I got it for Christmas last year, and I still wish I could take it home. But it sits here, collecting dust until I get to visit.
I open the window and the chill of November tiptoes in, along with some stray raindrops diving through the screen. I take a seat under the window and the smell of rain dances around my head. I turn down my music to barely a whisper so I can hear the sound of rain against the leaves in the back.
I pull out the folded up drawing of Lotty from my pocket, its creases are loose and it’s easy to tell how many times I’ve opened it up. The more I look at it, the harder it is to remember that I even drew it. I sigh in frustration. I love my dad, I love visiting him. But I hate just sitting here instead of figuring out what the hell is in my house… If there even is anything there. Every time I think about it, that little voice in my head that’s buried behind all my memories and thoughts—my logic, my conscience—is screaming at me, calling me an idiot and trying to prove me wrong. It’s a little offensive.
But what if…
What if this is like one of those horror movies where the main character is insane? And you spend the whole movie thinking you’re on their side until the very end, where you realize that they’re insane and everything that happened on really happened in their mind. What if that’s me?
No. You can tell when you’re insane. I can’t just think all this stuff up.
The people in the movies can never tell they’re insane.
Damned voice of logic.
I just have to think about what has happened so far, and how that affects me. And how I can get some information.
Well first was the car accident. Well, the little girl getting hit on my street. And then… nothing. I can’t remember anything after that. She said something, didn’t she? I want to remember. I need to remember what she said. I quickly access the Notes app on my iPod and type “Car accident” so I remember to show Sam. Next…actually, before that. On the day where my note was stolen, I saw a little girl, right before the note went missing. This I remember crystal clear; the look she gave me—I’m sure it was directed at me—was unforgettable. She was walking with someone, an older woman. I thought she was a teacher, but they looked to be together. If that girl with Lotty, there’s got to be some connection with her and the teacher. I add that to the list. I wrack my brain for something else, mentally retracing my steps through my memory. The note… if that girl was Lotty, is it possible that she took the note?
Do you hear yourself?
I try to block out the negative thoughts, Logic is getting in the way of my investigation.
Investigation? What are you investigating anyway? Even if ghosts were real, and there was one around, why do you need to “investigate” it?
I quickly jot down “dreams” on my list. Ever since the note, I’ve been getting weird dreams. Like the one on Halloween. I instinctively think of Romeo and Juliet, how Romeo’s friends try to get him to go to the Capulets’ dinner party, and he feels weird about it because of a dream he had. He goes anyway because he knows that something big will happen, and he doesn’t want to mess with fate, no matter what the consequences would be afterwards. Ironically, that’s what I feel. Ha! I tell my Logic. That’s why I’m investigating. So get off my ass!
You know, having an argument with your conscience isn’t really helping with the whole “insanity thing.
I ignore that last bit, but it still taunts me. I am having an argument with my own self. That’s a step away from talking to yourself.
Anyway, the Ouija board note goes on my list for sure, and so does the drawing. Other than that, I can’t really think of anything else to put on the list. I wish I had my note to Sam with me. I want to get another look at it. There were words on it that were still legible amongst the rest of the water damage. I want to know what those are. Until then, I close out the list app and get up, pulling the window shut feeling a little less on edge about not having answers. There’s so much going through my mind all the time, it’s always good to have a list sorting a chunk of it out.
I feel a little at ease about my Logic voice, too. My dream theory about fate and all that wasn’t bullshit either. I just know.
You know, Lyd, Romeo dies in the end. How's that for fate?
11. She Gets a Visit
"I can't find it...I can't find it..." I whisper and frantically dump the contents out of my sock drawer, turning every sock inside out then back again to find the Lotty's answers from Halloween night.
"Shit, shit, shit," I say under my breath. "MOM!"
She shows up in my doorway, looking tired. "What the hell are you doing Lydia Marie? I just cleaned your room yesterday when you were gone! But of course, you can't keep things nice for--"
"Mom!" I interrupt, exasperated. "I'll clean it up, God!"
"Don't--"
"Say the Lord's name in vain. Sorry," I finish for her dully, not really feeling any remorse.
She looks like she's going to get hives from the mess I'm making. "What did you want?"
"I was wondering if you had taken anything out of my sock drawer when you cleaned my room. Like a small piece of paper with a few words on it?"
I cross my fingers behind my back hopefully. "No, I did not."
