The Face In The Mirror (Part One)

A battle between good and evil.

No one in the valley who lived through that spring night in 1948 would ever forget it. From then on every storm, every flood, every malevolent event would be measured by it. “Think this is somethin’?” they would say. “That storm put the fear of God in me.”  That was also the night Ashley Hilliard was born.

The wind shrieked and the rain drummed down mercilessly on the roof of the farmhouse.  Lightning bolts twitched back and forth from horizon to horizon creating a crescendo of thunder so loud that Homer Hilliard could not hear what was going on behind the closed bedroom door. He walked up and put his ear to it. Between gasps and moans his wife Ada was shouting. “Something… is…  just… so… wrong!” Homer wanted to burst in and hold her so tight the pain would be squeezed away. But he didn’t. His sister Naomi was in the room taking care of her and he knew he would be useless. Besides, he thought, childbirth is one of those things a husband just isn’t supposed to see.

 Dr. Gerdine had been summoned, but the water was so high that Homer was afraid the old bridge across Possum Creek might already be washed out. He sat down, clasped his trembling hands tightly over his ears, and began to whisper. “Please, Lord,” he said. “Get us through this night. I promise to be a better man. I really do. And this time I mean it.”   

The front door flew open, and there was an explosion of wind and rain as the doctor entered the room.  He slammed the door behind him. “That’s as bad as I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen some bad ones,” he said as he took off his hat and slapped the brim against his leg, spraying water around the room. “I dang near had to turn back.”  A piercing scream emerged from the bedroom. “Well, now,” said the doctor. “Sounds like I’ve got some work to do.” He handed his sodden coat to Homer and, rolling up his shirtsleeves, he entered the bedroom. “Well, now, young lady,” he said. “Can’t be as bad as all that can it?”  Homer tried to peak into the room but the doctor closed the door behind him.

Two hours later when the doctor emerged from the bedroom the rain had slowed and the lightning had been reduced to an occasional sputter. The doctor had a look of weariness on his face as he walked slowly over to Homer and put his hand on his shoulder.  “There are things man can do,” he said, “and there are things man cannot do. I’m sorry, Homer, but saving Ada was something I could not do.”   

Homer looked over the doctor’s shoulder and through the open bedroom door. His wife was just a lump beneath the sheet.  “But… what… what went wrong?” Homer stammered.

“What killed her? Well, son, that’s hard to say. She didn’t lose a whole lot of blood, and Ada’s always had a strong heart.” The doctor shook his head and scratched the gray stubble on his cheek. “If you want us to we can cut her open and poke around a bit. We might be able to figure it out, but I doubt it.” He paused and his face darkened even more. “And there’s that face. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Face? What do you mean?”

“Come with me.” The doctor led the way into the bedroom.  Homer’s sister was standing beside the bed, holding the crying baby tightly to her chest.  Naomi was sobbing, staring at the bed, and shaking her head slowly back and forth while she gently stroked the baby’s cheek.  

Dr. Gerdine walked to the side of the bed and grabbed the top edge of the sheet. He paused, glanced at Homer and said, “I’m sorry.” Then he pulled the sheet back. Homer leaned over his wife’s body. Her face, once so soft and lovely and warm, now resembled a distorted funhouse mirror reflection. Her nose was crooked, her forehead swollen, her lips frozen in an angry beastlike sneer. Homer gasped and stepped back.  The doctor quickly put the sheet back over her face.

“I’ve never seen the like of it,” the doctor said. “Never in all my years of delivering babies. What could cause it?” He lifted his hands, palms upward. “I haven’t a clue. And I don’t think anybody else does either. But don’t let this face be the one you remember for the rest of your life, son. Remember the face of the woman you married, not…” He pointed at the sheet. “Not… that.” Dr. Gerdine rolled down his sleeves, picked up his bag and walked toward the door. “I’ve got to go before that awful storm picks up again. Now, you go introduce yourself to your daughter.”

Homer walked over to Naomi who held the baby out carefully. He took the child, cradled her in the crook of his arm, and studied her. “Such a tiny thing,” he said in a weak shaky voice.

“And a blessed thing,” said Naomi. “Never forget that. When bad things happen it’s way too easy to blame God. Don’t do that, Homer. That child is a gift, something to be treasured forever.”  Homer nodded as he finally gave in to the grief and sadness, his tears falling gently on the baby’s face.

 

           

The Hilliard farmhouse sat at the edge of Lake Elysium, a man made lake created when the Black River was dammed during the depression. Before it was dammed people had to keep a wary eye on the river. She was a wild thing with an angry temper and people gave her a nickname " the Water Witch. Every year or two she would suddenly rise up from her banks and lash out, washing away crops, leveling homes and turning cars into giant bathtub toys, throwing them back and forth with a kind of vengeful playfulness. Almost everyone who lived near her had a relative whose life had been taken by her fury, so there were no complaints when the government decided to tame the Water Witch with a hydroelectric dam. Even the people of the tiny low-lying village of Pikeville welcomed the news in spite of the fact that the blue sky above their homes and shops would soon be replaced with at least thirty feet of water. They accepted the government checks for their property, packed up their belongings and just drove away with scarcely a glance over their shoulders.      

