Shards of Moonlight || A Short-story Collection

How Leather Links to a Murder - Myst

The hangers of awaiting treasures tingled as I weaved my dominant hand through silver silk suits, sparkling sequin dresses, and velvet evening gowns. As always, a layover at the second-hand clothing store proved to be more than entertaining. Who even wore clothes like that? Yet, its outdatedness made the quaint store, seemingly suffocating between H&M and a frequented café, so appealing. The second you entered, the scent of perfume that could have belonged to a loving grandmother wafts around you like a lullaby. Innocent newbies, not knowing what may lie in wait for them, might just stumble nose-first into the racks of rags right in front of them. It never ceased to amaze me how a room that felt like being no more than 12 square meters big, could be home to a neverending flood of curious cloths. From the iceberg-white, fake fur next to the counter to the baby blue, dignified prom-dress at the back of the first row, you could find any- and everything here. The bright doorbell only chimed every once in a while, leaving the comfortable silence untouched. In a busy city like New York with construction workers on one side of the street and a shopping mall with all its colorful glory on the other, McLaren's felt diversified in its own way such as visiting the American Museum of Natural History. The only difference: history stays the same, while you never knew what you were in for in this second-hand shop. Once again, it did not let me down.

Squinting my eyes at the overflowing river of clothes after a demanding day at work, an unusual sight captured them: a girlish-cut, black leather jacket. Pouting, I wondered if yet another (leather) jacket would do my closet any good. Do not deny it, even you own more than one. Shrugging with a sigh, I grabbed it and sauntered over to the only full-length mirror I knew this shop owned. The moment I cast a glance at the mirror, my jaw dropped and I squealed in shock. I knew for sure Misses McLaren and me were the only people around Then how come a pretty girl, no older than fifteen, stood right next to me? We stood shoulder to shoulder, while wearing the same jacket, though every time I turned my head to talk to her, she disappeared. The mirror had worked fine before, so only one logical conclusion remained: the mirror reflected an illusion. One way remained to find out.

I reached for the even surface of the mirror, admittedly before I could touch it, an "Are you alright, my dear?" resounded. I reassured the adorable, elderly lady behind the counter with a cheerful reply and optimistic jump to try to wave over the stuffed ranks of poofy winter coats. That out of the way, I sucked in a deep breath, touched the mirror and closed my eyes anticipating anything.

An outer worldly laughter in the colors of positive sunflowers, innocent daisies, and stunning violets filled my heart with pure happiness and childlike joy. A swing creaked as the emerald eyes of a girl of approximately ten years twinkled, while she struggled to push a slightly younger child on a disused playground in a modest neighborhood. Even tough the low quality of the rusty swings, battered slides and washed out climbing scafold - it all did not matter. Collapsing, the older girl laughed while being out of breath, until her spitting image of a sister rushed over to throw herself on top of her sibling to tickle her. "Jeanie - please stop...I can't - ahaha," the older sister managed to emit before being caught up in another fit of laughter.

The image changed to chirping of crickets on a late summer evening as two heads stared up at the night sky, whose stars paled against the blinding city lights from afar and the muffled shouting from down below. "Sis?", a thin, frightened voice questioned, "do you think daddy will leave us again?" Familiar forest-green eyes trained themselves on those of the young girl to her left side, that moved her feet under the frayed blanket in anxiety. Jeanie had grown up since the last time I had seen her. A messy braid of dark hair hung over her shoulder as glistening tears filled her eyes. Her sister bit her lips undecidedly, before inching closer and brushing the hair from Jeanie's shoulder. "Isn't your birthday today, sweetie?", she smiled light-heartedly and revealed a wrapped-up gift, "you will grow into it."

The second I got used to the situation and began to process it, another switch proceeded. "Jean, you will be never be anything but mine!", a deep, poisonous voice sent chills through my veins. Simultaneously, I saw the flash of shadows, dark leather and a recognizable silhouette of silver reflecting the moon light. A kitchen knife?

Opening my eyes with the difficulty of awaking from a deep slumber, I could not believe that I had a vision. As I stared into the mirror, my own pair of chocolate-color eyes mirrored all my confusion and horror, until I recognized the material I had seen a glimpse of in the last scene. She could not have - I rapidly shrugged out of the jacket, wanting to put it back, but a rustling of paper I did not notice before threw me off. Reaching into the inner pocket and fished out a well-kempt note, that seemed to have been ripped out of a notebook just a few seconds ago. The writing said:

316 W 120th Street, New York City, New York

Thank you.