Through the Mirror - Chapter One

“I welcome you all here with open arms, as by the end of the hour you will all leave this place as graduates, never to return again.”  The principal said, beginning what was sure to be a long winded speech, wishing all of us good lives.  There were rows upon rows of folding chairs laid out on the schools football field, the students that filled them eager and excited yet remaining almost solemn.  The stage was nearly overly littered with decorations displaying the graduate year, all of the “higher up” school associates seated at either end of the podium, placed in spots where they were soon to leap up and shake each persons hand over-eagerly in a wild display for the news cameras.

“I would like a moment of silence for one student.  Marcus Sinclair.”

Amber’s sniffling became much more audible over the other criers of the crowd.  Not all had known Marc, but still there wasn’t a girl in the school who dared be seen with a dry eye at that moment.  I reached over beside me to where Ambers hand was and clutched it tight.  She looked at me through watery eyes, which were red and puffy from the continuous motion of wiping the tears away.  She was just as beautiful as any other day, but it killed me seeing her in such miserable conditions.

Halloween night had struck the town with sadness and confusion.  When I woke from the sting, I was able to run to get help.  I decided not to say what had really happened, because I honestly didn’t believe it myself.  The search party nearly ripped the building piece by piece in attempt to find the body of Marc, but after they had gotten Amber out, there was no insight on what had happened to him.  They hadn’t declared him dead as of now, but they hadn’t done much of anything to be honest.  They simply didn’t know what to do;   the trail had gone cold before it had started.

After the graduation ceremony it seemed everyone was celebrating and happy, except for Amber and me.  I took her hand one final time and we walked along the field, away from the crowd.  We stopped at a far corner and faced each other, as we had often done in the past.  I looked into her saddened eyes, and knew that her heart was forever partially torn, as was mine.
  
I kissed her then, but she pulled away.  She took her hand from mine and looked into my eyes.  I knew something was wrong.

“Darren…  I… I don’t think I can do this anymore…” her eyebrows were partly scrunched, as though she were confused about what her own mouth had said.

“Do… do what?”  I knew what she meant, I just wanted it clarified.  She burst into tears and ran from me.  I watched until she vanished into the crowd, and then I watched some more.  It was over.

***

I awoke in a sticky mess of clothes and sweat.  My memories had been haunting me in the night lately, and I wasn’t very fond of it.  It had been almost a year since the disappearance of Marc, or seen Amber for that matter.  My heart was pounding under my ribs, the sweat which seemed to encase me running cold.  Whenever nightmares struck, I always felt the same fear as the night it had all happened.  I ripped the shirt off of my shoulders and tossed my body to the right, so I could get a good look at my radio clock.  The clock was never a beacon of good news to me, but the childhood cartoon it was molded into always seemed to soften the blow.  Amber had always told me I needed a new clock…  Nonsense.  The clock read five fifty four.  I tossed myself back onto my other side and sighed, letting my breath calm while I stared into the nothingness within the corner of my bedroom.  Time for a few more hours of tossing and turning.

At six fifteen insomnia prevailed and jerked myself out of bed to make myself several cups of coffee.  I let a tired smile cross my lips thinking of how I had gone to a coffee shop with Amber once before.  We were both very tired, and not much the coffee type of person.  We stumbled up to the counter and the understanding motherly type of woman behind the counter assured us she would make us a good cup of energy.  I’m not at all sure why we found that amusing.  Neither of us were coffee people at the time, and the woman seemed so motherly.  Nonetheless, our relationship was always so intoxicating; everywhere we went there were new and exciting this to giggle about, whether the reason was clear to others or not.  I still missed that.

It was October 31st; Halloween day.  It had been exactly a year to the day.  I had no plans, I never really did anymore.  After Amber had dumped me I had been a pretty lonely person.  I served a job that required no communication until I was fired, and if anyone asked I was currently “between jobs”.  Another lazy groan escaped me as I laid on my sofa and flicked the TV on.  I was eating pizza that had past its prime sometime in the past week, watching some National Geographic garble when a letter slipped under my apartment room door.

I stopped mid-bite and raised an eyebrow, looking at the letter until holes were sure to be bore through its contents so it was impossible to read.  Maybe if I just stared at it long enough, it would go away; and I could pretend the mail didn’t arrive nearly three hours early in creepy pitch black envelopes.  The letter showed no signs of relenting, so I finally caved and stood, finishing my little slice of heaven on the way to the door.  

I bent to collect the strange letter and a loud bang erupted from behind the door.  I nearly jumped out of my skin, my heart suddenly pumping enough to fill a full grown bison.  I went to turn on the light, but then was frightened it might have been some sort of intruder and didn’t know what to do.  I grabbed the flashlight from the nearby counter and held it off to my side as I glanced through the peep hole on my door.  Not seeing anything I slowly and carefully opened the door as long as the security chain would allow, and glanced up and down the hallway.  

It was still pitch black outside, and I was only able to see because of the moonlight and my dull near dead flashlight.  I scanned up and down the hallway, in search of whatever had made the incredulous noise.  As my heart slowed and my breathing calmed I was able to come to my senses.  So the mailman started his route early, and had simply knocked into the wall on his way out the door.  Who was to say?  Suddenly a screech erupted from the hallway.  My heart tested its boundaries as I shot the flashlight beam to where the noise had come.  

Two deep red eye sockets stared back at me.  A creature which seemed to only consist of shadows was cowering from the light on its hands in knees in the corner.  I cried out and slammed the door shut, quickly bolting and locking it from the inside.  I even went so far as to grab the kitchen chair and prop it up into handle before retreating to the sofa, knees to my chest; cowering in fear myself.

After I while I calmed once more and took deep draughts of coffee.  I was simply tired is all.  The screeching could have been the door, and I couldn’t see too clearly with the flashlights dim glow.  I looked down at the deep black letter I held in my hands.  There was no return address, and for that matter the address line wasn’t even filled out.  It wasn’t processed by a postal service.  

I flipped the letter in my hands for several minutes, letting my vision go out of focus while I went into deep thought.  Who would come to my apartment in the dead of night to deliver a letter?  Wouldn’t they just wait until day break and deliver their message in person?  I should probably report this.  I mean don’t they have all sorts of anthrax scares and stuff like that come in the form of letters?  Who would want to kill me though, I was nobody.

I took a knife from my the kitchen and used it as a makeshift letter opener.  This was one of the odd habits I had acquired since becoming unemployed.  As if it mattered if I opened letters neatly or not.  Printed neatly on the inside of the letter in a familiar disheveled handwriting were two words.  “help me”.  A shiver ran up my spine and settled deep within my body.  My throat tightened and the hairs all over my body were on alert.  That handwriting was simply unmistakable.  It was a scrawling print straight from the past.  That was Marc’s handwriting.  And he had been missing for the past year.

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oh very good... i cant stop reading... must read more