She starts to back out of the room and I heave a big sigh. "Okay," I groan, getting ready to start looking somewhere else.
"Well I don't know what to tell you, Lyd! There's a lot of things I need to be doing right now, and keeping track of your things isn't really on the top of my list! Maybe you can go to work for me, maybe you can cook dinner, maybe you can start cleaning my room when I'm gone! I don't think you..."
I roll my eyes and stop listening. My mom likes to drag things on and on and on and on and on until her voice box pops or at least until she can find something else to be dissatisfied with. She's so fucking melodramatic, it's ridiculous. Aren't I, the raging teenager, supposed to be the one who makes a big deal about everything? Unlike my mom, I don't alway
s have to be innocent, or right for that matter.
So far I haven't found anything, so I start reassembling my sock drawer and my phone rings. "Shit, it's Sam..." I mutter and pick up the phone. I don't want to tell her about the lost paper. I don't know what she'll even do.
"Hey," I say into the speaker.
"Hey Lyd," Sam's voice rings out into my ear. "Are you home from your Dad's yet? I want to hang out, I'm having Lydia withdrawal."
"Umm.." I lift up my pillow and pull back my sheets on my bed. Still nothing there. "Yeah, I just got home a bit ago. I can get to your house in like 10 minutes if I leave soon."
There's a pause. I have to squint to see under my bed because of the overcast sky only letting in a milky glow through my window. I hate this weather, because I refuse to turn my lights on during the day since I can't stand the mixture of natural light and fluorescent, even if it's not sunny out. I stretch my arm out as far as it will go under the bed and pat around, feeling for paper. Nothing.
"Well," Sam says. "I was hoping maybe we could hang out at your house. Maybe, if you're not already sick of this, we could figure out some more information on Lotty."
I sit up and hit my head on the bed frame. "Ow. Sorry, I mean yeah, that's fine. I've actually been waiting all weekend to get home so I can figure out all this shit. I even made a list!"
Sam laughs, probably from excitement because she does that a lot. "Shocker," she says (It's true, I'm always making lists...). "I'll be over in a little bit okay?"
I scan the room one more time. "All right, I'll just--" my eyes skirt over the mirror at my reflection. Behind me...that mutilated little girl, sitting on my bed, blood staining my sheets and staring blankly at my reflection with her head cocked to the side. My throat closes up.
"Sam, I gotta go," I croak and hang up the phone. My eyes don't leave the mirror, and we stare at each other for one minute, two, five, ten, fifteen, without talking.
I finally find my voice. I whisper, "...Lotty?"
A small smile reaches the little girl's cracked lips. I can't smile though. Terror freezes my body, but excitement keeps me going. Lotty bobs her head slowly, like she's listening to a catchy song. It's freaking the hell out of me. Suddenly she stops.
"Lotty, I'm going to turn around, okay? I'm going to look at you face to face. Don't move, okay?" I talk softly, her presence is intoxicatingly terrifying. She nods the slightest nod possible, and her lip starts to bleed.
I turn around slowly and face the girl on my bed. She's tiny, at least eight years old. Maybe nine. But the girl I see in front of my eyes is not the same girl in my mirror. Her hair is golden blonde and not brown, there is not blood in it, her eyes are amber and not black, her dress is clean with lace and she's wearing white stockings without holes. She looks like she belongs in the nineteenth century. She could be real if not for the grayness around her, like she's on the fringe of being colorless.
"Your hair is tangled," is all I say. She smiles warmly and plays with the hem of her dress. Nothing moves but her hands. It looks...unnatural.
Here, I reach for my night stand and set my hairbrush a foot away from her on the bed. I don't want to touch her. The temperature plunges at least ten degrees around her small body. To my surprise, she takes it. Lotty runs the brush through the tangles and her curls bounce back up, shiny and new. I smile.
"Lotty, can you talk?"
She doesn't answer, just keeps combing her hair.
I wait. "Lotty? What did they ask you on Halloween night? Was that you who used the board?"
She stares at me and nods once.
"What did they ask you?"
I glance at the mirror. Demonic Lotty is brushing her hair, chunks of it come off in the bristles of the brush, followed by bits of gnarled flesh. I gasp and turn back.
Lotty giggles, high pitched and echoed. I sit up more and she opens her mouth.
