Reflections of Regret

"TaaaDAHHHH" her hand flipped and swayed in front of the old dresser and mirror. Sarah sat it in the corner of the library; a misfit among the other crisp, light colors and sharp distinguished furniture.  Its form contained a snake like molding that stretched top to bottom and coiled around gnarled clawed feet which were perched atop carved wooden balls.  Above its thick, clunky body graced a mirror; faded and a little foggy but it balanced gracefully.  Despite its black walnut stain, some painful gouges, and its tiny wobble when bumped, it was still an eye catcher; save for the crack in the lower right corner of the looking glass.


Her mother stalked it carefully as if it would bite her.  "Where did you get THAT?"  Maxine reached out to touch it but thought better.  She sniffed presumptuously as if it contained mold or rotted food and needed to be discarded. She circled it twice more and at last opened the top drawer where she discovered some carvings: WD 1914. She touched the bureau more tenderly now and smiled at her daughter. "It belonged in this family." She said quietly. "My grandfather made it before he died.  Webster Daniels."


Her daughter clapped delightedly and hauled it up to her room; so proud to have reunited family. The following days carried her to the family history books; photos and letters. Sadly, very little could be found about her great-grandfather or that "end" of the family.  She went to the ultimate source; her mom, and asked about it.  Her mother sighed heavily and rubbed the edge of the kitchen table.  


"Well, it's not a very pleasant memory for the family." she said dryly.  "You see, my grandfather was a hard working, gruff man.  He worked his fingers to the bone on the railroad and worked at night as a carpenter. He expected things in his home to be ... a certain way." She folded her hands neatly in her lap hoping that would cinch it all up.  She glanced at Sarah and realized it didn't so she continued. "My grandmother, Zula, couldn't give him a son and he was less than happy with the daughter he DID have.  Theirs was NOT a marriage of  love.  As life got harder, so did they.  He turned to drink and his fists while Gramma turned to God and prayer.  One day, my mother, your Nina Sarah, woke to find Gramma gone.  Nina knew she had run off to save herself.  Things did not improve because my mother was now his focus.  It was not pleasant."  Once again she folded her hands hoping her daughter would take the hint.  "It's really not a nice discussion to have."  


"So how did he die?" 


The older woman looked at the floor.  "He drowned" 


There was an instant heaviness in the air. Maxine stared out the window, pretending to be captivated by something invisible outside.  Sarah toed the floor. Both women fidgeted in their chairs and decided abruptly they had more important things to do.  Discussion closed. 


Sarah's sleep was troubled that night.  She had poured over family history and photos for days, so to see her great-grandmother wafting in and out of her nightmares trying to speak was not a surprise.  Her manner was harried and panicked and in her dreams, Sarah heard "Look away"  She woke several times with a rushing heart and sweat soaked night clothes. She dismissed it.


She also began to dismiss the odd little noises and happenings; scratching became a critter in the wall.  The soft knocking was the gentle bump of the old dresser as her family moved about the hallway.  The whispers from the shadows had to be the wind.  They simply had to. She would pat the old wobbly dinosaur and promise. "Don't worry Grand-dad.  You can stay. "   


Then she saw him.  As she popped in front of the faded glass one day, she caught a shadow behind her, but it was only in the mirror.  Tall and  thin it seemed to come to the front of the mirror in jagged, disjointed bursts. Sarah pulled away with a gasp and quickly looked behind her.  Nothing. No one.  But the man stayed.  He was dark haired with black almost hollow eyes.  His face was long and drawn into a scowl with deep angry wrinkles.  He watched the younger soul intensely, leaning forward with a pensive half grin-half sneer.  Sarah's flesh turned cold and pricked with sweat.  She slammed her eyes shut against the frightening vision and turned on her heel, rushing from the room.


And so began the haunting of Sarah. The man behind the glass would come and stare at her often, pacing like a caged lion.  He would rush to the front and laying his hands on it like a window, try to force it open. Sarah watched him, terrified as he glowered at her and from the looks of it, shouted at her. So consumed was she, that sleep itself became a wishful thought.  She would find reason to stay out of her room;  be it with friends or conveniently falling into a light doze on the couch.  Her mother rarely said anything to her but at last came with a sheet.


