Saving Sharon

"You know, I've been having the weirdest dreams lately," Renee mused, her eyes distant as she stirred her morning coffee.

"Again?" Steve looked up from his newspaper, one eyebrow arched skeptically. "Still about that Tate woman?"

Renee nodded, her gaze lingering on the black and white photo of Sharon Tate in the article he had open. "Every night it's the same thing. Woodstock, 1969, and she's there, smiling, just before..."

The silence between them grew thick as Steve folded the paper, his face a mask of concern. "Renee, you can't keep doing this to yourself

."

"Doing what?" She snapped, her voice edged with irritation. "I'm just telling you what I've seen!"

---

The day started like any other, the sun peeking over the horizon, painting the sky a soft pink. Renee had decided to visit the library, hoping to find something, anything, that would explain her vivid, recurring dreams. The librarian, a kind, elderly woman, had suggested a book on historical events that had occurred during Woodstock. As Renee flipped through the pages, her eyes fell upon an article about Sharon Tate, the pregnant actress who had been brutally murdered by the Manson Family. Her heart skipped a beat as she realized the woman from her dreams was real.

---

The house was a relic of a bygone era, a sprawling mansion nestled in the hills of Los Angeles. The once-celebrated abode now stood as a grim reminder of the horrors that had unfolded six years prior. Renee parked her car outside, her palms sweaty on the steering wheel. She had read about this place in her research, but seeing it in person was a surreal experience. The gates were open, the property seemingly abandoned. She stepped out of the car, the gravel crunching beneath her feet as she approached the house.

---

The air grew thick with an eerie sense of déjà vu as Renee wandered through the unkempt garden. She could almost hear the distant echoes of laughter and music, a stark contrast to the solemn silence that hung over the place now. As she stepped into the house, a sudden gust of wind slammed the door shut behind her, sending a shiver down her spine. Her heart racing, she called out into the darkness, "Sharon? Are you here?" The house remained silent, save for the ticking of a grandfather clock somewhere in the depths of the mansion.

The musty scent of old books and dust filled her nostrils as she descended into the basement. A door, partially hidden by a tattered velvet curtain, beckoned her. Renee pushed it open to reveal a room that looked as though it had been frozen in time. The walls were adorned with psychedelic posters and the floor was littered with vinyl records and candle wax. In the center of the room, a strange, pulsating light emanated from an object that looked like a cross between a crystal ball and an antique radio. The light grew brighter as she approached, and she felt an inexplicable pull towards it.

With trembling hands, Renee reached out to touch the light. The moment her fingertips made contact, the world around her spun out of control. A dizzying sensation overwhelmed her, and she stumbled backward. The light grew more intense, blinding her. And then, with a deafening crack, she was thrown through time itself. She found herself standing in the very same room, but it was August 8th, 1969, and the party was in full swing. The sound of laughter and music filled her ears, a stark contrast to the silence she had left behind.

Her eyes scanned the room, searching for any sign of the infamous Manson Family members. A sense of urgency grew within her as she realized she had been sent back to the fateful night of the murders. She had to find Sharon Tate and warn her, but first, she had to navigate the crowded basement without being noticed. The room was a maze of bodies, the smell of incense and sweat thick in the air. The light from the crystal radio faded, leaving her in the dim glow of candles and lava lamps.