Shadows of Yesterday

Chapter 8: Speed Dialing My Demons

I sat cross-legged on my bed late one night, reading the beginning of some novel Amy had picked up from a thrift store a few days before. I couldn't remember what she said it was about--the dust jacket was missing, so she said I would just have to figure it out as I went along. So far, all I could tell was that it was called "The Hourglass Door" and that it was about some girl named Abby. It was more her style of book than it was mine, but I was enjoying it so far.

The front door creaking open startled me out of my reading. My mom's hushed voice saying goodnight carried down the stairs from the kitchen, followed by Amy's equally quiet response and the sound of a bedroom door closing. I set down my book and tiptoed up the stairs.

Amy was perched on the edge of a stool at the kitchen counter, still dressed in her uniform from her evening shift at the only bakery in town. Her red hair was still tied up in the neat ponytail she'd put in before work, only now, it was slightly looser and couldn't hold all the flyaways she'd tried to hairspray down. She was nibbling on a muffin from the large box sitting open in front of her, a strange look on her face. I tiptoed over and wrapped my arms around her in a hug. "Welcome home! You bring anything good back?"

She grinned, but there was something too bright about it. Something I couldn't quite put my finger on. "Hey, Jax! I brought muffins, you want one? I even got your favorite."

I peered into the box and eagerly snatched one of the chocolate ones, then came to sit next to her, trying to ignore the sickeningly sweet aroma coming from the pastries. I didn't remember muffins ever smelling like that before. "How was work?" I asked.

She shrugged. "It was work. Same old." Then, she reached into her pocket and pulled out her silver bracelet, the one I hadn't seen her without since she bought it. "Here, for you. I've been trying to downsize my wardrobe lately, and I think that'd look better on you than it does on me."

I gingerly took it from her hands, my brows furrowing in confusion. "But you love this thing."

"Eh. Silver's not really my color."

"If you say so..." I said, gently sliding it onto my wrist.

The kitchen lights caught the reflections on the silver strangely, and the more I stared at it, the more it hurt my eyes. I blinked and looked back up at Amy, but I couldn't find her face in the dark. When had it gotten dark? "Amy?" I called uncertainly.

There was no answer. I tried to spin around to look for her, but my feet wouldn't move. They were rooted to the ground like the stem of a fragile flower. I tried to call out once more, but my voice wouldn't carry. No sounds would come from my throat. Panic clawed at my chest, and when I tried to scream, it was swallowed by the darkness. Suddenly, the smell of the muffins on the counter was too sour, like rotting fruit in the summer sun. 

Letters began to inch their way under the door that separated the basement and the main floor. They crawled toward me like giant, horrid insects on the hardwood, causing panic to claw at my chest more with every second. Even though it was pitch black, I could make out every letter: An I. Then an M. Then an S.

I tugged at my legs, desperately trying to free them from whatever it was that was keeping me down. No, no, no, no, no... Please! I thought. The sound of paper on wood was deafening, an awful noise that made my heart race more with each second. I didn't want to see the rest of those letters. I couldn't.

One of my legs came unstuck from the floor with a nauseating ripping sound, and I went tumbling to the floor. I threw my arms backwards to catch my fall, but I never hit the ground.

 Instead, I found myself suddenly drowning in the smell of antiseptic. A sea of florescent white and baby blue filled my vision wherever I turned. A thousand blank faces with sorrowful eyes stared at me, chasing me wherever I went. When the faces opened to speak, their voices were shrill. Rhythmic. Their mouths were green lines that I couldn't stand to look at. I crashed into a door and frantically clawed at the space where a handle should be. One of those pitying pairs of eyes shook at me in a firm "no."