posted on Jul, 16 2005 @ 09:39 PM
I had left the Sherrifs office with little more to say. I wasn't going to argue with him that my brother phoned me beyond the grave, because I
didn't quite believe it myself. I went to the only place I knew I could start making sense of things, to our old house. It ended up he had left his
house and moved back into our old home, though with the way it looked you could hardly tell. The windows were cracked, some boarded up. What was once
a beautiful vivid green lawn was now spotty and dieing. The white siding was now dull and grayed from a lack of care. I had walked up to the front
door, and stepped inside.
Like gust of wind, old memories quickly flooded my mind, some willingly, others forced against my will. But it couldn't had been helped, it was a
place where so much had gone wrong, for both of us. The old victorian home had a quaint layout: from the entrance, there was a foyer, with a small oak
staircase that led up to the second floor, to the left, a doorless entryway into the small kitchen, to the right, the living room. Slightly beyond the
foyer was a basement entrance. The term basement could have been applied very loosely, as it was more of a false space beneath the floor, then an
actual underground basement. Everything had looked the same from when we left, except decayed and unkept. The only new thing in the foyer, was a small
throwrug that had been placed at the door. Before I had a chance to take in the sights, there was a loud crash in the kitchen. There was a scuttling
sound within the kitchen, like small claws on a countertop. My heart had froze as I slowly made my way towards the door, each footstep kicked up dust
and made the old wood floor creak and groan loudly. My hands had curled into fists instinctively, as I turned into the kitchen. And just that quickly,
I had calmed down to see, and hear, the rustling of two small pigeons, whom had probably snuck inside the kitchen from the broken window. The kitchen
was as much of a mess as the foyer. Cereal boxes on the floor, with flakes surrounding them, dirty dishes piled up in the sink. I had made my rounds
through the home, it all seemed roughly the same, and nothing appeared out of the ordinary. Before I knew it though, it was dark, and I had made up in
my mind that I'd stay there. So I had layed to rest in Jacobs bed, closed my eyes, and swept myself off to dreamland.
I had found myself opening my eyes at 3:30 in the morning, the howling whistle of the wind that emitted through the cracks of the windows not
permitting me to lay myself back to sleep. I stood up, and walked to the bathroom. Each bare footstep creaked on the wood floor loudly as I made my
way into the bathroom. I opened the door, while a hand searched through the blackness, made it to the wall switch, and flicked on the lights. They
turned on with a cacophony of flickers, all random. The only lights in the room were a set of three wall light bulbs which were plugged into the wall
just above the mirror. I had turned on the water, the knob needed some force before it turned, but it eventually gave. The pipes shook slightly, a
loud clanking, from the basement, to the second floor, echoed remotely as the well water slowly pumped its way to the focet. Out came a burst of clear
water, and then a steady stream. I had cupped my hands to hold some of the water, and splashed it up onto my face. I couldn't believe my brother had
killed himself, I just refused to believe he would, and I knew whatever he wanted me to know, could be found in the house, somewhere.
"Jacob...what did you want me to know...."
I asked myself through the mirror, and then, the lights quickly flickered themselves off. My hand had quickly began searching for the switch, flicking
it back and forth to try to kick the lights back on. And just like that, they had began the flicker back on. What was within that mirror, was not a
reflection of me. It was a woman, pale, her eyes bleeding profusely, and both eyelids surgically stiched shut. Her lips were dried, with thick cuts
going from just above her upper lip, down in an x pattern, acrossed her lips. The flesh of her neck was missing, replaced with a sticky dripping
sinew, and a clear few of the spine. She had a white shirt on, now stained with a deep red, and a small nurses hat on the top of her head, with a red
cross stitched on it.
"They're coming for you!"
She spoke, from within the mirror, and like that, the lights stopped flicking, and my reflection had appeared back.