On the day the locks were closed and the waters began to rise people wondered if the Water Witch would die like a wounded mountain lion, snarling and slashing. But she didn’t, and as the water slowly rose the new lake took on a quiet, almost sedate look. 

The road to Pikeville passed next to the Hilliard farm. After the lake was formed the road went to the edge of the water and then disappeared beneath it. A concrete barrier had been built to keep people from accidentally driving into the water. Way out in the middle of the lake you could see the road rise back up out of the water on Poosey Ridge which had been transformed into an island. In the flush of happiness and prosperity after World War II a real estate developer had built an outdoor dance hall on the island. Since the only way you could get to it was by boat he also opened two boat rental businesses on opposite sides of the lake. On Friday and Saturday evenings during the summer the island was ablaze with light. When the wind was right it carried a happy mixture of dance music and laughter across the water to the Hilliard farm where the child Ashley would lie in her bed gazing out the window, listening to the music, imagining  herself dressed in an elegant gown, held in the protective arms of a handsome young man who guided her gracefully across the dance floor. Sometimes she would get up and dance alone in the moonlight, humming along with the music that was carried to her by a gentle lilac-scented breeze.

For the first fifteen years of her life Ashley was warmed and comforted by the love of her father and her aunt Naomi who had moved in to help care for her. Her days were filled with chores, school, and dreams " dreams of far away lands and exotic people who would welcome her with broad smiles and open hearts. Those dreams ended the night of her fifteenth birthday.

There was another storm that night. It blew in suddenly from the north with such a fury that hearts raced, parents drew their children closer, and prayers were said, even by non-believers. On the Hilliard farm the winds ripped a giant red oak out by its roots and tossed it up against the barn. At dawn, the storm gone, Homer was outside, studying the damage to his barn when he heard Ashley scream. He ran into the house and found Naomi standing against the wall, just outside of Ashley’s bedroom door. She had an stricken look on her face with wide eyes and her mouth agape. She was trembling.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” asked Homer. Naomi gestured toward the open door. Homer stepped in. Ashley was standing in front of her dresser mirror. She screamed again. Homer ran up to her and spun her around. “What’s the matter?” he said. But when he saw her face he knew. The lovely, tender, warm face of his daughter was gone. In its place was a face much like the face Homer had seen on his wife the night she died. It was barely human. The eyes were a piercing black. Her nose was twisted and misshapen. Her mouth was drawn back in a fearful scowl.

“Daddy,” she said, “what’s happened to me?” She turned back toward the mirror, put her hands on her face and rubbed it, kneading it like clay, hoping to reshape it, fix it. But nothing changed. A fifteen year old girl looked in the mirror and an angry, ugly, vicious thing looked back. “This isn’t me, Daddy. It isn’t me.” Her original shock had turned to a painful sadness and the tears began to flow.  “Please tell me this is a nightmare, Daddy. Please.” Homer embraced his daughter, putting the hideous face up against his shoulder, hiding it, hoping that by some miracle his love could restore it. Out in the hall Naomi had fallen to her knees and was whispering a prayer.  

Later that day Dr. Gerdine made a house call at the Hilliard farmhouse. He carefully examined Ashley’s face. “And you felt no pain during this… this transformation?”

“No, sir,” Ashley said. “I woke up and I was all different. Can you help me?”

Dr. Gerdine shook his head no.

“There’s nothing at all you can do?” asked Homer.

 “If it was an injury I could recommend a plastic surgeon. But this is something very, very different.” The doctor looked down at his hands. He turned them over, studying them front and back. “These are the hands of a human being. You need something more. I just don’t know what that something is.”

Fighting back the tears, Ashley said, “Am I going to be like this forever? Please, don’t tell me that. I just couldn’t take it.”

The doctor turned to Homer. “Have you ever heard of Mama Rose?”

“No.”

“Mama Rose is an old woman who lives in a shack on the hill above the cemetery over in Piedmont.  She’s a moonshiner and, according to some, an abortionist.” Dr. Gerdine stood, walked to the open window, and looked out at the waters of Lake Elysium. His tousled white hair stirred in the breeze. “Some folks also say she has otherworldly powers. That if she wishes you dead, you soon will be. But that if she wishes a sick person well, that too will happen.”

 The doctor turned around, and looked into the faces of his patient and her father.  They gazed back in fearful desperation. “This is rumor, of course,” he said. “Gossip. Probably just the result of idle minds, flapping lips, and gullible ears, but…”. He paused and shrugged. “Who knows?”

                  TO BE CONTINUED

                            © 2016 Stanley R. Teater

                      All rights reserved

Reviews

[Daniel Seward]

Another great story. I will definitely read the other parts! And thanks for reading The Summer Window--I was gone on a vacation to Montana so I could not get back to you right away. I understand about feeling listless in the vacation period of teaching--I taught for a couple of years myself. Just know that you are not writing in a vacuum. I see myself and others enjoying your stories. Definitely keep writing. Take care, Dan

[Adrienne Richardson]

Very nice. I enjoyed reading you're story!

[Jenny Leigh]

Another wonderful story. I'll have to go read the other parts in a little while.

[wordman]

great story,loved the theme of the write

[Valentine]

A battle between good and evil? Not much good for this young lady. Valentine

[Stanley R. Teater]

Wasn't sure if you noticed but Parts two and three are also posted.