Chapter Six: Mirror Image

Chapter Six: Mirror Image

Their room was filled in one corner with a shrine, of sorts. Framed photographs stared out at me and candles flickered eerily, the effect was more than slightly unnerving. A larger photo caught my eye. My first thought was that it was a picture of a younger me, then my eyes picked out slight differences. The outfit wasn’t right and there was a mole on the left cheek that wasn’t on mine. Then it hit me: this must be Minerva.

Things were starting to get really unsettling. First I had been sleeping in her bedroom, now I looked like her. How much more coincidence could I take in this house of horrors? It was about to get much worse.

From the night that I had been introduced as Minerva, it was like Jane ceased to exist. I was always their daughter Minerva. Even around the house, I was called Minerva. I slept in her bedroom, ate with her parents and watched her parents kill. I began to get used to being called Minerva and living her life.

A few nights into the winter season, I was once again awakened by the sound of a shovel, this time outside my window. Jack’s voice drifted up to me. He told me (Minerva), to come outside and see him. Stupid me, I went.

When I stepped outside I was immediately blinded by lantern light. My eyes adjusted and I was stunned. Jack once again stood over an empty scar in the earth. Flowers and dirt lay strewn about and the scent of roses wafted towards me. In the hole was a disturbing vision. Emma lay in the the earth next to a skeleton, cradling it gently. A chill blew through me, not only because I was dressed in a thin nightgown, but because the same type of nightgown encased the skeleton.

I was told to get in the grave, and lay next to Emma. I knew better than to resist. Emma’s body was cold to the touch, as though the cold earth had sucked all the heat from her. She turned her head and leaned into me. Her choked sobs echoed in the cold air. Jack clambered down into the dirt and lay across from Emma. Very little light from the lantern entered the space. I curled around Emma to stop my shivering. She wailed even louder. I heard Jack sniffle from the other side. Word by word, the story of Minerva tumbled from his lips.

She had always been a headstrong child, spoiled and used to getting her own way. Whether it was piano lessons that Emma taught (which she quit after a month) or gardening, her lifelong obsession (which Emma also taught). When she’d wanted to try ice skating, Jack nor Emma had known how, so they refused. Unused to being told no, she defied them one winter’s day, and walked down to the little creek.  Unaware of how thin the ice was, she stepped out and immediately fell through. They had spent three days looking for her. They finally found her, trapped under the ice. They buried her in the garden.

Emma bawled louder, and finally petered out. She then told Jack to tell the truth.