The laptop finished booting and I hooked up the camera, copying the pictures to my laptop as soon as possible.
Once I finished copying, I deleted the pictures from the camera, and opened them one by one on the laptop screen.
The first pictures that popped up were the ones I had taken in the curiosity cabinet downstairs in Ash House. They were spooky, and the limited lighting made them look eerie enough that I knew our blog readers would love these. Emlyn would be thrilled at how good these turned out.
Next, I checked out the pictures of the library. Gloomy, foreboding, they would be perfect.
Then, the slideshow switched to the next picture, and I gasped, my mouth tumbling to the floor. This picture was taken in the upstairs bedroom, and it was my reflection through the cracked mirror. I looked like the stereotypical creepy girl from a horror movie, with long, black hair covering her dead, rotting face, but what scared me was the scene jolting through my mind.
A woman sitting in front of the exact same mirror, combing her long, smooth, black hair, just like my own. The mirror was intact, not fractured into seven different pieces. The woman wore a long, old-fashioned, white nightgown.
“There’s more to this world than what you can see,” the woman said while she kept on combing her hair. “Monsters lurk in the darkness, but you should never show them fear.”
The memory fled away, the image disappearing from my mind, like ghosts hurrying to the afterlife.
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t recall what happened after or before that scene, how the mirror got cracked, or even who the black-haired woman was.
All I knew was that, judging by her reflection in the mirror… She looked a little like me.
What in God’s name was going on? Why did I have memories, if you could even call them that, of a desolate mansion in the woods, that turned out to be a spook-fest the moment we walked in? A house with creepy sculptures and dozens of specimens on formaldehyde, and most importantly, a box that warned “Do not open”?
“Faye!” Mom called from downstairs, startling me so much that I slammed the laptop shut. “Dinner’s ready.”
My heart slammed in my throat, and I doubted I could swallow a single bite of spaghetti, no matter how much of an effort Mom had made with her new recipe.
“Coming!” I yelled back, my voice shaking a little. On wobbly legs, I tried to get up from my bed and drag myself downstairs.
I had to figure out the truth about my connection to the mysterious Ash House.
I had to open that box.
Chapter 5
Despite my fears of not being able to swallow a single bite, I easily devoured two bowls of spaghetti. This new recipe was amazing, and I complimented Mom on it half a dozen times.
My little brother, Max, loved it so much that he had used the tomato sauce to paint his entire face.
“So, how was your day, honey?” Dad asked. “I heard from Mom that you spent a lot of time ogling boys.”
I almost choked on my spaghetti. “Uhm, well, Emlyn mostly.” I felt my cheeks turning hot. My parents had a knack for making me feel embarrassed. I doubted there was ever a task they had done with more vigor.
“Well, I rather you gape at boys than you spend your time being up to no good.” Dad sighed. “We caught a few kids your age trying to break in at old Mary’s farm. It’s been empty ever since she passed away, God rest her soul, and I have no idea why anyone would think Mary owed anything of value, but this is the second break-in we’ve had there in just a few weeks.”
The farm was located at the other side of the woods, straight ahead from Ash House as the crows fly. To think Dad had been at work so close to where I was hanging out—breaking and entering, the exact crime he had charged those kids with—made my stomach clench.
Having a Dad who was a police officer was both a blessing and a curse. He was strict, straightforward, a no-nonsense guy. At the same time, I didn’t want to imagine his disappointment if he caught me on the wrong side of the law, and it was a thin line to walk.
Trespassing usually only ended up with a fine or a slap on the hand but breaking into someone’s house to steal something was an entirely different matter.
Although, technically, I had stolen that box…
“Mary lived a simple life,” Mom said. “Why would anyone bother breaking into her home?”
“Doesn’t she have any children, or someone who could look into selling the farm?” I asked before piling another spoonful of spaghetti into my mouth.
Our round kitchen table was barely big enough for the four of us to sit at, so my elbow bumped into Max’s side and he promptly slapped me on the arm.
“Hey, I didn’t do it on purpose,” I told him.
“Aw.” He pouted, pointing at his arm where my elbow had bumped into him. Sometimes he was such a baby. “Kiss?”
I leaned forward, kissed his arm, and then tickled his belly. “How’s that, eh?”
Max laughed, waving his tiny fists back and forth. I smiled at him, feeling some of the tension from earlier vanishing.
No matter my mood, Max always managed to cheer me up.
“The farm wasn’t technically hers, it seems,” Dad said, steering the conversation back to the previous topic. “Apparently, she leased the farm and its lands from the Ash family.”
The color drained from my skin faster than water from a bathtub. Mary’s farm was right at the edge of the woods, and if you thought about it, one of the closest properties to the woods, but the sheer coincidence that the Ash family was mentioned at our dinner table for the first time in half a decade on
