I woke up to something scratching on my bedroom door. I opened it, but there was nothing there. Shivering, I walked down the hall to my cousin’s room. Her name is Cleo, and she is seven years old. I became her foster parent after a fateful walk in the woods. She has jet black hair and red eyes, but her parents both had blonde hair and blue eyes, which is weird. She’s says mysterious things when she’s asleep and when she think she’s alone and I’ve heard her. Stuff like “ The blood is too cold” and “ The murder will remain a mystery.”
I open her door and peer in. Cleo lays on her stomach, still in yesterday’s clothes. Funny, I remember her putting on pajamas. I walk to her side and gingerly flip her over. I am afraid of what I might see.
There is a long, deep scratch on her left cheek. There is a dark bruise on her right forearm. Her ankle is swollen and looks sore. Suddenly, the atmosphere seems to drop fifteen degrees. I take a step back. That is when I seem to see things from Cleo’s eyes.
I slowly lift my- no....Cleo’s eyelids. I see myself, only it’s not myself. There seems to be something else there, someone else there. It’s almost as if Cleo was in my body, just like I was in hers.
Slowly, almost as if I didn’t want to leave, my consciousness creeps out of Cleo’s body and back into my own. For a second, I seem to be floating in between, not in Cleo's body and not in my own. Then I'm in my own body. I see Cleo. Her face is chalk white. Her eyes are wide open. I back up towards the door and slam it behind me. I stand there, breathing heavily. What had I just witnessed?
After what seems like hours, I finally build up the courage to peek through the door. There she is, sleeping peacefully. A shudder runs down my spine. I frantically search for explanations for what just happened. Maybe a gust of wind blew through the door when I thought I felt the temperature dropping. Maybe her arm wasn’t bruised, maybe it was just a trick of the light. But even after all those explanations, one fact keeps presenting itself to me.
I saw myself through Cleo’s eyes. I’m sure of it.
Before I could investigate further, I had to go to to work and Cleo had to go to school. I work at a library, so I plan to do some research about Cleo’s parent’s death. I couldn't get anything out of Cleo; she wouldn’t even say a word.
At the library, I check through a stack of old newspapers. I only look at headlines; I’m pretty sure that people disappearing in the woods would be front page stuff in any newspaper.
Nothing so far. Wait. Here’s something:
Girl Mysteriously Disappears in Local Woods!
I read down the page:
“A local girl’s disappearance last Saturday morning during a fierce storm leaves investigators perplexed. Neighbors say they saw the girl and her parents walk out of their house and head to the woods at approximately 9:45 am. A storm struck at 10:05 am and ended at 11:50 am. At that time, people noticed their absence. Search parties were then sent out. The parents were found (in a state of mental instability), but the girl was not found. The victim of the disappearance was seven-year-old Cleo Sky. “
Cleo Sky! That’s Cleo’s real name! But how could it be? This newspaper is dated twenty years before I am even born!