"It's time Sarah. He's caused enough trouble for you.  You need to look away."


Although struck by the words, the young woman couldn't leave him.  She sat upstairs during the day for hours just focusing on the empty glass.  


"Mom, I think he wants my help. I think there's something wrong."


Maxine shook her head and cautioned her daughter; "Those are not reflections of YOUR life Sarah.  You don't understand what you're seeing.  Look away before it's too late."


But Sarah knew better.  She began to seek him.  Waiting for his whispers at night upon which she would sit in front of the dresser and speak to him.  





His voice was thick and watery, unintelligible even with the digital recorder she used, but he would nod furiously.


"Did you hurt someone?"


This would cause an emphatic shake.  She watched as he slammed his hands on his half of the dresser or covered his face; in despair.   He beckoned her to come closer where he would touch the crack in the mirror, his eyes dancing eagerly from the young woman back to that dirty, smudged fracture.   Poor man.  So lost. And so at last, she did what he had asked.  She reached up and touched the broken mirror.  


The room began to tilt and bend as Sarah felt a chill burrow through her bones.  The smell of the room was sweet and sick; like too many roses used to cover a piece of rotting meat.  She noticed through a mental fog that the room was not her own but the one from the mirror.  There was water running.  She felt called to it; down a dimly lit hall she crept.  Hearing a soft crying, she stopped in front of a half closed door.  Pushing it open showed her a woman; a young Nina Sarah leaning on the edge of the tub.  In it was her father, a deep gash at the side of his head.  His dark eyes were open under the water, seeing nothing. The liquid resembled Easter egg water; swirls of crimson and pink pranced along its surface.  The young woman sat up, oblivious to the new witness and punched him with her fists sobbing. "No more Father. No more of this EVER." and then she lowered her head, continuing to sob.  Startled by movement behind her,  Sarah spun quickly to see the man; Webster.  His jaw was set angrily and his eyes pierced her own. His skull, grotesquely misshapen and flat from a horrible wound was covered with a filmy and grey "skin", like damp molded bread.  He opened his mouth to speak but a congealed, black liquid bubbled from his face instead, causing a thick, pasty groan. It wreaked of regret and death. Sarah wretched.


At first she reached for him to help him or offer understanding.  But his mouth twisted into a sick coated grin.  He grabbed her shoulder and began to drive her backward toward the tub with surprising speed and strength.  Sarah was caught off guard and slipped on a small rug.  Her Nina was gone.  It was just the two of them.  He forced her down to her knees and over the edge.  The water was cold and murky.  It stung her eyes as she forced them open, begging herself to wake up. She screamed into the tub and swung wildly with her hands and arms.  He banged her head on the edge chanting her name with a dark hatred. Sarah was running out of breath.  Her head ached and her throat began to tighten.  Her lungs were screaming for her mouth to open; to gasp for air.  And so she did.


The ugly little dresser sat neglected with a sheet over it for what seemed to Maxine like a hundred years.  Since the death of her daughter, the woman had made sure it remained covered and locked away. They said her daughter choked while taking vitamins in her room.  It was how they tried to explain the small puddle of water near her mouth and the amount discovered in her lungs. Drowning. Maxine lived the rest of her life looking away and knowing better.  The old woman died with explicit instructions to "burn that damned piece of furniture to Hell"  But the lovely young woman who was cleaning out the house noticed it.  Loved it.  It was certainly a unique piece ( "Even signed by its maker here in the top drawer!" the woman remarked to herself) and in good condition; except for the crack in the glass. She made a quick call and before anyone could whisper "Look away", it was loaded into her boyfriend's truck and heading off to a new home.




Silly? I suppose.  A friend and I were rummaging through some antiques.  She bought a little dresser like this and we laughed about it; joked about hauntings and ghosts.  Of course, sitting here alone with just my computer light on...I don't think it's so damn funny any more. 


Oh well. Giggle and point. I'm such a boob.  I hope you had a nice weekend.  Let's get together again soon.  Thank you for visiting me. It was fun.