Instead of words, dry whispers fly out of her mouth, incoherent and smooth. I feel as if there are multiple Lottys that are gasping words played backwards, and my skin prickles. Her mouth moves so quickly that it looks like a blur. I back away.
Her body starts to shake and she holds out her hand. I shake my head, I don't want to go near her. I want to leave, I don't want to look at the mirror but I have to... I peak over. Mirror Lotty is screaming and writhing with a sick smile pasted on her scarred face. I cover my ears, but the whispering is in my head, I can hear her screaming faintly, I can hear it in the whisper...
Suddenly it all stops. I look up and hold my breath. She's stopped, but her arm is still outstretched, holding a small, yellow paper. "No..." I whisper. "You...?"
She nods and glances down at the paper. Shit. She wants me to take it. "Lotty..."
She raises her little eyebrows and looks down again. "Lotty I can't." But I need to...
She stares at me intently, almost angrily. She opens her mouth again and I get up. "Okay..."I squeak and quickly snatch the paper out of her hand. She giggles again and, with a final, ear-piercing scream like shattering glass, is gone.
12. She Pays a Visit
She needed to know more about this girl. Lydia. Yes, that was the name. It's not like Lotty was just popping in for visits just to freak the girl out. She needed to know more. Who knows, maybe Lotty could gather up enough strength to talk to her. Maybe she could tell her the plan. Maybe Lydia would agree and help her, that way things would go a lot smoother.
Lotty laughed as she watched Lydia frantically search for the piece of paper with the simple words from Halloween night on them. Her panic gave Lotty strength, and soon she would be visible through the mirror.
The mirror was easy to attach to. It was old, with a hand-carved frame that was definitely from Lotty's time. It was probably passed down from generations-- although Lotty had no connection to it while she was alive, the mirror was a good anchor to Lydia. It was definitely made the year that Lotty died. The year she was killed.
Lydia was talking to someone, her mother. It wasn't the sister, of that she was positive. Annoyance radiated off of Lydia, and Lotty drank it up like a glass of milk. Suddenly a telephone rang, it was a strange sound. Lotty never owned one, as she came from a poor family. Unlike Slyvia. Sylvia was one of her favorite kills. They didn't find her body for three days.
Anyway, Lydia picked up the tiny phone (where was the cord? Or the dial?) and spoke into it for a few moments. Lydia was worried that her friend would find out that she lost the paper. Suddenly Lotty was outside of the mirror, sitting on the bed. It was just a matter of time before...
"Okay, I'll just..." Lydia glanced at the mirror and almost dropped the telephone. "I have to go." She put it down and stared into Lotty's bloodshot reflection. She just stood there, slightly shaking. The mixture of terror and excitement was sweet like candy, and Lotty used that to gain more strength.
Lydia had such strong energy. Lotty could tell that she had a lot of emotion bottled up in her that it radiated off her and acted as a sort of power supply for Lotty to physically form. She was strong, just like Lotty's friend told her when she was alive. She hadn't seen her friend since the day she died. She didn't know why. This made her sad, and she tried to think of better things. Like the way she felt when she would kill.
She bobbed her head up and down slightly as she gathered enough energy to start making slight movements, thinking of all the people she slaughtered. After a few minutes, Lydia said, "...Lotty?"
She smiled slightly but couldn't do much else with the slight strength she had so far. Lydia just stared back. "Lotty, I'm going to turn around, okay? I want to look at you face to face. Don't move, okay?" She spoke softly and Lotty nodded. Her cracked lip started to bleed and there was a surge of pain through her whole body and she regretted moving in the first place. It was too soon.
Lydia turned around slowly as if Lotty was a bird on a tree branch that might flutter off at any sudden movement or sound. She looked startled to see the difference between the two Lottys. She was glad she did a good job on
fixing up her appearance. She liked to look like she would have if she never killed anyone. Not like she regretted any of it. She just hated being cursed with the appearance of all those she killed when she was in the mirror. She had no control of that.
"Your hair is tangled," Lydia blurted out. She gave Lotty a plastic hairbrush and she took it, combing out her tangled curls. Lydia smiled, which was good. She was beginning to trust the normal looking Lotty. Maybe soon she could explain....
"Can you talk, Lotty?"
Lotty said nothing. She couldn't yet.
She asks about Halloween. Lotty remembers perfectly. The sister was at a table, the one with the person inside her. She was with friends, and they were all touching the portal piece. They asked her if--