The Face In The Mirror (Part Two)

A battle between good and evil.

“It’s time to leave,” called out Homer.

Ashley came out of her room wearing a brown paper bag over her head, with holes cut out for her eyes. “I can’t let anyone see my face, Daddy. I just can’t.” He nodded and led the way to the car.

Ashley and her father did not speak during the thirty-minute drive to Piedmont. They were both afraid that if they opened their mouths all their inner fears and doubts and worries  -  the terror really  -  would come gushing out. It was better, safer, to keep their emotions tightly bound by a rope of silence. Ashley stared at the floorboard for the entire trip. If anyone they passed stared or laughed or pointed at the girl with a bag over her heard she didn’t want to know it.

The hill above the Piedmont cemetery was dusty and barren. If any plant could have grown there it had chosen not to do so. The house had once been yellow, but most of the paint had peeled away revealing weathered gray wood. The white shingled roof was streaked with black mildew and the front porch had collapsed on one end. A porch swing swayed and creaked in the wind. There was a picket fence around the house and chickens clucked a greeting - or warning - to Homer and Ashley when they got out of the car, walked up to the gate, and opened it.  The boards under their feet creaked when they climbed up onto the porch. Homer knocked on the door. Ashley shivered, suddenly very cold. A moment later a face appeared on the other side of the screen door. It was like the house, old, weathered, and cracked.

“Are you Mama Rose?” Homer asked.

She eyed him suspiciously up and down. “Who wants to know?”

“My name is Homer Hilliard. This is my daughter Ashley. And if what people say about you is true, we need your help.”

She looked at Ashley who still had the paper bag over her head. “So you’re not trick-or-treating in April?”

“No, ma’am,” said Ashley.

“I hope you’re not pregnant because, no matter what people say, I don’t do that. Never have. Never will.”

“I promise you,” said Homer, “my daughter does not need an abortion.”

“So what is it exactly that you want?”

“May we come inside and talk?”

“Please,” added Ashley.

Mama Rose stared at them, squinting as if trying to focus her eyes. Then she reached up, unlatched the screen door, and stepped back.  Homer and Ashley entered the house.

Unlike the decaying exterior of the house, the interior was immaculately maintained. The furniture, the lamps, the throw rugs on the floor, the pictures on the walls, everything seemed to be an antique, probably from before the turn-of-the-century. A calico cat jumped down off the sofa and walked up to Ashley. It circled her legs and nuzzled her ankle.

“Her name is Grace,” said Mama Rose, “Now, why don’t you take that paper bag off your head, child?” Ashley did as she was told, but she kept staring at the ground. Mama Rose reached out and lifted Ashley’s chin. “Well, well, well,” she said, studying her face. “Is this why you’re here?”

Ashley nodded and started to cry. Mama Rose wiped away the tears with her thumbs. “Now, now, child,” she said.  “Most anything that can be done can be undone. Unless it was done by God. And this was not done by God. This was done by an evil thing. Now, let’s sit down and talk.”

They sat at the dining room table and for the next hour Homer told Mama Rose about the night that Ashley was born, the night she changed, and the fifteen years in between.  The old woman sat, nodding, occasionally asking for more details. She held Ashley’s hand the entire time, stroking it slowly, gently, motherly. There was silence for a few minutes after Homer finished. “People in these parts say all sorts of stuff about me,” Mama Rose said at last. “Most of it is nonsense, gibberish. But here’s the truth. There are things in this world, you could call them spirits. Some are good. Some bad. And some very, very bad. You can’t see them but they’re there. And from time to time they talk to me. I don’t hear them with my ears, I hear them with,” she shrugged, “my soul I guess. And when someone has a problem that’s not of this world, the physical world, they’re sometimes able to help.”

“Do you think they can help me?” asked Ashley.

“Child, I sure hope so.”

“I brought some money,” said Homer, reaching into his pocket. “I hope it’s enough.”

“I don’t do this for money,” said Mama Rose. “What time is it?”

He checked his watch. “It’s almost eight.”

“I have to go to my room to prepare. I’ll be back at nine.” She rose, reached down, put her hand on Ashley’s head, then turned and left the room.

Homer and Ashley sat in silence. The cat jumped into Ashley’s lap and purred as she stroked its head. “Grace doesn’t seem to care what I look like does she?”

“No, animals don’t give a whit about looks. How we treat ‘em is all that matters.” Homer studied his daughter’s distorted face. The only part that still resembled Ashley was her chin which was trembling. She picked up the cat and held it against her cheek. Grace purred with contentment. “How are you holding up?” he asked.

“It’s hard, Daddy. Real hard.”

“I know it is, honey. I know.”

At nine o’clock Mama Rose reemerged from the bedroom. She was carrying a large black book with a gold embossed title in a language Homer could not identify. The old woman had put on makeup and she wore a long evening gown that looked like it was from the twenties. “You look like you’re going to a party,” Ashley said.

“Actually, I haven’t been to a party since before you were born. It’s just that the spirits seem more willing to talk to me if I treat it like a very special occasion and not just a casual conversation. Even spirits have egos I guess.” Mama Rose turned off all the lights in the room. The moon had risen and the light coming in through the window cast a soft glow on their faces. She moved the coffee table out of the way, sat down on the floor, opened the book and placed it on the floor in front of her. She gestured for Homer and Ashley to join her. When they did she said, “Now, let’s all join hands.”

Mama Rose sat with her legs crossed in front of her, her back rigid and straight. She closed her eyes and started mouthing words but Homer and Ashley couldn’t hear any sound actually coming out of her mouth. The minutes passed. Beads of sweat began pouring down Mama Rose’s face. She continued mouthing words that couldn’t be heard. She grimaced as though she was in pain. Then the beads of sweat changed color. They became red, the color of blood. A wind appeared and the pages of the book began turning, slowly at first, then faster and faster. They turned all the way to the back of the book, then the wind shifted and they turned in the other direction. Then the wind shifted again. Back and forth. Back and forth. Faster and faster. Ashley gripped her father’s hand tightly. Suddenly, Mama Rose’s eyes popped open. She took a long, loud, deep breath. The blood red trails ran down her face and dripped onto her gown.  She dropped Homer and Ashley’s hands. She leaned forward and moaned softly.

The wind was gone. The book was still. A cloud crossed in front of the moon and the room grew dark. Mama Rose took another long loud deep breath. “Ashley,” she whispered, “listen to my words.”

“Yes, ma’am?”

She raised her head and stared deeply into Ashley’s eyes. “There’s a struggle between good and evil goin’ on. And the battleground is your face. If you want to be yourself again, listen very closely.” She grabbed both of Ashley’s hands and put her palms on either side of her own face. “Follow the white horse. Do you hear me? Follow the white horse. No matter where he goes.”

“The white horse?” asked Homer. “We don’t have any white horses on the farm.”

“You will soon,” said Mama Rose, still staring into Ashley’s eyes. “And it’s this child’s one and only chance. When the white horse comes, Ashley, swallow your fear. And follow that animal. Don’t wait even a heartbeat. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Ashley. “The white horse. I don’t understand, but I’ll do it. I’ll follow the horse.”

“Good,” said the old woman. “Very good. Now, I must rest. Have a safe journey home.”

 

Homer and Ashley were almost back at the farm before either of them spoke.  The doors and windows were all closed weren’t they?” Ashley asked.

“As near as I could tell, yes, they were.”

“So where did the wind come from?”

“I don’t know. I just hope there really were spirits talking to her. I pray that those spirits will help you.”

Ashley turned toward her father. “Were you afraid?”

“Yes, I certainly was. I’m still a little jumpy.”

“It’s funny,” Ashley said. “I was afraid in the beginning when the wind started. But then I felt something.”

“Felt what?”

“Warm. And safe. Like that cat when I had it on my lap.”

“Maybe you were in God’s lap for a while back there.”

“Maybe so.”

Later that night while Ashley stood in the field watching for the horse Homer told Naomi what had happened at the old woman’s house. “You can’t be serious,” she said. “Some white horse is supposed to show up and cure Ashley?”

“Not cure her. It’s supposed to show her the way to… I don’t know what… or where… but at least it’s a hope. Something she can hold onto for a little while.”

“It seems pretty far fetched to me.”

“I know it sounds that way, but if you had been there and met her and seen… well, I don’t know, maybe we’re grasping at straws but we’ve got to do something.”

Naomi nodded. “I did something while you were gone. I took every mirror in the house, even the one in the bathroom, and hid them in the barn. The less she has to look at that frightful face, the better.”

For three days and nights they took turns watching, waiting, hoping for the white horse to appear. The fourth day was a Friday and the island came to life. The music began after sunset. Ashley sat on the concrete barrier where the road disappeared into the water. The wind carried the music across the water to her ears. They were playing an old Glenn Miller song. She got down off the barrier and started dancing to the music. She closed her eyes and whirled and swayed in the starlight. When the song ended she could hear the dancers applauding the orchestra. She smiled and opened her eyes. And there it was. A white horse. It was standing on the submerged road in about a foot of water.

“Daddy! Aunt Naomi!” she called. “It’s here. The white horse. It’s really here.”

 Homer and Naomi came running from the house.  “Oh, my God,” sad Homer. “Are we all dreaming?”

“No,” said Naomi as she fell to her knees and whispered a prayer.

The horse slowly approached Ashley. She reached out and stroked its neck. It whinnied softly, then walked around behind her and nudged her toward the water’s edge.

“It wants you to get in the water?” said Homer. “But you’ll drown.”

The horse nudged Ashley again, then walked around her and went several feet down the road, getting deeper and deeper in the water. It stopped and looked back at Ashley who hadn’t moved.

“Ashley, don’t!” Homer pleaded.

“I have to, Daddy,” she said. “Anything is better than living with this face.” She stepped forward into the water.

                    

                      TO BE CONTINUED

                            © 2016 Stanley R. Teater

                      All rights reserved

Reviews

[Valentine]

Very interesting this far. I went to a fortune teller when I was younger. She told me so many true things in my life.... I walked out and forgot to pay her. Never went back. Valentine